#baby yoda x reader

[the-djarin-clan]

He is literally so husband...

Just waiting for Fanfics of Din Djarin being a father of 15 children...

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din grogu #grogu #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #star wars #starwars #mando #baby yoda

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Too Sweet

A/N: Hi friends. I haven't written anything in a while, as I've been tussling with my mental health and raging SAD from the weather near me. Please accept this Mandalorian drabble? Rambling? Takes place between the end of season two and Din's appearance in the Book of Boba Fett. Tags: The Mandalorian, Mandalorian x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader, Mandalorian x F!Reader, Apostate!Din WARNINGS: None Summary: You've been a safe place for Din Djarin for years. He comes to you at his most vulnerable, but always has to leave before you're ready. Title inspired by the Hozier song of the same name.

Word count: 1.6k+

Hours later, you’re still in shock.

Din Djarin is in bed next to you, sans helmet.

It wasn’t unusual for him to be in your home- hell, it would be more unusual for him not to be there between jobs. Your Mandalorian had spent years visiting, hovering somewhere in between a lover and a partner. He shows up in the afternoon one day, and is gone early in the morning before you wake. When he returns, beaten and bruised, you chastise him for leaving without saying goodbye. The routine was comfortable. Familiar. 

Except every other time he had been there, you had never seen his face. 

It feels like a dance each time he comes. You tend to his wounds quickly but gently, lathering cuts and bruises in bacta before wrapping bandages or slings where necessary to let the medication heal. Once you’ve played nurse, Din secludes himself to your study to eat dinner. And each time, without fail, he leads you to the bedroom to extinguish the fireplace and blow out your candles. His hands find your body, and he ravishes you in the darkness. 

Key word being darkness.

Today was the same song and dance. He’d limped into your cabin without greeting, shaking snow from his armored body and settling himself into a kitchen chair while you fussed. A tube of bacta and half a roll of bandages later, he silently trudged away to eat in the study. There was a distinct lack of little green child with him today, which was a major concern after the past year. You suspected it had something to do with the oppressive sense of sorrow following him through the house. So you carried on with your usual routine, asking little to no questions. It wasn’t until he’d crowded you up against the sink, bowl still in your grip as you rinsed it, that he spoke. 

“Mesh’la.”

Strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you leaned back into an unarmored chest. In hindsight, you chastised yourself for not noticing the words lacked the electrical buzz of a vocoder. 

“Din.” You returned.

He only grunts, right hand gliding up your side. It grips your shoulder, and presses until you turn to face him, bowl still gripped in your damp fingers. 

“You know, words are- Din!”

The porcelain bowl shattered as it collided with the kitchen floor. You’d dropped it out of pure instinct, hands flying up to cover your eyes. As much as you’d tried to forget what you saw, it was burned into your brain. Wavy hair, long nose with a scar crossing the bridge of it. Big, brown eyes that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so stern and ruthless. It flashes across your mind, and you almost tear up at the thought of Din breaking his Creed after all these years. 

But he’d pulled your hands away and explained - while your eyes are still pinched closed- that he was an apostate. The Child was returned to his own people, but at the cost of Din’s Creed. It had taken minutes of coaxing and reassurance, but you’d opened your eyes and cursed the universe for being so cruel as to hide such a face. From the set of his brow to the nervous biting of his lip, you basked in seeing so much bare skin. It took less time for him to attach his lips to yours and lead you out of the kitchen.

He’d taken you to bed, and now here you sit. 

Your room isn’t anything special. Quaint and cozy if nothing else, with two small windows that face out over the mountain’s edge. A fireplace flickers opposite the bed, its warmth trickling out to the sheets and heating your toes. Two bookshelves border either side of your headboard, with a nightstand tucked on Din’s side of the bed. On it, the usually extinguished candles burn bright. 

The firelight flickers against Din’s tan skin, highlighting each bead of sweat and curled tendril of hair where it sticks to his forehead. He’s naked, back propped against the headboard and covered in a maroon sheet from the waist down. You’ve donned a short silk robe, black and bordered with laces where it plunges between your breasts. You lay between his legs above the sheets, head on his chest. One of his large hands caresses your scalp and trails to the ends of your hair. The other hand is occupied by a half-full glass of old Corellian whiskey. 

You trace a line of yellow bruises on his hip where they extend below the sheet on his lap. 

“What happened to you?”

His chest rumbles. “I fought an Imperial Moff. And Imperial battle droids.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit up. Din’s hand leaves your hair to grasp at your waist, pulling you to face him.

“Stars, Din.” You reach out to touch a patch of black and blue skin over his collarbone. “No wonder you’re so beat up. I’ll get you some more bacta before we go to sleep.”

He lifts your fingers from his collarbone to his mouth, kissing each fingertip. “You’re too good to me, cyar’ika.”

“You deserve it.” Is your instant reply. 

If there was anything you knew about Din, it was that he never quite comprehended the good he brought to the world. 

The Mandalorian brings the whiskey to his lips and takes a swig. You opt to push an errant curl behind his ear. 

“I’m not a good man,” Your name falls off his tongue like honey. “Spent my whole life as kyramud.” 

You tilt your head at the Mando’a. He’d called you some pet names for years- mesh’la, cyar’ika. But this… kyramud was new. Without his helmet, hearing anything out of his mouth was like a drug. But Mando’a warmed you to the core, building off Din’s comfort and fondness when he spoke the ancient tongue. You yearned to know more. 

“Teach me Mando’a.” You kiss him gently, tasting the whiskey where it lingers on his lips. “So I can tell you why you deserve every bit of kindness.”

Din adjusts your legs so you’re sitting square between his, rear end on the bed and legs straddling his waist. He props you up with the ridiculous amount of pillows lying around. 

“I’ll teach you anything you want.” Din strokes your knee. “Where do I start?”

You chew on your bottom lip. “What am I to you?”

“Ner cyare.” He pauses, debating. The whiskey makes another appearance, and you’re distracted by his Adam's apple bobbing deliciously in the column of his throat. “Naysol uj par ni. Each day I see you is aay’han.”

“What does that mean?”

Din tilts your chin up. “My beloved. Too sweet for me.”

You blush. “What about the end? Ay-hen?”

“Aay’han. Mourning and joy. At the same time.” He finishes the whiskey. “I mourn when I leave you here.”

Much to your annoyance, tears prick your eyes at the reminder that when you closed them, he would be gone before you woke. “Don’t remind me. Please.”

Din leans forward to capture your lips with his. The sensation only serves to make the stinging behind your eyes worse, and a single tear drips down your cheek. He’s quick to kiss it away, large hand curling into your hair. You climb all the way into his lap, suddenly desperate for closeness. His skin is hot and damp, and you’ve never felt anything better. 

“Ni ceta. I never meant to hurt you.”

You sniffle against his neck. “Just promise me you’ll say goodbye from now on.”

He wets two fingers with his tongue and extinguishes the candles before cradling you in strong arms. Two words are murmured into your hair, quiet but sound.  

“I promise.”

You grip him tighter than ever, warmth sadly fading as the dread of morning envelopes you. 

*

The reflection of daylight off snow-covered ground wakes you. 

It bounces in your windows, bathing the room in cool white light. You blink slowly, a heaviness settled on all of your limbs. It’s a familiar soreness that aches from your shoulders to between your legs, dredging up memories of the night before. Din’s bare face, and all the sweet words in Mando’a that he tried to teach you before you remembered he can never stay as long as you’d like. You sigh, letting one of your arms dangle off the edge of the bed. The thought of turning over and seeing the candles, thinking about him blowing them out on each visit was too fresh. It’s easier to lay and stew in your sadness, watching fluffy flakes of snow fall. The clock on your wall reads ‘1457’, another unintentional reminder of your late-night escapades.

You hate to admit that the feeling makes you tear up again. So you lay in bed, curled beneath a thick comforter while the fireplace crackles its last few breaths towards your feet. It’s easier to stare at the snow than it is to close your eyes and think about Din. 

“Damn it.” You breathe. 

“What are you damning?”

You swear that you stop breathing for a moment. Despite the fact that he had already spoken, you ask aloud, “Din?”

The sounds of bare feet padding across the floor nears, and the Mandalorian appears in your vision. Barefoot and clad only in a pair of loose gray lounge pants that tighten at his ankles. His abdomen is without cover, displaying an array of healing bruises and deep scars. You sit up, letting your feet hang off the bed. 

“You’re still here?” You look at the clock again. “At 1500?”

Din smiles, kneeling in front of you. He presses a mug of steaming Caf into your hands and a kiss to your forehead. 

“If it’s alright with you… I might be for a while.”

It’s your turn to smile as he smoothes away your bedhead. 

“No arguments.” You sip at the warm mug. “I’ll keep taking my Caf in bed, though.”

___________________________________________________

As always, if you enjoy please like/reblog and check out my links for more :)

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#The Mandalorian #Mandalorian x Reader #Din Djarin x Reader #Mandalorian x F!Reader #Apostate!Din #grogu #baby yoda #mando'a #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin x you #din djarin #too sweet #hozier #din likes his whiskey neat #and his coffee black

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

Imagine mando’s reaction to seeing fem!reader playing with or being sweet with grogu- and seeing how grogu takes a liking so quickly to her (if they just met)

I just feel like it would make his heart flutter

Hi, Nonny, sorry it took me so long to answer this. I tried my best thinking about how it would go. I hope you like what I came up with.

The Stowaway

Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

A/N: Feedback is always welcome. It's almost 5am so any typos are my bad.

Warnings: none

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sat there fidgeting slightly, your nerves getting the better of you. You shifted in your seat again as the stranger, the Mandalorian, you had heard others call him, stalked towards you. Your breath hitched in your throat as he stopped in front of you and glared at you - as far as you could tell, you couldn’t see his face through his helmet - but you swore you could feel him giving you an icy cold stare.

“How did you get in here?” he asked you again. 

Yeah, he’s definitely glaring, you thought. 

You sighed and shook your head. “It was an accident,” you told him again. You had told him this at least four times, but he kept asking you as if your answer was going to change. 

You hadn’t meant to sneak onto his ship. You were running from raiders and had hopped in the first thing you saw. You didn’t know nor care to whom it belonged, you just needed to get away and fast. 

You heard him sigh. “Well, I’m taking you back,” he told you. “I don’t have any more room.” 

“No,” you said, shaking your head. Your home was gone, you didn’t have anything to go back to. The raiders had destroyed everything. “There’s no back to go to. I don’t have anything left. Besides,” you looked around, “you have plenty of room. I was in here for two days before you even noticed.”

You couldn’t tell, but you were more than sure he had frowned at that. 

“Next stop, I’m dropping you off,” he told you. “I don’t need anyone else on this ship.”

“Fine with me,” you said. You had planned to hop off when he made his next stop in the first place. 

“It’ll be three more days,” he told you. “Just stay out of my way.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “So, where can I…?” you had started to ask him where you could bunk, but he just turned around shaking his head and walking away. You shrugged and reached into your pack for something to eat.

—-------

You managed to stay out of each other’s way for a day, but your curiosity had gotten the best of you by the second day. You had gotten out of the niche you had made for yourself and decided to stretch your legs. 

You wandered around, making sure to keep quiet. You didn’t see anything interesting, really it was your typical ship, you seen one, you’ve seen them all. You were about to go back to your niche when you heard a noise. You stopped and listened again. 

What was that? It sounded like a small child or something. That’s interesting, you thought. Maybe that’s what he meant about not having room for anyone. He already has someone in here. You walked towards where you thought it was coming from. There was a curtain covering a section, you pushed aside and peered around the corner. 

“Hello?” you called out softly. In response, you heard a cooing sound. 

You looked around and didn’t see anything. Nothing but a pile of some things and a small hammock strung up. You walked into the space and called out again, “Is anyone here?”

The cooing noise answered you again and then, to your surprise, a small head popped out. You bit your tongue, so as not to yell out. You had never seen anything like this creature before. It was small and green with big ears and wide blinking eyes. Once you got over the initial shock, you smiled. It was kinda cute. You kneeled down to get on eye level with it.

“Um, hi,” you said nervously.

It cooed again, and reached out a small hand to you.

“D-do you have a name?”

The creature blinked at you and tilted its head as if to ask you who you were and what you were doing in its space.

“I’m guessing you can’t talk, huh?”

It made another noise, this time, you figured, it was a happy one. You reached out and touched its outstretched hand. The noise it made this time was definitely a happy one and you were sure it smiled. You grinned down at the creature and it came out from its hiding spot. You repositioned yourself and sat cross-legged on the floor. The two of you studied each other for a bit.

“What are you doing here?” you asked it, knowing that it couldn’t answer you. It just made another noise.

 “Are you friends with that Mandalorian?” 

Another cooing noise. 

“Guess that means yes,” you said, looking around. “I mean you have a pretty nice set up here. A room, kinda, hammock…”

The creature looked around and then back at you, tilting its head again. You took it to mean that it was asking you what you were doing there.

“I hid out,” you said. “I was running from raiders, they destroyed my home. I didn’t think it was a big deal, I was gonna hop off as soon as your friend made another stop. Thought I could hide out. Didn’t know it would be three days. He caught me. I was trying to stay out of his way but I just wanted to look around…”

“What are you doing?” a voice asked from behind you, making you and the creature jump in surprise.

You hopped up quickly, spotting the Mandalorian. “Oh, I was just, um…”

“You were supposed to stay out of the way,” he said. 

“Right, sorry,” you mumbled and scrambled out of the way, making your way back to your niche.

A few hours later, while you were snacking on some of the food you had, you heard the sound of the little creature cooing. You peered out from where you were and saw it blinking up at you. You smiled again.

“Hey,” you whispered, “what are you doing here?”

It made another noise then climbed into where you were. The two of you looked at each  other for a bit before the creature looked at the food in your hand.

“Are you hungry?” you asked, handing some of your food to it.

It smiled and took the food from your hand and gobbled it up quickly. You laughed and it made a noise that you assumed was a happy one. 

“You need to slow down,” you said, handing it another piece and taking some more and eating it yourself.

After you finished eating, the creature stayed around where you were. You talked to it, telling it about your home, your family, and some happy times and you assumed it enjoyed your stories because it listened intently for a bit. Then it went searching in your pack pulling out some of your things. You showed it your stuff, explaining what each thing was and where they came from and any stories behind them. 

Soon, you could see it getting sleepy. You reached out your arms and the creature went into them immediately and snuggled against you. You talked to it softly, telling it a story your mother had told you every night to get you to sleep. When you finished, you looked down and saw it was sound asleep. You got up carefully, then looked around, checking that the Mandalorian wasn’t anywhere around. Once you were sure that the coast was clear, you tiptoed back to the space where you found the creature and placed it carefully in its hammock and covered it with a blanket. You looked down at it for a second, watching it sleep peacefully, before heading back to your niche.

Unbeknownst to you, you were being watched by the Mandalorian.

The next day, you were awakened by the creature, gently tapping you. 

“Hey!” you said, stretching and yawning, then smiling at it.

It made a cooing sound, then turned and walked off. You figured it wanted you to follow it, so you got up and did. It took you back to his space. It went and dug through some things before producing a small silver ball. You looked at it curiously. The creature settled down and you did the same across from it. It stretched out its hand with the ball in it and you took it. You watched it as it closed its eyes, concentrating, and then you felt a small tugging in your hand. The ball flew out of your palm and into its hand.

It opened his eyes and made a triumphant noise. 

“Woah!” you exclaimed, “you did that? How?” You took the ball again. “Can you do it again?” you asked.

In response, the creature closed its eyes and did it again, making you cheer.

“This is so cool!” You reached in your pocket and pulled out a charm that once went on a necklace. “Can you do it with this too?”

It closed its eyes, stretched out his hand and the next thing you knew, your charm flew out of your hand and into the creature’s. You cheered again, making the creature excited. You two did this for a few hours, before, you guessed, the creature got tired. It climbed into your lap and snuggled against you again, looking up at you with its big eyes. You smiled down at it.

“Wanna hear that story again?”

It made a sound that you assumed meant yes and you began to tell the story, watching as the creature drifted off to sleep.

You had forgotten that you were supposed to be out of the way, but you were soon reminded when, again, the Mandalorian’s voice startled you.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but this time sounding not nearly as upset.

“We were just, um, playing, I guess,” you said softly. “Then it got tired and fell asleep.”

“Oh,” he grunted. “I see.” 

“Right,” you said, getting up carefully and putting the creature in its hammock and covering it. 

The Mandalorian had watched you and marveled at the tender way you played and cared for the child. He felt something stir inside him.

“Well, I guess I’ll go back to my…”

“He has a name,” he said, interrupting you.

“Huh?”

The Mandalorian nodded to the hammock. “The child, he has a name.”

“Oh, um, what is it?”

“Grogu.”

“Grogu? Huh, that’s interesting. Do you have a name?"

“I was watching you,” he said, ignoring your question. “Watching you talk to him, and play with him. He likes you.”

“Really? It… I mean, he does?” you asked, shocked. “How can you tell?”

He shrugged. “I just can. It’s nice.”

“Oh, well that’s good then.”

You both stood there for a minute staring at each other.

