#din x fem oc

[handspunyarns]

Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part III.

pairing: din djarin x plus-size fem!O/C         

word count: 13K      

chapter summary: Din and Marathel repair the Razor Crest, Marathel takes her first sonic shower with interesting results, Din tries to change Marathel’s mind, the Razor Crest gets unexpected visitors. 

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, female masturbation, voyeurism, mention of blood, menstruation, chldbirth, mental illness and infertility, English and Mando’a cursing      

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***       

You Were Marked: Masterlist  

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Marathel was in a deep sleep, curled up with Grogu on Din’s bedroll, when there was suddenly a loud ka-thunk, and everything quickly shifted sideways as she rolled into a hard surface.  She opened her eyes to near-darkness, except for glowing tiny lights of red and green.  Disoriented, she felt around her, and her hand fell upon little Grogu, who grabbed her hand tightly.  “What the …” she muttered, and then she heard running footsteps and a loud pounding on the door. 

“Wake up, Marathel!  We got problems!” 

“Wh … What?” 

“We just fell out of hyperspace!  Come out here!” 

Marathel shook herself awake and reached up to press the door button.  The door slid up, and she pulled herself out to see Din crouching by a panel halfway down the corridor.  “What’s happened?” 

“Get down here, I need your help.”  Din had been awake for a while, and he had replaced his armor and was in the process of putting his weapons on when one of the power banks had failed.  Marathel came down to where he was.  “Grab that corner, there.”  Marathel took hold of the panel where Din was pointing as he finished unlatching it.  She wasn’t prepared for its weight, and her corner hit the metal floor with a clonk, but she wrapped her fingers around the panel edge and helped him slide it down the wall.  

That task done,  Marathel stood behind him as Din knelt to tap tiny screens above each component in the rack.  “Haar’chak, the whole thing’s down.” 

“Are we in danger?” 

“We will be, if I can’t get this up and running again!”  Din stood and began taking off his blasters. 

“What should I do?” 

“Just … stand right there for right now, and don’t touch anything!” he snapped as he pulled off his pauldrons and cuirass.  “Hate this damned thing,” muttered Din as he sat on the floor and began squeezing himself into the small access crawl space to get behind the power bank.  Marathel stood silent, unmoving.  Din continued to curse and mutter as he folded himself into a working position.  “Ah … fuck me, the whole damn thing is wired wrong!” 

“Fuh!” shouted Grogu. 

“Grogu, I told you to cut that out.” 

Marathel was confused.  “Didn’t Peli just repair this ship?  Why would she wire it wrong?” 

Din sighed.  “Well, she didn’t wire it wrong, she wired it correctly, and that’s the problem.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Din chuckled.  “I guess not.  A while ago I had to jerry-rig this wiring and the ship flies better with the adaptation.  The wires are hooked up to the wrong cart components, and it finally tripped itself.  I have to pull all these wires first, then you’re going to pull the carts as I rewire it, okay?” 

“Okay,” said Marathel, not sounding okay about it at all. 

“Just sit down there in front of the panel, I’ll let you know when I need you.” 

Marathel sat, listening to Din grunt and quietly curse to himself as he did whatever he was doing.  “Did you get any rest?” she asked. 

“Don’t talk to me right now,” said Din.  “I’m trying to not electrocute myself.” Marathel sat silently.  Grogu toddled over to join her, and she held him on her lap as they waited for instructions.  “And yes, I got some rest.  Are you all right?” 

Marathel shifted slightly, then swallowed.  “Yes.” 

Behind the power panel, Din coughed to cover up his discomfort, then said, “Okay, we’re going to work from your left to your right.  Grab the handles of the first cart and pull it out halfway.” 

Marathel grasped the handles and gave the thing a tug, but it didn’t move.  “What’s halfway on this thing?”  She pulled again, much harder, and the whole thing pulled out of the wall and landed on the floor. 

Din sighed.  “Half of what you just did.” 

“Did I just kill us all?” 

“Not yet. Just put it back in, halfway, and wait for me to get the right wire connected.” Marathel did as he instructed and waited.  After a short while, Din said, “Okay, slide the cart back in fully.”  Marathel carefully pushed the cart back in, giving it a hard shove to seat it correctly.  “Did lights come on?” 

“Yes.” 

“What does the screen say?” 

“Screen?” 

“There’s a small screen in the middle of the cart.  What does it say on the screen?”  Marathel was silent.  “Marathel, just read what’s on the screen!” 

“I can’t.” 

“You can’t see the screen?” 

“I can’t read, Din, I told you that!” 

There was a long silence. Din groaned quietly.  “She can’t read.”  Din chuckled, and Marathel heard his helmet clank against something.  “Yes, you told me, I forgot.  Okay, change of plans.” Din shifted around and began pulling himself out from behind the power bank.  “You need to do the rewiring, then.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you.  Each wire goes between two metal plates that you use this screwdriver to tighten.”  He handed her a small tool with a flat end.  “Go on, get back there.” 

“What makes you think I’ll fit?  You had a hard time squeezing in there!” 

“You’ll fit just fine.  Now get going before we lose backup power.” 

Marathel glared at Din, but she put the screwdriver in her pocket and fed her feet into the small access opening, as she’d seen Din do, and began pushing herself through.  “I have no idea what you need me to do back there.” 

“You’ll figure it out by the time you’re done.  You only have … um …” Din counted on his fingers as he said, “‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls But Violet Gives Willingly, Got Some’ … twelve.  Twelve wires.” 

“Bad Boys do what?” 

“‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls But Violet Gives Willingly, Got Some.’  It’s how I remember the wiring colors.  Black, blue, red, orange, green, green, blue, violet, grey, white, gold, silver.” 

“You said green and blue twice.” 

“They’re different wires.  You’ll see.” Marathel grunted in disgust, and Din swore he heard her mutter osi’kovid under her breath as she struggled to get back behind the panel.  “What did you just say?” asked Din. 

“I called you an osi’kovid!” 

Din chuckled to himself.  “Do you even know what that means?” 

“I know it’s nothing good.”  Marathel looked at the tangle of wires before her, then at the bank of metal plates.  She looked carefully at the connection of the black wire that Din had completed.  “So blue is next?  Which blue?” 

“It’s solid blue, not the striped one.  You have to put the end of the wire where the coating is stripped off, put that end between the two plates, and tighten the screws to lock it down.” 

“I’ll do my best.” Marathel found the solid blue wire and pulled it loose from the tangle.  The bare end touched another wire’s bare end, and Marathel felt a zzzt sensation that was painful.  “Aigh!” 

“Don’t let the ends touch,” said Din. 

“Now you fucking tell me!” snapped Marathel. 

“Fuh-EE!” shouted Grogu, and Din shushed him. 

Oh, good, the ‘child repeating swear words’ days are upon you, Bounty Hunter, have fun with that, wryly thought Marathel.  She carefully placed the wire end between the plates and placed the flat end of the … screwdriver, that’s what he called it … into the slot of the screw head and turned it, but the tiny screw fell to the floor with a ting.  “Oh no …” 

“You must have turned the screwdriver the wrong way.  It’s lefty loosey, righty tighty.” 

“What?” 

“Turn the screwdriver left to loosen the screw, and right to tighten it.” 

“I can’t find the little screw.  It fell out.”  Tears filled her eyes, and Marathel sobbed.  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Bounty Hunter …” 

“Marathel …” 

“I’m going to kill us all …” 

“Mesh’la, honey …” — honey? Where did that come from? — “It’s going to be fine.  You can do this.  The screw is on the floor right in front of you, I guarantee it.  Just take a breath and look for it again.”  He heard Marathel sniffle, then take a shaky breath.  He pulled the cart halfway out and waited.  After a few moments, he heard her whisper righty tighty.  “Tighten the top screw a little, then the bottom screw a little.  Go back and forth to tighten then evenly.  Make the connection good and tight.”  He waited a few moments.  “Got it?” 

“I think so.” 

“All right, then,” said Din as he slid the cart back into its socket.  Moment of truth, he thought, and the readout screen flashed its green message: Override Ready.  “You did it, mesh’la, good job.” 

“Next one is red, yes?” 

“Yes,” replied Din as he slid out the next cart. 

“Red for rape,” said Marathel as she carefully found the red wire and inserted it into place.  “‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls,’” she scoffed. “I think you need a different way to remember this.” 

“Come up with one, and I will.” 

“Oh, I will.” Din heard Marathel grunt softly as she concentrated on her task.  “There.  Done.” 

Surprised, Din said, “That was fast.”  He slid the cart home and override ready flashed.  “Green next.  Light green.” 

“Light green …” repeated Marathel as she untangled the wires, and she shocked herself again.  “Aigh!” 

“You need to be more careful,” said Din. 

“You’re the one that left me this tangled mess, you … cigpell pudyn!” snapped Marathel, attaching the light green wire.   

“And what does that mean?” 

“It means meatball dick!”  

Din burst out laughing.  “Meatball … meatball?”  He was laughing so hard he snorted.  “That doesn’t even make sense!” 

Marathel grumbled as she tightened the tiny screws.  “Light green is done!” 

Still laughing, Din reset the cart and got an error message.  “No good, try resetting the wire.” 

“The wire is fine,” said Marathel, gently tugging the wire. 

“Not from where I’m sitting.  Try it again.”  Din listened to Marathel mutter under her breath as she loosened the wire.  “You may need more wire lead.  Peel back some of the green covering and reset it.”  Marathel did as Din instructed, but he still got the error message. “I don’t know what, Marathel, but you’re doing something wrong.” 

Of course, it’s my fault.  “Are you sure it’s not supposed to be the dark green wire first?” 

“Positive.” 

Marathel sighed.  “Can we try the dark green wire, at least?” 

Din sighed as well.  “Fine.  Go ahead.”  He pulled out the cart again.  “And you, of all people, know that my pudyn looks nothing like a meatball.” 

“It might after I throw a big enough rock at it,” said Marathel archly.  “Okay, try it now.”  Din replaced the cart.  “Well?”  Din was silent.  “Was I right?” 

“Yes,” he muttered. 

“Okay, then.  Now it’s the light green wire, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“And who is a cigpell pudyn?” asked Marathel with as much snark as she could muster.  “Well?” 

“… I am.” 

Marathel chortled.  “Good boy.”  She continued down the row, replacing the wires in order as Din replaced the carts.  When they got to Violet and the purple wire, Marathel asked, “So, who’s this Violet who Gives Willingly?” 

“No one.  It just works in the phrase.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Can’t help that,” said Din.  There was no way in Frith he was going to tell her that while her name wasn’t Violet, a particular prostitute he had been fond of at one time had a magnificent head of purple hair that set off her deep, dark green skin.  Damn, she was fine, thought Din, wondering where she was these days. 

Marathel rolled her eyes, but she carried on with her task.  Din had been right, Marathel got very proficient with the screwdriver by the time she was tightening up the gold and silver wires, and she felt quite proud of herself.  Well, Marathel, old girl, not half bad.   

Din, on the other side of the power bank, felt pride on her behalf as well — Marathel wasn’t lacking in intelligence; she could follow instructions and tackle new tasks, was willing to get her hands dirty — and he was sure that the nimbleness in her hands and fingers would make her a great assistant mechanic. What a team we’d make, thought Din, and his heart warmed with the possibility.  “All right, Marathel, good job.  Now I’m going to fire this thing up.” 

“You are?  Am I safe back here?” 

“More or less.  Just don’t touch anything.”  Before Marathel could protest, Din flipped the switches, the power bank turned on, and the engines came to life with a dull roar.  “Dank ferrik, yes!” crowed Din.  “Okay, you can come out now!  Don’t forget the screwdriver!”  Marathel rolled her eyes as she put the screwdriver that she came in with — as well as two more she found under the tangle of wires — into her pocket, and she began to wriggle out from the tiny crawl space.  Din reached in to help pull her out, and he gave a strong tug on her just as she pushed hard on a girder with her feet, and Marathel tumbled into his lap as he fell backwards.    

She looked up at him in surprise as she lay on his legs, her face at level with his belt buckle.  Din continued to hold her hands as he gazed at her, mostly reclining on his elbow, thinking how damn cute she looked with engine smut on her face and hands, her hair and clothes disheveled. Marathel’s face colored that becoming shade of pink that he liked so much as she pulled her hands free and rolled off his legs to sit on the floor.  Din sat up too, and gently put his hand on her back.  “You did good, Marathel.  I’m proud of you.  I would have hated to do that job by myself.” 

Marathel handed Din all three screwdrivers. “How would you have done that?” 

“Ugh.  I would have had to crawl out each time, after connecting each wire.  Terrible.”  Din grunted as he stood up and reached down to help Marathel stand.  “You got a little dirt on your face,” he said, touching her cheek with a gloved finger. 

Marathel shied away, saying, “I’m sure I did.  It’s filthy back there.” 

“Engines generally are.” 

Marathel hummed vaguely as she moved to the basin at the far end of the ship.  Din watched as she found the soap and a towel and poured out a tiny bit of water from her canteen into her hands.  “Marathel, what are you doing?” asked Din, confused. 

Marathel dropped the towel on the floor as she stepped back from the basin, dropping her head, sliding her hands into her sleeves.  “Washing my hands,” she whispered. 

“You’ve been using your drinking water to wash your hands?” 

“I thought that was all the water I was allowed,” said Marathel, pointing briefly at the canteen. 

“That’s for drinking.  You may drink as much water as you wish. You haven’t been drinking your water?”  Din came over and lifted the canteen; it was still nearly full. “Is this the same water I originally gave you?  It’s easy to get dehydrated on long hyperspace hauls. You should be drinking more, Marathel,” Din said sharply. 

“I didn’t know …” 

“Drinking water is there for the taking, just like the food, Marathel!  You don’t have to hoard or conserve drinking water!  There’s a basin in the fresher to wash in that’s hooked up to the water recycler …” Din watched Marathel continue to cringe into herself.  “… which I never showed you.”  Din sighed.  “I didn’t show you the fresher, or where the cleaning papers for the vac tube are, or where I keep the spare blankets, for kriff’s sake.”  He noticed her shoulders shaking, and he realized she was crying.  “Oh, mesh’la, please don’t cry …” Din went to her and wrapped his arms around her. 

“I’m sorry I’m so stupid,” whimpered Marathel, keeping her arms tightly against herself, refusing to hug him back, despite how much she ached to do so. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m the stupid one who’s been rude and insufferable to you.  Everyone I’ve ever known automatically knows where to find everything on a ship like this, and it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t, although, why would you know?  The only time you’ve been on this ship for any length of time, you were injured.  Unconscious.”  Din sighed and rocked her back and forth as he quietly said, “I’m sorry I’m such an osi’kovid.” 

Marathel sniffled, then asked, “What does that mean?” 

“Shithead.” Marathel chuckled, and Din continued, “And I’ve also been a … what is it?  A tymffod.  What does that mean, mesh’la?” 

“Asshole.” 

“Yeah, I’ll take that.  And a cigpell pudyn, if that helps.  And a knob, too, I heard that one from you, earlier.” Din held her tight and stroked her hair, glad to know that he could again safely hold her like this without acting like a sex-starved maniac.  “Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa, I wish … I wish you’d just … stay right here, or anywhere else, other than ...” Din’s voice trailed off. 

Marathel swallowed, then pushed Din back, wiping her cheeks, and looked down to her feet.  “I appear to have grown a Grogu again.” 

Din looked down too, still surprised by the shoes on her feet, seeing Grogu holding tightly to Marathel’s ankle.  He sighed.  Apparently, the moment of closeness with Marathel was over.  “Come here, kid,” said Din, bending down to pick up the boy.  “Did you take good care of Mahr last sleep cycle?” 

“Mama,” said Grogu. 

“Mama,” repeated Din. 

“We slept well until everything went sideways,” said Marathel. 

“We’re back up and running now,” said Din.  “Let’s get this panel back on.” 

“Okay.  Oh — before we do that …”  Marathel dropped down her knees by the access hatch, reached in, and pulled out a square of black insulation foam.  “I found this just lying in there.  May I use it?” 

“Of course,” said Din, assuming she’d use it to sit on while she knitted.  That was why it was in the access tunnel in the first place, to sit or kneel on while he had to tinker around in there.  Together they got the panel back in place, then Din said they needed to strap in to get back into hyperspace.  Marathel climbed the ladder first, giving Din another view of her ample backside as she went up, making him wish that they were in a romantic relationship, on good terms, just so he could playfully smack her on that lovely ass.  This thought left him with a wistful feeling as he followed her into the cockpit with Grogu.  Marathel was seated and struggling with the straps, so he knelt before her, placing Grogu in her lap, carefully untwisting the restraining belts and snapping them closed, letting his hands slide off her thighs as she stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, not frightened of him, but of the thrill his touch sent through her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, even though he wasn’t.  He stood and went to his seat to recalculate the jump to hyperspace, wondering in the back of his mind if she needed to lock herself in his quarters again, as he felt like he was already at half-staff.  He looked back at her.  “Ready?” 

“Ready,” said Marathel with an uncertain smile.  

Din turned back to the console and pulled the throttle, sending them shooting forward in space.  Marathel felt her stomach change places with her liver and wondered if she’d ever get used to this hyperspace thing.  Once they were settled in their path, Din undid his safety straps and stood, saying, “Much better.  Thank you for helping out.  Okay, let’s go back down.”  He released the catches on her restraints, letting his hands linger briefly on her hips before descending the ladder. 

Marathel followed with Grogu.  “I hate this ladder already.” 

“Believe me, I avoid leaving the cockpit as much as possible,” said Din, and Marathel chuckled to herself as she thought, I guess he does piss for distance.  Din pressed a pad on the wall next to the power bank panel, and a door slid open, revealing another tiny room.  Din stepped inside.  “The fresher.  Here is where you can switch from sonic to the water option.” 

“Sonic?” Marathel also stepped inside the fresher and had to stand close to Din for both of them to fit. 

“Sonic means the fresher uses sound waves to remove dirt and oils from your skin.  The water is recycled, but it doesn’t get very hot, and it’s not hot for long.” 

Marathel looked dubious.  “Which would you prefer I use?” 

“It’s up to you. I generally use the sonic setting, and then wash my face with warm water in the basin.  It can get gross in the helmet from time to time,” said Din with a shrug. 

“Well, I guess I’ll follow your example.”   

Din nodded and opened the storage bin.  “Here is facial soap,” he said, handing her a tube.  “Did you want to wash your hair, though?  The sonic does okay for my hair, but I keep my hair short … as you saw,” he added quietly. 

Marathel pulled a handful of her hair over her shoulder and looked at it.  “I’ll see what the sonic does for me.”   

Din found her a clean washcloth and a small towel.  “Okay, so it’s set on sonic, and you just have to press this button here to start.  Then you stand over the drain, there, and the cycle will run for a few minutes.  It’s on a timer, so if you’re not clean to your satisfaction, you can just press the start button again.  The button below that opens and closes the door.” Din stepped back to the doorway.  “There’s no lock, but I’ll take Grogu with me back to the cockpit and close that door.  You’ll have complete privacy down here.  Did you need anything else?” 

Marathel shook her head.  “Thank you.” 

“Of course.”  Din took Grogu back, catching some of her hair as he did.   He untangled her hair from his glove and smoothed it over her shoulder before he stepped out of the fresher. 

“Oh, by the way …” said Marathel, and Din turned back to her.  “‘Beautiful Blossoms Rise Over Green Grass, Blooming Vines Grow With Good Sunshine.’” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “Do what?” 

“‘Beautiful Blossoms Rise Over Green Grass, Blooming Vines Grow With Good Sunshine,’” repeated Marathel.  “To remember your wiring by.” 

Din smiled widely under his helmet.  “I like that much better.  Just knock if you need anything.”  Marathel nodded, and Din and Grogu returned to the cockpit. 

Marathel heard the cockpit door close, and she poked her head out of the fresher to look.  Not seeing either Bounty Hunter or a little boy, she found her bag and brought it to just outside the fresher.  She pulled off her top and pants and folded them into a neat pile, then went to quickly use the vac tube, tossing her used pad into the tube before toggling the contraption.  Thank Frith, it seems I’m finally bleeding less.  Returning to the fresher, Marathel carefully removed the dilator from her and placed it in the basin so she could wash it after her shower.  Or would it be called a sonic? she wondered.  Marathel pressed the button to close the fresher door, then she pressed the button to start.  

Right away, she heard a low vibration and felt it in her bare feet.  Marathel stepped over to the drain as Din had directed. She felt the vibrations growing more powerful, and she could see the dirt leaving her hands, almost as a swath of sand would blow off a flat rock.  She marveled at this, and she felt the vibrations as a massage that trembled through her entire body.  The vibrations became stronger and faster, and they seemed to center low in her belly.  After a short time, the vibrations grew even more powerful, and the sensation became warm and pleasurable as Marathel gasped, realizing she was becoming aroused. 

Oh, no, she thought to herself.  No, I don’t want this!  But her body betrayed her as the vibration of the sonic shower continued to titillate instead of soothe. Marathel reached down and pressed her hand against her pubis, seeking a release from her stimulation.  When that didn’t work, she flattened her front against the cool metal wall of the fresher, which only worked for a few moments as her feverish heat warmed the wall.  Her breasts began to ache, so she pressed them harder into the unyielding metal as she reached between her thighs, gently sliding her fingertips over her clitoris. She gasped again, this time with a throaty groan, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth.  Oh, Frith, what can he hear in that cockpit? 

Din had, in fact, heard her groan; the auditory capabilities of his helmet were quite powerful. The fresher was also situated almost directly below the cockpit, and sound carried through the floor.  Over the years, he’d become accustomed to the fresher being the official wank closet and the noises that would emanate from within the times he’d be traveling with someone. On several memorable occasions, he’d traded visits to the sonic shower for a bit of companionship from female bounties (and a couple of male ones, too, he wasn’t too particular if someone wanted to make it worth his while).   But he’d heard — through that unreliable horny mercenary grapevine — that sonic showers could provide some females with sexual stimulation.  And this was the first time a woman was in there where he’d heard her possibly masturbating.   

Din looked back at Grogu, who was quietly occupying himself with the gear knob and a ball of Marathel’s yarn, using the Force to make them fly in complicated patterns.  Din looked back out the view screen, pulled his flight notebook onto his lap, and turned up the receiver in his helmet.  Concentrating his hearing on the room below, he listened to what he believed was Marathel touching herself, wondering if it was only the sonic waves bringing her off, or if she were as frustrated as he was, being so close together, denying the feelings she had for him. 

And oh, Marathel was frustrated, and confused as well; why was she having these desires, when they should be the last thing on her mind?!  But she kept pressing her breasts against the wall as her hand stroked herself, softly, gently, not even attempting penetration, for she was still so fragile and wounded there; she did not think she would be able to bear that, not only physically, but mentally as well.  As her fingers continued their playful touches on her bud, she began to rock her hips, gasping in tiny, quiet moans.  She kept rocking, the motion setting off delicious twitches inside her as she flexed her muscles in her hips, belly, and buttocks, and her fingers strummed her swollen clitoris.  Oh, you taught me, Din, you taught me well, how wonderful this feels!  I wish it were you touching me like this; if you were, I would pleasure you in any way you wished, I would make you bread for eternity, I would trap myself in the smallest flying metal box for you.  Her twitching hips moved more frantically as she began to crest into her orgasm.  She slid her free hand up her body and began gently tweaking her nipple, making her gasp again. She squeezed her thighs and tried to flex her pelvic floor — a hitherto unknown part of herself, brought to her attention by Eliadu — as hard as she could.  Her other hand alternated tapping and stroking her clit until she finally tipped over the edge and climaxed; her mouth worked noiselessly, and her eyes closed, her knees bent, and her fingers pressed hard against her clitoris, feeling her pulse within, counting the beats of her rushing heart. 

The sonic vibrations of the fresher slowed, and then stopped.  Marathel finished riding out her orgasm with a last breathy gasp, and she sank to the floor, relishing its coolness against her flushed, warm skin.  Breathing hard, Marathel rolled to her back, stretching out her limbs.   

In the cockpit, Din felt like the most lecherous type of voyeur, eavesdropping on Marathel below.  He’d just taken another look back at Grogu, and the kid was crashed on the seat of the aft chair, snoring softly.  Under the guise of adding entries into his ship’s written log — he preferred writing them out in longhand —he listened to Marathel touching herself; Marathel, who was so recently brutalized at the hands of others, giving herself pleasure with her own hands.  Her gasps were quiet and small, leading him to think that she was using the gentlest of touches, the softest of strokes of her fingertips against her delicate skin.  The notebook on his lap concealed his erection, and he wished he could stroke himself to the sounds Marathel was making, but Grogu’s presence made that infeasible. Oh, Marathel, I wish I were in there with you, touching you myself, I would be so gentle, and touch you only where you allowed, with only the lightest, the most tender of caresses, I wish we could be alone, where I could give you such soft touches until you came for me, and you could scream my name as loud as you want to, mesh’la!  He wanted her to be a screamer for him, a blanket-stealing, bread-baking, soft, plush, magnificent screamer of a lover, he was certain that she was coming in the room below him, coming hard like she had every time with him, and he was close to coming himself when he heard her moaning, but in pain. 

In the fresher, Marathel’s breathing slowed and she began to feel chilled in the small room.  She had carefully sat up when she felt a cramp rip through her lower belly, and she moaned as quietly as she could.  Oh, no, not now, not my cycle, why am I not done with that, as old as I have learned that I am?  She fell back to her side, waiting for the next wave of cramps that would inevitably come, pain that would fold her in half, unable to move.   

But that sort of pain didn’t come.  There was pain within her, but not in the muscles of her abdomen.  The pain seemed lower, deeper inside.  Marathel looked down at herself, expecting blood, and there was blood, but not the amount she was accustomed to with her cycles.  She felt her muscles quake again, and she moaned, and then she felt the need to push, that there was something within her vagina that she needed to expel. 

What in Frith was happening to her? 

Fennec had told her she wasn’t pregnant, Eliadu had told her that she couldn’t get pregnant, yet, here she was, trembling and moaning on the floor, feeling as if she was about to give birth to something, for the sensations she was feeling within was unlike but somehow strangely similar to all of her previous cycles, when she would pass clot after clot … 

There was a knocking on the fresher door.  “Marathel?”  Din was worried, almost panicked, all of his licentious thoughts gone.  “Are you all right?” 

Marathel gasped, and her head whipped around towards the door.  “I’m fine, I’m … fine …” Her abdominal muscles contracted again, making her voice waver on the last word.   

“You’re in pain, I heard you moaning …” 

“You were listening?!” 

“No! No …  Just now, I heard you …” 

“How could you LISTEN like that?!”  The need to push became overwhelming, and she groaned as she felt blood running down her thighs.    

“Marathel!  I’m coming in!” 

“NO!  Don’t you DARE come in!” 

“Let me HELP you!” cried Din. 

“I don’t NEED your help!” Marathel shouted back.  “I … don’t need … ANYONE …” She rolled to a deep squat on her feet and hands, grit her teeth, and bore down on whatever it was her body was trying to release.  She reached down between her legs, and could just feel something gelatinous inside her, so she took another deep breath and pushed again.  This time she felt a mass exit her vagina, and she went to her knees, trying to catch her breath.  And here I thought I’d never give birth, but I think I just did, thought Marathel.   

Din knocked on the door again.  “Marathel?  Mesh’la?  Please, talk to me!  What is happening?” 

“I’m okay … I’m all right,” weakly said Marathel.  She reached behind her, finding the mass she’d just expelled with her fingertips.  What in Frith?  She moved herself to a position where she could see whatever it was, a dark red-brown clot, about the size of a gorugelly, that contained clumps of what appeared to be crusted flesh.  Marathel realized what had occurred: she had passed a clot of scabs made by the cauterizing of the worst of the wounds made by the Dilimgau.  Ceiroprac had told me I might shed those, though Marathel.  I didn’t think I’d be so damn dramatic about it though! How typical of me, thought Marathel.  She laughed weakly at first, and then louder as she realized how absurd her life was. 

Outside the fresher door, Din was bewildered by the sudden sound of laughter on the other side.  “Marathel?  If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m coming in there.” 

“Oh … calm down, Din, for the love of Frith!  I’ll be fine.  The sonic waves shook loose some … internal scabbing, and I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Internal … oh, he thought, remembering that Marathel had refused reconstruction where she had been so badly damaged by the Dilimgau, but had wounds cauterized instead.  “I’m sorry, ner kar’ta. Are you still in pain?  Are you bleeding badly?” 

“I … some.  But I’ll be all right.” 

“What can I do for you?” Din pleaded. 

Marathel squinted up at the switch he had told her toggled the fresher between sonic and water.  “Would it be all right if I turned on the water?” 

“That … the water won’t be very warm.” 

“I don’t mind cold water.  But there’s blood, and … clots.  Can that go down the drain in here?” 

Din sighed.  “Not a large amount of blood, and I’d rather any solids didn’t.” It was a decent recycling system, but not that good. 

“Then please bring me rags and a bucket, or something, so I can clean this up.” 

“Damn it, Marathel, let me do that for you!” He found a large towel.  Going back to the fresher door, he turned his head away and closed his eyes.  “I’m going to open the door now.  My eyes are averted.”  Before Marathel could protest, he opened the fresher door and stepped backwards into the doorway, holding out the towel behind him.  “Here; wrap yourself in this.”  He felt the towel being snatched from his hand.  “Let me know when I can turn around.” 

Marathel wrapped the towel around her, covering as much as she could.  Leaning into the far corner, she quietly said, “Okay.” 

Din turned around, his eyes seeking out Marathel.  Her back was to him as she faced the corner of the fresher, the towel only covering her from mid-thigh to mid back, unable to wrap around her fully, and she had pulled her hair over her shoulder to cover her front.  I should have brought her blanket, thought Din; he had again forgotten that she was a little more full-figured, and needed more coverage than a standard cheap towel would provide, because all he could ever see was that her form was perfect. 

There were drips of blood running down her inner calves. Din looked over to the drain, seeing a small puddle of blood along with the remains of a large viscous clot, as well as bloody prints of both her hands and bare feet on the floor.  Din removed his gloves and rolled up his sleeves.  He grabbed the washcloth and went to the basin to soak it, seeing the bloody dilator in the basin.  He looked over at Marathel just as she looked over her shoulder, and she flushed pink again, turning her face back to the corner.  Din’s eyes went down her back, still covered with welts, and he watched another drop of blood roll down her leg, dismayed at how much she still had to suffer just to heal.   “Will you at least let me take you to a medical facility?” 

“How would you explain my injuries?” 

Din soaked the washcloth and knelt by the large clot, doing his best to not look at it too much as he scooped it into the other small cloth.  “The same story as before … you’re a runaway sex slave.” 

“What if they don’t believe you?” 

“They don’t ask many questions on a bounty.” 

“Then why didn’t you take me there instead of Tatooine?” 

Din began mopping up the worst of the blood, deciding to tell the partial truth.  “I wasn’t too capable of logic at the time, my head being bashed in and all.” I was too afraid to put you in the hands of strangers. 

Marathel looked at him over her shoulder.  “What’s that?  On your wrist?” 

The yarn bracelet.  He’d forgotten. He carefully wrapped the stained towels together.  “Nothing.” 

Marathel frowned.  From what she could see, it was some sort of … adornment made from green, yellow, and brown yarn, the same colors she and Grogu had used to tie on the poosticks. “I don’t remember you having that before.” 

