KINKTOBER DAY 5: Fucking Machine -Part 2 (Preview)

Day 2: Keep Me Close (Cockwarming)

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Set between the First and Second Season of The Mandalorian

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: When guilt strikes, the reader takes it upon herself to remind Din that there will always be ways to enjoy one another's presence even after a long and tiring day.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: established relationship, unprotected sex, fluff and smut paired with hurt and comfort

Word Count: 1501

You knew when you had signed up to be a scout, life would become immensely difficult. It took a certain soul to chart the stars for new hyperspace routes, explore unknown planetary regions, and navigate virgin patches of new worlds that many have seen but few have ever touched whether out of fear for Wild Space or respect for what may or may not be out there. 

You knew when you had agreed to follow the Mandalorian and his green ward into the Unknown Regions on their own journey that life would become complicated. The toughness of your job translated over to his well enough to where any violence rarely caught you off guard, and your knowledge and skills paired with the warrior’s upbringing were a complimentary mess of blaster residue and star drafts.

You weren’t sure when it had started or how, but the feelings you didn't even know you had for The Mandalorian metamorphosed into something deeper somewhere between the cantina fights and never-ending nights on undocumented planets. Somewhere along the way, the stars you were hired to chart had found their way into the reflection of the warrior's armor. And somewhere along the way, caught up in staring at the blinking lights twinkling in beskar, you had looked up to find the visor in which the universe the stars belonged to stared back. 

Gentle touches, lingering stares, and hushed voices deep into the night on backwater planets and in the hull of The Crest filled your heart with a love you thought had been reserved only for your family and work. Your first time together had been a heated moment where clothes were shifted enough to get the job done, but later the warrior treated you to hours of the most tender sex under a bright moon while the child slept safely aboard the ship. 

You knew your relationship with the Mandalorian was going to be complicated, but you hadn’t predicted how immensely difficult it would be to keep up between being full-time parents to Grogu, picking up jobs to feed the three of you, and balancing two different careers despite living aboard the same ship. 

The tender moments you had at the budding of your relationship were still there, but spaced out due to bad timing and exhaustion. When you had a moment to yourselves, it was almost overwhelming trying to decide how to spend that moment. Do you get lost in each others' bodies? Nap? Spend time together alone that didn’t involve dirty cantinas or shootouts or patching up wounds? 

Regardless, exhaustion always won out and you’d sleep long and deep knowing the world was on pause. Even if it was for just for a few hours. But you missed Din. And you could feel the same ache he had with you, but tailored with guilt and remorse for breaking unspoken promises and expectations. The weight of the galaxy sat on his broad shoulders, and any verbal attempt to reassure him fell on distracted ears. 

The bounty Din was currently hunting was supposed to take two, maybe three days tops. But when nearly two weeks rolled by, stretched thin like your worry for the man, you couldn’t help but fear the worst. It was in those moments that doubt and guilt weighed down on your own shoulders, wondering if your relationship demanded too much of him when life already demanded enough as is.

You were on your feet the moment the ramp hissed and lowered itself, the relieved sigh you let out taken back when you witnessed just how exhausted your warrior was. His stride was slow as if he were wading through thick mud and not up the flat incline to his ship. His shoulders were somehow both lifted in stress and drooping with fatigue, and he had very little care for the unconscious body he dragged behind him. 

You didn’t miss the way his body wavered after throwing the quarry into the carbonite chamber, or the sway in his steps as he made his way over to Grogu’s pram and gently stroked his sleeping son’s ear before turning to you. You didn't miss how his head nearly dropped as he lowered his helmet to your forehead in a keldabe kiss, or the weakness in his grip as his hands rested on your hips. 

You could feel the fatigue, the frustration, the guilt, and the shame rolling off of him in waves; in the weakened way his hands tightened on your hips and how he’s stubbornly ignoring his body to try to show you an ounce of the affection he had for you. Your heart ached for this man.

You gently pried his hands off of your hips and led him to his bunk, guiding him to sit. Din lifts his hands as if to find your hips again but you gently swat them away, opting to take off his armor piece by piece instead. You ignored the way Din stared, and you refused to answer the unspoken question that weighed heavily in the air. You took each piece of beskar off as if it were your own, showing the metal the respect it both deserved and earned for keeping Din alive all these years.  