“Well,” he said. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shook your head. “No, I…”

“Come on, I have something,” he turned to walked off before stopping and glancing back at you. "You can call me Din," he told you before walking off.

You glanced back at the tiny, sleeping form of the child, Grogu and smiled, then turned to follow Din.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mando x you #mando x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando fanfiction #yodito #baby yoda #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #whiskey writes #grogu

[thefrogdalorian]

Dincember Day 5: Cold

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Word Count: 1109 Rating: General Summary: After your favourite Mandalorian's latest assignment with the New Republic means that his return to your cabin is delayed, you head to bed, thoroughly miserable. But when Din finally arrives home the reunion does not go entirely smoothly, as you find yourself needing to warm him up, with adorable consequences. Content Warnings: None! Author's note: I love it when big scary bounty hunters are secretly little spoons.

Link to read on AO3 | My Dincember Masterlist

You were accustomed to Din arriving back to your cabin on Nevarro from his various assignments with the New Republic at all times of day and night. You had come to learn, after several disappointments, not to wait up for him on the days that he said he would be back. Before, you would feel the unmistakable despondency creeping in as his arrival times grew later and later, usually caught up in some bureaucratic nonsense.

Tonight appeared to be no exception, as the time on your chronometer when Din had promised to be back came and went, with still no sign of him, nor any word from him as to how long he would be. You had tried your best to stop letting it get to you, but you could not deny the sinking feeling that you felt in your chest each and every time he wasn’t back with you at the time he had promised. The cabin felt so dark and lonely without him. You were miserable without him, you felt somehow incomplete without his presence.

With nothing else to do and no point in waiting up for him, you decided to make yourself your favourite hot tea and climb into the cot you shared with Din in order to try and get some sleep. The thought of climbing between the blankets without him was thoroughly unappealing, but the lack of contact proved that whatever he was caught up in was out of his control. He was probably somewhere out there, just as frustrated as you were. You missed him terribly, but perhaps when you woke up, Din would be where he belonged: back with you.

Sometimes, the sounds of the N-1 engines descending through the atmosphere to park outside the cabin would wake you up. But despite your unhappiness and concern for him, you had been so tired that you were in a deep sleep by the time Din finally arrived home. The N-1 parking up did not raise you from your slumber, nor did Din and Grogu as they arrived back at the cabin. The first sign that Din had returned home was the sound of the door to the room you shared together opening.

“Din?” You said sleepily, into the darkness.

“I’m home, cyare.” Din’s familiar, deep, soothing voice sounded into the Nevarrian night. You heard him beginning to carefully remove his beskar’gam, a comforting sound that told you he was closeby. “Don’t get up.”

“Glad you’re home,” You sighed happily, halfway between wakefulness and slumber. You soon fell back to sleep. 

Your eyelids fluttered open as you felt the mattress sink with Din's weight as he made himself comfortable on the cot next to you. You smiled as you felt the cotton of his soft clothes as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist. But something was wrong. Rather than the warm, steadying embrace you had grown accustomed to, your ordinarily calm, unwavering Mandalorian trembled from head to toe.

“Din, what’s the matter?” You said concernedly, now fully awake. “You’re shaking all over. Did something happen?”

“I’m ju-just so...” Din struggled to speak against the chattering of his teeth, “C-c-cold.”

“Oh, come here, love.” You said as you pushed him carefully onto his side so his back was facing you, pulling the blanket around the two of you as you did so. You wrapped your arms around his abdomen and pushed them under his shirt so your hands came to rest, palms splayed, against his firm stomach that was beginning to soften slightly with age. “Let me warm you up.”

“Th-th-thank you,” Din said, still shivering.

“Was the job somewhere cold?” You asked sympathetically. 

“Ha-had to report to ice pl-planet… Hoth.” Din explained. So that was what the delay had been, then, you surmised.

“Is Grogu alright?” You asked, concerned about what the cold would have done to a being as tiny as Din's son.

“Ye-yes…” Din nodded, “Left hi-him in the ship while… talked to Teva.”

“Okay, just rest now. Focus on getting warm.” You soothed, stroking his dark curls gently between your fingers.

You lay there for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of Din in your arms, despite how much he was still trembling. It was a welcome change, despite the less-than-ideal conditions that had brought about a shift in your dynamic. Din always liked to gather you up in his arms protectively and hold you close and of course you enjoyed his enormous, warm presence that engulfed you whenever he held you in his arms. You had never felt a greater sense of safety or belonging in all your days than when you were in Din's arms. But every once in a while, it was nice to have a role reversal, to hold him and make him feel how much you loved him and wanted to protect him, too. The absolute love and devotion in your relationship flowed both ways and it was an honour to remind Din of that.

As you laid there and held him tightly, continuing to stroke his bare skin underneath his clothes with your palms, you felt how the tremours that had wracked his body decreased in both their frequency and ferocity. You were grateful that what you were doing had worked, that Din seemed to be warming up from the frigid air on Hoth that had frozen him to the bone.

“You feeling any better now?” You asked as you dropped a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Much better.” Din sighed happily, though you could tell from the fatigue in his voice how exhausted he was. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” You said in relief, “Why don’t you get some sleep, Din? You sound exhausted.”

“I am,” Din huffed.

“Awwww, honey.” You soothed. “You can tell me all about yours and Grogu’s latest adventures in the morning.” You said, rubbing Din’s stomach softly again. "But first, rest."

“Will do,” Din’s voice was barely above a whisper now, heavy with sleep. “Goodnight, cyare.”

“Goodnight, Din.” You whispered. “I love you.”

“Love you…” Din mumbled, voice trailing off as sleep finally embraced him. You could tell, with a smirk, from his even, shallow breaths that he had dozed off. 

You were grateful for how easily sleep seemed to have come to him. After a long, arduous job like the one he had returned from, he needed his rest. You were desperate to hear the tales from his adventures but you knew that could wait because sometimes your big, formidable bounty hunter just needed to lie there and be the little spoon, as you helped to warm him up from the cold.

#dincember #dincember 2023 #my fics #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #pedro pascal characters #din djarin #the mandalorian #grogu #baby yoda #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #din djarin fluff #din djarin fic #gn reader #being the big spoon for din would fix all of my problems rn

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 19 (part 1)

Chapter 19: I Don't Need to See Your Face; I Just Need You to Help Me Pretend

This is the big leagues? you were wondering as you followed Mando down the stairs to meet the man himself. This wasn’t even your worst Black Friday, when some asshole decoupaged all the dressing rooms with Christmas-themed hentai and you had to explain to your very, very sheltered manager why the tentacles were wearing Santa hats. 

But then Kaba happened, and everything surpassed all the Black Fridays, and your worst nightmares, too.

One minute, the porcine-faced Klatoonian was casually seated at his desk and weighing his options; the next, Mando had shoved you behind him and yelled, “Go!” over his shoulder.

This was your first chance to see the Darksaber in action, but you didn’t need to be told twice. As Kaba’s goons descended, you and D-5 had run for the exit, with full intention of booking it to the usual rendezvous point at the transit station.

You were halfway to the door when you heard it. You knew the sounds Mando made during a fight. Every grunt, every hiss and yelp, even the occasional curse that meant he’d been hurt. 

You had never heard that sound from him before. 

Autopilot clicked into gear, knocking self-doubt right out of the driver’s seat. 

You bolted back the way you came, instantly zeroing in the source of Mando’s agonized cry as soon as you ducked through the transparent strips of curtain – the patch of scorched, glowing flesh on his leg that should have been really well-done CGI, except you knew better.

Short Debts Make Long Friends - An overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

Anyone who reblogs gets a DM with a future snippet of their choice! (Humor, angst, sexyfuntimes.) You know you wanna...

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#din djarin x reader #mando x reader #din x reader #mando x original female character #short debts make long friends #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda

[sirdindjarin]

The Savior - Din Djarin x f!Reader

The Mandalorian, side-quest extraordinaire, accidentally frees a slave, kills a Senator's son, ends a criminal conspiracy, and falls in love. Just a month in the life of the galaxy's favorite chaotic space cowboy and his son.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

A/N: i fucking love this man. here's the spotify playlist i made while hallucinating being wrecked by him. I accidentally based this fic on Euphoria by Angels & Airwaves.

AO3 Link🤠

TAGS: Fluff, m!falls first, plot with porn, helmet stays on for now, P in V, outdoor activities, protective!Din, soft-ish!Din.

WARNINGS: reader is/was a slave; references to abuse; no curses or slang outside of Star Wars canon (that's a warning if you hate that hahaha)

**************************************************************

"I thought vagrants were barred at the door. How did a Mandalorian get in here?”

The Mandalorian in question does not react to the insult. At the table before him, the taunting Trandoshan guffaws, but his laughter dies when he gets no reaction from the bounty hunter.

"What do you want?" He snaps, his green jaws clicking shut.

Instead of replying, certain the answer is obvious, the beskar-covered man leisurely surveys the colorful, boisterous room, his hands folded in front of him. Having already scouted the upscale casino, he does this for sarcastic effect. He’s also certain that fact is lost on his Trandoshan quarry. 

Upon returning his direct attention to the lizard, a small movement in the booth catches his heat sensor. A young woman, likely his quarry’s slave by her frayed appearance, sits with her head bowed behind her master. 

“Hey, tin man, you in there?” Your master’s voice sounds more like rocks scraping together than fluid language.

The Mandalorian chucks a bounty puck onto the table, the name and alien visage of Rathos Craaf glowing in a blue cone of projected light.

“Go quietly or don’t - it makes no difference to me.” 

“Ahh,” Rathos Craaf hums in his throat and leans back in his seat, making your demure form more visible to the bounty hunter. “What’s the price?”

The Mandalorian again does not dignify a response. 

“Can’t be greater than what I’m willing to pay,” Rathos insinuates. 

The tense silence eats through your body as the ruthless men stare at each other - the probability of oncoming violence ratcheting up.

“Go prepare my ship,” your master barks suddenly at you, raising his hand.

Flinching, you scoot around the U-shaped booth to obey. 

You weren’t always a slave. As a child on Kenari, you had been born into a world of vivid green, rippling blue, and rich, brown soil. Trained in both hunting and fighting from birth, you had been too young to save your village from the brutal relocation program of the Empire. 

Dispersed onto harsher worlds, you’d been sold from one slaver to another until finally coming into the collection of one Rathos Craaf. He has been your master for several years by this point, and while not the worst, he was close. 

“What will you do about the girl?” A modulated voice asks.

Pausing on the edge of the hard bench, you look between the two antagonists. Me?

“Who cares about the mudscuffing girl? Tell you what, I’ll sell her to you.” The crafty Trandoshan gets an even better idea: “Or - take her in exchange for the bounty. She’s considered top-tier sentient property.” 

“Not what I was asking,” a gloved hand thumbs his blaster. “Once you’re in carbonite, wh-”

The Trandoshan lunges up from his seat with a booming yell, launching at the cloaked, beskar-free neck of the Mandalorian. Rathos’ claws reach around the smaller man’s throat, but the Mandalorian is lighter of foot, ducking out of the hold. 

Off-balance, Rathos tumbles but rolls back on his feet, his scaly tail acting as a counterweight. Gasps and mutters spill from the crowd as people scramble out of harm’s way.

You remain seated in the booth, frozen and unsure. But then, as the silver bounty hunter aims his blaster, Rathos whips his tail into the Mandalorian’s legs, knocking him with a clang onto his back. 

The blaster goes skittering through the crowd, and you’re shocked to find your legs racing after it. 

The thunder of a powerful flame roars in the cavernous room as you weave through aliens and humans alike, searching. The blackness of the blaster appears on the gray floor and you dive for it. 

Cold steel excites your skin. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, and though you’ve never fired one, your ancient muscle memory remembers the feeling of a bow in your hands; the trajectory, strength, and steadiness necessary. 

Sprinting back through the crowd, you find Rathos pinning the Mandalorian’s chest. The solid armor prevents any of Rathos’ blows from truly hurting the bounty hunter, but the weight of the lizard is too awkward and great for him to shove away from this angle. 

The fire-throwing vambrace comes up again and, as it billows into the Trandoshan’s face, you fire a blast at the substantial tail that had once been used against you. 

Rathos bellows in pain, tumbling to the side, and the Mandalorian takes full advantage. He jumps to his feet, then connects his fist to his quarry's skull, rendering the creature unconscious. Binders clasp around the arms of your master and the successful bounty hunter staggers backward a single step to catch his breath. 

You freeze at what you’ve just done, the blaster still pointed at Rathos. People murmur, and the words, “Killed by his slave” can be heard, though he is only unconscious. Your chest heaves, far more out of breath than the Mandalorian walking toward you.

“Thank you,” he says drily, taking his blaster out of your hands. 

Unsure what else you should do, you follow your master as he is dragged without dignity along the smooth fogstone floor. 

Exiting the casino, snaking down an alley, and traipsing to the outskirts of the city limits, the silhouette of a ship against the orange horizon becomes visible. 

Neither you nor the Mandalorian have spoken a single word since he took the blaster from your hands, but as he presses a button on his vambrace to lower the loading ramp, he turns to you now.

“Grab his tail." 

An order. That you could do. You immediately grab Rathos’ tail and lift. The Mandalorian half-drags and half-lifts the Trandoshan by his cuffed hands and the lizard is loaded into the ship’s hold. 

Standing at the far end of the Mandalorian’s rather busted ship, you’re surprised to see a small, green being. Dressed in what must be a sack, its long ears perk up and its eyes glimmer at the sight of the bounty hunter. A happy coo reverberates in the quiet, metal space. 

The child looks at you and makes another, similar noise. It waddles toward you, but before you can react, the Mandalorian scoops the child into his arms and sequesters it behind a thin blast door. 

“You are free to go.” 

It’s an odd statement. He must be familiar with the underworld. He knows how slaving works.

You’re not sure when you last spoke; you weren’t allowed to speak. But the bounty hunter seems to expect a reply. 

“I am not. The law says I am to be returned to the slavers’ coalition for repurchase.” Your voice is scratchy from disuse and the helmeted man tilts his head in curiosity. 

“You won't run?”

It seems too monumental a task. Hopes and fears trip over each other in their efforts to be heard. Freedom. Finding a place to call home. Your family was long dead. But… maybe there was hope of a family somewhere.

Where would I even go? No way I could stay ahead of the slavers. They’d send hunters like this Mandalorian after me. I’d be worse off than I am now.

“I do not know if I can,” you whisper honestly. 

The Mandalorian looks at you - at least, you think he does - for so long that you begin to squirm under his gaze.

Without warning, the wind is knocked from you. Rathos’ tail slams into the back of your knees, crumpling you to the floor. His claws wrap around your neck, and you yell, plunging two fingers into his lidless eye.

“Traitorous shutta!” Spittle from your master flies onto your cheeks.

As he recoils from your jab, you squirm underneath him, trying to flee, when the weight on your chest vanishes in a rush of air. Coughing and wiping your face, you lie there momentarily until your throbbing pulse abates inside your head. You sit up and widen your eyes to hasten their focus.

The Mandalorian has the Trandoshan by the throat with both hands. Rathos sputters and gags, but you watch as gloved fingers dig harder into the scaly throat. The anonymous man shoves his quarry into the carbon freezing chamber and smashes the button with more force than necessary. 

It's over. 

When you woke in the dark that morning, never would you have expected to watch your master be frozen in carbonite aboard a bounty hunter's ship.

That bounty hunter turns to you now. 

“I have something I need to do. I’ll give you passage if you provide assistance.” 

________________________________

Crossing your arms, tucking your legs under your body, and leaning against the hull in your seat, you try to make yourself as small as possible. You wouldn’t have even climbed up here if the Mandalorian hadn’t indicated that you should.

He wanted to keep an eye on you. He did not trust you around the kid - despite (or perhaps because of) its interest in you. 

Moments after leaving the planet’s atmosphere, a new emotion bubbles in your chest: elation. The stars flow by in a technicolor kaleidoscope; hues and shapes you have never seen race past your eyes. It’s beyond anything you could have imagined. 

“Has it always looked like this?” You wonder to yourself.

You jump when a deep, electronic voice answers, “Yes.” 

“Oh,” you murmur, realizing he had been watching you. “I’ve never seen hyperspace. I was kept in the hold,” you state without self-pity.

The Mandalorian lets that terrible fact hang in the air before eventually saying,“I recommend you get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Mid Rim.” 

He turns away from you and folds his arms. The muffled clang of his helmet tipping back against the headrest tells you that he will be taking his own advice.

Interestingly, you feel safe enough to get some rest. Being constantly attuned to the temperamental wills and whims of others, you've become a great judge of character. 

This Mandalorian, though quiet, is clearly capable of kindness to those who deserve it. A rarity for someone in his profession. 

___________________________________

The blue cone glows in his hand, projecting the face of one ugly slug. The name at the bottom, written in a language you had been forced to learn, reads: Salaa the Hutt.

Fearful eyes flick up to the veiled Mandalorian, “A Hutt?”

The helmet nods, “You will be my way in.” You make a whimpering noise, but the bounty hunter continues. “You’re a slave on the run. I will be returning you for a small reward.”

