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vercopaanir · 5 years ago

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Somewhere Safe

The Lovely Moons, Chapter 17

Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Blind!Reader

Summary: After a conversation with Venka and suffering nightmares, you confide in the Mandalorian and Kuiil your worries to keep the children safe. The bounty hunter forms a plan.

Words: 4.6k

Warnings/Rating: T, I think? Romantic themes with a little bit of heat!

Notes: I have gotten a few messages asking if this story will be going a certain route. This chapter, specifically the end, will answer those questions!

AO3

It takes nearly two weeks for the fathier to regain its health fully, and it is a tumultuous time. There are several days when Kuiil isn’t sure the creature would make it through the night, and oftentimes, both Venka and Corde ask to stay up with him while he nurses the sick animal. You worry for the aftermath of the beast, knowing the two children hold soft feelings for it. They are alike, abused and forgotten, sold and branded. Their unspoken bond brings mist to your vision that you fight to keep back.

You whisper your fears to the Mandalorian one night as you sit up in the bed that the Ugnaught continued to insist you sleep in, brushing your hair out and staring up towards the mesh window of the tent.

The Mandalorian sits on the edge of the bed, removing each piece of his armor with diligence. He finally gets down to his helmet and his thick layers beneath, shucking his boots with a grateful sigh. There are no qualms for him to flop back on the bed beside you, his visor trained on the way your hair falls in waves down to your waist.

“You worry for them.”

“They have been through something that no child should ever have to endure,” you mutter, letting the brush drop in your lap. You wish you could throw it across the room instead. “More loss, more fear can break your spirit after the things they’ve seen.”

You feel warm, bare hands encircle your arms above your elbows, gently pulling you back to lay down. You go without resistance, glancing to the side, only able to see some of the visor that’s now obscured by waves of your hair. Unbothered, the Mandalorian intones, “We will protect them.”

“Not from everything. Not from everyone,” you murmur, turning to look up at the ceiling, only partially aware of his fingers picking your hair from his helmet. “You have so much already to worry about, and I...I can’t even-”

“Stop it.” His tone is harsh, and it makes you flinch from how demanding he is when his hand squeezes your arm tight. “If it weren’t for you, they’d still be in that hole on Cantonica.”

“If it weren’t for you, all three of us would still be there.”

“I’m not arguing about this,” the Mandalorian huffs, letting you go and leaving you cold. “You know how I feel about what you bring to us, what you do for us. Nothing changes that.”

Us.

You bite your lip, your hand moving across the covers to lace your fingers through his. “I just think sometimes I can do more. I can be more for them,” you whisper, turning your face to look at the outline of his profile in the darkness. His helmet gleams beneath the moonlight. “More for you.”

Suddenly, he turns onto his side, bringing your hand with him so you hug his middle, your body pressed up against his back. You rest your cheek against the curve between his shoulders, listening to him breathe raggedly, and you squeeze him tight.

“You are everything to me.”

The next day, Corde asks if she can try to ride a blurrg. The Mandalorian immediately tells Kuiil he doesn’t like the idea, citing her small stature in comparison to the beat’s giant maw. You listen to them argue back and forth, your interest perking when the bounty hunter mentions how sore he’d been when he was thrown so many times from the foal he had learned with.

You sit in the shade of the stables, a few yards off, practicing Basic Galactic Sign with Venka as the child toddles happily between you and the Mandalorian’s boot. He finally gives in to Kuiil’s reasoning, a sound argument that riding animals will give her an advantage now when she grows older. He marches off to finish binding the dried vegetation that the blurrgs consume for their meal, determined to earn board and bed for all of you by loaning himself as a farmhand to the Ugnaught. You shake your head towards Venka, signing.

He cares for you and your sister very much. We both do.

Venka holds your hand and signs against your palm, since you can’t make out his fingers with your impaired vision, and you feel the motions. His small hands are a bit clumsy, but you incline your head to see what you can.

Corde says he is the best warrior in the galaxy. Is she right?

You smile, your fingers fluttering.

I think so. What do you think?

Venka grins up at you and nods fervently. You reach over and ruffle his hair with no small amount of affection, but you see when his eyes look down at your hands very seriously, slipping deep into thought. You grow concerned when he doesn’t say anything, cupping his chin with your other hand to tilt his face up.

I don’t want to leave you.

Your heart squeezes, eyes widening, and your hands shake as you reply, Who said you are leaving us?

