#din djarren x oc

[starfirette]

Every Which Way : Chapter Five

The Way Towards Family

➡️Previously

➡️a/n: this is it. This is the chapter I have been dying to write. After this there’s only one other scene I am on the edge of my seat for, but that comes much later 😈 also, I just realized that I’d been advertising this chapter as chapter four. it’s actually chapter five. fml. I TRIED MY BEST TO EDIT THIS FAST SO I’M SORRY BUT HERE IT IS! LIKE COMMENT SUBSCRIBE SEE YA NEXT TIME GAMERS

➡️ OC page, if you care: chapter includes Wendi and Ryder

➡️Din Djarren/The Mandalorian x Reader | face reveal | smut | angsty feelings kind of | sorta fluffy? | marriage 👁👁 >> !NEXT CHAPTER OUT NOW!<<

Even knowing morning has come, you linger in your bed a while. The silence of the room has become a comfort, and the only noise you ever hear is the occasional cuff of boots by your door.

This morning as you stare into the cracks of the ceiling you hear the soft voices of Mandalorian children murmuring rumors.

“I heard she is so ugly that her planet doesn’t want her anymore,” one voice exclaims in a loud whisper.

Another child hissed a remark: “That’s not true. I heard she’s so beautiful that there was a fight over who could keep her.”

You haven't seen many children around the covert. The tunnels are mostly littered with Mandalorians who sharpen their weapons and keep keen watch.

The time came to rise long after those children had scurried off; you could not hide in your room all day. Dressing slowly in your long sleeved tunic and pants, you became lost in thought; your life would take its final turn in a matter of hours. The wedding would commence, and the court guardian in covert captivity would be sent back to Aniri to spread the news that the infamous, fugitive, servant girl would never come back. She would never be repossessed, no matter how many fits Emelea, the new queen, threw. The servant girl would be Din Djarren’s wife.

The thought did make you tremble. Your belly flipped as you laced up your boots without really looking at them. The confession he gave last night still felt like a dream. He’d departed too quickly after the engagement, his only goodbye being the tender press of his helmet against your forehead. He hadn’t returned all night, though you stayed awake hoping he would. The revelation of his feelings felt fraudulent—you couldn’t be sure he wasn’t lying to you, and you never could be. You had to live on and figure this out as you went through the motions, succumbing to the waves of your brand new Way of life.

Combing the knots from your hair with remarkably still fingers, you found yourself contemplating once more.

Contemplation has proved to be your natural enemy these past days. Forming ideas in your mind is a dangerous thing, for once forged, you couldn’t ever forget them. You will never forget the words Din had just spit out so recently. He doesn’t care about you, he isn’t your friend, he has nothing to give to you. You’d interpreted all of that from the single sentence he’d offered like a rotten fruit.

I do not care about you.

And even after saying this, he’d come to your room and begged for your hand in marriage. You’d agreed because at the time you were swayed into believing him, but given his abrupt departure you couldn’t help but contemplate his words. Sweet words can be said any time, any day, but they would never erase the cruel ones.

And Din had said such sweet words. Some you wanted to believe in so badly.

You slipped your belt around your hips, attaching the buckles at the bone then around your thighs. You carried three total weapons now. The pistol, the beskad, and the besbev. Your beskad weighed heavy on your leg, the curve of the blade wrangling against the angle of your stride a bit awkwardly. The besbev had become your closest friend of all the three. It’s beautiful to look at and more beautiful to play. It is a traditional instrument from the older age of Mandalore, a flute, with a blade sharp enough to split skin by the seams at the opposite end. The pistol is self explanatory. It’s not nearly as easy to use as you’d thought. From yesterday’s squabble in the desert your arm ached so, so badly. The recoil of every shot had done its due diligence.

Sheathing the final weapon on your hip, you take a deep breath that ricochets in a wheeze through your chest. Striding among the Mandalorians like your one of them feels like an epic crime. Compared to even a random woman from any other planet you’re small. You’re weak and unable to do well in battle. Compared to these women, why would Din want you?

You lingered around the furnace entrance for a moment, watching as Gold hammered away at no doubt another weapon. You cleared your throat on the off beat of the rhythm, catching Gold’s attention.

“Good morning,” she greets with a cordial nod of her head.

You don’t reply. You walk into the furnace and stand as close as you can to Gold without being molested by runaway sparks.

“You made that choice for me,” you speak, cutting into Gold’s question. She put down her hammer and gestured for you to continue. Through a clenched breath, you ranted out: “Din brought my off Aniri so I could have freedom. To earn that freedom, a choice was made, in which I was not involved, or even consulted. You should have told me.”

Gold inclined her head. “I am sorry,” she says simply.

There’s nothing else she can say to ease your anger. You know this, accepting her apology with a short huff. "Where's Din?"

Harboring sparks over her leather apron, Gold shook her head. “Unaware. I would suspect he’s preparing for the ceremony or he’s further interrogating the captive.”

“Curious,” you note. “What else would he need to know?”

Gold looked at you with a blank expression—even through the helmet, you can tell you should know what Din could want from the court guardian.

“You’re to be his wife, child,” Golds says, suddenly gentle. “Do you blame him for wanting to ensure your lifelong safety? You must know by now that he loves you.”

You calculate the chances of Din telling her to say that. As low as they might be, you still can’t bring yourself to truly believe it. Brushing the detail away with your hand, you looked Gold straight in the visor. “The guardian said we had twenty four hours,” you prompt. “Yesterday.”

“Do relax,” Gold eases you. “Everything is being taken care of.”

“I don’t like hearing that,” you say snippingly. “The last time someone said that to me, I was signed into marriage. Please don’t mistake my aggression for sensitivity.”

Gold had nothing to say to that. She exhaled, a half laugh sort of sound. “There will be a wedding tonight. The guardian will bear witness and he can send a transmission first thing after the ceremony. Tomorrow Paz and his brother will escort the man back to his own planet.”

You lifted one of your brows. “Brother?” You repeated.

“Ryder,” Gold clarified.

Your jaw dropped. “Ryder and Paz are brothers?”

You would have never guessed, with Ryder’s harsh attitude and Paz’s gentle way of doing anything. You shook your head.

“What do I have to do?”

“For one, you have to be at the ceremony,” Gold snickered. You didn’t appreciate the humor at the suspenseful moment. Huffing a tiny sigh, Gold shook her head. “Mandalorian marriage is a rather traditional occasion. The entire covert will be watching. The contract will have to be sealed with blood.”

You drew back, looking absolutely startled.

Gold raised her hand. “Not a great deal. It’s a simple prick of your finger. There will be a second contract which you will have to sign. It’s to be recognized by the Anirian council. There will have been two signed contracts, so there will not be any mistakes. I don’t have to tell you what else you’ll be doing,” she then concluded. She tilted her helmet up, as if she were sneaking a glance of you through her hair. “I don’t, do I?”

“What else do I have to do?” You asked, a feeling of nausea overcoming you once again.

“You will have to consummate the marriage.”

“‘Consummate?’” You repeated. A foreign word. Paz hadn’t taught you that one.

“Yes,” Gold said carefully. “That is...well, child, you will have to have sex with Din.”

You nodded, though your face burned with fierce embarrassment. “Thank you for pointing that out to me,” you say sarcastically.

“I won’t lie. I did think that you didn’t know what sex is,” Gold continued.

“I do,” you assure her.

“You do. Well, this is good, because you have to do it.”

“I know,” you grit through your teeth.

“Do you know how?” Gold then asked.

You shut your eyes, wishing this would end already. “I didn’t come here to ask how to give a man a blowjob,” you say loudly. “Trust me when I tell you I am not completely naïve!”

Gold looked down at her feet. She coughed into her leather glove. “Hello, Din.”

You spun on your heels to see that Din has entered the furnace, having just stepped foot past the threshold.

You abruptly seized up in your stance. A stiff thank you to Gold and then you left, making sure not to brush arms with Din’s armor.

You wished now above all other times that you could have seen Din’s face. He probably looked as mortified as you felt.

What a bother this entire day is turning out to be, you think as you retreat back into your room. You sifted through your basket of snacks and proceeded to eat cheese.

You sank into your pillows as you ate your cheese, feeling rather content with the comfort it provided your stomach. You’ve learned that good food can do lots of things. It can brighten a sour day, such as this cheese has done for you. Your final hours of being a single woman would be spent eating cheese. You wouldn't ask for it any other way truth be told. Cheese is a good treat. It’s a comfort. A luxury, even.

Yes, yes, you think as you anxiously bite into your cheese. At least as a married woman you could still eat cheese.

Being completely honest with yourself you had actually forgotten that sex was a necessary detail in a married woman’s life. Your knowledge on sex is...limited.

In the servant ranks you had been often assigned with another girl to clean and dust and polish the upper level of the palace. This happened to have a grandiose library. Because none of the girls could read, Vidia would pick and choose the small amount of books that had photos printed inside. She stole picture books often, distributing them to other girls for the price of their bread rolls or rice balls at dinner time. It was the only joy you could recall from being amongst the ranks. Vidia often brought that feeling, and as she was your usual cleaning partner, you could pick many favorable memories with her. One being huddled in the darker corners of the library, flipping through a book that could only be described as indecent. Vidia giggled while you blushed and frantically shook her arm, trying to convince her to put the book back before she became caught. At that time, she never did. You’d seen the various sexual positions and orientations. Girls could love girls, boys could love boys, and either one could be easily repulsed by anything sexual.

You wished you could read then. The book had several chapters on various topics. You couldn’t decipher anything but the photos.

Still; you’d seen how sex was supposed to work. It never occurred to you that you could enjoy sex in your lifetime. The council’s teachings made anything indecent clearly criminal, hence the reason for the rags and makeup in the first place. You’d long before associated sex with punishment. Real punishment, not the sort of punishment you’d seen painted in the book.

The very type of punishment Vidia received one day.

The thought of a penis being in close proximity to your general body hadn’t been appealing before.

It’s almost naughty of you to be a little bit thrilled at the idea of Din’s naked body flush with yours.

You only could assume that sex was something most people did for fun because the pictures always had everyone smiling.

It’s a shock that the book had even been in the library considering how conservative the council is.

You’d be forever grateful for it. Forever grateful for Vidia and her mischievous ways. In some strangled way she had saved you from eternal embarrassment on your wedding night. Although you couldn’t say confidently that tonight would go well.

You had never even touched yourself before! You didn’t know that was a thing until the book.

Maybe you’re focusing too strongly on the book.

You should be focusing more on earning your freedom rather than your first time being with a person. But as you recalled the images of girls laying in naked rows and giggling as they cuddled close, you felt yourself become sweatier by the minute.

“OW!” You yowled. You’d been preoccupied in thought and had nibbled onto your finger, having finished your block of cheese.

A knock on the door came, and you were eager to fly from your bed to answer it. Anything to distract yourself from sex with Din. And what better distraction would that be besides, surprise, surprise, Din himself.

You stared up at the T of his visor, lips tightly pressed shut.

“I’m here to take your things,” Din says bluntly.

Out of nervous habit you tucked hair behind your ears. “Why can’t I have my things?”

Fearful for the loss of what little items you possessed you tried to lessen the entry way by inching the door closed.

“Wouldn’t you rather have them in my room?” Din asked, stopping the door with the toe of his boot.

A breath of relief sounded off from your chest. Din shook his head. “I wish you would understand,” he says quietly.

“Understand what?”

“Understand that you’re truly free,” he says. “I am…”

He trailed off, looking fumbled and at a loss for words. “I am here to move your things, as I said.”

You couldn’t exactly argue. Considering he’d be your husband, you’d have to share a room with him, although you can’t exactly imagine having the space with rooms like these.

You helped him gather the little amount of possessions you did own. The new clothes he’d gotten for you you gathered in your own arms. Din made busy with gathering up the amount of books you had from Paz. “Do you enjoy reading?” Din asks. He flips through the history book you’d gotten yesterday.

“I’d enjoy it more if I could actually read,” you mutter.

Din snapped the book shut. “If you’d like, I can help you. I could read to you at night.”

Shifting the weight between your legs, all while your face and ears burned, you stuttered, “That sounds very nice.” It did sound nice. It sounded like something a real married couple would do.

You didn’t realize you would be comfortable with anyone else knowing about your illiteracy besides Paz. Din did not make it seem like a burden, or a red flag, or a flaw. He did take advantage of your stunned silence to take your clothes in his arms. “Should I lead the way?” He asks, his voice strangely vivid in your ears. The bass of his words resonated down to your eardrums, making your chest feel warm as melted butter.

You took one last look around at your bedroom, suddenly saddened by the fact you would be leaving it. It is as plain as it had been when you got it. The simple furniture and the low ceiling; despite all of that it had felt like home.

“Mesh’la,” Din says carefully. “I’m sorry.”

Snapping out of your silent goodbye you looked up at Din. “What for?” You pressed. With furrowed brows you took count of everything Din had to be sorry for.

“About the marriage,” he clarifies. “It wasn’t my first choice for you. I tried everything. Even if you moved to some other planet, they could still come for you. This is the only way to keep you truly safe.”

You smiled at the floor. “You talk about my safety a lot,” you point out.

“I care about it,” Din answered in the same knowledgeable tone. You pucker your lips, at a loss for a retort.

Walking side by side with Din, through the tunnel, felt very strange. His pace was never so concise with yours before today. Looking at him you can see he isn’t struggling. He seems natural; human, even, if you could believe it. He didn’t seem to step out of a two feet radius from you at any given time, and if one of you were to fall behind, it would always be him.

As the tunnel and its crowd thinned into a hall of silence, you looked through the walls searching for doors. A few here and there.

“Some of these are classrooms,” Din says, as if he had sensed your questions. “Some house younglings. Foundlings sleep with the younglings to encourage interaction and connection. Those who have been here the longest, with the strongest clan, tend to get the bigger rooms. It’s a bit of a social pyramid.”

Stopping at what had to be the last room in the entire covert, Din gestured for you to open the door to your new home.

The inside isn’t as shocking as you thought it would be. It’s just a bedroom. There’s a bigger bed in the center of the north wall, the quilts in a folded heap at the foot. A wide vanity and a full length mirror sits in the corner to the right of the bed; to the left, a tall wardrobe. A smaller sized bookshelf and two soft cushioned armchairs linger just beside you at the wall of the entrance. It’s not decorated or filled with anything you could use to guess it belongs to Din.

“The quilts are new,” Din explains as he shuts the door behind him. “It’s not much.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “As perfect as a bedroom can be,” you quickly add, ears burning as you realize what he could have interpreted. You hurry to take the set of books from him. Awkwardly hovering over the shelf you look at him for permission.

“You could rearrange the room however you’d like and I wouldn’t say a word,” Din says. You couldn’t muster any response as you pushed the books against his.

“If you want to sleep separately I can get another bed,” Din continues as he strains himself to stand still in the corner. You step in front of him, grabbing your clothes from his arms as you sigh, “And here I thought you wanted to sleep with me.”

“I—That is not what I meant,” Din stresses.

You laughed at his reaction. “I’m teasing you,” you promise him as you journey to the wardrobe.

“I don’t like being teased,” Din grumbles.

“I’m sorry to say that I’m learning that teasing is a great deal of my personality.” You sent him a look over your shoulder, the smallest of smiles preened over your mouth.

“I don’t like being teased,” Din repeated,

Something boiled in your stomach when he said that, but it felt pleasant. Blushing furiously, you got to folding away your tunics and trousers. Din’s own clothes are folded away. You still remember the smell of his soap from the little bed on his ship. Tonight and every night after that smell would linger beside you.

Staring at the mattress, you couldn’t help but wonder how Din slept at night. Sprawled limbs? Curled? On his stomach, maybe, with one arm hooked underneath a pillow.

The bed would be the scene of consummation tonight, and bearing that in mind you quickly looked away from it.

“Thank you for thinking of doing this,” you say as you come back from the reeling dizziness Din had instilled with his words. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me,” you add. “I will never be able to repay you.”

Din lets out a heavy sigh. He hangs his head down, his shoulders shaking as he laughs. “I wish you would understand, mesh’la. There's nothing I ask from you other than to be my wife."

The floor swayed beneath your feet as the words rushed to your ego. You took a tiny breath to ease your conscious before taking a careful seat on the mattress.

You looked to him through loose bits of your hair as you patted a seat beside yourself. The heavy stomping of his boots shake through your toes that point down into the floor. He takes an uneasy seat, the bed creaking underneath his armor.

“You’re very kind,” you say as a natural moment of silence has passed the room. “Will I be able to see your face tonight?”

Din, almost seeming startled, clenched his hands that rested over his thighs. “Yes.”

You chewed your tongue, trying hard not to laugh or smile. He seemed as nervous as you. It is a comfort to know that the world’s most elite warrior’s could be nervous. “I hope you’ve shaved,” you say again in a teasing way.

“Oh, I have,” Din says reassuringly. Your eyes grew wide. “Do you have facial hair?” you asked hopefully, wanting something to look forward to.

A quiet laugh passed through his modulator. “I could. If you liked that, then I’d say yes.”

“And if I don’t like that?” you ask.

“Then I’d shave every day.”

You wrapped your arms around your stomach that ached as you laughed harder than you ever had before. Perhaps you’re just hysterical given the impending wedding that looms a mere few hours away. “You’ll be very agreeable if you do everything I asked of you,” you say.

Din shrugged. “I just might,” he teases. You would have rolled your eyes if you hadn’t felt so watched. You can feel his eyes glued on you, helmet or no helmet.

“If that’s true, would you answer all my questions?” you challenged.

“To the best of my abilities,” Din agreed, albeit hesitantly.

“What is a Mandalorian wedding like?”

He seemed to have not been expecting that question because he became lost in thought. His fingers splayed over his legs as he relaxed at your side. “Not what I think you’re used to. It’s as traditional as anything else we do. Unlike other cultures, we do not usually make up vows. The binding ceremony is generally the same for each couple. The same words and the same contract. We’re not expected to kiss in front of a crowd. The rules don’t change. But tonight, after the contract is signed, it will be expected of me to remove my helmet. Removing the helmets is a custom saved only for the couple.”

You nod. “I see. But I don’t have a helmet.”

“Not to spoil the surprise, but you’ll soon see everything has been arranged. This wedding will be unlike any other. Rather than one Mandalorian vow, you and I will exchange vows set by Anirian standards. It’s important that the council recognizes our marriage as legal.”

You shiver at the idea of Emelea refusing to accept your marriage. You aren’t entirely certain she’ll be quick to disregard you just because you married Din. You aren’t so much focused on the legality of the ceremony, though. You’re fearful for the outcome that may destroy the covert.

“What are you thinking?” Din asks. His soft voice passed over you like a fluffy cloud, shielding you from the burning sun. You basked in the feeling it gave you for a second.

“I’m thinking that I would never forgive myself if your people went to war because of me.” You sounded quiet and sad, something you didn’t want to convey, but you couldn’t help the feeling.

“We’re Mandalorians, mesh’la,” Din says confidently. “I’m sure we’d be fine.”

You cast your future husband a disregarding look. “This is a covert for a reason,” you argued. “The Armorer told me everything. Other Mandalorians may be able to afford a war, but not mine. Not you.”

Din’s heavy hand placed gently over your thigh, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric of your trousers. “When it comes to you, I am more than capable of taking down entire armies.”

You felt the urge to hold his hands twinge in your fingers. You might have taken the opportunity to kiss him if you could’ve.

Rather than voice this, you opted to put your hand on top of his, squeezing his grip around your leg. “I’m excited to see what you look like,” you beam. “Before, I was nervous. I’m not so nervous anymore.” You bring your hand up to touch the side of his helmet, where the metal contoured like cheek bones. “You sound like your eyes are brown.”

Din took his turn to hold you next, holding your hand in place.

“No hints?” You asked after a moment of intense staring.

“None.”

With a final squeeze to your hand, Din moved you away then took to his feet. “We should get ready. Wendi will be looking for you, soon.”

You frowned deeply, crossing your arms as you remained intent on hiding in your new bedroom. “Why?”

“I told you that Mandalorian weddings are very traditional,” Din points out, the smirk evident in his voice. “You will have to get ready eventually.”

You groaned. Knowing that Wendi doesn’t like you unsurprisingly turns you off from getting her help. Besides, she’s most likely angry at you for getting her yelled at yesterday after the fight with the guardians.

Begrudgingly you followed Din to the furnace. You considered holding his hand, but chose not to, as you weren’t sure just how affectionate he’s ready to be.

Wendi, Paz, Ryder, and the Armorer already lingered around, having a low conversation while two female Mandalorians worked silently in the corner, using rags to polish armor cuffs.

“Well, if it isn’t the lovebirds of the hour,” Ryder snides. He rests up against the lockers, huge arms strapped over his chest. You resisted a loud huff, telling yourself it’s better to let him be than to give him the satisfaction of getting a reaction.

Wendi’s blue helmet juts a nod in your direction as a greeting.

“Here I was hoping you two would just elope,” Wendi says with a sneer in her voice.

So much for the brief moment of indifference.

“I hope you’re both well rested,” Gold says curtly. “Revisions have just been made. The ceremony may commence at any time.”

You and Din looked to each other. You felt the sense of something like camaraderie, but more intimate. It’s not as though the relationship is like anything anyone’s ever had. There are doubts and feelings still unspoken. Despite that, there’s more than what meets the eye.

The agreement became finalized as Din gave a single nod of his head.

“I’m ready if Din is.”

Ryder cackled while he rubbed his oversized hands together. “I’m ready for something finally exciting,” he exclaimed.

He sauntered forward, grabbing Din by the arm. “Time for your bachelor party,” he declared as he led Din out of the furnace. You felt cold without him by your side; cold and aware of the emptiness beside you. You remained tall, pushing your shoulders out and leaving your chin high in the air. “What happens now?”

Paz spoke this time. “The bride and groom should review their vows while they get dressed. The bride wears a special dress underneath armor. It’s common for Mandalorians to marry non-Mandalorians. Even then it’s important to uphold tradition. On their wedding night, the face of the riduur is reserved for their significant other. After today, the helmet will be yours. It’s up to you whether or not you want to uphold the creed, but tonight, you must.”

That was Paz’s kind way of telling you dressing in Mandalorian garb is a necessary effort you cannot and should not decline. Paz clicked his heels together in a quick bow of goodbye. “I will see you at the ceremony.”

“Thank you, Paz,” you said before he could leave the furnace.

The short nod of his head was a silent form of ‘you’re welcome.’