Crushing disappointment deflates your body. Believing yourself to have been wavering between freedom and the life you had known, you realize, now that the decision was being made for you, that you’d chosen freedom. Further adding to your pain is your misjudgement of the Mandalorian. 

I’d have never made it to freedom - far too naive. Thought a karking bounty hunter was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. Unbelievable.

Still, to your credit, you take several steps back, almost as though you might try to outrun the nimble, strong bounty hunter with a kriffing jetpack, of all things. You’re proud of yourself for even thinking about doing it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t react. He pockets the puck and opens his weapons cache on the hull wall. He lifts a small item from the assortment and shuts the doors. You can’t see what it is, and he doesn’t return to you. 

He opens the blast door to the child’s tiny room. The baby snores in his bungalow, and the ever-fascinating Mandalorian rubs the green, fuzzy head before closing the door. He turns and strides toward you.

You take one more step backward, just because you can. Because you should.

He still says nothing. Closer, and closer, the armored man advances on you until you can see your nervous eyes in his breastplate.

“Give me your wrists.” 

Is his voice naturally that persuasive or is it the vocoder?

Overriding your fledgling autonomy, you obey him with a preprogrammed respectful nod. He clasps binders around your wrists.

The Mandalorian steps away to retrieve another weapon, then he lifts his chin toward the boarding ramp. 

Shouldn't you at least try to gain freedom? Beg him to let you go? 

“Please, I can try to pay you,” this is a lie and he knows it. “Or I could work off the debt of transport. Something!”

It’s the loudest your voice has been in living memory, and it both surprises and emboldens you. But the Mandalorian does not seem swayed. 

“Walk,” he orders.

You minutely shake your head twice. It means nothing to him, but everything to you. 

An electronic sigh, then he takes a single step toward you. Fear switches you back into the subservient girl of the last twenty years. You flinch, your manacled hands blocking your face. 

The Mandalorian falters, slightly abashed. “I am not going to hurt you. But you need to start walking.” 

Slowly, you lower your hands. His gloved fingers curl around your bicep, and he leads you out into the sunny air.

It’s a hot day on Niamos. The beachside resort that serves as the capital city is teeming with families of all species bathing in the muggy air. The sandstone path that Mando - that’s what everyone calls them, right? - parades you down is packed with beachgoers. Embarrassed by your plight, you try to hide the binders, but it’s impossible with the angle he holds your arm. 

Finding another gust of will, you reason, “Surely you could find a way inside without turning me in? You’re good at your job. You could've killed my m-”

“Salaa angered powerful people. There is a bounty on him and it’s higher if he’s dead.

“What does that mean?”

“He's careful. Employs expensive security. Easiest way in is through the front door,” Mando finishes. 

Mando’s leathery hold on your arm is soft. Unyielding, of course, but he doesn’t hurt you. It saddens you to realize how different that is from your usual treatment. He had still binded you and planned on turning you in, but hey! At least he wasn’t going to leave a bruise.

Directing you down a narrow alley, the Mandalorian stops in front of a tan-colored, generic shield door. He raps twice on it, standing casually still. If he feels you shaking, he says nothing about it.

A Yaka man is standing behind the door when it opens with a whoosh. His metal implants reflect the sun and you squint. Behind him are another two Yaka and a particularly menacing-looking Zabrak, all armed with pulse rifles. 

“We ain't buyin'," he slurs.

“I'm here to claim the slave reward.” 

The Yaka stares at the impenetrable, T-shaped slit in the silver helmet, scrutinizing, before stepping aside. Mando guides you ahead of him, then you hear the spur-like sound of his step over the threshold. The close quarters are sweltering, and sweat beads on your temple.

“This way,” the Yaka servant veers to the right and up a steeply inclined hallway. The other members of the security team follow behind you.

The Mandalorian’s thumb slides over your skin. You would give it more thought if a wide, dingy room wasn’t quickly coming into view. 

On the second floor, a muted, sparsely furnished area overlooks the residence across the street, and the beach beyond. However, you can’t see the view because the balcony is being taken up by a massive, blob-like shape, and a tall, spiky silhouette.

“Ahh,” the huge shape speaks, and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful you speak Huttese. “What is this?” 

Bowing, the Yaka guard explains, “This Mandalorian has returned a loose slave.” 

He grabs for your arm, but you lurch when Mando pulls you out of reach, warning, “Careful. She killed her master before fleeing." 

The bodyguard recoils as though you personally threatened him. He steps away, waiting for actual instruction from his boss. The green Rodian next to Salaa tuts in his sour voice.

Deciding it was best not to speak, you raise your chin with dignity as Mando drops his hand from your arm.

“Why do you return her here?” Salaa the Hutt inquires. “Surely you know that I have been removed from my associations. Including the slavers.”

“I am here for information,” Mando drops the ruse completely, his voice calm.

“Information,” the Hutt laughs horribly. “I have much of that, pateesa. What do you wish to know?”

“You should ask what I have to trade first.”

“Hmm. You do not wish to trade the girl, I hope. Must be better than that,” the slimy giant slug laughs derisively.

You don’t even bristle. Worse things had been said to you daily. 

The green, mohawked Rodian chuckles. Though you do not understand his language, the human bounty hunter does: “She is too sad-looking to be any fun. Pity.” The reptilian-looking male then makes a vile comment about what he can see through your ratty, loose clothing.

The Mandalorian's eyes narrow, and his right hand drifts toward his hip of its own accord.

“Make your offer, Mandalorian.”

“If you provide the information I need, I won’t claim the ten-thousand-credit bounty on your head.”

That horrible, bulging laugh bursts from the ex-crime boss once more, hurting your ears in its pitch and volume. 

“Far too aggressive, Mandalorian. I decline.”

Salaa’s stubby arm motions at the armed security who raise their rifles at the two of you. 

While you freeze in terror, the Mandalorian stills in focus. Faster than a hyperdrive, he clenches his fist. Miniature rockets whistle through the tense air, eliminating all three bodyguards; the angry Zabrak, the mouthy Rodian, and the blubbery Salaa remain.

The Mandalorian draws his blaster, pushing you behind him, and fires from his hip as the Zabrak guard begins to raise his modified arm. What type of weapon it held, you’ll never know because he falls to the ground, dead, before he can use it.

The Rodian darts away from Salaa, circling the room. To you, it seems as though he is intending to flee, not fight, but the Mandalorian fires a laserblast at his bug-eyed head, dropping him.

Mando calmly swivels his blaster to Salaa. 

Resigned, the Hutt slimily states, “Ask what you wish to know, pateesa.”

“I have been told that you have seen another Mandalorian. Where?”

“Ahh, that is all? I have seen one here.”

“On Niamos?” So surprised, Mando forgets to keep the tone from his voice.

“A beskar-covered man does not go unnoticed on a planet filled with water-bathers,” Salaa laughs again. You visibly wince.

“Where?” 

“Where else? Water’s Edge.” 

Mando twists his head toward the opposite window as if he could see his fellow Mandalorian from here. He holsters his weapon and turns to leave. 

“Those Yaka were expensive guards, pateesa,” the Hutt grumbles ominously.

“You paid too much.”

He returns his hold on your arm, pushing you forward. Marching awkwardly down the sloping halfway, you try to make sense of his actions.

Your face screws up in confusion, “You didn’t turn me in or claim the Hutt’s bounty. You're earning no credits.”

That’s the defining feature of a bounty hunter.

The silence lengthens as you reach the ground floor, and hurriedly exit the sandstone building. As you soak in the blistering sunshine, the hand on your arm turns you to face him. The Mandalorian’s quick fingers remove your binders. 

“That’s it?” You rub your wrists even though he had left them on the loosest setting.

“Passage for assistance,” he reminds you. 

He then nods once and takes his leave. For an interminable length of time, you watch as he calmly walks away, breaking only when he turns down an alley and is lost from sight.

 What the hell do I do now?

__________________________________

The new day is growing late. Din Djarin basks in the heat of the single sun. For being one of those odd planets without plural light sources, the strength of the lone sun is incredible. Din much preferred the scorching, arid planets to the ice-covered ones, and Niamos is perfect. The breeze gently carries through his light flight suit, while the sun warms whatever dark material is visible around the beskar. 

While Din feels more comfortable in this climate, heat signatures can be a little bit more difficult to read. He had managed to track a faint heat signature around Water’s Edge. The day before, immediately after speaking with Salaa, Din had come to check the place out, but his quarry had left some hours previously and he had lost the trail.

Din enters the establishment for the second time in as many days. Inside is a large, open floor with dining tables set out across the expanse. High society clinks glasses as they wait for the next act to grace the small stage. Din surveys the room, switching between heat sensors and normal vision, before concluding that the Mandalorian he searches for is beyond the far wall. 

Heads turn and stare as Din, strutting as if he belongs, makes his way to the unobtrusive doorway next to the stage. A Mandalorian stands out here. This was a place for people who employed bounty hunters, not those whom they hunt. Din slides the door open, and he is greeted by a dark hallway.

Light spills from a room to his right. Din flips on his heat sensor again, and presses his lips together in satisfaction when the heat signature picks up.

Rounding into the room with confidence, Din observes everything at once.

A large mirror, complete with lights, sits above a desk. A rack of clothing stands lonely in the far corner. And on a stool in front of the mirror sits a Mandalorian, their flaky, blue-painted armor having seen better days.

“My name is Din Djarin,” he announces. “I have been tasked with finding other Mandalorians in order t-” 

“Oh, my stars!” The Mandalorian squeals. The helmet is removed by purple hands, and a humanoid species stares in awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet a Mandalorian. I- I do this character because I just love your culture so much.” 

Blinking behind his helm, Din confirms what he's already becoming sure of, “That armor you wear - it is not real beskar.”

“What? This stuff?” The actor scoffs. “This is expensive paint and cheap wetboard.” He stands up, advancing unwisely on the real Mandalorian. “Can I ask you some questions? I’ve got a real opportunity here to elevate my perfor-” 

Din backs out of the room in a single, fluid motion, punching the button for the door. 

He sighs.

***

A blaster shot turns the corner of the building Din had just walked past into dust and debris. He spins, drawing his own blaster, expecting to see the Empire itself. Instead, a young human bounty hunter stands there, nervously fumbling with her jammed blaster. The Mandalorian rushes her, pinning her by the collarbone against the alley wall. 

"Bounty?”

Terrified, she nods and whispers, “Yes.” 

"Who contracted it?" 

She wheezes from under Din’s forearm, “Don't know. It's open Rim-wide for now. Just told to kill you and the girl.”

Under his helm, Din’s brow pinches. “The girl?”

The wide-eyed woman shrugs, again in the dark. If this inexperienced bounty hunter managed to track him down already, it's likely another has found you. Din releases the woman roughly and rockets up into the sky.

_______________________________

The sights and sounds of the beach are incredible. The late-daylight is deliciously warm as it touches your skin through the holes in your clothing. You sit on the top step of the tiered beach area, staring out at the water as you try to come up with a plan of action. Having slept on a lounge chair last night, you’re nearly grateful for the decades of poor lodging training your body. 

The sky is hazy, but the flash of sunlight glinting off of something tiny flying far above has you twisting your head and squinting. Unable to make out the object, you return your attention to the ocean and ignore it. 

From behind you, a voice calls your name and you automatically turn.

As you stare down the barrel of the blaster pointed at you, you remember no one should know your name here.

"Let's go," the bounty hunter tells you.

It's a woman with red skin and long, blue, braided hair. Etches in her cheeks make her bone structure look even sharper. 

You frown. What you’d told the Mandalorian had already been proven correct. You weren't able to run. 

Resignedly standing to your feet, you take a step, but go stumbling forward as the woman kicks your back.

Your second foreign emotion of the last twenty-four hours sparks in your chest, glowing as hot as the sun above. 

"Hey! I was going," you glare.

"Move faster, scum," she orders. 

You continue walking, your eyes scanning for something, anything, to get you out of this.

Ahead on the right is a large crowd of vendors and their customers. If you can duck through them, maybe you can lose the blue-haired madwoman behind you. 

A cold, circular shape presses between your shoulder blades as you march, and your bravery starts to fail. If you make a single wrong move, you'll be shot before you even get to the crowd. 

Just do it - better to die now than live as a slave.

The crowd swells as a school trip pours out from a nearby museum. Your confidence rises at the sight of the increasingly busy, confusing horde.

Closer. So kriffing close.

The female bounty hunter cries out suddenly as a blaster shot scalds her arm. She defensively spins, kicking out powerfully behind her.

A large species you're unfamiliar with, tall and teal, is thrown sideways with the force of the kick. The competing bounty hunter recovers into a crouch and shoots at your captor, hitting her in the chest.

With a violent exhale, she falls. Too busy sprinting into the crowd, you do not hear her final, pathetic breath. 

Weaving, keeping ducked and hidden, you whisper a constant stream of 'excuse me.' You don't want to push anyone, knowing a reaction from an offended beach-goer could give away your position. 

The unblinking bounty hunter, your newest enemy, stands tall above much of the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to spot your trail. 

Thundering forward, happily shoving people you had so politely passed, he roars. Fear ices your stomach.

The sound of a sputtering jetpack drowns out the noise of the people. Never breaking stride, you search for the source of another bounty hunter. 

I know I’m a runaway slave who assaulted her master before turning him into a carbonsicle but, banthashit, is the price on my head really that high?

The massive hunter gains on you, and just as you clear the other side of the crowd, you gasp, pained, when he snatches your hair. You whirl, packing all of your strength into your right fist. Your blow lands on the creature’s lower jaw, which seems to be two pink tubes, and it wails grotesquely. 

The grip on your hair loosens and you rip away, but the much larger creature lunges for you again. It pulls you upward by your shirt this time, and you scream. Kicking out, your foot knocks a breath from the ugly bounty hunter, but it does not release you.

Staring at you with shallow black eyes, it speaks in a language you don’t understand, but the intonation is clearly a question. 

Gasping, you boldly say, “Let go of me and I’ll tell you.” 

The creature seems to understand Basic because his three-fingered hand leaves your shirt. 

Before you get a chance to make up a lie, the hulking bounty hunter vanishes in a flash of silver. Your head snaps in the direction of travel, and a trail of exhaust follows. 

A hundred yards away, the jetpack flares out and the two fall to the ground in a tumble of fighting. A strangled laugh exits your mouth. 

From bigger fish to bigger fish. Eventually the biggest fish would win and come after you.

The sound of the ugly creature roaring ends abruptly with a choked grunt. You push your legs hard as you run. The doorway to a cantina catches your eye as an intoxicated human stumbles out, and you rush past him. 

Inside the dark, clamorous, smoky business, you slide into the booth furthest from the door, hoping that neither hunter saw you duck in. Panting heavily, you tell the droid waitress you’d like a bit of spotchka. You’ve never had it, but you’ve seen how relaxed and brave it makes people and that sounds wonderful right about now.

The circular cantina door slides open and the silhouette of a tall, broad Mandalorian is outlined by the glaring sun. You can’t tell what color or condition his armor is in, but your stomach clenches all the same. It had been an entire revolution of the planet since your Mandalorian had left, so it can't be him.

Wonder if he found his friend, you think about his ten-thousand-credit question for the Hutt. Must’ve been quite a reunion if it was worth that much. 

Shrinking back against the wall of your booth, you shift completely out of sight and pray to whatever Ancient is listening that the stories about their helmets’ capabilities are exaggerations. 

The droid waitress sets your pretty blue drink on the table without comment, for which you’re grateful. You don’t think your voice works.

Clinking metal is audible despite the volume of the rowdy bar. The sound gradually grows louder as he approaches your booth.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian has his hands on his hips, and though you cannot see his face, you’re certain he looks like a disapproving parent.

“I- what?” You squeak, completely confused by his question. And why he's here.

He moves to sit down across from you, and your nerves flare.

“Why are you still here?” He asks the same question you want to ask him.

“Where was I supposed to go? I have no credits.”

“There is work available on this planet.” 

You pause, unhappy to give away just how out of your depth you are, “You mean paid employment? I’m not familiar with the process."

The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, he simply stares at you until you break your stare first. 

Looking down at the grimy table, you trace a piece of graffiti with your finger and whisper, “Thank you.” 

Mando shifts his head in askance.

“For saving me from the slave hunter.”

“He wasn’t a slave hunter.” Mando’s helmet tips down to where the bright blue liquid sits on the table. “You going to drink that?” 

You shake your head, too self-conscious now. 

“Good.”

He slides out from the booth and motions for you to walk ahead of him. 

________________________________

Standing in the bay of the Mandalorian’s ship once more, you engage in a staring contest with the little green baby as it sits on the floor. Its ears move like he’s listening to Mando speak on his holocall above in the cockpit, but its eyes remain on you.

You’ve always liked children. While they could be blunt, they were kind to you and other slaves because they hadn’t yet learned any differently. 

“How old are you?” You ask softly.

In your experience, children prefer to be spoken to as one would an adult, so you refrain from the baby-voice that springs to the surface when you look at the adorable infant. 

He tilts his ears toward you. 

“You’re pretty cute." The baby coos, then babbles once.

“You really are cute. And you seem highly intelligent. Have you been with the Mandalorian long? He seems to pick up strays easily,” you smile warmly. 