He sighs softly, shrugging his shoulder. I dreamed it.

You open your mouth, wanting to ask more, to allay his fears, but a sudden, high pitched scream is followed by a loud thud. Both of you whirl around just as you see one of the blurrgs running to the other side of the pen, away from Corde who is sprawled in the dirt. It’s completely silent, but even you, without full use of your vision, see her entire body wracking with cries.

Before you can even get to your feet, the Mandalorian is sprinting across the yard, his armor doing nothing to slow him when he hops fluidly over the fence and stumbles toward the little girl. The blurrg has turned back to them both as he picks her up, its hind legs digging in the dirt as if to charge. Kuiil climbs through the fence, though, calling to it with wary hands outstretched to calm its energy.

“Stay here,” you murmur, both to Venka and the child, who holds onto the little boy’s arm with a worried expression, ears drooped in fear.

You follow the Mandalorian into the tent, finding him sitting the little girl down on a cushion and murmuring soothingly to her, “It’s alright. Let me see.” You sit beside her, petting her hair from her tear stained face as she leans into you instinctively. She’s sniffling, trying to swallow hiccups that choke her.

“What happened?” you ask, pressing your lips to the crown of her hair as she allows the bounty hunter to inspect her arm.

“A l-lizard spooked it,” she coughs wetly, her nose leaking. You coo, grabbing a cloth napkin from the table and returning to clean her face.

“Not broken, maybe a sprain,” mutters the bounty hunter, moving away to gather the bag you’d brought with you. You repress a sigh, knowing his tone is one of anger, though certainly not at the child.

“Most people fall when they learn to ride,” you tell her softly, and when she looks up at you with hopeful, teary eyes, you know it's her pride that hurts more than her arm. You had worn that same expression once, when you’d fallen and tripped as a child unable to see. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I don’t want to learn anymore,” Corde whimpers, pressing her face back into your side.

The Mandalorian returns with a bottle, a clean cloth, and a syringe. His gloves have been removed, tucked into his belt, and the golden skin of his hands seem foreign. His tone is uncharacteristically rough, making you frown when he asks, “Why?”

“Because!” she fidgets as he pours some of the solution onto the cloth, cleaning the scrapes where the gravel had torn the delicate skin of her arm. She sniffles, “It’s scary.”

You nudge the toe of your boot against his calf, earning a tilt of his visor toward you. Inclining your head toward the little girl, you give him a pleading look, and he seems to understand, glancing between you and the child before drawing himself up a little higher. He resumes the rhythmic strokes with the antiseptic solution against her arm.

“I got thrown trying to learn, too.”

Corde peeks up from your side, blinking doubtfully in his direction.

He focuses on his task, pressing the cold numbing agent against every scrape and scratch, sloughing the dirt away. “More times than I can count, but Kuiil helped me. And he can help you too.” He pauses, setting the cloth aside and taking up the needle. He works the syringe into a small bottle and fills it. She watches with contempt, curling into your side when he flicks the barrel to let out air. Leaning his arm against his knee, he looks up at her with a thoughtful air. His voice is much softer now, and you feel your eyes go misty again. “And we are not people who don’t do something just because we’re afraid. Are we?”

Corde stares at him, her eyes moving between his visor and the needle. She takes a deep breath before shaking her head, and she gives him her arm. He makes it quick, inserting the needle and pressing the plunger with a practiced air before wrapping her tiny bicep with gauze to keep it protected. “You’ll feel better in a few minutes,” he murmurs, turning away to clean up the few medical articles.

You take the sleeve of your dress and gently wipe her salty cheeks again, smiling. “I told you that you are very brave. See how I was right?”

She gives you a smile, sniffling and nodding bashfully. “I want to be brave like you. Like a Mandalorian.”

The bounty hunter’s hands pause over the medical supplies, glancing towards you as if to gauge your reaction. You are not sure what he expects to see, or what he fears he might, but your heart lifts when the girl smiles up at you.

“I think you are.”

Corde holds her arm gingerly, standing up. “I’m going to try again,” she declares, her voice still edged with tears but determination setting her chin high.

“Give it a few minutes!” you laugh, watching as she marches out of the tent. You turn to help clean up the mess, but you frown when the Mandalorian swipes it all up, turning and stalking off. You frown, watching his back as he packs the items away, and when he turns, he finds you staring at him.

“What?”

You stand up slow, touching his arm lightly and inclining your head. “She’s fine, you know. Little girls are resilient that way.”