When only the ladies remained in the furnace, the door became shut and locked, which you’d never seen before. The furnace had always been open for everyone.

“Y/n, please meet Genevieve and Nyra,” the Armorer said as she gestured to the two females who had been silent until now.

“Nice to meet you,” they both said softly, which you reciprocated, including the bow of your head.

“They are under my apprenticeship and have been younglings in our covert for many years. They helped make your wedding armor.”

Genevieve stood about 5 feet tall, if not a few inches taller, and her armor is sprayed a deep, almost pastel purple. You can see she scratched in designs on the cuffs and leather, like wildflowers and stars.

Nyra, on the other hand, stood two heads taller than Gen. Her armor was polished to a mirror like glaze and every plate and leather strap in perfect place.

Wendi tapped her foot anxiously as she watched you interact with the younger girls instead of getting dressed. “Not to be a jerk, but the sun’s already going down. If we want to get the guardian off planet by trooper rotation, then Y/n’s gotta be dressed and married by the next hour.”

You grimace. “I suppose we should get on with it,” you agreed.

You undressed to your undergarments, watching as Nyra and Gen took a sheer black dress from a locker. It reached your knees and fit loosely around your body, mostly the waist and shoulders where the straps felt loose.

“It’s meant to be that way,” Gen promises as she makes some adjustments. She sounds kind through her modulator. “It’s only meant to go underneath the armor.”

You looked down at yourself, feeling quite like a widow rather than a bride as the black skirt swished around your knees.

Wendi and Nyra brought over the first pieces of your armor. Wendi straightens your shoulders for you, a bit too forcefully to be kind. You sent her a glowering look as Nyra fit the breast plate against your chest. You held it in place while Gen attached the shoulder plates.

You would then wear knee and shin guards made of the same white gold as your chest plate. You enjoyed getting the new pair of shoes the most, though; heavy boots as bold as any other Mandalorian’s, but velvety black with white laces. The toes had steel inside, as you could tell as you tapped the toe of each boot against the cobblestone floors.

“Wendi,” Gold says tamely, holding out a hair comb. “Can you be trusted with such a task?”

Wendi plucked the comb from her hand. “Why would I not be?” she snubbed.

You flinched when Wendi took a fistful of your hair in her gloved hands. To your surprise, she was gentle as she twisted it up into a knot on the back of your head, using the comb to stick the bun in place.

“You make an agreeable riduur,” Nyra notes from across the furnace.

“Thank you,” you say. “Although, I’m not sure I know what a riduur is.”

“It’s a mando’a, gender neutral term for a spouse,” Gen fills you in. “Bride, groom, wife, husband, or even neither and both.”

You nod. “So, mando’a is the language you all speak?”

“It used to be,” Gold says from her usual place by her stove.  

“Before the purge,” you guessed.

“It was our first language as children,” Gold explains. “We are lucky if a youngling can even pick it up these days.”

“Hey! Ner mando’a...it’s...ah, it’s slipped my mind,” Gen said, defeated. “Still, I can at least understand it.”

You wondered what it would be like to understand two languages; you can’t even read your own. Rather than letting that tear you down, you return your focus to your armor and dress. “I won’t have to wear makeup, right?” you asked fearfully.

“Oh, no,” Gen says in a gasp. “Only your husband shall see your face tonight. It is an honor to see a newlywed’s face! We did make you something special.”

Gen and Nyra pressed at Gold to hurry on and show ‘it’ to you, and you watched with anxiety as Gold dug through her cooler. Presenting to you the latest object of her creation, you couldn’t help but gasp.

It was a helmet, of Mandalorian design, sculpted just for you out of rosegold and beskar. The T of the visor rippled like a wavy vine across the front.

Gold set the helmet in your hands.The weight could be balanced perfectly if you held it in your two palms perfectly upright. It’s pretty to look at with the rose gold sheen that glimmers when it hits the light in that certain way.

“There’s a hidden design,” Gen proudly says. She ushers herself over, guiding her hand to the underside of the helmet. At the touch of a button, the visor would roll up, revealing your face through the hollow part of the helmet.

“Amazing,” you guffawed.

“It was my idea,” Gen beamed. “It didn’t feel right to force you to hide your face, again. This way you can at least look like a Mandalorian, but still feel free and safe.”

Her words felt like shocks to your chest. You held onto the helmet with a tight grip, staring into the center of it as you tried to push back tears of sentiment. You would not cry on what should be a happy day. The day you are to earn your freedom has finally come, with new people and a blossom of affection that could bloom into the strongest love if tended.

“It was very thoughtful of all of you to do this,” you say in a brief whisper. “Shall I wear it now?”

Gold gestured for you to do so, looking at you tenderly from behind her own golden helmet.

Yours fit snuggly around your head. It didn’t feel uncomfortable in the least with the padding on the inside of it. You felt around the inside which brushes your cheek, looking for the button that Gen had spoken of.

When you pressed it, the screen shot downward silently, and you could see the world the way other Mandalorians did. The image is crystal clear. Nearly enhanced. You could even hear yourself breathing through the modulator, the sound the very same as everyone else’s.

“This is for you to keep,” Gold says as she waves something at you. You go towards the stove’s counter. The pair of gloves she holds in her hands fit tightly over your fingers. On the inside, over the palm of your dominant hand, is a button. “Each helmet has certain modes for certain environments. Yours is equipped with heat signatures, night vision, and aim.”

Each click of the button took you through the three modes. Aim is by far your favorite. It focused on the item or person you wanted it to through patient staring, the screen highlighting your target.

You pressed the button again, taking you once more to the normal screen.

“Thank you,” you said, breathless. You are at a loss for words. “I’m not sure what to say…”

From her position against the door, Wendi whistled to get your attention. “Say nothing. That’s preferable.”

You exhaled a heavy sigh, which came off as a hiss through the modulator.

“There is one more thing for you to wear,” Nyra says before Wendi can continue the banter. In her hands she weighed back and forth a plain necklace, the charm being a heavy oval of metal. You pulled it over your head, leaving it to rest against your breast plate. “Typically,” Gold explains, “the signet of your spouse is printed on the necklace. However, Din has yet to receive one. Until then your necklace will be blank, but that is no excuse-always wear it with pride.”

“I will,” you swear.

Gen put a hand over your shoulder, looking to you with what you imagined to be excitement. “Would you like to look in the mirror?” she asked.

Breaking out of the furnace in your Mandalorian garb felt unreal. You’d never once imagined this would be your life. Marrying Din, wearing the helmet, the armor.

The full length mirror in an unused room not far from the furnace showed you the image of a young woman who has only known the life of fire and glory. You were not that woman, you know it, and you feel guilt pull your heart down into your stomach as you tell yourself you are unworthy to wear the Mandalorian uniform.

Trembling in your armor you dare to contradict yourself. What you were before does not matter, and it likely won’t ever matter again.

Today, tomorrow, and the next, you will be Din Djarren’s wife-and by legality, a Mandalorian.

No one would want to touch you, then. Who would dare to pick a fight with a Mandalorian? A Jedi, who are but legends and stories?

“Are you ready?” Wendi asked from the doorway.

“I think so,” you say. It’s difficult to catch a steady breath under all of this pressure that’s suddenly coming down on you.

“It’s exhilarating, right?” she asked. “The first time you wear the helmet. You either think you’re not worthy or you become too egotistical about it. Ryder was egotistic. Paz was all depressed. I’m sure you can guess me. But Din? I’ll never know. No one will, besides you. So do me a favor once you two are...official.”

You tilted your head, silently asking her what she meant.

She laughed. “Get that guy to relax a bit.”

The aisle is less of an aisle and more of a general area for you to walk through. There are many Mandalorians in tow, all cast aside to the corners of the room as they watched you appear. You hadn’t realized how many Mandalorians lived in the covert until you were seeing them. Parents held their children by the shoulders; little girls cooed and boys gawked at the armor that plated your body.

Din waited for you at the end of your makeshift aisle. He wore standard armor but bore no weapons; weaponless Din seemed awkward to look at. He probably felt as awkward as you do.

There is no priest or council member standing between you and Din.

“Take off on glove,” Din says softly. You’re certain you’re the only one who can hear him.

Where your hands trembled, his were calm as the sea before a storm. Upon revealing to the audience two bare hands, there was a sudden outcry of happiness; applause. It had made you flinch at first but you could pick out the whoops of victory.

“Just look at me,” Din whispers again. He held his bare hand to you, and you gripped it for dear life. “And now,” he says, “repeat after me.”

His voice declared the Mandalorian vows perfectly. He was born to speak Mando’a, his voice a perfect marble depiction of the words and their value.

“Mhi solus tohme,” Din says clearly.

You did your best. Mando’a is a difficult language, you realized once you were expected to say it loud enough without messing up. “M-Mhi solus tohme.”

“That means, ‘we are one when we are together,’” Din translates. “Mhi solus dar’tohme.”

“Mhi solus dar’tohme.”

“We are one when apart. And now, mhi me'dinui an. Mhi ba'juri verde. We will share everything. We will raise warriors.”

Your affection for Din snapped, releasing it’s full force within your chest as your heart beat painfully. “Mhi me’dinui an. Mhi ba’juri verde.”

As soon as you’d spoken those words, the crowd went into an uproar of laughter and applause. Music started to play from some corner of the room, Mandalorians playing mandolins and flutes.

You had to reach out for Din to keep steady on your feet. “That was anticlimactic,” you said over the chaos.

He caught you swiftly, holding you upright by your forearms. “We aren’t done just yet, mesh’la.”

Vaguely wondering what that meant you followed after Din as he took you across the room, through the crowd and to a table that had been set for a proper meeting. Paz in one chair, Gold in another-and the court guardian Din hadn’t killed just between them.

Din pulled the chair out for you. “Thank you,” you muttered, unsure if he could even hear it above the party.

Now that you both faced the guardian, you reapplied your gloves.

“I hope that was to your satisifaction,” you snubbed. Something about being face to face with a man who had been in league with your abusers made you very angry. It might be valid, it might not be. You don’t care. You could just remember the feeling of taking one of their lives, and you felt less uneasy.

The guardian gestured his hands carefully; his wrists are bound by thick chains he could not break, but you still felt as if you had to be on guard.

“It was a beautiful ceremony, ma’am,” he promises. “As much,” he continued, in a rapid stutter, “as I wish it was enough, it was not. There is more.”

Paz pushed forward a few papers with lots and lots of words on them. You could sound out one of the pages; one was a Mandalorian paper, with your name and Din’s at the bottom. Gold passed over a dagger. “It must be signed.”

Din sighed, once more pulling off his glove. He pricked his finger over the tip of the dagger and pressed it like a stamp by his name. The blade is then passed to you. You did the same, feeling less confident and wincing, but stamping your bloody fingerprint by your own name.

Din gently took your hand and gestured for you to tick your wounded finger out. He pressed both fingertips together so the blood mixed, and you both stamped again in the very center.

It was poetic, in a way, but it still made you frown.

“And now?” you ask as you nurse your finger with a cloth napkin.

“Marriage vows,” Paz explains. “But they must be written out.”

You looked absolutely floundered. “I thought there wasn’t a need for marriage vows,” you said loudly.

“Not for a Mandalorian wedding,” Gold explains. “But the council wants a marriage by their own terms. This is what they want.”

Din took an ink pen and a blank parchment paper. “I understand,” he murmurs as he leans over the page, starting to write.

You shot Paz a look. What would you do? Could you ask him to write it for you?

Paz shook his head. “I’m sorry, Y/n. Just do your best. It’s not a test or something we are judging you on.”

You took a pen in your hand. It weighed heavy and felt uncomfortable all tugged against the small joints of your fingers.

You put the tip down to the paper, a large blot forming on the page. You don’t know what to say. You don’t know what to do. It’s nerve wracking for a long minute. Under the music you peered at Din’s paper. He had a lot already.

“Kriff,” you swear to yourself. You started writing carefully.

A large “I” in the center of the page. You’d chosen the wrong spot to start with, but you couldn’t go back. You finished up terribly slow, walking yourself through each word many times to ensure you wouldn’t make a spelling mistake. The end product wasn’t much. But it worked:

I

WILL

LOVE

HIM

You signed your name at the bottom. You passed the page to Gold, quick enough that Din wouldn’t be able to see it.

“We’re done, then,” Gold says confidently once she has Din’s paper. “You are officially married.”

You dropped the pen with a breath of relief. “Thank goodness,” you muttered.

“Ah, ori’jate,” Paz murmurs as he looks through the papers. “Y/n and Din. Congratulations, from the bottom of my heart. Kandosii! I am off to make proper copies of your certificates. Then, we will be sending them, along with our friend, here, back to where he came from. Have a wonderful rest of your evening.”

Paz pulled the guardian up to his feet, dragging him along to wherever they would be going to make their copies. You looked at Gold timidly. “Now, what?”

“Now, I go to my room and have a wonderful night’s sleep,” Gold says. “You’re officially free, Y/n,” she says. “My congratulations. Enjoy the rest of your night, both of you.”

As Gold disappeared into the party, you and Din sat shoulder to shoulder, unbearably still for a long time. You both sat and listened to four songs come and go. He wouldn’t muster the strength to speak up or move, and you simply couldn’t.

As the seventh song started, Din threw down the napkin he’d been using to nurse his finger. He slipped his glove back on and stood. “Would you like dinner?”

You accepted his offered hand, using it to stand to your feet. You agreed, though not hungry at all.

You secretly felt grateful for the visor that separated you from the vivacious party.

At the large table of food, several people congratulated you. You met and shook hands with Mandalorians you would likely never meet again.

Din thanked everyone in that low-key way of his; you might have found it charming if it didn’t intimidate you to your core. He filled up a basket, which he’d grabbed from some other table, with enough food to keep your room stocked for two days.

A little girl tugged at Din’s leg. “Din, Din!” she exclaimed. “Please take some uj! I helped Mam make it, and I even tasted it before her! It’s very delicious.”

Din knelt down to speak to her. “It looks amazing, Aiya. I will make sure to have plenty. Thank you.”

Aiya grabbed at Din’s shoulders to tug him closer so they could touch foreheads. “Have fun, Din,” Aiya’s mother laughed. “You as well, Y/n. Welcome to our family.”

Ah.

Family.

An interesting word. Not the word you would have used too loosely. You suppose Aiya and her mother have the privilege to throw the term around. You, on the other hand, were not a four year old girl; you never had a real family to call your own. Now that you’ve found Din, you were not going to soil the word ‘family’ by addressing any stranger with it.

The hall stretched fearfully beyond you as you and Din set course for the bedroom.

You hoped you weren’t breathing as loud as you think you are. You’d become conscious of it; you manually pumped your lungs out, just to have something to focus on. Your insides just felt like a jumble, like the color grey. You didn’t have a clear input on anything, anymore. Since the ceremony, everything has been vivid to the point it seemed unreal.

The clicking of your boots aligned with Din’s, the paces being set by the rhythm of your heart. It felt like you’d ran from the hall to Din’s bedroom.

Din opened up the door and gestured for you to go in first. It wasn’t as if you could yell “NO” and run away. Besides--that’s not what you want to do.

Din sets the basket down on one of the armchairs.

“Are you alright?” he asks you.

“I am,” you answered.

“Would you like to eat?” Din asked, gesturing his arm to the basket.

With your heart racing, you pulled off your glove and your helmet. “I’m not very hungry,” you admit as you look for a place to set the helmet down.

“I usually leave mine on one of the chairs,” Din murmured. You did that, filled with unease.

“You weren’t kidding about tradition,” you noted. “It was all very...traditional.” “Overwhelming?” Din guessed what you actually meant.

You faltered out a smile. “Honestly, yes. I thought I would die from shame if I ruined the vows bit.”

“You did very good,” Din said, as if he’d been praising your performance. “I was impressed, at least.”

You coughed on a laugh. He really is quite awkward underneath all of that armor and intensity. And speaking of armor, you realized that the next step on this night is to see his face. “Well...are you hungry?” you asked.

Din struggled to find a good place to stand. His overflow of shuddering fear flooded the room to its edges.

He would not come to you, you realized, so you would have to come to him. You unlaced your boots while he watched. Numb fingers peeled away at the laces and leather as you kicked the shoes away.

All Din seems to ever do is watch you intensely. With brown eyes, no doubt. You know that for sure. His eyes are brown.

With the floor uneven as you walked his way, you brought your mind to one thought.

The color brown.

There are several shades. Several ways brown could be beautiful. Many of the girls who had been in the servant ranks had brown eyes, and you’d known ever since then that brown eyes were, and always would be, undeniably beautiful.

His eyes could be brown like a piece of smokey quartz, dark and mysterious with its shadows.

His eyes could be lighter, like topaz, a warm pool of late sunshine.

His eyes could be almost golden, like amber, like sweet honey.

Your hands, now bare, reached out for the helmet. You half expected resistance; maybe Din would have second thoughts?

However, there was none. There would never be any, you realized, now that you two had married.

You slid your fingers beneath the helmet, finding the soft skin of his jaw. Smooth, you note, so that’s a no on the facial hair.

“I shaved,” Din answered your silent question. You smiled in response.

You took no more hazarding chances. It was time. You could feel it. You want it, and it’s very close.

You lift the helmet, standing on your toes to do so, and Din’s face becomes revealed to you in the matter of a split second.

Brown eyes.

Darker, brown eyes. You could have guessed that. They match the sound of his voice. And his skin is as though he were made by the sun.

There is a line of hair just over his top lip, a thicker mustache that made him look ever angry. You touched the tip of his nose, then his chin, then his cheeks.

“You’re very handsome,” you tell him in the gentlest voice you could summon. You doubt you could speak any louder right now. The beauty of him has you breathless, again, and at a loss for any other words.

Calling him handsome is a real understatement. He’s unlike any person you’ve ever laid eyes on.

“I don’t get that a lot, believe it or not,” Din mutters. He holds your hand that cradles his face. “I want to kiss you.”

Shocked by his words, you stared into his eyes with a gaping mouth. No one had ever said such things to you. You’ve never felt such an affect; warmth like honey and butter that slid down your chest and thighs as one of Din’s thumbs slowly brushed over your lower lip.

The hand that cradles your chin lifted up, and the tender feeling of Din’s mouth overtook yours.

He smelled the same as his leather jacket. Soap, a smoky summer’s day, and all of him.

Your chest plates clattered as Din carefully pulled you closer.

You were startled as his tongue poked through your lips, but the sensation that came with it left you gaping, a perfect opportunity for Din’s tongue to trace the crevices of your mouth. His lips felt like a drug. You couldn’t believe you’ve lived without kissing until now, as an adult. Now that you’ve felt it you never want to live without it again.

It seemed like a skill. You could easily stand there and fade into the euphoria, but you could not swish your tongue and lips like he could without feeling like a wild mudhorn cleaning himself.

When Din became breathless, he pulled away, but his hand still fiercely attached to your face.

You gasped for air.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first night we spent together,” Din rasps. “Watching you...in the small shirt...and you were fawning over me. I wanted you badly.”

Your face burned fiercely at the words. You’d never have speculated…! Sputtering for a reply, you wrapped your arms over the shoulder plates of Din’s armor. “You have a good way of hiding your feelings,” you tell him with a shake of your head.

Din’s hands fell to your hips, which he squeezed as he shook his head with a smile. It was shocking. You felt yourself become stunned at the prospect of a simple smile, of a half laugh whisping from his lips.

What affection you’d felt for him before burst into a blossoming flower, delicate but beautiful.

“I can’t believe how handsome you are,” you say.

Din sighs. “I really don’t know what I’ll do if you keep on saying that.”

You blushed at the tips of your ears. “I-I mean we should-right?”

Din’s mouth twitched at the idea you’d prodded for the first time all day. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he says in a dark voice.

“Why?” You weren’t ‘disappointed’ but you were confused.

“I shouldn’t force this onto you,” he said. “It’s enough you’ve married me. We can save that for another night.”

Ah. His chivalry strikes again. You shake your head. “What if I had been looking forward to it?” you prodded.

Din grabbed your chin once more and kissed, this time harder than before. “I told you already,” he rasps. “I don’t like being teased.”

Knees shaking, face burning, you looked into Din’s eyes with a wide smile. “Alright.”

According to Din then, helping each other out of the armor is customary for the wedding night. Din took this opportunity to teach you how to disassemble, then reassemble, armor on your own.

Beneath the armor you were not naked. You still had your sheer dress, and Din had his trousers and fitted tunic. The necklace stayed on, the pendant hanging at your chest. You’d declined Din’s prompt to remove it.

Guiding you to the bed to sit, Din placed more kisses over your face. Propping yourself onto your knees, you watched Din eagerly while he untied his own boots. His helmet got placed next to yours. Shoes, next to yours. He climbed into the bed with the basket of food in hand.

You reached for the first piece of cheese you found.

“What do we do now that we’re properly married?” you asked.

Din caught your wrist and guided the cheese to his mouth, where he then took a huge bite of your food. Through a grin, Din shrugged. “Get to know one another, I’d say,” he prompts.

It went back and forth from then on. He asked questions about your childhood, and you’d give mostly depressing answers. You explained to him the in depth details of life in the servant ranks. You’d been born into it by a servant girl who was impregnated while unmarried. You were born, only to have your mother executed hours after. You’d never known her, so it didn’t feel truly sad at first look. Though the more you thought about it, the more sinking realizations settled in your mind.

Din reminisced his story of how he’d lost his family. He’d been rescued by a Mandalorian group under the name of Death Watch. The story was long and intricate. You were mesmerized by Din’s story, by the way his mouth moved when he spoke and said certain words. You were deeply embedded into the story. The history of Death Watch had been explained in thorough detail by your husband. It had once been a group of heroic warriors, dedicated to protecting and upholding the Way.

Paz and Ryder’s father had been a strong part of it.

Everything changed with the rise of the Empire.

Death Watch had been seized by a man who sought the powers of a sith lord. And that had only been the start of the end of Mandalore.

Din managed to escape most damage by moving along with his covert. He was one of the lucky ones.

After his story, he asked you more questions. Life among the ranks; friends; memorable stories. You told him everything. You’d witnessed many defectors become dragged by the hair to the red circle. Often times, servants were gathered to watch as their sister was executed. It was meant to be a lesson learnt.

You didn’t learn it.

Neither did your friend Vidia.

You’d not spoken Vidia’s name aloud in many years, so sharing her story to Din moved you to deep tears that trickled down your face before you stopped them. She lived on through the stories you told. Her mischief, the way she could ease any girl’s worry; and, of course, the time she tried to defect. She tried so hard. She almost succeeded. She’d organized a revolt against the council with the other older girls. It almost worked.