The child awkwardly gets to its feet, toddling toward you. Remembering how quickly Mando had taken the child away when it last interacted with you, you slowly move backward toward the ladder. You don’t know if it's dangerous. Maybe the cuteness is a front.

A gurgling noise, as if it’s trying to tell you something, breaks from its little mouth. He raises his hand, pointing, and you whirl.

The Mandalorian is but a few feet away, watching. 

How the kark did he get down the ladder so quietly?

“I’m sorry,” you don’t know what you’re apologizing for. 

Mando strides around you and crouches to pick up the baby, “We're leaving this planet. I won't have enough fuel to get across the galaxy, but there is a job a few systems over."

He cradles the child so gently that it makes your heart ache. 

Who is this guy?

The child in his arms makes grabby hands at his helmet, so he tenderly sets it back down. Mando heads back toward the cockpit, indicating you should follow. 

Up the ladder, sitting once again in the same seat, you keep your eyes on the Mandalorian as he begins the lengthy takeoff procedures. 

“The bounty hunter you encountered was not after the slave reward.”

“But she knew my name?” 

“I am referring to the Aqualish you punched.” 

“Oh.”

The Mandalorian does not immediately continue, focusing on his tasks for several minutes. 

“There is a reward out for you,” he flips another switch. “And a bounty.” 

“Both? Why both?” 

“The bounty is secondary. Dependant on you giving them m-”

A panicked, childish cry echoes from below, and you’re only a moment behind the Mandalorian as he leaps down the hatch to the hold.

You gasp in horror as you see the long-eared, big-eyed baby squished in the crook of another kriffing bounty hunter’s arm. The loading ramp closes slowly behind him. He must’ve jumped in at the last moment.

Mando raises his hands, indicating his desire to negotiate. 

“Do not hurt him,” he says. Instead of coming out as a plea, his vocoded words come out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end. 

“Din Djarin, you are wanted for the murder of Senator Nesota’s son. I know your reputation, and therefore do not wish to fight. I’ll release your… this," he nods at the green baby, "when you’re in carbonite. There,” the human bounty hunter nods his head at Din’s own carbon freezer. 

He killed a Senator’s kid?

The child frowns, his ears drooping, and he focuses hard on the bounty hunter. His little hand curls, and the man’s ruddy face turns purple. His eyes grow red and glassy.

Din reacts quickly, drawing his blaster and firing at the hunter’s face. The man falls with a clattering thunk, and the child rolls away, unmoving. 

“No," you cry. "Is he alright?” You start toward the kid, fear in your voice. 

“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian replies, holding his palm up for you to stay back. He reverently lifts the unconscious kid. “He’s just asleep.” 

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin - murdered an important person’s child. And his own kid just choked someone without using its hands? I didn’t inhale spice, did I?

“You killed a kid?” 

Din believes you’re still thinking of the baby in his arms. “I said he’s sleeping.”

“A Senator’s son?”

“Oh. Yes, the Rodian with Salaa.” Din hadn’t known he was the son of a powerful person, but it wouldn’t have mattered. 

Relief floods you once again as your evaluation of the Mandalorian’s character remains intact. After seeing the way he cared for the little green one, how could you have believed he would harm any child? 

“Okay." You return to the wildest topic, "What just happened with your kid?”

Din sighs. This was getting more dangerous than negotiating with a Tusken. He places the kid in his hammock and shuts the door. 

Turning on you, he threatens, “Never speak of him outside this ship.”

“I- I wouldn’t,” you promise, surprised by the fierceness in his voice. 

Din is satisfied. He’d watched you speak to his ward earlier, and the kid seems to like you immensely. But he doesn't solely rely on the kid's opinion. 

The experienced, Mandalorian bounty hunter's own character assessment is top-notch, and he finds that he feels strongly about you. He doesn't categorize or identify the specifics, however.  

The Mandalorian does not ask for your help in removing the dead bounty hunter from his ship, so you look on in silence as he does it alone. He lowers the landing ramp, drags the body to the edge, and watches it roll down unceremoniously. He turns and stalks past you.

“So, where's that job?” 

“The Outer Rim.”

You sigh. “Of course it is.”

__________________________________

The planet blinds you when the Razor Crest launches out of hyperdrive. Brilliantly green, the single sun reflects the vibrant landscape right into your eyes. 

Shielding your face, you venture a question. The Mandalorian had not finished explaining.

"Why is there a bounty on me?" 

Even through the modulator, you can hear his dry tone: "You aided a bounty hunter in entering the Hutt's hideout through false pretenses which ended in the blasting of a Senator's son."

"Right," you frown, slumping in your seat. 

"Don't worry. The bounty on my head is far larger than yours."

You scoff under your breath. So reassuring.

A deep breath, then you postulate, "Is that what the bounty hunter was asking me? About you?" 

Din doesn't respond. He didn't hear the Aqualish's question. He was too busy aiming at its body with his own, but his best guess is yes. 

"That's the reason you saved me," you mutter, oddly dejected.

A loose end. That's what you are.

Din often - almost constantly, actually - appreciated his helmet for the freedom it gave him to show any emotion at any time. No need to worry about a convincing poker face when no one could see it.

"You could have told them where my ship was."

"Except I thought you'd flown away the day before," you argue, saddened that he thought you would’ve talked. 

Of course, he didn't know you, and he had a child to protect, but it still stings. 

"Why not just kill me?" You wonder seriously.

You're a liability. Two separate prices on your head? The Mandalorian's easiest solution is obvious. A slave of no importance, no one would put a bounty on his head for your death.

Din Djarin's armor clanks as he spins the chair a quarter-turn toward you and he cocks his head. 

"I don't want to die," you read his body language correctly. "But I don't understand you." 

The Mandalorian silently returns to his piloting duties as he nears the lush planet. He does his best to shut his thoughts away, but he stumbles over you again and again. 

Din had rescued you because he didn’t want to see you harmed for his actions with the Hutt. The idea of protecting himself from prying questions had been an afterthought. 

He had flown above the city, looking for your trail. Since you hadn’t moved much, there wasn’t much of a trail to find. Then he spotted the crowd roiling and parting for the violent Aqualish.

When he watched it yank your hair, he felt angry. An emotion he experienced less frequently than many of his friends would believe. Frustration, irritation, sure. But true fury was rare for him.

Not wanting you dead was basic decency, but the anger had been interesting.

On some level, Din knows his emotional responses to you deserve greater scrutiny. But he doesn't have the time nor the energy.

When the Razor Crest lands in a grassy clearing between forest walls, Din rises from his chair and commands, “Stay here. Watch the child.” 

“O-okay,” you agree hesitantly. “What do I do when he wakes up?”

The Mandalorian stares, uncomprehending. 

“You… you don’t do anything for his… condition?”

“I told you he’s fine.” Din thinks for a moment, and remembers there is actually something you should know: “When he wakes up, he might be hungry. Do not let him eat the metal ball on the thruster.”

With that, he climbs down the ladder, and out of sight.

_________________________________

As the fist flies at you, you subconsciously register that your assailant must be right-handed, because this left hook is much sloppier than the other. Or maybe it's because his left arm is still human.

Ducking, you escape the jab and slam your palm-sized stick into the quarry's metal shins. He doesn’t react except to kick your thigh. You cry out, knowing it will bruise if you survive this.

The blaster you had taken from the Mandalorian’s cache lies just out of reach. The silver gleam is stark against the rich soil of the forest floor.

Enraged, the cyborg quarry leaps at your hunched form, knocking you flat. Surprised by his speed, you forget to keep hold of the heavy branch you use as a weapon. 

The growling man rips the stick from your hands and slams it against your throat like a vise, choking you, “Die, wretch.”

You turn your head to the side, providing yourself with a precious moment of air before the quarry shifts to cut that escape route off, too. 

Swinging your leg up, you kick him in the back of the head, pushing him forward. You take the opportunity to headbutt him - thankful that his head is still completely human - and he falls sideways. Right next to your blaster. 

You snatch up your wooden weapon, but it's too late.

He laughs mechanically as he grabs the blaster, swinging it at you. “Too late, sweetheart.”

Panting, you don't raise your hands. If he's going to kill you, he'll do it when you charge him. 

You take a step and the sound of a laserblast ricochets through the trees. 

The creature cries out, dropping the weapon, his arm useless at his side. Wires spark from the elbow joint that had been blown away.

"Found you," the Mandalorian says flatly, his blaster pointed at the machine.

The metal man lunges but Din fires again - hitting the quarry in what should be its gut. It doubles over, groaning, then topples, fighting for labored breath. 

He must still have lungs underneath, you shudder.

Still trying to catch your own breath, you gasp, "How-" 

"Heard the fight. You were supposed to stay on the ship," his voice turns scolding.

Clenching your jaw, you finally find a steady breath. You had stayed on the ship. This piece of space junk had broken inside through the cockpit window.

As you sat in the hold, dutifully watching the kid, the sound of glass shattering alerted you that it was not Din who was back so soon. You had snatched up the baby, touching him for the first time with no concern about his potential dangers, locked him in the little room, and ripped a small blaster from the Razor Crest’s weapons cache. 

You crouched at the far end of the hold, against the closed boarding ramp, waiting, uncomfortably far from the child. 

A cyborg, more spidery-droid than man, with a human head and fleshy left arm had come skittering down, bypassing the ladder completely. Unwilling to chance a blaster shot going through the baby’s door, you hit the button on the landing ramp and scrambled out.

The forest. It was your home. Your element. If there was any chance you could kill it, to prove to yourself that you could survive this life - it was then and there.

Of course, you hadn't expected the quarry to get your blaster.

"I tried," you breathe as Din binds the still-groaning quarry. 

The helmet turns to face you, understanding. "He entered the ship?”

You nod, and Din stands bolt-upright, his head whipping in the direction of the Razor Crest.

“It’s fine,” you assure him pointedly, walking with your hand outstretched toward the worried Mandalorian. You remember your promise not to speak of the child, “Your ship is fine. Knew you'd hate it if he trashed the thing, so I ran out here.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes his broad shoulders, and your heart tugs once again. 

"Thank you," Din says with hidden feeling. 

His sincerity wedges a lump in your throat. 

He really loves that little guy.

Din turns and snatches the connector between the binders, pulling the quarry. Its metal feet dig trenches as it tries to stall, but the Mandalorian is far too strong.

Somehow, it's the first time you've truly noticed. Din is extremely strong. Is it the suit? 

Can't be. It's just metal and fabric. 

The realization might as well be a thunderbolt to your brain. Your assailant must weigh as much as a land speeder, and here your bounty hunter was carting him along like a sack of starfruit.

An unfamiliar feeling, something like hot, sharp sparks shoot through your stomach. Your eyes follow the Mandalorian as he makes his way back to the Razor Crest. 

Is this attraction? You’ve never experienced it. Far too busy surviving, wanting someone in that way is a foreign concept to you. You roll your eyes at yourself. Din Djarin, a kriffing Mandalorian bounty hunter is not going to look twice at a slave, and it's best to kill those feelings before they take root.

***

Across the large clearing, at the ship, the bounty hunter waits patiently while the boarding ramp lowers.

“She yours?” The quarry asks curiously, his voice wheezing. "You orbited me like a karking moon, but as soon as I go after her, you come runnin’.” It laughs. 

The cyborg doesn't expect a verbal answer; he wants a reaction.

Din turns his head slowly with a cold warning, “I would advise you to stop speaking.”

“I damaged her pretty good for you. Might wanna che-” his taunting words end in a pained grunt when Din slams his fist into the man’s cruel mouth. 

Surprised by the sudden violence, you inhale sharply. Din hadn’t knocked the thing unconscious, so what was the point of that? 

The Mandalorian hauls the creature up the ramp and shoves him into the carbon freezer. 

“Should’ve killed me,” the cyborg threatens with a laugh as he freezes into a solid mass.

Din turns to face you and asks in a low voice, “Are you injured?”

The rush of adrenaline you had been riding on slowly fades, and you remember the only blow you’d received had been the one to the side of your thigh. Your hand falls to it, feeling the area through your tattered pants. 

A small amount of blood comes away on your fingers. 

“Oh,” you murmur. 

You pull up the ripped, baggy material, exposing your entire leg. The skin had split with the force of the blow, but there’s no serious damage and it would heal on its own. 

The cyborg must’ve been trying to unnerve us. Or distract the Mandalorian? Maybe he thought Din would check right away, you almost laugh aloud at the ridiculous idea.

Din, for his part, really wishes you would let your pant leg fall. It’s insane, it makes no sense to him. Millions of people walked around in far, far less clothing than you, and Din never reacted like this. 

But here you stand before him, slowly checking out the inch-long cut on your mid-thigh, and the Mandalorian can’t tear his eyes away. 

When you look up at the helmet of Din Djarin, he fixes his face as though you could actually see the way his lips had parted. You fleetingly, timidly, smile at him and, miraculously, let go of the flowy pant leg. 

Released from the spell, Din exhales and makes his way to the child’s room. 

“You can use the refresher to clean that, if you’d like.” He does not look at you as he speaks. 

“Is the baby okay?” 

Din need not answer as the child himself murmurs in happiness at the sight of the two of you. To Din’s abject shock, the kid lifts his hands toward you. 

You laugh once, flattered. “Can I?” 

Din simply turns sideways so that you can fit between him and the hull wall. You reach for the child and it snuggles into your arms, touching your chin. 

A brilliant smile lights your face. 

“Are we friends now?” You whisper to him. 

The baby babbles a response you’ll take as an affirmative. 

“I’ve not asked. What’s his name?” You turn your still-smiling face up to Din. 

Again thanking the Mythosaur for his helmet, he stares, stuck on your glowing expression as you cradle his ward. His brown eyes swim with an emotion he’s never felt. 

“I don't know.” 

Taken aback, you realize that there is a far deeper story here.

Did he steal this baby?

You move on quickly, “What do you call him?”

Din shrugs. “Kid.”

The child makes a cooing sound, then reaches for the Mandalorian. You hand the baby to his stoic guardian, and your smile changes to a satisfied one. 

“He looks like he belongs there,” you laugh. Then your eyebrows pull together as you regret the too-comfortable comment.

He’s a bounty hunter, a killer, and he may or may not have stolen this fuzzy, long-eared infant. 

And you’re just a runaway slave. 

You back up a step, feeling awkward now. “You said I could use the ‘fresher?” 

Din simply nods his head in the direction of the tiny facility.

When you've shut the door, Din's body relaxes. 

                               ***

But not for long. He didn't account for the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and the sound of the sonics. You are steps away, unclothed, and some wild instinct inside him awakens. Ashamed, he sets the child back in the hammock and climbs up to the cockpit to relieve himself. 

_________________________________

The planet is purple. Dark and cloudy, the yellow, green, and blue street lights cast strange shadows. Neon signs of every shade flash from every corner. You've been to thousands of cities like this one. An underworld. 

The Mandalorian landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts despite there being a busy spaceport made for that purpose. He transported the carbonite body of the cyborg to the edge of the city where he was met by some anonymous creature in a cloak. He asked no questions. 

Din had entrusted you with the care of the child. He directed you and the kid to go on ahead to one of the less-reputable inns. The worse-looking, the better. People were more likely to mind their business. 

You've found the perfect one. Din wanted seedy, he was getting the seediest. After all, most of your tasks as a slave had been spent in this environment since your masters hated to be seen in them. 

But seedy didn't always mean crumbling and derelict.

Din, having tracked the child's chain code, returns later that night. His eyebrows rise at the size of the room.

"I said find an inconspicuous place to hide. You got the emperor's suite," he places his hands on his hips. 

There are technically three rooms: the main living space, complete with couch, table, and a space to prepare food; and two small bedrooms both on the same side of the building.

"It was their only available room. Trust me, this place is as disreputable as they come. And he didn't upcharge," you rise from the couch. "If that was what you were worried about. I… made a deal with the clerk." 

Din advances on you, "A deal?" His voice is tight.

"I didn’t involve you. I promise." 

The Mandalorian clenches his teeth. Anything involving you, involves him. 

"The kid?" 

You tilt your chin across the apartment and laugh, "He wanted the room with all the toys.” 

Din disappears into the room, and you chuckle at how long the child had been fascinated by the weird sculptures inside. 

A low, rasping voice travels from the open door, "Hey, kid. Missed you, too."

Your smile deepens and your heart swells with emotion toward the two of them. Though they are not your family, it's comforting to watch them be one.

The modulated voice sounds again with a short laugh, "She can't hear you. Do you want her?" 

You shake your head fondly, the kid had been babbling and reaching for you every time you set him down. 

After a significant pause, Din softly admits, "I agree. I like her, too."

Flushing with shame for eavesdropping, you move to the far side of the apartment, to another large window. 

Several minutes later, quiet footsteps get louder as Din leaves the child's room and closes the door.

"He tried to lift one of the sculptures," Din scoffs. 

You laugh, picturing the child peacefully sleeping after tiring himself with the effort. It wasn't the first time today. Growing serious, you turn to face the Mandalorian.

"He helped me today. Someone grabbed at me and he… did what he does." 

Din takes two huge strides toward you. "Did anyone see? What happened?" 

"No one saw. It was in a closed alley. I-" you pause in momentary reluctance, then remember who you're talking to. "I took care of it." 