He grunts, stepping around you to rinse his hands at the faucet. “No thanks to Kuiil. Or you, for that matter.”

Shock radiates through your entire body, and you think you would feel less stunned if he had struck you across the face. When he turns around, drying his hands on a towel, your arms are folded and you’ve schooled your expression into something more serene.

“What are you talking about?”

He throws the towel down, tugging his gloves from his belt with more force than necessary. “You could have said something. He listens to you more than me.”

“Are you...actually blaming me for her getting hurt?”

At his stony silence, your eyes flash, heat prickling beneath your skin in a brilliant flush. “Either you do, and you need someone to blame because of how scared it left you, or you’re angry and wanting to fight someone,” you breathe, your heart beginning to pick up speed in the face of conflict. Your hands flex against your sides when you let them drop, standing your ground. “I won’t be a whipping post, and certainly not because you didn’t like not having control.”

You can see the catch of light on the beskar covering his chest when his breathing begins to pick up, and the two of you stare each other down. In another life, you think he may have intimidated you into a forlorn, misplaced apology, but not now. Not with your heart so full, with everything you have tried so hard to preserve.

“Fine,” you whisper, turning your face away, only marginally catching the tilt of his visor. You start towards the mouth of the hut. “If you want someone to blame, stay in here and blame yourself.”

You don’t get far.

A grip of iron latches onto your elbow, tugging you back before you even see him move. You suck in a breath, stumbling as he drags you back behind the partition of the sleeping quarters, and you yelp when your boot catches on one of the rugs. “W-What are you do-”

His fingers grab the lip of his helmet, tearing it off, and in the same movement, his other arm hauls you against the front of his body, and he covers your lips with his own. You lose all the breath in your lungs, your hands hopelessly trying to grab onto something for balance as he seems intent on consuming you whole. It is nothing like the kiss you shared on the Razor Crest, nothing like the stolen kisses around the moisture farm with a touch of tenderness and desperation.

This is hungry, and it is violent.

You aren’t given a moment to see his face, not a chance to adjust to the tight space between him and the wall of the hut as he backs you flush against it, opening your mouth with his lips as if your body is under siege. His helmet hangs from one hand, and he presses it against the curve of your hip, his other cupping the back of your neck. You can’t keep up with the movements, the onslaught of his presence leaving you reeling with vertigo. You settle your hands on either side of his face that is shadowed in the corner of the hut, finding an anchor there, and you gasp when he tears his mouth from yours to bite at your jaw.

“W-What are you do-doing!” you whisper, the scratch of facial hair prickling your skin. The muscles in your legs begin to shake, and there is a fluttering dizziness in your belly that makes you want to pull him closer. Stars, you don’t know if you could handle more of this.

His mouth is hotter than a furnace, his kisses open mouthed and lascivious against your neck, and he stumbles into you, dropping his helmet with a loud thunk against the floor. His shoulders are tighter than a bow string, and you bring shaking fingers up to bury in the fluffy, misshapen curls that are usually hidden.

“Why are you so soft?” he growls, sounding truly angry at this revelation as he keeps you pinned between his body and the wall. You drink in the humid air between you, eyes closing tight against the throbbing ache building brighter within you. “S-Soft and-and sweet and p-pretty,” he whimpers, teeth sinking harder into the warm flesh of your neck beneath your ear.

You tug his hair, wriggling against him for something. You don’t know what you want, what you need in that moment, but you don’t want him to stop. The raw, strangled tone he rasps with, a mixture of fear and joy that heats your blood is buried in your hair when he smothers his lips against the long tresses falling over your shoulder.

“I-It’s alright-” you pant, one hand falling to the back of his neck, and you feel his entire body shudder against you. Your own heart beats hard enough to reverberate against the chest plate pressing against your front, but you know his beats on the other side, too. “It’s alright-”

A scream pierces the otherwise quiet desert air, and suddenly the Mandalorian is gone, swiping his helmet up from the floor and donning it before tearing through the hut to get outside. There’s only a moment’s hesitation on your part before you fall forward after him, running into his back when he stops suddenly in the yard.

Corde screams again, giggling wildly as the blurrg practically hops around the pen with her on its back. The Mandalorian groans so loud his entire helmet seems to vibrate, dropping his head backward. You snort, belly laughs working their way out of you as you lean your temple against his pauldron. You’re dizzy with passion, with relief, with joy, and you’re thankful he’s so solid that you can sink against him and not worry he won’t be the mountain against the sea inside you.