When the armor was off, sans helmet, you kneeled in front of Din and used your shoulders to spread his legs open. Your hand found his crotch and you gently rubbed at it through his flight suit, the other hand untying the laces of his boots and sliding them off, not once allowing your eyes to stray from his helmet. When he was hard under your hand and his boots and socks were off, you stood, ignoring the way your knees popped. 

You reached out to Din just as he had and found the hidden zippers in his suit, peeling off the layers until The Mandalorian before you revealed the man underneath the armor. A strong body of flesh marred with scars and softened with age, a body you knew every inch of intimately. Your eyes grazed over his body and landed on his now hard member, leaking and red and asking for attention. 

With a roll of your shoulders, you slipped off your own clothing with far less grace than you had reserved for Din's armor and reached out to the man once you were as naked as he was. With one knee on the bunk, a shaky hand rested on your belly. You clasped your hand over Din's, rubbing soothing circles into the skin. Despite his state of arousal, you hadn't noticed the way his body curled slightly with insecurity and that same exhaustion that had been plaguing him for far too long. 

"Meshla, I... I'm sorry, I can't, I-... I'm so tired..." Din's helmet tilted away and the way his voice cracked at the end broke your heart. You patted his hand and brushed it aside, the limb sliding down and falling to the bunk with little fight.

"It's okay, Din. I'm not asking that of you. Not tonight. I just want to remind you that you'll always have me and that I just want to be as close to you in any way I can. Okay?"

"Okay," his voice croaked after a pause.

You climbed into the bunk with him, encouraging him further in until his feet were safely in the confines of the sleeping quarters. Once satisfied that his comfort was met, you positioned yourself over his erection and slid down. Din's moan was deep and long, your own fingers splaying on his chest rumbled with the sound deep in his chest. You dragged your fingers down to his stomach right above the base of his cock, then up again in a soothing way that had Din replacing his moan with a longing sigh. A sound you missed dearly.

Ensuring he was tucked deep in your core, you shifted and sprawled yourself over the man like a blanket, burying your face into his chest. Din's arms wrapped around you a moment later and you didn't put up a fight when he rolled the two of you onto your sides, hiking your leg over his hip and burying his helmet into your neck. Once satisfied your comfort was met, Din wrapped his arms tightly around you and squeezed you close to where you weren't sure where you started and he ended. But you wouldn't trade that for the world.

Being a scout was hard, and being the partner of a Mandalorian was difficult, but it was all worth it to be close to the man who had given you a home to return to and a family you had always wanted. You knew one-day things will slow down, that your jobs won't demand as much and Grogu will be returned to his kind. But until then, you're happy to take and give what you can, and enjoy the warm moments of closeness that not even Wild Space or cantina shootouts could ever take away from you. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Ah, yisssss day 2 is complete. I think I can post one or two more in the next 24 hours but I'm slowly catching up. Days may be switched, and to be inclusive these kink prompts will be friendly to readers who are/were AFAB, AMAB, or gender-neutral.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

@oonajaeadira has a great response to the reason drama in the Pedro fandoms and I hope we can all learn to handle these situations as lovingly, gently, but firmly as her. Everyone's feelings are valid, but not everyone's actions are and I hope we can all move on and make this a learning lesson where no one else gets hurt. Mentally, physically, or emotionally. As a writer, my first reaction was to block, but Adira's loving note made me reconsider and have an open heart about this. For everyone involved.

Not trying to add to any drama, my heart goes out to everyone who is hurting from this.

I am not stealing anything. I have removed/ changed everything I've been asked to remove. I voiced my opinion. This post by @stealyourblorbos is unwarranted, nasty, and untrue. If y'all would give me a chance, then maybe this can be worked out without hard feelings and people being blocked.

Come sit next to me, kitkat. Let me love on you. Gonna say some things that you might not like all the way, but I see that you're angry and hopefully I can help you see where I'm at.

Listen. Jules is a good friend of mine and I trust her. With my life. Every interaction I've had with her has been genuine and while I don't know everything about her life, I know enough that having her work stolen can be not only demoralizing, but damaging to her profits. She is a working artist. And while, yes, she does post stuff very generously online for free, those posts can bring her commissions and work. So to have someone pass them off as their own can be severely heartbreaking and damaging.