You glance at the blaster on the table that Din had given you earlier that morning.

For the first time in a long time, Din's sigh is one of relief instead of irritation. 

"Thank you," he says. "Again."

You wave him off, "It was between a scumsucker and the kid. Wasn't exactly hard," you try to make light of it. 

Din shakes his head slightly. "I've seen you use a blaster. I'm glad the kid was there," he deadpans.

You exhale in feigned irritation, pleased by his playfulness.

He comes to stand next to you at the open window, and the peaceful silence is companionable. 

As the breeze flutters, you shiver noticeably and his torn, rough cape curls into your ankle. The Mandalorian turns his head to you and reads how low your heat signature is.

Din stalks back to the entryway where he had set down a cloth bag. He snatches it up and brings it over to you. 

"I hope they are acceptable."

Hands outstretched, you freeze as you realize you're being given a gift. You blink and look up, desperately trying to read a face you know you can't. 

"Um, I've never -" you whisper, needing to tell him why you look like you've been struck. "Never had someone give me something."

Inside his beskar armor, Din grimaces. Had he overstepped? It might get even worse when you see how personal the items are. 

He releases his hold on the bag and you open it, pulling out a pair of clothes. They're dark blue, and, while somewhat flowy like your current clothes, these do not have holes, stains, nor bad memories associated. 

And they are a gift from Din Djarin. 

How do you thank him for these? They certainly weren't cheap. The clothing is sturdy but light, beautiful but practical. 

Embarrassingly, tears collect in your eyes.

"Oh, wow," you look up at him, panicking. "I can't take these." It was too much.

Din has an excuse in his arsenal.

"Take it as payment for your help with the kid."

You look back down at the material in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric. 

"Thank you, Din. Really. I- I don't know how to thank you. You have been so kind to me." 

His cheek pulls upward when you say his name for the first time. How sweet it sounds in your mouth. 

"You needed them. These," he waves at the shredded scraps on your frame, "are no longer clothes."

You smile timidly, unused to being treated so well. "I'm going to go take them off and burn them." 

The Mandalorian taps his vambrace. "I have the means when you're ready."

"Thank you again," you murmur, escaping to the refresher.

Din steps to the center of the room and places a hologram disk on the low table.

While you're busy, he's going to figure out how to get out of this.

***

After an actual shower, real water loosening the knots in your muscles, you exhale in pleasure at the feeling of the clean, well-made clothing on your skin. You feel like a person.

It's similar to seeing hyperspace for the first time. It scares you with how good it feels, knowing you’ve missed out on so much. 

You slide open the refresher door to see Din seated on the couch, facing away from you. He sits reclined, his legs spread wide. The Mandalorian hears the door open, but he does not turn. 

Stomach growling, you head to the cold storage near the front door. The box of food you'd bought from a vendor sits on the countertop. You unpack it carefully, still in disbelief you can eat whatever you want.

"Are you hungry?" You call to the Mandalorian as you continue to pull items from the box. 

"You are no longer a slave. You do not have to serve me." The deep, rough voice sounds from right behind you, and you jump in surprise. 

"Dank farrik, you move quietly." 

Din reaches around you for one of the fruits you had purchased with his credits. His nearness has your body tensing, but he backs away almost immediately.

"How do you eat with that on?" You wonder, clearly meaning his helmet.

"I don't," he answers, walking into the other bedroom. 

                          ***

A week passes in that calm hotel apartment. The child provided more than enough entertainment for you, attempting to lift different objects of his desire at random. 

For Din, so used to the child's antics, you are the object of his attention. You brush it off when he stands near you at the window, when he ensures that you have something to eat, and when he silently takes the couch over the comfortable bed. 

But you're unable to ignore his touch.

Just after you wake, the dual suns begin to peek around the tall city buildings. Trying not to wake Din on the couch, you tiptoe to the window in the main room, still enthralled with the city view. You’ve seen cities thousands of times throughout your enslavement, often imagining running away to explore. Now that you have the opportunity, you find that you don’t want to go.

Seated on the bare floor, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch the suns rise, you're wandering down halls of your own thoughts when a voice drifts into your consciousness.

"I will get your bounty lifted." 

Turning your head, Din leans forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees. 

"If that's what you are concerned about."

You shake your head, "I'm not concerned. I think I'm happy." 

You had just come to that conclusion a moment earlier. It's an emotion you don't remember feeling. It's like your lungs are expanding after twenty years of suffocation. 

You look back at the city and smile contentedly, "This is the best my life has been." 

The admission is extremely personal, but you can’t keep it to yourself. It’s liberating. You weren't ready to fight for your freedom when the Mandalorian came for your master, but you are now. 

Din’s footsteps advance on you until he’s standing off to your right. He says nothing. 

After an interminable length of time, wondering what he’s doing, you twist and look up at him. His helmet turns toward the window just as you face him. 

His hands are folded behind him, but a sliver of something flesh-toned is visible. 

Is that his wrist? 

Your stomach drops. His bare skin. It looks warm-toned and soft. You close your eyes and turn away, back toward the window. 

“I am glad,” Din says. 

“About what?” Since it has been several minutes since either of you have spoken, you’re unsure if he’s responding or making a statement. 

He simply looks back down at you as if that answers your question. 

“We’ll be leaving today,” Din continues to study you, appreciating the way the orange dawn lights your face. “You’ve almost drained me of credits with this palace of a hotel.” 

You deny the accusation with a laugh, “I did not. I told you I made a deal.” 

“And you have not told me what that deal was,” he says, a hint of a threat in his tone. 

Din is on edge about your ‘deal.’ The night before, he had gone down to the reception desk to intimidate the clerk about it, but the employee you’d dealt with hadn’t been there.

“I promised you already - it has nothing to do with you or him,” you motion toward the child’s room. “It is not worth your attention.”

Din scowls. “You are also under my charge, and if you’ve placed yourself in danger, I need to be aware of it.” 

Your face snaps up, uselessly trying to make eye contact with him. His charge? Why does your face feel hot at those words?

Finally taking pity on him, you answer, “He was a gambler. I bet him I could win more rounds of sabacc. And I did.” 

The Mandalorian is stock-still. That was all? Din had gotten incredibly worked up over what you could possibly owe this mysterious desk clerk, and all you’d done was a bit of hustling? 

“Why would you not tell me that right away?”

“I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging,” you frown. Din had tasked you with something and you had wanted to complete it with as little fanfare as possible.

“What other skills have you been hiding?” Din’s tone is half-mocking, half-serious. He knows next to nothing about you despite the monopoly you’ve had on his thoughts.

You side-eye him, unsure of his intention. “I can do basic ship repairs. I can speak four languages. I know how to fight.” 

“I am not convinced of that last one.” 

“The cyborg caught me on a bad day,” you protest.

"It was fortunate you were not seriously injured. I wouldn't have the credits for this," he nods his head up at the high ceiling.

For the second time, your head turns to scrutinize him, but he’s as impenetrable as ever. 

"Why not?" 

Din's silver face snaps down to you. "The quarry would not have made it into the carbon freezer."

And as you open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea - a quiet knock raps on the front door. 

Spooked, you whirl so that you face the door, still seated. 

“It’s alright,” Din’s deep, rough voice soothes. 

When he holds out his hand to help you stand, you take it without second thought.

But it wasn’t just a hint of his wrist that you saw - his gloves are completely off. His rough palm slides into your grasp, and his thick fingers close around your hand. 

Eyes widening, you audibly gasp.

Din raises you to your feet with no effort, and you wind up far too close to him. Your breath fogs on his chestplate, and your pulse thrums in your ears.

Too-quickly, his thumb rubs your skin, and then he releases your hand. Do you imagine the sigh he makes as he steps away?

Your eyes are glued to his broad form as he retrieves his gloves from the couch, then heads to answer the door. 

“Should I -?” You whisper.

“Stay,” he says simply. 

It’s unbelievable how one word could affect you. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in front of you. 

***

“As you are well aware, Mandalorian, my esteemed patron was unhappy to hear about her son’s death. However, you are of concern to us for a different reason. If we are able to reward you for your silence regarding where her son was at the time of his unfortunate, accidental death, this business might be put behind us.”

The slimeball flashes her biggest smile at the bounty hunter. 

“What am I being paid to be silent about? The Hutt was banished by the Republic due to his slavery connections. Is the Senator afraid of her choice in friends being known?” 

The emissary smiles nastily. “Let us say that the Hutt is also on my list of individuals to speak with.”

“I require explicit terms regarding this agreement. I am a Mandalorian, I can assure you of my discretion.”

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slavery you overheard between the Senator’s son and Salaa the Hutt, and we shall reward you with twenty-thousand credits to be paid over the course of three months.” 

To your horror, Din rises from the couch and nods his head, saying, “I accept your terms.”

“And what about her?” The emissary wrinkles her nose as she indicates you.

“She is a slave,” the Mandalorian says with harsh finality. 

You physically shrink next to him. He had insisted you remain while they spoke, but now you’re regretting agreeing to it.

The distaste with which he had uttered the word ‘slave’ makes you feel unclean, unwanted. Tears threaten to spill over, and you keep your head down in a familiar, submissive posture in case they do.

The bounty hunter escorts the Twi’lek emissary to the door while you sit, head bowed, on the couch. 

“Senator Nesota will be most appreciative. If you are ever in Coruscant, she would be delighted to have you visit her apartments. They are most grand.” She disapprovingly glances around the hotel room. “I assume you had your slave pick this one.” The emissary briefly places her hand on the Mandalorian’s forearm, “Remember, we are friends now, Din Djarin.”

The helmet saves his entire operation, for Din cannot stop the disgusted scowl that mars his face. This piece of scum uses his name to both threaten and flirt; the difference in his feelings between her saying it and you saying it are blindingly stark.

“I do not have friends. My name is not for your use,” he says evenly as he punches the button for the front door.

The emissary walks away without another word. 

When Din closes the door, he turns back to you with a sense of relief for more than one reason. 

But something is wrong.

“Do you not feel well?”

You shake your head, “I misunderstood something. That’s all.” Your head remains bowed.

“You will not look at me.” 

“I am… embarrassed,” you mutter honestly.

An emotion Din has never experienced or understood, he is at a loss. Instead, he sits across from you and tosses you the recorder.

The small, comm-looking device lands on your lap, and you pick it up, curiously rolling it in your hands. You press the button.

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slav-” 

You stop the device and look up at Din with renewed hope, “You were lying.”

Din leans forward in his seat, “I was not lying. I gave her my word as a Mandalorian. But you didn’t.” 

“That’s a stretch and you know it,” you laugh. 

Din shrugs. The moral reasoning works for him.

“I am to send this recording to the Republic, correct? Get the senator removed from office?” 

“She will no longer have the funds to pay our bounties. They will be considered void.”

Your smile falters. He had done what he promised. 

Din tilts his head, “You’re unhappy about that?”

“It’s not your problem, of course. But I have to deal with the slaver’s reward. And… and I am not sure what I should do, where I should go.”

Really, you’re saddened because there is no longer any reason for you to stay. You wish there was.

The Mandalorian is silent, weighing his choice of words carefully. 

"There is room on the Razor Crest. The kid is fond of you. I can pay you for your services to him. And, occasionally, the ship needs repairs - you can assist me with those.”

“Is this that ‘legal employment’ you told me I needed?” You grin. “I would like that very much.”

“You will need to learn how to fight, though,” he shakes his head, his tone teasing. “The kid can’t save you every time.”

____________________________________

You sit on the hold floor, the child in your arms. Having left the inn rather early, the child is still asleep.

Jostling as Din lands the Razor Crest on a new planet, you slowly stand and place the little lump in his hammock and shut the door. 

The Mandalorian drops down into the hold, passing you and hitting the button for the boarding ramp. Deciding to trust him, you don't ask where you're being taken. 

The answer isn't far. Din stops right at the treeline and hands you the same silver blaster from the previous week's fight with the cyborg. 

"You need to learn to use it." 

"I've done well with a blaster before," you protest. "I shot Rathos." 

"But you didn't shoot the cyborg," you can hear the frown in his deep voice. "Pick a tree."

Nervous to be evaluated by a master of the craft, you hesitate briefly before aiming at a massive trunk a few speeders lengths away.

The plate of his armor brushes against your back as the Mandalorian gingerly sets his heavy hands on your shoulders, straightening them. With his boot, he taps the inside of your foot, indicating you should widen your stance. 

You blink rapidly. Your face flushes with warmth. Why is your heart thundering? Can he hear it? 

He can. 

His own heart rate increases when his helmet's display shows your heat signature rising. Din pushes it further: his leather-covered hands slide down to your waist where he turns you a fraction - completely unnecessarily.

Close enough that, were he unveiled, you could feel his breath, he murmurs, "Fire."

Utterly distracted, you squeeze the trigger as a matter of following his command. The blaster shot continues on through the treetops, singeing leaves. 

Din straightens, his hands leaving your body, and he huffs. 

"You distracted me," you explain. "I can hit it."

You realign the weapon and inhale deeply, releasing on the exhale just as you would with an arrow. 

The tree sizzles as you hit it dead-center. 

Spinning to face him triumphantly, the smile freezes on your lips. 

One of the suns on this planet has begun to drop behind him, and his large frame casts you in shadow. He still hasn't moved away from you. The way his mask is angled toward you makes you believe he's lost in thought. 

"What is it?" You whisper in the tense silence. 

Din feels dizzy. You're a natural with a weapon you'd fired all of three times. Your words cudgel his mind. He had distracted you enough to miss a huge karking tree.

"Do it again." 

You nod and return to the target. Throwing your mind back to your childhood, you once again hit the tree dead-on. 

Weighing the blaster in your hand, you turn back to him and say, "I still prefer wooden weapons. Or at least something resembling a spear." 

"Why is that?" His voice is rough, and his hands find a home on his hips. 

"That's how I grew up," you answer. 

"Okay. Grab one." 

Your mouth drops open in confusion, but he finally leaves your personal space and picks up a slender, twigless branch.

"You can't be serious," you sputter a laugh, certain he had just found a sense of humor. "I'm not fighting you." 

"Why not?"

"Um. Because I can't."

"You can." He holds the stick out toward you.

You stare at him, watchful, as you curl your fingers around it. Din removes a small, cylindrical object from his utility belt. He pumps it once and it unfolds into a thin cane-like weapon. 

"It's been twenty years," you frown. "You're going to win." 

But, when that makeshift spear is in your hand, it all rushes back. The key to winning is in gaining ground. Whatever you do, push your opponent back. So, you launch at him first. 

Only partially surprised by the speed of the typically-timid girl now coming for his throat, Din manages to duck out of the way just in time. But you whirl to the opposite side he expects, and swing your weapon into his helmet. It clangs, and you stand upright.

"I'm sorry!" You react, fearful both from years of mistreatment and not wanting to hurt Din.

He ignores you, swishing his weapon toward your middle, and you jump backward. Hating that you conceded even that little ground, you quickly drop to a crouch and sweep at his knees like Rathos did to you. 

Din rockets upward a few feet, then drops back down on your other side. He swings at you and you parry. 

Dancing for several steps, you eventually land a blow to his ribs where the beskar does not cover. Din's modulated groan makes you feel a rush of two separate emotions. 

You don't want to hurt him, but that sound ignites a heat between your legs.

Din retaliates, kicking his tipless spear into your chest and shoving you backward. He knows your move, now. You don't like giving up ground, so you'll throw yourself at him, arms raised to strike.

When you do exactly as he predicts, he drops his weapon completely, grabbing you around the waist and spinning. He throws you to the ground, coming down on top of you.

You laugh, exhilarated, "Almost."

Something is jabbing your hip, and when you shift to identify it, Din grunts again. Your eyes shoot to his hidden face. 

Under the helmet, Din's brown eyes are blown, pained at how aroused he is. He can't handle much more of this. Your wide eyes and galloping heart match his, but underneath him you look so vulnerable that he feels downright predatory. His stiff length twitches.

Din’s voice is raw, barely contained, "Tell me to stop and I will." His gloved thumbs push your bottoms down.

Speechless, your core pulsing, you nod. 

Din unfastens the material around his middle, pulls his desperate cock from the flight suit, and hastily positions himself against you. Your slick coats him as he drags himself through your folds. He groans through the modulator. 

“Oh,” you gasp when he eases the tip past your entrance.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Din sheaths himself inside you with a determined grunt, his patch of dark curls mingling with yours.  

Your hands try to fist in his flight suit, eyes wide at the incredible feeling of him filling you. His right hand cradles your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, cursing as he does so. 

For the first time in his life, Din resents his helmet; both for the separation from your soft skin, and the heightened senses it gives him. How is he supposed to last when he can see your heart racing, hear your quiet cries as though they’re inside his own head?

In an insufficient compromise, he rips off his gloves. His tan skin is calloused and scarred.

“Yes,” you plead.

Din intertwines his fingers on both hands with yours, hypnotized for a precious second by the intimacy. Reverently, you press a kiss to his knuckles. He makes a wild sound deep in his chest, then plunges your hands above your head. 

Pushing your chest to his, you signal that he can do anything he wants to you. He collects both your wrists in one hand.