Kuiil ambles his way toward you both, hands folded behind his back and bowing his head. “I will give you my apology. I did not think she would get hurt. She should not have,” he adds, and you can hear the subtle catch in his voice.

“It was an accident,” the Mandalorian says, beating you to the punch and drawing a smile from you. As if his biting words before simply needed to be expelled, to clean his mind from the ugliness a hurt child can bring. He seems to sway forward, as if he feels inclined to touch the Ugnaught on the shoulder in companionable understanding. He chooses not to, letting your gentle touch anchor him to his spot. He swallows hard, his voice hoarse when he adds, “It was no one’s fault.”

It is not an apology to you, but that night when you’re dozing beneath starlight, your back pressed against his, you feel his hand drift to brush over your hip. He whispers his remorse to you, his voice a crack that betrays the desperation you feel in his hand that holds your own. You fall asleep with your fingers entangled with his, but it doesn’t keep a nightmare from plaguing your sleep that night.

Or every night after.

One evening, after the children are put to bed and you and the two men are sitting around the table, you find your eyes growing heavy. You’re working on a second pair of shoes for each of the children, made from the leather that Kuiil had gifted you. The hide of the mudhorn he’d scavenged after the Mandalorian had left his first time on Arvala-7 had provided a good amount of resources. When your needle pierces the skin of your finger for the second time, the bounty hunter heaves a sigh and reaches over to confiscate your work. You shoot him a look of betrayal, scowling, but it is Kuiil who points out, “You aren’t sleeping.”

You ignore both of them as you cross the living space to the faucet, rinsing the blood from your hands. “No, I suppose not.”

“Any reason?” Kuiil asks sagely, glowering suspiciously at the Mandalorian who sits across from his table. The bounty hunter remains stoic and silent, and you clear your throat, hoping it’s dark enough that neither of them notice the bright flush in your cheeks.

“Venka told me something days ago that I cannot put from my mind,” you murmur, wandering back to your seat. You fall into it, rubbing your sore hands together in your lap and blinking hard against the pull of exhaustion. “He is still afraid of being abandoned. I...I don’t know how to assure them that they are safe,” you murmur, the growing ache between your temples making you wince.

Kuiil hums thoughtfully, his hands working a knife over a figure of wood. He told you he was making a toy for the child, and that it would be a surprise to all. “That may not be something you can take from him, my girl.”

“Surely he can feel safe with us?” you ask weakly, gesturing between you and the silent warrior beside you. “It...it took me some time myself, but I grew more comfortable and secure.”

“It did?” The Mandalorian’s voice is surprised, and you shrug in his direction.

“Perhaps if he could see others like him, he would know it is possible to allow himself happiness,” Kuiil intones, looking down at the wooden figure in his palm. He turns it several times before beginning the process once more.

You lean your face into your hands, feeling just as helpless as the moment the child spoke his fears to you. It’s on your shoulders even as you lay down that evening, Kuiil once again deferring the cot to you by insisting he was to watch over the fathier. If the creature could survive the night, it would be out of danger.

The Mandalorian moves around the small sleeping quarters, and you don’t pay any attention until you notice he’s taking an awfully longer time removing his armor and boots than usual. He’s busy shoving something in his bag, and you can see the hesitation in his frame before he seems to think better of it and remove whatever it is, stuffing it in another pocket.

When he turns around to find you staring, he tenses, moving slowly toward the bed as if you might strike him. You smile his way, and he seems to relax, sitting on the edge of the bed to look at you.

“Do you think the fathier will survive?” you ask softly, your eyes becoming harder and harder to keep open.

His hand, bare and smooth, lays over your own, atop your stomach. “I don’t know.”

You sigh deeply, letting your eyes fall shut. “I hope so. It did not deserve its fate in that place,” you whisper, feeling your eyes begin to sting. “And the children will be heartbroken.” The Mandalorian traces his thumb back and forth over your hand before squeezing your fingers. He says your name, and when you’re too close to sleeping, he gently shakes your hand and repeats it. “Mm?”

“I need to...ask you something.”

His other hand trails tenderly over the outline of your face, picking a stray strand of hair and moving it from your eyes. You open them once again, fighting a yawn. “What is it?”

His helmet is tilted towards you, and you can see just where the moonlight cuts his visor in half, as if he wears another mask of darkness over it. He lays his hand against the side of your neck, warm and comforting. “I want to take the children somewhere...somewhere they will be safe.”