I didn't see the posts in question, so I have to imagine what the situation was. I truly believe that you didn't mean to pass the work off as your own. You may have just seen something beautiful and posted it because you're curating your blog. But if you don't credit the artist or reblog from the original source, that is basically you claiming yourself as the OG poster, and that is a kind of theft. It's better if you post a link to the artist. But it's best if you reblog from the original post itself. That's how the artist intended the work to be shown and it also directs people back to their blog so they can gain interest and therefore work.

You already know all of this and I'm sorry if this comes off as condescending. I don't want to condescend. At all. I asked you to sit by me for a reason.

If you noticed, I did NOT block you. In fact, the post led me to follow you. Because as much as I trust Jules, I also love her a hell of a lot and I know myself enough to know that emotions can do things to judgment. I wanted to make sure I wasn't just blocking you blindly out of my love for her. I always want to give people the benefit of the doubt and see their side of things before I bring out the pitchfork.

So I took a look at your page. Did I see anything that was stolen and passed off as your own? No. Did I see a few pieces of reposted artwork that wasn't credited? I did. Hmm. So there's some improvement that could happen there. But. I appreciate that you have done your best to remedy the situation. I'm glad you ultimately respected the wishes of the artist to remove a piece when it was asked you do so. Thank you.

Now then, let's get to my actions. Did I reblog Jules' post? You bet I did. She was hurt, she's my friend, and she's a fellow creator. As a creator myself I would feel horrible if someone reposted my work without crediting me. I felt that hurt in my soul. And whether you apologized or took down the posts, that hurt remains and distrust will linger. Righting a wrong does not instantly warrant forgiveness. That must be earned.

If you did something to hurt and you're sorry for it, then you'll do what you can to show that you truly appreciate the art that you put on your blog. In this case, you could do your best to credit and support the artists whose art you love. Follow a few of them and get to know them. Tell your followers who they are and why you love their art. Become a friend to artists.

However, if you believe you weren't in the wrong, that others are overreacting, then I stand by my reblog of Jules' post. You'll notice my tags were something along the line of "don't do this." And I mean that. This is a cautionary tale for others. "Please, fandom friends, don't treat creators this way. It hurts, and we'll get angry about it."

So know that while I listen to my friend--someone who has been nothing but good to me and deserves my support--I'm also listening to you. I hear you. I am 100% giving you a chance. I don't want to block you, because in this fandom we've all been through enough mistaken conduct and finger-pointing and really, all we all wanna do is love a really nice man and the work he does. I know that's what Jules wants, it's what I want, and taking the time to peek at your blog, now I think that's probably what you want too.

But just to be sure, I'll give you a follow and get to understand you better. While I must support my friend's feelings, I hope in time I can come to trust that your intentions are well-meaning.

(gif by dieter-bravo)

On a Cold, Cold Night

Pre-Season 1 Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: brief severe broken bone and wound description, otherwise mostly fluff

Word Count: 4,735

Summary: On a planet with the looming threat of a blizzard rolling in, an abandoned cabin and quarry on the verge of death has Din making choices he thought he'd never have to make in his profession.

On a cold, cold night, the Mandalorian waded in thick snow, guided on his journey with just the sensors in his helmet and the full moon lingering above him in the night sky. The wind whipped at his armor, tugging at his cowl, and screamed at him to turn back. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

If it hadn’t been for the odd shape highlighted in the moonlight, Din would never have been able to spot the cabin amongst the backdrop of trees and snow, even with the sensors in his helmet.

He had been relying on tips and hushed whispers to find his latest bounty, and if it hadn’t been for the continuous cold, Din may have even enjoyed this hunt. But snow whipped at his beskar as he trudged through thigh-high snow, its icy hands no match for the brute strength harbored underneath all the metal and padding.

Din stopped and scanned his surroundings, but no heat signature could be picked up from the white hills and trees that tower over him. A perfect place to hide out and snipe if one had the skill to, but as far as he could tell, he was alone. And he wasn’t sure what to make of that just yet.

He continued forward, the snow straining his already tired muscles. As the cabin grew nearer, the tracking fob on his belt began to blink faster and faster, its annoying beeping a comforting sound of relief, knowing that this job will soon be over.

But as he grew closer, he couldn’t help but feel as though something was… off. The cabin itself was old and decaying, a structure that has undoubtedly housed generations far before Din was ever born. No light peeked through broken windows and no sound nor movement could be detected with the naked eye.