But they were all caught and killed.

You learned from her death that life on Aniri would never get better; from then, you’d watch the ways of the palace and plot. You were going to escape, for Vidia, at first. Then you’d decided you would escape for you.

While the time passed between you, all in between the smaller questions like favorite colors and first kisses (yours had been with Din, and he was happy for it), you both ate happily from the basket.

When he was ready for bed, Din rolled off the mattress. He set the basket up and you could only watch with burning cheeks as he pulled out of his tunic. He folded it up and pushed it into the wardrobe.

He found a tin can and popped something from it into his mouth. He offered you the tin. You tested the waters with a lick to the tablets.

“Are these mints?” you demanded.

“Yeah.”

“Wow.”

Mints were high quality on Aniri! You expressed this to him with a wide smile. “I never thought I would have one...I never thought I’d have this sort of life,” you added as you chewed the mint. You scrambled to get under the blankets as Din approached the bed with a thoughtful smile on his mouth. You tried your absolute hardest not to look. You couldn’t really help it. You’d never seen a shirtless person before. It was intoxicating how amazing Din looked. His stomach is well sculpted, his shoulders wide and strong, and his collarbones had an intense effect on you.

Din shut out the lights on his way to bed. He shifted around, pulling the blankets over himself as well. It didn’t take long for you to reach out for one another. As soon as your eyes had adjusted, Din reached out for you. He pulled you by the waist so you were aligned with his torso. Your dress ruffled up against your thighs as you laid there, being kissed and becoming dizzy. There wasn’t much you could do. You didn’t know how to do anything.

You could only do as your body reacted, which was to push up against his bare skin as much as you could manage. You spread out one of your legs, wrapping over Din’s hips so your thigh pressed into him.

You gasped into his mouth as his calloused hand ran over your thigh, up very high to where you could something happening. Something interesting, really. Something definitely new.

“You should ask me to stop,” Din grumbles against your neck. His lips had puckered over your quick pulse, sucking and biting at the skin that had never once been touched before.

“S-stop,” you breathed as you pulled his face back up. You pressed your mouth against his. Trying your hand at kissing back felt messy. It felt sloppy. But Din didn’t seem to mind all that much.

He yanked you closer. “Do you mean it?” he asked you in a rough voice.

“Not really,” you giggled.

Your leg that is cast over his hips got pulled at. He seemed to stretch it out wider so he could run his hand way up beneath your black dress.

His thumb passed over your wet center and you trembled against his chest.

“What was that?” you exclaimed, struggling to catch your breath.

Din looked down at you through the darkness. “This?” he asked. His thumb pressed on that one spot again and you gasped loudly. “What is that?” you asked again.

“Something I can easily stop if you asked me to,” Din says firmly. You gripped onto his bicep as you shook your head. “I do not want that,” you quickly say.

Din chuckled. He pressed another kiss to your mouth as he moved his thumb in small circles. You grabbed onto Din for your utter life. You recalled the feeling of being thrown around the Razor Crest while Din navigated you to safety. This feeling is very similar, but in a way you couldn’t possibly put into words. It’s warm, fuzzy, but it makes your blood run cold in your veins. The feeling has you breathing hard and clinging onto Din, tugging on his messy, brown hair.

And just as soon as it had started, there was a gigantic wave of euphoria that passed over you. Something burst inside your stomach. It was like the feeling had reached its peak and then ended.

You shuddered against Din’s torso, still reeling from the experience. You breathed hard, muttering his name over and over. “How,” you asked, “did you do that?”

Din laughed. The sound rumbled through his chest, low and baritone. He slides his arm up your dress and around to the small of your back. He tugs you closer to his grasp. “It’s a Mandalorian secret,” he tells you.

“Would you do it again?” you asked.

Din laughed. He rolled over you, pressing you into the pillows as he looked down at you through the darkness. In the silence you could hear that the party still raved on in the meeting hall.

“I could. But I won’t.”  You gripped at his hair, lips puckered in a desperate attempt to kiss him some more. “Why?” you gasped. “I told you, mesh’la,” Din mutters. He kisses your lips once; it’s softer, gentler, and it eases you to comply with the cuddling hug Din rolls you into. “I don’t like being teased.”

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[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter One

The Way Off Aniri

➡️a/n: a new series! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it. I know I said posting was at 8 but I am too anxious. @interwebseriesfan24​ is my lovely beta so go follow her and maybe even read her fluffy AF star wars fanfics!!! For more info on the OCs included, visit my OC page. 

➡️masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | attempted execution | attempted murder | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 7,566! 

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST

NEXT CHAPTER AVAILABLE NOW!! >> ! << 

Aniri is a planet where a monarchy reigns supreme. 

The Anirian King has submitted a request to the guild, which suggested that he wants a man dead for making threats against the court; Karga just had suggested his best fighter take the job, just as non-explicitly as the king had been. 

And Din has never been one to reject a job; especially if the pay seemed unreal.

To eliminate one man, the court was offering half a million credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. 

Happy and boasting, Karga contacted the Anirian council and relayed that his best hunter would be taking the case. 

The Mandalorian was given a tracking fob as well as a quick run down of Aniri. 

In Karga’s own words, Aniri is not nearly as fluffy and dreamy as the public galaxy might think. These perceptions were coined by Anirian councils to distract suspectors from their supposed sympathies to the Empire as well as their cruel, unjust government. Karga had heard rumors that the current princess, Emelea, had been going on a rampage simply because her parents would not stop her. 

With great consideration, Din reviewd these rumors. While he set a course to Aniri he told himself that he’d never actually been to the planet. Karga was not the only person to have said such things about the planet, but there were several offending accounts claiming Aniri is a wonderful place to live. People live their lives, no matter how a planet fairs. As far as Din knows, the planet was globally unified a century ago.While he’d never actually been to Aniri, he knew better than to listen to silly rumors, especially when every person has a different account. 

Arrival to Aniri did not give Din any trouble. The atmosphere enterance gave the Crest zero problems. 

Din touched down in a grassy plain about half a mile from the main palace, which was surrounded by large steel gates. On the landing plot were a large number of court members and palace guardians. 

With a short greeting, Din followed the guardians into the palace, where the royal family waited to greet him. 

The King is Josiahn Weslyn. He is shorter than Din, and pasty white, with thinning hair washed pure of color. His wife, also his first cousin, is Melvanne Weslyn, a taller woman, but with the same thin hair colored a muddy brown. Both she and her husband have no eyelashes and beady eyes. 

Their children are equally unattractive. 

The triplets are Melv, Riz, and Emelea. Melv and Riz are boys, tall as their mother but with darker eyes that are wreathed with heavy grey bags. Their heads share the same waves of suffocated amber that rolls down their necks. The strangest of the bunch is without a doubt Emelea; she is the tallest of her family. Her sunken black eyes stare deeply into Din’s helmet. It seemed certain to Din that she could see past his helmet. 

His bones felt exposed to the princess, who did not blink as she stared. The wind tousled her dirty blonde hair before she finally sank into a deep curtsy, in sync with her two brothers.

Din greeted them with a cool nod of his head. “I am here to complete your task,” he said. The modulator of his helmet maximized his aversion to the strange bowing of the children. 

Josiahn paid Din’s near invisible discomfort no mind as he gestured for his guardians to part and allow Din to come forward. 

“Our Mandalorian savior,” Josiahn proclaimed, clapping his hands together.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” his family echoed.

“Please come with us.” 

One by one the court members turn on their heels to return inside the palace. Their hems swished an inch above their heels, waving around a golden emblem wrapped around the ankles of their customary pants. As for the palace, it is quiet and cold. Din’s boots scuff against the concrete floors. The walls are devoid of decor. Every window has a set of large shutters to keep the sun out. 

The only light comes from torches lit along the grey walls. 

Bristled servants scatter in the shadows like swamp mice. They do not dare to murmur gossip. Not one of them stops to stare at the Mandalorian armor with awe, but it isn’t out of courtesy—it’s as if they’re too scared to be noticed.

Most maids wear dull scraps of potato sack-like material. Even that, though, isn’t what Din finds strange. Every maid bears thick makeup like paint. The lines and patterns which adorn their face have no pattern, and no meaning whatsoever. The glimpses of color he sees are the ugliest shades of yellow or green. 

The makeup can’t be a popular trend. 

Din recalls the warnings given by Greef Karga. 

Journeying down the palace made Din feel smaller and smaller as the ceilings gradually became higher and higher. When Din was a mere speck of metal among the stone fortress, he was given a seat in Josiahn’s study. The children remained standing near Din’s given chair. Emelea’s hands rested on the shoulders of his armor, making Din feel suffocated. He resisted the urge to shake her away to not disrespect the family. Both of her brothers stand watch beside their sister.

The king and queen sat on a bench behind their desk. Din had never seen such a set up before. He’s seen many governors and monarchs and they never did business beside their partner. But Melvanne seemed perfectly used to this arrangement. Her left hand rested on the table, while her husband mirrored this with his right hand. They reached for their own pens but in perfect synchronization. On a piece of parchment they began to write. Joshian wrote the first half of the contract while Mevanne wrote the second. Their pens met perfectly in the middle, leaving not even a blot of ink. They slide the contract to Din, silently gesturing to him to read it. 

With a surge of shock Din found that they’re handwriting is perfectly identical. It looked as if one person had written it out. Aside from that the contract is curiously short. 

The chosen Mandalorian will return the peasant man Kais Korren to the palace dead or he forfeits the bounty of 500,000 credits and ten pounds of ruthenium. The chosen Mandalorian will not be given more or less. The chosen Mandalorian will be the chosen hero of Aniri. 

“Do you agree to the terms?” The king asked. 

Din hesitated to agree. These terms are not Guild regulated, but if they contacted Greef Karga, then surely they know the actual rules. This contract must be for their own personal relief. 

“Agreed,” he finally said. The tracking fob was slid across the desk by the King, and as Din looked at the slow blinking light with an unseen grimace. He couldn’t imagine what sort of threats a man could be making to warrant drastic measures. A tracking fob, half a million credits, and not to mention pounds of ruthenium. If the Armorer does not see the ruthenium fit for armor plating he will simply sell it and donate half the earnings to the foundinlings of Mandalore. Although it’s no secret Din, himself, is broke. His jobs barely carry the amount of fuel for his ship, let alone upkeep. What money he gets he sends half away to care for the foundlings. That is his Way, the Way, that he has devoted himself to. And it does not bother him. He isn’t easily bothered.

But this planet—this planet bothers him to his core. 

The fob leads Din to the village about five miles from the kingdom capital. 

It’s a quiet village, serene with its grassy farms and tall trees. Unlike any other village Din has been to the people are quiet. Among the markets there is only necessary chatter. Bystanders that come and go don’t speak, and they certainly don’t look at Din.

Most people have similar reactions upon seeing a Mandalorian. Some children point and jump with glee. Mostly, however, people avoid him but point him out with admiration or shock.

This village is different. Because he stands out, people fear him, as if they fear anything out of the ordinary. Villagers begin to squirm when they sense Din coming closer, but they try their best to ignore him. Din has done similarly as a child, when he thought there were beasts in the darkness of his bedroom. He would force himself to not look, thinking anything there would just leave him alone if he didn’t make eye contact. 

 Fob in hand, Din moves through the village. There are no distractions, no obstacles.

It did seem too easy. 

The fob frantically beeps each step he takes north. Villagers part with no hesitation as Din treks on, his palms sweaty beneath the leather and sun. 

At a small house, the fob burst into a panicked blip, the red light flashing bright under Din’s thumb. Kais Korren is here. 

The passage to the house is a lame excuse for a garden, with dead soil withered weeds.

Between being a Mandalorian as well as a bounty hunter, there is no room for pleasantries like knocking. The door creaked open and Din allowed himself to go in. 

The house is just as plain as the palace. The only life of it darted past Din in a blur, screaming for his father. 

A family of three, soon to be four judging from the mother’s belly, gathered tight in a corner. 

They looked truly tired. The rags of their own clothes seemed almost too heavy for them to be wearing. Din said nothing as he displayed only the tracking fob. With slow movements he set the fob down and simply asked for them to bring Kais Korren forward. The family’s compliance did make everything easier. 

Kais himself was a tall man, but thin. His graying hair in thick tendrils was tied back at the base of his neck. His eyes, sullen, silently thanked the family for opening their home to him. Kais did not fight Din as Din cuffed him and led him out of the house, going out beyond the village to a field where no one would bother them. 

Kais Korren’s body was identified by the king himself in a steely room that could only be described as a morgue. The involvement of the king baffled Din more and more. Most high ranking men and women have people to do such bidding; the “dirty work.”

But King Josiahn wanted to see the corpse himself. 

With a nod to the morgue director, the body was rolled away, and Josiahn turned on his heels to look up at Din.

“Our Mandalorian savior,” he said, clapping his hands. He sounded strangely happy, and yet there was not any emotion in his eyes; not even a sadistic smile weighed over his non-existent lips. “I’m honored to be in the presence of the best bounty hunter in our parsec. You have truly proved your worth. Your rewards are awaited in the dining hall. We humbly invite you to our celebration as our dinner guest. We are aware of and respect your culture. While you will be our guest of honor at the feast, a meal basket will be packed along with your money and ruthenium. Would you please join us? My daughter has become fond of you and insists she would love to have a Mandalorian at her party.” 

Emelea has not been near Din for longer than half of an hour. Recalling her strange face did not settle well with Din’s stomach. 

But to keep amiable ties with the Anirians, Din accepted the offer. He thanked Josiahn for the respect of his Creed, as not many do. Even within the Guild he is bullied relentlessly about his secretive nature; he’s been called hideous despite being unseen. He’s been called a prude despite his long hours spent in his bed wishing he had a woman with him instead of his calloused hand. Admittedly he would have declined if Josiahn hadn’t mentioned his respect for the Mandalorian creed. 

The Way is Din’s life. He wouldn’t have it differently. 

Din was escorted and announced officially into the vast throne room. Grandiose tables line the room and in the center is a wide circle of red paint. 

As Din became announced those who sat at every table rose to their feet and broke into a thundering applause. Each crack of their palms struck Din’s chest as he felt suffocated. He felt watched. He felt weak, and small, despite the armor that weighed on his tired muscles. 

Each step taken over the concrete floor jolted in Din’s chest, egging on the headache that sliced into Din’s eyes. The very center table had a chair set out and decorated with wreaths of plain flowers. Emelea made herself seen in an instant, taking Din by the hands and leading him to his chair. 

Over the rumbling applause Din could hear Emelea speak. “I’ll feel much safer knowing you’ve gotten rid of that man for us!” 

She had a light in her eyes Din could only describe as weird. She is weird, plain and simple. Her colorless hair is tied in a large knot on the top of her head, and dark makeup is brushed over her eyelids. She coerced him into the chair while Josiahn chastised her. 

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Josiahn snapped. Emelea immediately pulled away from Din. She had to be at least twenty years old. It churned Din’s stomach that Josiahn had spoken to her like she was a child, and it made it all the more disturbing that she simply giggled and apologized bashfully. She sat by her mother when Josiahn bid for her to scurry off. 

“I apologize for my daughter,” Josiahn murmured near Din’s ear. Clearly Din is not the only one who has noticed Emelea’s strange behavior.

Emelea had turned into an entirely new person in the hours Din had been gone. Before, she’d been silent and vaguely terrifying. And now she could not stop staring at him from her mother’s side, like a schoolgirl in love. 

As the applause faded out, Josiahn brought forward a couple of his court members who were to present Din with a number of presents. 

The basket of dry meat and fruit had been neatly tied up in muslin napkins. 

Small girls dressed like fruitcake offered ribbons and tiaras made from flowers. 

Din could not bear to reject any of the gifts, especially from the children. He was given more small things than he knew what to do with. Eventually the hall of people that seemed to adore him for simply murdering a man began to wear the Mandalorian’s patience thin. 

“Sir,” Din finally said to Josiahn. “I’m flattered by the lengths you and your people have gone to, but a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

Josiahn offered a small nod. His bug-like eyes drooped to avoid what would have been Din’s stare.  “I am afraid we have kept you longer than you would have liked.”

He waved his hand to a guardian who is quick to come to Josiahn’s chair. “Would you do the Mandalorian a great favor and bring his food and reward to his ship.”

The guardian nodded, a lack of vocal confirmation filling the air as he strode away. 

“Guess who’s back!” Emelea sang, suddenly flitting before Din’s chair. She pranced around, swaying the loose hems of her pants around her feet. “Strange thing to be given. Ruthenium, I mean. You could do with something better,” she adds with a curling grin. “I want to thank you again,” she then said, blinking for the first time Din had seen all day. 

“It’s nothing to thank me for,” Din said flatly, the monotone modulator clearly keeping Emelea in check. She wavers on her toes like she wants to do more, to say more, but she doesn’t when she becomes reprimanded by her father. The two stared at one another, not in a way a parent and his child should. It was a challenge. A challenge that Josiahn lost as he looked away first. 

“Well, Mandalorian, did you have fun with us today?” Sheer delight gleamed her buggish eyes. Something about Emelea is very wrong. How would Din have enjoyed his day here? He murdered a man and then got paid for it, so it’s not something to be excited about. Although she might have been trying to make him feel guilty. 

Just something about Emelea is off. The entire family is off. 

There is a sudden clamor at the front of the hall as the doors are pushed open to reveal an entire gallery of court guardians. They march in, carrying with them a figure draped in loose rags and crude face paint. From the distance Din sees the guardians throw the young woman into the center of the red circle he had seen before.

Emelea turned on her feet to look at the growing stream of madness. All of the court has now scrambled to their feet. They flock to the rim of the red circle. Some mock  while others whisper and point.

Din struggles to understand. 

He takes to his feet and walks into the madness. 

In the red circle of paint is you. You aren’t much different from the other servants Din has seen. You wear the same crude looking face paint and rags. 

Josiahn’s voice could not raise loud enough to silence the crowd that rages like an angry mob. Feebly, Josiahn demands, “What is going on?” 

A court guardian responds: “Defection.”

Josiahn had nothing to say to this. Emelea overtakes her father’s spot. Her voice booms throughout the room, silencing the mob in a split second. 

“Execution,” she said, “is the price of defection.”

Her eyes lock down on her father. “Isn’t that so?” She asked her father, mockingly.

Din couldn’t tell what had snapped in Emelea. She doesn’t look like the giggliest girl who had been fawning over Din just ten minutes ago. She’s wildly livid. As calm as she tries to be, Din can see she is practically foaming at the mouth.

Emelea turned to Din. “You must do it,” she says quietly. “My father will pay you handsomely. Though it is nothing to lose a servant girl.” Emelea spat the lowly title as she sneered in your direction. 

Din’s heart fell down to his stomach. He could see the raw fear that festered in your eyes as you trembled on your knees. 

“Emelea,”a voice booms. 

Riz pushes through the crowd. A split second of relief. Din hoped Riz would calm Emelea down. 

The two siblings held a silent conversation, staring at one another. 

Emelea broke it off with a nod. 

Riz drew out a long sword, brandishing it for the crowd to see. 

Din dove into the red circle, standing before you with a hand resting on his blaster. 

“This is our way!” Riz cried. He shows the sword off to every person in the crowd. His eyes, wild and wide, zeroed onto you. “She would defy the way of Aniri.” He pointed to you with the tip of the blade. 

Josiahn did nothing. He said nothing, but Din could see the resignation in his eyes. “Why should she be killed?” Din demanded when Josiahn failed to speak up. “What has she been accused of?”

“She tried to leave the palace, sir, and without her makeup.” 

What the fuck? Din thinks. 

Emelea fumed at the words. “A Mandalorian would not understand the laws of this planet. She’s bound to this palace, bound to be my faithful servant.”

Din raised his chin. “She can be easily bound to another, couldn’t she? I agreed to help you with a man who threatened your court,” Din said to Josiahn, ”but a young servant girl leaving the palace without wearing makeup is hardly a cause for her death.”

Riz shook his head. “She is bound only to the royal family.” Riz gripped his sword, knuckles pale. “Well, father?” 

Josiahn swallowed. He leveled his eyes with the Mandalorian’s helmet and, in a soft breath, he granted the servant to him. 

Riz grunted. In a single swish of his arm, the blade slashed through the king. 

Din couldn’t hold back the gasp of shock as Josiahn crumpled face first to the floor. The outcry was fast and sharp for anyone that regarded Riz as a villain. 

Riz’s sword dripped with the blood of his slain father. “Mandalorian, considering you are new here, allow me to explain. Long ago, before Aniri became civilized, the battling clans would brawl within this red arena. The one to slay their opponent would earn the right to rule for four full years. It’s an ancient law, but one that has never been dissolved. And as I have already disposed of my mother, I see no reason why I should not be regarded, now, as the king, with Emelea as queen. Emelea had slain Melv the moment you left the palace to bring Kais to us. And while she had hoped you would stay to serve her in any way she pervertedly pleased, I can see that you have chosen this disloyal whore over me.”

Din’s heart pounded in his ears. Karga was right. The rumors about the court, especially Emelea, are true; and they are much worse than anyone has heard. The palace ran like a cult and Emelea, a crazy, ruthless nut, is now in charge. 

As Emelea sauntered forward like a villain, Din drew his blaster and shot.

A wound blossomed on Emelea’s shoulder and she sank to her knees with a loud cry of pain. 

Riz, now the only family Emelea has left, runs towards Din with his brandished sword. There’s no hesitation on Din’s side; he brandishes his forearm, shooting licks of fire from his wrist, emitting shrieks from the onlookers. Riz became enveloped in flame, and he rolled on the stone floor frantically to save himself. It hadn’t worked, and his body burned on as Riz laid dead. 

Emelea shrieked. Her screams are like a beast’s as she scrambled to her feet, clutching her shoulder. “Kill them!” she screamed. She pulled at her hair and shrieked and cried. 

The court guardians that remained at the scene stuttered in response. Half of them visibly questioned where their loyalties now lie. The other half remained too stunned to pounce immediately. Din struggled to pull you up as you stared in horror, your tears now dry by the heat of the dead prince’s corpse. 

Running back to the Crest would have been easier if you were faster. You tripped and stumbled. Din doubts you have ever gotten decent exercise. You’re struggling to breathe before you’ve even escaped the palace. 