Your eyes float open and closed, watching him as he seems to brave through the words. “I want that, too.”

He nods once, and you imagine he must be licking his lips. His fingers flex atop your hand, and he inhales deeply. “I want to take them to my covert. You and them. To the tribe.”

“W-What?” Your eyes widen when you realize you did, in fact, hear him and are not dreaming. Your other hand cups the wrist that holds your neck, and you slowly sit up in bed, clumsily pawing for him in the shadows. “B-But-can you...do that?”

The Mandalorian takes a measured look at your face, and you wonder what he sees, what he looks for. Or perhaps, what he hopes not to see. His thumb presses just against the pulse point beneath your ear, where he bit you, and you swallow hard at the possessive touch.

“You are my clan. It is your place, your people, too.”

Your lips tremble, but you don’t feel the threat of tears. No, in fact, you feel electricity flooding your veins, sparking in your fingertips and toes, and you clutch at his wrist and his hand with earnest need, tugging him into the bed beside you.

“Tell me everything.”

When you finally fall asleep, it’s closer to dawn, and your head is pillowed against the Mandalorian’s chest, soothed by the gentle breathing and heartbeat of his form beneath your cheek. It is the first night in more than a week you do not have a nightmare, and you’re a hair more than annoyed when Corde bursts through the curtained partition, falling on top of you both to declare, excitedly, that the fathier not only survived the night but is nearly recovered completely.

The Mandalorian rolls over, shoving his helmet beneath the shared pillow when the little girl leaves, and growls through the vocoder, “Perhaps we should leave them here.” You slap his back playfully, smirking, before laying back down.

Once fully awake, the idea settles in your mind with no small amount of anxiety. One Mandalorian is intimidating on his own. An entire tribe of them is another beast itself, and you catch yourself wringing your hands. When the bounty hunter tells the children of his intentions, you think, perhaps, they share your feelings.

Venka signs to the Mandalorian, his little face stern and serious.

Will they like us?

He draws the child close, cupping the back of his head to gently bump the brow of his helmet to his. “There is no way they could not.”

It doubles as a chance for him to turn his bounties in, as well. Nevarro is the seat of Greef Karga, he explains, and though he cannot truly accept guild work, Karga has agreed to smuggle his bounties and pay him for the work under the table. You worry that there will be hunters nearby looking for the child, but the Mandalorian seems confident that will not be the case.

“Many of them were taken out when we left,” he explains, changing the wiggling infant’s clothes upon the cot. The green eared baby giggles and grabs his feet proudly, making the task into a chore for the bounty hunter. “To go back wouldn’t be on their radar for a move we would make.”

“And you trust Greef Karga not to sell you out?” you ask softly, full of doubt. You’re brushing out Corde’s hair, which is a feat in itself from how tangled it’s been by the desert wind. Braids keep it tamed well enough, but the small child isn’t the most disciplined when it comes to sitting still. You and the Mandalorian have a shared patience, feeding off of one another when it comes to bearing the endearing nuisances.

“He won’t sacrifice his chance at fattening his wallet,” he mutters, looking for the clean outfit you’d sewn for the child. When he turns back, the baby has crawled half way across the bed and is reaching for the mesh window of the hut. He grabs him with a huff. “And as long as we keep our heads down, no one will have a reason to think we are even there.”

The way he makes it sound so possible is enough to quell some of your fears, but you still find yourself playing with the cuff of your dress, too preoccupied with your thoughts even when you part ways with Kuiil. You kiss his brow, forcing a smile over the curdling in your stomach, and fuss over the child in his pram. You don’t hear what the Ugnaught says to the Mandalorian before you begin your short trek back to the Razor Crest, and that alone is enough for the bounty hunter to see how worried you are.

You busy yourself with the list of pre-flight checks, the motions familiar and comforting to you. Keeping your hands busy is something that comes naturally, and you’re only dimly aware of the noises in the hull where the Mandalorian is busy ensuring all three children have a proper meal before they sleep. When you’re sure that everything is ready for take off, adjusting the coordinate settings to Nevarro (for he’d shown you, after all, how to locate the pre-programmed destinations), you sit back in the pilot’s chair and close your eyes.

It isn’t the bounty hunters that worry you. It isn’t the threat of the Empire, either.

No, your fears are much simpler: you are to meet his tribe.

And you want to be good enough.