Din paused again and amped up the sensitivity of his heat sensor mode and eyed the cabin. It was faint, and he nearly missed it, but he found a trace of a heat signature unmoving within the structure’s walls. He waited, so still, he could’ve been mistaken for a tree. But the body his helmet picked up didn’t move for the five minutes he observed.

Something was definitely wrong.

This bounty was supposed to be a considerable threat, from what Din recalled of his puck and the information Karga gave him. Another runaway wanted by their father, a deadly stray who had taken out plenty of bounty hunters before Karga practically begged Din to take the job. It was a pity the father wanted his kid alive, the job would’ve been so much easier if he could’ve dragged a dead body back between the snow and cold.

The criminal in question hadn’t come with a photo, nor gender, just their age and some basic information that was enough for Din to go off of. They had planet hopped for the past year before disappearing, and his search led him to the very cabin he now stood before.

Din hesitated, but the blinking light and sound of the fob were adamant that his quarry was indeed inside. He let out a sigh, trying to peer in through the darkness of the cabin before caving and trying the door.

To his surprise, it opened rather easily. He waited for the inevitable, the sound of a blaster going off, the blinding flash, the pressure as the plasma bounced off his armor and destroying whatever is unfortunately in its path. Instead, he was met with a deafening silence and contrasted darkness caused by the moonlight pouring through the window.

Din took a step and the wooden floors creaked and gave a little underneath his weight. He waited, but still was only met with silence and darkness. He closed the door behind him and blended into the shadows, eyes flicking over whatever was exposed by the light of the moon.

He could faintly make out furniture within the one-room home. A table with two chairs appeared to be pushed up against one wall next to a window where the moon can be seen through the ice-tinted glass. The circular rug laid at his feet took up most of the living space, disheveled and faded with time and love.

The rest was too dark to see, and he immediately tapped his helmet for his night vision feature. The cabin really was modest, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a figure lying in the cabin’s only double bed.

He could see the scratch marks his quarry had made pushing the bed closer to what Din can now see is a fireplace. Darkened wood and soot have stained the firebox, but the last fire it held had snuffed out a long time ago.

Despite being inside and no longer assaulted by the cold, brutal winds; Din could still feel just how chilled the cabin was regardless. The air lightly whistled through the cracks and broken pieces of the windows that should have been boarded up long before the storm ever touched down.

For once, Din felt a tad out of his element. He was used to violence, fighting, a struggle, begging, or bribery. Not silence, not darkness, and not a barely warm but still alive body laying on a bed as if they were a gift from the maker Himself for Din to easily snag and be on his way. Din considered calling out to his target, to ensure it was even them, but his voice got stuck in his throat. And the now fully lit up fob on his belt told him his hunch was correct, regardless of the silence and lack of facial features to identify the quarry.

After hesitating, Din finally found the nerve to quietly make his way over to the body on the bed.

His target was hidden underneath layers of musky, old, moth-eaten blankets. The top of their head poked out from underneath, but everything else was tucked away from sight. With more caution than he was used to, Din slowly peeled the blankets back and gently nudged the body from facing opposite him to laying on their back.

Din flinched. He knew his quarry’s age, but he was still surprised to find that the child he was after was a grown woman a lot older than he was made to believe, and also at how fragile she looked. She barely had the energy to shiver from the lack of warmth, limbs stiff as if in rigor mortis.

The girl was ashen, lips a grayish-blue, and her clothes were stiff as if glued to her from the cold. Din sucked in air, looking her over, wondering if she was even worth the credits to bring back. It had taken him, a healthy human male, hours to trek through the snow to find her from the nearest village. In this state, would she even make the trip alive?

Would she even survive overall?

Fists clenching and unclenching as he overlooked the girl, he monitored how shallow her breathing was. Din sighed and knew he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Out of caution, he took a photo of the girl just in case his next actions resulted in failure.

He tucked the quarry back into her blankets and sifted through the room until he found tools, rusted, but still in rather good shape. The sparseness of the cabin was infuriating, and he ended up needing to break the table down to use the flat parts to board up the windows.

He swore the whole time he was outside, fighting with the brutal winds and the cold to nail each piece of wood until he couldn’t see the glass anymore. It meant the cabin was even darker when he returned, but he doubted his sleeping companion cared all that much at the moment.