Din rhythmically arcs into you, the sound of his body - soaked from your arousal - striking yours nearly driving you insane. When you’d imagined it before, you wondered if looking into the blank face of his helmet might be off-putting, but you find that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s him. If anything, it’s erotic to trust him so blindly. 

Din is resolved to know your body better than you do. With his free hand, his fingers nimbly massage your clit until you jerk. 

“There?” He confirms.

You nod, unable to speak. His heavy, straining cock dragging through you, and his rough fingers replace the output from all other senses.

When he finds the perfect combination, he doesn’t let up until your eyes screw shut and you shake, incoherent underneath him in ecstasy. 

“You can say it,” he hoarsely encourages through the modulator. 

It was already on your lips, “Din.”

The hand that acted as a manacle releases you as he places his palm on the ground, giving himself as much leverage to bury himself as deep as possible. The toes of Din’s boots dig up clumps of grass as he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping skin lost in the breeze. Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He feels the spark at the base of his spine and knows he doesn’t have much strength left. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his flight suit again, clinging to him for all you’re worth.

Din makes the mistake of looking into your lust-filled eyes as you speak.

“Let go,” you whisper tenderly, feeling his tense body begin to fracture.

Din has no choice but to obey you, pumping himself into you with a long, harsh sigh. He works his release inside you, gradually slowing until his arms shake.

He finally drops to the ground beside you, breathing rapidly.

Suddenly shy, you want nothing more than to reach over and take one of his hands, but you lack the confidence. You also don’t know what to say. 

Din doesn’t believe there’s anything to say. He had never been so tempted in all his life, and he had not passed the test. A shred less self-control and his helmet might’ve followed the gloves. 

In fact, the temptation is still so strong that he begins to plan for its eventuality. 

____________________________________

#din djarin #my fics #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Spotify #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #grogu #baby yoda #my writing

[blue-plant-art]

how could you say no to those faces?

#the mandalorian #din djarin #baby yoda #grogu #the mandalorian fanart #din djarin fanart #star wars #star wars fan art #dinluke #trying to post this again on this blog to see if it works lol #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #choose your own adventure on which romantic interest of din's they're lookin' at

[demigoddessqueens]

Hear me freaking out about these shots until season 4

#star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian s3 #bo katan kryze #the mandalorian spoilers #the armorer #the mandalorion spoilers #pedro pascal #Grogu #din djarin #din grogu #din dijarin x reader #din djarin and grogu #baby yoda #baby yodito #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x you

[midnightr0in]

din @ the armorer after she said the bo could walk both ways after he almost drowned redeeming himself

#din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorin spoilers #bo katan kryze #grogu #baby yoda #the armorer #armatan #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #barbie #barbie movie #ken #ryan gosling #margot robbie

[infectedbypedropascal]

Don’t mind me, just BAWLING my eyes out over a certain little green mandalorian to be

#the mandolarian #mandalorian and grogu #Grogu #pedro pascal #din and grogu #din djarin #din djarin x reader #baby yoda #spoilers #the mandalorian spoilers

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families in need of medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and albeit the bounty hunters as well. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has somehow led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths

Main Song: Everywhere I Go by Sleeping At Last

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

CONTENTS:

SEASON 1

Chapter 1: The Mercury Keeps Rising

Chapter 2: Our Magnetism To Recklessness

Chapter 3: I Could Be Your Sacrifice

Chapter 4: What It Means To Be Saved

Chapter 5: Closing In

Chapter 6: Coming Soon...

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djaren #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x jedi!reader #din djarin x empath!reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x jedi!readerseries #The Silver Lining Series #din djarin fluff #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #din djarin fanfiction #The Silver Lining #The Silver Lining The Mandalorian Series #din djarin #baby yoda #din and grogu #pedrostories

[oliviajdjarin]

Din Djarin: Dare You to Touch Me--Dare You to Love Me

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (afab; she/her)

Excerpt: "You couldn't say it out loud, he knew you couldn't, so you screamed at him with your eyes. They told him everything he needed to know.

I dare you, they said, I dare you to touch me. I dare you to love me, even like this.

Help me.

But he didn't. All you got was one single croak of your name before he headed behind you, scooped the Rodian into his arms like it was nothing, and said, huskily, "I'll meet you at the Crest."

And that was it. He was gone.

He fucking left you.

Warnings: ANGSTTTT, Din's a scaredy cat, graphic descriptions of blood and knives, reader is really self-deprecating and gets really really dark, needles, stitching, swearing, Din gets some sense knocked into him, the Razor Crest is forever alive in my mind, hopeful ending.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is incredibly kanej inspired, therefore incredibly personal. I hope you all enjoy :)

If you'd like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated <3

Pedro Masterlist

(Gif credit to Pinterest)

You didn't know if the red on your hands was from the crimson lighting the prison ship had been showered with, or your own blood leaking from your gut. Not leaking, sprouting. Its thickness and warmth gushed onto your hand and wrist, pumping so fiercely that the pressure you had against your wound wasn't enough to prevent some dripping down onto the floor, effectively causing you to slip on your own butchery. You could fit your pointer finger in-between the flaps of skin separated from the Rodian's dagger, and the pain of it spun your brain in circles, so much so that you could not help the breakfast you had only hours before splatting on the metal floor.

That fucking reptile had gotten you good. Too good. Luckily for him, your revenge came in a blaster shot through his brain, rather than something much, much worse. His corpse was heavy as hell though, and having to drag it in your state didn't help either. You were slipping in your own blood and vomit, grinding your teeth after every step you took, dragging hundreds of pounds one-handed, and practically biting off your own tongue to keep from wailing.

And Din was nowhere to be found.

Frankly, you were more disgusted with yourself than you ever would be with him. It had gotten too perfect with him, too easy. The two most brutal, solitary bounty hunters in the galaxy, hearts locked inside impenetrable chains, practically salivating to finally touch the other. He had done everything else; told you his name, his Creed, his losses, and you had done the same to him. Those demons inside your head reared their ugliness, screaming at you to get a fucking grip.

Just wait, they said. He's just like everyone else. He'll disappoint you just like everyone else, and you've given him enough ammo to destroy you.

You were a child to believe otherwise.

Maybe he's just run late, that child inside you whimpered, or he's hurt.

You pushed her down, and carried on.

You had made it at least fifty feet away from where the two of you were supposed to meet, inches away from rounding the corner to the Crest--satisfied at the thought that you were very capable of taking everything he ever loved inside that piece of metal and burning it to ash--when a burst of your blood gushed on the floor just right, twisting your ankle, and sending you forward, pushing your hand deeper into your wound.

You didn't remember screaming or puking, but you imagined you had to have done both, because it was right then that Din rounded the corner, finding you in a puddle of your own blood-soaked vomit.

He froze, panting, as your vision went white with pain. Your body sunk into the floor, screaming at you that the metal was actually cushioned, the light you saw behind your eyes was only sleep, and the thick fluid coating your hand was warm, soapy bathwater.

Stay down, your demons whispered, stay a while.

No, the child within exclaimed, Din is here. Din will help.

With a grunt, you helped him with the first step, getting you onto all fours. You propped yourself up with the last of the strength you had, your mouth dribbling out more spit and vomit as you did, and waited. Waited for those large, leathered hands to take you into his arms, and carry you home.

You waited, and waited, and waited, and when you finally turned your head to look at him is when you finally let a single tear escape.

He just...stood there, looking down at you like some pathetic lump of flesh, only slowing him down. His arms remained firmly at his sides, while his chest rose up and down erratically, the way it did when he was angry. He stared down at you, the most vulnerable you had ever been, and looked at you like you were the most useless, pitiable, disappointing creature to ever grace his eyes.

Maybe he doesn't realize, the child within exclaimed, show him.

And you did, you had been. You couldn't say it out loud, he knew you couldn't, so you screamed at him with your eyes. They told him everything he needed to know.

I dare you, they said, I dare you to touch me. I dare you to love me, even like this.

Help me.

But he didn't. All you got was one single croak of your name before he headed behind you, scooped the Rodian into his arms like it was nothing, and said, huskily, "I'll meet you at the Crest."

And that was it. He was gone.

He fucking left you.

Told you, the demons whispered, and the child within you finally broke.

You sobbed as you attempted to stand, you sobbed as you vomited from the effort, you sobbed as you wiped your chin, you sobbed as you pressed against your wound once again, you sobbed as you finally put your feet under you, and you sobbed as you took each and every step back home.

Home, the demons inside your head cackled, you have no home. You never will.

You were truly a lamentable sight. You were surprised you didn't bash your own head in.

Finally, the Crest came into view through the pounding in your head and the haze of your own tears, and for that one second, you pretended he had stayed. You pretended he was guiding you with his forearm against your back, his voice against your temple, and shoulders propping you up. You pretended the chills on your body were from the chill of his armor, not your own blood loss, because for once, you had been right about someone. You had been right about him.

That second of delusion was enough, before the demons inside your head went back to its guffaws.

You trekked your way up the Crest's ramp, biting down on your cheeks until they bled, because he would not hear you scream. Your head was getting worse, beginning to fade in and out of consciousness. It was obvious you needed a stitching, and as you searched for a clean kit through the Crest's shelves, you recalled how many times you had stitched Din up. You always kept your gloves on, and you removed as few pieces of his precious beskar as you could, but you stuck with him through every stitch, every groan, every drop of blood from his body, you stayed. You never removed your gloves, no matter how badly you wanted to touch him, truly touch him. Trace the constellation of moles on his back, the depth of his scars, and the warmth of his tan skin. You never did.

You wondered if those beskar pieces would sink with him when you threw him into Naboo's Abyss.

One more time, the child inside you cried out. She was wailing now. Please, try one more time.

You slammed the drawer shut when you found a kit suitable enough, and you slammed it hard. You waited for him to come out of the cockpit, hands filled with bacta and bandages, but he remained seated in the captain's chair, unmoving.

Like everyone else, the demons said, and clicked their tongues.

The child sobbed, and you did with it as you proceeded to clean and bandage yourself. Alone.

He could close the fucking hanger himself.

The cleaning of your wound was the worst of it. The water burned down the nerves of your legs and feet more than you expected, as well as the warm towels pressing against your wound. You had to go inside of it, just to be safe, and tried not to imagine what organs you were memorizing the texture of. Stitching it was nothing, you could do it with your eyes closed, but with the mix of the exhaustion of blood loss, pain, and the scars reopened in your heart, you were out as soon as you snipped the excess thread away and bandaged yourself up tightly. You were in your own cot, thank the maker, in the storage unit Din let you use as a makeshift bedroom.

Let you use, the demons said with a scoff.

Let you use, the child said with a smile.

It had to have been at least a day before you finally woke up, your mind blank with those first few seconds of the bliss of ignorance, allowing you a moment of peace in forgetting that anything had ever happened, before you were met with as dry of a throat you had ever had, an ache across your body like you had never experienced before, and a stab across your midsection to bring you right back to reality.

"Fuck," you whispered, and immediately went to press your fingers against the throbbing slice, when your fingers were met with something...soft.

A thin blanket had been placed over you, and as you propped yourself up in shock, a voice deep as night replied, "Y/N."

You turned, and for just one second, the child inside you admired.

Din was sitting on a makeshift pile of blankets squished against the wall, body still covered in beskar, with a glass of clear water in his leathered hand. "I didn't...know if you had drunk anything."

Initially, your heart warmed.

Me, the child inside you whispered, he was worried about me.

You stared into where you could only guess his eyes were underneath his helmet, and your mouth threatened to etch into a smile as you felt your hand begin to reach for the liquid. Until, the demons that haunted to you whispered in reply.

Remember.

Your hand halted, and the look of love in your eyes quickly wilted into a look of fury. Your lips did etch into a smile, but more of a devilish grin.

You have the upper hand. Use it.

Your voice came as rich and powerful as ever. "I can take care of myself."

You then tossed your legs over the cot, stood slowly, and left him. You barely felt the ache in your midsection anymore, not with the endorphins revenge brought on.

As you walked to the kitchen, imagining how satisfying it was to know how much hurt he'd feel when you finally walked out, slightly limping but more joyful than you had been in weeks, a firm grip caught your forearm, and a voice of terror, true terror, whispered, "wait."

Your nostrils flared and your bicep flexed as you turned, ready to pull your hand away and knock him on his ass, when you noticed the same breath pattern he had when he had found you only a day before.

The beings inside you were too curious to pull you away from him just yet.

"Please just...please just listen," he exclaimed, voice weighed down by a mixture of seemingly every emotion possible, "I didn't...I didn't know what to do. I'd never seen you like that before. So near death. I have only ever seen you standing, and to see you so down was--"

He paused to gather a breath, and as he did, his back straightened, his composure tightened, and his voice was coated with something almost...evil.

"--I wanted to destroy him," he finished. "The fucking Rodian. I wanted to be the one to blow a blaster through his brain, and rip him apart as I did."

A film of water began to coat your eyes. You didn't know from what.

"I panicked. I'm a fucking coward who panicked when you needed me, and I am so, so sorry."

His grip on your wrist had loosened slightly, his thumb even beginning to rub delicate circles on the top of your hand, and it took everything in you not to let the child within you-- as well as the woman-- fall apart against him. He was finally daring to touch you, rub on you, and you wanted to know what else he would dare to touch. How would his fingers feel stroking through your hair? Down your back? Against your face?

He was scared, the child within you whispered, he was scared, that's all he was, and he admitted it.

You could forgive him. You know you could.

But could you go through this again, the demons asked.

No. You couldn't. Your id and superego were at war once more, and with what little strength your ego had between them, you spoke.

"You fucking left me," you croaked, "you left me to die."

"I know. I know I did," he muttered, ashamed. "And I am so sor--"

"No," you stopped him, finally prying your hand away from him. The rage, hurt, and pain you felt over the previous twenty-four hours finally bubbling their way to the surface with the tears running down your cheeks.

You would not let yourself feel this way, ever again.

"Don't apologize to me." you stated. "Prove yourself to me. If you ever--ever--pull that shit again, I am gone. Gone. Do you hear me?"

He stared. Unresponsive.

"Do you hear me?"

"Yes," he finally blurted. "Yes."

"Good," you said, and backed away from him. "Now take a fucking shower. You smell even through the armor."

You could've sworn he chuckled as he walked back through the cockpit.

You continued your walk towards the kitchen, wiping your tear-stained cheeks, and you felt your demons begin to belittle you once more.

He's going to do it again, they chanted, and again, and again, and again. He will rip you open time and time again. He knows you're weak for him now. He will use it. He will use it to take advantage of everything that you are. Pathetic.

But the child within you only smiled, satisfied with her knowledge of the truth.

Din was bigger than all of them.

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[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part i: the winter of our discontent

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 3.8k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

hello and welcome to my first ever mando fic!! i binged the entirety of the first two seasons in a week to get me through tedious internship work and accidentally fell in love with our favorite space dad and his cute green child along the way. oops (i regret nothing)

with the outline i currently have for this fic, it’ll be around 11-12 chapters, although that’s likely to grow as we get deeper into the story. the posting schedule might be anywhere from once a week to once a month, but this wip *will* be finished.

the second chapter's scheduled to upload next week as a little treat for y'all, so if you want to catch it then hit that follow button or ask to be added to my taglist! ;)

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv coming soon!

You watched the last of tonight’s drunken patrons stumble out of the cantina and into the bitter Nath night with a relieved sigh. Wiping your hands on the stained apron tied around your waist, you fished a set of bronze keys out of a tiny pocket and began your nightly walk around the perimeter of the bar, locking doors and pulling down rusty shutters as you went. The cantina was silent aside from your quiet shuffling– a welcome reprieve from its usual crowded bustle and chatter so hectic you could barely hear your own thoughts. 

You hummed softly as you adjusted booths back to their original positions and swept crumbs off of battered tabletops, wishing that the small holospeaker at the edge of the room hadn’t been broken in a recent bar fight. Swaying to its pre-Imperial oldies throughout your long, exhausting shifts had been one of the only perks of working in this run-down cantina, but without the soothing ambience of music, a chill threatened to sink into your bones and paralyze you with the deep depression this side of the planet seemed to have succumbed to.

You never planned to stay here for as long as you had. No one really did, except for criminals who knew that no one would willingly come here to search for them and locals who had never known anything else. Nath might have been charming, once– all soft snowflakes and peaceful walks under sepia-toned streetlights– but that was before the Empire had destroyed every semblance of comfort and culture and replaced them with brutalist brick structures that were already crumbling under the weight of their makers’ crimes. The fear lingered long after the Imps had finally left the post, reflected in the sad eyes of the fishmongers’ children and the way one would be hard-pressed to find a factory worker who didn’t spend his nights nursing a bottle and the ghosts of blaster scars across his back.

You had your own scars, of course, but you still held out hope that things would change and you’d make it out of here– although that hope was gradually diminishing as off-world shuttles visited less and less frequently and the permanent winter worsened. Five years ago, you’d been unceremoniously dropped off at the town’s dingy port, forced to land after your shuttle to Corellia was damaged by an unexpected detour through an asteroid field. You’d taken the cantina job thinking you’d only stay long enough to pay for passage on an outgoing ship, but soon learned that any shuttle risking the terrible weather to land here would also charge an exorbitant boarding price– one that would take you years to afford with the meager pay you received. And your tentative plan of stowing away on a spice freighter and sneaking off once it arrived at its destination (you weren’t picky about where, so long as it wasn’t Nath) was tempered by the increasingly likelihood that you’d get blown to pieces the minute you entered space by one of the pirate gangs that ruled the atmosphere these days. So– you were stuck here, at least for now.