Din can see in your eyes how tempted you are to just give up; to stay put and let Emelea do away with you in whatever cruel way she would. Before you could open your mouth to say the words, Din scooped you up into his arms. You latched your arms around his neck, struggling to stay secure as he took into a sprint. You’ve never felt wind over your face this way before. You’ve always watched ships and speed bikes come and go, but the luxury to ride them was reserved only for court members. 

Your strange savior ran fast; in a whirl of strange and stranger courses you’d been whisked away by him, a man of metal that ran fast as a speed bike. 

He took you to places you’d never seen before in a matter of a minute and you don’t even know his name. 

Beyond the palace gates where he set you down and took on the court guardians that attempted to stop him. You’d never before seen the front gates, or the vast columns of trees. Awestruck, you stumbled out of the doors and into the grass. 

Din tugged you along once more, urging you to go a little farther. His ship was close. You could see it, and it was unlike any other ship you’d seen before. 

“Go!” Din demanded. You ran as fast as you could. You felt light, free, scared and giddy, all at once, even as gunfire rings out behind you. 

Your rags of clothing fumbled your escape. You tripped over yourself again. 

And that was it, you realized. That was the last of your freedom. 

A court guardian lifted you into his arms, prepared to drag you back to Emelea.

You had only seen the ship once, and it hadn’t been enough. 

Across the field Din struggled to fight off his own number of guardians. You writhed in your captor’s arms, calling out for help in a hoarse voice. 

Din’s helmet raised to attention. He could see you struggling. All of his strength surged as he used the remainder of his fuel to spray fire in the air. The guardians flanked back, watching in horror as their fellow fighters burned alive.

Din ran to you, like no one ever had before, and you were unsure if you should feel glad or scared as he tumbled to the ground with your almost captor. Once more in Din's arms, you were being flung onto the ramp of his ship. 

“Get in!” Din shouted as he shot at oncoming guardians. You clambered up the ramp, cutting your hands over the ragged edges. Din comes behind you to hurry things along. You sink into Din’s arms as he drags you inside. He firmly sets you down, only saying, “Stay there” before he rushes to the cockpit. 

His adrenaline spiked hands shuddered as he fires up the engines of the Crest. The rumble of his ship is literal music to his ears. Din did not bother to gauge anything else as he forced the ship into a full exertion of motion. The Razor Crest lurched as it lifted off the ground at an alarming speed. 

You strained to find balance as the entire world fell from under you. 

Colliding with every panel as the ship lurched out of the atmosphere sent you into a sobered state of pain. 

As the hum of the engine gets louder, you feel yourself becoming more and more frightened. 

Your unknown fate, which lies in this stranger’s hands, topples through space as the ship whirls and spins, leaving you to do nothing but brace yourself in a corner. Your vision blurred with every moment that passed. The rampant heart that beat in your chest threatened to burst free and fly through space all on its own. 

Some kind of siren went off as the walls of the ship shook. Distantly, you know the ship is being shot at. Breathing is becoming a struggle. 

Your memory skips out on everything since that moment in the hall. The vague voice of your hopeful-savior is clear in your mind, but your surroundings have been washed down to plain palates of color. The blazing prince, a muddled yellow and brown splashed with the fiery licks of orange; his sister who screamed as she bled now remains faceless in your mind. 

You crawled over the floor as it rumbled. You feel like debris in a tornado as you struggle for cover. The racking of metal pierces straight through you as you feel the looming threat of explosion closing in on you. A flat whistle is rising in your ears. There is no balance point for anything, not anymore. Were the rumors true? Does gravity not exist beyond the atmosphere of Aniri? Would the walls of the ship be stripped apart, leaving you victim to space winds, black holes, and freezing, endless darkness? The idea frightens you into a frenzy of hysterics.

You tumble across the panels. You go head first into a wall. It knocks the vision out of you. It’s difficult to tell how much time passes.

Sitting blind and gripping the sharp grooves of the ship, you brace your body back to fight the ship’s desperation to throw you around. Your neck twinges with pain of strained muscles. 

You narrowly dodge debris that rolls around the ship. 

Using the walls as your guide, you search for safety. 

Inside of a strange vault, filled to the brim with weapons, you lock yourself inside. Your breath is uneven, so ragged it hurts. Pinned up against guns and other strange arsenal isn’t helping the feeling of impending doom, but at least here you’re safe. 

You stay hidden until your legs hurt. 

You can feel the paint dripping down your face in thick streams of sweat. 

The ship ceased to rumble a while ago, but the nauseating pain in your stomach is still set firm like stone. 

You know once you emerge from the weapon locker you’ll be apprehended by your strange savior. 

You know what he is—a bounty hunter. He killed that wanted man on Aniri. He killed them just for money. He surely wouldn’t save you out of the kindness of his heart. He knew running off with you would cause a stir. They’d followed you off planet. 

You know what Emelea and Riz are like. Melv was kind, but weak. He had been the sickly triplets of the bunch. Kind he may have been but he was easily overpowered by siblings. 

They followed you off the planet. You, a servant. You are their property. They’re going to war over a stolen girl, and given Emelea’s absolute insanity, you can only guess how it will end for you. 

Even if Emelea doesn’t make further attempts, you are still in the hands of a stranger. A bounty hunter; a killer. He could use you for anything he wanted. Leverage to get ransom from Aniri, sell you to the Empire to be a slave, or he could keep you for himself. You’d be dead or worse either way. 

You gripped tight on a blaster before carefully opening the door. 

The ship rumbles in easy silence. No fire or smoke leaks. Just silence.

Did...did he outrun them? 

You stepped out. The metal under your bare feet is unlike anything you’ve felt. Servants were not permitted shoes because they had nowhere to go but around the palace. You’re used to smooth concrete. 

Your slippery palms grip the blaster with sloppy form. You’re unfamiliar with weaponry and rely mostly on what you’ve seen to defend yourself. Aim, pull trigger. 

In such a close range you could surely kill him, but piloting the ship wouldn’t be as easy. 

You tiptoe around, heart hammering in your chest. The metal floors creak behind you. 

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you. 

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says. 

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find. 

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you. 

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired. 

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed. 

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands. 

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin. 

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy. 

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance. 

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way. 

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means. 

"Bathe," Din corrects himself. 

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety. 

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward. 

Din gives a quick rundown on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline. 

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm. 

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint. 

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

Din shuts the door after himself, leaving you in the steamy refresher. You hang your things on the hook. You're beyond excited to wear something other than your itchy rags.

You discard the rags to the floor and step eagerly into the water. 

It's amazing. 

You look at your feet, watching the dirt and paint whirl down the drain to never be seen again. 

While "showering" might be new, you at least know how to wash yourself. 

You use a bar of soap to lather bubbles in your hands. Scrubbing away the vomit-green foundation is beyond satisfying. 

You wash your hair, taking your grand time. The bubbles gather in your hair like a fluffy cloud. It's hard to remember there is a world outside of the shower where you massage your scalp for a decent ten minutes. 

By the time the water has ran cold, you have exhausted the possibility of washing any untouched body part. You feel butter soft, hair silky smooth. 

You pat yourself dry with the towel your savior had given you. 

It's then that you struggle to not burst into tears. The sight of your crumpled uniform overwhelms you. You huddle into the corner, gripping onto the soft linen the man had given you. 

Dabbing tears away with your inner wrist, you tell yourself to stay calm. 

You slip on the shirt.

He is bigger and taller than you, so the shirt covers all of you to your mid thighs. 

You look at your reflection in the foggy mirror. 

You don't recognize the girl that looks back at you. No loose rags cover her curves and no thick paint masks the face she is so unfamiliar with. 

You can see all the pigment in your skin. Your eyes are slightly red, but filled with hope. You detangle your hair with your fingers before you gather enough courage to go out. 

You slip into the cold air with your old uniform and towel bunched in your arms.

You scan up and down the narrow hall. You wish you knew your savior's name. 

"Hello?"

The answer is footsteps that lead away from the cockpit. 

He still wears his heavy armor, helmet included. 

"How do you feel?" He asks after a tense moment of silence.

"Clean," you say sheepishly.

You’re still slightly concerned with your well being. You look up to his helmet, taking a conscious shuffle back. "I should thank you properly," you murmur. 

"There's no need for it," the Mandalorian says quickly. His tight voice is incredibly nerve wracking. 

"What are you going to do to me?" You finally asked the one question that's been on your mind. 

He tilted his head back. You imagine he's surprised from the way his body seemed to stutter. 

"Nothing you're thinking, I can say that," he declared. "Technically you...you are mine now. The Anirians will be looking for you. They made that clear. It's safe to assume you have no family off planet?" 

You must have looked surprised because he quickly tries to apologize for overstepping a boundary. 

"I have no family," you say. "None at all. I was born into the servant ranks."

"I see." He visibly thought about what to do. Even though his face remains unseen you can tell he's debating all of his options. "If you're tired, you can sleep. If you're hungry, help yourself. Do as you'd like around here, at least until tomorrow."

You don't know how he keeps track of time here. The question isn’t nearly as  pressing as what’s happening tomorrow. 

You clenched your stomach when you asked what happened tomorrow. You prepared for the very worst answer. 

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.” His response didn’t make much sense. He turned on his feet to head back to the cockpit, but you reached after him. Your touch must have startled him as he flinched. You recoiled. “I-I want to ask why you did it.”

He doesn’t answer your question. 

“I’ll be here if you need me.” 

You retreated to the little bed. It’s lumpy, but soft. You sink right into it, timidly covering yourself with the thin blanket. 

You rest your head against the pillow.

This must be his bed. 

This must be what he smells like; metal tang mingling with his soap and just him. It’s difficult to describe since it’s not really a thing. It’s just him. 

Sleeping could have just been blinking. Your eyelashes tickled your eyelids as you opened them, seeing the world only as a pillow. You had cuddled it during the night, and you can’t say it was bad, since it smelled nice and was a real pillow.

You roll over to your back, feeling the start of a headache instantly form behind your eyes. 

On the small bedside table are new clothes. Well, you find it’s actually just a new linen shirt and an oversized leather jacket. You are a bit surprised to see that. After all, your savior doesn’t seem like the leather jacket type. 

But it’s very soft, so you figure it’s old. 

You shrug into the clothes, grateful he didn’t simply wash your rags and have you wear them again.

Although it is a peculiar outfit as far as outfits go. The brown leather jacket does a good job of keeping you warm and your hands at least reach the outside of the sleeves. But the shirt is sort of short. Oversized, but short. 

At least shorter than what you’re used to. On closer examination you’d say you have at least two inches between your kneecaps and the hem of your shirt-dress. You just zip up the jacket to avoid any mishaps. Strangely enough it makes a cute-ish outfit. 

Then again you’ve never actually had any other outfit before. You’d probably think anything would be cute. 

You come to the conclusion that you’re stalling going out to meet your savior. You’d slept peacefully and gotten new clothes, so you’re kind of expecting the entire thing to be revealed as a trick. 

You open the door with the thought that you could always run back to the weapon locker and grab a pistol. Your hope for a silent start to your first day is smashed when you run into him less than a full minute of being on your feet. 

You awkwardly stared into his visor, stuttering a quiet “Good morning.”

He didn’t exactly reply the way any other person would. 

“How are you feeling?”

The crisp edge to his voice cuts your ears. He’s awfully fear inducing. 

“I feel alright,” you mumble. “Thank you for the clothes.”

He nodded, not making a sound that could be mistaken for a “you’re welcome”. Instead he straightens his helmet, the T of his visor looking somewhere behind you. He says, “I have set a course to Nevarro.”

You nodded right back. “I would guess that’s a planet,” you say, trying your best to sound serious. Who could take you seriously, though? Makeupless, tired, with less than combed hair, and you don’t know anything about the galaxy you live in. 

“It’s going to be where we live. For now. At least until I can find somewhere safe for you.” His words took your breath away. It’s mind blowing to imagine how many planets are out there. Which planet will you live on? What would you do? Just live, breathe, all without being in the service of anyone else? 

You bobbed your head softly, a quiet yes on your lips, but excitement gathering in your chest. 

“I’m going to have to thank you again,” you murmur, sweeping your bangs out of your eyes. “I’ve never been shown such kindness from a stranger. I am Y/n.”

The soldier bowed his helmet in response. “You don’t have to thank me, Y/n.”

You half expected him to tell you his name in response. You should have known better, however, considering his entire identity depends on mystery. Before he could leave, you asked him, “What should I call you?” 

A slight falter in his footsteps makes you regret the question. He visibly thought as he tilted his visor down. Is he staring at you? His feet? The way the leather jacket hangs off your limbs? 

“You can call me Mando, if you want,” he finally suggested, his words sounding so broken apart that you wonder if he is physically malfunctioning beneath the helmet. You decided to just stick with Mando rather than force him to socialize and talk more than he already has been. 

The day passed by uneventfully, but still blurringly fast. You have nothing to do, but that is a thousand times better as opposed to your usual schedule of cleaning around the Anirian palace from dawn to dusk. You never had the luxury to feel bored before today. You passed the time by cleaning up around the ship while Mando remained ever stoic in the pilot chair. 

You grew used to his ever looming presence. You have an idea of him in mind that you can’t be too sure of. He watches you constantly, occasionally handing bowls of soup to you without a word. He thanked you before bed for taking the time to clean but insisted you don’t do it again. You’d taken that with a grain of salt in the wound. For a brief moment you felt embarrassed; you must not seem like a real person to him. Just the poor Aniri girl programmed to clean and stay silent. 

Mando must have seen this thought in your eyes because he stopped you from going to bed to say a few words.

“Thank you,” he said. His voice always cuts through your chest, right to your heart. “I appreciate everything you’ve done, but I want to say that you shouldn’t feel obligated to take care of anything.”

You tilt your head up, peeking at his helmet through your bangs. “I don’t know how else I can thank you,” you sheepishly admit. “Cleaning is my only real talent.”

He didn’t laugh at the half-joke, instead he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The tang of his armor you could taste on your tongue, and you can just imagine how it would twine with the smell of him.

“If you’re hungry then I’ll bring you food, to the bedroom.”

“Wouldn’t you want to eat with company?” You asked. 

His long pause is deafening. “It’s alright,” he finally says, voice lowered to a soft lull. “Y/n,” he said. Your heart pounds when he says it. “I’m going to take care of you.”

You nodded. “I know,” you mutter. “I really, really wish I could thank you enough.”

“You can thank me by getting rest. We’ll be at Nevarro in twelve or so hours.”

You retreated to the door to your little bedroom, before turning back to look at Mando one more time. “Where do you sleep?” You asked. 

“The bedroom,” he replied. “But it’s yours tonight, once more.”

You don’t argue as Mando turns away, returning to the cockpit where he would no doubt be the rest of the night. 

You shrugged out of the leather, draping it across the small night stand where a glass of fresh, cold water greeted you. 

You have never been cared for. 

You have never been given anything so luxurious in your entire life.

Mando had now given you his bed for two nights in a row, and you would have felt guilty if you weren’t struck by your sudden change of lifestyle. You crawled onto the mattress and sunk your face into the pillow, breathing in the smell of him.

Just him. 

>> next chapter! 

#din djarren #mandalorian #the mandalorian #star wars #disney+ #din djarren x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarren x oc #mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian x oc #stars wars x reader #star wars x you #dyn djarren x reader #dyn jarren x reader #dyn jaren x reader #dyn jarren #dyn djarren #dyn djarren imagine #dyn jarren imagine #dyn jaren imagine #din djarren imagine #star wars imagine #mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagine #paz vizla x reader #paz vizla imagine #paz vizla #the armorer #starfirette writes

[starfirette]

Every Which Way : Chapter Four

The Way To Freedom

➡️a/n: there is nothing for me to say besides this story is literally my heart and soul ATM 

➡️ prev chapters found on masterlist

➡️ Included original characters: Wendi Q’ohl + Ryder Vizsla

➡️ Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader  | mild violence | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count:4. 971

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST | VIEW SCHEDULE | >>NEXT CHAPTER!<<

Din rushed you through the tunnel, ushering you through as he kept watch of the alleyway. 

When Din followed after you stopped him by grabbing his hand. “You killed those people for me,” you say sternly. “Right?” 

“Y/n,” Din hazards. “This isn’t a conversation we are going to have.” 

You tugged him back, trying to hold him as tightly as he could hold onto you. He easily detached from your grip; it reminds you how feeble you really are without him, and of how strong he is. Staring through the darkness with a crinkled frown, you said, “I don’t understand you.”

“Why do you care?” Din snapped.

You smashed your lips closed . Why did you care? 

The common reaction would be to care about your savior, yes? No matter what Din is to you, you care about him so much that you can hardly breathe. It’s a painful matter to even contemplate. The words mumbled in your throat as you spit out a response before he could walk away from you. 

“Because I care about you,” you said. Your voice echoed around the tunnel. Din’s figure ruffled to a stop. “I do, Din,” you said a bit louder. “I care about you a lot. You’ve been the only thought on my mind all this week. And I think you might care about me, too.”

Ragged breaths that passed his modulator kept you on your toes. The heart that beat painfully in your chest became absolutely shattered when Din did finally speak. 

“You’re wrong,” he says. “I don’t care about you, and you don’t care about me.”

The silence that passed between you struck you in the face like a sharp slap from Emelea’s hand. Composing yourself, wiping your tears and such, took some time, and Din seemed to wait for you. Your boots stepped over the rocks that littered the tunnel’s floor as you walked around Din and made way for the covert. At least in the darkness Din could not see the tears that streamed down your face like the water in the showers. 

You were wrong; of course you were. You don’t know anything about feelings, you’ve never had the opportunity to understand them. Perhaps you’d mistaken care for something different. You’d misinterpreted Din’s lingering touches and glances your way. It all meant nothing. 

With a heavy heart you raced to the furnace, in a hurry to return your weapons and find solace in your bedroom. 

“Y/n!” Wendi exclaimed. She left her spot by Gold as she ran to you. “Where the hell did you go?!” 

“Din found me,” you mumbled with your chin tucked against your chest. Staring at her glittering shinplates eased the tears on your eyes. 

“What were you thinking letting her go alone?” Din demanded Wendi. “She could have gotten killed.” 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Wendi snipped with a dismissive tone in her voice. “Clearly she’s just fine––”

“They sent their people after her,” Din interjected. “If I hadn’t been there, or if Paz and Ryder were too late, then she’d be back in their hands.” 

The anger that seeped out of his voice prompted you to look up. Though Din isn’t that tall, he easily towered over Wendi, and his mask did nothing to hide the anger that simmered beneath it. “I don’t care what your personal problem with her is,” Din continued to chew her out. “You are under a creed and she is protected by that creed. If she had gotten killed or taken, I would hold you responsible.” 

Even under the pressure of Din’s angry voice, Wendi still managed to get out a snark. “Yeah, you would.”

“Can you both just stop it?” you interjected. “I’m just fine.”

“See, Djarren? Your girlfriend is just fine,” Wendi repeated. “Paz and Ryder came back with the guardian. They said Y/n can easily hold her own. They also said you killed the rest. Don’t gripe to me about your personal problems. If you want Y/n kept under lock and key, then don’t leave again.”

Din’s arm stretched above Wendi and hammered down. The screech of her metal cuffs that stopped the blow echoed in your ears. They clamored in a quick brawl that was cut short by Gold’s booming voice. “Control yourselves,” she commanded. “You’re embarrassing yourselves in front of Y/n and me both. I expect to see you both in the gathering hall immediately.”

The two Mandalorians sent each other brief looks, no doubt snarling under their helmets. Din stormed out first, his cape fluttering behind him with a sharp gust of wind. 

Wendi crossed her arms as she looked you up and down. “I don’t think you have any idea how much of a hassle you are,” Wendi says before she leaves. 

You collapse into the chair, your palm gripping your achey chest. By now you could feel how sore your muscles are. You look up to Gold who waited patiently, looking at nothing as she thought. 

“Are Paz and Ryder alright?” you finally asked. 

“They’re fine,” Gold assures you. “They both said you fought confidently. I’m proud.” 

You mustered half of a smile. You stood up to stretch your legs. 

You wanted to talk about Din and what he said and what he did and how everytime he touched you your skin seemed to burn, but you know you can’t without running the risk of further embarrassment. You reached for your blaster, using your thumb to undo the holster strap. You passed it to Gold. She looked at it with a slight tilt of her golden helmet before shaking her head. “It’s yours, now. All of it.” 

While there weren’t many weapons you’d been given, they all weighed heavy on your lower body. The feeling of the besbev against your thigh felt unnatrual, but if Gold would not accept it, you knew you must keep it; if not to keep yourself safe, then to at least help the others during a situation like today. 

“I don’t want to go to the meeting,” you said blandly.

“Noted,” Gold says. “You must know what it will be about.”

“Me?” you ventured a guess.

“Wendi is right about one thing,” Gold says, “and it is that you are a great deal of ‘hassle’. The interrogation with the court guardian is being taken care of. We expect him to let us all know how you may stay among the covert without breaking any laws or waging war.” 

“If he doesn’t?” you asked. 

Gold’s hands curled into fists under her thick, leather gloves. “Then we wage war,” she said plainly.

You retreated to your room after that. You don’t have the energy to sit around and listen to a bunch of Mandalorians talk about how much of a nuisance you are. If you’d known upon your capture that you’d be such a bother, you would have asked Din to go on his way. 

It’s not anything that builds up self esteem. Wendi clearly hates your guts. 

How could you blame her? You are a threat to her home and her family. You’d probably feel similarly if the roles were reversed.

You used a wet cloth to wipe the dirt and sweat of your neck and face, knowing you’d have to wait until the morning to use the showers. You know that as you change into sleep linens there is a riot about getting rid of you just down the hallway. 

You understand what Din had meant, now. He doesn’t really care about you like you thought. He brought you to the covert, fought for you to stay, and now he has to see it through. He’s quite devoted to his mandate. In his own Mandalorian way, he’s a gentleman. At least he keeps his word. 

He did make it clear you’d be safe with him. 

It hurts knowing he probably regrets his choice as much as you do.

The next morning you woke with one burning thought. 

You dressed and raced to the furnace in your tunic and pants. The only weapon in your belt was the flute that dug against your thigh as you jogged down the hallway.

You’ve become used to the stares by now. You wonder what the status of last night’s meeting had been, but as for right now, you have one question that must be answered. 

“What is your name?” You gasped out. 

Gold looked up at the intrusion. Her arm had been hammering away at a white hot blade. 