Din grabbed the remaining pieces of the table and snapped them into smaller fragments, each leg was broken in threes and placed them in the fireplace. Adding some dried unused paper he found in a chest near the bed, he used his flame thrower to ignite the kindling and the fire in the hearth roared to life, strong and resilliant. Din allowed himself to breathe and enjoy the warmth the fire brought as he kneeled in front of it.

The cabin, although still cold, was much more comfortable than when he first arrived. Din had turned his fob off and placed it in his pack and unhooked his cape to dry off on a hat rack nailed into the wall.

Din glanced over at the girl, but not much has changed. Once he felt warm enough himself, he stood and checked on the girl. Her breathing was less shallow and the sensors in his helmet told him she was starting to grow warmer, but it may be a day or two before he can get her to a healthy enough state to drag her back to the Crest where he can treat her properly before throwing her into carbonite.

With nothing to do other than wait, Din dragged a chair close to the quarry’s bed and sat, arms crossed, gazing into the fire.

The cold jolted him out of a sleep he didn’t remember falling into, his body slightly trembling. Din wasn’t sure how long he had been out for, but it must have been for a few hours. His body trembled and Din squinted into the cabin, confused, until he realized the fire had started to die out.

Din swore under his breath and took the poker next to the fireplace and stabbed at the kindling. The fire breathed to life before it weakened, threatening to snuff out again. Din frantically tore through the cabin and picked up any books and loose paper he could use as kindling.

The fire accepted Din’s offerings happily, jumping back to life as it washed the room in hues of oranges. Din sighed, shoulders tense, eyeing the fire as if he didn’t trust the thing to keep going. Outside, the wind rattled his makeshift blinds, and the cabin groaned under the pressure of a storm he hadn't known was coming when he had come to fetch the quarry.

With the panic of the fire now gone, a new panic crept up on Din. He quickly stands and tugs the blanket back to look over his girl and sucked air through his teeth, seeing just how worse off she looked.

Just like the fire, sometime in the hours of his sleep, she had changed positions, her front facing the fire as if trying to get warm. But unlike how he found her before, the quarry’s glazed eyes were open and gazing at him from beneath hooded lids, barely lucid.

The quarry licked her chapped lips in vain, the small smile pulled at the cracks in her lips, causing the crevices to start to bleed. But the cold made the blood move more like tar than life’s vital liquid, and Din couldn’t help but flinch at the sight.

“I should’ve known death would come for me in the form of a Mandalorian.”

She weakly lifted a shaky arm as if to reach out to him, but the limb immediately fell limp and her eyes rolled back into her skull. Din swore and ripped off his gloves, forcing her to look at him but her eyes remained shut.

“Hey, girl, I need you to stay awake. Can you hear me?”

He swore when he realized how icy her skin felt under his fingers. She felt like a marble statue, and for the first time since he took this bounty, Din began to seriously panic.

Din pushed down the blankets once more to really take the girl in. It couldn’t be just the cold making her this weak this fast. Din honestly was angry at himself for not realizing that the arm she hadn’t used, the one that she had cradled close to her body since he first found her, was broken. Even through the makeshift bandage job, Din could tell the way she tried to set it hadn’t been good enough and most likely had been done in haste between the storm approaching and perhaps a hunt gone wrong.

Din emptied out his own pack, found his med kit, and immediately arranged a bacta needle and the tools he needed to properly set the bone. He gently peeled the fabric from her arm and hissed at the wound that awaited him.

The skin was rotting around the opened juncture of the wound, and he could see a small flash of white where her bone was. Luckily for her, it was a clean break, but unluckily for her, she may lose the arm if his medical skills and the bacta don’t cut it.

Din rummaged through the small kitchen’s cabinets, pleased to find some canned foods and dried meats that could hold them over for at least a week, and took out a big pot and plopped it in the sink. He used his flamethrower on the spout and prayed to whatever god was out there that it would warm the pipes enough to get some water for him to clean the wound before giving the girl proper medical care. He sighed with his whole body when the pipe managed to spit out enough water for him to put in the pot and for him to clean a piece of cloth and his hands before freezing over again.

Bringing the pot over, he waited until the water was still warm enough to be pleasing, but not enough to scald. Din held his breath and gently apologized as he quickly re-set her arm properly, and she flinched hard enough for Din to need to hold her down so as to not re-injure herself.

After setting the arm in a make-shift splint made up of remaining wood and cloth from his cowl, he took the other now clean cloth and dabbed it into the water and gently patted it around the wound. The woman jolted and let out a long, hollow moan that made Din’s skin erupt in goosebumps that weren’t from the cold.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon. I promise.”