The smell of something burning in the back of the cantina drew you out of your thoughts. Cursing, you raced to the kitchen, where your dinner was quickly blackening on the stove. Kriff. You shut off the burner, staring at the charred mess before you for a few seconds before dejectedly scraping it into an almost-overflowing trash bin. Well, there went your plan to eat quickly and head to your tiny flat before the storm outside worsened. Your rental pod had barely enough space for your bed and a miniscule bathroom, so you had to use the cantina kitchen if you wanted to stay fed– but the stove here was so old, it took half an hour longer than usual to cook anything. You resigned yourself to another night sleeping in a booth, since the flurry outside would prevent you from navigating your way home safely. 

You sliced up a few vegetables and set them to simmer in a pot with the last of the herbed broth and sandseed noodles from today’s lunch special, glancing at the bin next to you. It was probably a good idea to take out the foul-smelling waste before you were sealed in next to it all night. Wrinkling your nose at the unappealing scraps of food threatening to fall off the top of the pile, you hefted the bin up and maneuvered it through the back door of the cantina, being careful not to stain your apron any more than it already was. The harsh winds nipped at every sliver of exposed skin and dusted your hair with a pearlescent sheen of snow, making you wish you’d thought to slip on something warmer than your thin blouse and trousers before leaving the protection of the kitchen.

You navigated through the blizzard to the end of the dark alleyway behind the cantina, your path lit only by two buzzing lamps at each end of the narrow corridor. You scrunched your face up against the cold, willing yourself to keep walking despite your extremely limited night vision. Just a few more steps, and then you’d be free of your compostable burden for the night. You turned the corner, stepping to the left where you knew the trash compactor was, and immediately collided with a giant hunk of metal.

Said hunk of metal cursed loudly as it stumbled head-first over the garbage bin you’d dropped in shock after the impact, falling forward into the snow. “Dank ferrik!” 

Your eyes grew wide as the glow of the flickering streetlights illuminated the very-much-alive Mandalorian lying in front of you. It was just your luck that you’d managed to potentially injure the kind of warrior you’d only heard about in hushed rumors, or at least someone who was wearing the armor of one. Okay, injure was a strong word, but all that cold, hard beskar couldn’t be very comfortable to fall on despite the protection it offered. 

“Stars, I’m so sorry, let me–” 

You reached forward, stretching out a hand to help the Mandalorian up when a small green head suddenly popped up out of a tawny bag slung across their side. You yelped in surprise, losing your balance on the icy road and toppling forward. You winced, bracing yourself and preparing for the inevitable impact– except right as you were about to hit the ground, one steel-clad arm shot out to grab your wrist while the other steadied your hips. You gasped at the warmth of the unexpected contact, pulse quickening as you stared at the–man? person?–beneath you, the only thing preventing you from a nasty collection of bruises appearing across your side tomorrow. 

A deep baritone sounded from the helmet– likely modulated, from the slightly grainy tone. “Are you alright?”

Definitely a man, then. You pointedly ignored the butterflies that stirred to life in your stomach at the sound of his voice, praying that he would attribute your shiver to the cold and nothing more. Stars, this was getting more embarrassing by the minute. You tucked away the thought, making a note to do some serious soul-searching later on about the depth of your touch-starvation and its potential impact on your mental state. 

You gave a quick nod, muttering your thanks and carefully rolling to the side as you dusted clumps of snow off of your trousers. You looked up at him to see him gently picking up the little green creature you’d been so startled by earlier and tucking it back into the bag, pulling his cloak over its head to shield it from the chill. That was… rather cute, actually. You thought Mandalorians were supposed to be scary fighters, dedicated to nothing but their Creed, but this one was clearly fond of the small thing clinging to him. You couldn’t blame him; the green creature’s big ears and bug eyes were adorably endearing. 

The cold winds picked up pace, and you wondered why anyone would be out here during such a storm as you got to your feet. Anyone local would have sought shelter hours ago, and no freighter would dare to land in such conditions. 

“Are you... lost?” You tentatively asked. “Can I help you find someone?”

The Mandalorian remained silent for several long seconds, helmet tilted slightly. Whatever he saw in your face seemed to have settled well with him, and he released a quiet huff through the modulator.

“I need to get food. For my son,” he eventually admitted, gesturing to the baby peeking up at you. 

“Oh!” You brightened up considerably as you remembered the flavorful soup you’d started earlier. “Well– I work in a cantina back there,” you said, pointing behind you at the rusted door that led to the kitchen.

“We’re technically closed right now, but I’m sure I can work something out.” You winked at the curious child, smiling as he let out a happy babble. 

The Mandalorian’s helmet hadn’t moved from its focus in your direction, and you suddenly felt nervous. Which seemed stupid, because–yeah, it felt intense, but was he even looking at you from behind the dark visor of his helmet? For all you knew, he was making the most ridiculous expression at you behind all that beskar and you’d never know. The absurd thought made you snicker softly. If no one could see your face, you’d definitely act goofy at people all the time.

The Mandalorian’s head tilted slightly, and whoops, he’d definitely noticed your little moment now if he hadn’t been paying attention before. Your face reddened and you quickly gestured for him to follow you as you unlocked the door to the kitchen, relieved when you heard the soft clink of his armor come through the doorway behind you.

You placed your hands on your hips, surveying the dimly lit cantina and deciding to lead the duo to a worn table close to the bar. It looked unassuming, but the chairs were the comfiest in the cantina and you figured the baby would appreciate something softer than the coarse bag he’d been in. 

Once they’d gotten settled in, you set about finding a mug of blue milk for the kid and some water for the Mandalorian. You brought the drinks over to the pair, hiding a smile at how eagerly the little green baby reached for his. 

“You’re pretty thirsty, huh?” You observed as the baby slurped up the cerulean beverage. Shooting the tall, beskar-clad man a glance out of the corner of your eye, you continued, “Must have been quite the trip. Most people don’t usually travel to this side of the galaxy for vacation.”

To your disappointment, the Mandalorian remained as still and stoic as ever. Well, that just wouldn’t do. He was your first visitor in years from anywhere outside of Nath, and you were absolutely not letting him leave without getting a bit of juicy detail on life outside of your current drudgery. You decided to go for another angle.

“You know, kids need good role models in their lives. Ones that show them how to socialize with others and communicate. Display generosity of the loquacious sort, even.” You shrugged innocently in your best attempt to mimic the overly casual air the old women at the tea shop always used before passive-aggressively attempting to set you up with their stay-at-home-nephews. “Never too late to start.”

You got the distinct feeling that he was laughing at you under that helmet. Rude. Huffing, you sat down across the table from him and crossed your arms, trying to guess where under his visor his eyes were. Once you were half-confident that you’d found the spot, you stared intensely at it with your most intimidating expression. Which wasn’t saying much, seeing as you had the firepower of a soggy Lothkitten and probably came off as more desperate than anything. 

“Isn’t there some sort of honor code for Mandalorians? One that includes being noble to strangers and whatnot?” 

No response. Argh. 

“Well, I’d consider it pretty noble to provide a lonely soul such as myself with a bit of storytelling entertainment on this frigid evenin–”

Your final attempt at prying some information out of the armored man was interrupted by the sound of the kitchen timer beeping increasingly louder and louder until you were sure the whole cantina was vibrating with the tinny noise.

“KRIFF, not again!” 

You bolted out of your seat towards the kitchen, but not before you heard a thinly disguised huff of amusement coming out of the modulator. Okay, he was definitely laughing at you. 

Once you’d successfully saved the soup from imminent destruction-via-cursed-stove and somewhat regained your pride, you finally made your way back to the table with three steaming bowls of noodles. You placed the smallest one in front of the child, who cooed happily and immediately began plopping his hands in the bowl. The Mandalorian huffed in exasperation and began prying little green fingers out of the bowl. “Hey. Quit that, we talked about this,” he grumbled. You winced as broth sloshed out of the bowl, landing dangerously close to the baby’s tunic. The kid’s lower lip started to tremble, a blaring warning sign that a tantrum was going to occur in approximately ten seconds if he wasn’t distracted from his current petulant state. 

“Oh– hey, bug, don’t do that,” you said as both father and son turned to look at you. You leaned closer to the wide-eyed baby and pointed to his bowl. “That’s pretty hard to scoop up, yeah? Look, there are easier ways to eat it,” you explained as you brought the bowl up to your lips and raised an eyebrow, hoping that he would do the same. The kid blinked up at you for several long seconds before turning to his father with outstretched hands. The Mandalorian sighed, but held up the dish as requested. You hid a smile behind your bowl at the sight.

“Good job! Okay, now we’re going to try something fun–” You mimed slurping up the soup with a silly face at the baby, who burbled something incomprehensible in response but finally followed your example and focused on his food.

When you were sure that the baby’s clothes were no longer in danger of being drenched by broth– and by extension, frozen stiff whenever the pair headed back into the storm–you quietly tucked into your own meal, closing your eyes at the warm memories the comforting flavours brought. Not for the first time, you missed the earthy smell and placid weather of your homeworld, a stark contrast to this icy prison of a planet. 

“You are… good with him.” 

Your eyes darted up to find the Mandalorian’s helmet angled directly at you. Your face heated at the observation and you gave a small laugh, willing yourself to resist fidgeting under his gaze.

“I– thank you, I’ve always liked kids. Used to volunteer in the nursery back home, actually, before the Empire stole every resource from it they could.” 

Your eyes widened with sudden realization. “You’re not Imperial, are you?”

The Mandalorian scoffed vehemently, the most emotion he’d displayed since he’d fallen back in the alley. “No.”

Well, that answered a few questions at least. You were prepared to move on from the conversation when he hesitantly spoke, “My ship ran into a few… asteroids. Is there a mechanic nearby?”

You set down your spoon, thinking. The closest asteroid field was four solar systems away and almost entirely inaccessible if one was traveling through hyperspace, so the likelihood that he’d truly run into one was small. In that case, he probably had damage from some kind of fight— seeing as the average pacifist wouldn’t need that much armor— and would want someone reliable who wasn’t going to ask questions about laser-sized holes in his ship’s hull.

He hadn’t tried to kill or rob you yet, so you figured his personal tussles were none of your business and decided to give him an honest recommendation. You directed him to a small mechanical hub close to the ice huts where there were few ships and even fewer nosy citizens. “The owner, Sanna, is the best in town,” you admitted. “I haven’t had the chance to visit her personally, but she’s known for being very discreet.”

He nodded, entering the coordinates you’d given him into some sort of device on his wrist. You tried to contain your pleased expression at correctly guessing his reason for being on Nath. And it had only taken you… well, four tries, but that was better than nothing! 

“What is your price?”

You blinked, confused. “My price?”

There was that increasingly frequent head tilt again. His helmet tipped forward, scanning you. “For the food. And information.” He clarified slowly. 

“Oh,” you spoke, surprised. “It’s okay, I was making dinner for myself anyway. And you’d have found out the location of the mechanic from someone else eventually,” you shrugged. 

You couldn’t see his face, but from the disbelieving tone of his voice you imagined his eyebrows to be raised. “Not many people would turn down credits.” 

You winced, reminded of your costly dream to get off-world, but there was no way you’d accept this stranger’s money for such a small favor when he had a kid he needed to provide for. “Yeah, well. Guess I’m not most people,” you laughed sheepishly. 

The Mandalorian muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like no, you definitely are not. You squinted at him accusingly.

“Hey, you better not be making fun of my interrogation tactics, metal man.” You leaned forward to poke his soup bowl emphatically. Hm, that was strange– he hadn’t so much as touched it. Did Mandalorians follow some kind of special diet? You resolved to look that up the next time you had access to a datapad.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing that to a lonely soul like yourself.” He responded dryly.

You gasped in mock offense, forgetting your previous train of thought and internally groaning that he’d remembered that part of your disastrous attempt to weasel information out of him. Yeesh. Not your most eloquent moment. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared,” you shot back in the most syrupy-sweet tone you could muster.

The kid grinned up at you with sharp teeth and blew a soupy bubble towards your face in response. You smiled down at him, adding, “But if you really want to repay me, then bring me back a good story about this little guy the next time you crash land through a— what did you call it? Asteroid field.” You highly doubted the duo would ever willingly return, but if making a deal gave this man peace of mind to know his imaginary debt was settled in some future way then so be it. 

The lights in the cantina began to flicker and you got up with a frown, walking over to the electrical box behind the bar. The dull grey display, crammed with incomprehensibly labelled switches and flashing lights that would give anyone a headache, alerted you that the main generator had been depleted of power. You scrambled over to a window, prying open the shutters a crack only to be met with a dark swirl of snow that completely obscured your view of the street. Stars, the storm had worsened quickly— there was absolutely no chance you were making it home tonight. You slammed the shutter closed and turned around with a grimace that didn’t go unnoticed by the Mandalorian.

“What is it?” He questioned, modulated voice growing wary at the expression on your face.

“We’re running out of power, the main generator’s down from the storm so these lights are going to have to shut off soon. I think there’s enough in the emergency generator to heat the cantina through the night, though.” You hesitated, not sure how to break the bad news. “Unfortunately, the weather is— unmanageable. You’re not making it out of here to the mechanic’s until the blizzard lets up.” 

He didn’t respond for a few seconds, so you continued talking. “I was.. planning on sleeping here tonight.” You muttered, trying to think of a plan. You glanced at the sleepy child resting on the Mandalorian’s beskar chest plate. “I usually keep a couple blankets here for that reason— pretty sure there’s enough to cover the baby, but you might need to be okay with sharing.” 

You worried your bottom lip between your teeth, searching your memory for where the emergency supplies were kept. Kriff. How were you supposed to know that you’d be snowed in, and with guests no less? Your grumpy boss really should have put instructions for this type of situation in the closing shift directions instead of the usual “sweep the floors” or your personal favorite: “if the customer creates a corpse, they gotta clean it up themselves”.

The Mandalorian interrupted your musings with a firm, “No need,” gesturing to the charcoal cloak fastened around his pauldrons. You eyed it dubiously, but supposed that the material looked thick enough. That was probably to your benefit, anyway, since you were something of a notorious blanket hog and didn’t think he’d take kindly to having his sheets ripped off him in the dead of night. That seemed like a quick way to wake up with more bruises than you went to sleep with.

“Well— alright then,” you sighed at last, tossing the smaller of your blankets to the man and tucking the other into the side of a nearby booth. “I’ll shut off the lights in a moment. Refresher’s that way, if you need it,” you pointed to the end of a dimly lit hall. The Mandalorian nodded once, then returned his attention to carefully cocooning the child in his lap. You set to work fluffing up your own makeshift bed, folding the cleanest dishtowel you could find into a pillow before trudging over to the light switch and enveloping the room in darkness. 

Quietly feeling your way back to your booth, your eyes adjusted to the pitch-black little by little. You pulled your hair out of its messy updo and curled up on the seat, body slowly relaxing. It was strange, hearing the muffled rhythm of breaths coming from lungs that weren’t your own, but oddly soothing in its own way. 

“G’night,” you mumbled, half-asleep already, consciousness swirled down the psychological drain by the overpowering storm raging outside. The lull-and-hitch of the baby’s soft snores echoing off of solid beskar set you drifting off to sleep faster than you had as a child, so lost to the world that you were sure you dreamed the quiet, belated whisper that sounded back to you.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part ii, part iii, more coming soon!

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x you #din grogu #grogu #baby yoda #clan of two #the mandalorian #the mandolarian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fic #din djarin fluff #din djarin angst #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars fandom #fem reader #reader insert #friends to lovers #slow burn #strangers to friends to lovers

[darklordofthesimp]

Verity (Din Djarin x Reader)

On a remote planet, while chasing a bounty, you encountered a rare plant that produces the infamous "truth pollen". Not being able to lie is dangerous when you're in love with your Mandalorian employer.

PART 2

Requested by Anon:

#47: I forget how to speak whenever you’re around and it’s embarrassing.

A/N: OKAY LISTEN, my last 2 fics have gotten such bad engagement I don't have high hopes for this BUT if this goes good, would you want to see something where DIN is affected by the pollen?

Category: Mutual Pining - Involuntary Confession - Fluff - Angst If You Squint

Warnings: Swearing

You should have listened.

Though, to be fair, the Mandalorian had never explicitly told you to stay in the Crest- you saw it more as a strong suggestion. It was a new planet, some dirt ball in the middle of Wild Space that had been long forgotten by any traders or travelers. The bounty hunter had warned you to stay inside and you'd simply waved him off.

Now, laid out flat on your back, you thought he might have been right.

Your body protested against any attempt to get up and you opted to just still for a long, long moment. In your defense, you had just violently tumbled down into a rock bed.

You hissed, suddenly aware of the blood trickling down your cheek.