Din did not answer her; instead, he took the bloody cloths and disposed of them in the vac tube and came back to wash his hands, looking away from the dilator.  He opened the storage bin and pulled out a bottle.  “Here is shampoo if you’d like to use it.”  Marathel watched as Din stashed another, smaller bottle in his pocket, wondering what that could be that he needed to hide it; it wasn’t like she read the damn label, after all.  He turned a dial on the wall.  “Now you’ll have water.  The same switch will turn it on.  I’ll leave another towel outside the door.  Okay?” 

“Thank you.  I’ll be quick; I don’t want to waste your water.” 

“Please, don’t … don’t worry about that.  Take all the time you need.  Or at least all the cold water you can stand.” 

“Thank you, Din.” 

Din gazed at her, still pressed into the corner, naked but for her long hair and a scanty towel.   

She is so soft, so beautiful.  So sad.   

So broken. 

“You’re welcome, Marathel.”  He grabbed his gloves, left the fresher, closing the door behind him.  She called me Din, he thought.  I’m Din again. 

Marathel remained crowded into the corner of the fresher for a while after Din left her alone, mind racing, bewildered again by the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter.  Ashamed as she was that he’d heard her before, that he’d listened to her as she … but he had come running to her when he thought that she was hurt, just as he’d come running when she called for him when Grogu had put her in a tree.  Just like how he’d taken her broken body away with him when he left Unmanarall.  And what had she done for him?  Fed him meals, baked him bread, given him some physical pleasure? 

Broken his heart? 

Tears threatened again, chipping away at her resolve, trying to make her forget why she was insisting on going back … and the reasons for doing so were growing less and less important. 

Marathel tried to turn off her addled brain as she went over to the fresher controls and turned on the water.  Stepping under the aerated spray, she expected cold water, but what she experienced instead was something even more frigid than her waterfall during the deepest part of cold season.  Chilled almost instantly to the bone, Marathel shrieked, “GAIAH!!!!” 

In the cockpit, Grogu had woken up, and was cuddled on Din’s lap when Marathel’s surprised scream reverberated through the ship.  Oh kriff, thought Din as he hurriedly turned down the reception volume on his helmet.  Then he chuckled and patted Grogu’s tummy, saying, “I think I forgot to tell Mama to let the water run for a minute before getting in.”  Grogu frowned up at him, folding his ears down.  “Yeah, she’s gonna throw a rock at my pudyn for sure.” 

Later, Marathel was clean and dressed again.  It took a while before she got warm, though, after nearly freezing herself in the fresher.  The water did eventually get mildly warm, but nowhere near enough to offset how cold the water was initially.  Osi’kovid, thought Marathel.  And after I helped him fix this flying metal box!  

Marathel dressed in her other set of blue clothes, the thick socks Cobb had given her, and then finally her blanket.  She figured out the drinking water dispenser and helped herself to Din’s tiny galley storage, finding the container of tea.  She made two cups of extra-hot tea, a cup of bone broth, and cut a loaf of Silnima’s sweet squash bread into thick slices.  Carrying one cup of tea and the cup of broth, she went up to the cockpit access.  “Din?” 

She heard his feet drop heavily to the floor, and he was up and looking down at her in a flash. “Mesh’la?” 

Marathel pursed her lips at the endearment, and said, “Here is broth for Grogu, and tea for you.”  She placed the cups, each with a slice of sweet bread on top, at Din’s feet.   

Din quickly dropped to one knee and was just able to touch her fingers briefly as she let go of the cups.  “Thank you, Marathel.” 

“When Grogu is finished, would you please send him with the cups back to me?  I finished knitting something for him.” 

“Of course.” Marathel nodded, then disappeared from view.  Din stayed there, on one knee, long after she’d left, just listening to her moving around on his ship, humming the only song, digging through drawers in the galley, sipping her tea, vocalizing her Oldtalk to the melody of the only song now and again.  Grogu came and snagged his sweet bread and his bone broth and sat next to Din, enjoying his snack and listening to his Mama while Din thought about doing a U-turn, taking her to his covert and presenting her to the Armorer as his choice for riddurr. 

But then, Din sighed and reconsidered. Kidnapping a bride was Paz’s style, not his.  And being an Apostate meant a riddurrok was out of the question until he could redeem himself.  So, he sat down next to his boy and drank his tea and ate the bread, lifting his helmet only enough to do so.   

Below, Marathel had settled herself on Din’s bedroll and was using the black insulation foam as a base to felt the wool roving Cobb had bought for her.  Lacking a felting tool, she’d dug through all the drawers she had been able to open and found three pointy things that she tied together to make an ersatz stabber, as she called it.  She drafted the wool into little bits of fluff, which she spread in layers on the foam, using the three-pronged improvised tool to stab it into the foam over and over and over.  This part was very therapeutic, Marathel found.  As the wool felted together, she added more wool, flipping the piece over, stabbing it again and again to make a cloth, intending to give the finished cloths to the Bounty Hunter to polish his armor.   

Din had come down from the cockpit with Grogu; they’d found a few empty cups and a couple of bowls floating around the cockpit.  Din had expected to see Marathel leaning against the main corridor wall, sitting on the foam square, knitting.  Surprised to not see her immediately, he looked around before he noticed her sitting in his quarters. He tilted his helmet as he watched her repeatedly stab bits of wool — with great gusto — into the black foam.  Her vehemence in her task frightened him a little, as she stabbed, stabbed, stabbed whatever it was she had in her hand.  “What are you doing?” 

“I’m felting wool into cloth.” Stab, stab, stab. 

“Why?” 

“For you, to polish your armor.”  Stab, stab, stab. 

“I can buy that sort of thing.” 

“I’m sure you can. But I want to make these for you.”  Her tone told him she would brook no quarter. Stab, stab, stab.  Her eyes flicked up to his helmet.  Stab, stab, stab.   

Din wasn’t about to argue the point with her, not with that stabby tool thing she was wielding.  He did like seeing her in his bed, though.  “Do you have enough light in there?” 

She looked up at the overhead lights.  “It’s good enough for what I’m doing.  The floor is too uncomfortable for me right now,” said Marathel, her cheeks turning pink again.  She looked past Din’s legs and smiled.  “Just who I wanted to see.  Come here, my love.”  Grogu toddled in and hugged Marathel’s legs.  She picked up a folded knitted item and unfurled it, holding it up to his little body.  “Hmmm.  It might be a little big for him.  But he’ll grow into it.”  Marathel frowned and looked back up at Din.  “Will he grow into it?” 

Din shrugged.  “Your guess is as good as mine. I only recently found out he’s over fifty years old.” 

“Fifty?  Why, that would make him older than me, even!” 

“I understand that his people are slow-growing folks that live for a very long time.” 

“But that means …” Marathel’s face fell, and she caressed Grogu’s face. “He will be without you for much of his life.” 

Din crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, looking down to the floor.  “I suppose so.”  It had occurred to him as well.  He tried not to think about it much. 

“How old are you?” 

Din raised his eyes back to Marathel’s lovely face. “Well, going back and forth in hyperspace kind of muddies time, as opposed to staying on one planet.  But I’m somewhere around forty-two Basic years old.” 

“That makes me older than you,” said Marathel quietly.  “I am glad to know that you are not so much younger than me.” 

Din shrugged.  “Not by much, no.” And I am glad to know that you aren’t half my age … that would have skeeved me out.  I’m middle-aged.  I don’t need to be with someone so young as that … not like the place you came from. 

“Well, enough of that kind of talk.   Let’s see how this fits you, my little Godynferth!” Marathel fed Grogu’s arms into the sleeves of the little jacket, and she tied the attached belt around his waist.  “It’s a tiny bit long, but it looks good to me.  Show your father, little one.” 

With a pleased coo, Grogu turned to Din, holding out his little arms.  Din squatted down to Grogu’s level.  “Well, now, kid, I think you look like a proper Jedi.  I like it, Marathel, thank you.  He’s never complained about being cold, but a child should have cold weather gear.” 

“What do you do for cold weather gear?” 

“You’re looking at it.” 

Marathel frowned.  “Do you not get cold?” 

“I get cold.” 

This troubled Marathel. The thought I would knit you sweaters and cowls, weave you capes and blankets, anything I could make to keep you warm went unbidden through her head. 

Din cleared his throat, and stood, taking a step back from the doorway.  “I thought I should use the sonic myself.  Would you mind …?” 

Marathel blinked.  “Oh! Of course.  Just knock when I can come out.” She looked around her, realizing that Grogu had wandered off.  She called out, “Come here, Grogu, let me take that jacket off you … then you get to stay in here with Mama.” She had not directly called herself that before.  Not out loud. Oh, she thought to herself.  I never knew how much joy my heart could hold, just saying Mama, referring to myself. Did Din feel the same way, when Grogu became his son in his heart? 

And oh, when Din caught her eye after she had put the question to her mind, and Din knew as sure as anything that Marathel had just realized who she was. 

Grogu’s Mama. 

You’re Grogu’s Mama, Marathel.  And you’re going to leave him, because you’re holding on to some insane guilt over things that were done to you and not by you. I can think of no other reason you would willingly return there. Yet, I can’t not take you back; I must obey you because … you are my Dahl-mate? That is equally insane, my ma’mwsh ha’laa, so insane we should go somewhere uncharted and be crazy together.  

Din stepped back into his quarters and stood, looking down at Marathel.  She looked back at him, puzzled, asking, “What is it?” 

“We need to talk to each other,” said Din. 

“We have talked.” 

“No, we haven’t.” Din sat down at the other end of the bedroll, but still too close in the tiny room, where they’d already experienced so much intimacy when she was injured, unconscious, and naked, and he was gloveless, helmet-less, and out if his mind with concussion.   “You’ve talked.  You’ve talked at me.  You’ve told me the nightmare of your life, the humiliation and degradation you’ve suffered.   But then you tell me that I must return you to the source of your suffering, and that’s all there is to it.”  Din sighed, unsure where to start.  “May I hold your hand?” 

Marathel looked down at Din’s hand, covered by his glove.  She couldn’t think of a good reason not to hold his hand.  It was a reasonable request, and he was a man; therefore, she must obey him. But his hand was encased by fabric and leather.  Along with his forearm weapons, there was not a strip of bare skin exposed.  She supposed that he could make the argument that her hand was encased in metal springs, and therefore, just as non-tactile as his own hand.    

But what difference did the glove make, really?  His hand was still within — a strong and gentle hand, powerful, but still capable of tender touch, loving hands that held Grogu as well as fondled her. 

His hands, the gloves.   

Marathel raised her eyes to Din’s chest, protected by heavy armor.  She knew it was heavy; she’d felt the weight of it against her own body, and he carried both the armor and occasionally her.  But behind the armor was him, she knew there was flesh, flesh that was warm and yielding, carrying scars and marks and moles, flesh over muscle that had seen battles that ended in death and hands of others caressing him, pleasuring him, for he was a man and such pleasures were necessary; even her own hands had felt that flesh in an effort to please him as well as fill her own needs.  

His body, the armor. 

Raising her eyes even more, Marathel studied his helmet, planes and angles that disguised his face; and even though she knew he had brown hair and brown eyes and a mustache and facial hair, she longed to see those features, to solidify in her broken mind who he was, his eyes upon hers, to hopefully read in those brown eyes that he could see her, cracked, crumbled, chipped away to rubble, and so, so sad that she desperately needed a tender touch and the knowledge that even as unworthy as she was, that he trusted her enough, that he loved her enough, to supersede his words of love and trust with the sight of his own lips saying such things, and the touch of his lips on her, words, words meant nothing, she was too stupid to understand words, words almost always led to lies … 

“Marathel?”  Marathel blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts.  “I only asked you to hold my hand; it wasn’t some sort of trick question,” he implored. 

Marathel dropped her eyes and went back to felting the wool, stabbing the fleece into the foam over and over.  “What did you need to say?” 

“I want you to explain to Grogu why you’re doing this.” 

“Doing what?  Felting wool?” 

Din took a deep breath; he wanted to keep his temper.  “Why you’re insisting I take you back.”  Marathel stopped her stabbing motion.  “Because you haven’t explained it to me at all, and I want to hear you explain it to him, so maybe I can possibly understand.”   

Marathel set aside her project and primly folded her hands in her lap. “I’d be happy to speak to Grogu.  Shall I do it now?” 

Din was surprised, as he thought she would either belay an explanation or refuse to do it altogether.  He looked over his shoulder and saw Grogu, still in his little knitted robe, sitting in the doorway, eating a hunk of bread.  “Hey kid, Marathel would like to speak to you.” 

Grogu got up and toddled over to Marathel, holding out his bread crust to her.  Marathel smiled and took the proffered crust, bobbed her head, and murmured, “Thank you, my love,” and ate the bit of bread, while Din was both surprised and overwhelmed that Grogu shared food with her, as if sharing food was a commonplace thing for him, because it certainly wasn’t. “Come up here, little one,” she said, lifting him onto her legs so Grogu could sit on her.  “You may not know this, but your father is taking me back to the planet I came from.  Remember?  You met me there, in my little hut, where we played poosticks, and picked flowers, and you and Patu went fishing?” 

Grogu made an affirmative coo, and Marathel continued.  “Well, we’re going back there, but what will happen is that I will stay there, and you and Patu will go on flying on your adventure, and I will not be with you.” 

Grogu frowned, his ears drooping. 

“Remember, when I said goodbye to you before?  I thought you would be leaving me behind then.  But I was so badly hurt, and your father did not want to leave me behind like that.  I didn’t know your father took me away with you.  And I am sorry that you had to see me so hurt, and that you had to help me breathe when I was so sick.  I know you also helped my hands, and I thank you so much for that. You gave me back my hands, you clever boy! 

“Unfortunately, I am still sick.  I am very, very sick.  But I’m not sick in my lungs, or in my hands.  I’m sick here …” — Marathel indicated her head — “… and here …” — Marathel put her hand over her heart.  “The sickness, the pain I have there is not an illness that can be healed by the tiny hands of a little green boy with large ears.  It’s a sickness that I can’t ever recover from.  It’s a hurt that can’t be fixed.  And when there’s something that can’t be fixed, well, then, it must be left behind.  

“I’m sure you’ve seen Patu leave things that can’t be fixed.  Parts of this ship, a blaster, something.  But this time, it’s me that must be left behind.”  Grogu’s face fell, and he looked down to his little feet until Marathel put her finger under his chin and lifted his face up again. “Grogu, you need to know that I’m okay with that.  That is what I want.  I want to be left behind, so my sickness won’t affect you or your Patu.   

“I know this is hard to understand.  I know I can’t properly explain why this is so necessary to me.  But I need you to remember that this was my decision.  And if for no other reason than that, I need for that decision to be honored by you, honored by your Patu.  I’ve had so little honor given to me, Grogu, and whether my decision is good, or bad, or indifferent, it was my decision to make.  

“But I don’t want you to worry about me.  I will be all right when you and Patu leave.  I will be sad, of course.  I will be very sad.  And you will be sad, too, I know.  You may be very sad.  And it’s okay for you to be sad.  But you have much to do.  You must grow up, and live a wonderful life, and have many exciting adventures with your father.  And I want you to enjoy the amazing life you’re going to have, flying here and there, meeting all kinds of people … probably making things blow up …” Marathel laughed.  “Wherever you are, I will be thinking of you.  When you look up at the night sky, and you see all those stars, and planets, that will be me keeping an eye on you!  I’ve been so proud to be your Mama!  And perhaps, someday, you may have a new Mama to go along with your Patu, or … even maybe another Patu, who knows?”  Marathel looked up at Din, thinking of Cobb.  She knew.  She just did.  “Someone will make your father so happy, and that’s what we all want, is for Patu and Grogu to be happy.  Happy, and safe. 

“And … I will be happy too, to know that you are happy, and safe.  No matter how sick I am, no matter how much I hurt in my heart and in my mind, I will always be happy that I met you and your father.  I will always be happy to think of the three of us having fun in that little hut, having little, tiny adventures amongst ourselves.  Even if you believe you had far too many baths. 

“I will miss you so much.  You will be in my heart forever.  Rwy’n di’rugar, my love,” said Marathel, her voice crackling, and she picked up Grogu and hugged him tightly, kissing his little face. 

Drawing back, Marathel smiled at Grogu with tears in her eyes.  “I think that went well, don’t you?  Yes, I think that went well.  I hope you understand a little better why this is happening, love, yes?  Yes.” 

Grogu patted her cheek, cooing sadly.  Then he pointed back at Din.  Marathel gazed into his dark visor and sighed.  “Yes, I will miss Patu as well. He has been a good friend to me.  My first friend, actually.  Your father will also be in my heart forever. I know he’s having a very hard time leaving me behind.    Someday, he may understand why he must leave me behind, but even if he doesn’t, I hope he knows that I will never regret a single moment I spent with him.  Even when I threw eggs at him.  Or called him names.” 

“What about not telling me about the depth of the mud I had to slog through?” asked Din. 

“Oh, that … I wanted to get back at you for laughing at me.” 

Din chuckled briefly, and then reached over to gently ruffle Grogu’s hair, moving his hands closer to her. “Marathel, I don’t think you’re sick.  I don’t think you’re so damaged that you can’t be fixed, or that you can’t be helped.  Doctors and therapists are out there.  I can find you someone if you would just let me.” 

Marathel felt trapped by the armored man before her, and she wondered if that was his intention.  She returned her attention to Grogu.  “Grogu, do you understand what I am asking of you?  Will you please honor my decision?” 

“You can’t ask him that.  He’s just a child.” 

“Grogu is wiser than I will ever be.” 

“All the more reason to not take you back, Marathel! I can’t, in good conscience, leave a woman having a nervous breakdown alone in the wilderness!” 

“I’m not having a breakdown!” cried Marathel. 

“Then you should!” shouted Din. He dropped his head.  “I’m sorry, mesh’la, I’m sorry, ad’ika, I shouldn’t have yelled.  I am upset, because … because I don’t have much time left to convince you to not leave me.”  He reached for Grogu.  “Kid, would you please give Mama and me some privacy?  We need to … grown-up talk.” Grogu bleated and jumped off Marathel’s lap and toddled out of the tiny room, patting Din’s arm as he went, which both adults noticed with mild amusement, wondering just how much Grogu was able to understand the angst the grown-ups were creating for themselves. 

Din and Marathel looked at each other. He took a breath, then reached to shut the door. 

“Din …” 

He moved his hand along the wall, and turned off the lights, and then a third switch shut off even the tiny red and green panel lights, leaving the tiny room in full darkness. Marathel gasped, and Din said, “Mesh’la, I need you to trust me … I must do this this way.” Focusing on the low-light image in his visor, he moved closer to her, reaching for her hands in the darkness, and she pushed herself against the wall behind her. “Please, Marathel, I …” She kept pulling her hands loose, whimpering, fearful.  Din pulled off his gloves, and then, his helmet, saying, “Marathel.” 

Marathel fell still at the sound of his voice, unmodulated, and she forgot to breathe.  Din reached for her hand again, their fingertips touching before she drew her hand back. “Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa, I don’t know what to do about you.  I don’t understand why you won’t let me love you.  I don’t understand why you insist on destroying yourself.” He sighed.  “I don’t know how else to say that I don’t care who your biological parents are.  I don’t know how else to tell you that those reprehensible things done to you don’t make you a whore. Those things only matter to me because of the pain they cause you.”   

Din got up to his knees and moved even closer to Marathel, gently pushing down on her knees so that he could straddle her legs, resting part on his weight on her, pinning her in place again like he had against the kitchen wall of the palace, and he hated that he kept trapping her this way.  He lifted her hands to his face, saying, “I can’t show you my face.  This is the way.  This is the only … allowable way for me to be without my helmet around you.  And even then, this is still … difficult.  Attachments outside the covert, attachments of any kind are not discouraged, but … neither are they encouraged.” He still held her trembling hands.  “I’ve told you I love you, both in Basic and in my own language, remember?  I said to you, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, when we were together that night.  ‘I will know you forever,’ that’s what that really means, mesh’la, I will have you in my heart forever just as you will have Grogu in your heart forever.  Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta, cyar’e.  I love you, my heart, my beloved …” Din kissed her splinted fingers.  “And you said something back.  What did you say back to me?” 

“Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi,” said Marathel, her voice unsteady. 

“What does that mean?” 

“‘Love me, hold me, I am yours.’” 

“But it doesn’t really mean that, does it, mesh’la?  I can’t possibly believe that there’s a word for love in the Hold. Not with what they do there to women, to children.  I’m sure you say that at a very specific time; you have ceremonial words for every moment you women must endure, there’s a verse in that only song for every occasion, so when do you say that, Marathel, what does it really mean?” 

“It means … ‘I am yours to take and ruin.’” 

Din’s heart broke a little more.  “And when are you supposed to say that?” 

“When the girl presents herself to her Elder as a Whyn just before he takes her … fully.” 

“And you said this … to me?” 

Marathel sobbed and pulled her hands away.  “I had no other words to give you.  I knew you had said something very important to me, and I had to say something!” 

“But what do you feel, Marathel?” 

“I don’t know!” 

Din sat back on his heels, sighing, sure she was lying.  He rubbed his face with his hands.  “Back on Unmanarall, when you asked me to remove my helmet … if I had, would you have changed your mind about going to the Hold?” 

“No.” 

“If …” Din’s voice broke, and he had to clear his throat.  “If I revealed my face to you now, knowing that I love you, Marathel, my ma’mwsh ha’laa … would you stay with me?  Would it make a difference?” 

“… No.” 

At that moment, Din would rather have been sliced in two by the Darksaber.  Desperate now, he pleaded, “What if … then … not with me, then … Stay at the palace, on Nevarro, somewhere, anywhere, where I know I can reach you, see you, know you’re safe …” He found her face in the darkness and pressed his forehead to hers.  “Somewhere Grogu can see you, please, ner kar’ta, my heart, please, please, don’t make that boy lose his Mama!” 

“Din, please …” sobbed Marathel. 

“Stay, yes, or no?” 

“... No.” 

Din wanted to weep.  He reached behind him to find his gloves and his helmet.   Standing, he put his helmet back on, and opened the door to the tiny room, revealing Grogu on the other side, looking sadly back up at him.  “Gangway, Grogu,” he said, listlessly, and he climbed up the ladder into the cockpit, shutting the door behind him. 

Marathel sobbed into her hands, hating herself for what she was doing.  She felt Grogu’s tiny hand touch her knee.  “Oh, Grogu, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for hurting Patu like that.” She held Grogu as she shifted them both to a prone position on their sides, facing each other.  Marathel began stroking Grogu’s ear with her thumb. “Someday, he may forgive me, but if he never does, I will accept that.  I’d rather he hate me forever.”  

Grogu’s sad eyes bore into hers.  “Patu Mama,” he said sternly. 

“Patu … Mama?” asked Marathel, confused. 

Grogu put his hands together, wrapping his tiny fingers around each other.  “Patu … Mama.”  Marathel blinked tears from her eyes, then nodded. Repeating the hand motions, Grogu asked, “Mama … Patu?” 

Marathel’s eyes went wide, then shut tight for a few moments.  Opening her eyes, she whispered, “Yes, my little child.  Mama Patu.”  Marathel smiled through her tears.  “Mama loves Patu with all her heart.”   

She couldn’t speak after that for a few moments. Finally, she was able to say, “Grogu, my sweet, it’s because I love your father so that I must be left behind.  I’m damaged, and I’m no good.  He deserves someone so much better than me.   What I am, no matter where I go, will bring him only shame and misery.  I’m the wrong woman, and what I’ve done will be found out; I know now how people will talk behind my back.  I heard the whispering in the palace.  Patu is well-respected everywhere he goes, he must be.  I can’t be the reason he loses respect in his covert, his … well, wherever a Bounty Hunter may belong. And I don’t belong anywhere, anyplace that’s good. 

“People don’t understand a person like me, they will judge me for what I’ve done, what was done to me, who I am. And they will judge your father for caring about me. And I refuse to bring that judgement upon Patu.” 

Grogu grunted, shook his fists and said, “Patu Mama! Mama Patu!” 

“Oh, Grogu, if only it could be so, I wish it could.  But this is the way.” 

Grogu frowned and put his hand on Marathel’s chin, and she immediately felt a little sleepy.  “Grogu is putting me to sleep again, I think.  Did you want me to tell you a bedtime story, little one?”  Marathel yawned.  “I will tell you my version of how I met your father. 

“When I first saw him, the sunlight was reflecting off his armor almost straight into my eyes, and I thought he was one of the Mothers Who Went Before coming for me, coming to take me away and up into the night sky.  And then I thought, no, I don’t want to go! So, I had to throw a rock to chase Patu away.  

“I had wanted the Mothers Who Went Before to come take me away.  I wished for it, prayed to Frith for it.  But when I thought they had appeared, I begged to stay!  And when I realized it was a person, a man I had never seen before, I was afraid, but somehow, I knew that he would not hurt me, that I was safe with him. I knew a stranger to me would be the first man to treat me well.” Marathel smiled at Grogu, stroking his cheek with her thumb.  “And Patu brought me you.  How could I not love him?”  She felt sad yet happy that she revealed the truth to Grogu.  But as she fell asleep — and whether it was Grogu putting her to sleep or the emotional exhaustion hitting her was immaterial — Marathel mumbled, “But there’s no point.” 

Grogu got up from where he lay next to Marathel.  He gently pressed his forehead to hers, like Patu would do.  Just like Patu would do to him.  Then Grogu sighed, and toddled out to the corridor, where he sat down with a tiny grunt, looking back and forth from the open quarters to the closed cockpit door. 

Grogu was frustrated.  Grogu had a hard time understanding why Patu and Mama could not just love Mama and Patu!  Grogu wished Patu would kiss Mama again.  Grogu had seen other people kiss before.  Grogu knew kissing made other people happy.  Grogu had been happy when Patu had been happy with Ohmeh. Grogu had been sad that Patu did not kiss Ohmeh.  Grogu was happy Patu kissed Mama. Grogu changed Mahr to Mama because Patu kissed Mama. Grogu was happy Patu became happy again.   

Grogu was sad that Mama was sad.  Grogu could see that Mama was hurt in a lot of places.  Grogu wondered why someone hurt Mama.  Grogu was mad that someone hurt Mama. Grogu wanted to help Mama.  Grogu had helped Patu and friends of Patu.   

Grogu did not understand why Mama did not want help from Grogu. Grogu did not understand why Mama was so dark inside head of Mama.  Grogu was sad Mama was so dark inside head of Mama.  

Grogu could not fix Mama. 

Grogu could not fix inside head of Mama. 

Grogu was sad. 

Grogu looked down at the floor and sighed.  He thought for a while, and while he sat and thought, he began picking up his favorite colors of the glitter on the floor — gold, silver, and green — and made them float and swirl before his eyes.  After a while, Grogu put the glitter down, and he called out to the Force, looking for friends that might make Mama less sad.  And if Mama was less sad, then maybe Patu would be less sad, too. 

It was a few hours later that Marathel heard Din calling her.  Climbing up out of her troubled sleep, she said, “Mmmmm … what?” 

“Marathel?  Wake up.” 

Not wanting another round of Din’s pressure, Marathel muttered, “Why?” 

“You need to see this.” Marathel frowned at Din but let him help her up.  She followed him stiffly up the ladder to the cockpit, where he beckoned her to stand at the console, where Grogu was sitting, looking up and out of the view screen.  Din pointed above his head.  “Look.” 

Marathel stood where Din indicated, and looked up to see not just one Purrgil, but many.  She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. 

“I don’t know how many there are,” said Din.  “I got up to twelve, and more kept coming.  I can’t see them all to count them.  They are all around the Crest.”  A single Purrgil, much smaller than the one Marathel had seen while on the transport, moved closer, almost as if she was trying to peer into the cockpit.  “A few have done that, too.  I’ve never heard of a Purrgil doing that before.” The Purrgil bellowed, the vibration rumbling the floor of the cockpit, and they could see the closest of the Purrgils nodding their heads.  Din turned to look at Marathel’s enraptured face.  “It looks like they were waiting for you,” he whispered, carefully reaching for her hand.   

Marathel jumped, looked down at her hand, her pinky finger wrapped with his.  She quickly shifted her eyes back up on the Purrgils above her … but she reached with her other fingers to capture the rest of his hand. Din lifted his other hand to Grogu’s back, and they stood that way for a long time.  Eventually, Din wrapped his arm around Grogu, lifting the child up against him. Din stepped back and took a seat on his captain’s chair, still holding Marathel’s hand as she dropped her eyes from the Purrgils and turned to look at him.  He gently tugged on her hand, and she allowed him to seat her on his lap. Din reached to recline the seat back, but it fell too quickly and Marathel nearly somersaulted off the back of the chair, and she laughed while Din cursed his rotten luck. Of all times to be a klutz, he thought.  I couldn’t be suave if my life depended on it! 

“This is ridiculous,” said Marathel.  “I’m too heavy; I’ll squish you.” 

“No, you won’t.” Even if she cut off his circulation and his legs fell off, he wouldn’t care.  Din put his feet up on the console, her legs already entwined with his. 

“Then I’ll break your chair.” 

“Unlikely.”  Even if their combined weight broke this chair, he had two more in this very cockpit.  Chairs were replaceable.  Din guided Marathel to lay back against him and tucked her head under the edge of his helmet. 

“This many Purrgil could destroy your ship.” 

“Then I will die with my clan in my arms,” said Din. 

Marathel’s heart ached.   She tried to blink back her tears, but failed.  Then she realized she could feel his body under hers.  “Did you remove your armor?” 

“Yes.” 

Marathel couldn’t help but smirk.  “You felt safe enough to remove your armor around me?” 

“It was a calculated risk.” 

“And you assumed you could get me on your lap.” 

Din stroked her arm.  “And I love you best, Marathel, when you open your sweet mouth and say things like that.”  

He was right of course, for Marathel felt the same way about him.  She didn’t speak again, but remained there in his chair, on his lap, along with Grogu, watching the Purrgil fly all around them.  The Purrgil continued to accompany the small ship through hyperspace, watching over the clan of three. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

#the mandalorian angst #din djarin angst #mando angst #star wars fanfiction #starwarsficnetwork #pedro pascal fandom #pedrostories #pedro pascal stories #din x plus size fem oc #din x fem oc #din x afab oc

[misspearly1]

Ner Cyar'ika Baar'ur

Secret Santa Event by @pedrostories

My giftee: @taro-666

Pairing: Din D'jarin x F!Medic!Reader (use of Y/N).

Summary: Working for the Mandalorian as his personal medic, it has become apart of the daily routine to battle against people who threaten his safety, or yours. You're apart of the chaos that comes with the bounty hunting life, but how does one particular quarry change everything between you and Din D'jarin?

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Fic is set in season one, between episode one to three. Slight changes in the storyline from the TV show. Cursing. Use of Mando'a (with translations). Friends to Lovers. Mutual Pining. Violence and Injury. Angst with a happy ending. Smut. Mentions of wet dreams. Unprotected PIV. Praise kink. Fluff.

AN: Taro! Omg, I've been so excited to share this story with you and to finally come off anon. Hey friend! 👋 I hope you enjoy the read, my love ❤️.

@supernaturalgirl20 Thank you so much for the beta, beautiful! You're a star 🥰.

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic; you’ve been through a lot and have seen nearly twice as much. Having said that, it’s almost as if you’ve grown used to the mayhem that comes with treating the sick and the wounded because of your line of work.

For instance, it doesn’t surprise you anymore when your boss requires your medical assistance considering he is actually in need of your assistance quite often, and it’s the very reason he hired you in the first place. 

The Mandalorian is your boss, or Mando as he is known to some, and his involvement in the bounty hunting business was never in your interest at first - your a healer, not a fighter - but where there is a fight, there is almost always a need for someone to be patched up afterwards. 