He’s not entirely sure why he’s trying to soothe her, Din doubts she could even hear him, but it made him feel less…useless as he cleaned the wound the best he could and redressed it with bandages from his med kit. He considered the catalyzer, but between the cold and any infection, he feared that would be the last shock her body needed to completely give out.

Din pulled away and watched her shiver, tears streaking down her face. He tucked the blankets back around her with care, bare fingers brushing hair out of her face with a gentleness Din didn’t even know he was capable of having. The girl was beautiful in her own right, and perhaps in other life, he would have pursued her for different reasons. 

Between keeping the fire going, ignoring the wind's howls, and the adrenaline still buzzing in his ears; Din couldn’t get back to sleep even if he wanted to. He sighed and got up, stretching, feeling his back pop. He put his items away and began to clean up the mess he made in a panic. Din paused when he came to the spilled contents of what appeared to be his quarry’s bag. He wasn’t sure how he missed it in his haste to keep the cabin shut tight, warm, and clean, but it now splayed itself in front of him as if beckoning for him to open it.

Aside from enough credits to last another six months, a toiletry bag, a med kit with expired medicines, an old-fashioned camera, and a handful of clothes; Din couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. But while shoving the items that spilled out back into the bag, he felt something bulky partly sticking out from inside of the bag’s walls.

Din brushed his fingers along the outline until he found the opening of a secret pouch. He dipped his fingers into the secret compartment and pulled out a small but thick book. The traditional material nearly threw Din off in and of itself, but when he flipped it open, he was even more shocked to find it wasn’t a book: it was a combination photo album and journal.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to read the entries or even look at the photos, but Din felt a pull that he couldn’t quite shake, even if he felt slightly wrong for peeping into someone’s clearly private catalog. Why would a wanted criminal take the time and energy to capture photos, print them, glue them into a book, and write within its columns? Why couldn’t a data pad suffice? He knew the risk a digital journal could have, but it still felt like so much effort to make a physical book that he knew it wasn't about this being made out of safety, but rather love and passion.

The book’s binding and paper told Din it was handmade, and very well loved. He flipped through random pages, eyes moving over pictures of painted skies and clear oceans and lush forests. Some photos were selfies of the quarry, handheld, others looked like the photo had been perched on a rock or taken by a local of the area. There were a few photos here and there of what looked to be local lovers you might've picked up on your travels, and he tried not to stare too long at any selfies of you kissing a stranger or a point of view shot of them holding your hand from behind. He didn't know why jealousy briefly flashed in his heart, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. 

Din settled back into his chair, unable to look away. The quarry wrote of each of the places she visited with such love and devotion, and each passage was written in letter format, always starting with “Dear Dad,” and ending with her name and hearts drawn around her signature.

Brow furrowed, Din flipped the book back to the first page and really took a look at the photos within the first few pages. The photos were older, more bent and wrinkled, and featured a much younger version of the woman fighting death in the bed mere feet away. Sometimes she was alone, other times she posed with a woman much older than her, other times it was with an older man, a few times all three of them.

The quarry didn’t exactly look like the older couple, but there was love there. The way the man looked at the woman with such deep affection it made Din’s heart ache, remembering the way his own father looked at his mother before the war. The woman was beautiful, with laugh lines and wild hair tied up with a rag. Who were these people?

Din stared at the photo of the man in the photo, finger absently running over the image. The man in the photo and the man who hired him to bring his daughter home were two very different men. In coloring, in age, in kindness.

The man who hired him didn’t have an ounce of the love and gentleness in his face and words that Din could feel that the man in the photo had for his partner and daughter, regardless if the quarry was his by blood or not. Din couldn’t deny the love only a father could give to his child. The love didn't speak, but rather screamed at him from every photo as he turned each page and saw the quarry’s backstory come to life.

A pained groan had Din snapping the book shut with the same guilt and sheepishness of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar would have. He blinked over at his quarry and stood abruptly, dropping her journal. When had she started to shake so violently?

Din was at her side in a split second and found himself holding her good hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes were half open and glazed, blankly searching the ceiling as if trying to find an answer to unspoken questions within the wooden beams.

