Din Djarin x Reader One-Shots

Wind Whipped

Requested by @thatonefandomdude :)

Warnings: Violence, Language, Past Trauma, Mentions of Abuse, Panic Attacks, Anxiety, Fluff

Mandalorian x Child! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 11176 (Gods this took WAY longer than I planned and I'm so sorry but here you go! Other requests on the way! (Though by now we all know I can't keep my promises when it comes to my updates) anyways this only took like a year so...) (Also so, SO many time skips) (And mind you I have ZERO knowledge of how Motocross works other than what I skimmed over on Google so just work with me here) (My longest one-shot yet, I hope you like it :))

Translations: adiik = Kid, child, ect |

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Your hands twiddled and tied the material in your grasp, no matter how painful it became when your finger pads became raw and red. The fraying rope in your hands was victim to many nights - and days - of your anxious episodes throughout the months. Sleep evaded you once again, and once again you had become the target of your mind's torment.

You thought back to just months ago when you weren't in the safe confines of the Razor Crest, when you weren't held under the protection of a Mandalorian, when you weren't free to talk and walk and piss as you pleased. An aching hand traveled up the nape of your neck, tugging gingerly at the hair falling no further than above your ears.

It may suit you in some lights, certain angles complimenting the cut of your h/c locks, but its choppy and uneven layers made you cringe every time. With how young you were, you could easily be mistaken for a boy. A growing boy, that is. 

These speculations only aided your insecurity about the whole thing, not only with the memories it brought every time you looked in the mirror, but the way the choppy strands framed your face, felt so short in your fingers, it never felt right, and made you want to cry every time.

You were still quite scrawny from years of going days without food, exerting energy quicker than you could replenish it. You had gained some meat on your bones from your nightly dinners and morning meals, a luxury that you still weren't used to or naive enough to take for granted. Your borrowed and cheap clothes clung to your body a bit more fully, though you preferred baggier clothes you could snatch from your companion when he wasn't looking. You didn't know what it was, but after warming up to him, you found his smell comforting and something you would seek out in a state of panic.

You still longed for the long strands of hair that used to run down your back and tickle your cheeks in the wind. You missed how you could tie it back in so many styles, no matter your limits. You missed never being mistaken as a boy, always having your own identity even in the building of hundreds and rules of thousands. You missed the small rebellion you were able to express and comfort you were able to find within that house of horrors.

But one day you had to cut it. So short you didn't look like you. So short you could pass as a boy worthy of life and work. So short you couldn't be mistaken as one of the most capable and powerful. So short it didn't matter to them. So short you could survive among them. So short you could live in his presence with nothing more that a slap to the cheek or lash to the back.

But still it haunted you, as everything else did. This wasn't something you could just shake off as long as you didn't stare into the mirror too long. Not something you could ignore with the twist of your words and diversion of the babies babbles. Not something you could heal with bandages or bacta spray or a wall to talk to.