There’s never a dull moment working with the Mandalorian, his daily life is mayhem, more so in the last several weeks since his workload has been busier than usual and seeing that you’ve already adapted to the chaos around treating the sick and wounded, especially on war-torn planets, you quickly adopted his chaotic lifestyle as well.

There wasn’t much difference truthfully, only that you were treating one patient instead of several a day, and rather than coming to you for medical treatment, Mando offered you to move into his ship as an alternative. You didn’t oppose the idea and accepted his offer, not only because the pay is better, but the company is welcome too.

As well as this, you didn’t mind moving into Mando’s ship because he used to visit you regularly for medical attention back on Nevarro. That's where The Bounty Hunter’s Guild is situated, it’s their home base, and although you only stayed in the city for seven months, you didn’t particularly enjoy your time on the volcanic planet. It’s a world of black sand, rocky terrain, and rivers flowing with lava instead of water.  

While it was beautiful to gaze upon at night, it was also deadly as the Reptavion's used the darkness to their advantage, hunting anything it could carry before taking flight. Nevarro provided work opportunities and credits, but it wasn’t a place to call home.

However, the volcanic planet is where you met Mando for the very first time. During the months you were staying in the city, you were working in a small medical clinic, and there were plenty more suitable facilities for the man to visit, but he chose your place of work instead.

At first, you assumed it was for discretion as the clinic's unspoken rule was ‘ask no question, hear no lies’, but sometimes he would come to see you with minor injuries that could be treated by his own hands, thus leading you to believe that he was interested in more than just your help. Besides, you enjoyed the man's company when he would come to visit you. He wasn’t much of a talker back then, but as time passed, he gradually opened up.

Moving into the man's ship brought you closer to each other. You became his partner more than his employee, and you love your job because it simply doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like you're working with a trusted friend, sharing the riches and helping each other out.

Whether or not he was actually in need of your service back on Nevarro doesn’t matter. What matters is that he saw an opportunity with your skills and presented a deal to make your working life better - which it has.

Ever since you moved in with him, your life has become better in so many ways; you now have a place to call home, and you have a friend you can rely on without the niggling doubt of betrayal in the back of your mind. 

Since you were always on the move before, you adopted a cautious nature with everyone regarding every little detail in your life. You never did fully trust people, but you do with Mando. Things are different with him, and one of the many reasons why it's different with him is because you know the man underneath the beskar. 

Many people have heard of Mando. They’ve heard the stories about his reputation in the Bounty Hunters Guild, about how he is the best in the parsec, but his past and identity remain a mystery. Even to you, to some extent, but you’ve heard the stories too, heard ‘warrior’ in the whispers and it’s true. He is a fine warrior, one that fights with grace and loyalty to the cause. His cause; his culture and his religion - the way of Mandalore. 

While many call him Mando, or the Mandalorian in the Guild, you know him as Din D’jarin. You have not yet had the pleasure to see his identity, but hopefully one day you will have that pleasure and the honour. These are just some of the many reasons why you love your job, but to put it simply; it’s because of Din. 

Since there aren’t a lot of things that surprise you anymore in your line of work and partnership with the man, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing that surprises you. Take these last few days for example, it started off with the same regular chaos, but eventually became something you’re not familiar with. 

The loading bay of the Razor Crest is almost packed full of quarries, frozen solid in the carbonite blocks with one more space remaining for the Mythrol. You helped Din as far as your abilities could, and since the tracking fob for the Mythrol led him to a public house on the icy planet, Pagadon, you stayed back on the ship and waited for his return. 

And of course, it came as no shock when Din returned with the Mythrol, thankfully without any injuries, but the blue-skinned man tried to pull a fast one. However, it wasn’t fast enough as the Mandalorian was two steps ahead of the trickery. He always is.

Still, just like the normalities in the bounty hunting life, you made your way back to Nevarro and met with Greef Karga in the cantina to offload the carbonite blocks, receive your payments and gather more tracking fobs leading to more quarries.

The surprise began when the words ‘off the books’ were uttered by Greef himself and from the moment Din took his next job, you had mixed feelings. There was no chain code on the quarry, all you had was their age. Then, Din wouldn’t allow you to accompany him when meeting the client and the very fact he was protective of you in that sense, made you worry about their business. 

In the Guild, it’s common knowledge that you don’t ask questions about the criminals you hunt. You just get the job done and let the proper authorities serve justice, but something was gnawing at your gut. As the day went on and the chaos continued, the doubts slowly began to fade as you settled back into normality. 

The tracking fob led you to a desert planet, Arvala-7, where you met with a kind man named Kuiil working on a moisture farm. It was especially fun watching Din trying to mount the Blurrg and learn to ride them, but you, too, had to learn in order to join his travels to the Nikto Hideout - where the quarry was. 

By the afternoon, you and Din had mastered the art of riding the creatures and you set off to capture the quarry. Just like any other day in the bounty hunting life, there was nothing surprising or out of the ordinary. You worked together like you always do and after leaving you at a safe distance away from the hideout, Din moved forward on his own. 

As battle ensued, you watched from afar and used comms to help the man out. He fought magnificently. More often than not, his skills leave you awestruck. Mesmerized. You prepared yourself and stocked up on the medical supplies before leaving the moisture farm earlier, but remained hopeful that there wasn’t a need for them. 

When the fight was over, the enemy threats were eliminated and Din was unharmed, you made your way to him and entered the hideout together to find the quarry, but when you first laid your eyes on the target, that unsettled feeling returned to your gut. It was an infant baby, a little green baby with big ears and the cutest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Although you remembered that you don’t ask questions in the Guild about the quarries, you couldn’t help wondering, and worrying, about what the client wants with the child. It couldn’t be anything good if Din didn’t want you present in the meeting with them on Nevarro.

You had many doubts and suspicions, so many that you couldn’t find a single rational explanation as to why a baby had a bounty on its head. Naturally, you asked Din all of the questions you had, but he didn’t have any answers.

Now, as you both make your way back to the Razor Crest with the baby through the mountainous canyons of Arvala-7, you still can’t shake off the nerves around this whole ordeal. Din is many things; a fine warrior in battle, a man of few words, emotionally shielded and well guarded, cold and merciless to those who threaten his safety, or yours, but careless? No, never.

The man isn’t careless. He cares greatly, and deeply, and he, too, knows that something is off about this job. You’ve known Din D’jarin for the last two years and you can sense when the man is nervous. He’s quiet, too quiet, and you don’t like when his mind is on overdrive because if he is worried about this job, then you should be fearful. 

“Alright. What is it?” You finally break the silence to ask, eager to make sense of his sudden edgy state of mind. Halting your walk and turning to face him, you perch both hands to your hips and tilt your head to the side in question, adding emphasis to your desire for answers. 

The baby situated in his floating pod remains close by, right between you and Din as a matter of fact, and he looks up at you both with curiosity. You fight the urge to look at him, to avoid his influence on you as a woman with maternal instincts. The little guy's presence has undoubtedly caused a heavy bout of uncertainty over your heads, a little rift between you and Mando. Not something of the bad kind, but something unfamiliar and foreign. He’s a child, just an innocent baby, so it’s a confusing and an extremely foreign feeling for you both to be transporting him like he’s just another quarry when he isn’t like any other quarry you’ve ever transported before. 

“Din, talk to me,” You shake your head now, frustration evident in your tone, “What is it? What’s got you nervous?” You ask again, although the answer is obvious. It’s because of the baby and all the questions he has for the client, but you want to hear him say it. 

To hear Din himself say that something isn’t right will validate your reasons to be worried, but you were met with silence yet again. The man wasn’t even paying attention to you, he was too focused on the little lizards scurrying across the sand. “Mando.” Stepping forward and calling him the name that everyone else uses, that usually gets his attention, you open your mouth to speak but the words didn’t even make it past your lips as he shoved you back. 

You fell down and watched as he turned swiftly, gun in hand at the ready to shoot, but a blade whacked it out of his grasp, a blade wielded by a Trandoshan. You and Din both lock onto the tracking fob on his hip, the flashing red dot and audible beep familiar, before he then shoves the floating pod away, keeping the baby out of harm's reach. There’s more than one tracking fob, therefore there’s more bounty hunters looking for the child. Bounty Hunters who are careless and don’t ask questions. 

Neither one of you can allow the baby to leave your sight or allow him to fall into the wrong hands, thus causing your legs to act before your mind can think. You quickly rise from the floor and move in to help Din wherever you can. He smites the Trandoshan and they tumble to the floor. Then, he takes the blade from him, before turning around to throw it toward you.

“Stay with the baby.” He orders firmly, and you listen to his instructions. Trusting his fighting skills better than your own, you take a few steps back and give him the space he needs to wield his weapons without hurting you. 

However, another Trandoshan jumps out of cover. “Behind you!” You yell, giving Din a heads up just in time to evade the direction of a blade coming down in his path. The fight continues, and you take a few more steps back to look up, checking the surroundings to ensure there aren’t any more hunters hiding in the shadows. But there was. “Another one, on your left.” You call out. Again just in time as another Trandoshan jumps down from a ledge. 

With one enemy on the floor, but recovering quickly, the odds weren’t in Din’s favour. It wasn’t a fair fight, even though you’re pretty sure he can handle himself, you worry for his safety nonetheless. And although you're not a fighter, you’ll be damned if you don’t try to help even out the odds against him. 

After checking that the baby was safe in his pod, you move toward the closest Trandoshan and raise your weapon. His back was turned, giving you the upper hand to land a blow without deadly consequence. Using the blunt side of the blade, you struck the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward just at the right time for Din to throw his arms out and punch him in the face, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the floor. 

Now that the odds were evened out, you watched Din’s movements with laser-like focus and only intervened when you saw the right moment. You were sure he could handle himself, and you were right, but the element of surprise was the only advantage the Trandoshans had over him in the beginning. He fought the remaining two easily, eventually leaving all three unconscious and regretful for ever trying to take on a skilled Mandalorian. 

He turns to you, nodding appreciatively. “Good moves there, mesh’la - thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” You shake your head, “You did all the heavy lifting. I was just lending a hand.” You mumble with a sheepish grin on your lips. 

“But I know how you don’t like to fight,” He argues gently with a slight chuckle in his modulated voice. “You fought with me. Accept my gratitude, sweet girl.” 

“Ok, ok - you’re welcome, Din.” Your smile deepens with flattery as he stands before you with what you can only describe as pride. It was the way he looked at you; his helmet slightly tilted to the side, displaying the reflection of your own face, and his hands resting on his hips with a puffed out chest. 

Since you can’t see the man's facial expression, all you’re left with his body language and tone of voice to understand how he feels. And right now, you not only feel a sense of pride from him, but a flicker of attraction too. It’s in the air. The chemistry, the spark, it’s surrounding you both, and it’s something you feel quite often, but never have the courage to act on. 

You’re almost certain that the friendship between you and Din means something more, or at least, it’s heading towards something more. But the intimate moments you share with each other, brief moments like this, make you wonder why he doesn’t make a move.

You don’t even have to see the man's face to know that he’s eyeing you up and down. Upon feeling him lean in, something you’ve felt him do many times before, you muster up the courage to lean in as well.

However, the confidence escapes him at the last second and he pulls back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We should leave now, mesh’la,” He says, breaking the silence and just like that, the moment is over. “ We need to get back on track and complete the job.”

What? You ask yourself as your mouth falls open and your eyes widen, exhibiting your shock and disbelief. After everything that has happened today, especially after a brawl against three Trandoshans, you're shocked that he is still going to hand the baby over to the client. Din picked up on your reaction instantly and straightened his back, as if preparing himself for a dispute. 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, your cheeks burning up again for an entirely different reason now. It wasn’t flattery, or attraction, it was anger. “Din, you can’t be serious. We can’t hand the baby over to the client. Especially now that we know other hunters are after him too-” You walk over to one of the Trandoshans laying on the ground and retrieve their tracking fob before presenting it to him, “-The client gave you the job, but handed out more fobs? It doesn't feel right and you know it.” 

“Cyar’ika, please don’t do this.” He sighs while running his gloved hand over the scruff of his neck, the pleadings in his voice for you to not argue about this falling on deaf ears. You are most certainly going to argue about this with him. You cross your arms and shake your head, like you had already settled the argument without even uttering another word. But, the dispute was nowhere near settled. “Need I remind you of the code in the Guild?” He asks with a bite to his tone of voice, “If you don’t like this job, I’ll finish this one on my own.” 

“On your own?” You laugh humourlessly while waving the tracking fob. “Good luck with that when the whole Guild could have these! What happens if you get hurt? What then?” Biting back with your own set of questions, you watch as the man huffs a short breath and turns away from you, evidently maddened with your bickering.  “Don’t turn away. Answer me -” You give him a second to answer, but grow impatient as you're met with a lengthy silence once again. “- What happens if you get hurt, Mando? You can’t do this alone.” 

Din turns to you now and stands close, his voice raised to a level that hurts. “I was doing just fine on my own two years ago, Y/N.” Turning away again, as if he couldn’t stand another second looking at you or spend any more time arguing, it didn’t matter anyways as you had ultimately lost the dispute. You give him another second, another chance to make things right and take back what he said, but he doesn’t turn around or mutter a single word. 

“Okay then,” You mumble, lowering your head, “Am I just the medic? Is that all I am to you?” You ask, and still, the man doesn’t turn to face you or answer your question. The silence spoke for him and that was all you needed to know before turning around to walk away. You gave him plenty of chances to fix his mistake, but only until your back was turned did he try. 

“Cyar'ika.” He calls out for you, finally coming to his senses, but it wasn’t quick enough as you didn’t respond to him. You made your way towards the baby and the sound of your muffled cries made his head hang low with shame. No matter how quiet you tried to be, your cries were audible to his ears, enhanced by the mechanics in his helmet. 

Although you were quite visibly sad, he watched you put on a fake smile and talk to the baby like nothing was wrong. The warmness of your soul shone through the misery, causing the little guy to beam and babble baby nonsense. It was a sight so beautiful to witness, so beautiful that it was distracting. 

Din can’t allow himself to get too wrapped up in the emotions that the child brings. It’s conflicting, confusing and…  foreign. He’s never felt this way before. Never felt this way before with any woman around a child, but it’s different with you and it clouds his mind, throws him off balance and disrupts his focus so much that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s most important right now. Like the danger lingering in the immediate surroundings. 

“Y/N!” The man calls to you again, his voice was laden with urgency. “Behind you! Y/N - behind you.” Sprinting toward your position while swinging the strap of his amban rifle around his chest, Din takes aim at another Trandoshan and fires, obliterating the reptilian humanoid to a thousand dust particles. 

You fall down, your knees hitting the sandy terrain below as your pained cries penetrate the sound of his beating heart deafening his ears. You took a hit from the Trandoshan, his blade had cut through your clothes and marked your skin before he was blasted into organic matter. 

“Mesh’la.” He choked. Rushing over and kneeling on the ground behind you, he reaches out to hold your arms. The injury you sustained was across your back, diagonally, at least three inches long and almost half an inch deep. A clean cut, but angry red and weeping with blood. “Easy now, sweet girl. You’re bleeding, just take it easy.” He reassures you with a slight tremble in his tone, his worry for your well-being perceivable. 

“The disinfectant,” You hissed in reply whilst shaking your head, “Get the disinfectant. It’s in my satchel, Mando.” Gently removing your satchel over your shoulder, he places the bag onto the floor and opens it up to search through your medical supplies. Supplies that are normally used for him. There’s irony in the fact you became a medic to treat others, not yourself, and the man despises that his involvement in the bounty hunting business has caused you harm. 

And although he is helping to the best of his knowledge, you’re directing him on what to do. “Open the cap and pour a generous amount over the wound.” You explain, then grab his hand on your hip to hold onto for comfort. He begins to ask if you’re sure, but couldn’t even finish his sentence as your sobbing plea cut him off. “Yes-yes! Just get it over with. Please, Din.” 

Listening to your instructions, he held his breath and prepared himself as he began dousing your back with disinfectant. You bawled with agony, your back arching away from him naturally with the instinct to stop the pain, but to his regret, he pulled you towards him and continued to pour. He clenches his jaw as you cry, his fingers almost turning blue from the force of your grip on his hand. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, to which you don’t accept and stutter in reply. “This isn’t y-your fault.” 

Releasing your hand to place his thumb and forefinger on your chin, he tilts your head to look at him before leaning in. “I’m sorry, Y/N - for this, for yelling at you, for saying that I was doing just fine two years ago and… and you’re not just a medic.”  He rests his helmet against your head and whispers, though his voice breaks with remorse. “You’re so much more than that, mesh’la. You mean so much to me.” 

“Din, I-” You open your mouth to object, but he cuts you off by holding his thumb over your lips while shushing you. “Don’t speak and conserve your energy, we’ll talk about it later. Just let me take care of you first.” He says. 

“No, Din…” You sigh, eyes blinking slowly while slurring your words. “I was going… going to say that I… I can’t keep my eyes… I don't feel good…”  Your body becomes limp as you fall into his arms. Your vision darkens quickly, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the baby's eyes looking at you as he peaks over the pod.

The next time you awoke, it was a brief moment of consciousness. The familiar sound of Din’s amban rifle could be heard as he fired off multiple rounds and your eyes glimmered open to see his legs, the bandolier of cartridges wrapped around his calf. You saw his gloved hand reaching for ammunition to load into his weapon and worried as to why he needed them. 

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” he says upon noticing you were awake and were fighting to keep your eyes open. “We’re safe here. Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.” 

Eyes closing once again, you couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard you tried to, and his voice soon faded as you slipped into a deep slumber. The silence took over and, oddly, it felt comforting. Although it only felt like minutes had passed, you knew it must have been longer as your surroundings were different. 

There was no longer a warm breeze, but the cold presence of steel pressing into your side, and beneath you, it felt spongy and soft, thus indicating you were laying on a bed. The unmistakable sound of Kuiil’s voice could be heard in the distance as he makes the baby laugh and you open your eyes to confirm your assumptions on your whereabouts, but are met with locks of brown hair instead. 

It’s Din. He’s the cold presence of steel pressing into your side as he sat on the edge of the bed and it’s his hair that you were currently staring at with wide eyes. His back was turned, but you could still see the back of his head and instantly shut your eyes, fearing that if you spent one more second looking, you wouldn’t be able to turn away. 

“Mando,” You whisper immediately, panicking, then feel him moving around. “Mando, why don’t you have your helmet on? Stars! I could have seen your face.”

You begin to shift your position to turn away from him, but are reminded of the wound on your back. The pain struck you suddenly and harshly, causing Din’s hands to dart out to cover your eyes just in time as you opened them with instinct. He was gentle but quick. “It’s ok, mesh’la. You can’t see, it’s ok.” He reassures you through the strained whimpers slipping past your lips. 

“Where is your helmet?” You ask, getting your teeth. You close your eyes again once the surge of pain passes over and the soothing properties of bacta gel takes over. You can feel the substance on your back, feel the stuff working to heal your injury. “My eyes are closed now. It’s safe but… Shit, Din. I saw your hair.” You say apologetically. 

“It’s fine, sweet girl.” He chuckles softly, the sound making your mouth fall open with shock as you retort. “It’s not funny. I’m not allowed to see you - or your hair! What… W-what happens now?” You ask, to which he laughs again and startles you unintentionally when reaching out to cup your cheek. You weren’t expecting to feel his gloved fingers on your skin, but you quickly leaned into his touch as his gesture brought consolation. 

“Look at me,” He requests, “It's safe to look, I promise.” 

Rolling your eyes behind closed lids, you make a surprised sound when he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Again, you weren’t expecting the comforting gesture, but deeply appreciated it. And whether or not it was the bacta gel or Din easing the discomfort in your back, you chose to believe it was the latter.

A short moment passes before you finally open your eyes and find relief in the T shape of his helmet. Although you would love nothing more than to see his identity, the face of his helmet is what you know, it’s home. Your face softens as you relax into the palm of his hand, but the importance and worry around your question still lingers, thus causing you to ask again. “What happens now? I thought I wasn’t allowed to see you without the helmet, doesn’t that also mean I can’t see your hair?” 

“You didn’t see my face, nor did you remove my helmet, mesh’la,” He shakes his head, his voice soft like honey, “It’s okay and besides-” He turns his head, displaying the brown locks of his hair at the base of his neck, “-You can see my hair with the helmet on.” 

“Oh,” You whisper with intrigue, “Surprised I didn’t notice sooner, but your hair is…” Lifting your hand with a desire to touch his hair, you back out at the last second and retract your arm, but Din felt your movements and quickly assured. “Go ahead. I trust you.” 

You reach out again and caress the base of his neck, your fingertips massaging his scalp which draws out the heaviest sounding exhale you’ve ever heard from him; a sigh of relief, filled with endearment and relaxation. It was a gratifying feeling, seeing and hearing the man lean into your touch without fear of betrayal in this moment of vulnerability. Din is vulnerable at this moment, his guard is down and just the mere thought of removing his helmet sickens you. It never crosses your mind. 

“Your hair is beautiful, Din.” You murmur sweetly, a smile on your lips displaying your satisfaction and joy from something so simple. The action of touching his hair which you’d love to do again, to feel him melt in your arms like soft putty and feel a sense of home from your touch, like you feel a sense of home when looking into the T-shape of his visor. 

You gently squeeze the base of his neck, a way of reassuring him, before pulling your hand back, however, it was apparent that he wanted more as he sharply held your wrist and directed your hand back to his hair. “Please?” He asks in a whispered breath, hopeful and optimistic, desperate. “Keep playing with my hair, ner cyar’ika.” 

You laugh, a mixture of surprise and confusion obvious in your tone. The difference in his pet name for you was confusing, and his request for you to continue playing with his hair was surprising. Though, you granted his request gladly and began playing with his hair. “What does cyar’ika mean anyway?” You ask, tilting your head with interest while wondering what faces he was making under the helmet from your massaging movements. “Is there a difference when you say ner cyar’ika?”

“Yes.” He groans in reply, the sound drawing out another laugh from your lips as your smile deepens. You open your mouth to ask another question, until he turns his head to face you and leans across your body. The pause in his manoeuvre speaks of hesitancy, unsure on whether or not you were comfortable with what was about to do. 

The question you had vanishes from your mind as you nod to the man, nodding with confirmation for him to lay down and rest his head in your arms. The bed in which you lay on didn’t feel small until Mando lay on it with you. Not that you minded anyway, but it really detailed the size and stature of the man, especially the broad expanse of his chest and back. 

He raised both hands to his helmet, and before he could even ask, you closed your eyes with baited breath as he removed it to optimize the comfiest position. The position he chose however, was burying his face between your neck and shoulder. You didn't release the breath you were holding, it was snatched from your lungs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought this day would come, but doubt is what kept it at the back of your mind. You never entertained the idea of laying in bed with Mando too much as it felt like a pipe dream to have the man in your arms like this, and now that you do, it feels better than you ever could have imagined.

The pain in your back is practically non-existent now, almost as if you never even sustained an injury, and that’s because of his presence, his proximity and his comfort. It wasn’t a struggle to keep your eyes closed as you basked in the sensation of him carefully laying his weight over you like this.

Something else you’ve also thought about in the past, but tried not to think about too much, is Din laying over you for an entirely different reason. And perhaps it’s because of the level of intimacy in this position that brings those thoughts back to the surface, or maybe it was the electrifying feeling of his lips pressed against your skin. 

The man wasn’t exactly kissing you per se, but the bare contact of his lips placed against your neck like this felt like a kiss. Besides, the vest shirt that you wore left a lot of skin on your chest on display, thus providing Din, and yourself, to relish in skin-to-skin contact.

You could feel his beard, it was a light amount of hair, grazing against you with every little movement of his head. Soon, though, all of those little movements from Din became obvious that he was uncomfortable, as if he kept moving slightly to adjust his comfort.

“Want me to stop?” You ask, wondering if he has had enough of you playing with his hair, but to your delight, he shook his head as he inhaled deeply. He smiles against your skin, thus piquing your interest. “What? What is it?” You laugh bashfully. 

“You smell good, ner cyar’ika.” He replies, nestling his nose into your neck to inhale the natural scent of you. The smile on your face is yet to fade, his actions are what keeps your lips turned upwards, that was until you felt something wet dart onto your skin. It was brief, too brief, but you felt it nonetheless.

It was Din’s tongue, and your smile disappears as you bite your lip, leaving a hankering desire to feel it again. Your skin heats up beneath him as you entertain those thoughts about him lying over you like this for a different reason. You think about how you’ve yearned for his gloved fingers to touch other areas of your body, and as well as wondering about his identity, you’ve also wondered what he looks like nude. A mind is an imaginative place, and you’ve imagined him naked more than once. You sigh softly with the ache between your legs, wishing Din to be the one who eases it. 

“Mesh’la,” He mumbles, grabbing your attention, and when you hum in reply to him, he asks: “Is everything ok? Your heart is racing -” Your eyes spring open with worry, feeling like he could see your dirty thoughts, thus causing your heart to pound harder,  “- Hey, hey, relax. I can move, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks, blaming himself for your panic. Although he is to blame, it’s not for the reason he thinks. 

“No, it’s just…” You falter with finding the right words, but the patience to wait for him any longer escapes you. “It’s just that I felt your tongue on my neck and if… Stars, this is going to be embarrassing if I’m wrong… and if you did it purposely, then I want to feel it again, but…” You gulp, gathering your courage to admit your feelings, “...But if it was just a mistake, then I think that we should maybe stop what we’re doing because I’m attracted to you Din.” 

“You are?” He asks, to which you reply firmly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

“So…” He smiles, “You like this?” He asks before placing an open mouthed kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out onto your skin again, thus eliciting you to sigh breathily. “Y-yes. Yes, I like that.” Your eyes close naturally as he plants another kiss on your skin, still with a smile on his lips, as he begins to pant. “I’m attracted to you too. Have been for a long time, ner cyar’ika.” 

“Oh, Din.” You moan. With arousal and relief, his admission makes you moan, the sound acting as a catalyst as he moves down your body, his head disappearing under the covers eagerly to hear you moan again. “Are you able to lay on your back?” You hear him ask, though his voice was muffled, you heard him clearly and nod frantically with excitement.

Shifting your position to accommodate him, you couldn’t feel the pain in your back anymore and slipped your hands beneath the covers, your fingers finding his hair with ease. “It’s ok, I’m comfortable lying like this.” You say while focusing on his every move with anticipation. You could feel his breath fanning across your lower stomach, his fingers hooked inside the waistband of your pants as he leans in to place another kiss on your skin. 

You lift your hips up with a silent request, one that he understood without a need for words, and begins pulling your pants down, along with your underwear. He leans in and presses his lips to your inner thigh, nipping a path toward your sex. You unintentionally begin gripping his hair by the handfuls, evidently desperate to feel his tongue delve into your slick folds. The man doesn’t waste time and gives in to his own desperation. 

“Din!” You whine upon feeling the tip of his tongue meet your clit. He teases you at first, moving his tongue in a circular motion with a feather-light touch, the action making your hips lift off the bed to search for more. You feel him smiling against your inner thigh, clearly satisfied with your reactions, before he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and sucks gently.

You let go of his hair to hold the back of your palm over your mouth, quieting your mewls of pleasure to a respectable level. Considering all the noises Din himself is making was driving you feral, it was a struggle to try and keep quiet. He sounded hungry, like a man starved for a taste of your sweetness right from the source, as if he had dreamed of this moment and was making the most of it now that it’s a reality.

Your hands abandoned his hair to grip handfuls of the bed sheets instead, your back arching as you tilt your head to the side and bury your face into the pillow. Your orgasm crept up on you, started off with a happy cramp in your stomach but quickly became bliss as he eased a finger inside your entrance, soothing the ache in your velvety walls. Din grunted heavily, needily, as he drank your desire.

He continued to flick his tongue against your clit while angling his finger into a come hither motion, caressing that sweet spot deep inside. The stars behind your eyes and the goosebumps rippling across your body never felt so good before, especially from the simple act of receiving oral. It’s been a while, a long while, since you’ve last felt the pleasurable touch of your own hands, let alone a man's pair of hands.

You needed this, needed to release all your pent up sexual energy, though it only made you insatiable for more. “Din,” You call to him, calling on his help to your frustrations, “Din, I need you.” 

Suddenly, his hand emerges from the quilt, “Here,” he says, handing you a blindfold. “Put this on for me, sweet girl.” He asks, to which you oblige and pull the item over your eyes hastily. “Ready - now get up here, I need to feel you.” 

Moving up your body without having to tell him twice, he travels slowly and plants kisses on your skin along the way, his smile never fading as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. “Gar’re bid mesh’la… (you’re so beautiful).” He growls wantonly, “...Bid, bid mesh’la (so, so beautiful).”

“I’m not sure what that means,” You giggle, the smile on your lips as wide as ever, “But I like the way you say it.” You reach out carefully in search of his face, to which he helps by directing your hands, and once you feel him, you gasp. “Stars! You’re so beautiful,” you whisper in awe as you trace the outline of his facial features, “Your lips… your cheekbones… nose… jawline… everything about you is beautiful, Din.” 

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He breathes, eyes closing to relish in the soft touch of your palms cupping his cheeks. “I’ll teach you Mando’a and soon you will understand everything I say, but I said you were beautiful too. So beautiful.” He explains, causing your cheeks to burn once again with flattery as you pull him closer. His lips press against yours with a bruising kiss, and you couldn’t help but moan because of the raw passion and loving desire to finally feel what you’ve yearned for. 

Although there was a hint of desperation in his bid to remove your clothes, Din was gentle with his movements, gentle and respectful. You helped remove his clothes too, and with each inch of skin revealed, you marvelled at the bare touch of him pressing against you. You’ve seen areas of the man's skin before when taking care of his injuries, but never fully seen him naked. 

Using your sense of touch to see, you feel his body and drag your fingers along his chest, feeling the brute strength that he holds. The strength of a warrior. Between your legs, you feel his member pressing against your cunt and it was an impressive size. Aching to be buried in your warm. His breath bellowing across your face, hot and heavy, laden with the same sound of relief from earlier when you played with his hair as you admire his body now. 

“Cyar’ika.” He groans. Placing his hands beside your head, you feel his body shudder with need, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly to ease the throb that burdens his cock. You slip your hands around the base of his neck, pulling him in to close the gap and kissing his lips whilst parting your legs. As he lines himself up at your entrance, your hands fall to his biceps, holding him tightly as you prepare from the breach. 

“Nngh,” you break off to moan, deeply and satisfyingly, “Fuck, Din! Keep going.” You lift your head off the pillow to kiss him again, letting him swallow all the little pretty noises you were making as he carefully buried himself to the hilt. Your walls opened up with ease, stretching to accommodate his size. “It’s ok,” You say, pleading for him to move. “I’m ok.” 

“Are you sure, mesh’la?” He asks, to which you nod in reply. “Waited so long for this,” pulling his hips back slowly, he grabs onto your thigh for leverage before burying himself into your cunt again. “Dank Farrik!” He grunts across your face, “So warm and tight. Better than I imagined, sweet girl.” 

The sound of his filthy words made you mewl, having never heard the man speak this way before, you were surprised, yet growing more aroused and confident to be honest with him. “I used to think… Shit!” You stutter as he grinds into you, drawing out a moan from your lips, “...I used to think about this. In the night, while you were sleeping in your bunk, I’d think about you making love to me.” You admit. 

“Oh fuck.” Din gasps. Picking up his pace while resting his forehead against yours, his moans broken and breathless, his cock reaches a new depth inside your cunt, hitting that sweet spot inside over and over again. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” he says, “I took myself in hand many nights thinking about you."  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You quickly warn upon feeling the peak of your climax racing toward you. “I’m close. Stars! I’m so close. Keep talking to me.” You cry, feeling yourself on the verge of tearing up from the intensity of your pleasure, but the sound of his voice keeps you tethered to the moment, preventing you from floating up to cloud nine. 