Her hands were icy to the touch, brow damp with sweat, clothes and hair clinging to her head and figure and shaking uncontrollably. Din swore and didn’t think twice to unclasp his armor and slipped off his boots. He slid into the bed and immediately held her to him, his larger frame enfulfing her in his embrace.

The quarry unconsciously clung to him, shaking so violently it made Din’s teeth clink together in his own mouth. But he held strong, rubbing soothing circles into her back and pulling the pile of blankets tighter around them, ensuring her back was to the fire.

After what felt like hours, the quarry slowly stopped shaking and settled into his arms. Din glanced down at her to find her face was relaxed, although flushed, and still damp with sweat. Her breathing mellowed and, for the first time since he found her, she looked to be at ease.

Din gave her a few hours, dozing with her in his arms, and rubbed her back absent mindedly with one hand. When he finally found the will to move, he pulled away from her and checked on her wounds, pleased to find the break and gash were healing nicely thanks to modern medicine.

For the next three days, when Din wasn’t holding her to him in bed and either reciting stories from his childhood or humming to her, he changed her bandages and washed the sweat from her face. When she was lucid enough, he fed her whatever he could find in the cabin, and when she had the energy, he helped her relieve herself in the cabin’s tiny bathroom before tucking her back into bed where she’d promptly pass out.

In those three days, when Din wasn’t taking care of her, he found himself drawn back to her photo album journal, flipping from one page to the next until he felt like he had memorized every detail there was to absorb.

And in those three days, Din knew he had to make a hard decision. One that would either lead a girl back to a jailer (or worse), or one where he would have to risk finding his way back to the guild with barely enough fuel and food but not enough credits to feed himself or refuel when he gets there. He loathed to think he’d have to borrow money from the covert’s savings, or deal with Karga’s smug smile knowing he had a Mandalorian in his debt.

On the fourth day, the storm let up and Din could see the sun shining through the cracks of the boarded-up windows. He glanced at the quarry and knew she was well enough by now. He could drag her through the remaining snow back to the Crest without the worry of infection or frostbite, and he could be in hyperspace by noon the next day.

All he had to do was move.

You weren’t sure how long you had been out for, but your body felt like it had been hit by a heard of banthas. Your muscles strained with the slightest movement and you couldn’t stop the pained moan from leaving your lips even if you wanted to.

When you found the energy to open your eyes, you had to squint to make out the cabin thanks to the sun shining through the cracks of the cabin. When had you boarded up the windows? It had been on your list of things to do before the storm hit, yet you had no memory of getting the chore done.

With another groan you slowly sat up, your body feeling tense yet weak at the same time. A fire burned as weakly as you felt in the fireplace, keeping the extreme cold out while still keeping the cabin on the chilly side, and you had to wonder yet again when you had found the time to make the fire in the first place.

Memories of days before came crashing down on you, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut at the intense headache that threatened to split your brain apart so suddenly.

You remembered going out to gather wood. A deer had startled you and you had tripped on a branch and tumbled down a steep hill, breaking your arm. Your arm!

You pulled your sleeve up to find the arm had been lovingly bandaged at some point, the bone back in its rightful place. Outside of a dull ache, you weren’t in any pain. You poked at the bandage and hissed, but your actions didn’t cause blood to leak to the surface and stain the bandaging. You didn’t remember dressing this, either.

You remember dragging yourself back to the cabin, hours later after getting yourself lost between the cold, the adrenaline rush, and the pain from the break. You remember desperately trying to get warm after being out in the snow for hours, finding your way back into bed after collecting every blanket the cabin had…

A Mandalorian.

You remembered the ghostly image of a Mandalorian standing above you, and your brain convinced you that it was the personification of Death coming to guide you home after so long. You remember gentle hands and kind whispers, vaguely, like a faded childhood memory. There, but not quite.

You glanced around the cabin to find that you were alone. You swung your feet over the edge of the bed and listened, waiting. But no one was inside the cabin with you, or outside, perhaps no one for miles as you had originally planned. Had the Mandalorian been a fever dream? You glanced back down at your makeshift cast and knew that you couldn’t have hallucinated him, there’s enough evidence to tell you that much for certain.

A beep caught your attention and on the nearby dresser was a fob and a small holo-pad you had never seen before. You weakly rose to your feet and stumbled over to the dresser, leaned your good arm against it, and squinted down at the devices.