Gold’s helmet tips down to her work, then back to you. Her modulator hisses as she breathes. Her hesitation was silent and nearly unreadable but you’d grown used to the Mandalorian mannerisms, enough so that you could begin to read their emotions. 

“You can’t tell me,” you concluded. 

Gold tilts her helmet thoughtfully. “Your intelligence continues to throw me off guard,” she notes. She cast down her hammer, the strike ringing in your ears as it shaped the blade she was working on dutifully. “Unlike any other Mandalorian in this covert my title is one that has been passed down from my parents. Certain titles are as sacred as one’s face.”

“So only your immediate family can know,” you guessed.

“The creed has certain rules that apply to certain people,” Gold explained as she holds the white hot sword up, examining its edges before dunking it into a cooler. You flinch as the steam erupts from the cooler. Gold seems so unfazed by the process that frightens you. You’d never seen the process of weapon making before. It hadn’t crossed your mind during servitude that weaponry could be a trade. Your eyes follow the sword in Gold’s hands as she places it on a table of ice. “What do you know of it?”

“Of what?” You asked. 

The visor of her helmet seeps into your eyes. “Of the Creed.”

You fidget in your seat. “Only what Din has told me,” you explain. “Your faces are meant only for family.”

“And do you know why?” Gold asked. 

“I don’t.”

“Long ago, on Mandalore, the people abided by a code of fealty and a strict creed of honor. Mandalorians were once known to be the fiercest warriors across all the galaxy. To maintain clan safety, every Mandalorian warrior was sworn to bear their face to no one but their own family. Through blood or marriage could one only see a Mandalorian face. Beyond the immediate clan, no living being could see the face of a sworn warrior. Marriage between Mandalorians was frequent. The people of the Creed are not bound to species or race. The Creed may apply to or protect anyone that swears by it. Marriage is the first cornerstone of our tradition. Jedi forbid themselves to love for they fear it will bring anguish, and from that, anger. Jedi fear anger. Mandalorians embrace it. We see that love can be the difference between life or death. 

To keep younglings, wives, and husbands safe, the Creed instated the helmet law. We bear them to protect our clans. It means to keep identity secret to outsiders. This was a time of peace. Our people were united under the Way. 

The Jedi were our natural enemy. To fend them off a member of a strong clan, who had been familiar with the ways of the Jedi order, laid siege on their temples with a weapon of his own epic creation. It is known today as a Darksabre, the one and only. It was created by Tarr Vizsla and my direct ancestors. 

Vizsla became the Mand’alor. The leader of Mandalore, similar to what you know to be a King or Queen. Vizsla’s clan descended into fame following Vizsla’s feats. There were many conflicts with many people, not only the Jedi, that Vizsla had managed to defuse. Though his death was followed by a rupturing civil war. 

The Jedi took possession of the Darksabre. No Armorer has ever been able to recreate Vizsla’s vision.The loss of the Sabre, however, is not what brought on the war. The people became divided after Vizsla’s death. Many sought pacifism as a way to cease outer conflicts. The Way became disrespected. The Creed became a secondary curriculum for the foundlings and younglings. When the Jedi came, many were unprepared. The children that should have learnt the art of war, of the weapon, and of love, knew only a Way of cowardice. The land was scorched and salted by the Jedi most people hold so high. The plains of wheat and grass became a field of ash. Those who wanted to survive fled the planet, while others remained on Mandalore and rebuilt the cities. Those who fled went in hiding, out of fear of the Jedi. 

Pacifism took over the ranks, and the most peaceful of them all became the Mand’alor. And meanwhile, the cruel descendant of Tarr Vizsla began to attack the Creed more and more. 

The Way has been deserted on Mandalore, but it has lived on through coverts, such as this. There are others like us. Others are waiting to seize our place as protectors as they hide on distant planets like lakebats.”

“And is that why we stay hidden?” You asked. “Because of the Jedi?”

Gold weighed stones of steel in her hands. They scrape over the edges of the newly bred sword, sparks flying as the edges build a razor tip. 

“There are more threats than the Jedi,” she mutters, voice pitched darker than you’d ever heard. “War rages throughout the galaxy as we speak. Mandalorians have abandoned their dignity and fall in league with the Imperial  scum.”

You shudder. Imperial scum. You know of such people. You’d unknowingly worked for many. 

Clearing your scratchy throat, your blurt out, “Why? Why would the “pacifist” Mandalorians work for such horrible people?”

“Not all Mandalorians or black and white,” Gold explains. “This has happened in the past. The descendant of Tarr Vizsla had worked with an Imperial Sith Lord. He had intentionally waged territorism on his planet, even abandoning his child. It is more common that you might expect, Y/n.” 

You gnaw on your lip, skin tearing onto your tongue in dry flakes. You rub your finger over your chapped lips. The idea forms in your head, an answer to the question you’d been aching to figure out. “A group of rogue Mandalorians are harboring a fugitive from an Imperial planet,” you concluded. “They don’t just want me, do they? They’re weeding out the old fashioned Mandalorians. It’s an all-win situation.”

Gold’s helmet inclined, almost seeming exhausted. “Very much so.” 

You look down at the cuffs on your forearms. They’d been crafted for you as a form of protection, but it wasn’t just your protection. Letting you be repossessed by Aniri would jeopardize Din Djarren, a Mandalorian who knows about the Nevarro covert. 

“What was the final word?” you asked. “Will you buy me?” 

Gold doesn’t respond for a long minute. She returns the sharpening stones to her case, but then moves to a larger locker. Stacks on stacks of metals shine at you.She selects a few bars, doing the mental calculations as she weighs them in her gloved hands. 

You cannot imagine how sweaty she must be, under the golden helmet, the cape made of fur, and the leather apron over all of her armor. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable, nearly ever. Her mind is constantly running, processing things you couldn’t comprehend. If she’s one of the “old” Mandalorians, you cannot imagine why any Jedi would want to wage war with them. Gold alone is a threat to villains. You’d seen Din in action, and even Wendi seems viscous. 

“A proper course of action will be made,” Gold says as she sets the metal bars into her bubbling foundry. They fold into the strobes of heat and sizzle as they come undone like threads. “That is,” Gold said suddenly. “—if you trust me.” 

Rendered puzzled, you rubbed your hands over your thighs. “What do you mean by that?” You drawl, quiet and uncertain while Gold stirs the metal in with a heavy poacher. 

“I mean just what I say,” Gold says insistently, looking into her cauldron as she spoke. “I must hear you say that you trust me.” 

You didn’t have to think that long about your answer. “I trust you.”

“And Wendi?” 

You frowned. “As much as I dislike her, I trust her,” you admit. 

“And Paz, what of him?”

You chewed on the thought for a second. “He’s kind to me,” you say. “I do trust him very much. He’s my friend.”

Gold chuckled, the sound low in her modulator. “I am crafting what will be used to keep you and our covert safe. If you so wish to stay and watch the tedious procedure, I don’t have objections. It’s not exciting.” 

You took that as Gold’s way of asking you to leave. You tried to ask for a clear answer but she ignored you, choosing to slave away over the boiling hot metals. 

What would happen to you? You don’t know anyone else well enough to ask, except for maybe Paz. You ran to the washrooms to shower. The empty showers steamed up, the water striking the smooth floor with pitter-pattering little sounds. 

You scrubbed your head with soap as fast as you could do it. Being trapped in an answerless state isn’t fun, and you wouldn’t wish it on even Wendi. The anxiety that bubbled up inside your throat got washed down the drain. 

Rinsing the bitter taste of vomit from your mouth, you told yourself everything would be alright so long as you trusted Gold and Paz and the rest of the covert.

Din would probably deliver whatever coins or disks Gold is crafting to Emelea in person. Maybe Emelea would accept the offer. Maybe. 

You can only rely on that “maybe” to keep your stomach from churning. The thought of ruining the covert is painful.

You linger around the tunnel for a few minutes more, half hoping you’d bump into Din. You know well that he’s out doing his own work, but you cannot help yourself from hoping. The thought of Din stayed with you as you shuffled into the common room. A few Mandalorians lingered here, Paz being one of them. He noticed you linger on the edges like a wallflower, and he went out of his way to invite you to his table. His basket for snacks was filled. “Going on a trip?” You asked, nodding your head to look at his food. You fold your hands behind your back. 

“Something like that,” he says. 

His usually booming voice is quiet; soft, almost. 

He shuffled through his basket and under a few rolls of cheese was a worn novel. The title said Prudential Policies: A History And Study Of Mandalore. “Another book for your collection?” You asked, feigning a teasing glance after Paz had read the title to you.

Paz chuckled. “I have my own novels to consume tonight. This is for you.”

“Me?” You repeat. 

“If you’re to stay with us then you should know the Way. I couldn’t leave you drowning, could I?” 

You could hear the grin in Paz’s voice and it eased the weight in your chest. You hold the book to your chest. “I value your thoughtfulness more than you know. Thank you.” 

Paz nodded his heavy helmet, leaving it at an incline for a second’s time. You noticed Mandalorians often did this. It seemed like a bow, but not exactly as respectful. From what you’ve gathered, the gesture is to convey gratitude or kindness. 

You ventured to nod your head as well. 

“Can I ask you something?” you say before Paz can escape you. He took the basket in his hand. “Anything.”

“What was the ruling last night? What did the court guardian say?” 

Paz didn’t answer you right away, which led you to believe the worst. “Please tell me,” you plead. “I don’t think I could take bad news from anyone else.” 

Paz flexed his fingers around the handle of the basket, a delicate sigh passing his mask. “There’s a law that requires us to send a certain amount of money,” he finally answered. 

“Purchase?” you repeated. “Is that really all?” 

“There are other details that aren’t for us to be concerned with,” Paz says comfortingly. “It’s all going to be taken care of.” 

You nodded, chewing on your lip as you relished in the words. There wouldn’t be any reason for the court guardian to lie, especially when in captivity. The guardian wouldn’t lie. 

Neither would Paz.

You will be safe.

“Y/n?” Paz says. “Are you alright?” 

You quickly nod, clutching the book to your heart. “I’m much better now. Thank you.” 

“I’m glad to have eased your mind. If you need anything, I’ll be in my room––reading, of course. You can join me if you feel bored later on.”

“I cannot imagine bothering you that way,” you proclaim. “Your free time is the only time you can keep your helmet off. I wouldn’t want to intrude on that.”

Paz made a thoughtful sound, as if he hadn’t been expecting such an answer. “I’ve never known anyone who accepts the Way so easily. Beyond the covert, that is,” he added. “Most people want to know everything. The reason we do it, the exceptions to the rules.” 

“Are there exceptions?” You ask. “To the rules?”

“Well, sure. You could see my face if you were my child, my sister, or my wife,” Paz explained. “The helmets aren’t meant to be a punishment,” he adds. “It makes it all the more special when our family sees our bare face. It’s about love and companionship.”

Your face felt all flushed and warm down to your neck. You looked away, gripping the book like an anchor. “You know, you’re awfully poetic for someone so…”

“So scary looking?” Paz guessed.

“For someone so fierce,” you corrected. After all, his armor announced his heroism by itself. When Paz speaks, hairs on your neck stand straight. He’s a commanding presence to say the least. You wouldn’t have pegged him to be as kind and welcoming as he is. Especially surprising about him are the books he usually holds in the common room. He lounges and reads silently, not bullying even Din, who you’ve noticed always seems to clash with Paz. 

As time relented on, you became more anxious. You’d sifted through your new novel, struggling to read every word. Paz’s methods of sounding out the letters proved more difficult to do when alone. Every syllable frustrated you and eventually you tossed the book aside. By page five you’d had a massive headache. 

Even more bothersome was the nagging question of what Gold would be doing by now. What would become of you? 

You leaned back in the creaky chair, shutting your eyes as you tried to massage your headache away. 

After some time doing this a gentle rapping came at the door. You lurched to your feet. You rushed to the door, hoping to see Gold or Paz beyond it with your ticket to freedom. Only neither of them were there. 

Din was there, and you were very surprised, unable to contain the small drop of your jaw. You’d figured he wouldn’t come to see you until the very last moment—until it was time to say goodbye. 

“Hello,” you said quietly. You straighten your shoulders, consciously trying to appear confident as you inwardly feared what Din would say. 

“If you’re here to further reject me,” you sniff, “you should just leave. I don’t want to be humiliated more than I have been.” 

“May I come in?” Din murmured. 

“Why?” You sniped. You’d never imagined being so vicious would feel so horrible. Although, when you are sarcastic to Wendi you feel sort of satisfied. Now, you feel sick to know that it’s Din you’re actively trying to hurt. 

“Please,” Din begged. 

You stifle a sigh, but agree, standing aside to allow Din entry. 

Among the small room he seemed so huge, especially in his shining armor. You quickly tidy around, dusting off the cushioned chair and gesturing for him to take a seat. 

“Y/n,” he said. “It’s alright.”

You purse your lips. “Compulsory, I suppose,” you mutter. “I doubt I’ll ever outgrow those ways.”

“That’s why I worry, you know,” Din says. His words, though strained, seemed to tumble out of his mouth clumsily. “I worry that you’ll spend your life living as if you owe it to anyone but yourself. I worry that you’ll find yourself with someone that takes advantage of your kindness.” 

“You mean my obedience,” you correct. Even you heard the venom coating your words. You hadn’t meant to say such a thing, nor with such a tone. 

Din visibly struggled as he stuttered a couple words. He took a breath, composing himself before he strode to stand right before you. You would have been able to smell him if he hadn’t been wearing his armor. 

You looked away, focusing on a spot on the floor. You swallowed a bitter plug, unable to meet his gaze through the mask. You could feel his eyes on you, helmet or no helmet. 

“We’ve figured out a plan,” Din says gruffly. “To keep you safe.”

“I know,” you say, forcing yourself out of his invisible pull. You sit on your mattress, crossing your ankles and looking up at him. “When will the money be delivered?” 

Din hesitates, clenching his hands at his side. “There won’t be any money involved,” he says. “It’s-it’s not what you think.”

You lifted an eyebrow. Your heart got caught in your throat when Din cautiously sat beside you. “The Armorer has already arranged for a contract. It’s the only way to keep you from being repossessed by a loophole law.”

Paz had lied. Paz lied. You won’t be fine, you realized, you won’t be safe at all.

“What is the only way?” You demand, starting to feel dreadfully nervous. 

Din clenched his hands in his lap. “If you married me.”

Breathing suddenly became impossible. Muscles seized, chest tight, you stared at Din through glassy eyes. The notion was laughable, even almost impossible, and you felt like the punchline of a joke. 

“I’m not marrying you,” you finally say. 

Din lurched to his feet. “What, would you rather marry Wendi? Or Paz?” 

“At least Paz hasn’t been completely rude to me!” You shot back. “Paz makes a point to talk to me, and to—well, and to make me feel welcome!” 

“I haven’t made you feel welcome?” Din asked, voice low and hoarse. “I fought for you to stay, even when half the covert thought it was a bad idea. I fought for you. I saved you.”

Tears lined your vision. “You are also the one that told me you don’t care about me,” you shouted. “I’ve had enough time to conclude that you should have left me. If I had known how regrettable you would be, then I would have let Emelea kill me.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” Din hissed. At this point, you have also launched to your feet, standing on your toes to make yourself taller. “Why not?” You fired. “Is it not true? You told me you don’t care about me. Now you want me to marry you? You’re right. I would rather marry Paz. At least he pretends to be my friend.” 

“Don’t say that,” Din demandingly repeated. “I said what I said to keep myself at bay. To keep my own feelings from being hurt. And yes, it was rude, yes, it was cruel, and yes, I am sorry.”

“So is that your way of saying that I’m tolerable enough to be your wife? You would marry me just to soothe your own guilt for being a complete—”

You cut off, not because you didn’t want to call him a name, but because you didn’t know of any names to call him. Fuming, you crossed your arms across your chest. “For being a complete nerf herder!” You finally shouted. 

“I’m not offering out of guilt, Y/n,” Din exclaimed, becoming exasperated. “I’m offering because I don’t want to lose you.” 

“You’re lying,” you spit. “I’m not a thing you get to stick your cock into at the first chance. I’ve finally gotten my freedom and I won’t sign it away to a man who doesn’t even love me.” 

“But what if I did?” Din shouts. He’s never been so loud before. It’s alarming, but not frightening. He sounds, for once, desperate. “What if I’m falling in love with you every day?”

“Again, a lie,” you sputter. As much as your heart wanted to believe it, you can’t help but remember each time Din has pushed you away. 

“It’s not a lie,” Din sighed. He approached you, putting the palms of his warm hands over either side of your jaw. He raised your chin, forcing you to look into the gaze of his helmet. “I might not be in love, but I feel myself falling that way, each and every day I look at you. It’s painful. It hurts so bad. I pushed you away to spare myself any pain. The Armorer arranged a marriage contract and rings, but she had intended for you to marry Paz. When I heard, I knew I couldn’t let it happen. I kept hearing in my mind what you’d confessed; knowing you had those feelings for me I didn’t want Paz to be anywhere near you.” 

Tears dribbled down your cheeks. You lifted your hands to touch the metal over his face. “You’re such a liar,” you said again in a short sob. 

“I know,” Din murmured. His thumb brushed over your lower lip. “I’m sorry. Will you marry me?”

Through tears, you nodded.

>>next

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[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter Six

The Way To Voyage

➡️A/n: SMUT! 🔞do not interact if you are not of age otherwise I will tell God 

➡️Masterlist | Previous | JOIN THE TAGLIST 🏷 | OC PAGE

➡️Din Djarren/ The Mandalorian x Reader | Smut: oral, handjobs, intercourse, idk how else to tell you there is smut in the chapter | Mild Violence | Word count: 8,221

>>CONTINUE!!!<<

🏷 @woterezwhet @talesfromtheguild @poupoupoupoupou @multifandom-fiasco @fandomqueen74 @fifiyau105 @shayna-winchester 

Your eyes burst open at the sound of the knock on the door. A dream had your heart thumping rapidly in your chest. As you became more aware of the room, more even of Din’s strong arms holding you close to his chest, the dream became a distant memory. You sat upright, Din’s arms falling off of you, and you stared forward, waiting for another knock. 

When it came, Din urged you to stay with him. “Let them be,” he mumbled. You eased his arms back. “We shouldn’t sleep all day,” you say as you move out of bed. “Who is it?” 

“Paz,” the voice beyond the door answers. 

Din grabs you by the wrist, yanking you back into the bed in an instant. “I’ll get it,” he says in a gruff voice. He tucks you underneath the soft quilts before swinging off the bed, swaying tiredly to the armchair to retrieve his helmet. You watched the muscles of his back as he opened the door and leaned against the entry. “Good morning,” Paz says curtly. 

“Mhmm,” Din says in a yawn. “This couldn’t wait until later?” 

You struggled to get a good look at Paz, who was handing something to Din as they spoke quietly. 

As soon as Din had heard all he needed to, he shut the door in Paz’s face. He took off his helmet to place it in his usual spot, also dropping whatever papers Paz had handed off. “What did Paz need?” you asked. You watched Din retreat to the wardrobe. 

“The copies of the marriage vows,” he says. His voice is thick with the lilt of sleep that had been stolen from him. He took his tin of mints and spilled two into his mouth. 

He saved one for you, and as he crawled back into bed with a tired groan, you held your hand out. He tapped a finger over your lips. You shyly stuck out your tongue. 

With a satisfied smirk, Din put the mint on the tip of your tongue.

He held your hand to his mouth, placing a kiss over your knuckles, before laying back down. 

His brown hair had yet to be brushed this morning, but you liked the way it looked. The messy, You crawled forward to lay over his chest. Now awake, on what is your first day as Mrs. Djarren, you are eager to continue what hadn’t been last night. You brushed over his eyebrows with your pinkies, counted his eyelashes, pressed soft kisses to his chin; you are so mesmerized by the fine beauties of his face. 

“Paz found some jobs for me,” Din admits, though his eyes still closed. He dragged his calloused palms over your back. 

“Oh?” 

“I asked him to look. I think we should go off planet,” Din says again. He sounds much too calm. 

“...Why?” you demand. You pushed yourself up on your forearms to get a good look at him. 

“Din,” you say firmly when he doesn’t answer you. 

Din finally opened his eyes. “I’m worried Emelea will come after you, here,” he tells you plainly. “I’m worried she’ll take the news badly and she’ll come looking for you. They already know you’re on Nevarro. It’s a matter of time.”

“So you think we’re in danger?” you asked, unable to hide your worry. “You’re not in danger,” Din promises. 

“I said ‘we’,” you snip at him. “This isn’t about me, anymore, Din; marriage is marriage, not to mention the rest of the covert.” 

“Y/n,” Din says firmly. He uses a finger to redirect your chin so you are looking straight into his eyes. “No one is in danger. In the event someone came looking for you here, it would be easy for the others to act as if they didn’t know us. Safer for you, and them.” He lifted his eyebrows. “I didn’t mean to worry you,” he says apologetically. “Don’t think of it as an escape plan. Think of it as an off-planet honeymoon.” 

You couldn’t be too convinced. “Alright,” you say. “If you’re promising me this, I’ll believe it.” You meant the words. Truly. “However…”

Din groaned. 

“Shush. However, we have to come back if they need us. Eventually, we’ll need to. I don’t mind leaving. After all, I’ve never seen any of the galaxy. Exploring it with you sounds fun. But I’d like you to promise that we’re not running away from something. If there’s trouble, tell me.”

Din brushed the back of his thumb across your lip. “I promise.” 

You laid your head over his chest. 

You count his heartbeat as the time passes. Falling in and out of naps contented you for a few hours, but the tension and surplus of energy devoured you again. You sat up to look at the handsome face of your husband. 

“Din,” you mumble.

Din’s mouth twitched, a smile betraying his stoic resting face. “Too soon,” Din says quietly.

“You say that as if you knew what I was going to ask you,” you pouted. Din raised one of his eyebrows.

“And are you telling me you’re not going to ask for what I suspect?” 

You groaned. “Din! We’re married,” you argued. “How is that too soon?” 

“Too soon,” Din says again. He opens his eyes. While dragging a thumb along your cheek, he murmurs. “I want to take my time before devouring you in full.”

Your ears burned at the words, but so did your stomach. You climbed over him, ruffling around under the covers to straddle him properly. 

Din’s eyes pierced into you as you brushed hair from your face.

“Tell me what to do,” you mumble. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his face closer to yours. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

Din’s hands slid from your back to cup your rear, taking a good squeeze at the flesh. You leaned in for a kiss, but Din dodged it. 