“I would dream about you often,” He groans while holding the base of your neck, his thumbs dragging across your skin reassuringly, “Wet dreams, mesh’la. I felt so ashamed, but… Fuck, they felt so good. Dreaming about you in my sleep felt so good.” 

“More… Tell me more.” You hiss. Wrapping your legs around his back and locking your ankles together, you feel his hips falter as he moans through gritted teeth. “Your pussy, nngh! I’d dream about your pussy wrapped around me, taking my load, mesh’la. Again and again until you couldn’t hold any more and it dripped out of you. Fuck! I’m gonna… Shit, Y/N, I’m coming-” He cuts himself off with a needy whine, throwing his head back with bliss as he feels you clenching around him. 

“I-Inside,” You begged him, “Please, Din. Come inside of me.” The man couldn’t stop himself even if he tried to. You felt him reach climax, the warmth of his release spreading inside of you, coating your velvety walls as they pulsed around him, as if milking him of everything he could give. “Mando. Fuuck, Mando!” You mewled directly into his ear, your eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold as his orgasm pushed you over the edge. 

White static casted over your eyes as your ears ring loudly, your heart thrums in your chest as nothing but pleasure courses through your veins. You unintentionally dig your nails into his back, clawing at his skin as he reverts to a slow grind into your cunt, the movements pleasuring your clit and prolonging the ecstasy of your high. “That’s it, sweet girl. There you go.” He praises you through it as he comes down from his orgasm, the sound of his voice overstimulating. 

Resting your head back against the pillow as you come down, breathing heavily, he plants loving kisses along your jawline and neck. “So pretty like this.” He whispers sweetly, his voice heavy with satisfaction as your hands find his face again. “Are you okay?” He asks. 

“How…” Your voice croaks, “How do you say happy in Mando’a?” 

“Briikase,” He chuckles, to which you reply with a smile. “Well, I’m briikase right now. Really briikase.” 

“Me too, cyar’ika-” He pauses to brush the hair away from your face, correcting himself. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur.” You open your mouth to ask another question, to ask what difference in his pet names mean, but he leans in to catch your lips in a fervent kiss instead. 

Din pulls back, looking to where your eyes would be behind the blindfold while caressing your cheek. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur... my darling medic. Ni’m ori briikase as pirusti bal ni kar'taylir darasuum gar, mesh’la... I’m very happy as well and I love you, beautiful.” 

You make a surprised sound when hearing some familiar words in his language and learning what they mean, that he has said them before in the past. “I love you too, Din.” You say earnestly, the tears staining the fabric of his blindfold, which you now just realized that he’s kept in his pocket in hopes to use with you one day, like today. You not only became Din D’jarin’s medic, but you became his - his darling medic. 

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic, but that doesn’t mean nothing surprises you anymore. These last few days have been adventurous and emotional, foreign and unfamiliar, life-threatening and dangerous. It’s been life-changing for you and the Mandalorian, and it’s all because of a baby. The little guys presence not only sparked your maternal instincts, but the protective fatherly instincts within Din too. 

And, although neither of you know it now, the baby is only just the beginning of your treacherous journey across the stars in search of reuniting him with his people.

Tagging:

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89 @anismaria-blog @graciexmarvel @munsonownsmyass

All Mandalorian Content: @pale-gingerale @mandalorian-dindjarin @michele131 @chxpsi @burninggracesandbridges @wordsfromshona @lavenderbxnny @margofiore  

All Pedro Pascal Character Content: @joelsflannel @mswarriorbabe80 @readsalot73 @allthe-ships @avengersftspn @hb8301 @scorpio-marionette @squidwell @sunnshineeexoxo @trickstersp8 @graciexmarvel @tanzthompson @bbyanarchist @oogaboogasphincter @emiemiemiii 

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[saturncodedstarlette]

Y/N, relaxes inside of Mando’s embrace : Who knew you were such a nice guy underneath your grumpy exterior?

Mando, tilted his head to look at them :

Mando, caresses their cheek with his fingertips : Don’t go telling anyone else or they’ll be disappointed to find out it’s only for you.

Y/N : and your son.

Y/N, gestures at Grogu who’s asleep inside their arms :

Mando, looks at him sleeping peacefully:

Mando, silently agrees as he’s caressing his little head :

Y/N, just snuggled more into his arms :

Bonus

#the mandalorian #Mandalorian #Din Djarin #Mando #Mando x you #Mando x reader #Mando x oc #Din Djarin x male reader #Din Djarin x fem reader #Din Djarin x gn reader #The Mandalorian x reader #Din Djarin x reader #Original : Terms and conditions By Lauren Asher #Terms and Conditions By Lauren Asher #My 2023 works

[thefact0rygirl]

thefact0rygirl's boba fett masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST 🪐 AO3 🪐 TAGLIST 

Both my blog and masterlist are NSFW/Explicit 18+. Minors do not interact.

series

Behave (completed)

In Hazardous Bliss (hiatus)

one shots

Big

Late Night Romantics

Homecoming

daddy kink drabble

Fxck Around and Find Out

corruption kink drabble

sleepy time confessions

The New Mand’alor

Tell Me You Love Me (GN!Reader)

No Wastelands

On His Knees  

Taming a Loth Cat

Everything You Want (Male!Reader)

inexperienced reader drabble 

Fall Apart 

blurbs

boba fett likes to see it drip

boba calling you ‘kitten’

boba always needing to touch you

service top boba

boba loving on your body

boba getting tired during sex

slow and passionate sex with boba

how it feels to be inside you

letting it slip you want to sit on boba’s face

your sexual debut with post-sarlacc boba

boba using a large vibrator on you

on your knees for boba

reader dirty talking boba   

headcanons

giving boba’s tummy love and affection

telling boba you love him for the first time

boba’s reaction to seeing you in lingerie

what boba wants to do to/with you but is too scared to ask

making boba come in his pants

how boba shows you he loves you

boba, rex, wolffe, and fives sending you voice messages

using the safe word with boba

boba asking you for something

unintentional vs. intentional sex pollen

how boba likes to receive aftercare 

how boba cools down and makes up with you after an argument  

how boba makes his partner feel sexy 

boba and a partner with a low sex drive 

boba’s flaws when in a relationship 

dom!boba spanking you into place

boba, din, and rex accidentally walk in on you 

boba fett x veterinarian!gn!reader

boba has a crush on veterinarian!reader

veterinarian!reader visits boba at the palace

boba comforts veterinarian!reader before his war with the pykes  

requests

NSFW emoji prompts

five-sentence ficlets

drabble requests

kinktober

2021

KINKTOBER 2021 MASTERLIST ⚡️

Suspension 

Deep Throating (Boba Fett x Din Djarin x Fem!Reader)

Edging (GN!Reader)

2022

KINKTOBER 2022 MASTERLIST ⚡️

DAY 4: Size Difference 

DAY 12: Creampie (AFAB!Reader)

DAY 13: Overstimulation 

DAY 25: Threesome/Moresome (Boba Fett x Garsa Fwip x Reader)

DAY 29: Body Worship

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x fem!reader #boba fett x you #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fanfic #boba fett x oc #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett x male!reader #boba fett x m!reader #boba fett x gn!reader #boba fett x y/n #boba fett x vet!reader #boba fett x veterinarian!reader #boba fett x din djarin x reader #boba fett x garsaw fwip x reader #boba fett #the book of boba fett fanfiction #nsfios #x reader #vee writes #vee's masterlist

[imaginedisish]

Two Weeks (Din Djarin x Reader)

Chapter 1 (Chapter 2 coming soon)

A/N: Hi everyone! Here is my first chaptered Din Djarin x Reader fic. I’ve got big plans and I hope y'all like it. Requests are still open. Bruce Wayne x Reader coming next!!! Thanks y'all!!! Enjoy :) (also this is gonna be based on Two Weeks by Grizzly Bear but each chapter will have it’s own name after this)

Summary: After running away from Luke’s training, Din is tasked with bringing you back to him. What neither of you anticipated was the connection that would come with being stuck together for two weeks.

Warnings: Eventual smut!!! So imma put an 18+ warning just to be safe. I don’t think this is going to be too slow of a slow burn (like I’m talking smut by the next chapter or chapter 3 so...), canon violence, implication that Din got another Razor Crest bc im lazy, creepy/sexual harassment-y Twi’leck, and my favorite: the one bed trope muahaha.

Word Count: 3,605

The holobooks glow a cerulean blue, illuminating the dimly lit shelves that stretched on for what seemed like miles. The library was unsettlingly quiet, too quiet. The silence gave you more than enough time to drown yourself in your own thoughts. 

You can’t help but go over that last conversation you and Luke had shared just two months ago. It plays over and over again in your head, tempting your brain to split open with guilt. 

“I’m not picking a side,” You shouted, storming towards the X-Wing you intended to take from Luke.

“But by leaving you are,” He insisted. “You’re giving into your fear, your hatred, your emotions.” His voice was stern, yet calm. It annoyed you. How could he possibly be so collected at a time like this?

“No!” Your shout was now a scream. “Leaving isn’t the same thing as picking a side.” You could feel your throat closing, growing hoarser with each syllable. “I’m done being an apprentice. I’m done serving someone else!”

And with that, you left.

You knew you had made the right decision, but you still felt undeniably guilty. You didn’t want to hurt Luke, but you needed to save yourself. You wanted to go down your own path, to make your own choices. 

After all, you had spent the first fifteen years of your life with the Empire. You’ve never known the full story, but you were apparently kidnapped by the Empire before you could crawl. They knew you were force sensitive, and so you always assumed you had come from some powerful Jedi Knight. Once kidnapped, you trained under Vader as an apprentice. While it was in small doses, you had brought out the light in him. Then, the Rebels found you during the Battle of Yavin, and took you in.

So, when Luke began training you, he was shocked to see that you already knew an abundance of Jedi skills. He realized that whatever was leftover of Anakin Skywalker had trained you. However, your Sith training was still certainly prevalent. But because of this, you felt as though you could use both sides of the force comfortably. You tried to explain to Luke that you found balance in using both the light and the dark, but he refused to understand.

Luke often treated you like you were something that needed to be cleansed, like something that wasn’t enough. He immediately forced himself into the traditions of the Jedi. You, on the other hand, knew that would be a mistake. 

You decided to steal the X-Wing and fly to Nevarro. You sold the ship and found a job as an archivist at a brand new library on the planet. Things had been going well, but today you simply couldn’t stop thinking about your past, about Luke. You could feel something coming, something that was connected to-

Suddenly a shiny figure covered in Beskar approached your desk. You swallow harshly, immediately sensing that he isn’t just here for the books. 

He’s here for you. 

“C-Can I help you?” You stutter. Your eyes flash under the desk, checking quickly to ensure your sabers are still there. Although, they aren’t quite yours. One was your father’s — whoever that was — and the other was Vader’s. Luke had given you your father’s, while you found Vader’s in the destruction of the Second Death Star. You never told Luke about it. 

“I’m looking for a Jedi,” The Mandalorian’s modulated voice snaps you back to reality. You know he means you, even though you don’t consider yourself a Jedi. You reach your hands out and attempt to discreetly force pull the sabers to you. 

You fail completely, as one knocks over a paper weight and a canteen of water before flying into your hands. 

“Guess that’s you,” He states matter-of-factly. 

You leap over the desk and sprint into the stacks, igniting your sabers in the process. The blue and red beams reflect against the gray marble floors, your boots pounding with each step you take. 

You look behind you, noticing that the Mandalorian is gaining on you. His armor clatters as he closes the space between the two of you. 

You concentrate your energy, bending down into the floor, and leaping up, bouncing from shelf to shelf until you reach the top of a bookcase. You look behind you again, and the Mandalorian is now climbing the shelves. You pause for a moment, knowing that he isn’t going to make it up as quickly as you did. 

“Who sent you?” You question as he continues up the case. 

His gloved hands finally reach the top. “A mutual friend,” He says, his voice a bit strained through his helmet as he pushes himself up. 

You point the red saber towards him as he stands just a few feet away from you. “Are you with the Empire?” You ask, swallowing the fear in the back of your throat. “Because if so, you can fuck off. I’ll kill you before you can take me back to wherever you’re stationed now. I’m not going back,” You can feel tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. “I-I’m not going back,” You say again, stuttering. 

The Mandalorian takes a single step towards you, slipping his blaster back into its holster. He puts his hands in the air, “Maker, no, I’m not with the Empire,” He takes another step towards you, and you slowly lower your saber. “It’s okay,” He breathes. Despite the helmet, you know he’s looking into your eyes. He can feel your pain. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

You close both sabers, still clasping the hilts tightly in your hands. “So, then who sent you?” You press, apprehensively closing the space between you and the Mandalorian. You feel as though you can trust him. You can tell he isn’t here to hurt you. If he was going to, he certainly would have already.

“Luke Skywalker,” He finally admits. “He asked me to bring you to him.” 

You scoff, shaking your head as you turn away from the Mandalorian. “No kriffing way am I going back,” Your voice is callous and coarse. You sit on the edge of the bookshelf, your heels tapping against the shelf below.  “He couldn’t even come get me himself,” You whisper, looking off into the distance. 

The Mandalorian stands next to you, and that’s when you sense something else. 

You look up at him, his armor glimmering in the blue light, and see a little green figure peeking through the brown sack around his waist. You smile softly, instantly feeling the force coursing through the little creature. 

“Who’s this?” You ask, reaching out towards him. The little guy reaches towards you too. Before the Mandalorian can stop him, the child falls into your arms. “The force is strong with him,” You say as you scoop him up. 

“His name is Grogu,” The Mandalorian remarks, snatching the child back. He reaches a hand out to you, “But now isn’t the time for introductions. I have to get you back to Luke.” 

You breathe deeply through your nose, sighing audibly as you exhale. You take the Mandalorian’s hand and stand up. “I’ll go with you on one condition.”

“I don’t negotiate with bounties,” He states nonchalantly. 

You roll your eyes. “The condition is that you bring me back here once I’m done talking to Luke. I don’t intend to stay with him for more than ten minutes.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, pondering your proposition. Finally, he nods. “Fine,” The Mandalorian huffs. “But then my condition is that I’ll do some bounties on the way, and you’ll stay on the ship with the child.” 

You arch your brow and shake your sabers. “You want me to stay on the ship? The wanted, force sensitive, Sith Lord-Jedi?”

The Mandalorian chuckles softly. For some reason you can’t quite place, your heartbeat speeds up at the sound of it. “Maybe I’ll think about it,” He says, walking away from you and jumping down from the bookcase. You follow closely behind him. 

“What’s your name?” You ask as you head towards the doors of the library. 

He doesn’t answer right away, as if he’s unsure of how to respond. “You can call me Mando,” He says finally. You nod. 

Mando. 

You grab your cloak from one of the hooks in the foyer of the lobby, and swiftly put it on. You lift the hood over your head, ensuring that you stay at least somewhat hidden, and exit the library.

—————————————————————————

After a mile or two of walking, you and Mando come across a cantina. He stops in front of it, carefully grasping his blaster. His visor looks down at you, and you meet his gaze. He’s heeding a wordless warning. 

But you didn’t need any warnings. You could handle yourself. 

You nod once and Mando presses a button that opens the door. You walk into the dark bar, music blasting from the speakers. 

“So, what are we doing here?” You ask, your eyes searching the cantina. 

Mando nods over to a corner booth. “You see that Twi’lek sitting next to that guy?” Mando asks, and you nod. “He’s coming back with us, whether he likes it or not.” 

“How do I help?” You question, moving your cloak to the side to grab your sabers. Mando reaches down to your hand in response, his gloved fingers wrapping around your wrist. 

“Not like that,” He says, his grasp still firm on you. You can’t help but notice the contact, the closeness. “Go sit in that booth over there,” His voice is barely audible as he points to the booth a few seats away from the Twi’lek. “And take the kid,” He says, pulling the bag off of him and handing it to you. You wanted to roll your eyes at the lack of importance in your job, but the cuteness of the kid quickly makes you happy to be of service. 

You head over to the table and sit down. Grogu wiggles out of the bag and into your lap. A feeling of safety washes over you as he makes himself comfortable, and there’s no doubt in your mind that Grogu is attempting to communicate to you that his father isn’t as bad as he appears to be. 

And you’re quick to believe him.

It’s clear that the child loves Mando, as Grogu fills your mind with images of the Mandalorian going above and beyond to save him, putting him above all else, sacrificing his own happiness just so Grogu can live a good life. It makes your heart warm. It gives you a certain feeling, a feeling you haven’t felt…

Ever.

“I get it little guy,” You whisper to him, rubbing his head with the fist of your hand. He coos and giggles as you squeeze him closer to you. 

But those feelings of safety and comfort and warmth turn into nothingness the second you feel a hand grip your shoulder tightly. 

You whip your head around to see another Twi’lek. “Can I help you?” You snarl condescendingly. 

The Twi’lek chuckles. “That’s no way for a woman to talk to a man who’s interested in her,” He answers. You roll your eyes. 

“Interested in what about me, exactly?” You question, placing the kid in the space next to you. “In getting your ass kicked?” Your voice is firm and growing louder with each word that leaves your lips. 

He brings his hand up to your chin, lifting it up so that you’re forced to meet his gaze. You grab his hand in response, trying to pry it off of you, but it’s no use. “You need to learn how to behave yourself,” He growls. You contemplate force pushing him off of you, or reaching for your saber and chopping him in half right here, but you know that would ruin Mando’s bounty, and it would blow your cover. 

“Let me go,” You demand, your eyes searching the room for some sort of escape. There was nothing you could do without giving up your spot. You look over to the other booth, attempting to catch Mando’s attention. You can hear the child screeching behind you. Your heart pounds in your ears. “Please just let me go,” You’re begging now. You don’t know what else to do. 

The Twi’lek scoffs. “Not happening. Not until you learn how to-,”

Two blaster shots ring out, and the Twi’lek immediately jumps back in fear. 

“You kriffing touch her again and you’ll end up like your friend here,” Mando says, holding up the lifeless body of the bounty. “I should kill you for just talking to her,” His voice is commanding as he closes the gap between himself and the Twi’lek. 

You grab the child and pull him into your chest. You can feel his fear, and you’re sure he can feel your own too. “It’s okay,” You whisper. “I’ve got you now.” Mando watches how you’re caring for Grogu out of the corner of his eye. Something stirs within him, something he can’t quite place. 

He storms over to you, bounty in tow, and grabs your arm. His gloved fingers once again find their way to your wrist, and he guides you out of the cantina. 

Just behind the cantina is a ship. You figured Mando had planned that whole thing out. Dragging a bounty for miles on end doesn’t exactly sound like fun. Regardless, you wanted to forget what had just happened. You had been through enough for one day, never mind an entire lifetime. 

“What kind of ship is this?” You ask, trying to make conversation. Mando’s grip on your wrist tightens, and he stops in his tracks. 

“You just almost got killed, or…” He trails off, looking down at the ground. “Or worse, and you want to know what kind of ship this is?” His voice is no longer strong or confident, it’s shaky and unsure. You’re shocked at how much he cares for your wellbeing. Even inside the cantina, something had come over him. No one, including Luke, has ever shown so much care for you before.

That’s when you feel the tears pricking at your eyes. That’s when you finally register the weight of what tonight’s events could have meant. 

“I-I’m sorry,” You stumble around your words, staring down into the orangey-tan sand coating your gray boots. 

Mando shakes his head, his arm moving up to rest on your shoulder. He rubs softly and breathes deeply. “No, don’t apologize. I’m being too hard on you,” He whispers. “Are you alright?”

You nod once. “I think so,” You reply, settling into his touch. It’s relaxing, warm, and you’re enjoying it far more than you should. You don’t know what it is, but there’s something endearing about him, something that lures you in and keeps you hanging. You want to hold onto the feeling, to keep it in your pocket and wear it around your neck whenever you can. 

He keeps his hand around your wrist while the other pulls the bounty along as you walk up the ramp together. He drops your wrist and yanks the bounty over to the carbon freezer. He makes quick work of the Twi’leck as you look around the ship. In the corner, underneath the cockpit, is a single bunk. Your exhaustion makes the makeshift mattress look extra comfortable. You could fall asleep standing up, to be honest. 

Mando finishes with the now dead bounty and stands by your side. You hand him the bag with the kid in it. He peers inside and catches a glimpse of a sleeping Grogu. You hear him chuckle through his modulator and you can feel that feeling again, that feeling that makes your heart want to burst. 

You smile softly. “So how long am I going to be a burden on you,” You joke, your smile widening. 

“Two weeks,” He says plainly. 

For some reason, two weeks didn’t seem long enough. 

Mando’s visor meets your gaze again. You can’t help but yawn, your exhaustion thoroughly catching up with you. 

“You should get some rest, we’ll be on Tatooine tomorrow,” He says, his voice equally thick with tiredness. “My bunk is down there, you can take it.” 

You furrow your brows. “What about you?” You ask. You really were going to be a burden on him. 

“I’ll take the cockpit,” He says back, pointing over to the uncomfortable looking chairs at the front of the ship. 

You shake your head. “We can share, it’s fine,” You insist. But Mando doesn’t listen. He walks towards the cockpit. 

“Maybe,” He finally responds, “But for now I’ll stay up here. I have to put in the coordinates and get us on course anyway.” 

You nod. “Goodnight,” You whisper, your voice coated with fatigue. 

“‘Night,” Mando whispers back as he takes his seat. You do as he says and waddle down into his bunk. 

Normally, something like this wouldn’t seem comfortable to you, being that the mattress was probably no more than two inches thick and the blanket was incredibly thin, but you were far too tired to care. It felt like heaven just to lay down, so much so that you drift off to sleep before Mando can even take off. 

—————————————————————————

There’s lightning, and a hooded figure. You can see Mando and the child on the other side of whatever platform you’re on, maybe on a rock somewhere off in the distance. Your sabers glow in your hands. You try to run towards the figure, but you’re stuck. You can’t move. 

The figure reaches out their hand, and force lightning pours out from their fingertips. You drop your blue saber and extend your hand out, electricity shooting from your fingers with twice as much force. Your eyes glow a threatening, dark yellow.

You scream out as the hooded figure fights back, increasing his force, stepping closer towards you. 

“The Mandalorian and the Child are mine now,” He says, his voice cold and cruel. 

“No!” You shout. “N-“

“No!” Your eyes open wide as you push yourself up on your forearms. You practically smack your head on the roof of the bunk. You’re shivering. You can’t tell if it’s just the temperature of the ship, or if it’s a product of the nightmare you just had. 

But that wasn’t just any nightmare, it was a vision. You had never seen that place, that planet before. And the pain you felt, it stemmed from a place, a feeling you just haven’t felt yet. 

Love, true love.

You can hear the clunking of metal above you, and seconds later, Mando appears at the entrance to the bunk. 

“Are you alright?” He’s panicked and practically shouting. 

“Y-yeah,” You mumble. “Sorry if I woke you, it was just a nightmare.” That wasn’t the complete truth, but you figure he isn’t exactly ready for the truth just yet. 

After all, you did just meet. 

“Are you sure?” He presses. He isn’t buying it, and he’s completely right not to. 

You sniffle and stir a bit under the covers. “I think so,” You lie again. You weren’t sure at all, and you certainly weren’t ‘alright’ in any capacity. 

Mando sighs heavily through his modulator. “Do you want to talk about it, cyar’ika?” 

You were shocked at how kind he was being. He could be so tough, so cold to his bounties. “What’s that mean, cyar’ika?” You question, trying your best to change the direction of the conversation. 

“That’s not what’s important right now,” Mando says, dismissing your question entirely. 

You smirk, attempting to convince him that you’re okay. “I’m fine, I mean it.” 

Mando nods once and begins to slip out of the bunk. But as he leaves, you begin to regret telling him you were fine. His proximity to you had made the pain go away, just for a moment. Now you were back to being anxious and cold. Genuinely, you were freezing. You must be in deep space by now. You were more than positive that you wouldn’t be able to go to sleep like this. 

You groan, embarrassed to call him back just as you had kicked him out. “Mando,” You call out. He’s back within seconds. “Can you…” You trail off, trying to find the right words. “Would you…” It’s impossible. 

“I’ll stay with you.” 

It’s like he can read your mind. 

He strips off his armor, save his helmet, and slips in next to you. He brushes up against you for just a second, and practically pulls away instantly. 

“Maker, you’re freezing,” He says. Suddenly, you feel his arm slowly wrap around your waist, hesitantly pulling you tightly against his chest. “Is this alright?” He asks. You’re too stunned to speak, so you simply hum a yes. 

After a few minutes of lying like that, with your back up against his chest, you begin to feel better. Still, you can’t help but feel guilty, like you’re a burden to him, like this is something he has to do. You’re supposed to be powerful. You were a Jedi, a Sith, and yet a Mandalorian is being forced to take care of you. 

“You don’t have to stay, you know. You can go back to the cockpit if you-,”

But he cuts you off. “I told you I would stay.” And so, he did.

Two weeks, You think to yourself. Two weeks.

And then you drifted off to sleep, without nightmares, without visions.

Just like yesterday

I told you I would stay

Would you always?

Maybe sometimes?

Make it easy?

Take your time

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[moralesispunk]

The Fire Between Us

Chapter Five - Burn

[Masterlist] [Chapter Four] Din Djarin x Female Mandalorian Reader Summary: When you return to the Covert the reality of your actions finally hits home Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: angst (as usual), feelings, kissing, allusions to smut (or heading towards smut) Read on Ao3 here!

It was an entrance you had walked through thousands of times before - one that was hard to find unless you knew exactly what you were looking for; perfectly hidden against the desert landscape to keep the warriors it housed safe from the rest of the galaxy.

Now, as your feet dragged through the sand and slowed your pace so much that even Din - in his injured state - had to pull you along, you followed the same path you had walked more times than you could count. It was the same path you followed when you were coming back from a trip to the market or a week long bounty hunt; your legs taking you across the bare land towards the dip in the ground that led straight down to the dark tunnels of the Covert.

It was a familiar feeling of coming home every time you stepped over the threshold into the Covert, one that you usually welcomed with open arms, yet it was a feeling that was missing now as you inched closer and closer to the entrance.

In this moment you wanted nothing more than to run in the other direction, as far as you could from the Covert until your legs were aching and you had no memory of home or Din… or the unsaid vow you have now shared: by the end of tomorrow, no matter how much he hated the idea of it and no matter how guilty you felt, Din would most likely be your riddur and there was nothing either of you could do about it.

Thoughts of running away or finding a way to free Din from this obligation were swarming your mind until the very last second when the entrance came into view. There was someone resting by the entrance, a small body that you had to squint against the setting sun to see, and as you got closer the person became a small child - newly fitted to their armor - who perked up the second your three bodies appeared over the horizon.

They quickly pushed themselves up to stand, taking a moment to confirm that they weren’t imagining you, Din and Adrean coming home, before they ran back inside and their yells somehow made their way through the wind as they alerted the Covert to your arrival. 

There was no way you could turn and walk away now the whole Covert would be expecting your arrival, no matter how heavy the weight in the pit of your stomach grew.

There had barely been a word uttered between the three of you since you met Adrean this morning, the only words shared being when you or Adrean needed to fix the way Din’s weight rested over your shoulder or when you forced Din to rest and drink the last of your water. You stayed silent as your boots scuffed against the ramp that led down into the Covert and even when the quiet murmuring from the Hall met your ears as you rounded the last corner before you would be met with applause.

It was suddenly hard to breathe with the looming fate of Din being forced to take you as riddur just around the corner and you tried to stop walking any closer but Din pulled you along by his side.

“Din,” you gasped his name but he made no effort to acknowledge you, instead his arm weighed heavy on your shoulder as he pulled you into the hall along with him and Adrean.

The roar of applause was almost deafening, so loud that your head began to pound and your eyes squeezed shut. The cheers of your names were bouncing off of the walls and soon the crowd was parting down the middle to show a clear path to the Armorer who stood tall at the other end. As you welcomed the celebration, Din’s weight slipped from your shoulder and he tried to stand on his two feet to accept the praise along with you and Adrean.

With every helmet trained on you - or more likely Din - it became even harder to breathe and between the chants of welcome you found your lips parting as you whispered his name again.

“Din.”

If he heard you above the cheers and chants he showed no sign of it. 

Your eyes ran up his injured body from his leg that was limping with every other step to his fingers that were squeezed around his thumb so tight you could hear the leather wince under the pressure; from his side where the armor was broken all the way to his helmet that was hiding the face you now knew.

His sharp jaw, his dark facial hair and strong nose, his plump lips and his dark eyes that you had not seen the night before but had been a main presence in your dreams for years.

Even though he seemed to hide his physical pain well enough that no one was rushing to help, it was impossible to ignore the anger radiating off of him. His shoulders were held tight and his helmet was trained forward even as you desperately whispered his name again.

“Din, please.”

“Not. Now.” His helmet didn’t move as he answered you through gritted teeth and it caused your own to face back to the front.

As your bottom lip wobbled and your eyes glazed over with unshed tears you were thankful for the wall of beskar between you and the rest of the Covert.

Din somehow managed to march ahead and you fell in line with Adrean who reached for your hand, his fingers tangling with yours as he gave one strong squeeze.

“All will work out, Vod.”

You squeezed his hand back before dropping it, forcing your shoulders high as you sped up enough to catch up to Din and find yourself standing before the Armorer at the same time as him. You know what you did was wrong - one of the worst things that could have happened to Din - but he couldn’t refuse to speak to you ever again. 

You needed time alone with Din to explain yourself. You didn’t have the words this morning - you barely had the words now after repeating a speech over and over in your head the whole trek home - but he needed to know that you didn’t do this make him your riddur. You did this because the thought of doing nothing as he died in your arms was enough to make your stomach churn and heart drop; if you had held him as he took his final breath then you were certain Adrean would have found you in a similar fate the next morning.

The Armorer raised her hand to silence the Hall before you could spiral any further and it was an almost eerie feeling as it happened, the hairs on your arms standing on end as her steady voice began to echo around the room.

“We Mandalorian strive to be the bravest and strongest warriors we can be. The three before me now…” Her helmet tilted down as she spoke the next words to you. “Are the perfect example of who we train to be.”

Her words were like salt to your wound, reminding you that what you had done was the exact opposite of what she expected of Mandalorians.

As her words settled around the room, making your body shake with nerves and causing Din’s to tense even further, the rest of the room met them with a roar of applause. It was even louder than the welcome you had received only a few moments ago - louder than the dragon that had lunged down at you the day before - and your head was spinning as you tried to block it out.

“We will celebrate tonight!” The Armorer called above the noise but as she tried to step away Din jumped forward and placed a hand on her arm to stop her from stepping any further back.

Your body froze as he bent his helmet down to shout loud enough for the Armorer to hear but not loud enough for you or Adrean standing behind him to make out. Her helmet slowly turned to face you, nodding once before Din’s hand dropped down and she turned on her heels.

Everyone else in the room was too busy celebrating to notice their conversation, or to notice how you desperately turned to Adrean and begged silently for help. You tried to step towards Adrean but he was being pulled back into the celebration as a firm hand wrapped around your wrist.

When your head whipped back round you were faced with the back of Din’s helmet, his broad shoulders tight as he began to pull you behind him to follow the Armorer out of the room.

It was disorientating as you stepped out of the bright and loud hall into the dark and silent tunnels as Din continued to drag you behind him. You knew better than to say anything now, pressing your lips together to stop the desperate apologies or practiced explanation from coming out as you tried to keep up with their quick steps.