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#Din Djarin is a stressed dad and husband #The Mandalorian fanfiction #Din Djarin x You #Din Djarin x Reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #The Lovely Moons #my writing #my fic

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madslorian · 4 years ago

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weekly fic recs!

More recommendations! Everybody seems to love the very first one I posted, which is amazing!!! Everything I have recommended can be found on my {fic rec masterlist}.

Here are all the amazing writers I have included in this weeks recs:

@forever-rogue

@gryffindorwriter

@autumnleaves1991-blog

@dindjarindiaries

@frannyzooey

@opheliaelysia

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa

@winchesterxxi

@pedros-mustache

@pedro-pascal-love

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅

⊱{Frankie “Catfish” Morales}⊰

"WE'RE JUST FRIENDS." "FRIENDS DON'T DO THIS TYPE OF SHIT." BY FOREVER-ROGUE

Reader and Frankie have been friends for many years and it's finally come to the point where emotions are taking over and you can't sit there and act like you're just friends anymore.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅

⊱{Agent Whiskey / Jack Daniels}⊰

“I TRUSTED YOU." / "I DON'T KNOW WHO I AM WITHOUT YOU." BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Takes place during Whiskey's final scene of the movie, but reader has some words to say to him that talk him down

TRUST BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

After the reader and Whiskey have a few drinks together before Whiskey's next mission, they share a quick kiss. When Whiskey is shot the next day, there's only one thing that reader can think of to restore his memory

MEMORY BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Reader loses her memory when she gets shot and despite the agency's efforts to recover them, they seem to be lost for good much to Whiskey's dismay. So he replicates their first date again

MISCOMMUNICATION BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Ginger tells Whiskey that reader has been shot and killed on a mission, the pain of losing yet another love begins to settle in when suddenly you're stumbling through the agency doors injured

SCREW TRADITION BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

It's the reader and Whiskey's wedding day and reader is having a panic attack before the ceremony. Jack doesn't give it a second thought before he's rushing through the doors to help alieve all the stress and emotions

REGRETS BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

After a mission goes wrong and Whiskey and reader are facing impending death, they miraculously survive and Whiskey is intrigued when the reader mentions not wanting to have died with regrets

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH ME." / "H-HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN STANDING THERE?" BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Reader confides in Ginger when a pregnancy test comes back positive, and stresses over Jack not wanting kids after what happened with his first wife and their child

*SLEEPY SEX BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991

NSFW! Reader and Whiskey admit to the sexual tension between them one night during a mission, and as you can assume, smut ensues!

“[CHOKED UP] I THOUGHT I LOST YOU." / “[CHOKED UP] I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SEE YOU AGAIN" BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Reader is out shopping at a store when Jack sees on the news there was a shooting there, and he immediately rushes to find you with fears of what happened to his high school sweetheart flooding his mind

“WHO ATE ALL THE ADVENT CALENDAR CHOCOLATES?!" BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Reader confronts Whiskey about the empty advent calendar only four days into December, and he sends you on a wild goose chase to distract you. Overall the cutest fluff ever!

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING? IT'S NOT SAFE OUT THERE!" BY GRYFFINDORWRITER

Reader and Whiskey get into an argument after reader spends more time at work recently. He changes his attitude pretty quickly when you turn to walk out into the cold night

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅

⊱{Javier Peña}⊰

"WE'RE JUST FRIENDS." "FRIENDS DON'T DO THIS TYPE OF SHIT." BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991

Okay, think Frankie's version of this prompt (if you read it!)... but a complete 180º. This has a lot of angst and it just makes me realize how much poor Javier needs a hug, desperately.

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⊱{Din Djarin}⊰

SNACK TIME BY DINDJARINDIARIES

Day 6 of Mandoctober by this author. Absolute fluff between Din and Grogu where dad!Din has to teach Grogu to not play with his food

RAZOR CREST BY DINDJARINDIARIES

Day 7 of Mandoctober by the author. As Din grows closer with the reader, the term home is something he begins to feel properly identifies what the Razor Crest is for the three of you

AD'IKA BY DINDJARINDIARIES

Day 10 of Mandoctober by the author. This follows Din's usage of the word Ad'ika, or little one, towards Grogu and how the child responds to it

COZY IN THE COCKPIT BY DINDJARINDIARIES

Reader is badly injured when the Razor Crest takes a beating, and in order to save you from hypothermia, Din locks the three of you in the cockpit and cleans up your wounds while Grogu attempts to help too