You thought you might have broken a bone or two, but with the 'wiggle' check you were pleasantly surprised to find nothing had snapped. Nothing other than your pride, that is.

Lush greenery pressed against your skin, soft leaves, and gentle blades of grass lathered into the landscape. The air was crisp, and as you started to regain control of your senses you realized you'd fallen into a small clearing. It was relatively shaded, with tall trees leaning over to shelter the small oasis you'd stumbled upon.

Forcing yourself up onto your elbows, your eyes widened as you drank in the sight before you. There were flowers everywhere.

The flora was a color you couldn't even begin to comprehend, a mixture of violet that made you think of the most tempting and delightful sins.

Where were you?

But you couldn't focus on the logistics of your situation, not when there was a wonder of nature less than two feet away. Where had these flowers come from? The teardrop petals fluttered lightly in the breeze, and suddenly your mind was consumed by the thought of their texture. You wondered if they felt like silk...

If you could just touch them to test your theory, you could be on your merry way. You were sure of it.

Pain and injury were forgotten as you stood to your feet slowly, feeling as though you were having an out-of-body experience when you approached the plant. It was almost glowing up close and you couldn't understand how this shit hole of a planet could have created something so ethereal.

You reached for the flower eagerly, awaiting the soft touch of those pretty petals.

By the time you realized something was wrong, it was too late.

___

You wheezed, rubbing the length of your sleeve against your nose. The trek back had been far longer than you'd anticipated and you knew Mando was going to be pissed.

Coincidentally, the hunter appeared to be on his way out as you approached, equipped with all of his "work" apparatus. Had he not found the bounty yet?

"Where have you been?"

His words were sharp and you winced, slowing your pace to a sheepish shuffle. When he promptly unslung his rifle, you realized that he wasn't going hunting, he was about to launch a one-man rescue party.

You couldn't tell him the truth, he would follow you around for months if you did. Constantly supervising you for the sake of your safety.

But instead of the excuses you had prepared, when you opened your mouth to respond, different words formed on your tongue.

"I was exploring and got lost."

Your jaws snapped shut instantly and you slapped a hand over your lips. Why had you just said that?

The Mandalorian's shoulders raised, instantly irritated with how blatantly you blew off his advice. You hadn't even sounded guilty, just factual.

"I told you that was a bad idea," he griped, turning on his heel. "What if something had happened? What if you'd gotten hurt and I couldn't find you in time?"

He stomped back into the ship and you followed guiltily behind, trailing him to the armory as he begun to offload his weapons. There was pressure in your chest at his words and at first glance, you thought it was just remorse for making him worry. When your mouth opened to respond where you hadn't wanted to, you realized it was something else.

"I did get hurt."

You stumbled back, throwing both hands over your mouth. The Mandalorian stiffened, softly placing the items in his hand against the table.

"Where?"

Again, the words fell from your lips involuntarily, "Everywhere. I fell into a rock bed."

He said nothing as he turned around, watching your panic increase when you couldn't gain control over your own tongue.

"I can't stop talking," you gasped, terror crawling along the length of your chest until it lodged itself firmly in your throat. "I don't want to say any of this."

Before you noticed he'd even moved, the bounty hunter filled your vision, gently ushering you to a cushioned bench you had created. He set you down, before crouching in front of you.

"Did you touch any plants you've never seen before?" While the words sounded calm, you could hear the underlying dread in his tone.

"Yes." You let loose a soft sob.

"What color?"

"Violet."

"Shit," he hissed.

When your chest began to heave with trepid breaths, Mando raised his hands quickly.

"No, no, it's okay. Don't panic, it won't hurt you," he soothed, nodding softly. "The effects will wear off soon."

You shook your head, dropping your face into the palms of your hands. You should have just listened to him from the beginning, he wasn't talking out of his ass, the hunter was only trying to help you. Why did you insist on fighting him every damned step of the way?

"What did I touch?" You asked, the tone hopeless even when muffled by your palms.

There was a short silence, as though Mando was bracing himself. "It's a rare flower. The pollen..."

He trailed off and you lifted your face from where you hid. The hunter was still crouched in front of you, mere inches from your body, watching you as he deliberated his next words. He was so close that it set your heart rocketing against your rib cage, and you wondered what he looked like when he was in deep thought.

Pressure built in your chest. You ground your teeth shut.

"It acts as a truth serum," he finished solemnly. "You can't lie."

The ground felt like it had been ripped out from underneath you. This was bad, this was so fucking bad.

"No," you rasped, shaking your head adamantly. "No, no, this isn't good."

The Mandalorian leaned back on his haunches, hands resting together against his thighs. You were sure that you looked crazy, telling the truth wasn't exactly a curse.

"I'm not going to take advantage of this," the hunter murmured, and if you hadn't known any better, you would have thought that he sounded almost hurt. "I won't ask questions you don't want to answer."

"You won't need to," you moaned miserably, throwing your head right back into your hands.

"What are you so afraid of?" Mando stretched his hand towards you and you were touched by his concern. Gloved fingers rested gently against your shoulders, sending your heart into overdrive.

"You!" The word was barely a gasp but it was as if they had burned him. He snatched his arm away and leaned back, watching you in what you could only imagine was shock and hurt. It was as if you had slapped him.

Your heart squeezed in your chest and before you'd realized what you were doing you gripped his hand tightly. "Not like that. I trust you, I trust you with everything in me."

There was a soft silence as he tilted his visor to watch where your fingers interlocked. You thought he might have been uncomfortable for a second there until he gave them a gentle squeeze. He was warm despite the leather, and at that moment you would have killed to touch his skin, vulnerable and human and real.

"Most open you've ever been," Mando snorted but it wasn't humorous, just quiet. "And it's when you're forced to."

Pressure built in your chest once again, and you tried to grit your teeth and cage the incoming confession. No matter how hard you tried, your mouth had a mind of its own.

"I forget how to speak whenever you’re around and it’s embarrassing," you rasped. "I don't hide away on purpose."

Red hot humiliation flared beneath your skin, heating your body up in a crashing wave. You felt your cheeks burn, sweat collecting against the back of your neck.

Tears gathered in your eyes and you were grateful that you had turned your face away from him earlier.

"Do you want me to leave?" He asked gently after a long silence.

You wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

"No," you said quickly, throwing your hands to your mouth in an attempt to muffle the next words. "If you leave I'll never forget how embarrassing this was and will think that you're disgusted with me for the rest of our time together."

You tried to gesture for him to go, shooing him away with your hands despite what you had just admitted. For the first time ever, the Mandalorian looked so torn that he just trembled.

You could see the shake in his fingers, the way his body leaned this way, and then that.

"I can't walk away if it means that you'd be living like..." He trailed off, breathing heavily from beneath the beskar. "Why would you ever disgust me?"

You sobbed.

Throwing yourself to your feet, you tried to scramble away before your mouth moved. Anything to stop what would have been a sledgehammer to this delicate friendship you had fallen into. True to character, you just tripped over yourself, falling backward into the wall roughly.

The hunter shot to his feet, immediately trying to provide aid that you desperately swatted away.

"Because I love you."

The words fell from your lips, like a weeping whimper, but they might as well have been shouted from the top of the Crest. The way he froze in front of you showed you exactly how badly this was going to go.

"You're a Mandalorian, you're my employer, I'm nothing you've ever wanted and I love you. You'll find me disgusting for ruining this over stupid feelings and for looking at what I could never deserve."

This time, there was no silence like you thought there would be. You thought he would have turned on his heel and left, or yelled, or just left you there to simmer in silence as he stared.

Instead, he gripped your shoulders tightly.

"You think you don't deserve me?" He hissed.

You stared at him through teary lashes, bewildered. The word formed and you didn't fight it, too shocked to even comprehend what was happening.

"Yes."

He watched you for a long moment, fingers tightening against your skin. You wondered what was going through his head, where his emotions were leading him. You prayed that he wouldn't grow disgusted the longer he thought about it. You begged any deity that you could think of that he would move on and forget that this disaster had happened.

But the Mandalorian was anything but predictable.

"You love me?" His voice was hard.

Your lips trembled. "Yes."

"For how long?"

"When you saved the village in Sorgan. I knew then."

When he didn't respond, the adrenaline in your system left you shaking. You hated this, you wanted to die, you wanted to be anywhere other than in his arms.

"You said you wouldn't take advantage of this," you whispered, leaning away from him. "You said you wouldn't ask..."

The hunter's fingers softened against your skin, "you weren't going to tell me?"

You shook your head, "never."

Putting him in such an uncomfortable position was the last thing you had ever wanted for him. He was constantly under stress, rarely did anything go right for him and you were convinced that the poor man had the worst luck in the world. You didn't want to add to that, you wanted to be helpful, not a burden.

Especially not like this.

"I'm not taking advantage of you," he murmured, finally. "I just need to know if you're telling the truth."

You scoffed, casting your gaze to the side. "I can't lie."

"Now," Mando said softly, the intimate whisper trailing along the length of your skin. "I'm trying to find the courage."

You blinked up at him as he leaned you back against the durasteel wall, heart tripping in your chest. What was happening?

His hand slowly raised from your shoulder, to brush against your cheek, to then rest against your eyes. Darkness flooded your vision, and your other senses went into overdrive. You could smell the smokey scent of the hunter before you, and distantly you wondered how he always managed to smell of woodfire and spice.

There was a soft, metallic hiss from somewhere above you and you flinched.

"Can I kiss you?"

You choked on your own breath, chest heaving from the weight of his words. That simple, small question. For once, throughout this whole ordeal, you were glad that your mouth moved before you could direct it.

"You can."

There was a soft huff from above you.

"Do you want me to kiss you?"

This time, it was you and not the pollen that answered.

"Yes."

And when he smiled this time, it was against your lips.

While the Mandalorian smelt of fire, battle, and blood, Din Djarin tasted sweet.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #din djarin x y/n #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #baby yoda #grogu #pedro pascal

[wrathkitty]

Short Debts Make Long Friends - Chapter 19 (pt 2) Snippet

He lays stiffly beside you for a few seconds, willing his body to do something. Minus the bulk of his armor, the mattress should feel cavernous, but the walls won’t stop closing in. Should he scoot over? Try to talk to you? You have yet to move.

“Are you asleep?” he finally whispers. 

“No.” Your voice comes from over your shoulder, thin and hollow. “Just…here.”

So he’ll have to go to you, then. 

Steeling himself, Din props himself up on his elbow and edges closer. He has hugged you a number of times by now, and knows how to adjust his arms and torso relative to how you are positioned. This should be no different. It’s the same as hugging, just lying down. 

He makes it as far as hovering a hand's breadth away from your back and can go no further.  

It’s different. It’s so fucking different. If his job is to help you pretend you are home, he’s failed. Whoever had held you in bed before surely knew what they were doing. The only person he’s ever held in bed is Grogu, who preferred to lie sprawled on top of his chest. 

“Are you okay?” 

He jerks, startled. You sound worried – for him.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he blurts out. “I don’t know how – how to –”

“How to hold someone?”

Din hopes you hear him nod because if he has to say the answer out loud, he’ll — actually, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, because right now he doesn’t know anything other than he hasn’t felt this mortified since…he doesn’t know that, either, but ‘ever’ isn’t out of the question. 

“Mando?”

“Yes?”

“How new is this for you?”

“...This part’s new,” he says stiltedly. His face is so red that you must feel the heat radiating off his cheeks. “If that’s what you mean.” 

This was a bad idea. This was such a bad idea. You need a steadying presence, not a grown man too overwhelmed to take care of you. He should have given you the sleep strip like you asked for and offered to hold your hand until you fell asleep. He would rather suffer the disappointment of your rejection than the utter stupidity he is experiencing now. 

“Turn toward me,” you instruct, “onto your side.”

“Why?” he asks, alarmed. 

Still taking care not to look over your shoulder, you reach back with a hand, and motion for him to come closer. “I’m going to show you how to hold someone.”

Actual Chapter 19 Pt II will post May 4th :-D MAY THE FORCE BE WITH YOU, BITCHES.

Short Debts Make Long Friends - An overeducated, underpaid millennial finally gets to go on her first adventure.

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#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #din x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x original female character #din djarin x female reader #short debts make long friends #baby yoda

[thebookbutterfly]

°•. Din Djarin .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Din Djarin works in one place. Disclaimer: I am aware that most people refer to Mando as ‘Din’ but as it is canonically his last name I prefer to call him Djarin. Also with maybe the exception of one or two fics none of the works recommended here depict Djarin breaking his creed ( I just don’t like it). Anyway, please enjoy! ☺️

⭐️ = One of my favourites

ONESHOTS:

🦋 Beautiful [Fluff] Translating for a Tusken raider leaves Mando no other option than to be vulnerable. You tell him just how much he means to you. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

🦋 Injured [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] After Mando is injured you refuse to leave his side. He is a little loopy on bacta shots and confesses things to you like the sweetie he is. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Breathe [Fluff, Angst] You think Djarin wants another woman, he thinks you want the safety that comes from being away from him. Both of you are wrong. Very fluffy ending. << Female Reader, Brief Miscommunication >>

🦋 His [Fluff] Djarin has just come home from a long hunt. Exhausted, he finds the heater broken and you in his bed. << Female Reader, Allusions to Sex >>

🦋His World [Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff] When the Crest explodes, seemingly with you in it, Djarin’s universe falls apart. AKA Din Djarin thinks that you died, you’re delighted to inform him you didn’t. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Conceal [Hurt/Comfort] Din Djarin was a master at hiding his injuries, that’s why he’d always discover yours. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 skin [Fluff] You love it when Din Djarin touches you, but after working outside in the snow all day his hands are freezing. Domestic fluff with pregnant reader. << Female Reader, Pregnancy >>

🦋 My Riduur [Fluff] Of course Mando feels a little jealous when someone is flirting with his riduur. As a Mandalorian he can’t kiss you but he has other ways to stake his claim. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Snowflakes In Your Hair [Fluff] You have never seen snow before, so Mando takes you to Ando Prime to experience it for the first time. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 That’s Not My Name [Fluff] You find out that you have actually been calling ‘Din’ by his surname all along. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Asleep Together [Fluff] Djarin can’t find Grogu, until he finds you asleep with him. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 touching Din [Fluff, Slight Angst] Din Djarin loves being touched and you love touching him. Touch starved Djarin getting the love he needs. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Haircut [Fluff] Mando hadn’t cut his hair in a while. When your fingers brushed through the pieces that stuck out from the edge of his helmet, he found that he didn’t mind. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Meeting the Family [Fluff] Mando takes you to meet the covert for the first time and introduces you as his riduur. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Language Barrier [Fluff] You hadn’t found the right moment to tell Mando that you were fluent in Mando’a, and now it was too late to mention casually. You finally tell him when he confesses to you under his breath. << Female Reader, Allusions to Sex >>

🦋 Significant [Fluff] Djarin has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means and get more than you bargained for. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Offer [Fluff] Din Djarin is absolutely sure that you know that he is courting you. He wants to make the offer formally anyway. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Warm Sand, Soft Hands [Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] After Djarin’s stunt with the Great Krayt Dragon, you were furious and scared. Right up until you realised why he did it. << Gender Neutral Reader, Injury >>

🦋 Common Mistake [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] You had accidentally stabbed yourself with a knife. Embarrassment aside you didn’t want to be a burden and hid the injury. Mando takes care of you. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Distracting [Fluff] Mando removes his beskar in front of you for the first time. Safe to say that it is terribly distracting. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Kiss [Fluff] Curious, you ask Djarin if he has ever kissed anyone before, secretly hoping to be his first. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Good [Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst] Din Djarin was the only person you ever told about your weakness, and yet he wasn’t “good enough” to shield you from it. << Female Reader, Drowning >>

🦋 Blood Loss [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Mando comes back from collecting his bounty injured. You take care of him. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Jealousy [Fluff] Vanth keeps you company while Mando is out running errands. He gets flirty and Djarin decides to reveal that you are his riduur. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Rumble [Fluff] Djarin comforts you during a thunderstorm. << Female Reader >>

SERIES:

🦋 Orbit: Part 1 (Body Warmth), Part 2 (Battle Scars), Part 3 (Bruised Skin) [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] You and Din Djarin had been orbiting one another for a long time. Sharing a space, sharing warmth and sharing skin. Mega Fluff with a healthy dose of “Who did this to you?” << Gender Neutral Reader, Injury >>

🦋 Not Like This, Not You [Angst, Hurt Comfort, Fluff] After being captured by Moff Gideon, Djarin is forced to break his creed and show his face to you. You are devastated but both of you are determined to escape. << Female Reader, Violence >> ⭐️

🦋 In Sickness and In Health: Part 1 (In Sickness), Part 2 (In Health) [Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff] The time when the kid got sick and the time you caught the same illness from him. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

DRABBLES:

🦋 Bacta Patch [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Mando stops by your store to discover that you’re hurt. He decides to fix that. With a healthy dose of ‘Who did this to you?’ << Gender Neutral Reader >>

#din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #pedro pascal #baby yoda #mando and grogu #din djarin x you #din djarin x gender neutral reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #baby grogu #daddy pascal #literally pedro pascal as a father #Grogu is my son and I love him #din grogu #din djarin imagine #din djarin oneshot