Even though you had walked these halls since you were a child, and you knew you would be able to make your way through them blindfolded, with your eyes trained on Din’s helmet that refused to turn and look back at you, you had no idea where you were going. 

It felt like the three of you were walking in silence for hours before the Armorer finally slipped into a room and Din stepped aside to usher you into the room in front of him.

When you walked by him and desperately tried to catch his gaze he only ushered you in faster, his hand pressing on the bottom of your back as you stepped into the room and he followed with a click of the door behind. His hand had only been there for a second, falling away the moment the door closed, but his touch had your whole body lighting up as you stood tight by his side and faced the Armorer.

“Both of you…” The Armorer began with her back turned, heavy and fur-trimmed cloak touching the floor between her and you. “Have been the two strongest, and most determined, Mandalorians I have ever had the chance to meet. You have trained for years and have never failed in showing me how dedicated you are to the way.”

She turned back around and you felt both you and Din stand taller under her gaze.

“I do not know why you did what you did.” Her helmet turned to face you and your shoulders turned in on themselves. “But there is a way that this can be… erased. We will have you take one another as riddur.”

The Armorer’s words rang in your ears, your head spinning beneath your helmet. It was as though you could not gasp a breath of air in, your hand reaching for the closest thing to steady yourself - and finding your hand wrapping around Din’s wrist - before his words cut through the silence. 

“Then we will wed tomorrow, at dusk.”

You knew this was what would happen. It was the only thing that could happen. But still you couldn't breathe. 

“This is the way,” the Armorer spoke quietly.

“This is the way,” you and Din replied, your words barely audible.

The Armorer brushed past you as she walked towards the door and you tried to pull Din to stay, your fingers gripping his wrist with your voice caught in your throat, but he slipped from your hold as he followed her out without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

He had left you alone.

The candles in the corner did little to light the small space and your body fell back against the wall behind you, your helmet digging into the rough wall as you bit down on your bottom lip while trying not to cry.

The silence didn’t last long and soon the sound of heavy footsteps coming your way echoed around the room as you squeezed your eyes shut and silently begged them to keep walking past this room. Please, please, please, just go you muttered under your breath, but they never did; the footsteps came to an abrupt stop and the sound of the door opening made you look up.

Your father was standing in the doorway with Adrean and your mother behind him, their three helmets unmoving as you stared back.

“Oh, Vod,” Adrean sighed, brushing past your father and bringing you into his arms.

“You-you tried to tell me. You-” 

You were gasping for breath as his hand ran up and down your back, your parents coming to rest their hands on your shoulders as you fought for air. 

“Shhh, shhh, it's okay,” Adrean sighed. 

No one else spoke or made any attempt to move until your breathing settled and the tears stopped and they only stood back from you when you lifted your head from Adrean.

“There will be a marriage?” Your father asked and you nodded your helmet once. “When?”

“Tomorrow,” you whispered back. 

“You will come back and stay with us tonight.” Your mother stepped forward, taking your hand in hers as she began to pull you to follow her. 

There was nothing they could say that would make you feel better - any less guilty - and so you were glad they stuck to their silence for the rest of the night. 

Your father and brother brought you dinner and your mother stayed quietly by your side as you ate. You usually hated their hovering, hated when they tip-toed around what they wanted to say, but for once you were glad. 

You just needed them to be near you and that was enough. 

By the time night came you were crawling into your childhood bed and watched as Adrean did the same, his tall frame almost folding in half as he tried to find a way to lie comfortably. 

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Adrean said as you both stared up at the ceiling. 

You turned to face him, your brows pulling together as you wondered what it could be he was talking about, but he went on before you had to ask. 

“If I implied that you shouldn't have done what you did… I just wanted you to take a second and think. And you decided that even knowing how you would feel after it that you had to do it… you made the right decision.”

“And now Din hates me,” you replied quietly. 

“He doesn't. He could never. He's just… he's feeling a lot of things and he doesn't know how to even begin going about dealing with them.”

“He could talk to me. He could listen to what I have to say,” you bit back and Adrean finally turned to look at you. 

“Did you? When he left for a year and came back, did you listen to what he had to say?”

You turned back around and wiped angrily at the tears that were threatening to spill over. You know he's right and it just makes you… sad. 

Sad that for years you and Din have been too stubborn to do anything other than hate each other. 

You could see Adrean hold his hand out from the corner of your eye and sighed as you slipped your hand into his. 

“It will be okay,” he whispered and you nodded, closing your eyes as you hoped that you could at least dream without having to think of Din. 

*****

When you woke again it was almost midday and there was only your mother in the room. She was already pouring a bath, her body moving slowly as she tipped the pot of warmed water into the tub before taking a moment to catch her breath. 

“Let me,” you said, pushing yourself up and taking the pot from her hand.

She had long given in to you, your father and brother's attempts to stop her from pushing herself too far. When she first started to become weaker she fought against it so hard she only made herself ill and so now she sat back - but not without a loud sigh and mumble under her breath. 

“You are to meet with Din and the Armorer in a few hours,” she said and you nodded without turning to face her. “I got Adrean to fetch your rose soap too,” she added. 

“Thank you.”

You didn't feel as bad this morning as you did last night. The guilt still weighed heavy in your stomach but Adrean - as usual - had found the right words to say. 

It had taken you a while to begin to forgive Din for leaving you and you were thankful he hadn't pushed you to accept it any faster. It's what you had to do now. 

The silence fell over you both until the tub was filled and your mother began to scrub your armor as you slipped inside. With the warm water surrounding you, you pulled your knees up to your chest and rested your cheek against your knee.

“You know this…  this could be good.”

You couldn’t stop the way you scoffed and your mother’s head snapped around to face you.

It was almost unnerving how much she looked like Adrean. Or Adrean, her. She had the same fiery hair and green eyes, fewer freckles but a similar wide smile. It was pure coincidence but you liked seeing them sit by one another when you were alone together, helmets off as they laughed over something. But as alike they looked in happiness they looked even more alike in anger.

Their hair seemed to burn brighter and their eyes darken, a look that made you realize you were facing a warrior.

“You are stubborn; you always have been. You would fight ade twice, sometimes three times, your size and no matter how hard you got hit you would always get back up again. I think…” She sighed. “I think maybe your father and I made a mistake in telling you how… how… good that was.”

“So would you rather I had given up?”

She sent another glare your way that told you she wasn’t done talking and you pursed your lips together.

“Never. But sometimes it is okay to give in.” When you didn’t answer she went on. “Are you telling me that you truly, from the bottom of your soul, hate Din Djarin? That these aren’t feelings of love that you are too stubborn to admit to because love, perhaps, makes you weak?”

You didn’t answer again and pressed your cheek harder against your knee but your mother raised one frail hand up to hold your cheek.

“Love does not make you weak, my child. It makes you strong. It gives you the motivation to fight for yourself and your family.

“Your father was always the better warrior out of us but the second we found you I had something to fight for. Every time I left the Covert I made sure that I would come home, that I would never let you be left motherless again. And when we found Adrean I only became stronger.”

You didn’t move to wipe the tears that now flowed down your cheeks and your mother quickly wiped them away.

“You do not have to say anything but just… think about it.”

You nodded and when you spoke now it was barely a whisper. “I’m so scared.”

“Of what?” She asked with a slight head tilt.

“Of how much I think I might love him.”

“That is the best kind of love,” she smiled softly, dropping her hand and going back to your armor. 

You let her words surround you before breathing out and reaching for the cloth, scrubbing your body as the evening loomed closer. 

When your father and Adrean returned, your family fell into silence once more and left you to get ready. They each gave you one last glance before leaving the room as you stood in the center; freshly shined armor covering you from the neck down as you waited to place the last piece - your helmet - on and go to repeat the vows you have both dreaded and dreamt of your whole life.

The walk to the Hall seemed to go on forever, or maybe that was your slow pace that left Din and your family waiting until you finally forced yourself to step into the dark Hall.

Din was standing before the Armorer while your father, mother and Adrean were standing along the wall as they watched on. Everyone else’s head in the room was turned towards you except the most important, the only one you were looking at had no interest in turning towards you until you stopped in front of him and tilted your head up to stare into his visor.

You wanted to scream. To yell. To beg him to say something; anything.

You would rather he told you just how much he hated you than left you feeling like this. But then Adrean’s words rang through your head and you relaxed your shoulders as you reminded yourself to give him time.

“A strong union,” the Armorer said, nodding her head once before holding up a silk-like rope.

Din held his arm out first, the rest of his body held stiffly as you wrapped your hand around his forearm and after a moment of deliberation he did the same back. The Armorer tied the rope around your joined arms once and then twice before standing back.

For a moment, neither you or Din spoke. Your visors stared back at one another and his grip seemed to tighten around your arm slightly before you both began to speak.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome.”

Your words echoed around the room together and your own hold on Din began to tighten.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

Din’s arm pulled ever so slightly to bring you closer towards him, both of your voices dropping to whispers as you spoke the final vow.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

The Armorer stepped forward and unbound your arms, nodding silently as an acceptance of the riddurship.

“You will return to your room - your new room - and complete the ceremony alone.”

The whole day was never how you would have imagined it. If someone had told eighteen year old you that one day you would have been marrying Din Djarin you would have pretended to gag before running back to your room and twirling around at the thought of how his voice would sound saying those vows. Now, as you stared back into his icy glare you almost wished that you were watching him repeat those words to someone else.

It would be easier to watch him marry someone else than know for certain just how much he hated marrying you.

When the Armorer untied your wrists, and your father, mother and Adrean bid you goodbye, you walked back to your new room behind Din. He never turned back the whole walk there, barely walked slow enough for you to keep up, and he only just held the curtain open long enough for you to follow him inside.

Long story short, there really wasn't much else he could be doing to tell you how angry he was other than utter the words. 

When you stepped inside your jaw fell open. The room was larger than yours, larger than what Din’s would have been too.

It was a room made for a clan, for a family, and so there was the main room you walked into that was still mostly bare except for the few piles of fur blankets and cushions and the bedroom that Din was now walking into.

You followed a few steps behind and immediately your eyes landed on the one large bed covered in throws and blankets that lay in the center of the room. It’s where Din was focused on too if you followed the gaze of his helmet, his hands once again clenching into fists by his side.

“Din, I just want you to know-” You started but Din held his hand up, his visor turning to face you.

“Just- Just stop,” he said, his voice straining.

You tried to remind yourself of Adreans words, of your mothers, but your own stubbornness clamored up and you stepped towards him.

“You’ll have to listen to me at some point, Din. We are bound together, for life.”

“And whose fault is that?” He hissed, turning and stepping towards you.

“Din, I am sorry,” you said, forcing your voice to stay low as you held your hands out. “I am sorry that you are now stuck with me because I know that this is the last thing you wanted. You made that very clear when you begged the Armorer for a life alone over a life with me,” you hissed through gritted teeth. 

Din laughed.

It wasn’t the laugh you would be able to recognise in a room full of laughter, one you yearned to hear and when you were the cause of it a pride swarmed your belly. This laugh was cold, distant, and you could feel his anger as he stared back at you.

“Do you really think that’s why? That I don’t want a life with you?”

“I…” You shrugged and your own anger was already bubbling up to your chest. “Is it not?”

Din turned and ripped his helmet from his head, running his hand down his face. You could only see the back of his head, his curls neater and softer than they had been a few days before, but you had to squeeze your hands into fist to stop yourself from reaching out to run your fingers through them. 

“Is it not?” You said louder this time, stepping towards him again. “If it isn’t then you may as well tell me why because, Din, I have no idea-”

“It is because I love you,” Din hissed and turned so fast you stumbled back, your hands landing on the shelf behind to steady yourself.

The room was only lit by a few candles and yet the orange glow was enough for you to make out his features. His eyes were burning as they stared into yours, his mouth agape as his breathing grew ragged. 

“What?” You croaked.

Din stepped closer until his chest plate was pressed against yours, until you were leaning back over the shelf as his face dipped so close you could feel his breath fan your face as you stared into his dark brown eyes. “I love you. And I hate that I love you. I love you so much that it hurts and that scares me; it scares me that sometimes - all of the time - you are the only thing I can think of and to think that if I let myself have you there will come a time I will lose you? It would be easier to not have you at all.”

His chest was rising and falling with each angry breath and his cheeks were flushed pink as his eyes searched yours.

“Why would you lose me?” You asked, only able to bring yourself to whisper the words.

“Because I lose everyone. I lost my parents. And my parents loved each other more than anyone I’ve ever seen. My father told my mother he would always protect her and then he had to watch her, who he loved more than anything, die.”

His voice, his usually strong and determined voice, shook more and more with each word he said and it made your heart shatter in your chest.

“Din…” You lifted your hand to hold his cheek and he closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch.

“I burn for you,” he whispered so quietly you could barely hear it.

His eyes were still squeezed shut and the blush of pink started to drain from his face. You took a moment to truly look at him.

His eyes that were hidden from you but were surrounded by a few wrinkles at the side - signs of a smile that you realized you hadn’t seen since you were ade. His cheeks were slightly hollower than they had been two days before and you wondered if he had struggled to sleep while you were so exhausted you couldn’t help but sleep. His lips were pink and pouting but with marks on the bottom lip where he had dug his teeth into. His jaw was sharp, slightly more stubble there now, and his mustache covered his top lip.

He was so much more than you could have ever imagined.

You let your hand fall from his face and his eyes slipped open. They were softer now, his brows pulling together as you reached for your own helmet.

When you were young you had imagined that when you first showed your riddur your face you would have been nervous of what they thought, if they would be happy or disappointed, but now all those thoughts were silenced and the only one was that you needed Din to see your eyes when you spoke again.

His mouth fell open when you finally lifted it from your head, your hands shaking as you placed it on the shelf behind you, and you watched as his eyes began to fill with unshed tears.

“Din… I have spent years, almost my whole life, pretending to hate you and… it’s exhausting. I-” You shook your head as you tried to find the words. “You infuriate me and make me say and do things I never thought I would but- but I love you.”

Din gasped and his hands came to settle on your waist, his whole body pressing against yours as you looked up to him.

It was like everything seemed to slow down as you lifted yourself to stand on your toes as his head dipped down, his nose bumping against your own and his lips barely brushing against yours as you stayed there for a moment. Neither of you made an attempt to move closer as his breathing calmed but then suddenly you moved together and his mouth pressed against yours.

You could feel his breath fan your cheek as his nose pressed against your skin, his hand coming to settle against your back as he pulled you against him ever so slightly.

It was obvious that this was the first time either of you had kissed someone, neither of you moving for a fraction too long before his tongue grazed against your bottom lip and you opened yourself to him. It was a mess of tongue and teeth as your hands came up to hold the back of his neck and pull him even closer against you until his nose was pressing against your cheek and his hands were gripping your back and molding your body against his.

It was desperate and messy… and it felt perfectly right.

“You are… so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.

He walked you back until the shelf was digging into the bottom of your back but the pain disappeared the second his lips trailed down your neck, his hand roughly holding your jaw as he pressed his body as close as he could to you while bending down enough to kiss and bite up your neck.

It was setting off a fire in the pit of your belly, one that made you feel out of control of your body as you parted your legs a little wider so his thigh could slip in between.  

“I can’t think when I’m around you,” he mumbled against your skin and your hands found their way into his hair. 

His hands slid down your side and gripped your hips as he pulled you closer against him.

This was what you needed - you needed Din to take you as his. It was fast, exciting, scary, arousing, amazing, new.

Your hips seemed to move of their own accord and you rocked down against his thigh. Your head tipped back and you moaned in a way that shocked even you, your teeth biting into your bottom lip to try and silence them. 

“Don't,” Din’s voice strained and he shook his head against your neck as he kissed back up your jaw. His lips brushed against yours when you spoke again, his fingers that had been freed from his gloves at some point traced across your bottom lip as his eyes that were now blown back zeroed in on it. “Don't hide that from me.”

You rocked your hips experimentally again and couldn't stop the soft moan that brushed past your lips again, the sound making Din’s mouth hang open as he ground against your hip. 

His mouth was suddenly pressed against yours and your hands flew up to hold his jaw, both of your bodies pressed as close as possible to one another. 

But then his fingers began to unclasp the armor on your thighs and suddenly everything that had been exciting and new was just fast and scary and your nerves overtook your arousal. 

“Wait. Din, stop,” you mumbled against his lips. 

Immediately he stopped, his hands dropping to his side as he took a large enough step back to separate your bodies.

“Are you okay?”

You took a slow breath before nodding and watched as Din’s body seemed to relax along with yours. You forced your eyes not to tear up as you took in the large gap between your bodies, your hands coming to grip the shelf behind as you breathed out slowly. 

“I’m sorry, I just- this is just so-”

“Fast.” Din finished for you and you nodded. “We- we don't have to.” He stepped slowly forward and held your wrists in his hand, lifting them and pressing a kiss to both. His eyes flicked between both of yours, watching as you slowly took in what he had said. “Tonight… tonight we can just sleep. I can sleep in the other room.”

“I- I- I’m sorry, I-”

You felt dizzy. He had barely spoke to you for days and had been so angry with you… but then he told you he loved you and then he had been desperate in his want for you and now he was being so gentle and-

“Breathe,” he said quietly, his hand coming up to rest on your cheek. “Don’t apologise. We can take this day by day.”

You nodded against his palm, closing your eyes for a moment. 

If there is one thing you have always done, it is trust in Din Djarin. You've hated and loved him, appreciated and been annoyed by him, laughed and cried over him, but you've always trusted him. 

“Good?” He asked quieter. 

“Good.” You nodded, opening your eyes. 

He leaned forward slightly and you held your breath but when his lips pressed gently against your forehead your whole body relaxed. 

“I will be just in there,” he mumbled against your skin before stepping back, reaching for his helmet and walking back into the main room. 

The exhaustion of the past few days finally hit and you just managed to get off all your armor before crawling into your new bed and pulling the sheets and blankets up to your neck. 

Despite being tired, no matter how many times you closed your eyes and tried to force your mind to rest, sleep never came.

You tossed and turned, threw the covers off and pulled them back on, got up and walked to the doorway only to run back into bed.

You found yourself pushing your weight up again, swinging your legs round until your feet landed on the cold floor as you slipped off the bed. 

I’ll count to ten then I will go get him. The words were spinning around your head so much that you found yourself counting to a hundred before you finally walked to the doorway, forcing yourself to step into the main room before you could stop yourself.

“Din?” You whispered.

You waited a minute until the rustling came, Din’s weight pushing up until he was looking across the room at you.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice deep from sleep and luring you closer to him as you stopped at the end of the makeshift bed he was lying on.

“I- I can’t sleep.”

He didn’t say anything but sat up higher as his forearms rested on his knees.

“Can you come to bed?” You went on, whispering so quietly you weren’t sure how he heard you.

“Are you sure?” He whispered back almost as quietly. 

“Please,” you said.

More rustling came as he sat up, blowing out the candle that was still lit on the shelf by his bed as he stood in front of you. You slipped your hand into his warm one before you could stop yourself and began to pull him behind you.

“Maker, you’re cold,” Din mumbled, walking faster to overtake and pull you along behind him.

There were still a few candles lit in the bedroom giving you the first glance at Din’s bare skin. He was only in a pair of black boxers, his muscles tensing with each step he took towards the bed, and you tried not to look. You couldn't help yourself though, your eyes tracing over the black ink that marked his skin all the way up his arms and back minus a spot between his shoulder blades. 

Din stopped at the end of the bed with his hand still surrounding yours, and you quickly looked up as he turned around to face you. It was obviously the first time he had realised you were almost completely bare save for the thin underwear you were wearing. 

His eyes quickly flicked up to yours, his whole body tense but eyes soft as he leaned forward to press a kiss against your forehead. 

“Slow is good,” he whispered. 

“Slow is good,” you repeated back. 

He reached for the bed sheet, holding it up and nodding his head for you to crawl in before he followed. He seemed to be unsure about how close he should go to you, his body stiff on the other end of the bed, and so you shuffled closer to him. 

You rested your hand on his chest and felt the way his heart seemed to hammer beneath his skin. 

“Is this okay?” You whispered. 

“Yes,” he said, his voice strained. 

After a moment his arm slid beneath you and pulled you tighter against him, your head now resting on his chest and your body pressed to his side. 

“Is this? Okay, I mean,” he asked. 

“Yes,” you whispered back. 

You rested your hand in the center of his chest and began to trace the designs that had been tattooed onto his skin.

Without knowing the story behind them it could have been simple lines, covering the majority of his chest, arms and back too. He stayed quiet as your fingers danced along the lines of ink, his body shivering when you ran down his sides and you both laughed quietly, some of the tension disappearing. 

“The empty spot, on your back…” Your words trailed off and Din raised his hand to rest on the bottom of your back, his fingers dancing along your skin. 

“It’s… it’s for when I have my own clan.” You hummed appreciatively and he down at you. His fingers gently gripped your chin as he tilted your head up to his, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth before he spoke again. “I guess I have one now.”

You tried to bite back your own smile but it was no use. 

The tension in the room seemed to build again and Din cleared his throat, letting your chin go as he pulled you closer against his body. 

“Sleep. It's been a long day,” he said and you nodded against his chest. 

His hand didn’t stop moving until you fell asleep, the gentle lull of his fingers tracing along your back and bringing you closer and closer to sleep without worrying about Din for the first time in years.

//

Finally! These two are finally dealing with their emotions (slowly) - thank you for the patience in the time between updates but I didn't want to just put anything out there and these two mean so much to me

//

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x foc #din djarin x oc #din djarin #the mandalorian #mandalorian #mandalorian fic #mando x reader

[lady-phasma]

Impenetrable

Chapter 1 of 5 (cross posted from AO3)

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Dar'Nîla (Togruta OFC)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, general smut, p in v sex in later chapters, D/s if you squint, plot if you squint. Written in first person fem!reader.

Summary a/n: Mando and Dar'Nîla meet and she's quite brazen. Reference images for Dar'Nîla after the cut. I wrote this during season 2, around episode 5. No beta. 2k words.

This is my reference for Dar'Nîla from the video game The Old Republic.

I saw him walk into the cantina. I watched him over the top of my mug as he went to the bar. You couldn’t not watch him. The beskar he was wearing was so new it reflected everything near him.

What could a Mandalorian possibly get at a bar? I thought. Do they use straws? No, that’s too banal.

I couldn’t stop staring. I knew he could feel all of us watching. But how many of those eyes were trying to determine how difficult it would be to seduce him while assuring him you wanted his armor to stay on? Probably only mine.

I sat my drink down, placed my front lekku meticulously to frame my breasts, and shimmied my shirt down just a little. The thin, white fabric pulled tight across the rise of my breasts and my purple skin shone through bright and unmistakable. The leather vest rode just below like a corset. I wasn’t great at being feminine but I could give a good show. My shitty, practical boots and plain leather pants were about as unfeminine as it could get. The one asset the pants had was how they stretched tight against and accentuated my ass. I checked the room and saw I had no competition so I stood, smoothed my pants over my hips, and walked to his table.

“Hi,” was somehow the best I could manage. I was never this forward.

His head turned, deliberately slow. I was immediately aware of the advantage he had over me: he could see facial expressions that I only had to guess at. This was going to be tough.

“Yes?” he responded.

I slid into the chair across from him and propped my elbows on the table, my breasts on my arms. I was going to make this easy for him because that would make it easier for me. One lek fell in front of my carefully arranged display and I brushed it aside.

“Um, yeah, hi! I’m Dar’Nîla,” I managed.

“Hi.”

“You don’t say much do you?” I beamed at him. “I’ve heard about you. They call you Mando.” I flashed my blue eyes at him.

“Some do.”

“ Can I call you that?” I played with a crumb on the table that I found, suddenly, much more fascinating than the blank surface of his helmet.

“Sure. What’s on your mind… Dar….?” He trailed off.

“‘Nîla,” I finished for him.

“Dar’Nîla, right. What’s on your mind?” he asked again.

I stammered. I’m never great at flirting and usually better at it when I don’t have a clue that I’m actually doing it. He was just so unsettling, so disarming. He was no one. Only what I projected onto him until he spoke or moved. Those were the only glimpses allowed into his personality. How could I possibly find something to flirt about? It was like talking to my reflection.

I investigated the table, ran a finger around an old ring from a glass. This place was filthy. But my mouth had gone incredibly dry. I flagged a hand at a waitress and ordered another beer. I looked him in the eye.

“What’s on my mind is that I would very much like to have a beer with you, ahem, near you is more accurate I guess, get to know you a little better, and then try to get you in my pants since there’s very little chance I could get in yours.” I blurted all of this out at once so that he couldn’t interrupt me and so I wouldn’t lose my courage.

That was the best possible moment for my beer to arrive. I buried my face in it and looked up at him. His head was tilted just slightly. Curious? Maybe. Offended? He hadn’t run for the door. Yet.

“Well, Dar’Nîla, that was quite the speech. Did you have anything specific in mind?” he asked.

I could feel his eyes on me and hear the smirk on his lips. I don’t know if he’d had one or one hundred women but he definitely knew how to manipulate me. I gulped some more beer, mostly to give myself time to think of an appropriate answer.

“Ummmm we could sit here and talk, since you’re so chatty and all, or we could get me some dinner and make our way back to your place. Get to know you better along the way?” I looked into my beer as I said the last bit. I couldn’t look at him. I was able to say all that about pants a moment ago and now I only wanted to crawl under the table. He made me feel like he was pure and I was… was what? Unclean for having these thoughts. But I knew that wasn’t true from the way he moved. The way he stayed.

His movements were slow and deliberate. He stood and reached for my hand at the same time. His gloved fingers lifted mine and I followed. I dropped some credits on the table for the beer before we walked out.

The suns were setting. The street vendors’ food crackled over fires and the smells drifted and mingled around us. I was working hard at playing it cool. I was quite sure I was not succeeding. I made a lot of assumptions about him. I assumed he wouldn’t be eating. He probably ate alone. So I stopped at a food stall and swapped some credits for a meat on a stick. Not sure what it was exactly but the sizzling fat smelled delicious. We carnivores aren’t terribly picky eaters when we’re very hungry. I tore off a mouthful.

“So, do this often, do you?” I asked as I chewed and swallowed. I was so nervous around him that I forgot all of my manners. He completely disarmed me.

“No.”

Fuck, would I ever get more than one word out of this man? I licked sauce off of my finger and looked at my boots as we walked. When I looked up he was staring at me.

“Me either,” I said. “In fact, I don’t really talk to people I don’t know. I just… I don’t know, I thought I would risk it.”

I looked back at my feet and blushed. Hard. I could feel the heat rise from my neck, first deep violet then light pink as it hit my white cheeks. All the way up my montrals and down my lekku. Sheesh. This was embarrassing.

I felt him pause. I stopped a step ahead and turned back. He seemed to be searching for something, listening maybe. God it was so hard to tell with that helmet. He turned and looked past me.

“Here,” he said and he slid a hand around mine and started walking. I’m glad he had his back to me because my mouth hung open. I shook myself out of the shock and followed.

He gave a few credits to a man selling frozen, shaved juices. I stood, mutely, watching his movements. His head tilted just enough for me to imagine he was smiling. Maybe his helmet was more expressive than I thought. He handed me the shaved ice. The evening was hot even after the suns set. I wouldn’t have thought to get this treat for myself but since he was buying. Why not? Bounty hunters aren’t hard up for credits.

I stared at the cone of ice as if I had forgotten how to eat. I looked up at him questioningly.

“I would like to watch you eat it,” he said. It was flat with no inflection. I couldn’t object or give it back to him. I couldn’t tell him he was weird and to keep his stupid shaved juice. In fact, I wanted the opposite. My body tingled like I had touched a live wire. I wanted to perform for him. I looked directly at him and licked the sweet ice. The movements of his helmet were almost invisible but once I knew what to look for I began to see them more clearly. This one seemed to be focus, intensity, just the slightest forward tilt. I tasted it again. My face was on fire. I wanted to die from embarrassment. I could guess a million reasons he wanted this but none of them mattered.

There was nothing in the world at that moment but the two of us. The noise of the street around us faded away. I could see my distorted reflection in his helmet and that inspired me to take a longer lick from my ice. I closed my eyes, wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. He took a step closer to me. This could not actually be happening to me. This was all a fantasy I created and I was still sitting in the cantina.

No. He walked closer and put a hand on the small of my back. He guided me toward an alley. He was touching me. I felt like I was shaking all over. We stopped a few feet into the alley. He took the cone from my hand and dropped it by my feet. I was frozen. What was happening? The Mandalorian actually wanted me? He wanted something. I wasn’t sure what but here we were.

He stepped toward me and I moved back so that I was pressed against the dusty wall. He put his hand on it beside my head. His body turned away from the street so that his cape hid me almost entirely. I exhaled. I had been holding my breath but in this small world he created for us I started to relax. To feel less embarrassed.

“Well?” he said. He was so cryptic. This air of mystery was almost overdone. Almost an act, yet… yet not.

“Well…” I replied. “I’m beginning to think this is all on your terms, so what would you like?”

He thought about this for a moment. His free hand started up and then fell back to his side. His helmet moved slightly. Then his hand was on my waist. Gentle but squeezing just a bit. I tried hard not to react but his grip was strong. I grazed my fingers over the vambrace on his forearm. His fingers tensed when I touched the metal. I traced a line up his arm and then down to his chest. Trying to read his mind was excruciating.

Slowly, letting him see the direction of each movement as it began, I placed one hand on his side and the other on the vambrace near my head. I felt the rough fabric of his shirt under my palm, the muscles underneath moving with his breath. I slid my hand around to the small of his back and pulled him closer. I pushed my hips out to meet his. I moaned through my teeth when I finally felt his body on mine.

The cuisses covering his thighs were hard against my legs. But that wasn’t all that was hard. I moved my hips just enough to feel that, yes, The Mandalorian was enjoying himself. I had read his mind well enough it seemed. I moved my hand down to his ass and pressed against him as much as either of us could stand.

He muttered something and abruptly grabbed my waist with both hands. He almost picked me up as he moved me away from him. He placed me at arms length with the concentration a child has with the placement of a doll. I think he really wanted to tell me to “stay put” or something like that. So, I crossed my arms across my chest, jutted one hip out, and pouted.

When he saw the look on my face he shook his head.

“My ship isn’t far from here,” he said.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x ofc #mando x togruta ofc #din djarin #din dijarin x oc #mando x oc #the mandolarian #mando fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #mando smut #din djarin smut #mando x f!reader #mando x fem!reader #din dijarin x reader

[stormkobra-5]

Poe Dameron

[Main Masterlist]

The House of Fett: You're Y/N Janghis Fett, the only daughter of the infamous bounty hunter himself. When you were eight years old, you discovered quite by accident that you were Force-sensitive, and so your father Boba sought out the Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, who would, for the next eight years of your life, be your mentor in the ways of the Force-- but you are no Jedi. You are a Mandalorian, even if you do happen to wield lightsabers. However, when the Sith Lord Kylo Ren-- whom you once knew as Ben-- begins to seek out your old mentor for terrible purposes, you're met with the familiar face of Poe Dameron, who is requesting your aid, and you agree to help him only once. But when Luke is not where you think, sending you and Poe on a galaxy-wide hunt for your elusive mentor, you're forced to work with him even longer than you had originally planned. This complicates things greatly, because you've been helplessly in love with him since the day you met him, and unrequited love is a painful thing indeed.

[Series Masterlist]

---

Unexpected: In which you and your bumbling clique of stormtroopers suddenly find yourselves under the command of Captain Poe Dameron, recently turned to the cause of the First Order... or is he?