You pout. “Mr. Djarren,” you say firmly. 

“Mrs. Djarren,” Din replies. “Is it so bad for us to take this slow?”

“How can a married woman be a virgin?” You sighed. Din tilted his forehead to rest against yours, while he kept you both propped up by leaning against the wall. 

“I intend to take my time with you,” Din mutters as he kisses you. “When the time comes, I will be unyielding.”

You nodded eagerly. 

“I will be rough,” Din continued. 

You bit your lip, but grinned and nodded again. 

“I will enjoy the small sounds of pain that you make,” he adds, tucking stray hairs behind your ear. His hand lingers over your cheek. “I will relish in the fact I can make you scream and plead with me for more.”

Shivering in Din’s lap, you gripped onto his biceps for dear life. “What makes you think I’ll be screaming?” 

“I know a screamer when I see one,” Din says, his lips practically on yours. “And mesh’la, I have been dying to hear it since you walked around my ship in the damn shirt and jacket.”

You couldn’t resist the smile that spread over your mouth. "I'm convinced we should test your theories right now." 

"Theories?" Din asks, a brow arched. "I don't theorize. I know. After all, you can't catch bounties with theories." 

"And am I a bounty for you?" You ask. 

"We could pretend," Din purrs as he squeezes your sides, making you laugh. "I'm the very serious bounty hunter, and you are the dangerous thief who has information I intend to get." 

"How do you know I'll give it to you?" You ask him. You twirl locks of his hair around your finger as you await his answer. 

"I have ways," Din assures you. "I know how to make pretty girls squeal." 

"I don't squeal," you tell him. 

"I'll make you."

"I don't believe that," you sigh. "You've yet to do much of anything to me yet."

"I'm starting to think you're not as innocent as you seem," Din growls as he presses a hot kiss to your mouth. You caught his bottom lip between your teeth. "What makes you think I'm innocent?"

Ensuing another spur-of-the-moment kissing session earned you a bit more leverage. Recalling what you’d seen in the book, and also half hoping you could pull this off without coming off as clueless, you traced your hand down his chest. He didn’t stop you when your hand reached his stomach. Your fingers tugged at the low riding waistband of his night pants. 

Din growled against your mouth. “Whatever you do, I hope you intend to follow through with it,” he warns you. He nips at your bottom lip. 

You smile nervously. You push his chest, getting him to lay back against the pillows. You shimmied around the bed, chewing the inside of your cheek as you tried to choose the best position to actually use before you did anything. 

Looking at Din for help with a tiny smile on your face, you completely expected him to laugh it off and refuse you once again. Rather than that, he tossed you a pillow. Spreading his legs apart, he beckoned for you to settle between them.

With the pillow under your stomach, you laid just between Din’s thighs. He could probably kill you with his thighs alone. The thought doesn’t frighten you like it should, rather, it makes you feel tingly. 

Din’s dark eyes are staring at every movement you make, from the nervous licking of your lips to the fumbling with his drawstring. You tugged the band down his hips. You stripped away the pants, and Din now laid in his black boxer briefs. You see his erection that pries through the material of his under garment. You didn’t expect that a man’s cock would be so big. As you unfolded the band, you were taken aback by just how strange this experience is becoming. 

It’s not that Din has a bad looking body. It’s quite the opposite. You didn’t realize someone’s body could be so attractive and mouth watering. 

Standing almost proudly, Din’s cock had a vein that ran up like a grape vine. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” you tell Din in a shaking voice. 

“Take your hand,” Din instructs in a tight voice. “Lightly hold it.” He couldn’t exactly say it any other way, you guess, so you did as he had told. You wrapped your fingers around him delicately, trying not to feel too shocked at how thick and warm he feels. Din’s mouth set into a tight line as you experimentally brushed your thumb over the pinkish tip of his cock. “Am I hurting you?” You asked in a panic when you noticed the pained expression over his face. 

“N-no,” Din grunted. His mouth contorted into an uneasy smile as he looked at you. 

Oh. You pucker your lips in concentration as you return your focus to Din’s cock. You tested the waters a bit more, doing what you’d realized for a fact worked. Small pearls of his arousal seeped beneath the pad of your thumb. Working the soft fluid down the length of Din, you chewed your lip. This couldn’t be right, you think. This is hardly anything. 

“Din,” you mutter, looking up to his face. He had his head strained forward as he watched you with darkness in his eyes. 

There isn’t any way for you to gauge his feelings. He could easily be saying nothing to spare you the embarrassment. Din sat up when you further questioned yourself. He takes your hand in his and wraps it around the shaft of his cock. Making the movements for you, his wrist creeps up and then down. He released your hand after a strict moment of these slow motions. He pressed his head back into the pillow, his jaw tightly clenched. You could see his chest rise and fall rapidly as his breath deepened. 

"Mouth," Din grunts out. "Use your mouth." 

A knot tangled in your stomach. With one hand you smoothed your hair back, brushing it out of your face. After all, you'd seen the photos. You could surely do this; all you want to do is make Din feel good. 

Gathering your mouth around the head of Din's thick cock you pushed yourself up resting on your forearms. 

Din loudly swore as you pushed the rest of his shaft into your mouth. He practically touched the back throat. It took some time for you to become used to the sensation. Tears had gathered in your eyes as you focused on not gagging around his cock. 

Running your tongue across the underside of Din's cock while you made a fist with your thumb inside eased the reflex that sputtered in the back of your mouth. 

Din rolled his hips so the tip of his cock poked way back into your throat. 

Puckering your lips around him, you began to make the bobbing motion with your head. 

A wrangled groan slipped out of Din's mouth. You strained your eyes to look at him. 

His golden chest heaved under the pressure of your lips and tongue that painted kitten licks all around him. You occasionally stuttered in speed, using the pause to regain composure over your gag reflex. 

The palm of Din’s hand cradles the back of your head. His fingers comb through your hair as he struggles to appease the sounds that stir in his chest. His hand stretched to encompass the crown of your head, and he eased you down. With your lips pursed around his cock, you cooed the melody of the song that had played after your wedding. 

“Fuck,” Din suddenly shouted, his hips lifting off the bed. 

You pulled away in an instant, sitting on your knees and wiping your mouth clean of saliva in a panic. “Did I hurt you?” you asked. 

Din pushed up on his elbows. He had a gigantic grin on his face. “Sorry,” he huffed out. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You were not hurting me,” he then promised when you bashfully averted your eyes. “I probably don’t have to say this, but I don’t...I don’t get a lot of physical attention. At least not before the marriage.” 

You coughed a laugh into your arm, which you’d folded over your face to hide the embarrassment that burned on your cheeks. Din took you by the wrist, tugging you forward so you wiggled around on his lap. 

His hands tangled in your hair as your lips met in a smiley fit of kisses. As his tongue delved inside your mouth and spread the taste of his mints you could only paw at his shoulders. 

His strong hands gripped you tight on the waist as he pulled you closer. You grunted at the impact, but he ignored it, only kissing you all that much harder. Your heart raced as his hands rounded their way over your butt, his fingers digging into the flesh. Din kept you enveloped in his arms, almost roughly, but you couldn’t find any problems with it. You wanted to be held, to even be grabbed and kissed on the open mouth. The feeling of his hands on you couldn’t ever be replicated. You’d recognize him from the touch of his fingertip. You could memorize every trace of skin from his finger print, even by just keeping his hands on your bare thighs. 

Din’s hands grabbed your gown by the hem. You looked at him warily for a brief moment after you pulled your mouth away from his. 

He pressed his lips together, a thin line of distaste on his part. “I’m sorry,” he said. Struggling to say anything else, he released you. He quickly swung off the bed. With his back turned to you, you could see that he was trying to adjust himself. He pulled his cock into his underwear. 

You scrambled off the bed after him. “Wait,” you stuttered. “Din, don’t be sorry.” “I didn’t want to rush things,” Din sighed, holding the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have.” 

You turned him around by his waist, forcing him to look at you. You took both of his hands and placed them at the hem of your dress for encouragement. “Take it off,” you say, feeling breathless. You managed not to collapse under the pressure of his cacao eyes for the three seconds he took to look at you for confirmation. You couldn't give any words to stop him; if anything, you would beg him. You’ve realized he’s not very comfortable with this, at least in his own way. His desire is evident, but he’s holding himself back for your sake. 

With a sigh of defeat, Din shook his head, his soft hair falling in his eyes. 

His hands raised the dress off your outstretched arms. 

You shivered in the cold of the room. Din dropped the dress to the floor. He struggled with his eyes, which did not waver from your own; the twitching of his fingers by his sides eased your fears that he would not look at you or touch you. 

“Mr. Djarren,” you say sternly as you can. You tried to sound firm, to stand tall, but your knees felt weak with nervousness. They wobbled under the weight of your now naked body. 

“Mrs. Djarren,” Din mutters. His dark eyes took their inventory of your body. Your bare chest prickled with goosebumps as you felt his eyes look over your breasts. 

His eyes swelled with a sort of desire you’d never once seen, but are feeling right now. You extend your arms out to him. 

Embracing each other felt as if you had been separated for months. Your skin stuck to his under the sweat that had formed under the tension that kept you both suffocated. 

Din gathered your body up in his arms. He lifted you, the calluses of his palms prickling the skin of your rear. Your arms and legs wrapped around him like he was your only life source. 

The kiss pressed to his mouth burned like the sun. 

You think he’d been crafted by the sun--that the blood that flooded his veins could very well be pure sunshine. 

Din stumbled forward, keeping you wrapped close in his arms. He dropped you on the bed. You watched him run a hand through his hair. With stuttering hands, he pulled off his boxers. His cock sprung to his belly button and you could only stare with amazement before Din sauntered closer. You laid back; your hair ruffled your blushing cheeks.

The mattress creaked under Din while positioned himself on his knees. Jittering with anxiety, you balled your hands into fists, the feeling of your nails digging at your palms becoming the only sensation that keeps you tethered to reality. 

Hovering over you, Din nodded his head as if to ease you into his care. “Tell me if you want to stop,” Din says steadily. He carefully feels his way up your thighs.

You don’t intend to do that. You shimmied closer to him, opening up your legs a bit more to feel Din’s strong hands inch upward and inward towards the softer skin of your inner thighs. You already felt strange laying naked with a man, but you felt even more so as Din used two fingers to gauge the wet center of your legs. Either finger prodded the folds of your labia. With a small motion, he spread you gently apart. The cold air that rushed around you made you squirm. 

His strong grasp over your left left thigh kept you in place; his lips curled in concentration as his fingers traced the delicate flesh of your cunt. The feeling of his fingertips kept you on edge. You chewed against the inside of your cheek. 

You could only guess what Din saw; your sprawled limbs and heaving chest. You kept a tight grip on the quilt which you shivered atop of. 

Din’s cacao eyes sliced straight through you, and you swore you could feel him staring straight at your soul. 

Fervent shadows cast themselves into Din’s eyes. He had a sense of untamed desire that left you feeling lightheaded. It tickled your stomach the way Din’s finger tickled your clit. 

With a sharp breath, you jutted your hips. Din’s free hand went from your thigh to your bare hips. He pressed you flat into the bed, murmuring a calm warning. “Stay still.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as Din’s thumb pressed flat into your clit, making gentle circles. The feeling is unlike any other. 

There is something so delicious about how Din can please you with one hand and keep you restrained with the other. 

You couldn’t help the gasps that escaped you. It seemed the natural reaction as they bubbled out of your mouth. You’d never imagined pleasure could be given through rough, hard motions, but you found yourself wishing Din would push his thumb against you harder. 

“You’re allowed to speak,” Din murmurs, though he keeps his eyes fixed on his work. He seemed entirely mesmerized by the sight of you spread out and naked and soaking wet by his hands. “You can ask me for something. To do something,” he adds. His cacao eyes shifted to look at your face, gauging your reaction. 

It took effort to keep your back smooth on the mattress, as something in your nerves kept trying to pull you into an arch. “Touching me there,” you gasped, “is amazing.”

“And…?” Din says, trying to pull the magic words from your mouth. 

“I’d like you to do that harder.” 

Din’s chest filled with buttery warmth as you just barely got the words whimpered out. Applying an ounce more of pressure got a pound’s worth reaction. Twitching at the thighs you were an instant mess—putty in his hands, essentially. 

A cry of ecstasy filled the room as your back made an arc over the bed. You grabbed for Din’s hand that had a firm grip over your hips. You held his hand tightly, nails digging into his skin as you spoke his name loudly, happily, and confidently. You sounded so confident in your cries, as if you had become unaware of any world beyond the little bedroom you shared with your husband. Gravity and time did not even exist beyond this bubble of euphoria.

A swifter motion of Din’s thumb left you breathless and trembling, all as a wave of warm release flooded over Din’s knuckles. You breathed in a hiss between teeth as you fell from your pedestal of pleasure, which Din has boosted you to with the simple movement of his thumb. 

Now, with his forefinger, Din traced the warm edges of your hole. You boosted yourself by the elbows, watching with your lip caught in your teeth. 

Din gathered his cock in his hand, making the same motion with his wrist as he had taught you minutes ago. You watched, half with agony, half with astonishment, as pearls of his cum leaked through his sweet, pink tip. He rubbed his own head with the pad of his thumb, hissing and muttering your name as he gathered the lubricant. 

Your eyes met as Din pressed the head of his cock against your clit. Shuddering under the weight of his eyes as well as the feeling of his cock against your cunt, you mumbled his name. 

“Speak up, Mrs. Djarren,” Din said, his words half melded to a moan. 

Excitement foamed in your belly as Din lowered the head of his cock, leaving it pressed just at the opening of your clenched cunt. 

The stickiness and heat muddled into a fuzzy feeling that lodged at the bottom of your belly. It felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before—the exhilaration that flooded through your blood left you breathless and waiting for the next moment. 

“Din,” you cried. “Please.” 

“Talk to me, Mrs. Djarren,” Din coaxes you. “How does your pussy feel?”

You whimpered, feeling absolutely amazing by just listening to his new, dirty words. “I’m aching,” you tell him. “I—I want to be filled.” 

Din gathered your hands in his own, holding them tightly by your head. He bowed his head to bite fiercely at your breast, his tongue making swift circles around your nipple. 

“Say it again,” Din demands. His lips puckered around your nipple. He sucked on your soft skin greedily. 

“I want y-you inside of me,” you admit. It felt good to say it aloud. You had never felt such an urge before, but now your cunt is practically alive—the walls are pulsing, screaming for something to wrap around. 

Din sits straight up. He squeezed your hands encouragingly. “Open your legs wider,” he coaxed. 

Your knees are practically digging into the mattress as you strain to make a wider range for Din. 

“Watch,” Din hisses. Both pairs of eyes strain at the sight of Din’s cock slowly inching its way inside of you. 

You erupted a loud noise as you became aware of the feeling. His cock seemed to stretch you out, practically to the cusp of pain, but you couldn’t resist clamping your cunt around him. 

“Relax,” Din commands. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. If he did he knew he would lose complete control of his own body. Every part of his body yearned to plunge deep into your velvety pussy and pound you into the bed, but he knows that can’t happen just yet. The time he must take to introduce you to sex is important. He wants to make a positive impression on you, as lame as that may seem to someone like Ryder. 

After all, when he dares himself to look at your face, he can see that you’re hardly able to stay together at the simple prospect of warming his cock. Your lip is pulled tight between your teeth, and your eyes are wide with tears. 

You tried to abide by his words, but your body couldn’t bear to release Din’s cock. Din’s golden hips glided forward then back in a smooth rocking motion. You made an unseemly noise at the sensation it creates within you. You could have drawn blood from Din’s hands when you squeezed them. 

With clenched teeth, Din slid his hips back, then forward, easing his way inside of you the same way each time. 

Repressing a scream, you tossed your head back into the mattress and gritted Din’s name. 

“Am I hurting you?” Din asks. He sounds as if he’s repressing his own amount of noises and words. You shake your head, quick to answer him so he wouldn’t try to stop. “No,” you promised. “Not at all.”

Din tugged you up, hooking his arms underneath your own. You clung onto him like an animal on a branch. While you nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck you writhe your hips into his to ease the debilitating need for movement. Din drew a hand into your hair. He bunches it in his fist while his left hand keeps a steady grasp on your hips.

A soft moan slips out of you as Din strategically thrust his hips up against you. You whimpered tiny sounds into his skin. Clawing at his back ravenously, you muttered in his ear that it felt really good. 

The more you spoke, the harder Din went, thrusting himself to the hilt. You could hear him grinding his teeth in your ear. 

If the pleasure hadn’t been overwhelming, you might have felt embarrassed––naked, making lewd sounds, and saying things you otherwise would have never even considered! None of that mattered with Din; not right now, at least. 

His hips pumped into yours, the grunts coming steadily out of his mouth, while your own tiny sounds matched his pace. With a thrust, there was a sound, the simple balance of life. 

Your thighs shook. Drawing his hips closer with your legs, you squeezed against him tightly. 

“Fuck,” Din hissed in your ear. “You’re f-fucking milking me, aren’t you?” 

“Din,” you gasped, pulling on his neck. “I don’t know what that means.” 

Between the thrusts, Din managed a laugh. “It means you’re taking my cock so, so well, mesh’la. So good. You’re so good.” 

You whimpered under the praise. 

Din pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes shut tight as he continued to pound away. The sound your skin made as it slapped against his made your mouth water. 

You suddenly understood the book you and Vidia had found. You understood why someone would want to document it, or to even coin all of its potential. 

A raw, loud gasp shuddered out of Din’s mouth as his body rolled close into yours, his hip movement becoming sloppy and stuttered.

He had released his arousal deep inside of you.

You gasped at the feeling of it trickling inside of your cunt. You bit your lip, stifling the light moan that broke from the sheer ecstasy of him spilling his seed inside of you. 

“That,” Din rasps to you, “means that I just came.”

“Mhmm,” you nodded. “I understand, now. How do I know if I-I came or not?” 

“Well, you’d know. It’s a feeling. Like what I did before, with my hands.” He kissed your forehead. “So if you didn’t cum, do you know what that means?” 

Looking up at him with wide, watery eyes, you shook your head. He had rendered himself still within you. 

“It means that we keep going until you do.” 

The sound of the headboard that steadily slammed into the wall made the pace for the Mandalorian’s hips as he rocked them in then out.

The princess laid sprawled over the mattress, her mess of pale hair in a sweep like a field of cotton. The Mandalorian held the princess by the waist while he used her as a grip to steady himself. 

Lined along the wall of the bedroom were servant girls, kneeling in rags with their thick green paint drying over their faces. 

Emelea liked to often make a show of her sessions with the Mandalorian. Since he had been in her father’s employ, the two made certain to always meet up and put on their show for the handful of older servant girls. Emelea let the Mandalorian choose the girls without their makeup, just to please him. 

Just because her father had died did not mean Emelea intended to give up her tradition or even her planet’s allies. 

As the new queen it was up to her to keep the alliance with the Empire intact. The meetings with the Mandalorian in green just happened to be a bonus. 

The servant girls trembled on their chins as they were forced to continue watching.

Boba viciously grabbed at Emelea’s breast, squeezing it in his large hands as his breath came to a stutter. 

Emelea has a tight, little cunt, and she takes Boba’s cock decently well. She has her face screwed up in her own pleasured way, unable to bring herself to look at Boba who mounted her. He pinched and rolled her erect nipple, making her yelp. 

“Kriffing hell,” Boba growled as his hips snapped forward. “You’re fucking tight.” 

Emelea’s pale skin became rosey under the praise. 

She swelled tighter around his cock, as if she truly meant to milk him of every last drop he could give, and the feeling by itself spurred on the end of his orgasm. Emelea whined as his cum flooded her, escaping the crevices of skin on skin as she squeezed her muscles. 

The handlers rolled the packaged metals to the storage unit of Boba's ship. 

He motioned one of the handlers to come to a stop. About eight hundred bars of fine metals filled one cart. Boba pulled one from the stacks, examining its finest details through his helmet. The Aniri royal seal is stamped on the front, the seal sinking three centimeters deep in the depth of the metal. 

His boots clicked as he paced across the field, to Emelea who oversaw the Imperial transaction for the month. 

From top to bottom she bore pale colors, from the washed out blonde hair to the loose, soft white pant suit. 

The sickly gray pallor of her face never failed to make him uncomfortable. The more days that pass among her company the more she comes to look like a corpse. Her eyes sallow and foggy while her thin hands shake almost uncontrollably  at times. 

“Well, my Mandalorian," she says softly. "Will you finally accept me?"

Boba raised his chin, barking a laugh that hissed through his modulator. “You’re a fantastic lover,” Boba assures her, “but I cannot imagine myself taking up a bride.”

“A queen without a king seems so old fashioned,” Emelea sighed. 

“Old fashioned?” Boba repeated. “Rather revolutionary I’d say.” 

“A queen of course is powerful alone,” Emelea allowed. “But it’s an old tale. Why not allow her to rule alongside a king, one just as equally powerful as she? Their fists unified would be unyielding on their kingdom.”

“Ah, but a kingdom should be given their ruse of freedom,” Boba argued. “As brilliant as you are in other ways, I do think you and I are much too different to be married.” 

Emelea raised her head, letting the wind blow along her hair and neck. “Understandable,” she sighs. “I suppose this queen will be alone for a little while more. At least until you are convinced to be mine.” 

Emelea’s desire to own and control the people around her would certainly never convince Boba to accept her marriage proposal. Besides, he couldn’t ever marry; at least not in the foreseeable future. 

“The mines are operating at full speed again,” Boba notes as more handlers push carts beside them. Emelea stopped the closest man, waving him to submission while she inspected the bars herself. “They are doing such a wonderful job, aren’t they?” She says happily. She thumbed the royal seal that stamped each bar. “I do hope Lord Vader will keep his promise.” Her words went paired with a sneaky glance. Her black eyes peered deeply into the T of Boba’s helmet. He wasn’t entirely convinced she couldn’t see through the material, as thick and sturdy as it is. And even though Boba had no objections for her to see his face, he still felt unnerved that she could make him feel this way even underneath his traditional armor.

“Are you in the position to question your buyer?” Boba demands. 

Emelea looks astonished, the way a child would when they become caught stealing dessert, as if they never expected to be caught in the act in the first place. Folding her hands by her stomach, she sent her lover a devilish though soft smile. “I never meant to question the great Empire,” she promised. “As Queen, it is my job to take extra care of my planet. Forgive me, but my anxieties hang on loose ends which Lord Vader has yet to take care of.”