The tracking fob was either dead or just not picking up on your DNA, and tapping it made the screen light up but your bounty headshot didn’t come up. You glanced down at the round holo-pad communicator, the piece of technology small enough to fit in your hand and had clearly seen better days.

The holo-pad blinked with a message from a com link you didn’t recognize. Your fingers lingered over the button to receive the message, shaking with hesitance. Before you could lose your nerve, you tapped the button and pulled your arm back as if it were being pursued by a wild animal.

You gasped and sucked in air, eyes zoning in on the image in the hologram. Anxious eyes scan the document, wondering if your tired eyes misread what was in front of you, if maybe you’re hallucinating the whole thing.

But there in front of you was a picture of yourself, much younger, grinning back at you. It had been a time when things were simpler and when your adopted parents were still alive and well. Before…before…

Your name was printed in bold letters, and right under it: DECEASED; followed by a half-assed obituary you knew had been from your owner. It lacked significant details about your life but put on enough of a show for those reading it who didn’t know you or your situation to believe the man who wrote it truly cared.

It was strange, seeing your own eulogy, gazing into eyes that were once yours so long ago. You thought of the ghost of the Mandalorian that had been there clearly to collect your bounty but had a change of heart. Did he figure out who his employer was? Did your well-being make him change his mind?

You had a million questions racing through your head as fast as your heartbeat within your chest. But amidst those buzzing questions, one statement made its presence known that made your knees weak and shoulders sag with relief, eyes tearing up:

You’re finally free.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

This was the first fanfic I've written in probably 10 years. Honestly, the Mando fandom alone has some of the most beautiful writers I've ever come across and it genuinely inspired me to come out of retirement. I had a falling out with a friend in a fandom I was once in over a decade ago and it was too painful to write. But now that I've healed and moved on and found love and inspiration in the Mando fandom and reignited my love for Star Wars in general, I'm ready to jump back into it.

I have a few spicy ideas and a few spicy/sweet chapter story ideas as well. I'm hoping once things even out at work I can create a writing schedule for future works whether it's a one-shot or chapter story to have something to look forward to outside of my career goals and advancements. It really means a lot you read this and I hope to see you again on my journey back into writing! ❤️ I may create a tumblr for my fics, still deciding, I don't quite understand Tumblr cause I'm #old but I'm willing to give it a try if it means making friends in the fandom and sharing my work!

Also, this was my first time using this site in a decade, and lemme tell you I am so proud of myself for figuring out how to tag and create bookmarks and even the page breaks. If you have any advice on how to best navigate this site as a writer, please do let me know I'd love to hear it!

Love, Intertwined

Once upon a time…no, that’s not how your fairy tale goes. Din might have saved you that fateful day, but he was no knight in shining beskar armor. But the universe has a funny way of pushing people apart and bringing them back together again. 

I. Prequel - Coming 8/4

II. I See You

III. I See Us

IV. Sequel - TBD

Coming Soon

The heat and work have kicked my ass these past few days, but I'm hoping to drop my next fic either tonight or tomorrow! Friday at the absolute latest! Here's a sneak peek of the art for those who are interested!

It almost seems like non-disabled people have a harder time accepting when a chronically disabled person will never get better - and maybe even deteriorate over time, than the affected person has.

"Aww don't lose hope"

There is no hope to be had? Stop pushing your toxic positivity down my throat when I have come to terms with my situation and am grieving already.

Losing hope is what has given me an ounce of peace of mind. This is what life is now. It's not your grief, it's mine.

Yooo I have no idea what I've done to bless the gods today, but I'm not complaining that I keep getting updates from some of my favorite fan works on AO3 today and this past weekend! Feeling extremely blessed. Thank you, Betty White! 🫶

ayo i found 2 pages with head angles of humans and animals, could be useful to anyone reading this

hoomans

animals

I’ve got some. gripes. with the s3 mando finale. 

Keep reading

Mandalorian Fandom P.S.A.

Just a reminder to everyone out there that claiming Mando's name is Djarin Din is very Euro-centric and until Dave and John confirm what is and is not a surname for our favorite Himbo Dad, it's extremely unfair to say what is and is not canon regarding his name when it's colonizing a space that's meant to be safe for everyone. If you WANT to call him by either or and that's your headcanon, that's fine, but I'm getting real tired of seeing fellow non-white/Euro based friends getting shut down for sticking with Din and inviting immature fans into their safe spaces to peacefully educate them. Ya'll, do better.