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⊱{Marcus Pike}⊰

THE RISING SUN BY PEDROS-MUSTACHE

A short story about the reader suffering from depression and anxiety, but has Marcus by their side to face it all. A someone who has been in a (scarily) similar situation to this, it was so comforting hearing the things I both needed to hear and wish I would have heard from my previous s/o

"IF YOU THROW THAT SNOWBALL, THAT MEANS WAR" BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991

This is absolutely, 100%, pure fluff. Reader and Marcus are having a fun snow day with their two kids and I melted reading this

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⊱{Dave York}⊰

*WELL, THIS IS AWKWARD (SERIES) BY PEDRO-PASCAL-LOVE

NSFW! This story awoke something in me... a new interest in Dave x Nanny stories. It follows the events of Equalizer 2, just with the reader added into the plot

(ALSO I AM SO EXCITED THE AUTHOR IS CONTINUING THIS STORY... Y'ALL NEED TO GIVE IT A SHOT!!!)

*DAVE YORK X NANNY DRABBLES/ASKS BY FRANNYZOOEY

NSFW! I found this shortly after finishing Well, This Is Awkward and I love it. These are all drabbles/asks the reader has gotten about certain situations regarding Dave and the Nanny!Reader. It's all the right amount of spice in all the right places

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⊱{Ezra}⊰

*AKRASIA BY OPHELIAELYSIA

NSFW! Reader and Ezra are locked down in their ship before being able to dock and part ways. With sexual tension building, there is only so much time left to do something about it

HOLD ON TO THESE WORDS BY OPHELIAELYSIA

Reader struggles with insomnia and late-night anxieties, meaning Erza never finds himself waking up beside you. However, one night he wakes to you lost in your own mind and comforts you

WILDFLOWER BY OPHELIAELYSIA

Reader is exploring nature one morning before Ezra wakes up and is greeted with the sight of beautiful flowers, which remind you of your lover in the sweetest ways possible

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⊱{Pero Tovar}⊰

*CLANDESTINE BY PEDROS-MUSTACHE

NSFW! Reader and Pero cross paths when Pero is hired for protection in your kingdom before the King arrives for a festival. Lots of small glances and hidden love-making in the dark shadows make for something sweet yet forbidden

*LIKE THOSE FOREIGN STARS BY PEDROS-MUSTACHE

NSFW! Reader and Pero are married, but for most of your marriage, he has been off selling his sword. When he is gone for much longer than originally intended on one job, his arrival back home calls for a passionate reunion on the kitchen table, and the floor, and the bed...

*RAISE YOUR HAND TO ME AGAIN AND I'LL CUT YOUR HEART OUT MYSELF BY ITHINKHESGAYBUTWESAVEDMUFASA

NSFW! WARNING: SUGGESTED DOMESTIC VIOLENCE/SPANKING DISCIPLINE, I felt like that was needed before recommending it.

Disclaimer: This is a glorious Outlander AU, but I think it can be read without any knowledge of the show. Reader and Pero are married due to a deal to keep you safe as you travel with him and the other men, and when you step out of line he is expected to reprimand you as your husband. Pero ends up having a change of heart as to what being a husband means to the two of you

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⊱{Poe Dameron}⊰

MARRIED TO A SKYWALKER BY WINCHESTERXXI

Adorable headcanons about how life would be if reader was a Skywalker/Solo kid and how interactions would be with Leia and Han

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⊱{Oberyn Martell}⊰

DORNISH DELIGHTS (Part 1) (Part 2) BY AUTUMNLEAVES1991

A modern AU where Oberyn owns and runs a shop called Dornish Delights and reader has quickly become one of his favorite customers. There's a strong sense of comfort when picturing this shop and I desperately wish I could go there and be loved by Oberyn like this

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⊱{Marcus Moreno}⊰

FIDDLE BY PEDROS-MUSTACHE

An adorable fic about reader fiddling with Marcus' wedding ring beginning on their honeymoon. After ten years reader is worried he is annoyed by it, but all is well in the end

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⊱{Max Phillips}⊰

WITH CHERRIES ON TOP (SERIES) BY ITHINKHESGAYBUTWESAVEDMUFASA

I am still actively reading this and am only a couple of chapters in, BUT IT'S A PROPOSAL AU! Brief rundown if you don't know the movie, WITHOUT giving anything major away; The boss is getting deported and creates a fake engagement with the assistant! It's really fun to see this plot with Max plugged into it

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