“Aniri will be greatly rewarded,” Boba assures her. “That much even I can promise.” 

“I will make sure to note this in my diary word for word,” Em says. “If I have to make a fuss to Lord Vader I will summon my diary entries. He will learn that while the Mandalorian in his employ is an excellent lover, he is, anyway, a liar.” 

Boba places a hand over his chest. “Your majesty, I am flattered.” 

Emelea laughed as she swept the handler along. Watching the cart push through the soft grass, Boba and Emelea linked their arms. 

“My lover, please tend to my anxieties,” Emelea says as they begin to stroll towards the ship. “I cannot say that I do not doubt the Empire’s way of...business. They are much too focused on their outcome. Ambitious, but not the way I would be.”

“And how would you be?” Boba asked. 

Emelea looked to the sky of her planet as she thought. Carefully choosing her words, she says, “I grew up learning every fundamental rule for business. Was it bruising? Entirely. But I learned so much. I think it was good for me. I think out of my brothers, I was always destined to be ruler. The time for my destiny has come, and I intend to fulfill it to the fullest. I mean to make the most out of my deal with Lord Vader. As you well know, our mines are in low supply. But  Aniri alone has been a best seller of strong, rare metals, as your Empire clearly knows. I am striking up construction on the outer villages, which has been a difficult task. Seizing owned farmland is unseemly for a queen; but I’m doing what has to be done. The mere promise of repayment isn’t enough. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“I think I do,” Boba hazards. 

“I expect your Lord Vader to repay me in full. This first shipment isn’t nearly enough for what I have in mind.”

“And what do you have in mind, your majesty?” The Mandalorian asks. 

“Something spectacular.” Emelea’s mouth spiraled into a grin. “Something extraordinarily revolutionary.” 

“And you do know the definitions of the words you speak, right?” Boba asks in an attempt to clarify. Her mouth pulled into a stern line. “Of course,” she scowled. “I can see that you don’t believe me. That doesn’t matter, at least, it doesn’t matter right now. Soon enough you’ll see it and realize that I’m the woman you were meant to be with.” She smiled sweetly. 

Boba highly doubts this. 

As the final carts rolled out of Boba’s ship, empty, he took this as a good time to excuse himself from the planet. Despite all of Emelea’s eyelash batting, she holds a hand out for Boba to shake. 

The touch of her hand over his gloves is radioactive, to say the least. 

Looking at her this way, under the sun and against the green fields of grass, Boba can see that she’s not too ugly. She’s almost pretty. The sunshine gives her hair a radiance she wouldn’t otherwise have. Boba chalks that to the stone block Aniri calls a palace. To his understanding, she’d grown up in this place, like her parents before her. 

It’s easy to understand why she is the way she is when you look at the place she’d called home as a child. Stone cold, void of color of feeling––really of anything abstract. It reflected on her face; her almost baby-like face on a round head had her destined to be below average in the first place, but with her grayish skin and blank hair, she is by far the strangest creature Boba’s ever laid eyes on. 

Above all of those features, the strangest is without a doubt her eyes. Black. They’re endlessly black. Boba can hardly see her pupils. They had been blank for a large portion of her life; it’s only recentlythat her eyes can light up with joy or thunder with anger. Boba does realize that this had happened not too long after she’d murdered her own parents and her brother. She’d only ever cared for Riz, but he had died a tragic death. Burned alive, Em had said before sipping her wine. She didn’t speak of him much besides that one time, just the day after her planet had been essentially raided by some bounty hunter without morals. Boba didn’t bother to ask for further details, because he didn’t care about them; unless they directly interfered with Boba’s work, he wouldn’t ever care. 

“I’ll return next week,” Boba says. “I will see what I can do to expedite your transfer.”

Em crossed her fingers. “I’ll await a transmission.” 

Like that, Boba had gone into his ship, waving the lingering handlers and guardians away like ants. 

“Excellent work, Dev,” Em praises one of the guardians that lingered like her second shadow. Dev is always waiting for her these days; he’d been appointed to her personal assistant when she mounted the title of queen. 

Dev offers a curt nod of his head. “Thank you, your majesty. I will escort you to the palace where I will brief you on the inventory of your earnings.” 

Em clapped her hands together in delight. “Yes, yes,” she says happily. “I am eager! We should call for a musician while we eat dinner, wouldn’t that be wonderful?” she sighed dreamily. 

Dev had learned immediately that it’s best to agree with Emelea, no matter what she says, and no matter how loony it seems. “That sounds like agreeable entertainment, your majesty,” Dev says. “And what songs did you have in mind?” 

As they walked back to the palace, with the lesser ranked guardians and handlers in strict tow, Dev listened to Emelea gush about her favorite music. Dev found that all of her favorite songs were terrible tragedies written into sonatas. Whether that is coincidental or not, Dev is quite unsure. 

In the office which had once belonged to her parents, Em took a seat on her lush bench. Everything had gotten redecorated after the death of her family. More agreeable colors stocked the furniture. While the hallways still looked blank, Dev had been speaking with Emelea about hiring an artist from a nearby village to comein and paint lavish murals. 

Dev has found that Em is a rather curious case of a person. She’s a human being, but she doesn’t act like one very often. She’s prone to abrupt mood swings. Attimes they can be extremely violent. Em has displayed no remorse for the murder of Melv, the late, kind prince. Even so, dev has held her hair back more than once as she vomited and cried while thinking of the death of Riz. He’d been terribly killed by the “other Mandalorian”. Burnt to death before Em’s very eyes. 

Em is careful not to mention Riz unless she is in the complete confidence of Dev. She’s attached herself to Dev completely, and for no other reason than he’s the first person who happened to be among the aftermath. 

Dev knows she has a relationship with the other-other Mandalorian (the one who bears green) that goes beyond business. Even though the two are active lovers, Dev is certain Em doesn’t confide in him in any way. She doesn’t speak to anyone about her feelings or thoughts besides Dev, and dev has started to suspect he only hears a fraction of it all. 

When Dev managed to divert Emelea’s attention away from musical entertainment, she became completely immersed in the charts which listed the latest shipment of her imperial earnings. Dev had flipped her switch, and she’d gone from a childish girl to a stern business woman. 

Her satisfaction is evident on her face (much to Dev’s relief) as she signs off on the chart. “Excellent. Thank you so much,” she says in a tired sigh. “I could not do this without my right hand. I owe you much.”

“You owe me nothing, your majesty, for I revel in the successes of Aniri.” Dev secretly hoped she would still feel that she owed him, however. Perhaps he’d be greatly rewarded. 

A knock at the office door sent chills down Dev’s neck. He saw something shift in Emelea’s eyes; she became scrutinizing in the matter of a second. “Dev, please get the door.” 

He’d hoped she wouldn’t say that. “Yes, your majesty,” Dev agrees with a bow. 

Beyond the heavy door was a small group, of about four court guardians, and they quickly escorted someone in. From the looks of it he seemed to be a prisoner. Bound by cuffs, wearing a tattered, dirty uniform. 

“What’s going on?” Em demanded. She stood up, her hands palm down on her desk as she glowered at the prisoner. “Your majesty,” the prisoner stammered. “Five days ago you sent an employ of five groups out to search for the fugitive by the name of Y/n. I have returned from the fourth group with news. The rest of my team was murdered murdered, leaving me the only survivor. They intended for me to be the the the messenger.” 

Dev clenched his fists at his sides. The poor fellow couldn’t keep himself together. He lost all composure and stammered incredibly. 

“And?” Emelea demanded. “What is the message you have brought for me?” 

The messenger held his hands outright. Though they were bound by a set of heavy duty handcuffs, they held a set of wrinkled, nearly destroyed papers. Emelea snatched the papers from him. She circled around the desk as she read them, her lips drawn tightly together. 

“Marriage,” she seethed. “The whore has been married. And you allowed it?” 

The guardian in question trembled under the furious cloud that loomed over his fate with menacing thunder. “They refused to let her go. I was held captured, at an unknown location. I watched the ceremony and was forced to bear witness.” 

“And who did she marry,hmm?” Emelea asks tauntingly. She waved the marriage certificate in his face. “Is it a coincidence that the groom’s name is redacted? Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” she shrieked. Her hair practically frizzed under her intense anger, the soft curls now tight crimps that sprung around her ears. Towering over the guardian, she leaned closer to his face. “Who did she marry?” she demanded again. 

“A Mandalorian,” the guardian gasped. “The same one that stole her. I don’t know his name. They refused to give me the Mandalorian certificate, your majesty, they only sent me back with one that could be…”

“Could be what?” Em sneered through clenched teeth. 

“One that could be recognized as legal, to you. Y/n will never be coming back.” 

Emelea spun on her heels and slammed her fist down on the desk. Balling the certificate up in her hands which trembled violently, she commanded for the highest ranking guardian to draw his weapon. The man that had the misfortune to be the highest ranking guardian  did as told, knowing full well what he would be ordered to do next. Dev closed his eyes before he could see the execution, but he heard the sounds of it. 

Opening his eyes, the prisoner had become a crumpled heap at Emelea’s feet.

Taking a violent breath, Emelea pointed a finger to a random guardian. “Clean the body. If you do it quickly enough, the servant girls may have a decent meal tonight. Clean it, take it to the kitchens. Tomorrow I will convene a meeting to discuss the next necessary steps for apprehending the fugitive.” 

The guardians in shock could hardly even say a word of confirmation. 

When they failed to move after another two seconds, Emelea went into a wild frenzy. “Have you become lame?!” she screamed at them. “Do as you are told!” 

All the men made a mad scramble to grab the body before they could be further lectured by their queen. 

Emelea took her seat on her bench, watching with flared nostrils as the guardians hoisted the corpse in their arms. “Leave,” she snapped with a brisk flick of her hand. 

When the door shut behind the scrambling guards, Emelea released a long held breath. She dropped her head in her hands. For a moment Dev thought she would dissolve into a fit of sobs. Instead of this, she stayed silent. Calculating, no doubt. 

Smoothing her hair down with her hands, which no longer shook as madly as herself. “Dev, please inform the kitchen that you and I will take supper in my office. Fetch some girls to clean the stain before it sets.” 

She meant the blood that now seeped into the thick carpet. Dev clicked his heels together in an instant, forcing himself to remain composed. “Of course, your majesty. Shall I send for a new pantsuit?” he then forced himself to ask. 

Emelea looked down at her white blazer. It no longer looked pure; the spoltches of blood hadn’t failed to mark her expensive muslin and silk garb. Clearing her throat, Em offered a nod. “Do, please. Send a girl to the office with a dinner dress. I do think I will remain here all night. I have much work to sort out. Yes, yes, much work. Much,” she continued to mutter to herself as she began to sift through papers. 

“Of curse, your majesty. I will rejoin you for dinner.” Dev excused himself from the office. As the door clicked closed, he doubled over himself and gagged. The nausea did not go away even after he’d emptied his stomach. Wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Dev willed himself to remain strong. He patted his uniform down, trying to ignore the fact his own hands seemed to shake, now. 

He strolled down the hall, snapping his fingers at the first pair of painted girls he found. “Clean that mess. The queen requests cleaners inside the office too. One of you will brush her dinner dress and take it to her. Immediately. Now.”

The girls scurried like frightened wompmice, their bare feet scuffing along the cement floors as they hurried to attend to their duties.

As if they really have anything to worry about. It’s not them that will be entirely fucked if Emelea can’t find Y/n. 

It’ll be Dev.

>>next chapter 04/17/20

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[starfirette]

Every Which Way: Chapter Three

The Way To Safety

➡️a/n: CUIDADO! This chapter contains violence on the same level as the Mandalorian tv series.

➡️ prev chapters found on masterlist

➡️ Included original characters: Wendi Q’ohl + Ryder Vizsla

➡️ Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader  | mild violence | arranged marriage | love triangle kinda | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers | word count: 4, 799

➡️ JOIN THE TAGLIST | VIEW SCHEDULE | >> CONTINUE ! <<

Din does not want to speak with you. 

The days go by slowly and almost painfully. You have no friends in the covert besides Paz, and Paz is, if anything, your tutor. Conversations rarely extend beyond the hour long lessons he gives you each night. He doesnt’t have much time to give you outside of that as he sleeps during the day then stands guard during the night. Your hourly sessions are carved out of his meticulous schedule to begin with, so interaction with him is all routine. You are thankful for him, though. 

WIthout him, you’d be going insane. 

There isn’t anything for you to do aside from practice your letters and general literacy. It’s a pain, honestly, but Paz’s methods make it easier. Sounding out each letter takes time on its own, but having a pre-established vocabulary does help a little. Overall, you’ve adjusted to your new lifestyle. 

You’d gone a week without seeing Din. You tried to get messages to him via Gold but she had just as much knowledge of his whereabouts as you. According to her, Din often times goes out to track bounties. His position in the covert is a bit vague, but most of his earnings go to the covert. He funds foundlings and repairs to the tunnel. The more foundlings rescued, the more rooms need to be built, the more armor needs to be built; it’s always difficult to tell when he’ll be back. From what you’ve heard, bounties can take several weeks. And Din, being as skilled as he is, tends to take on the most difficult bounties out there. 

Life among the covert is deafening; you are not one of them, not really. Paz goes out of his way to invite you to the meetings in the main hall. Gold does as much as she can by answering all of your questions concerning your new life and the covert’s ‘Way”. You don’t officially understand everything. Not even close. 

What you know so far is Mandalorians are extremely reclusive. You’ve never seen any of them without their helmet or weapon of choice. They never eat with anyone. The closest they get to that is filling up baskets with meat and cheese, then retreating to their rooms. Although strange, it’s nice to be alone in the gathering hall in the dead middle of night, nibbling at the cheese and berries in the dark. 

Among being reclusive, they are also loyal. Their creed depends on loyalty. No one does anything that can betray the covert. 

You are sure that’s the only reason you’re remaining there. Several Mandalorians have made their feelings about you clear, such as Ryder and Wendi. Ryder is rude, overall. As for Wendi, she has her moments. She pretty much ignores you majority of the time, though she can be surprising. She’ll check up on you time to time, asking you blandly if you’d want to join the covert meetings; you know Gold had put her up to it, but still, she wasn’t too resigned. 

Pressing matters always seemed to have her consumed in her angsty bubble. You yearned to know the gossip that lurked over the covert. You want to help. You also want to know the status of your life. 

Aniri would no doubt have you listed as a fugitive. 

Emelea being who she is would not easily give up losing you. Despite being a ‘lowly servant’ she feels threatened by the idea of someone escaping her ranks. You know that since Din essentially betrayed her, (in her eyes she would see it as a betrayal) she would be targetting every Mandalorian she could get her hands on. 

The death of her brother would have driven her into a frenzy. She never seemed to care for Melv, but she and Riz were always inseperable. 

Thinking of Melv, you become sad. Melv was the kindest of the entire family. He made points to fight for rights for the women and the peasant people of the village. He brought food to the punished maids and intervened in several, several execution attempts. You’d always hoped Melv would inherit the throne, but he was a weak young man. The weakest of the triplets, small and frail and soft spoken. The idea that Melv had been killed by his own brother did not shock you but it did break your heart. He did not deserve that. 

He would have been a kind king. 

You think of this as you shower in the early morning. 

The shower stalls are seperated with thick screens so the girls can remove their helmets but also have friendly conversation with their friends. You opt out of the chatter; no one would want to talk to you anyways. 

While you lather the soap into your hair, you can’t help but think of Din. You miss him. That is undeniable. You miss his looming presence. Your first days of true life were spent with him by your side, and now that he is gone, you feel lost. 

As the warm water streams down your body you look at your hands. The true color of your skin is a blessing to be proud of. The shape of your body is something you are grateful to embrace. 

You shouldn’t feel unhappy. You should feel glad and excited; as much as you’d like to credit that to adjusting solely, you know deep down it’s the lack of Din Djarren that is killing you. 

Rinsing yourself of soap, you sigh. Life must carry on. Din Djarren would likely never be in your life again. You must go on without him. As painful as that feels you must accept it. 

Drying off slowly is a luxury. You still roll in the happiness of being able to take your grand time doing whatever you want; sleeping as late as you want. 

In your stall you pull on a long sleeved shirt and beige trousers that feel soft around your hips. Over your clothes you slide on the armor plates, and you then use your shirt to clean off the fingerprints. 

Your wet hair gets pulled out of your face with hair clips Wendi had given to you (unwillingly). 

Feeling clean and prepared to face the day, you leave the stall, ignoring the chattering of the Mandalorian young girls and women around you. 

In the hall you wander, thinking. You’ve learned a new word from Paz, and it’s contemplation. It’s thinking but maximised. You contemplate all the cornerstones of your new life you are trying to build. There has been no outcome so far. Aniri did publish you as a fugitive to the galaxy but that had been several days ago. Din Djarren was safe from the slander. Under his guild code he was protected. His identity is essentially unknown beyond the covert. Given that you were not the bounty in question, he hadn’t done anything wrong--by the guild’s standards. This would not matter if Mandalorians were not in a negative, pre-coined light. The Empire wants cooperation from everyone. As far as you know, the covert here has no intentions of cooperating. 

You don’t know much about the war, or the Empire, or about anything. You gathered over the week here that Mandalorians are in hiding and don’t like ‘Imperial Scum.’

You suspect they are housing you partially to get under the Empire’s skin. 

Contemplation. It’s tiring. 

Given you can only stroll through the tunnel, you do so, walking the lengths a few times before you abruptly run into Wendi. 

You can feel her steely gaze past her helmet’s visor and you want to sink into the shadows. Ah, but you shouldn’t. 

You raise your chin, trying to seem confident, and you ask her what she needs. She doesn’t stop you for pleasantries like chatting. 

“Have you seen Paz?” she asks. 

You hadn’t. “Not since last night,” you offered. 

“Have you seen Ryder?” she followed up. 

Repressing a shudder, you shake your head. “Ryder and I are not friends.” That would have to suffice her. 

You, though, are not sufficed. “Why? Is something wrong?” You cared for Paz’s well being. 

“Paz has not returned from his nightly watch,” Wendi says. She sounds gritty through her modulator. “You haven’t seen him at all? He didn’t...didn’t come to see you?” 

You couldn’t contain a mask of confusion. “Why would he?” you wonder. 

Wendi sighs, impatiently, and she shakes her hand dismissively. “Never mind.” She stomps away, the metal soles of her boots clattering against the cobblestone. You ran after her. Muddled by her confusing words, you struggled to speak. “What’s going on?” you asked. 

“It’s none of your buisness,” Wendi sighed impatiently. She burst into the furnace, obviously going to the next best person, who was and always will be the Armorer. 

“Nothing,” Wendi says exasperatedly. 

Gold had been doing nothing, simply standing in front of her boiling pot with her hands folded behind her back. “I have not recieved any transmissions,” Gold says quietly. 

“What’s happening?” you asked, loudly now. 

With an irritated huff, Wendi turned to you. “Ryder and Paz are the nightwatch guards. They have not returned and they are meant to be back at dawn. Neither are responding to transmissions.” 

“Then let’s go up to find them,” you say. “Wouldn’t that be best?” 

Wendi scoffed. “Leave the work to us, girl.” 

“Q’Ohl, k’uur,” Gold says coaxingly. “Y/n. I implore you for help.”

You’re stunned. With burning ears, you looked to Gold with wide eyes. “How could I help?” 

“There has always been one rule here,” Gold explained. “Not to leave the tunnel. This rule applies to everyone. The covert is in hiding, so we may only leave here a few at a time. A group of even three Mandalorians attracts attention. The only ones who are ever in then out are Din, Ryder, and Paz. Din is gone. Ryder and Paz have not returned from the nightwatch. I suggest you and Wendi both go above ground to search. A single Mandalorian with a normal woman would not raise many questions.” 

A sound of frustration passed through Wendi’s modulator. “If that is your official advice, I will take it,” she said finally. Though I will take it with reluctance. The silent words hung over your head like a spider dangling on its web. “Will weapons be required?” Wendi asked. 

“Take the bare minimum,” Gold instructed. She passed by to open her safe of weaponry. To you she offered a leather belt that strapped around your hips and to your thighs. “This is,” she says while handing you a small gun, “a blaster. The side clip is the safety. Seeing the orange means it is on. Point and shoot. Blasters are realtively easy to aim with. This particular blaster fires plasma shots, which will strike and splatter onto your opponent.” 

You hesitantly attatched the blaster to a holster on your right hip. 

“This,” Gold says again, “Is a besbev.” 

You stared at what she held. You lifted your eyebrows. “A...a flute?” 

Gold twirled the instrument in hand, showing to you the opposite edge. “See, now?” 

See, you did; the opposite end had a razor sharp blade. “This will be a weapon in hiding. It’s perfectly safe and normal looking, considering it is a real instrument. Use it the way you would use a blade.” 

You slip the flute into the holster that runs down the outside of your thigh. 

“You’re giving her the-! Fine. Y/n, let’s leave now.” Wendi snapped as she grabbed a larger blaster and sword from the weapons locker. 

You felt a bit on edge with your arsonal of weapons now on your body. “Y/n, you will be alright,” Gold says when she notices your discomfort. “I have one more weapon for you.” 

She returns to the locker and sifts about. She reveals a long knife with a smooth hilt. It curves out and you grasp it weakly. “The beskad,” Gold says. “A traditional Mandalorian weapon. Quite literal in its use. I made it myself, out of pure beskar. The end of the hilt has a hidden compartment,” she explains, tapping the underside, “with a line of what we call whistling birds. The side button,” she then says, gesturing to the frog of the hilt, “activates the stream. Aim the underside of the handle towards the opponent and double tap the button. Whistling birds are rare but effective. This beskad is yours to keep. Use the birds wisely.” 

You nod. “Thank you,” you say before sheathing the beskad in your inner thigh holster. 

“This is the Way,” Gold says. 

You nod, taking a breath. “This is the Way,” you repeat, softly. You follow after Wendi.

Wendi leads you to the exit of the tunnel. You’d been here with Din, who had put his arm around you to guide you through the darkness. Your eyes have since adjusted to the dim lighting underground and you stepped over the loose rocks that were scattered across the ground. 

Emerging into the sunlight hurts your eyes. You winced, averting your gaze from the sky. It smelled of early morning and the aftermath of a storm. Despite the desert and lack of complete greenery, you could still pick out the scent of rainwater.  

“Where do we start?” you asked Wendi. 

“We’ll have to split up,” Wendi said. She looked around the alley way for a moment, no doubt ‘contemplating’ her plan. “Yell for help if you need it,” she says in a flat tone. “I’ll hear you.” 