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

---

The Heir of Djarin (Poe Dameron x Mandalorian!OC): Din Djarin has spent nearly a decade in retirement on the uncharted moon of Yëa in order to hide Grogu from the First Order, but he’s in his late fifties and is fearing the day when the little guy is left on his own. Never did he expect a girl to drop out of the sky at such a perfect moment...

|| Moodboard || Sneak Peek || Episode 1 || Episode 2 || Episode 3 || Episode 4 || Episode 5 || Episode 6 || Episode 7 || Episode 8 || Epilogue ||

**Boxing Badass (Poe Dameron x fem!reader)

Role Reversal (Poe Dameron x gn!reader)

Birthday Wishes (Poe Dameron x gn!reader)

*Embarrassment (Poe Dameron x gn!reader)

**Wild (Poe Dameron x fem!reader)

**Falling Slowly (Poe Dameron x fem!reader) (Teaser)

Headcanons:

1 2 3 4 5 6

Blurbs:

1 2

Spookable September 2022: 1 2 3

Star Wars/Top Gun AU Messy Moodboard

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x fem!reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x oc #poe dameron x mandalorian!oc #poe dameron x forceuser!reader #poe dameron x mandalorian!reader #poe dameron x reader smut #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #din djarin #boba fett #grogu the child #grogu #bb-8 #pedro pascal #temuera morrison #luke skywalker #kylo ren #mark hamill #adam driver

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Twenty.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C    

word count: 8.2K 

chapter summary:  Din dreams, and Marathel surrenders. 

warnings:  crap tons of angst, mention of blood and injury, violence to women, rape, rape aftermath, non-con sexual situations, sexual situations, suicide ideation, allusion to drug use, description of medical procedures, English and Mando’a cursing 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***     

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<-You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din and Grogu were still on their way to Nevarro to meet with Karga. Grogu was cuddled on Din’s lap on the captain’s chair in the cockpit, and they were currently watching a holovid of what Din considered to be one of the gentlest of rom-coms in his collection.  The story was simple enough: a Zabrak fellow, who was the awkward social pariah in his youth was found to be quite desirable by the hoity-toity former beauty-queen Twi’lek once they were adults.  The two connected because they’d had kids who became playmates, and the children naturally conspired to bring their parents into a relationship.  Eventually, the Zabrak discovered that the former beauty queen been overcompensating for a rough childhood, and the Twi’lek discovered that looks weren’t everything, but character and kindness mattered more. 

Din would have told anyone who asked that the reason for watching this holo was because the story was light-hearted and child-friendly, so it was appropriate for Grogu to watch.  Din had looked up some children’s holos on the sub-ether and had found them to be irritating in the extreme, and he’d rather Grogu watch people behaving decently rather than animated, dancing, shiny space whales singing about shab knew what. 

The real reason for watching the sappy rom-com, though, was an attempt by Din to clear his head and heart of whatever ugliness was within that was causing him to have those dreams he’d had lately.  The dream of him savaging Marathel as she lay in the stream was apparently only the first in a series.  That same sleep cycle, he’d dreamed that he was aggressively fucking her up against a wall. He was pulling her hair with one hand and gripping her jaw viciously with the other, all the while growling “Look at me!”, and she’d finally managed to break loose of his hold, swiping her nails across the bite wound as she screamed “LET ME GO!”  That time, after he’d awoken to another throbbing hard-on, he locked himself in the fresher again, where he harshly rubbed one out, without lubricant, in a vague attempt to punish himself.  After, he’d changed the dressing on the bite wound, and the infection was worse.  He also felt chilled and achy, making him wonder if he caught a cold while on Coruscant.  Running around in the rain, doing a bunch of high-energy high-stress shenanigans, losing my socks, shouldn’t wonder.  Haar’chak. 

The holo ended.  Grogu pointed at the screen, looked up at Din, and said, “Patu Mama!” 

“Patu Mama?  I’m not a Zabrak, you know that.  Mama is not a Twi’lek.  We’re both human.  You, ad’ika, on the other hand, we have no kriffing clue.” 

“Mama!  Mama, Mama!” cried Grogu, slapping his hands on Din’s armorless chest, and Din grunted as the boy inadvertently hit the bite-mark. 

Din took the boy’s little hand in his, gently rubbing the tiny knuckles with his gloved thumb.  “There’s nothing new to tell you. Fennec probably just got back to Mama, and the see-kit doctors are helping her.”  Grogu pouted, his ears drooping.  “I know, little guy.”  Din sighed.  “I wish I could make this whole process go faster.” Grogu grumbled his little chatter. “Seriously, do you think I’m doing the right thing?  Or is this plan of mine insane?”  Grogu shrugged.  “You’re a big help.  Okay, get off me, let’s get you something to eat.” 

After reconstituting some dried meat and a ration bar for Grogu, Din made himself a hot mug of bone broth, which made him feel a little better.  He sent off a holotext to Karga, outlining his intentions, hoping that Karga would start with his request, without a bunch of damn questions.  Karga was too nosy for his own good. 

Din wanted to reach out to Fennec, but he knew that was unwise.  He was still surprised that they’d run into each other on Coruscant as they’d had.  That meant that wherever Marathel was, she must have been close.  Oh, how he missed her.  He hoped she was responding to whatever treatment they were giving her, that she was not in pain, that they’d figure out how to make her stop bleeding, for Frith’s sake.  Din tried to not feel jealous of the time that Cobb was able to spend with her: he got to see her feeling well, in good spirits, having fun at the damn market.  Din also knew Cobb well enough that he knew Cobb probably got a little more than familiar with her — holding her hand, putting an arm around her, possibly more, that flirting son of a bitch.  Well, I’ll be putting an end to that soon.  Leaning back in his chair, he hoped that Marathel was getting better … and perhaps thinking of him. 

Marathel was thinking about Din at that moment, although she didn’t want to.  Certainly not while she was in this position.  Marathel was still in the chair, but she was not immobilized against the blinding flashing light.  Instead, she was now lying back with her knees up towards her armpits, exposed, open, as Cieroprac did … something to her, working to repair some of the damage done by the Dilimgau.  She couldn’t feel pain, but she felt the pressure of instruments and heard the quiet murmuring of Cieroprac talking to Eliadu, who was assisting her.   

Eliadu had continued to try to dissuade Marathel from only repairing the damage.  Marathel knew that she meant well, but Eliadu couldn’t possibly understand just how devastated she was.  The knowledge she now had, when put up against what she knew and experienced, made everything so clear to her.  There was no possibility, no chance of Din’s happiness with her.  She had nothing, was nothing, was so completely unworthy of someone like the armor-clad Mandalorian. 

She only hoped he would someday forgive her.  At the very least, he could forget her.  And Grogu was young: he could easily forget her as well.  Marathel would rather be forgotten than live with their contempt. 

Marathel suddenly sobbed.  Eliadu looked up at her, asking, “Are you in pain, Marathel?  We can put you to sleep, if you want.”  Marathel shook her head, fighting back her tears.  “We’re almost done here; then it’s just a few more tests.”  

“Where is Fennec?” 

“She is out … we put her in touch with someone to create an identity for you, so you can leave here.” 

“Identity?” 

“It’s something we all must have.  We call it an ID.” 

“Eye-Dee?  I don’t understand.” 

“It’s basically proof that you are who you say you are. It’s mostly so you can travel to certain places,” said Eliadu. 

“But I don’t want to go anywhere except back to Unmanarall.” 

Eliadu smiled indulgently.  “Well, it’s one of those facts of life we all have to live with for now.” 

Marathel sighed.  Then the pressure inside her became unbearable for a moment.  Cieroprac quietly apologized while her instruments continued to push around.  “You’re doing great, Marathel,” she said. 

“I just want this to be over,” whimpered Marathel.   

Eliadu put her hand on Marathel’s ankle, giving it a gentle squeeze.   “Won’t you reconsider reconstruction?” 

“No.” 

Cieroprac said, “I think I’m done here.  You will be sore for a while.  You will also still bleed for some time while you heal.  Hopefully it will only seem like an extra monthly period to you; I’ll get you a supply of absorbent pads to wear.   I also recommend a dilator with antibiotic suppositories; this would have been easier if you responded positively to bacta.” 

“What is this bacta everyone speaks of?” Marathel asked. 

“It’s a universal healing fluid; it can be used both internally and externally.  For some reason, you’re part of the tiny percentage that it doesn’t work on,” said Cieroprac as she moved herself and her instruments out from under Marathel. 

Eliadu began moving the large chair so that Marathel was in a regular sitting position.  “We don’t know if that’s an aberration particular to you, or if it’s genetic — your people may not respond to it either.” Marathel shrugged.  “What will you do, when you go back … home?”  Marathel did not respond.  “You live alone, away from your people, don’t you?  You don’t plan to go back to them?” 

Marathel shuddered.  “My people were the ones who did this to me.  I will … I will continue to live on my own.” 

“But why would you want to go back?  It would seem that you have new people who care deeply for you.  Why would you deny them the pleasure of having you with them?” 

“This is how it must be.”  This is the way.  Marathel knew they didn’t believe her.  What they thought didn’t matter.  The only opinion she really cared about was the Bounty Hunter’s … but there was nothing he’d be able to do or say to make her change her mind.  At least, that was what she kept telling herself. 

The chair was adjusted enough to allow Marathel to close her legs, her hip joints making loud popping noises.  Oh, she was sore.  She shifted a bit to lean forward, and she felt a deep ache, not unlike the cramping that came with her cycles when she had them, which was irregular and seldom.  Cieroprac was showing her the dilator device and explaining how to use it, making Marathel distinctly uncomfortable. She wanted to never think of that part of her again.  It had been a source of misery to her for most of her life, and the lives of every woman she knew.  Even though she’d recently had fleeting moments of ecstasy, of fulfillment, the pain and degradation far outweighed any pleasure she had ever received.   

Thinking of physical pleasure brought her mind back to Din —think of him as the Bounty Hunter again, Marathel, it will make leaving him easier, she thought to herself. 

And what of Grogu?  How can you ever forget him?  How can you even think of leaving him? 

It will kill me.  And even then, better so. 

Fennec, meanwhile, was ready to lose her shit.  

There were now so many things she’d rather be doing than dealing with government officials on behalf of a woman-child while running around an Imp ship crawling with who knew how many Imp sympathizers.  Preferable activities included pulling bantha-pups from a pregnant female in the Dune Sea, or possibly getting her cyber-implants replaced while still conscious and juggling vibro-blades. 

Fennec had managed to get some initial identification started for Marathel, naming her as a refugee from Jakuu.  That was far enough away in the opposite direction that no one would bother checking up on it.  There were enough nameless souls in the galaxy without ID that another would hardly matter.  The problem here was that Marathel would require a chip before she could leave this station.  Getting a chip would be more difficult, for that required an interview with the person in question, and Marathel could barely handle asking for a damned cup of tea, much less being questioned by Imps.  This was allegedly a Republic station, but in reality, it was still an Imp-friendly stronghold.  And Imps were big on ID chips.   

Fennec was heading back when she remembered that Marathel also had nothing to wear.  She sought out a clothing shop, but there wasn’t a lot of choice in Marathel’s size.  Din had made a point of nothing blue; unfortunately, Fennec could only get two shirts and two pairs of pants that would fit Marathel , and they were all different shades of dark blue.  Another reason to hate Imps, thought Fennec.  All a bunch of skinny bitches.  Fennec also purchased some undergarments as well as a soft pair of slippers that would do until they got back to Tatooine.  As she paid for these, Fennec impulsively added a light scarf of yellow that had dark orange threads shot through it, hoping it would cheer Marathel.  Cripes.  Now she’s got me doing it, Fennec thought with an exasperated smile.  She liked Marathel, she honestly did.  Marathel was delightful — when she wasn’t miserable — and Fennec only wished that they had met under different circumstances.  Perhaps we could have double dated.  Fennec chuckled.  And brought Cobb along as a fifth wheel.  Fennec laughed to herself at that one as she headed back to Marathel, now in a better frame of mind. 

Marathel stood in the fresher, hot water spraying on the top of her head.  If there was something that she would miss from this new part of her life — besides the people she had met, so different from those she’d always known — it was these hot showers.  Bathing water had never been hot enough for her.  Warm water was only for the men and the boys.  Clean water was only for the men and the boys.  They got to take their baths, and then the laundry was done, and then the women got to bathe. Once she began to live on her own, it took a long time before she felt comfortable enough to allow herself to bathe in warm clean water for herself.  But even then, there was no easy way to fill the laundry tub at the old herder’s hut, so it was only a dishpan or the dry sink for her.   

But this, this, the almost too-hot water cascading though her hair in sheets, was bliss.  No one had told her not to waste water here, so Marathel remained in the fresher until her skin turned pink and her muscles were warm.  The room remained steamy long after she’d turned off the water.  The towels she had access to were neither large nor thick, but they sufficed to dry her off until she could wrap her blanket around her.  Oh, I hope I can take this blanket with me.  I’ve never had a blanket this warm and soft.  It’s like a hug.  Marathel indulged herself in a memory of the Bounty Hunter’s arms around her, making her heart ache. 

Someone knocked on the door.  “Marathel?” It was Eliadu.  “Are you done? Fennec is back.”  Marathel hurriedly combed her hair and left the fresher.   

Fennec was standing just outside with a carry bag. “How are you feeling?” asked Fennec, as she looked at Marathel’s pink face. 

Marathel shrugged. “They think they’ve stopped my bleeding.  Cieroprac is making two more sets of injections that I’ll have to administer to myself.  After that, the hope is … I’ll be cured.” 

“Marathel …” Fennec began.  She thought for a few moments, then said, “What about the rest of the women in your Hold who suffer the same thing?” 

“What of them?” 

Fennec frowned.  “Don’t they deserve an opportunity to get this treatment too?” 

Marathel’s eyes closed as she sighed.  “There’s no point.” 

“Marathel … you can’t mean that.” 

“So long as they don’t … become like me, they’ll be all right.  Now, you went … to get me an ID?” 

“Yes.  And I got you some more clothes.  I’m sorry, but all I could find was blue.” 

“That is fine.  I am grateful, Fennec.  Thank you.”  Marathel took the bag and enclosed herself in her room, leaving Fennec on the other side of the door.   

Fennec went back to the treatment room.  Eliadu was cleaning the large chair apparatus, and Cieroprac was inventorying instruments.  “She loves the hot showers,” said Eliadu.  “Once Marathel found out that we had a fresher, it’s been difficult to keep her out of it.”  Fennec smiled wanly.  “She is such a charming and sweet woman, but hell-bent on inflicting her own misery.” 

Fennec sighed.  “I think misery is all she’s ever known.”  Except for maybe seven days.  And now she’s hell-bent on blowing that up. It made Fennec feel sorry for Din and Grogu.   

“We have done what we can for her at the moment.  The rest of her pain resides in her heart.”    

“If only you would tell me …” 

Eliadu shook her head.  “It is not for me to tell.  I betrayed her trust by using an Imp serum to get the information I needed, but once I learned the full truth about her, I knew I couldn’t just blithely pass on what I learned.  I needed to leave her with some dignity.” 

Fennec understood.  She had her own theories about Marathel’s past, and Cobb agreed with her, based on some things that Marathel had said to him.  If it were true, Marathel deserved some dignity. 

Fennec held out the credits, and Cieroprac shook her head.  “It would be too much. The price was for full reconstruction, not the little we did.”  She gave Fennec a new amount. Fennec nodded and adjusted the stack of credits. 

Just then, Marathel slowly came into the treatment room.  She was wearing the blue clothes and slippers and hugging the folded blanket. She had tied the scarf low over her forehead wound, braiding the long ends into her damp hair.  She looked subdued, exhausted, but also healthier, with good color in her cheeks.  Looking at Fennec, she said, “Thank you for the clothes and the scarf, Fennec.  They seem to fit well.”   

Fennec did her best to seem cheerful.  “You’re welcome.  Again, I’m sorry that I could only find blue clothes.” 

Marathel gave a small smile.  “I don’t mind.  I think it’s the Bounty Hunter who dislikes blue.  Blue was the color of my house at the Hold.” 

Fennec frowned.  “House?” 

“House of Bishop,” said Marathel with a shrug.  “Are we able to go now?” Marathel asked Eliadu, “Are we able to leave?  And … may I … keep this blanket?  I like it very much.” 

“Yes, Marathel, of course you may keep the blanket,” replied Eliadu.  “You are also able to leave.  But please, reconsider your plans.  Your heart is already broken, don’t shred it to pieces as well.”  

Marathel remained silent, and then Cieroprac said, “You have the medicines and injections?  And you remember how and when to use them?” 

Marathel nodded.  “I do.  And thank you for what you have done for me.” 

“Marathel,” entreated Eliadu.  “You can be free of your pain.  Do you understand?  You can be free … but you’re the one that has to let it go.” 

Marathel nodded, and said quietly, “I will be.”  She quickly stepped forward and hugged Eliadu.  “Thank you for your kindness.” 

Eliadu, surprised, hugged Marathel back.  “Marathel, thank you for trusting us.  Please remember that where you came from is not who you are.”  Eliadu kissed Maratgel’s cheek.  “You will need more than a blanket to keep you company in this life.” 

Cieroprac added, “Thank you, Marathel, for coming to us.  May you be well.” 

Marathel pulled back from Eliadu, looking at both women, her throat full of tears, second-guessing her decisions and her plans … but then she remembered that where she came from was exactly who she was.  Marathel and Fennec finished their goodbyes and left. 

Shortly after, Fennec was walking at a brisk pace ahead of Marathel.  “Pick it up, Marathel.  We have a way to go to get to the transport, and you also have to get chipped.” 

Marathel, already breathless, said, “Pick what up?  And what is a chip?”  Marathel stopped.  “Please, Fennec, I can’t walk as fast as you.” 

Fennec turned back around to see Marathel, breathing hard, holding on to a direction sign.  “I’m sorry, Marathel, I just want off this station.  I won’t feel safe until we’re both out of here. The ID I tried to get for you is not enough.  You must get an ID chip imbedded, and you must speak to an Imp to get it.” 

Marathel nodded, nervous. “I will do my best.” 

Fennec slowed her pace, and stayed close to Marathel as they made their way to the ID registrar.  Fennec told Marathel what she had initially told the registrar and reminded her of the original story they had planned to tell the Reconstructionists.  “Where is this Jakuu?” asked Marathel. 

“Basically nowhere.” 

“So is Unmanarall.” 

“Yes, but no one has heard of your planet.  Jakuu is at least known in the galaxy.  It’s also essentially populated by nobodies.  It’s a good place to disappear,” said Fennec with a shrug. 

“Why not say I’m from Tatooine?” 

“Because I happen to live there.  I don’t want people potentially following up where I live.”  An office worker called out Marathel’s name.  “Answer their questions, but don’t offer any information,” whispered Fennec. 

Marathel nodded, and she slowly got up to follow the worker through a door and into a small cubicle within a sea of cubicles.  People of all kinds were moving all about Marathel as she sat on the small chair next to the worker’s desk. The worker, a human with shocking purple hair, kept a disinterested look on his face as he tapped on a keypad connected to a large holo screen. After sitting in silence for quite a long time, the worker snapped, “Name?” 

Marathel jumped, startled.  “I’m sorry?” 

“Name?” 

“Marathel,” she replied.   

“How’d you spell that?” asked the worker.  Marathel didn’t respond, and the worker sighed.  “Another one who can’t read.  Fine.  Look at me and pronounce your name slowly.” 

“Mare-ah-thel,” pronounced Marathel. 

“Surname?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

The worker sighed again and rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Surname.  Family name.  Name of the people you come from.” 

Marathel assumed that the correct answer would be ap Bishop, that was the name of the people she came from, but she had lived the last two-thirds of her life without the name hanging over her, and she refused to have it tied to her now.  “Can I not just … have the name Marathel?  Is that not enough?” 

The worker sighed yet again.  “Lady, I already missed my smoke break.  I gotta fill in the forms like they tell me, because they don’t pay me enough to put up with the grief I’d get if I don’t.   Just give me a kriffing name.  Make up something, I don’t care.” 

Marathel thought briefly of naming herself Belwhyn; it was at least an appropriate descriptor.   But it hurt her heart too much to do that … and she believed that Fennec, and probably the Bounty Hunter, would dislike it.  Marathel also briefly considered ap Olba, as she had been the only true family she had ever known, her mam that wasn’t her mam.  The worker was glaring at her, so she blurted out, “… ap Unmapeth.  That’s my … surname.” 

“Finally.”  The worker tapped for a while on the keypad.  “From Jakuu?” 

“Yes.”  Again, tap-tap-tap.  Marathel clutched her hands together in her lap as she waited for the next question, the interrogation she expected. The machine before her made a beep noise, and a tiny metal grain-shaped object dropped into a tiny plate.   

The worker grabbed the metal grain and dropped it into what looked like a tiny boomer.  “Arm,” the worker said, and Marathel reached out with her right arm, perplexed.  The worker grabbed her arm and placed the tiny boomer against her inner arm, pulling the trigger. 

Marathel felt a deep, painful pinch.  “Ow!  What in Frith ...” 

“Take this to the front desk as you leave, you’re done,” said the worker, waving a small sheet of paper at her.   

“But what was that …” 

“Lady, you’re done.  Go that way.  Dank ferrik, I’m going for a smoke.”  The worker stood and pulled up Marathel by her arm, pushing her towards a desk with a squatty green creature behind it.   

Marathel approached the desk, and the creature, not looking at her, held out a puffy hand.  “Form?”  Marathel placed the piece of paper in the green hand.  The creature tapped on their keypad for a while, and the creature muttered, “Another one from Jakuu with an unpronounceable name. Damn dustfoots, coming here, taking all the jobs …” The creature sighed wetly, drool cascading over the multiple chins. 

“My name is pronounced Marathel ap Unmapeth.” 

“Sure it is.  Arm,” it said, holding out its puffy hand again. 

“Why?” asked Marathel, wary, assuming some other painful thing was about to happen.   

“Arm,” it said again.  Marathel gingerly held out her arm again, noticing the new red area on her injection-marked skin. The creature, after giving Marathel’s arm a withering look, grabbed her arm and placed a black metal cylinder near it, and a holo projection of letters and a flattened image of her face hovered above the black cylinder.  Marathel gasped.  “That you?” asked the creature. 

“I … I guess so.” 

The creature sighed again, rolling three of its five eyes.  Marathel heard the creature mutter, “A kriffing spicehead, too.”  It slapped another paper slip on the desk in front of Marathel.  “Sign here.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Put your mark, whatever, you’re holding up the line.”  Marathel looked down at the paper, bewildered.  The creature finally shoved a pen in her hand, grabbed her arm roughly, and made Marathel scribble something on the slip.  The creature stamped it with a red blotchy image and said, “You’re done.  Next!” 

Marathel stumbled away from the desk and went out the door she had come in. Fennec was sitting in a chair, scowling at a Rodian child who was staring dumbly at her while sucking on a large lolly.    Fennec noticed Marathel and stood.  “Well, that was quicker than I expected.” 

Marathel looked at her arm again.  “I don’t understand what just happened.” 

“You’ve been chipped.  Welcome to modern bureaucracy.  Let’s get out of here; government offices make me itch.” 

As they left the offices, Marathel said, “They only asked my name and where I was from.  Then … I think they put something in my arm.” 

Fennec nodded.  “That’s the chip.  You’ll need it to get on the transport.” 

“But why?” 

“It’s … just the way it is, Marathel. You have to prove you are who you say you are.” 

“My word is not enough?” 

“Not for the Imps,” said Fennec. Seeing Marathel’s face turn to distress, she continued, “Please, Marathel, try to not upset yourself.” 

“They made me create a family name for myself.  They didn’t care what, just that I had one.” 

“Figures.  What did you choose?”  Fennec was assuming that Marathel would take the surname Bishop, based on her suspicions. 

“I thought about Belwhyn, but … I went with ap Unmapeth.”  Marathel sighed.  “I suppose it doesn’t matter, really.  I only need to have this chip to get back to Tatooine, yes?”  Marathel kept stroking her arm, trying to feel where the chip had been injected.  

“What does ap Unmapeth mean?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “Nothing.  Where do we have to go now?” 

“Ship 2.  While I was waiting for you, I hired a cart to take us there.  I wasn’t thinking that you wouldn’t be up to the long walk, Marathel; I’m sorry.” 

Marathel looked downcast.  “I’m sorry I can’t keep up.” 

“Don’t worry; you just need some rest.”  An open driverless droid cart arrived.  Marathel got on with some trepidation, and Fennec tapped in their destination on the little screen in front of them.  The little cart zipped off into a track with many other carts like it.  

Marathel was initially startled by the speed of the cart, but then she said, “Well, this is fun,” surprising Fennec. 

“How are you feeling, Marathel?” 

“This is much better than walking.” 

Fennec frowned; Marathel was deflecting again.  The trip back to Tatooine was not terribly long, and Fennec had gotten them their own private carriage so Marathel could relax in peace, without the stares of strangers.  Fennec hoped that Marathel would be able to talk at length to Din upon their return, now that she seemed better.  She hoped that Din could talk her out of going back to her home planet.  Marathel was rubbing her arm where they injected the chip.  “Leave your arm alone, Marathel.” 

“They called me a dustfoot.  And a spicehead.” 

“Who did?” 

“The people at the ID office.  They were … quite mean.  I don’t know what they called me, but it obviously wasn’t good.” 

Fennec sighed.  “Dustfoot … that’s someone from a desert planet.  It can also mean someone who is … simple, uneducated, usually poor.  It’s just another term to call someone who you think is beneath you.  But then, Cobb calls himself a dustfoot.” 

“So, it has double meanings, like tymffod.  It literally means funnel, but to call a person one, it would mean … asshole.”  This last word, Marathel whispered. 

Fennec laughed.  “Did you ever call Din that?” 

Marathel turned pink.  “Once, but indirectly.  When he puked up my clam stew.” 

“And I bet you make very good clam stew.” 

“I do!  It was delicious. I even made it spicy like he asked for.” 

Oh honey, he was trying as hard to please you as you were him, to the point it made him sick, poor guy.  “Well, that was a tymffoddy thing for him to do.”  Marathel smiled briefly, and then her face returned to sadness. Fennec then said, “A spicehead is someone addicted to spice.  Spice is an illegal drug that is traded and run all over the galaxy.  It has made many people very rich to the detriment of millions of others.  I’m sure the person there saw the injection marks on your arms and made an assumption.  But you’re not a spice addict, so that person’s just stupid.” 

“But they …” 

“Someday you’ll learn, Marathel, that what other people think of you doesn’t matter if you know they’re wrong.  And especially if that person doesn’t care about you, unlike Din, or me, or anyone at the palace.” 

Marathel fell silent.  She knew, deep down, that the green creature didn’t matter.  But she also knew that she was a disgusting monster and would be found repugnant by everyone at the palace who allegedly cared about her, once they finally learned the truth about her … but I have to tell the Bounty Hunter first.  I only hope he will allow me to kiss Grogu goodbye; then he can be repulsed by me forever. 

They got to the transport bay, and Marathel continued to not speak as they went through security.  Marathel held out her arm as requested, her chip was scanned, and they made it onboard with no trouble.  Fennec made a few attempts to engage Marathel in conversation, but she did not respond, and continued to look at the floor, her brow furrowed as if she were deep in thought.  Fennec finally dropped to her knees within Marathel’s line of sight, and gently put her hands on Marathel’s knees.  Marathel started, but still said nothing.  Fennec said, “Marathel, listen to me.  You don’t have to talk but by this Frith you and Din keep mentioning, you will listen to me. 

“Whatever happened to you, whatever happened in your Hold … None of it is your fault.  You are the victim, Marathel.  Don’t judge yourself on what was done to you in that horrible place.  Don’t push Din away because you feel like you’re unworthy.  None of it was your doing! 

“You took yourself into that Hold but doesn’t mean you deserved what those men did to you. Those women got you out because they love you.  Din got you to us because he loves you.  You are some woman, Marathel, you are sweet and kind and smart, and dammit, I like you.  I pretty much hate everyone, but I like you. 

“Whatever you’re thinking by wanting to go back to Unmanarall … stop thinking that.  You’re going to break Din’s heart, and Grogu’s too, and that little boy just started calling you Mama!  And you’re breaking your own heart too. 

“You need help, you need so much help.  You need therapy and care and healing and support.  You can’t get that if you run away.  We will get you that help if you stay with us.  Please, Marathel, don’t go back.  Don’t do this; we care about you so damn much.” 

Marathel didn’t respond.  Fennec’s eyes were misted over, but her own were dry.  The thought of leaving should have broken her heart as well, but her heart had already disintegrated into ash.  Marathel sighed and gently pushed Fennec’s hands off her lap.  Marathel softly said, “You shouldn’t,” and she drew her knees up and curled herself into a ball. 

The next night cycle, Din put Grogu to bed, and he locked himself in the cockpit, deciding to fantasize about Marathel in a romantic and tender manner before he fell asleep, attempting to manipulate his subconscious.  He thought of her wearing her pretty gown of sunset yellow, made with her own hands, bright against her magnificent warm skin.  He thought of her hair, a waving river of liquid beskar, flowing over her shoulders, tangling around his fingers, capturing his hands with its heavy coarseness, with its scent of flowers and herbs and the heat from her head.  He thought of her face and its features, soft and pale, her eyelashes barely visible against her cheeks as she held her eyes closed. He thought about kissing her softly, first on her cheek, and then moving across her pale nose with little light nips to the other cheek before moving to her lips, and he always kissed with much more skill in his fantasies than he was sure he did in real life.  He thought about gently sliding his hand up her ribcage to cup her full breast, heavy in his hand, molding it in his palm as he gently laid her back on a soft bed, putting a knee between her thighs. He thought of releasing her breast, moving both his hands up to cup her sweet, beautiful face, murmuring my love and my mesh’la before kissing her softly again …  

… and then his hand slid down her throat to her shoulder to her breast, pinching her nipple until she gasped, then moving his hand to her thigh, where he gathered up the hem of her gown and slid his hand underneath it, moving his hand up her thigh and over her hip, roughly squeezing the ample globe of her ass cheek.  Ending his kiss, he lifted his knee to press against her mound, and she moaned, her eyes closed as he hiked up her gown to her waist.  He lowered his full weight on her, sliding his erection through her folds with a rolling pelvis, marking her with his fluids, as he continued to softly call her my mesh’la, my lovely, my sweet, my girl, my sweet girl, my little girl, my good girl as he got to his knees to push her legs wide open.  He spit on his hand and stroked himself before he pushed his cock into her pussy — she was not wet enough but he didn’t want to wait any longer — watching her groan at the feel of him inside her, her eyes closed, and then he began to fuck her proper, holding one of her heavy legs up against her. Oh, my good girl, he said, such a good girl, sweet girl, my baby girl, can you look at me, sweet girl? 

Thrusting faster. 

Good girl, look at me, open your eyes, baby girl.   

Faster.  Grabbing at the neckline of her gown, pulling at it.  

Look at me, baby girl, open your eyes, look at me now, my good girl.  

Harder.  Twisting her gown in his fist, ripping it. 

Baby girl, open your eyes, look at me, you look at me! 

He struck her across the face. 

You look at me, you bitch!  You whore cunt!  Open your eyes, you slut, LOOK AT ME! 

She kept her eyes tightly shut, tears rolling down her temples, and she cried there’s no point as she pushed against him, and she found the bite-mark with her hand, pressing as hard as she could, sobbing, let me go. 

Time suddenly stretched out, slowing to almost stopping.  Entire cycles of the sun passed overhead, and he was no longer ruthlessly forcing himself on her, he was merely gently holding her as he lay beside her, and eventually time fell back into its normal pace, and it was now the deepest night, and he could barely see her in the pale moonlight.  He did not know where he had been before, but now he recognized the brown bed tick he slept on Unmanarall.  He could feel the light breeze as it luffed the woven brown panels that hung around them.  He was with his Marathel, back to where they’d been so close, where he’d fallen in love with his mesh’la, his ma’mwsh ha’laa.  

My Marathel, I removed my helmet like you asked.  My Marathel, I see you with my own eyes. Ner kar’ta. Look at me, he said.  Mesh’la.  Look at me. 

She turned her head away, weeping.  There’s no point. 

He cupped her cheek, feeling her tears on his hand.  Please.  Please, mesh’la, look at me. 

Marathel shook her head.  There’s no point. 

He pulled a blanket over her, covering her, protecting her.  Ner kar’ta, I’m sorry. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim.  Ni cuy’ hut’uun.  I am a despicable person, I am a coward, please, look at me, please forgive me.  He tried to hold her, comfort her, even though he had been the source of her pain.  Please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please look at me! 

Her tears continued to fall as she pulled away from him and stood, her eyes still tightly shut, walking away, pulling the blanket behind her like a train on an elaborate gown as she walked down the front steps of her hut and into the tall grass. The words let me go came back to him in a whisper as she disappeared in the distance. 

Don’t make me, he whispered to the woman no longer there.  Please, don’t make me let you go.  Stay with me. 

But she was gone, the whispers were gone, he was alone in the dark, and he remained there for a very long time. 

When Din began to wake up — realizing he was reclining in his captain's chair — he was unsure of how long he slept.  He felt woozy, not unlike a hangover or a concussion. Since he’d experienced both recently, he took a moment to make sure he was conscious and not still in a dream state.  He also felt … damp? 

Din opened his eyes, and his visor was filled with Grogu’s face, peering in. Din jerked back slightly with a start, and Grogu cooed and slid down Din’s chest.  “What’s going on?”  Grogu patted Din’s chest, and he realized the child was patting the bite area.  He pulled down his thermal shirt and saw that the wound was no longer infected.  It still was red, but it was a healthy red color, not the angry red of the previous infection.  Din also noticed that his thermal shirt was soaked in sweat.  He must have been running a fever, and Grogu had Force-opened the cockpit door to heal him.  

Did the infection cause the dreams?   

Am I still connected to her through this bite-mark?   

Osi’k, that makes no damned sense, do I still have a fever?   

“Was I sick, kid?  Did you have to heal me?” Grogu’s hands reached up to his helmet.  “I’ve been messed up the past couple of days.  I’m sorry, little guy, I’m so sorry.”   

“Mama?” 

What the shab? “Mama?  What about her?” 

Grogu climbed up further and grabbed Din’s helmet.  “Mama,” he said, emphatically. 

The kid knows.  He knows I’ve been dreaming about her.  But … does he know what I’ve dreamt?  Din felt ashamed.  “Yes, Grogu … I’ve been dreaming of her.  Bad dreams.  Dreams where I … hurt her.  But you know, you know I’d never hurt her, right?” Grogu kept staring into the visor, his huge eyes gazing deep into Din’s soul.  “I … I’m …” Din swallowed, collecting his thoughts.  “I’m scared, kid.”   Grogu tilted his head, waiting for Din to continue.  “Patu really likes the idea of Patu Mama, but Patu is just … scared.  Patu is afraid that Mama won’t like the idea of Patu Mama.  Mama is still very sad.  Sad and hurt.  Mama may always be sad and hurt.”  Grogu whined, his face pinching with sadness.  Din squeezed Grogu’s hand, saying, “No, don’t you worry.  Mama will always love Grogu.  She loves you,” insisted Din. “But Mama … she may never love Patu.  And that’s why Patu is so scared.” 

“Sad Patu?” 

Din nodded.  “Very sad Patu.”  Grogu snuggled up under Din’s chin, hugging him.   Din put his large hand on the child’s tiny back.  Sad.  Scared.  Terrified that she may leave me still.  That was the only way the dreams made sense to him; he was overpowering her — in the worst way possible — to keep her from leaving.  Forcing her to remain.  Preying on her fear and her belief that she deserved such treatment.  Calling her by the names that she hated, the ones that the Bishop called her.  And hurting her in such a deplorable way.  

Then Din recalled a recurring theme — she would not look at me.  Was my helmet off or on?  He made a point of telling her his helmet was off in this last dream, although it did not make any difference.  Is she pulling away from me?  Am I making an enormous assumption that she loves me, regardless of what she said on Unmanarall?  Are my feelings for her … misplaced now? 

And what about the bite mark?  The wound that burns every time I wake up from one of these nightmares? 

Oh, he did not want to try to piece that together.   

His father — not his buir, his actual father — was some kind of engineer, he never knew what kind exactly.  What he did remember was his father’s favorite pastime: root cause analysis.  His father spent a lot of time talking to him in his calming manner, asking the questions that mattered.   

What happened to your toy, son? 

Elor broke it. 

Why did the neighbor boy Elor break your toy, son?    

The answer because Elor is a bully didn’t appease his father; Father wanted young Din to fully analyze the situation. Question after question he would ask, each one leading further and further back to where young Din stepped on the path that led to his toy — not that Din remembered what the toy even was, at this point — being broken.  What Din remembered was that his father had walked him right back to the root cause: Din was the reason the toy was broken. 

Elor, a boy close to Din’s age but older, lived two houses down.  Elor lived with only his mother then; his father had just been conscripted due to his felon status.  Din’s father was safe from such a fate; he had an education and a high-ranking job, and he was not a convict.  Elor was not taking this well, and it just so happened that Din had decided to be a right little shit that day.  With his fabulous new toy, Din went down to Elor’s house to show it off and rub his nose in it.  Elor responded to this in the only way imaginable by children, and not only did Din have a broken toy, but also a bloody nose.  The end result — after Din finally got to the root cause — was Din being marched back down to Elor’s house with an apology and an invitation for Elor and his mother to come for dinner.  Elor was over for dinner a lot after that, and lunches too.  The two boys never became friends, but Din never forgot about root cause analysis. 

If Din had to analyze his dreams for the root cause, he’d be hard pressed to come up with answers that weren’t completely fantastical, or at least bizarre.  The bad dreams started when the bite mark became infected, so he could blame the dreams on that … but he also wondered if the bite mark went deeper than that, so to speak.   

Din remembered the night back on Unmanarall, the second night of the Dahls mating.  The bite burned then.  He had felt overheated, almost feverish, not only with lust for Marathel, but also a true physical fever.  That night, he tried to overpower her, force himself on her, but … he finally surrendered to her strength, her physical desire to mate, her pure need.   

But these new dreams, she’d been the one to surrender.  Not even surrender; she didn’t fight to begin with, not until she could no longer bear it, and then, she’d attack the bite, causing him pain in both the sleeping and waking worlds. 

The bite had burned another time, but he had scarcely remembered it until now — the bite had burned as he stood motionless, watching the Bishop hit her, knock out her teeth, savage her before his eyes and the eyes of all the other women and the children. She had told him to be still.  Be still and it will be over quicker for me, she had said … when? 

It was when Marathel looked at him, after her veil had been torn off, her mouth and head bleeding.  She told the Captain to give him the coins, and she looked straight at him, and he’d heard her, clear as day, her voice inside his head, saying be still, be still, be still!  Then, she’d walked straight into the Round Building, giving herself up to her fate, and he did not hear her again, and the burning sensation on his chest stopped.  At the time, he was more concerned with the fact he found himself unwillingly immobile to worry about a burning wound. 

Was Marathel giving up … again?   

She’d sacrificed herself to the Elders, but he’d dragged her out of there against her will.  When she regained consciousness, she had no desire to live.  But somehow, she found a reason to at least try. Was it finding an ally in another woman, like Fennec or Silnima?  Was it finding that there were other men who wouldn’t hurt her, but would protect her, like Boba?  Make her feel like a worthy person, like Cobb? And if that were the case, what would have changed?  What changed so much that her pain would affect him so, at such a great distance, through a … bite wound? 

So, back to root cause analysis: I am tied to Marathel on a metaphysical level by a bite wound she gave me.  She is telling me that she has given up, and that I need to give up on her as well. 

No, I don’t believe that.   I don’t believe that even if I do.  This is real life, not a damned … paranormal rom-com holovid.  I got an infection, I got a fever, I had fever dreams, Marathel is fine, she’s getting better, soon I’ll be back with her, and then we can …  

Din’s holopad pinged, shaking him out of his thoughts.  Grogu was still on his chest, holding him, patting the wound site.  Din reached out and tapped the holopad, and a holo of Fennec popped up.  “Fennec?  What’s happening?  Where are you?” 

“We’re on a transport, heading back to Tatooine.” 

“Already?  Marathel is all better?” 

“She is not better; she is possibly the furthest thing from all right.” 

“What? Why?” 

“The doctors … they found something, said something to her, and she refused all reconstruction.  They got the bleeding disorder fixed, they patched her up, but now, she’s not communicating.  She’s shut down.” Fennec pointed her holopad through a window to what must have been a private carriage on the transport.  Din could see Marathel sitting on a padded bench, her knees up to her chest with her head down to her knees, curled up tightly.  Grogu turned to see the holo, and he reached out with his little hand, whining quietly.  “And it gets worse.” 

“Worse?  Worse how?” 

“She wants to go back to Unmanarall.” 

Din couldn’t speak for a moment. He felt physically ill.   He swallowed and finally grunted, “We’re on our way.”  Fennec clicked off.   

Grogu turned back to Din, pressing his forehead against Din’s helmet.  “Sad Mama.” 

Din nodded.  “Mama needs us.”  Grogu sat back down on Din’s lap, and Din changed course back to Tatooine.  The ship lurched and headed towards the new coordinates.  “Mama needs us,” repeated Din, quietly. 

But … does she want us? 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

#the mandalorian angst #din djarin angst #mando angst #din djarin fanfiction #pedro stories #pedro pascal stories #pedrostories #starwarsficnetwork #mando x fem oc #mando x female oc #din x plus size fem oc #din x fem oc #din x afab oc

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Day Eighteen: Accidental Stimulation - Din D'jarin

Kinktober22 List

WC: 4.4k Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Talk of Dehydration. Mutual Pining. Accidental Stimulation. Female Masturbation + Getting caught. Unprotected PIV sex. Desperate Sex. Fluff. AN: Oof, this took me a solid minute to write my loves. Kinktober is taking its toll out on me but thankfully I only have eleven more to write after this. I hope you enjoy.

-

You look at Mando incredulously, fearing that all hope is lost, or fear that he has completely lost the plot with heat stroke, as he points to a sad and pathetic looking speeder bike sitting at the bottom of a small canyon in the desert. 

Two hours ago, a devious bounty managed to lure you and the Mandalorian out into the desert where he then tricked you to abandon your healthy, fully functioning, speeder bike to give chase on foot instead. Mando was so close to capturing him too, he was literally just an arm’s reach away before the target hopped onto the speeder and took off, leaving you both to the dust.

You raised your gun ready to shoot at the time, but Mando stopped you and you were understanding as to why, but now you wish you didn’t listen and just pulled the trigger. Your aim isn’t great at all, but you might have been able to hit the target, regardless of the fact he is wanted alive, and you’d have the speeder bike to travel back to the ship where the water supply is. 

Now after two hours have passed since then, you can see that Mando regrets not shooting the target himself. It’s a mistake and you don’t blame him for the judgement call in the heat of the moment considering the bounty is worth ten thousand credits, however the man is currently pointing to another speeder bike like it’s a miracle and you really do think that heat exhaustion is clouding his mind. 

“It probably doesn’t even work, Mando.” You shake your head with a huff, “And we shouldn’t waste our energy checking it out.” You explain, hoping that he could see common sense, but of course, just like Mando does all the time, he insists. “Worth a try.” 

You’ve been working with him for the last year, and you know there’s no use trying to protest when he gets determined. Watching the back of his cape swish side to side with each step he takes down the steep slope, you sigh frustratedly and wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Getting down into the canyon isn’t your biggest worry, it’s coming back out, but you follow his steps and make your way down regardless of the worry. There’s no way you’re letting him go alone. 

Climbing down ledge from ledge then sliding down the slippery slopes and, in some areas, even sliding down on your ass until you reached the bottom, you immediately felt some relief from the big star in the sky when standing inside the shade. You damn bear wanted to moan from the relief it felt that good. Your clothes were damp, clinging onto your skin with sweat and your exposed skin would surely be sunburnt by now, but the dehydration is most worrisome. You can feel it starting to take effect. Your mouth is dry, lips too, and you have an insatiable thirst. 

“Here,” Mando gestures as he walks towards you, holding his canteen. “Finish this off, cyar’ika. It’ll keep you hydrated til we get back to the ship.” Apparently taking notice of your relief in the shade and seeing that you're clearly dehydrated, he couldn’t not offer up the last of the water supply for you to finish off. “But Mando, what about yo-” You tried to protest, but the man cut you off with his hand held out and a curt shake of his head. “Drink.” He says flatly, no ifs or buts - adamant as always. 

You reluctantly lift the canteen and take two sips, watching him pull off his cape and lay the item of clothing over his arm instead. It was harrowing to watch, painful even. No matter how hot you are right now, Mando is a thousand times worse inside all of that armour and you can’t drink all of this water for yourself. It would be wrong. You can’t do that to him, can’t allow him to suffer so you will be okay. 

“Mando, please.” You plead with him. Even reaching out for his gloved hands, you place the canteen in his palm then squeeze his fingers around the object reassuringly. “We both know that you need this more than I do. I will be okay, I had a drink, but you finish it off.” Nodding once, you walk away from him quickly before he could try to argue about it and now that your back is turned, you hope that he will use this moment of privacy to lift his helmet and finish off the water. You hope that he gets the message that you, too, can insist and be adamant. No ifs or buts. 

You care for Mando, and he cares for you too; this is just one of the many examples that show how you both have each other's backs, although sometimes you can argue when there is a disagreement, you both mean well and only have the best interest in mind. While he hydrates, you approach the speeder bike and hold back a groan from the sun beating down on your exposed once again as you look the vehicle over. I’ll gladly take the cold over the heat any day, you thought. 

Luckily, there are no loose parts laying around on the ground so that’s a good sign, but you still have no hope simply because it was left out here at the bottom of a canyon. No one would leave a working speeder bike. It’s just absurd…. Or is it? You ask yourself while looking it over. Nothing at first glance looks seriously wrong with it, the power cell is intact and it’s showing half full on the gauge. The outriggers are a little rusty and one of the back thrust flaps is cracked but held together with tape. She isn’t perfect, but she’s all you’ve got. 

You wait for Mando to join you again before trying the ignition switch, not wanting to turn around to break the trust you have built with the man thus far in case he still has his helmet off. There wasn’t a whole lot you knew about Mandalorian's to begin with before meeting him, but one thing that pretty much the whole galaxy knows is that he mustn't ever reveal his identity, therefore you’ll do everything in your power to uphold that. 

Even when you hear his boots dragging across the sand towards you, you still don’t turn around to face him. Admittedly, sometimes you worry too much about stumbling across the man without his helmet, though you can never be too safe, right? You relax a little when hearing his modulated sigh from over your shoulder, knowing that his helmet is definitely back on now, however when he approaches, your body becomes stiff from the delicate touch of his gloved hand on your lower back, burning through your clothes. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.” He apologises sincerely, then promises. “I’ll make it up to you one day, somehow.” You still remain shocked and confused, stiffer than a nail from his harmless comforting gesture. His words fall on deaf ears as all you can think about is how good his hand feels. You couldn’t tell whether or not you were burning up from the sun or burning up from his touch. Choosing the latter when he pulls away, you miss his touch and yearn to feel it again, which is really quite bizarre that you even miss his touch to begin with. 

Mando isn’t a physical touch kind of guy, he’s never really touched you like this. Sure, there have been little accidents before where he bumps into you, but to actually reach out and hold you in some way, reassuringly, is new for him and new for you to feel. And now that you have felt it, you want more. It makes your legs squeeze together with the dirty minded thoughts racing around your head then makes your cheeks blush with shame for even thinking about him in that manner. 

Miraculously, you even begin to feel the desire flooding your core. You’re dehydrated, you didn’t even think you’d be able to feel wet when dehydrated, let alone feel wet in the first place by the simple act of feeling a hand on your back. Stars! I need to get laid. You reprimand yourself, blaming the fact that you’ve gone too many months without intimacy for the sudden surge of arousal. That has to be the only reason for your sexual confusion right now; has to be the reason why you yearn to feel Mando’s gloved hands between your legs. 

Focus! You snap with your inner voice, directing your attention back to the task at hand and not your thoughts. The speeder bike. That’s more important right now, you can deal with whatever you were just thinking about later. “Ready to see if she’s alive or not?” You ask Mando in a small voice, still feeling the effects of your own dirty imagination. 

The man only nods in return and with that, you lean over for the ignition switch. She backfires loudly three times, rattling and clattering thunderously that makes you and Mando take a step back, fearing that she’s about to blow. After a few moments, she calms down and settles to an excessively loud hum, though still shaking violently. Always too good to be true. No one would leave a perfectly good working speeder back. You agree with your thoughts. 

It didn’t sound promising, so you kneeled to the floor and looked over the engine while Mando walked around the bike, no doubt to check if there were any problems on that side. One of your many skills is knowing a thing or two in mechanics. You know enough to get by, but any major problems are lost on you. A nasty smell was flooding your nostrils and the catalytic converter looked damaged - that’s your problem. 

“Hey, do you smell that?!” You yell to Mando over the loud racket coming from the engine, but when there is no answer, you look up for him. “Shit!” You gasp, not expecting him to be so close. He was leaning over the bike, the T shape of his visor directly above your face giving you a fight, but his proximity to you was most tantalising, even a little intimidating. And if you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was smirking inside the helmet simply from the way he was tilting his head to the side, as if amused from your reaction. 

He jerks his chin outwards, a wordless way of asking you to repeat what you said, but you gulped as your eyes roamed the broad expanse of his shoulders and wide chest towering over you in this position. It made you think of him laying over your naked body instead. “Um, I think it’s going to be okay,” You rise from the floor, explaining loud enough for him to hear this time. “She’s spewing fumes, that’s what the noise and smell is, but she’ll get us back to the ship if we take it easy and don’t overpower the engine.” 

“Okay, mesh’la.” Mando yells back over the noise, nodding, “Let's go back home.” He swings a leg over the bike and moves up the seat as much as he could for you to sit on the back, but you froze with surprise, thinking about the fact he has just called the razor crest home. You feel a concoction of different thoughts whirling around your brain, even though the ship is where you both reside day and night on your travels through the galaxy, he’s never called it home before. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. 

“What’s wrong?” He tilts his head to ask, worried. You snap out of it then, shaking off your emotions while replying. “N-nothing just… Nothing, don’t worry about it.” Upon looking at the backseat and seeing only one set of foot pegs, you ask. “Where do you want me to put my legs, speeders aren’t made for two carriers?” 

Jerking his head to the side, another wordless gesture telling you to just hop on, you reach out and hold his shoulder, then sigh breathily when feeling his brute strength under your fingertips. Has he always been this big and strong under his clothes? You ask, wishing to explore his bare skin without the clothing barrier in the way. 

You swing your leg over and sit down, now gripping his shoulder with the urge to moan out from the vibrations below caused by the engine. You clenched around nothing, feeling your clit pulse from the contact of the seat against your core. It was buzzing so loud and strong, that you already knew this journey back to the ship was going to be euphoric. 

“Just relax.” Mando yells, mistaking the fact that you are clearly turned on right now for discomfort as he reaches for your legs to wrap around his waist. “I’m sorry, it’s just for a little while, cyar’ika.” He justifies himself, and you immediately lean in close to reassure. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I promise.” It’s actually more than okay, Mando… 

He nods after you get comfortable then hands his cape to you. “Keep this safe for me.” He asks, and you know how much his cape means to him, so you handle it with care. Taking it from him then putting it behind his back, you move up the seat and keep it secured between your bodies. Quickly growing tired of the yelling, you just threw him a thumbs up instead and he then returned the gesture by taking both of your hands with a firm squeeze before placing them over his chest plate. You wanted to feel that again, something so simple as holding his hands was electric. 

As he accelerates, getting you both out of the canyon to make your way back home, as he newly calls it, you rest your cheek to his back and immediately close your eyes, picturing him pleasuring you instead of the vibrations from the bike. You couldn’t help it. You were just so turned on from his touch and now with the vibrations below, you were imagining it was his fingers working their magic. Although you felt so dirty and wrong for thinking about Mando in this sexual manner, you loved how good it felt to be pressed against his body like this. It felt like you were hugging him from behind, but it wasn’t a real hug. As much as you wished it to be, it wasn’t real.

Truthfully, you wished you could be sitting up front instead; up front and facing him with your legs wrapped around his waist. And that wishful thought makes you clench around nothing again, just imagining your burning heat sitting above his crotch while he rides the speeder back to the ship. There was no use trying to fight the inevitable. You were quite literally sitting on top of a vibrator and the sensations it was providing were too pleasing to ignore. 

Besides, would it really be all that bad to make the most of it? To make the most of this journey and get yourself off a couple times before you reach the Razor Crest and continue your hunt for the target? Who knows when your next moment of privacy will be as you can barely pleasure yourself these days with how cramped the ship is and how busy your workload has been. 

You’re always with Mando. He, as well as yourself, doesn’t have any real privacy. You’re always together, not that you mind it, but moments like this where you can release some of your pent-up sexual frustrations are sparse. Perhaps this is a blessing in disguise, you ponder in thought. You’re clearly having mixed emotions about your employer and that’s because you are so deprived of intimacy. 

You need this release; need this sexual release so you can be able to think straight and get back to normal. After justifying your actions, you quit fighting your own needs and just relax, letting the vibrations pleasure you. Small gasps and whimpers slipped past your lips and your cheeks burned at the thought of Mando hearing you. 

Hope had you thinking that the man would love it, that he’d love the fact you were quite literally getting yourself off behind him, but thinking realistically, he would probably find it weird and disrespectful. Find you weird and disrespectful. You still thought about him though. Even after you justified that feeding your sexual hunger would make you think clearly, it didn’t stop you from thinking about Mando pleasuring you instead. 

You wanted him so badly and even thought about his leather gloved fingers sliding inside of you. The vibrations ramp up a notch as he speeds up the bike, thus causing you to bury your face between his shoulder blades and muffle your throaty mewls. Your head floats off into the clouds as you lose all sense of control. It’s like everything around you fades out into nothing and all you can focus on is Mando, as if holding onto him kept you tethered to reality. 

Panting heavily through your release, you feel another one rising again and ride it out, basking in the magnificence of over-stimulation. Your hands unintentionally grip Mando’s chest plate, the muscles in your legs tensing up with a fiery burn and your thighs squeezing together around his hips. You thank the stars above for the speeder being so loud, otherwise he would be able to hear you literally falling apart and whining through the aftershocks. 

It’s too much; too pleasurable that it’s becoming painful, but you don’t want it to stop. You want to be reduced to a quivering mess, to be soaked in your own desire as your eyes haze over with bliss. “Oh f-fuck.” You moan disgracefully, succumbing to your wants and needs; your need to tell him how you really feel about him. Even though he can’t hear it, you need to speak your truth and say the words out outloud. “Stars! I want you so bad, Mando.” You cry to yourself, “I want your fingers inside of me.” 

Minutes passed by like an eternity before the bike slowed down and you no longer felt the sun beating down on your back anymore, just the coolness of the shade blessing you with a break from the heat. “We’re home, mesh’la.” You hear Mando say but could barely form a reply and just nodded into his back. 

However, instead of getting off the speeder, he firmly held onto your thigh and hip, then pulled you around to the front. “M-Mando?” You gasp with surprise. You were now sitting on his crotch, gazing up into the T shape of his visor as he placed his thumb and forefinger to your chin, looking back down at you. “I heard you moaning, sweet girl,” He growls, hand on your hip squeezing the flesh hard as your cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment. He heard you, heard you moaning therefore he must have heard what you said. 

“I’m sorry.” You blurted, lowering your head in shame, but the man slipped his hand around the base of your neck and tilted your head back before pressing his helmet to your forehead. “I want it too…” He exhaled shakily, “I want you so badly, cyar’ika, I always have.” 

“You have?” You ask, disbelieving the words exiting his mouth. “B-but I don’t understand. How have I not noticed before?” 

“Because I do well with hiding my emotions.” The man explains, both hands now firmly holding your hips, his fingers slip under your shirt with request. “But not anymore cyar’ika. I won’t hide how I feel anymore, if you won’t hide anymore either.” 

“I won’t. Not ever again, Mando.” You moan, brows pulling together with bliss under his gaze. You can feel the warm leather on your skin, feel the burn of his fingers inside desperate to touch you without the barrier of clothing. Looking down briefly and whimpering at the sight of his gloved hands straining against the fabric, you look back up into his visor with a nod. “Touch me. Please touch me, I need you so bad.” 

Laying down and arching your back for him as he makes quick work on removing your pants, you moan falling on his ears audibly this time, you feel the desperation from the man during his bid to remove all barriers of clothing preventing him from pleasuring you. Mando hikes up your shirt, exposing your breasts to the warm breeze blowing over your skin before pawing at your booms with one hand. He tears your panties down your legs, the hurriedness of his actions making you blush. 

“M-Mando.” You whine; whine and beg without actually saying what you need from him. He heard you loud and clear anyways, he heard it from the way you moaned his name. Mando knew how much you wanted him; knew from the moment he laid his hand on your lower back earlier and your heart rate kicked up suddenly. “I know, sweet girl.” He breathes reassurance, telling you exactly what you need to hear. “I know and it’s okay. I will take care of you.” 

“Oh fuck!” You cry upon feeling two bare fingers sliding into your sex. When did he take them off? You don’t even know, but you don’t care either. His fingers are so big and fulfilling, bending into a come hither motion to caress your g-spot. “So wet, mesh’la.” He groans heavy and wanton, admiring the slick coating his fingers. There was so much in fact, it was drooling down his digits and making a mess inside the palm of his hands. “So tight too.” His modulated exhale reaches your ears, shaky and breathless. 

You clench around him, the muscles in your cunt aching with dire need to be stroked and stretched. “M-More.” You whimper. Hands trailing down your body to pull down your bra, exposing your nipples, you hold them between your fingers and plead with him shamelessly. “Please Mando. I want mo-yes! Like that, just like that.” You yell out, rewarding his actions with your words as he buries three fingers to the hilt beautifully. 

You don’t even feel Mando removing his hand from your breast, nor do you feel him fighting to open his slacks and free himself. All you can focus on is the way he grunts. Your eyes closed, lost within the bliss of his fingers pleasuring you, only when he removes them, you open your eyes with a needy whine. “N-no, don’t stop.” You look up just in time to see the man reaching for you, grabbing you by the sides and pulling you flush to his chest. 

“Cyar’ika!” He growls deep and low, cock thrusting inside of you and bottoming out in one swift motion. You mewl from the stretch, pulsing around his girth and grip onto his biceps from the burn his size was causing. It was phenomenal. You wanted it again, to feel him stretch you open again and again with each snap of his hips into yours. “Mando move!” You choke on the words, burying your face into the nook of his neck and rolling your eyes back with the scent of him flooding your senses. He smells so good, so heavenly. 

The man makes quick work of rutting into you, using your own body as leverage to pull you into his thrusts and meet him halfway. You could hear your desire squelching around him, could feel the damp spot it was leaving on his clothes, making a mess. Though it wasn’t enough for him. Mando apparently had his own sexual frustrations to release too. He needed more and he took more. 

“Hold on.” He grunts an order, hooking both arms behind your knees and using your ass to lift you up and down. The man even leaned back, getting himself comfy as he uses your cunt like his own personal fuck toy to get himself off. You don’t care for the romantics right now, you need raw primal sex, and Mando was giving it to you in the best way. 

Little squeaks and moans slipped into his neck as he grabbed the globes of your ass and began slamming you down onto his hips. His cock was bruising your insides, filling you up completely each time. “C-cum, I’m cumming.” You manage to utter before falling limp, just letting him take over and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Tell me when to stop.” He moans brokenly, still thrusting hard and deep. “I’m nowhere near done sweet girl but tell me when to stop and I will.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you nod into his neck. Falling apart on his cock, your high was intensified as he surges through your vice-like grip and continues to fuck you from below. “Inside me.” You moan softly, tiredly, “Come inside of me, Mando. Fuck me until you're satisfied.” 

You blew past the stages of over-stimulation and entered the realms of sexual exhaustion. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, so instead you just held onto Mando like he was a lifeline and let him use your pussy for his own pleasure. The man had stamina for days. Stamina like you’ve never seen before as he comes multiple times, filling you up with his warm creamy seed. Even when he paused for a break, gathering some energy while allowing you a break, he started again with a slow grind, relishing in the pretty little sounds escaping you. 

“Tell me to stop, mesh’la.” He says, almost begging you at this point to give yourself mercy. Mando wasn’t lying, he is nowhere near done and can last for hours - for you. He’s dreamt of his for months, fisted his cock many nights thinking it was your heat instead and now that he has your cunt wrapped around his cock, he doesn’t want to stop, can’t stop until he has emptied his sac. “Do you want to stop?” You lift your head to ask, gazing into the T shape of his visor and picturing what beautiful eyes he must have behind it. 

“No, not at all.” He groans and gasps in reply, feeling you clench around him. A smile tugs on your lips, sweet and innocent like at first, but then it becomes devilish and naughty. You don’t want to stop and neither does he. You both want more. “Well keep fucking me Mando.” You sigh breathily, resting your cheek to his shoulder with a request;

“And don’t stop until we’re both completely spent.” 

-

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89 @anismaria @graciexmarvel

All Mandalorian Content: @pale-gingerale @mandalorian-dindjarin @michele131 @chxpsi @burninggracesandbridges @wordsfromshona @lavenderbxnny

All Pedro Pascal Character Content: @joelsflannel @mswarriorbabe80 @readsalot73 @allthe-ships @avengersftspn @hb8301 @scorpio-marionette @squidwell @sunnshineeexoxo @trickstersp8 @tanzthompson @bbyanarchist  

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin fiction #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian smut #pearlyfics #follow 👑 share ❤️ enjoy 🍑 #enjoyreaders #tppkinktober2022 #starsandskieskinktober #Miss Pearls Kinktober 22

[biinkspacewp]

Royal Ghost

pairing: din djarin x fem!oc

summary: Naiya Gallea was a fighter. She had lived through the loss of her family, the destruction of her home planet, and getting shot. She had survived breaking onto a mandalorian covert and a multitude of bounty hunting jobs gone wrong. Life had not been the kindest to Naiya, but she refused to let that stop her from enjoying everything it still had to offer. Having flown around the galaxy with the Mandalorian for seven years now, Naiya had found her happy place. Nothing could compare to the sleep-deprived conversations with Din, the thrill she'd get when he'd occasionally let her fly the Razor Crest, or the stupid games she had come up with to pass the time. Life for Naiya was perfect again, until one small bounty flipped her entire world upside down.

warnings: violence, death, graphic descriptions, standard star wars warnings

main masterlist

zero. back at the start

#din djarin #din djarin x oc #din djarin x fem!oc #din djarin fic #royal ghost #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #star wars #star wars fic

[outoftheseine]

- JOEL MILLER FIC RECS PART 2 -

forever in love with this grumpy old man <3 | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. most of these fics are age-gap relationship and some have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part 1 | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

love in the middle of a fireflight | part 2 | part 3 • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @babydin

your bear | part 2 • joel miller x daughter!reader

↳ by @rrickgrrimes8 (very angsty, hurt/comfort)

a helping hand • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @teacupcollector

a lover's pinch • prof!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @hier--soir (smut, au, angst, secret relationship)

i will be home for christmas • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @punkshort (no outbreak, fluff, smut, angst but happy ending, hurt/comfort)

lavender • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @justagalwhowrites

seeing you, seeing me • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @amywritesthings (slow burn, smut)

fate, after all • joel miller x f!oc!reader

↳ by @honeyedmiller (fluff, smut, no-outbreak)

ambush | part 2 • joel miller x reader

↳ by @huntergarrity (angst, violence, hurt/comfort)

seams • joel miller x reader

↳ by @fuckyeahdindjarin (self-conscious!joel, shy!reader, fluff, slow burn, explicit)

soft!joel collection • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @cavillscurls (smut, fluff, angst, soft and domestic!joel)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

daisy, give me an answer • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @dilf-din (fluff)

take this moment • joel miller x reader

↳ by @mylostloversbookmarks (post-outbreak, fluff)

ground me • joel miller x reader

↳ by @huntergarrity (fluff, comfort)

clouded judgement/clear mind • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bluebeary-jay (violence, angst, hurt/comfort)

keep your eyes on me • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @mgparker (angst, violence, protective!joel)

daydreams • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @morning-star-joy (grumpy x sunshine, fluff)

i hope you are happy • joel miller x reader

↳ by @blissfulbarbie (very angsty, no outbreak)

grays • joel miller x reader

↳ by @softlyspector (domestic fluff, insecure!joel)

sweet creature • dad!joel miller x reader

↳ by @rocketrhap3000 (so fluffy)

lacy • joel miller x reader

↳ by @toxic-seduction (angst but happy ending)

bloodshed, crimson clover • joel miller x fem!doctor!reader

↳ by @morning-star-joy (slow burn, angst, violence)

arms tonite • joel miller x reader

↳ by @motherjoel (angst, reader gets hurt, happy ending)

skater • joel miller x platonic!gn!reader

↳ by @rrickgrrimes8 (angst, hurt/comfort, father figure!joel, tw: drowning)

be my daddy • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bastardmandennis (no outbreak, smut, fluff, slightly angsty)

how the cookie crumbles • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @egcdeath (no outbreak, fake dating, slow burn, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love)

day after tomorrow • joel miller x reader

↳ by @familyvideostevie (no outbreak, fluff)

it’s your turn for choosing • joel miller x reader

↳ by @familyvideostevie (modern au, fluff)

i’m a feminist obviously • joel miller x reader

↳ by @toxic-seduction (protective!joel, violence)

softness • post outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @joelsgreys (fluff, joel is a dad, tw: premature birth)

as long as i have you • jackson era!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @beskarandblasters (very fluffy, slight angst)

sweetheart • post-outbreak!joel millet x fem!reader

↳ by @joels-shitty-puns (fluff, light angst)

are you mine? • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @eupheme (protective and soft!joel, fluff, light angst)

a forever thing • husband!joel miller x pregnant!wife!reader

↳ by @honeyedmiller (fluff)

the revenant wife • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @pettyprocrastination

butterfly • joel miller x black!latina!reader

↳ by @stargirlfics (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn)

unlikely friends • joel miller x reader

↳ by @sweetercalypso (fluff)

mischief nights • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @jupiter-soups (fluff, slight angst)

all my casualties of love • joel miller x reader/oc

↳ by @agentmarcuspike (smut, grief)

a matter of timing • joel miller x baker!fem!reader

↳ by @lavenderursa (angst, smut, comfort, neighbours to lovers)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader fluff #joel miller x reader angst #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #joel miller x original character #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller x wife!reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #tlou #tlou fluff #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x gn!reader

[vettelsvee]

WELCOME TO MY TORTURED DRIVERS DEPARTMENT (HARRY STYLES' VERSION)

a formula 1 short stories compilation about my favourite drivers based on each harry styles song

my tortured drivers department masterlist

IMPORTANT INFO YOU'D LIKE TO KNOW!

this compilation will include short stories about sebastian vettel, lewis hamilton, fernando alonso, oscar piastri, mick schumacher, lando norris, george russell, carlos sainz, max verstappen and charles leclerc.

these works will be driver x reader or driver x fem!oc, and will contain smau, first and third pov, smut and au, mostly. however, i'm open to any topic!

we will be doing an album every week or every two weeks. to choose each album, i'll post a first poll about a certain artist, and then i'll post another poll asking you exactly which album do you want me to post about. ¡! each poll will have de duration of 24 hours, which means we'll need two days to choose an album

i'll try to post as much as i can. however, i'm a uni student and my schedule can change a lot. for this reason, i apologize in advance. also, english is not my first language, so there can be mistakes (feel free to let me know about them!)

taglist is open for all of you who want to join me in my very own tortured drivers department! just let me know in the comments of this post or each artists post!

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

HARRY STYLES

1. Meet me in the Hallway | Charles Leclerc 2. Sign of the times | Sebastian Vettel 3. Carolina | George Russell 4. Two ghosts | Max Verstappen 5. Sweet creature | Sebastian Vettel 6. Only Angel | Mick Schumacher 7. Kiwi | Max Verstappen 8. Ever since New York | Fernando Alonso 9. Woman | Oscar Piastri 10. From the dinning table | Lando Norris

FINE LINE

1. Golden | Oscar Piastri 2. Watermelon sugar | Sebastian Vettel 3. Adore you | Max Verstappen 4. Lights up | George Russell 5. Cherry | Lando Norris 6. Falling | Charles Leclerc 7. To be so lonely | Charles Leclerc 8. She | Lewis Hamilton 9. Sunflower, Vol 6 | George Russell 10. Canyon moon | Mick Schumacher 11. Treat people with kindness | Oscar Piastri 12. Fine line | Carlos Sainz

HARRY'S HOUSE

1. Music for a Sushi Restaurant | Mick Schumacher 2. Late night talking | Lewis Hamilton 3. Grapejuice | Charles Leclerc 4. As it was | Sebastian Vettel 5. Daylight | Lando Norris 6. Little freak | Max Verstappen 7. Matilda | Sebastian Vettel 8. Cinema | Max Verstappen 9. Daydreaming | Oscar Piastri 10. Keep driving | Lando Norris 11. Satellite | Charles Leclerc 12. Boyfriends | George Russell 13. Love of my life | Carlos Sainz

#formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #sebastian vettel #sebastian vettel x reader #lewis hamilton #Lewis Hamilton x reader #fernando alonso #Fernando Alonso x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #george russell #George russell x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #one direction #harry styles #fine line #harry's house

[moralesispunk]

The Fire Between Us

Din Djarin x Mandalorian! Female Reader

Summary: There is a rivalry in the Nevarro Covert that has become infamous among all Mandalorians. They fight, they compete, but at the heart of it they are both avoiding feelings they would rather ignore

Warnings: This fic is 18+ (as is the rest of my blog) but each chapter will have specific warnings and all chapters that contain smut will be marked with a * below

Chapter List (Ongoing):

Chapter One - Ignite (4.9k words)

Chapter Two - Inflame (9.7k words)

Chapter Three - Kindle (6.3k words) - Sneak Peek

Chapter Four - Blaze  (7k words) - Sneak Peek

Chapter Five - Burn - Sneak Peek

Chapter Six (TBC)

Drabbles and Extras

Chapter 3.5 - Reader's POV 

#din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x oc #din djarin #mando #the mandalorian

[tightjeansjavi]

ℙ𝕖𝕕𝕣𝕠 ℙ𝕒𝕤𝕔𝕒𝕝 ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤 𝔽𝕚𝕔 ℝ𝕖𝕔𝕤 ♡

𝓑𝓻𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝔂 𝓣𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓙𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓼 𝓙𝓪𝓿𝓲

𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩 (+18) 𝙞𝙛 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙧, 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙖𝙘𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩/𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝙋𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙬𝙚𝙡𝙡.

ᴊᴏᴇʟ ᴍɪʟʟᴇʀ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @chaotic-mystery

dbf!joel series (Dbf! Joel Miller x f!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut, fluff, implied age gap (legal)

If you are looking for some nasty, toe curling smut, look no further because Maddi has mastered the craft! dbf!joel is just so hot.

___

♡ @loquaciousferret

Country Lovin’ (pre!outbreakJoel Miller x F!Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut, alcohol use

Master list for other Pedro works

Love me some pre!outbreak joel

___

♡ @mishasminion360

In an Instant (Joel Miller x fem reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) canon typical violence/angst/death

Master list for other Pedro Works

this story absolutely shattered me. Ripped my heart out and stomped all over it. Beautiful writing.

___

♡ @lovers-liability

Close Your Eyes (Joel Miller x AFAB reader) *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) mentions of death, smut/fluff

Jaw dropping, stunning depictions of finding love during the apocalypse

___

♡ @forever-rogue

The Locket (Joel Miller x Fem!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) TLOU canon typical violence, language, angst, mentions of death

Master list for other Pedro works

absolutely heartbreaking read. I loved it so much, I went back for seconds.

ꜰʀᴀɴᴋɪᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @peterhollandkait

Everything I Know Leads Me Back To You (Frankie Morales x AFAB reader/ OC *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) addiction,angst, triggering themes, smut

Master list for other Pedro works

Frankie + Sunny = your heart getting crushed.

ᴊᴀᴠɪ ᴘ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @loquaciousferret

Little Games (Javier Peña x f! Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) smut

Master list for other Pedro Works

One word: delicious.

ᴊᴀᴠɪ ɢᴜᴛɪᴇʀʀᴇᴢ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @mirasantidotes

Messy Annotations (Javi G x fem!reader) *series*

Warnings: none, tooth aching fluff,shy!javi G + sunshine! reader

Cutest shit I have read in awhile. Javi G is to die for in this one.

ᴅɪᴇᴛᴇʀ ʙʀᴀᴠᴏ : ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Consent Series (Dieter Bravo x Intimacy Coordinator F!Reader)

Warnings: mature/explicit content (+18) smut, gloriously douchey Dieter Bravo

Master list for other Pedro works

Cee’s writing of Dieter makes me absolutely feral. I would let this man ruin me any day of the week

___

♡ @whatsnewalycat

psychomanteum (Dieter Bravo x F!Reader) *series*

Warnings: mature (+18) alternating POV, death, drug use, alcohol use, spooky stuff

Master list for other Pedro works

This story deserves to be in it’s own category to be honest. Totally unique, eccentric, a must read!

ᴊᴀᴄᴋ (ᴡʜɪꜱᴋᴇʏ) ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @fuckyeahdindjarin

Palomino Series (Jack Daniels x F!Reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) flirting, eventual smut, lots horsey details

Master list for other Pedro works

Cee and I became pals after I started reading this story. As a horse girl/equestrian, Palomino just itches my brain in the best way. Oh, and Jack is pretty delectable as well.

ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴅᴀʟᴏʀɪᴀɴ/ᴅɪɴ ᴅᴊᴀʀɪɴ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ + ᴏɴᴇ-ꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

♡ @theidiotwhowritesthings

Familiar & Unfamiliar (din djarin x female!reader)

Warnings: mature (+18) attempted assault on reader (not by Din), canon violence, angst, fluff, light smut

Din Djarin Masterlist

This is one of my favorite depictions of Din. Protective, soft, and still a little dom. Chefs kiss

___

♡ @frannyzooey

Take Me To Church (Din Djarin x Fem!Reader Western/AU)

Warnings: mature/explicit (+18) smut on smut on smut

Master list for other Pedro works

AU anything is so good, but this one? Takes the cake. Absolutely delicious in the every way possible.

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #frankie morales #javi peña #javi gutierrez #dieter bravo #jack daniels #din darjin #pedro pascal fanfiction #fic recs #tightjeansjavificrecs #these are all so good #this took me forever #literally spent hours on this lol #joel miller fanfiction #frankie morales fanfiction #javier pena fic #javi g fanfiction #dieter bravo fanfiction #jack daniels fanfic #din dijarin fanfiction

[dindjarindiaries]

The Rising Phoenix - Chapter One

series masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

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pairing ➵ din djarin x fem!oc rating ➵ mature (18+) tags ➵ enemies to lovers, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut, strong language, sexual references word count ➵ 3.847k chapter summary ➵ This year's team of Mandalorian recruits embark on their journey to Kyrbej, their home for the next brutal cycle.

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CHAPTER ONE

I tie off my right boot and stand up, facing the reflection of myself in the long piece of reflective transparisteel. The leather of my training gear groans at the movements. I bite my cheek. That will take some getting used to.

Damn. I look disproportionate as hell with my beskar helmet and absolutely no other armor joining it. That will be another thing I’ll have to get used to.

Not that there will be any mirrors for me to see myself at Kyrbej. The training grounds on the other side of Concordia’s surface are known for their practicality, not any type of luxury. Certainly not anything more than what we already have in our stronghold. If I want to look at myself, I’ll have to bring my own shard of reflective transparisteel.

Given Linessa’s warnings about how the next cycle will go, though, I’m fairly sure I won’t want to look at myself, anyway.

I’m only able to heave one more breath before there’s a rapid knocking at my door. “Rhi! Hurry! You’re barely giving me any time to say goodbye!”

I swallow the sudden knot my twin sister’s words tie in my throat and pick up my rucksack. It’s heavy as hell, but given the fact I’ll be living out of it, I’m surprised it’s not even heavier. I slide my door open and Rowyn’s standing there, her emerald helmet adorned with gold embellishments flashing in my gaze as she lunges forward to wrap her arms tight around me.

The rucksack falls to the floor as I hug her back. For the first time since we were younglings, our paths are diverging. It’s the Way, as Mom has reminded me so many times before, as the Ancestors have called us each to our own unique paths.

“I’ll see you soon.” I say the words to Rowyn with confidence, even if there’s a wide-open chasm of uncertainty in my chest. I’ve been preparing for this for years, ever since I slid this beskar over my head. My hand cups the back of her helmet. “You better have a full suit ready for me when I get back.”

Rowyn manages a short laugh at that. “First of all, I’m not in charge of giving you armor.” She pulls away and holds my own emerald helmet between her hands, though I can see the white accents I added to each curve of the beskar reflected in her visor. “Second of all, I’m gonna need more than a cycle to learn how to make a full fucking suit.”

I laugh with her. Our helmets touch, silence sitting between us, before I step away and hold her hands in mine. “Tell the Armorer to go easy on you." I squeeze her hands. “I know how easily you blister.”

“I could say the very same about you.” Rowyn’s thumb runs over my palm. “But I think I’ll have it easier over here than you will over there.”

I scoff. “Have you met the Armorer?”

Rowyn can’t laugh this time. I don’t need to see her face to identify her concern. After years without seeing a single person’s face, it’s easy to spot emotions in other ways, especially the people I know best. “Just be careful, Rhi.”

“I will.” I give her hands another squeeze. “You’ve seen how well I can kick ass.”

Rowyn’s helmet tilts, her substitution for a smile. “Yeah, that makes me feel better.”

I chuckle and sigh, going in for one last hug. “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Row.”

“I’ll miss you too, Rhi.”

“Rhiane,” Mom’s voice calls for me further down the corridor. “It’s time to get going.”

Rowyn and I step away from each other at the same time. I pick up my rucksack and nod at her, taking in the last of my twin sister before I turn and start to walk towards Mom. Rowyn, however, adds one more thing over my shoulder. “And Rhiane!”

I whip my helmet around. Rowyn jogs to get closer to me, lowering her modulated voice so only I can hear.

“Kick Din Djarin’s ass for me.”

I huff at that, as much as the sound of his name alone sets my chest aflame with deeply planted bitterness. “Easy.”

“Rhiane.” Mom’s voice is more stern now. I wince and turn to face her again, her battle-worn emerald suit of armor serving as a warning rather than an inspiration right now. “Let’s go.”

I look at my boots as I follow her out of the part of the stronghold I’ve called home for twenty-two cycles, now. Hopefully, Dad’s waiting outside, or else I won’t have a chance to say goodbye. There’s no way Mom’s going to let me back inside, and I can’t blame her. The last thing I’d want to do is either hold up the whole group of this cycle’s recruits or have to run like hell to catch up to them.

The maze of the stronghold soon gives way to Concordia’s swirling atmosphere, and as I look up, I can see the distant image of Mandalore. The familiar ache of curiosity and nostalgia I have no need for hits at the sight of our people’s homeworld. I wonder if earning my place as a warrior will ever grant me permission to visit our history there. Even Mom and Dad seem to miss it after running a few missions there when I was little.

Speaking of Dad, he stands with the other parents of my fellow recruits, who will see us off as we head to Kyrbej. There are less parents here than there are recruits, even if there aren’t that many of us. I push the unnecessary observation away and focus on the last goodbyes I have to make.

“You’re late, Rhiane,” Dad greets me, his gloved hand tapping the side of his helmet—and no doubt powering down the chrono within his visor.

Mom offers him the answer. “Rowyn.”

Dad nods in understanding. He approaches me and sets a strong hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been waiting a long time for this day, verd’ika.” I smile to myself at the nickname. I’ve had it ever since I tried to force Rowyn into wrestling matches when we were kids. “I know you’ll make us proud.”

“Thank you.” I nod, maintaining my composure and respect in light of the fellow Mandalorians who surround us.

“The Fighting Corps isn’t ready for you.” Mom speaks up next. She presses her hand against the back of my emerald helmet to make it meet her own. “But you are damn sure ready for it.”

My eyes start to sting, my nose prickling and my throat tied up in a spikey knot. Shit. I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional, even if my beskar could hide it—but I hadn’t expected my parents to show me anything more than tough-love in front of others. “Thank you.” I force the words through my tightened throat.

“The cycle will be over before you know it.” Dad steps towards me when Mom gives him room to, his helmet also meeting my own. “You’ll be a full-fledged warrior next time we see you.”

“Just a full-fledged recruit, Dad.” I manage to maintain my usual smartass tone even amidst my emotional struggle. Dad huffs and steps away. I look between my parents and lower my helmet in love and respect. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.” Their comforting voices are a chorus that wrap around me like a sweet embrace as I force myself to turn my back on them. I join the group of recruits and get in formation, falling into the empty space in the two-by-two line that’s been saved for me.

“It’s about time your ass turned up.” The recruit at my side’s tone is full of nothing but amusement as she tilts her purple helmet at me. “I was starting to think you were having second thoughts.”

I shoved my shoulder against hers. “Fuck off, Sahra.” I tilt my helmet back at her. “As if I’d be the one between us to stay behind.”

I could almost feel the hot waves of Sahra’s embarrassment warming my black leathers. “That’s different. Since Thiio’s due for his training next year—.”

“—You’ll be spending two cycles apart, not just one. I know.” I find her hand and give it a squeeze. “But this will be good for you two. You’ve been inseparable ever since they moved his family’s wing closer to yours.”

“And?” Sahra’s curt response is almost a challenge.

“Selfishly, it gives me more alone time with you.” I let her hand go and shrug. “Plus, who knows. Maybe training will bring out something new in someone that you’ll like.” I gesture with my  helmet to the path we’re about to take. “There’s gonna be a lot of extra adrenaline we have to take care of out there.”

“Fair point.” Sahra becomes more amused again as she crosses her arms over her chest. “And who exactly do you think you’ll be choosing for that task?”

I shrug again. “I’ll have to wait and see.” I spot a familiar shine diagonally across from my position, about four rows of recruits ahead. “I do know who I won’t be choosing, though.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” My visor snaps over to Sahra. She dramatically fires my own words back at me. “Maybe training will bring out something new in someone that you’ll like.”

“Fuck no.” I find the silver helmet again, the only one in this entire group that hasn’t been painted, and tighten my jaw. “That doesn’t apply to him.”

“Really, Rhiane?” Sahra is using the tone of voice that makes it hard to tell if she’s being serious or not. “I always thought you two would be a power—.”

I shove my elbow hard enough into her ribs to make her lose her breath for a moment.

“Damn, fine then. Comm received.” Sahra rubs her hand over her ribs. “No more jokes about Djarin.”

The sound of his name causes his silver helmet to turn over his shoulder. I don’t let my visor stray from his, instead challenging him to look away first. My hands curl into fists at my sides and I wish I could swing them in his direction. I’ve already sparred with him enough times to know, though, that I won’t win—but neither will he.

The question now, then, is who’s going to win this staring contest of ours.

“Recruits!” A booming voice announces from the front of the group.

Another draw it is. We look away from each other at the same time, focusing our attention to the black-armored Mandalorian ahead of us. Captain Hosnan has been running the Fighting Corps’ training for cycles, even before more than half our ranks abandoned the Way during the Clone Wars.

“You’ve been training for cycles to see this moment. You’re now mere minutes away from embarking on this journey, a Mandalorian tradition that’s been in place for thousands of years.”

My stomach twists with nerves I’m not used to having. The historical weight of this training isn’t lost on me, especially when I remember who my ancestors are. Settling for anything less than the goal I’ve made for myself in my mind is unacceptable.

“You’ve sworn the Creed. You’ve earned your most valuable piece of armor: your helmets.” 

Each one of our helmets is unique in some way, all adorned with special colors and embellishments—except for Din’s. For some reason, it makes my blood boil even more.

“Now, you will go on to earn each piece of your full suit of armor with each challenge you undertake. It won’t be easy, but the generations before you have proven it can be done. I’m the first captain to have no deaths reported at Kyrbej in three-hundred years, so don’t be my first.”

I swallow hard. No pressure.

“But don’t be mistaken. This isn’t because I’m softer than the other captains.” Captain Hosnan crosses his arms over his cuirass. “It’s because I’m tougher, and that toughness yields results. So, if any one of you feels you’re not up for the challenge, do us all a favor and walk away now while you can. As for the rest of you…”

Captain Hosnan lowers his arms to lift his fist to the center of his cuirass, right over the kar’ta. 

“Welcome to the Fighting Corps.” He lowers his helmet. “This is the Way.”

We all mirror his gesture, crossing our right arms over our chests and lowering our helmets. “This is the Way.”

The family members beside us are the last to say the phrase. “This is the Way.”

Captain Hosnan turns and begins to walk forward, and our group of recruits follows in obedient formation. I pull the straps of my rucksack higher on my shoulders and give Sahra a look. “Are you ready, Private Auren?”

Sahra tilts her helmet at me. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Private Voss.”

▼▲▼

As it turns out, the hardest part of our cycle at Kyrbej is fucking walking there.

After endless hours of non-stop travel across this desolate moon we call home, Captain Hosnan has finally allowed us to make camp. We don’t have the supplies to pitch tents, so we settle for various alcoves in the nearby rock structures that have defined Concordia ever since it was settled—or, at least, mined.

My feet are throbbing and my legs nearly give out when I sit down beside Sahra at our makeshift fire, but at least this walk is breaking in my boots. I chew on the ration pack Rowyn helped me acquire from the kitchen of our wing, sliding the material in the gap between the lip of my helmet and my skin. There’s no chance I’m gonna be able to hunt something out here.

The recruits are scattered throughout the alcove in their small friend groups, the ones made long before Kyrbej was even on the horizon. I’m well aware these groups will be drastically different by the time we all complete our training, and not just because of Linessa’s warning. It’s common sense. The shit we’re about to go through this cycle changes people from the inside-out.

“I’ll be right back,” Sahra speaks up into our comfortable silence. She stands and brushes the dirt of the alcove off her leathers. “I’ll let you know if I find a decent corner of privacy for relieving ourselves.”

I snort with amusement and watch her as she strides away. I’m not on my own for long, though, as another person soon comes to take her place. I don’t bother fighting the snarl underneath my  helmet or the roll of my eyes behind my visor.

“Voss.” Din’s modulated tone is curt as he stands over me.

“Djarin.” I all but bite his name out.

His arms cross over his chest. His broad chest. Shit, does that tiny detail really matter? “You seem tired.”

I scoff. “What a fucking compliment.” I sit up more and tilt my helmet. “Are you not exhausted from walking for at least six hours straight?” When he starts to reply, I hold up my hand. “Wait, let me guess. You’ve somehow been training for this specific part along with everything else.”

Din tilts his helmet back at me. “You’re catching on.”

Frustration pumps through my veins like hot, molten lava. “Well, what the hell do you want? Or did you just come over here to be an asshole?”

Din doesn’t waver at my hurled insults. “You tell me. Your friend was the one who said my name earlier.”

I narrow my eyes at him and hope he can somehow see their wrath behind my visor, even if it breaks the Creed. “Can’t live with the fact your name’s said in conversations you’re not a part of, Djarin?” I let out an amused huff. “Because I hate to tell you, people are allowed to say your name when you’re not around.”

“I would’ve been content to leave you to it.” Din shifts his weight to one hip. “But you were looking at me, so… naturally, I assumed you had something to say.”

“Nope.” I’m suddenly grateful for the Creed again that keeps my warm, embarrassed face from Din’s line of vision. Ancestors, forgive me. “Consider it a mistake.”

Din’s helmet straightens. “Let me give you some advice.” He gestures with his helmet to the view of Concordia outside the alcove. “There’s no room for mistakes at Kyrbej. Even one could move you down the ranks, and fast. My advice, then?” He drops his arms back to his sides, conveying his severity. “Don’t let it happen again.”

My anger becomes so volatile that I’m relieved I don’t have a metal suit of armor covering me. It would just melt into my skin. “So now you’re giving me orders?” I shake my helmet. “Hell no. And you say that as if I don’t already know.” My anger unties a cruel knot within my throat and unleashes its full wrath. “Unlike you, I have a fucking legacy to maintain.”

Din stiffens, but it only lasts for a moment. His hands curl into fists at his sides, but it’s not an unusual action for him. “Good.” He nods at me, having the audacity to remain civil after my harsh bite—and making me feel like the asshole here. “I expect it won’t happen again, then.”

He turns his back before he can see my middle finger extended up at him. I curse under my breath and wrap my arms around myself for more warmth, glancing at the unfinished ration pack on my lap. I’ve lost my appetite, and I could use the rest for breakfast, anyway.

No. I am not letting this man make me eat myself alive because he was the one who approached me in the first place. He’s trying to get to me mentally, since he can’t beat me physically. I won’t let him win.

Sahra returns and sits even closer to my side than she had before. “Damn, what did I miss?” Her visor gives me a once-over. “You’re tenser than a lariat.” She points at my unfinished ration. “And I expected that to be crumbs by now.”

“What do you think happened?” My visor’s glaring in Din’s direction, even though he’s become lost within the fray of recruits. I find his silver helmet amidst a group of other foundling recruits. He’s the biggest of them all.

“You mean, who do I think happened?” Sahra huffs. “It’s not really a question.”

“He was an asshole for coming over here, and then he made me be an asshole back.”

Sahra tilts her helmet at me. “He ‘made’ you?”

I finally turn to face her. “He wanted to know why you said his name earlier, before we left.”

I hate the way I can practically see Sahra’s purple helmet grow brighter, as if the fire suddenly got more powerful. “Yeah? And what did he have to say about my brilliant joke?”

“Your brilliantly fucking stupid joke? Yeah, he doesn’t know about it.” I huff in indignation. “He just threatened me not to make the ‘mistake’ of using his name without telling him about it again.”

Sahra’s shoulders tense at that. “What the hell?”

“Exactly.” I rest even further against the smooth slab of stone supporting me.

“So, how exactly were you an asshole in this context?”

I cringe, squeezing my eyes tight behind my visor in embarrassment. “Don’t judge me.” The only person who knows the Creed better than me is Din himself. The man’s a stickler for the rules and customs of our people. The foundlings are the future.

“Let me guess.” Sahra’s fingers tap over her thigh in unnecessary concentration. I already know she’s going to get it right on the first try. “You made a jab about him being a foundling?”

I palm my helmet with one of my hands. “Why am I such an ass about that sometimes, Sahra?” I shake my head.

“It’s the only leverage you have on him.” Sahra shrugs and pokes at the fire to keep it burning. “He’s not the most open about his life before his rescue, and he’s definitely not the type to tell anyone how he feels about it—or anything else.”

I stare at the fire. “That doesn’t make it right. He just…” I clench my hands into tight fists, “shit, he makes me so damn angry sometimes.”

“It may not be right, but it’s understandable.” Sahra nods at me. “You were predicted to be the top of our cycle from a young fucking age. Then Djarin just comes in, and… well, he’s the only one who can threaten that.”

I exhale deeply and close my eyes, feeling the weight of this day and situation upon me. “I don’t want to think about that day anymore.”

Sahra’s hand gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I understand.” I hear her shuffling around as she leans back next to me. “Get some rest. I have a feeling Hosnan’s gonna have us up and at ‘em as early as possible.”

Sahra’s right. It feels like I’ve been asleep for all of five minutes when the sound of beskar-on-beskar rings throughout the alcove.

The rest of the recruits and I jolt awake, looking to see Captain Hosnan with his gauntlets crossed over each other. “Morning, recruits! You have five minutes to fully put out your fires, pack your rucksacks, and relieve yourselves before we continue on!”

I groan and let my helmet hit the stone behind me for a moment. We’re not even at Kyrbej yet, and I already understand why I’ve trained like hell for this cycle.

But we will be getting to Kyrbej today, and that excitement alone is what gets me moving faster than anything else.

Once we’re all back on our feet and in our two-by-two formation, Captain Hosnan continues on our path to Kyrbej. Sahra’s quick to notice the sudden hop in my step. “What’s got you so excited to walk another six hours straight?”

I shoot her an incredulous look. “Kyrbej.”

“Right.” Sahra’s visor rises to the swirling sky for a moment. “I almost forgot the destination.”

“I’ve only been training my whole life for it.” I smile to myself, experience my first true wave of joy since leaving the stronghold. “Plus, I’ll finally get to see Linessa.”

Sahra’s helmet snaps back towards me. “Oh, shit, that’s right. She was team leader last year.”

“Damn right she was.” I tilt my helmet towards her. “She’s a Vizsla, after all.”

Sahra snorts. “If Paz was my older brother, I’d work my ass off to be team leader, too.” She gives me a knowing look. “But I’m not even gonna try when I know who it’s going to.”

I bite my cheek. “You don’t know that.”

“By the Ancestors, Rhiane, don’t lose your confidence already.” Sahra nudges my arm. “Your jab at Djarin may have been brutal, but it’s true. Even if he could possibly manage to beat you out in skill, when was the last time they made someone who’s not tied to a clan or a house a fucking team leader?”

My jaw remains wired shut. She’s right. The revelation floods relief through me. “Fair point. I’ll give you that.”

I don’t have another option; I have to believe her. Failing to become team leader isn’t an option. I won’t be able to face Dad, Mom, or even Rowyn if I don’t earn the title.

The hours go by surprisingly quickly, either because of the haziness of my exhaustion or because of the verbal games Sahra and I play to keep ourselves entertained. That haze, however, is quickly replaced by shocking clarity as the adrenaline kicks in at the sight on the horizon.

The unmistakable pillars of Kyrbej frame a tight group of Mandalorian warriors, those who will be serving as our officers, leaders, and teachers for the next cycle. I’m already searching for Linessa’s telltale blue helmet, but as much as I love the woman who’s like another sister to me, she’s not the only reason why my heart is racing with excitement.

After cycles and cycles of waiting, I’m finally at Kyrbej. I’m finally facing my long-awaited destiny. Not even my doubts about Djarin or team leader can quell my pure anticipation.

I don’t have to be Force-sensitive to know that I—and Kyrbej itself—won’t ever be the same after this moment.

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