With that not-so comforting promise in mind, you split up from Wendi. Venturing around the city alone is thrilling. 

You’re not sure where to look, or even who you should be trying to avoid. Troopers are lurking around with blasters in hand, but they’re occupied and distracted by their own conversations. Easy enough. Maybe. 

You lurked about, making sure to duck into alley ways as you keep your eyes peeled for any Mandalorian. 

The thumping of your heart sets the tempo for your steps. You race around and search. Should you call for them? Should you regroup with Wendi? 

Just as you consider doing it, something crinkles behind you. 

A stormtrooper has approached you. You freeze under the pressure of his gaze. 

“Hey,” he said. His modulator is different sounding. It’s unfamiliar and terrifying. “Can I see some identification?” 

“I don’t have a card,” you say, trying not to tremble. 

“Can I get a name?” he tried. 

“Melvanna Weslyn,” you stuttered out. The queen had been the first name that came to mind, but you’d deviated. Melvanne somehow deviated into Melvanna and you couldn’t really tell how. “You lookin’ for something, Anna?” the trooper asked. 

“M-my husband,” you stumbled over the words. “Late night...he never came home. Drunk, I think. “

“Which bar?” 

“Dunno. We live out on a farm. He comes in town occasionally, so I don’t know his usual spots.” 

The trooper tapped his comlink and put in an information request on your husband, Riz. Again, that had been the first name that came to mind. 

You thanked the trooper, trying not to show how anxious you are. You’ve become dreadfully aware of the weight of your weapons on your legs. 

“Come with me, ma’am, I’ll help you look.” The trooper didn’t seem like he would take no for an answer. 

You followed him; you are nervous that he would spontaneously be able to read your thoughts. 

You took note of all his armor, the white sheen and the rifle on his back. You don’t know how to fight. You don’t know how you will fight him off. You don’t know how you will resist him taking you prisoner. 

Every alley is empty, every building cleared. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” the trooper says finally after you have both scoured the entire village. “Good luck.”

You bowed your head. “Thanks for your help.” You turned to scurry away. You had almost gotten away with it before the trooper grabbed you by the wrist, holding you from leaving. “Whatcha’ got there?” he asked. 

You grimmaced. 

“What are you talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion. 

“The blade,” he says, pointing to your inner holster. “That real beskar?” 

“What’s beskar?” you asked. That might have been a mistake because the trooper reached for cuffs from his belt. “You have any information on the whereabouts of a Mandalorian covert?” 

“No, sir. Why, sir?” 

“Imperial higer ups want to know,” the trooper said with a shrug. “You sure? You’ll be rewarded for any information. Where’d you get the beskar, lady?” 

You shrugged back. “Gift from my husband. I’m only looking for my husband. Sorry, sir.” 

The trooper sighed, but relented. He set the cuffs back on his waist. “Have a good day, ma’am.” 

You sighed a heavy breath of relief when he left your line of view. You collapsed against a wall of an alleyway, still heaving from your chest. Goodness. 

How curiously abnormal your day has been! More like your entire week, actually. 

You rubbed your chest, trying to coax your heart into settling down. 

Veering out of the alley you searched for a new place to look. But a shriek tore your throat as a set of hands grabbed you by the waist. You’re being yanked back into the alley while you thrash; you grabbed for your flute and fumbled with it in your hand. 

“Hey,” a voice hissed in your ear. “It’s me.”

You fell back into the grip of Din who had arrived from nowhere. You turned to look at him. The flute nearly slippe from your hand, but Din caught it. He gripped the flute and pressed it into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it. “Curve your wrist like this,” Din instructed as he made the motion for you, his bare hands adjusting your form. “Aim here,” Mando then said as he guided your hand to his torso. The blade of the flute knicked his armored plates with a squeal that phurt your ears. 

“Where have you been?” You gasped. Your hands curled into fists against his chest. “You’ve been gone.” I’ve missed you, you want to say. I missed you every day this week. 

“Bounties don’t catch themselves,” Din said softly, trying to make you laugh. You didn’t. You wrench away from him and sheathe the flute at your side. With a burning face you stuttered a goodbye before turning to run away.

Din caught your wrist before you could depart. 

His hands are bare, and warm, and calloused. “Why,” he says in a low voice, “are you out?”

You yanked your wrist back. “Paz and Ryder are missing. You were missing.” 

“You’re meant to stay with the covert,” Din said carefully. “I’ll take you back.” 

You stumbled over your feet as you moved back. “No,” you said sternly. “I’m not leaving until Paz is back.”

“Paz?” Din repeated; his teeth snapped shut, a sound you could hear dimly through the beskar. You frown at his reaction. 

“So you’ve met Paz,” Din muttered to himself. He cast his gaze to the ground. Overwhelmed with frustration, you lifted your chin high. “Yes,” you snipped. “You cannot attempt to—to have a say in my social life when you’ve been gone the entire week I’ve known you.”

“It’s been a week,” Din insisted, “and I always intended on coming back.”

Your frown deepens. “Why should it matter? You said no attachments.”

“I said I’m not a good person to be attached to,” Din corrected. His shoulders squared out as he leaned over you, visor tilted down to peer into your eyes. “I never said we shouldn’t become attached.”

With trembling lips, you turned away. “What do you want, then? What is ‘attachment’ to you?” 

You’d been dying to know since that first night he spoke to you. 

“That’s just why I am sorry. I’m not a good person to become attached to.”

“It’s not an option for us,” Din snapped. “Go back to the covert and stay put.”

“No,” you snapped back, teeth clenched tight. “I’m looking for my friend.”

“Who let you go?” Din demanded. 

“The Armorer sent me,” you replied. You felt a sense of victory when Din failed to say anything to that. “I came with Wendi, but she said we ought to split up.” 

Hearing this, Din balled his fists up tight. “Wendi left you,” he seethed. “You’re going back now.”

“I am not!” you yelled. 

It frightened you to hear your voice raised so loud. The chance to stand your ground had finally come and you were not going to let it pass you by. With taught brows, you said again, “I’m looking for Paz and Ryder.”

Din caught your wrist, holding onto you tightly. “It’s unsafe.”

“Let go of me!” You screeched as you tried to free yourself. His grip is like iron. He does not yield while you make a show of struggle. 

“You can’t even get away from me,” Din mutters. “I’m staying with you.” 

He released your hand. You stumbled back, dirt kicking around your boots. “Fine,” you hissed. 

Standing under the blazing sun you and Din stared at each other for a long moment. Silent. It felt like a challenge which you eventually came to lose; the weight of his eyes, while they are unseen, is too much to bear. You flushed down to your neck; breaking the stare, you looked for a lame excuse to readjust your holster. 

“You have weapons,” Din noted. You scowled through your sweat. “An exceptional discovery,” you snap. “The Armorer gave them to me.”

“And you know how to use them?” Din asked. 

You paused before answering. “I know the general premise of how to use them,” you finally allowed. Let’s see where he can go with that one. 

You heard the beginnings of a retort break through his modulator; cutting him off mid word was a distant, though loud, explosion. Your heart dropped into your stomach like a stone in water. You whirled around, searching for the source. 

Running into the main square you look all around the sky for smoke, fire, anything that would be an Anirian sign.

“Would that be them?” you asked. 

“Paz? Maybe not. Ryder? Possibly.” 

Following Din‘s sprint left you wheezing. At the side of a speed bike did Din stop. He straddled the seat and looked over his shoulder, waiting for you. 

Furious, you mounted the seat behind him. You wrapped your arms around his torso, wishing you could yell at him some more as the bike sped out of the village. 

You kept your face tucked into his cape, a bruise forming on your forehead as the bike flew by sand dunes. You held on for your literal life. A fall from the bike at such a speed, even onto sand, would no doubt hurt like nothing you’ve ever felt. 

When you dared to peek up, you could see a small battle taking course in the distant of the desert. Figures bobbed back and forth under the blaring sun. Echoes of blasters bounced around the caverns and canyons Din’s bike began to approach. Half a mile from the fight, Din stopped the bike and spun to look at you, holding you by the shoulder. “Stay here,” Din shouted over the brawl. 

Nothing could escape you aside the measly “Alright” you squeaked. 

The upclose gunfire and wrestling brought you to a memory that felt distant but had been not even ten days ago. Din rescued a servant girl and ran with her from a similar scene: court guardians and guns. Now you saw three Mandalorians in the midst of a fight rather than one. 

Trembling, you reached for your blaster. Aim and shoot. Aim and shoot. 

Plasma. It’s only plasma. It would hit the target more or less. It would. 

You darted forward, pushing through the thick sands. The recoil of each shot you fired hurt in the joint of your shoulder but you fought past it. You shot roughly four times before taking down a single court guardian. In the back of your mind you wondered if it was murder. Perhaps you’d taken a life. 

Perhaps you’d care later. 

You don’t really think much of it in the blurring moment. 

Once you’d been registered by the other guardians as a threat, more approached you.

You see Paz’s armor dart forward and tackle a guardian to the ground. You urged yourself to keep pointing and shooting. It was working, to your complete shock. A shot ricocheted past Paz and into the back of a man that had been wrestling with Din. You hoped Din would thank you for that later. 

Raising your hand again to shoot another guardian left you defenseless-you’d been swept up in the adrenaline and hadn’t noticed a man creeping up behind you. Grabbing you by the torso he tugged you into his back, hugging your arms so they got pinned to your sides. 

You fearfully shot the blaster. It burned into the guardian’s foot and he howled in pain. You grabbed the besbev and twirled it twixt your fingers. With as much strength as you could summon, you thrusted the blade of the besbev into the guardian. He scattered back, landing into the sand with a thud. You couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t see the blood that bloomed over his uniform, not because you couldn’t handle it, but because you feared you’d want to do more. 

A part of you yearned to get the ultimate revenge on every Anirian you could find. Keeping that piece of yourself in check is the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do in your life. 

The fight stuttered to a halt as the remaining men (including you) held one another at gunpoint. Three Mandalorians and a servant girl had cleared a swarm of 12 court guardians into five. 

Din stormed your way in an instant, pushing you behind him while your arms shook with pain, desperate to keep your blaster up and aimed. 

“I see we’ve reached the point of negotiation,” a guardian says. The wind whistles in your ears. The surreal scene couldn’t register in your brain. Half of you wanted to run and never look back; another half wanted to kill and maim. 

“There will be no negotiation,” Paz declares. “The lady stays with us.” 

“That girl is property of the Anirian council,” a guardian says. “She is property of the Empire.” 

“Not anymore,” Ryder snarled. 

“She bears no beskar helmet,” another guardian points out. “You have no claim to her.” 

“The woman is mine,” Din boomed. “She isn’t going anywhere.” 

“The law says-”

“We’ll take her by means of the law,” Paz cut in smoothly. “She’ll stay with us, fairly. This does not have to end in bloodshed.” 

“How do you intend on keeping her?” a guardian spats. “She is a fugitive of the planet Aniri. If she cannot be aprehended in twenty four more hours, the law says she must be killed.” 

“Let’s kill her now,” a different guardian sneers. “A servant girl like her has already been defiled. There’s no reedming an indecent whore.”

BANG. 

BANG. 

BANG. 

BANG.

You flinched, a gasp wrenching in your gut. 

Din’s gun had shot four shots in a matter of a second. Four of the five court guardians collapsed into the sand. You hadn’t realized how quick it had been until Din spoke a moment later. “Send the word back to your people that Y/n will not be returning,” he instructed. “Or, you can be killed. Here and now.” 

The final guardian raised his arms above his head, clearly as stunned as you were. “I require,” the guardian fumbled over his words, “proof of ownership or citizenship within twenty four hours. If this is not delievered, more will come for her.” 

The three Mandalorians exchanged a glance. They all had their own way of communication. You couldn’t even understand what was going on in their heads. 

Ryder jutted his chin. “Walk over here, slowly.”

“Drop the blaster,” Paz added. 

The guardian dropped the blaster in the sand. You stared in shock as the guardian got cuffed by Paz. 

“Take Y/n back,” Paz said, careful to leave out specific details. “We will reconvene tonight, Djarren.” 

Din nodded. 

Paz and Ryder took the court guardian in their large grip and pushed him forward to walk. Your jaw had dropped when you were escorted back to the speed bike by Din. 

“You...how did you do that?” you guffaw. The four men dropped like rain in a split second, right before your eyes. 

“Get on the bike,” Din instructed as he mounted. 

As you shyly wrapped your arms around his waist, Din said something so softly you almost missed it before the bike sped back towards the village. “I had to keep you safe.” 

>>next chapter

#din djjaren imagine #din djarren x reader #din djarren x oc #din djarren #the mandalorian #the Mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x oc #the mandalorian imagine #disney+ #star wars #star wars x reader #star wars x you #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #pedro pascal imagine #dyn djarren x reader #dyn jarren x reader #dyn jarren imagine #dyn djarren #dyn jarren #starfirette writes #din djaren x reader #din djaren #din djaren imagine #din djaren x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[starfirette]

Every Which Way TEASER

The Wayward Souls 

➡️ Smut | angst | Star Wars themed violence 

➡️ TONIGHT @ 8 PM EST!!  “Never stop fighting,” Din says into your ear. “Do you understand that? I will find you. You can never stop fighting.” 

#din djjaren imagine #din djaren x reader #din djarren x reader #din djarren #din djarren x oc #din djarren imagine #din djaren x oc #din djaren imagine #dyn djarren x reader #dyn djaren x reader #dyn djarren imagine #dyn jarren x reader #dyn djarren x imagine #dyn djarren #dyn jarren imagine #dyn jaren x reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars imagine #star wars x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the Mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #starfirette writes #Every Which Way

[starfirette]

Every Which Way : Chapter Six

The Way To Voyage

➡ smut | new characters | mild violence

➡ Mild Paz x Reader | Din Djarren x Reader

➡04/01/20 | Join the taglist!

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

His boots clicked as he paced across the field, to Emelea who oversaw the Imperial transaction for the month. 

From top to bottom she bore pale colors, from the washed out blonde hair to the loose, soft white pant suit. 

The sickly gray pallor of her face never failed to make him uncomfortable. The more days that passed among her company the more she comes to look like a corpse. Her eyes sallow and foggy, her hands thin and shakey.

"Well, my Mandalorian," she says softly. "Will you finally accept me?"

#din djarren imagine #din djarren x oc #din djarren x reader #din djarren #din djarin #dyn djarren x reader #dyn jarren x reader #the mandalorian x reader #boba fett #paz viszla x reader #paz vizsla #paz vizla #paz vizla imagine #paz vizla x reader #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars fanfiction #star wars #starfirette writes #din djaren x reader #din djaren #din djaren imagine #din djaren x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[starfirette]

Chapter Six: An NSFW Preview

The Way To Voyage

➡️Here’s a small snippet from the chapter! Tune in TOMORROW for full chapter!  ➡️Din Djarren/ The Mandalorian x Reader SMUT under the cut

➡️ Start From Chapter One 

🏷 Join the taglist 

“Speak up, Mrs. Djarren,” Din said, his words half melded to a moan.

Excitement foamed in your belly as Din lowered the head of his cock, leaving it pressed just at the opening of your clenched cunt.

The stickiness and heat muddled into a fuzzy feeling that lodged at the bottom of your belly. It felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before—the exhilaration that flooded through your blood left you breathless and waiting for the next moment.

“Din,” you cried. “Please.”

“Talk to me, Mrs. Djarren,” Din coaxes you. “How does your pussy feel?”

You whimpered, feeling absolutely amazing by just listening to his new, dirty words. “I’m aching,” you tell him. “I—I want to be filled.”

Din gathered your hands in his own, holding them tightly by your head. He bowed his head to bite fiercely at your breast, his tongue making swift circles around your nipple.

“Say it again,” Din demands. His lips puckered around your nipple. He sucked on your soft skin greedily.

“I want y-you inside of me,” you admit. It felt good to say it aloud. You had never felt such an urge before, but now your cunt is practically alive—the walls are pulsing, screaming for something to wrap around.

Din sits straight up. He squeezed your hands encouragingly. “Open your legs wider,” he coaxed.

Your knees are practically digging into the mattress as you strain to make a wider range for Din.

“Watch,” Din hisses. Both pairs of eyes strain at the sight of Din’s cock slowly inching its way inside of you.

You erupted a loud noise as you became aware of the feeling. His cock seemed to stretch you out, practically to the cusp of pain, but you couldn’t resist clamping your cunt around him.

“Relax,” Din commands. He can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. If he did he knew he would lose complete control of his own body. Every part of his body yearned to plunge deep into your velvety pussy and pound you into the bed

>> COMING 04/01/20

#din djaren x reader #din djarren #din djarren x reader #Din djaren imagine #dyn djaren x reader #dyn Djarren x reader #the Mandalorian x reader #the Mandalorian #disney+ #star wars #Star Wars x reader #star wars imagine #din djarren x oc #din djjaren imagine #dyn jarren x reader #dyn jarren #dyn jarren imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #starfirette writes #Every Which Way

[starfirette]

Preview |Every Which Way: Chapter Four

The Way Towards Family

➡️ Masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x reader/ The Mandalorian x Reader | smut | angst | fluff | arranged marriage | face reveal

➡️Tags: @woterezwhet​ @talesfromtheguild​ | JOIN THE TAGLIST

“You’re to be his wife, child,” Golds says, suddenly gentle. “Do you blame him for wanting to ensure your lifelong safety? You must know by now that he’s in love with you.” 

>>03/24/20

#din djjaren imagine #din djarren x reader #din djarren x oc #dyn djarren #dyn jarren x reader #dyn djarren x reader #dyn jarren imagine #dyn jarren #dyn jaren x reader #the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #pedro pascal imagine #din djaren x reader #din djaren #din djaren imagine #din djaren x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[starfirette]

upcoming

03/20/20 : Carol x Reader fic. To the anon who requested this I am extremely sorry this has taken so long! I promise it’s coming and it will be romantic and fluffy to boot. Maybe even…..dare I say……kissy?

03/24/20: Bucky Barnes x Reader | details to come | smut | angst |

03/25/20: Every Which Way Chapter Five: Din Djarren x Reader | arranged marriage | smut | angst | fluff | face reveal

#carol danvers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #din djarren x reader #mcu x reader #star wars x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djaren x reader #din djaren #din djaren imagine #din djaren x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[starfirette]

ONE!MORE!HOUR!

The Way Towards Family

➡️Previously

➡️a/n: this is it. This is the chapter I have been dying to write. After this there’s only one other scene I am on the edge of my seat for, but that comes much later 😈 also, I just realized that I’d been advertising this chapter as chapter four. it’s actually chapter five. fml

➡️ OC page, if you care: chapter includes Wendi and Ryder

➡️Din Djarren/The Mandalorian x Reader | face reveal | smut | angsty feelings kind of | sorta fluffy? | marriage 👁👁

#dyn jarren x reader #din djarren #din djarren x reader #din djjaren imagine #din jarren x reader #din jarren imagine #dyn jarren imagine #dyn djarren x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #starfirette writes #pedro pascal imagine #din djaren x reader #din djaren #din djaren imagine #din djaren x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[starfirette]

PREVIEW!! | Din Djarren x Reader

A PREVIEW OF THE FANFICTOIN THAT HAS BEEN TAKING OVER MY ENTIE LIFE AND HAS BEEN KEEPING ME BOTHERING @interwebseriesfan24​

➡️a/n: a long one! Woohoo! Shoutout to  https://www.fantasynamegenerators.com/ for inspiring the names of the people and planet. There is possible false information regarding Mandalorian culture, so don’t bitch to me about it

➡️masterlist 

➡️Din Djarren x Reader/The Mandalorian x Reader | execution | attempted murder | arranged marriage | slow burn romance | mild smut | angst to fluff | strangers to lovers  

You whirl around with a sharp gasp, pressing the gun into the metal armor of the man who saved you.

You tried to shoot but his hand wrapped around your wrist, bending you in such a way that the gun fell from your fingers into his hand. You started to struggle.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the Mandalorian says sharply. He sheaths the blaster in a holster on his hip and then holds you firmly by the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says.

The modulator of his helmet highlights the details of his voice. Surprisingly deep but sharp, you find.

You can't help but continue to struggle in his hold. He only has you by your forearms but he's incredibly strong. Or at least stronger than you.

"Calm down," he repeats again. "I am not going to hurt you."

You are desperately hoping that's true. Palpitating, your heart disagrees and screams at you to fight and run.

The prospect would fail you no matter what. You're weak in general, more so now after the chaos you've gone through. Above feeling scared, you are dreadfully tired.

The Mandalorian man cautiously leads you to a lumpy mattress pushed against the wall of a smaller room. "Sit," he says, a gloved hand gesturing to his bed.

Your heart thunders away as you do. You grip the skirt of your rags and sit obediently, staring at your hands.

Tears dripped down your face, tumbling off your chin.

"What are you going to do to me?" Those are the first words you've said in a while. The crackling of your voice makes you cringe; your number one weakness is your vulnerability and right now you're the most vulnerable person in the galaxy.

"You need rest," The Mandalorian says quietly. He digs around a little closet. He hands you a folded white shirt and towel. You're beyond puzzled at the gifts and behind tears you manage to send him a questioning glance.

"Wouldn't you like to freshen up?" He sounds puzzled. You debate the idea. Hesitantly, you nod.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he repeats. This time it sounds gentle.

Genuine.

"You can wear this for tonight," he continues. He places the shirt and towel in your arms. You had never been given something for you. Not this way.

"Would you like to shower?" The Mandalorian then asks you.

You look up through your dirty bangs, unsure what he means.

"Bathe," Din corrects himself.

You nod. As unsure as you are you begin to give into the looming feeling of safety.

Ushering you into the refresher in silence is beyond awkward.

Din gives a quick run down on how the shower works. When water came from the showerhead your eyebrows lifted to your hairline.

"Curiouser and curiouser," you murmured to yourself. You run the top of your hand under the stream to test it out. To your disbelief the water is warm.

You look to the Mandalorian, shock written all over your face.

Din tries not to chuckle at your expression. He can see that you're rather pretty even under the sweat, dirt, and paint.

"I'll leave you alone. Take as much time as you need."

#mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #the Mandalorian x reader #din djjaren imagine #din djarren x reader #dyn jarren x reader #dyn djarren #starfirette writes #letusunalivethem writes #din djaren x reader #din djaren #din djaren imagine #din djaren x oc #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader