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kaysfanficcorner · 1 year

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Out of This World Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

Author’s Note: Hey all! Welcome to chapter two. Thank you to everyone who read chapter one! I’ve been excited to share this, so I hope your enjoy!

Summary: The Mandalorian and his new shipmate make their way to a few planets as he hunts for quarries. In the meantime, they start to slowly get to know more about each other and conflicting feelings arise.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader

Warnings: Light sexual tension. Light reference to masterbation. Cursing. This story is eventually going to have NSFW scenes so please no one under 18 interact. If you are under age, you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

AO3

*****

It takes a few weeks for things to fall into a comfortable routine around the Razor Crest, and for you to get your “space legs” as you like to call it. Being a nanny to the child quickly becomes a second nature to you. You’ve started to learn his moods, his habits, what makes him giggle or cry. You spend your days catering to the baby’s every whim, and you’re absolutely in heaven. He’s a curious little boy and if you’re not watching him all the time he tends to get himself into mischief, yet even so you can’t help but feel he’s one of the very best children you’ve ever been hired to watch. Perhaps you’re biased because of how stinking cute he really is, but he’s genuinely just a sweet little being in need of the same love and attention that any child of any species needs in order to grow up happily.

The Mandalorian turns out to have more of a personality under that helmet of his than you’d originally expected him to, and he’s more of a hands on father than you’re used to dealing with. Most of the kids you’ve watched in the past came from slightly toxic homes, much like the one you grew up in, and you’ve usually been the one responsible for fulfilling those absent parental needs where you were able.

The Mandalorian, however, spends every moment that he’s not flying the ship, using the fresher, hunting, or sleeping, to try and pay any attention he can to the kid. He may not know what he’s doing sometimes, but it’s undeniable that Mando is a really good foster dad. He truly has the natural instincts of a father.

So far, there’s been a single stop on one planet for Mando to hunt the first quarry on his list. The hunt only takes three days, but the planet is deemed entirely too dangerous for you and the kid to be left without supervision, so the two of you stay behind with Jupiter on the tightly locked up Razor Crest.

From your view of it up in the cockpit, you can see that the sky of this planet is a swirling mixture of navy blue and bright purple, even during the day. At night there are not one, but four moons. One of which is so close to the planet itself, that a majority of the lower half of the sky is taken up by its cratered, blue-green surface. It’s truly a sight to behold for your Earthling mind. Aside from that, the forest of dark blue, almost black piney looking trees is relatively quiet aside from the odd looking bird or animal that passes by.

You only go slightly stir crazy in that seventy-two hours. You and the kid try your best to patiently wait for the bounty hunter to return, but the little guy gets somewhat restless without the presence of his dad and you miss having another adult to talk to. Eventually you do manage to learn that the kid likes your taste in music, and that he’s completely enthralled by it when you do yoga. He even learns to mimic a few of the easier poses, which is probably one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen.

His big eyes closed as he sticks his arms out in warrior pose, is a sight to behold.

“Mental note,” you say to yourself out loud as you fiddle around with painting your nails at the beginning of the third day, “get Mando to bring us some arts and crafts supplies. Maybe the kid would like making things.”

In the background, a soft techno song is playing and the kid is bobbing his little head to the beat while the cat tries to knock a few things over.

Once the Mandalorian does return a few hours later, slightly bloodied but no worse for wear, you finally get to learn what carbonite is. He shows you how he freezes the bounty alive in a block of the gross looking stuff. The poor bith, a bug-like creature to say the least, is stuck with a look of terror in its gigantic eyes. This process can apparently cause hibernation sickness which results in weakness, dehydration, dizziness, memory loss, and temporary blindness.

“That’s horrifying,” you emphasize with a hand on your chest. The kid, who is cradled in your other arm, apparently disagrees and practically claps his hands at the foggy sight of the freezing process.

“Beats having to make conversation with a criminal,” Mando responds with a small shrug, “the ones I bring in warm usually never shut up.”

Mando shows you that he brought back a fair amount of fresh food from the local market just as you’d requested. Several exotic fruits and vegetables you’ve never seen before but are excited to try. One fruit in particular seems the most enticing, mostly because Mando tells you it’s one of his personal favorites. He also informs you that he asked around about any sort of black hole phenomenon, but was mostly met with incredulity from the locals.

After getting cleaned up and changing his clothes, the Mandalorian allows you a few hours on the outside of the ship so you and the kid can get some fresh air while charging the iPad. The bounty hunter sits with his back against a tree trunk as he keeps a close eye on your attempt to get the kid to exert some of his energy, but after awhile you’re willing to bet that Mando falls asleep for about forty minutes.

When he eventually wakes up, he stands and makes his way over to where you’re laying in the grass with the kid sleeping on your stomach.

“Hey,” you say with a smile up at him. The sunlight bounces off of his helmet and blinds you for a moment before his head moves to block the sun from your eyes entirely.

“Hi,” he says back, holding a hand out to you, “Let him rest for a little while and let me show you something.”

Careful not to wake him, you gently move the baby off of you and take the offered hand. He pulls you up with ease, as if you weigh the same as the kid, and that’s the first time you realize how strong he really is.

Then he hands you a blaster. You look down at it with skepticism, before looking back up to the man with curious eyes.

He answers your unspoken question, “I’d like to teach you how to use this. For now, I want to see how well you can shoot. We’re going to start off easy and work our way up from there. When we have some down time later, I’d also like to teach you how to properly clean it and care for it. These weapons are useful, but if you don’t know your way around it then you’re just endangering yourself and others. Do you understand?”

You nod, wanting to take this new level of trust that he’s extending to you very seriously. “I understand. Thank you for trusting me.”

He nods in return, “Try not to make me regret it. Hold the blaster how you think you should and show me your stance.”

You’ve never shot a firearm before, so after pulling from your memories of what you’ve seen in action movies, you spread your legs slightly and hold it out in front of you with both hands. Your right hand is holding the blaster itself, with your finger on the trigger, and your left hand is steadying your arm.

The Mandalorian makes a clicking sound with his tongue, “Not terrible, honestly. But you need to fix your footing. Like this.”

He shows you with his own feet and you mimic him. When he’s pleased with how you look, he comes to move behind you. His body is so close to yours that it’s distracting, but you try to focus as he keeps going. Your insides are squirming feeling him this near to you.

“You never want your finger on the trigger unless you’re about to take the shot. Keep it elongated down the side, so you can slip the finger in an pull the trigger in a moments notice.” As he says this and you comply, his arms circle around you and he adjusts your elbows slightly.

Your hands begin to sweat horribly.

“Much better,” he says, taking a few steps back to observe you. You miss the physical presence of him as soon as it’s gone.

“So not a lost cause?” You ask, trying your best to hold the pose he left you in.

“Not a lost cause,” he agrees, “Why don’t you try firing at that tree?” He points to one that’s a few yards away.

You slip your finger into the trigger and pull. There’s a soft click but nothing happens. “Did I mess this up already?” You ask.

“No, I wanted to see if you would remember that the safety is on.” He replies, there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice and you narrow your eyes at him.

“That was a cheap trick,” you say with a huff. It feels slightly like he’s picking on you and your shoulders slump a little.

“I didn’t meant anything by it, I just wanted to test you. There’s no harm in having a gap in your knowledge. All that matters is the willingness to expand it.” He shows you how to turn the safety off, and steps back again. “Sorry, I wont do that again.”

“I forgive you,” you reply with a little more confidence in your voice and you take the shot. A bright blast of red goes flying into the thick woods and you watch as it disappears into the tree line.

“Try again, you can go until you make the shot. Don’t hold your breath and keep both eyes open.” He moves to lean against the tree a few yards away from you so he can keep an eye on both you and the sleeping kid.

About fifteen minutes later, you hit the tree trunk dead on. A cheer erupts from you and you do a little victory dance. You’re sure you can hear a low chuckle coming from within the beskar of Mando’s helmet, and he claps his hands in applause.

“Congratulations,” he says, “You’ll be taking down Storm Troopers in no time.”

You turn the safety back on and look at him with a raised eyebrow, “What’s a Storm Trooper?”

*****

It’s probably another few weeks of space travel, with the occasional fuel stop at a star port and a trip to an aquatic planet for another quarry, before you’re finally ready to admit to yourself just how attracted to the Mandalorian you really are. There’s no use in denying it. You felt the initial spark of attraction for him when you’d met on Nevarro, and that fire has only burned brighter every day that you’ve lived on his ship and nannied his child. Will you act on this attraction? That’s an entirely different matter all together. It’s one thing to harbor a crush, its another to act drastically just because you’re a horny mess around him and it only seems to be getting worse.

You’re attracted to a man who you cannot, and will very likely never, look into the eyes of. A man you can’t actually see, nor do you know his age or true name. What a trip.

At first you try to chalk it up to cabin fever, to being cooped up inside with only him, the baby, and the cat. Then he’ll go and do something like clean his blaster in front of you or polish the jet pack, and the sight of the cosmic gunslinger sends thrills of need through your deprived core.

The things that his lovely baritone voice can do to your body should be considered sacrilegious in every imaginable sense of the word. He’ll suddenly break a comfortable silence between you to ask you if the kid’s taken a nap yet that day or a random question about Earth, and its enough to make your mouth begin water before you’re able to answer. Enough to make you have to bite down on your left knuckles in order to prevent yourself from making obscene noises as you touch yourself later on that night in the fresher, imagining all of the dirty, depraved things you’d like to hear that voice of his whisper in your ear.

Your natural scent has pretty much taken over the cot at this point, but that first glorious week of sleeping on the ship had been insatiable. The smell of him had been on every inch of the thing. As far as you’re concerned, the sweaty, natural musk of the Mandalorian could be bottled up and sold by Gucci himself and no one would ever question it. It’s a heavenly aroma to say the least.

His persona is strong and masculine on the surface, which is initially what attracts you to him in the first place. There is another part of him though, one you’re slowly getting to see more and more of during your time together. It’s this slightly more relaxed side that only comes out when its just your little group whirling through hyperspace, that’s what is truly starting to do you in.

The only way you can really describe it, is that he’s gotten used to you being around enough that he’s begun to let his guard down a little in front of you. Not by much, but enough for you to notice.

His shoulders will flex beneath the armor as he reaches his arms up over his head to stretch mindlessly, sometimes a yawn escaping through the modulator. He’ll curse more in front of you if the kid’s not around. Words you understand, and some you don’t at all. The tone of a curse being unmistakable behind the odd phrases regardless. You’ll catch him sitting up in the cockpit every now and then, allowing Jupiter to sleep in his lap while he flies the ship. He seems to like her just as much as she likes him, or at the very least he doesn’t push her down when she jumps up to rub her head lovingly into his chest or knead at his armor plated thighs.

When he’d laughed at your joke back on Nevarro? That had only been the beginning. Mando doesn’t crack many jokes of his own, but this doesn’t stop him from chuckling at most of yours. His sense of humor is hidden under that helmet somewhere, and nothing makes you feel more accomplished than getting a miniature laugh out of him. It’s never a robust or boisterous sound, but low and hearty.

The kid will suddenly reach for Mando to hold him while in your arms and you’ll pass him over, the openly tender moments shared between unlikely foster father and son pulling effortlessly at your heartstrings. You’ve become endeared to this duo whether you’ve asked to be or not, and when Mando is in the room its all you can do not to act like a smiling, giddy mess.

The attraction you feel towards him is undeniable and strong, even without the luxury of being able to see his face. He could be the phantom of the opera inside that thing for all you know, but still the infatuation persists.

But above all else, you’re really starting to consider Mando to be your friend. That might be the most attractive thing about him.

Trying to keep these desires and feelings shoved deep down is becoming the biggest struggle of all, though. The urge to reach out and brush a hand over his forearm will overpower you, and you’ll catch yourself a moment away from your fingers stretching out towards him before clenching your fist up tightly at your side. There are two sides of your personality endlessly battling your will to ignore him in every instance.

You’ve always been a hopeless romantic, never truly content to wade through life by yourself. In the past, on Earth, this never worked in your favor with the opposite sex. Every chance at romance a failed travesty. You constantly long for the comfort of another person’s body pressed tightly against yours. You yearn to have the affection and attention showered upon you which you rarely received as a child, but with the intention to return that affection tenfold. You wish to have a friend by your side to share your life with. You want a true partner, someone to take care of you as you take care of him. As a natural caregiver from a broken home, you’ve always longed to have a family you can nurture and love freely as your own. A family entirely of your making, comprised of people you trust and respect.

Apparently for most guys this had been “too much”, leaving you to float in and out of uncomfortable situations with foolish men not worth half of your time. Not even sexually.

Embarrassingly, you’ve never slept with anyone who had the ability to make you reach an orgasm. You used to blame yourself, thinking that your self-consciousness was causing your body to freeze up in the presence of another. But as the years went on and your confidence in the bedroom grew, you’ve still never found a partner to achieve this triumph over your body. Because of this, you’ve also never been able to create a deep enough sexual connection with another person for any relationships to even stand a chance. Sex is one of your favorite things in the world, but you’ve never actually been able to enjoy it in the way you need to most.

You can’t help but think that Mando knows his way around a woman’s body, and your secret, almost nightly fantasies of him finally fixing this long standing problem for you are absolutely maddening.

And so the two sides of you wage war with one another daily. Some days you just want the Mandalorian to throw you up against the ship’s wall and fuck you until you don’t know your own name, and others you find yourself thinking that you want two of you to take the kid for a nice scenic hike should you stop on a good planet for it. You walk a very fine line between debaucherous wretch and hopeless romantic.

The fact remains, however, that you are still completely out of place in this galaxy. Your eventual departure and the eventual departure of the kid are the two main reasons that you usually force this silly, frivolous way of thinking aside. Both of you are temporary passengers on Mando’s ship, and you know that you’re already in far too deep with how attached you are to the kid. The day he leaves the Razor Crest, should that happen during your time on it, will very likely rip your heart completely in half. And you know damn well you will be just as broken-hearted if you are the one to leave first. Odds are things are bound to go back to normal for everyone on board the ship at some point, and getting attached to the Mandalorian on top of it is only asking for more trouble than you think you’re prepared to handle.

This, on top of the fact that he’s very clearly a private person to begin with, is why you stop yourself every single time you feel the urge to ask him something about himself. No matter how badly your curiosity wants to take over, you shove it deep down inside just like the rest of your infatuation with him. Besides, its not like he’d be able to answer questions like, “Hey Mando, what’s your favorite pizza topping?” The bounty hunter wouldn’t know what a pizza was if you made one for him yourself in the poor excuse of a galley.

Fuck. Now you could kill for a pizza.

*****

Similarly, Din is harboring struggles of his own behind that beskar helmet of his. Particularly in regards to the fact that you don’t ask him anything about himself. Ever. You are quite literally the most curious person Din has ever met, asking him various questions almost daily.

“How does the hyperdrive actually work?”

“Hey Mando, is the next quarry a human or some other kind of species?”

“What did this one do to end up with on a bounty on him?”

“Mando, what planet in this galaxy has the most moons? Mine only had one. It’s so cool to see multiple moons in the night sky like on that first planet. I’d love to see like six all at once.”

“What language do they speak here?”

Din is always willing to answer you, never once denying you the information you seek about the galaxy you now reside in. He never talks down to you or tries to make you feel foolish for asking, but instead tries to explain what he can to the best of his ability. The galaxy can be dangerous, life in space can be dangerous, and the more you know about your surroundings, the less Din needs to worry about you getting yourself into trouble.

One would think that this eventually gets old for Din Djarin, but it’s quite the contrary. It should annoy him. Really, it should. Yet it doesn’t. Your questions don’t pester him in the slightest. He enjoys answering you, getting to share his knowledge of the universe with you. It’s never a constant thing, and you never bombard him with too much of it all at once. Your queries are never anything other than thoughtful, drawing from a place of respect.

It usually only happens when you come across something you genuinely don’t understand, when you’ll look up at Din with those big, bright eyes filled with mystified splendor. He’s powerless not to answer you when you look at him like that. Din can’t help but find you beautiful, your sense of childlike wonder adding an extra layer of softness to your already impossibly exquisite features. It’s that same childlike wonder that also allows Din to see things that he’s always taken for granted in a new light.

He is not without questions of his own, however. Whenever you say, do, or wear something from your home world, Din cannot help but ask you about it. This planet, this Earth, you’re from seems to be just about the strangest place in the universe, and Din has seen some strange things in his heyday. The cultural differences alone are beyond him, let alone the primitive technology he’s seen you tote around the ship connected by a short wire to little white buds in your ears which you call “headphones”. He’s still getting used to the way you speak, the odd phrases you constantly spout off, but you’re usually able to get your point across to him. Din’s own growing curiosity about you is beginning to be somewhat uncontrollable.

Din is starting to consider you a friend worth getting to know.

Which is why it bothers him once he starts to realize that the one thing you’ve never asked him a single question about is himself. He’s not stupid, it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out. He’s even sure he’s caught you stop yourself from saying something to him on more than one occasion, and its nagged at him for several days after.

He knows how thankful he should be that you’ve never once pried into his personal life, but for whatever reason Din wants you to pry. Even though Din is ever the sensible and logical man, and he knows that it shouldn’t effect him in the slightest, it really, truly bothers him. Drives him slightly crazy, even. You’ve lived on the ship for a full month now, and still you ask about every kriffing thing in the galaxy besides him.

Din lets this whole thing go for another few weeks, as long as he possibly can, until he finally decides to stop driving himself mad and just put an end to it once and for all.

But in the meantime, his attraction to you grows.

The Way has no restrictions on sensuality despite the popular opinion of most beings. It’s simply seen by his people as a means to an end. A necessary aspect of life that, if not properly addressed, causes distraction and sloppiness. Both things that a warrior cannot afford, for his or her very life depends on the ability to focus in the face of battle.

Though the culture heavily consists of foundlings and there is very little need to procreate, most adult Mandalorians do eventually take another Mandalorian as a mate. If not simply as a way to deal with these natural urges effectively and for companionship. Din did have an adolescent fixation with one of the older girls in The Tribe, early on in his days with the Mandalorians, but even that had been fleeting. There is no denying that Mandalorian women are all beautiful in their own right. Strong, independent women whom Din would trust in battle without a second thought.

Hypocritically and embarrassingly, however, Din has never been able to bring himself to be attracted to another Mandalorian enough to see past the beskar helmet. This fact has always caused a deep sense of guilt within him, and a small amount of shame. It should be considered to be an honor to have a woman of such caliber at his side, but that’s not what Din most craves late at night when he’s taking care of himself in private.

No, Din wants to see gorgeous, thick hair that his fingers can get tangled in. He wants to see beautiful, lust filled eyes looking up at him with need. Those same eyes slipping closed as breathtaking facial features contort in moments of pure ecstasy brought on by his touch and his alone. Din doesn’t want the rough hands of a warrior on his bare skin, but the gentle and comforting caress of silky, delicate fingers. Soft lips grazing his neck.

Din also secretly craves to be completely nurtured by someone, to be taken care of in a way that he never has before.

Mandalorian women cannot provide these things for Din, and he cannot expect someone to be only ever be attracted to his helmet if he can’t find one attractive on someone else. He can’t even provide a potential partner with a kiss, one the simplest pleasures in the galaxy. Din’s lips have not touched another person’s flesh since he swore the oath and placed the beskar upon his young head. He’s not even sure he remembers how to do it. This is one of the many things that has always gotten in the way when it comes to women, so in recent years he’s resolved to not even bother anymore. Din Djarin is prepared to go it alone until the bitter end.

When your eyes meet his though? Even with a barrier of beskar between the two of you, the way you look up at him with such admiration in your eyes throws him for a loop nearly every time. That old way of thinking begins to melt away. Perhaps Din doesn’t want to go it alone, not all the time at least.

But... you’re inevitably going to leave. If you can find a way back to your bizarre home planet, you’re going to go and Din will likely never see you again. Just like the kid will leave him one day too. So he resolves to shove his growing desire for you so far down that he cannot feel it anymore. He’s convinced himself that he can be numb to it just like all the other times he’s had to be, until he eventually forgets about it all together and moves on with his miserable life.

*****

It’s another normal, uneventful evening in space. You’re sitting on an overturned crate, bouncing the kid up and down on one knee while Din is preparing something to eat for the three of you. This has been the unspoken evening ritual for the better part of your time on the ship, since the evening when you happened to walk in on Din attempting to keep the kid and the cat from playing too roughly with one another on top of trying to make food. He’d been obviously flustered and overwhelmed by the situation, but wouldn’t ask you for help. So you had just scooped the kid up, stroked the cat on the head, and silently pulled up a crate. He’s never once requested it, but you’ve done it every single night since.

Both of you secretly love this routine. In fact, if he is to be completely honest with himself, its Din’s favorite part of the day. Cooking a hot meal for the group a is such a simple thing, but more and more it begins to feel so... domestic. More domestic than anything Din has experienced since being a child, well before he became a foundling and subsequently a Mandalorian. It dredges up very early, blurry memories of Din on his own father’s knee while his mother makes their supper. The roles are reversed here, but the sight of his foster son sitting happily in your lap as he fixes dinner is enough to create a steady warmth to grow beneath his beskar chest plate, and he’s beginning to have a hard time trying to push it away.

As for you, at first this had been frustrating. On Earth you considered yourself to be an excellent cook, but out in the galaxy you have no idea what you’re doing when it comes to food. You miss Earth food a great deal, but its undeniable that Mando is culinarily talented. Even with the meager ingredients he’s able to pull together, he somehow always manages to come up with something far more delicious than anything you’ve been able to pull off. The kid also seems to agree, usually trying to clamber his way up to sneak more servings for himself even if he’s already had several to begin with. Food could have easily been a necessity for survival, not something Mando ever sought to take pleasure out of. You’re immensely glad that’s not the way he sees it. Usually your mouth waters at the mere thought of his cooking.

On this particular evening, you’re standing next to the Mandalorian rather than sitting on your crate. The kid is being bounced on your hip with the little silver ball he likes to steal from the cockpit. Mando has pretty much given up on taking it away at this point. The kid is holding it up to show it to his father, while saying something he clearly feels very strongly about in his nonsensical language of bubbling toddler-speak.

Din’s head tilts down from watching you bounce the child, to watch his son “talk” to him instead.

“Really?” Din says genuinely down to him in response, making an exaggerated face in spite of the kid not actually being able to see it, “You don’t say.” The little green boy smiles and coos back in delight. Din enjoys this mindless baby banter, but finds himself wondering out loud, “I wonder when you’re going to start talking, kid. It’d be nice to know what you’re saying one of these days.”

“How old is he anyway?” You ask, not looking up from the baby wiggling around in your arms.

Din responds immediately, almost casually, “He’s 50 years old. That’s why I took the bounty on him in the first place, I had no idea he was a kid.”

You turn your head up so fast that you’re sure you hear a bone in your neck crack, “50?! How is that even possible?” Your eyes scan over the tiny green thing and you can’t possibly fathom it.

“His species lives a lot longer than ours. He’s still considered to be an infant regardless of his age. This little womp rat here will probably live to be hundreds of years old,” Din explains, gently poking a finger on the child’s head.

You laugh then, shaking your head back down to the child on your hip. “And you can’t talk yet, nor can you wipe your own ass? You’re lucky you’re so adorable, little green bean.”

As Mando turns back to put the finishing touches on the meal, you keep your head tilted so that you can look at him from the corner of your eye. It isn’t lost on you that he’d called it “our” species, referring to the both of you being human. In a rare moment of feeling cocksure, you suddenly say, “So you’re a human under there after all, huh Mando?”

Din’s head jerks over to look at you, his eyebrows raising beneath the helmet. Still not really a proper question about him, but it’s formed enough like one to get his attention.

“What species did you think I was?” He counters seriously.

“That was a joke,” you say, suddenly feeling awkward. You worry that you’ve irritated him now, so your attitude becomes slightly dismissive as you turn to face away from him. “I figured you’re human, or at least humanoid. You’ve got five fingers on each hand,” you say nothing more on the subject.

Because your back is to him, Din’s eyes cannot help but land on your nice, firm backside. Truth be told... his eyes, deep brown and lusty beneath the beskar, do that a lot more than he’d readily admit. You’re wearing a black pair of what you’d once called “yoga pants” and they are... distracting to say the least.

Din curses lowly under his breath, vexed with your reluctance to talk to him about himself. He starts to play into it like he always does, pushing his irritation to the side and letting it go, telling himself its ultimately for the best not to get too close. But then you shift your footing and he watches as your ass shifts with it, rippling over to the left with the lightest of jiggles. Something within him shifts as well, and Din decides right then and there to just get the hell on with it. He sets the cooking utensils down and reduces the heat, before moving towards you.

You’re fully aware of every movement behind you without needing to turn around. You can sense Mando turning the heat on the food down before coming towards you. When you feel the height of him just a foot or so behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The warm sensation returns low down in your belly, and your palms begin to moisten slightly. You’re not sure whether to face him or not. Deciding on the latter, you keep your back to him.

His modulated voice hovers about six or so inches above your head, “Why is it that you never ask me anything?”

That warmth in your belly becomes a steady heat at the sound of his voice. Squashing that down as best as you can, you sit the kid down on the floor and spin back around to face him. You’re very used to speaking to the helmet by now, and you see yourself raise an eyebrow in its reflective surface. You’d heard the way he’d asked it, but you decide to play dumb, “I ask you stuff all the time, Mando. I just asked about the kid a second ago! Sometimes I worry that it’s actually annoying.”

“If it was constant it would be,” he says honestly, head tilting ever so slightly to the right as his forearms cross just over his abdomen. “But, no. Not annoying. I know how... different this galaxy is for you, and it is a dangerous place. The more you know, the less I have to worry about saving your ass from something you could have prevented yourself.”

That head tilt to the right is most certainly a sign of him smirking under there, you’re willing to bet your Bowie t-shirt on it. And your knees wobble a little at the sound of his voice making a passing mention of your ass. If only he knew how deeply your depravity ran, of the things you’ve fantasized about him doing to your ass.

Face flushed, you force yourself to recover, “So what’s the deal then, chrome dome?”

He retorts evenly with, “You ask me about everything under the stars aside from, well, me. I’d like to know why.”

That’s not really what you’d expected at all, and it leaves you floored for a quick moment. So he noticed how hard you’d been trying to avoid that particular subject after all. You think about it earnestly before looking right in the visor, once again hitting your mark without even knowing it.

“You’re obviously a very private person,” you say, gesturing up to the helmet, “I may not understand that, but I can respect it. It would be wildly inappropriate for me to bombard you with personal questions. I’m your guest and since I may very well never find a way to make it back to my home world, I’d rather not overstay my welcome on this ship too quickly.”

Din’s head doesn’t move, but his shoulders soften slightly. “That’s...” he trails off, considering what he’s about to say next, “kind of you, to respect my privacy. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to be afraid to ask. You’re a curious woman, so I’m sure you have your questions. If you get too personal or if you do bother me too much at once, then I reserve the right not to answer you.”

You look up at him through thick lashes while your parted lips form into a small, shy grin. Din feels it then, something that had been long dormant within him before the day you came into his life. Pure, unadulterated, desire.

It stirs low inside of him like one of Nevarro’s lava pits, boiling steadily and beginning to crack at his once steely reserve. This is certainly not the first time a reaction like this has spurred within him, but this is by far some of the strongest attraction he’s ever felt towards another person. Din’s had a handful of encounters with women of various species over the years, and perhaps even felt a substantial sense of attraction to a few of them in his younger days, but never anything nearly so powerful as the aching, desperate need he feels when he looks down at you.

Then you reach your hand out towards him, towards the beskar pauldron on his right shoulder and your mouth opens as if to begin speaking. He quickly assumes that you’re about to ask him about the armor itself, what it’s made of. Technically still not an actual question about him. Downtrodden and genuinely disappointed, Din begins to prepare himself to begrudgingly explain the beskar to you, until you bypass the pauldron itself to trace a tentative finger over the signet there instead.

You delicately run the tip of your index finger over the mudhorn skull, looking up at him to meet the visor with that look of wonder Din is so powerless against. He might as well be tossed into a sarlacc pit right in that moment. He’s done for, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

“What’s this represent?” You ask softly, running your finger up the length of the long horn. “I’ve wondered about it since we met. I can tell it’s the skull of an animal, but does it mean something special to you?” You chuckle a little, casting your eyes down to the symbol again, “We have an animal that kind of looks like this on Earth. It also has a horn on the end of its snout but not quite so huge. It’s called a rhinoceros.”

“Rhinoceros,” Din repeats the foreign word slowly, stumbling over some of the pronunciation. What an odd name for an animal.

You laugh brightly at hearing the word on his tongue, grinning up at him, “Rhino for short. I assume that this thing is probably gigantic in comparison to the thing on Earth, just like a lot of things in this galaxy seem to be.”

“It’s called a mudhorn,” he says simply after letting you ramble, “I had to kill one in battle, so it became my signet. My clan insignia, clan Mudhorn.”

You feel a pit in the bottom of your stomach form at that. If clan means the same thing out here as it does back on Earth, then he’s referring to his family. Does Mando have some family back on some planet that he’s never mentioned? Swallowing the lump in your dry throat, and though the childish part of you doesn't even want to know the answer, you ask him, “How many people are in your clan?”

But then Mando scoops the kid up as the little bugger runs between the two of you, and the helmet again fixes on you as he says, “Just two.”

Your heart just about turns to pudding within your chest right there. It’s all you can do not to clutch a hand to your collarbone and make a noise of endearment. The kid is truly all the Mandalorian has in this world? And one day he’ll inevitably have to give the green toddler up if they ever find his own kind? The muscle pumping blood through your body both swells and breaks for Mando all at once.

Deciding not to press your luck and that one question is enough for now, you’re satisfied with this new information about your mysterious cosmic companion for the time being.

But then he surprises you by saying, “If you’d like to join me up in the cockpit after I take my meal, I could tell you more about it.”

You’re sure the surprise is evident on your face, but you smile regardless, “I’d like that,” is all you can say.

No one speaks after that. He portions out a bowl of food for the three of you and hands you yours, making you feel nervous as your hand brushes against his glove. You thank him for dinner and he nods in a silent welcome before quickly making his way up to the cockpit. You’re a giddy mess as you scramble to deposit a protein pack in Jupiter’s bowl and situate yourself with the kid to eat your own meals. You’re so wound up that you barely want to eat, but force yourself to do so anyway. You let the kid have what you can’t finish.

Up in the cockpit the helmet drops to the ground with a loud thunk before he’s even in his seat. Din has never eaten so quickly in his life.

Within five minutes he’s calling down to you that you can come up when you’re ready, and in a gesture you know all too well at this point, his gloves appear from the opening in the ceiling for the kid. He passes his empty bowl down, and you thank him for supper as you then pass the kid up to him in exchange. You have to excuse yourself to the fresher to pull yourself together before joining them upstairs.

When you eventually do make your way up to the cockpit, you take your usual seat behind and to the left of the Mandalorian. He turns the pilot’s seat to face you while the kid sits in the other passenger seat, too happily occupied by the silver ball to notice the adults’ growing tension in the tiny control room. Mando could be making stupid faces under that thing for all you know, but you’re willing to bet he’s fixing you with some sort of serious look. It causes you to squirm in your seat, flushing as you look away from him shyly.

Even on Earth, there had never been a single, solitary man who had this much of an inaugural effect on you. Mando’s got steady a hold over you already, and you’re pretty sure you’re reaching that point of being willing to do literally anything to be close to him. You suddenly find yourself desperately wanting to take care of him in some way, to show some sort of affection in the way you know best.

“Would you like to hear about the mudhorn?” Din asks, looking from you to the kid. Does he want to tell you the truth about the kid? Din’s pretty sure he can trust that you are who you say you are at this point, and that you harbor no secret ill will towards the child. You’re not going to suddenly turn him in to the Empire. Hell, you probably still don’t even understand what the Empire used to be, let alone what the shambles of it are now.

When he looks back to you, you nod in the affirmative, “Only if you want to tell me.”

You’re surprised by his willingness to tell you this story, and you’re equally surprised by how long he makes the act of telling it. Mando is a man a few words generally, and this is the most you’ve heard him use his handsome sounding voice in one sitting since the two of you met. Usually you’re the one doing the talking, telling long winded stories. But because he is a man of few words Mando chooses them very carefully, and so he’s able to paint a fairly clear picture in your head of the events which led to the mudhorn. Kuill and the blurrgs. Finding the kid, returning to the Razor Crest to find it scrapped by Jawas, chasing said Jawas down and having them demand the egg of a mudhorn in return for the ship’s parts. Then he tells you about getting his ass handed to him by the mama mudhorn, nearly dying in the process, before the kid saved him.

“What do you mean the kid saved you?” You ask, incredulously looking over at the toddler as he still continues to suck on the silver ball and babble to himself. “Is that some kind of metaphor for, like, what you were missing in your life?”

“What? No, not like that.” Din says with a shake of the head, though something in your words rings true for him in the back of his mind. “The kid, he can do things. Has... abilities.”

Again you look to the child, and your jaw drops open, “Like he’s got superpowers? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey, watch the language in front of the kid,” Mando says sternly, “He can do things with his mind. You need to know about it incase he ever does it in front of you. Usually it’s a defensive thing, but I’ve also seen him use it to cause trouble.”

You gloss over the thing about the kid for a moment, focusing instead on the light scolding you’d just received. He hadn’t been rude about it, in fact the dad-like way he’d said it makes you smile. “I thought you guys don’t even have that word in basic,” you say, laughing.

“You say it enough that I was able to gather it’s inappropriate nature from the connotation in which you use it. What does it mean, anyway?” He asks, curious.

Embarrassed slightly, and not wanting to think about the way you’d love to hear him say that particular word to you, you shake your head. “That’s an adults-only explanation... So back to the little superhero over there?”

“That’s all. He used his magic powers or whatever they are to stop the mudhorn from charging me, and I was able to kill it. We retrieved the egg, and I got my parts back.” Mando replies, and you still can’t wrap your head around that tiny thing having abilities.

It’s not that you don’t believe it. You’ve been sucked through a man-made black hole in your grandfather’s basement and ended up stranded billions of light years away from home. Of course you believe it, you just don’t know how that could come out of something so precious and innocent.

“Well that’s certainly not what I thought you were going to tell me,” you breathe out with a shake of the head, “I’m shocked.”

The Mandalorian actually laughs a little beneath the beskar, “Imagine my shock. That thing was floating off the ground. Poor kid slept for nearly a full day after.”

“Poor fella,” you say, standing to scoop the kid up for an embrace. You begin bouncing him back and forth while making your way to stand beside the pilots seat as Mando turns it back to face forward. “It’s hard work protecting your dad from big, scary mudhorns, huh?” The kid just babbles up at you, and you hand the silver ball over to Mando so it can be screwed back into the shift.

“What happened after that?” You ask, wanting to know everything about him now that you know he’s willing to tell you.

“That’s a story for another time,” Din says while reaching with his right arm to screw the ball in. The injury in his shoulder from the previous week flares up then, causing him to hiss out, “Dank farrik,” under his breath.

You can’t help yourself, “Language in front of the kid, Mando.”

“I deserve that,” he says, still hissing in pain as he slowly pulls his arm back with a groan, opening and closing his fingers several times.

“I’m kidding. Are you okay?” You ask, genuinely concerned for him.

He nods, “Pulled my shoulder hunting the last quarry. Still sore.”

You set the baby back down on the passenger seat and return to Mando’s side, “That was almost a week ago, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Din says somewhat curtly. He’s had worse.

“Well it doesn’t help that you’ve been sleeping up here for well over a month. That can’t be comfortable,” you suddenly feel incredibly guilty for having taken his bed, “Please take the cot back tonight, I’d hate to see you make it any worse. I’ll find somewhere else.”

“No,” he argues again, “I’ll be fine.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “So the men in this galaxy are stubborn too, huh? And here I thought it was just an Earth thing.”

Din doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing, which elicits an exasperated sigh from you. He suddenly feels your hand on his right pauldron for the second time that night, but this time it begins to pull. His own hand flies up to catch yours and the helmet snaps up at you while the leather covered fingers around your hand apply a light amount of pressure. This is the most he’s ever touched you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, halting your movements.

“Relax,” you draw out the word, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. You need that shoulder rubbed, and I can’t do that for you with your armor on.” Feeling rather brave, you bend to hover your head beside the helmet, placing both hands on the pauldron and pulling lightly at it again. You drop your voice down an octave, softly saying, “Let me take care of you, Mando.”

Those words again leave Din at a loss for any of his own, and his hand melts back down to his lap. He doesn’t stop you when you pull his pauldron off completely, setting it down carefully on the seat you usually sit in. He lets you do the same to the vambrace on his forearm, using his other hand to help you get it off. His entire right arm suddenly feels so bare without the beskar, in spite of still being covered in layers of clothing.

“Can you take the cloak off too?” You ask nervously. This is quickly becoming uncharted territory.

Din complies, taking he beskar off of his left arm as well before handing all of it over to you. You set everything down so gingerly that Din can sense how much you respect his armor just from the delicate way you handle it. “Thank you. For being so careful with that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of messing it up. What’s this stuff made of anyway? It’s lighter than I expected it to be.”

“Mandalorian beskar. It’s one of the most indestructible substances in the galaxy, and weighs less than most common metals.”

“Like vibrianium! Heh, that’s awesome,” you laugh.

“Let me guess. Earth thing?”

“You got it.”

Din is too lost in the idle conversation to realize how bare he truly is at first, but this is certainly the most exposed he’s ever been around you. As you’ve been talking, everything on his torso aside from the thin, long sleeved undershirt and his gloves have been simultaneously removed and placed in the passenger seat. He finds himself wondering how he suddenly let it come to this.

Maker, it’s been so long since he’s been touched. His stomach is doing strange things inside of his body, his skin tingling all over.

You are similarly wondering the same thing, as you look down and get the tiniest glimpse of skin on the back of his neck. A small sliver of flesh tucked between his shirt collar and the base of the helmet. It appears to be tan, which should suggest that he’s naturally so. You highly doubt he has ever laid half naked in the sun just to vainly darken his skin tone, but that’s a sight you’d surely love to see. That little bit of skin nearly breaks you, but you ignore it.

Coming to stand directly behind the pilot’s seat, you instruct him to lean forward slightly and he complies. Your hands come to rest on either of his shoulders, and you suddenly catch a whiff of that scent from the cot. His scent. You breathe it in, and begin knead in your knuckles into his back. You start in near his spine and push both up and out, when a loud noise that sounds almost pained escapes him. You can see your own surprised expression in the silver reflection on the back of his head, moving your thumbs to rub circles into the base of his neck, just below the exposed patch of skin.

“Are you okay?” You pause to check on him

“Keep going,” he grunts out, and so you do.

You work at his shoulders for a good five minutes, focusing extra attentiveness on the shoulder he’s having trouble with. He makes noises here and there, but other than that you both stay fairly quiet. After you’ve given his shoulder enough attention, you work both of your hands slowly down his right arm. Your thumbs press into the knotted bicep, then the tricep, and Mando’s usually tense body practically liquefies into the seat under your grasp.

“Has anyone ever done this for you?” You ask seriously, making your way now down to his tight forearm.

“No,” Din says after a moment, groaning when you hit a particularly sensitive knot, “Never-gah-had anyone offer.”

“Never? Their loss,” you say, pulling his arm up towards you to stretch it out straight. He lets you guide him easily. “Does your hand hurt as well?”

Mando nods, and without prompting you kneel down beside him to get at a better angle and begin tentatively undoing the strap of his glove. Your fingers stall around his wrist as your eyes meet the visor, wordlessly asking for his permission for what you’re about to do, and he nods again. It hitches in your throat slightly, but you take a deep breath regardless to prepare yourself to cross this next line.

Tugging at the clay colored tips, you begin to gently pull the glove from his hand. The skin revealed beneath the leather is the same tan as the skin on the back of his neck, solidifying your theory that this is a natural occurrence. The knuckles are slightly dry, with small scars resting in between some of the rough peaks of bone and dark hairs dusting the fleshy terrain. The glove falls to his lap as you remove it completely, examining each finger carefully before flipping his hand entirely so you can examine his palm. All the usual lines and finger prints are there, and there’s an old burn scar just below his thumb where his wrist and palm meet. It looks like the initial wound had been a nasty one. You run your own thumb over it and look at the helmet again.

“How did you get this?” You ask.

“Don’t remember. Have so many that I lose track,” he replies.

“You have nice hands,” you say casually, not surprised when he says nothing in return. Instead you make yourself focus on the work, pressing into the palm and making your way up each finger with equal attention to each digit. His thumb pops when you unintentionally pull on it just the right way, and his entire body jerks forward a little.

This goes on for another few moments, until your own hand begins to cramp up on you. You pull it back suddenly, cracking your middle finger with a low hiss before yanking on your own thumb and spinning your wrist a few times.

“You okay?” Mando asks, sitting up slightly to look at you.

“Yeah just my hand cramping. I may need to call it quits,” you say, beginning to pull away before he stops you. For a moment his bare hand is just holding yours, and your mouth begins to severely dry up.

“Wait, let me. This hand?” Mando says, and you simply nod, dumbstruck. He quickly pulls the glove off of his other hand, and begins kneading both of his bare thumbs into your palm. “So soft,” he murmurs to himself, though you can hear him clear as day. Neither of you address it.

“Good grief,” you mutter as he hits the sore spot below your thumb, holding back a moan.

The Mandalorian mimics the same way you had massaged his hand, working his way slowly up each one of your slender fingers until he reaches the painted nails. It’s over in a matter of minutes and you eventually pull your hand back to shake it a few times, wiggling your fingers. When the audacity of what just happened occurs to you, you cannot help but blush. You’re still kneeling down beside Mando, looking up at the helmet bashfully.

“Thank you,” you say, casting your eyes back down to his unconfined hands.

Din doesn’t even consider the next thing he does. Involuntarily, his right hand reaches out to run over your hair, moving some of it out of your face. “Likewise, ner burc’ya.” he says lowly.

Puzzled by hearing him speak what is obviously another language, you look to him for an explanation. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Mando’a for ‘my friend’,” he says in a tone that brings heat to your cheeks.

Then he pulls away to begin replacing the gloves over his hands. You’re disheartened slightly both that he’s no longer touching you and to see his mesmerizing skin disappear once more. You cannot help the sudden longing you feel to see more of it, and in very particular places.

“How’s your shoulder?” You ask, standing to grab the suddenly tired looking kid and bring him over to the Mandalorian, knowing full well how much Mando likes to hold the kid as he falls asleep. This has never been discussed between you, but you know it to be true.

“Better, still not great,” Din says honestly, reaching for the increasingly sleepy toddler.

“I think you should sleep in the cot tonight,” you insist again, “and I’m not really willing to take no for an answer.”

Din looks up to where you stand beside him, fixing him with a pointed look. He knows it’s probably not worth arguing, and he does miss being able to lay out properly. “What about you?”

You wave him off, “I’ll make due, isn’t that what you said to me? You deserve a good night of sleep too, Mando. Especially if there’s another quarry only two days away.”

Din decides that you have a point, and nods, “Fine. Just for a few hours.”

Your eyes roll unceremoniously, “For fuck’s sake, sleep for as long as you need to.”

*****

As Din climbs into the cot later that night, the smell of you is completely overwhelming. Even with his helmet on, your natural aroma is so distinct. Some of your things are strewn about inside, as you’ve clearly made yourself at home over the past several weeks. There’s the small bottle of that strange black liquid you like to decorate your nails with, as well as a dark purple garment you wear almost daily. You’ve told him it’s called a “hoodie”. Though you’ve managed to make it seem more comfortable with the addition of a pillow and blanket, everyone on the ship is aware that a real bed would be far more preferable.

The kid would usually already be asleep in the hammock above Din’s head by now, but you’d suggested letting him sleep in the pram for the night so that Din could get some sleep of his own without interruption. So once the door slides shut behind him, he’s completely alone. Din normally just sleeps with the helmet on for fear of not wanting to be woken up off guard without it, but something makes him slide the thing off of his head and place it in the storage net hanging on the back wall next to your backpack, soon followed by his gloves. He’s without his boots already and still without the beskar on his torso, all more suggestions of yours. You’d sternly told him you expected him to get as comfortable as possible, and so Din complies with this demand.

Your scent is one of the most wonderful things Din has ever experienced. Without the helmet on, his sense of smell is assaulted by you. He can’t help himself as he lifts the black blanket up to his uncovered face, inhaling as much of you as he possibly can. When his head hits the pillow he also can’t help but to nuzzle his nose into the soft fabric, breathing in your essence as if it is the very oxygen his body needs in order to live.

Din falls asleep clutching your purple hoodie to his chest, while thinking about how soft your hand felt in comparison to his.

When he wakes several hours later, Din takes one last instant to enjoy the aroma around him without the barrier of beskar. His dark eyes slip closed while he savors the moment, before replacing the helmet to its rightful perch on his head and making his way out of the cot to find you and the kid. His boots are waiting for him just outside, so he slips those on as he looks around. There’s no sign of either of you anywhere on the first floor of the ship, not even the cat.

Din climbs up to the second floor to look for you, the cockpit door sliding open with the usual swishing sound. The overhead lights have been dimmed to nothing, so the only real light is coming from the various illuminated buttons up front. At first he walks in far enough only to notice that the empty pram is in the kid’s usual seat, and his beskar is still where he’d left it in yours. He stops right in his tracks once he gets far enough inside to actually see you, his chest swelling almost painfully at the sight before his eyes.

You’re curled up in the pilot’s seat at an angle that has got to be doing horrendous things to your back, one leg tucked underneath your ass while the other is propped up on an area of the control panel without any actual controls. The kid is sleeping soundly on your chest, his ears turned down in a relaxed position with his head turned to face towards Din’s direction. A green fist is curled up tightly in your shirt, while the kid’s little mouth hangs open and the tiniest bit of drool escapes out the side and onto the fabric.

Also sleeping soundly, you’ve got your head of wild hair leaning back into the seat’s headrest as your own mouth hangs open a little. One arm is draped protectively around the kid, and the other dangles uselessly off the side of the armrest. Din’s cloak is draped around the two of you as a makeshift blanket, and the cat is curled up into a ball of fluff on your lap, just below the kid. One of Jupiter’s tawny eyes opens to look skeptically up at him, before she closes it again and readjusts her sleeping position.

The image of this, the emotions it stirs within him, leaves Din’s head nearly ringing from the intensity of it. This quiet moment of serene hyperspace dancing in the background of his ship, of his home. You, easily most beautiful woman he’s ever met, holding his sleeping child to your breast. His cloak draped around the two of you, almost symbolic of what this little group is slowly beginning to mean to him.

A whisper of a thought begins to prick at the back of his mind then. A dangerous, self destructive thought which can only lead Din Djarin down a path of heartache should he let things get out of hand.

Once he hears his own voice murmur the words inside his head, he realizes that things were already well out of hand when it had only been him and the kid. Now, with the addition of you in the equation, it’s actually becoming quite the complicated situation. Din is now in a very treacherous new land, the thought echoing once more through his mind before he pushes it as far away as he can.

Don’t want them to leave...

*****

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peterpparkrr · 1 year

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Let it snow

peterpparkrr’s 12 days of holiday drabbles

8. Snowstorm + Din Djarin

Summary: You find yourself stranded in a cabin during a snowstorm with a Mandalorian.

“It doesn’t look like it’s gonna let up any time soon,” Din tells you as he stares out the window of the abandoned shelter you’d stumbled upon.

Thank Maker you’d found this shelter before the storm really picked up, you don’t think the two of you could have made your way out of the storm back to the Razor Crest in the conditions outside.

“No kidding,” You reply as you come up behind him to stare at the blanket of white outside. You can feel the winds rattle the door and window frames ever so often. And with another gust, you wrap your arms around your middle and look around. “Guess we better get comfortable.”

You poke around to see what sort of provisions this little shack has. There’s a cot bed in the corner with blankets piled on top of it so at least you won’t freeze to death. You find a cupboard with a few ration packs tucked inside.

“Well, we’re not going to die,” You tell Din as you raise the rations above your head.

When you pop back up you see Din crouched down in the other corner of the cabin, where the small fireplace is positioned.

You move forward and watch as he builds a fire with the kindling beside the fireplace.

He builds it up well enough, but can’t seem to get the paper to catch the spark from the flint he found amongst the fire-making supplies.

You can tell he’s starting to get agitated.

“Do you want to-” You start to ask.

The sudden woosh of his flamethrower cuts you off as he aims it directly at the pull of wood. The nicely built tent collapses as it bursts into flames.

“...use my lighter?” You finish as you stare at the now roaring fire.

“Sorry,” Din apologizes as he stands up and turns to face you.

“It’s alright, suppose we’re bound to get a little tense in this sort of situation. I certainly don’t love the feeling of being trapped somewhere,” You tell him with a sigh as you pull the collar of your snowsuit more tightly around your neck as you slump down on the cot, leaning back against the wall.

“Well, it’s like you said, we’re not going to die here,” Din replies as he comes to sit next to you. “We just need to wait out the storm.”

“Then we can head back to the crest and get the hell off this stupid planet,” You grumble.

You both sit like that for a while in silence.

“You should take off your armor,” You finally say.

“Sorry,” You apologize quickly as he turns to look at you, his helmet tilted curiously. “I didn’t mean it like that, it just… you should get comfortable. And it’s not like anyone going to attack us.”

A mechanical hum comes through Din’s vocoder as his hands come up to unclip his pauldrons. And then his vambraces.

You suddenly feel like you’re spying on a private moment and quickly downcast your eyes to give Din a modicum of privacy as he takes off his armor.

Once the pile of armor on the floor is complete your eyes flicker upward again and you see Din’s helmet already looking back at you from where he sits next to you, now just in his undershirt and pants.

You clear your throat awkwardly.

“Better?” You ask.

“Yeah.”

“Cool,” You reply as you nod awkwardly.

“With the fire, it’s warm enough you can probably take your snowsuit off too,” Din says. “For, y’know, comfort.”

You shoot him a look. You have a feeling his smirking at you under that stupid helmet.

But you silently stand up and unzip your snowsuit, pulling your arms out before you shimmy it down your legs. You add it and your boots to Din’s pile.

“There,” You say as you wrap your arms around your chest and sit back down.

“Here,” Din says quietly as he wraps one of the blankets around your shoulders, the warmth from his arms and chest radiating off of him as he reaches around you.

“You’re warm,” You comment before you can think better of it. His arm freezes where it’s still draped across your shoulders.

“Sorry- I-” You begin to apologize again.

“Yeah?” He asks. “And are you still cold?”

“A little,” You reply as you shrug. Before you realize what your response might mean. “Yeah.”

“Sharing body heat is important in situations like this,” Din’s voice replies slowly.

“Yeah,” You breathe out.

“You should lay down,” He gently instructs you.

You shift down from your sitting position to lay on your side as Din moves behind you, lying down next to you before he wraps his arm around your middle and pulls you against his broad, warm chest.

“Is this okay?” He finally asks.

“Very okay,” You reply contently.

Before you know it your eyes are fluttering close and you fall asleep as Din’s arm tightens around you.

And you swear he whispers something, but you’re already asleep before you can try to decipher what he’s said.

#peterpparkrr's holiday drabbles #12 days of holiday drabbles #the mandalorian #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian drabble #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian reader insert #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin drabble #din djarin fanfic #din djarin reader insert

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flightlessangelwings · 2 months

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While we’re on the subject on inclusivity:

Inclusivity in your mood boards is just as important as inclusivity in the fic itself. Please try to include poc and curvy images in your mood boards as well! Please!

Your moodboard is the introduction to your story and sets the mood and the vibe. When you only have skinny white girls in your moodboards, you’re communicating a message that’s all who you thought of while writing and that’s the only type who is attractive and desirable to the characters. Poc deserve to feel seen too and feel like they were thought of while writing. Especially so when you’re writing for characters of color!

You don’t even have to use *only* poc or curvy pictures for your mood boards. Including different skin tones to show that you made the effort is much appreciated. You could also use shadow images or fully blacked out silhouettes to hide the skin tone altogether. There are plenty of resources and images out there that you should be able to find more than just skinny white girls. I know is it takes a little extra digging but it’s very much worth it to show inclusivity!

I know Pinterest is the bane of image finding, but it can be a good resource to find poc images. Just search (whatever aesthetic you’re looking for) + dark skin or person of color or something similar and you’ll find plenty of images. And the more you save the more images will show up in your feed. I constantly collect images to have references later when I need them.

Unsplash is another good resource to find poc models and images. And there’s also models of color pages right here on tumblr! There are resources out there it just takes a little effort to find the right images!

And as an ending note: using only skinny white girls in your mood board and then putting a disclaimer like “images do not represent reader they’re just fitting the aesthetic” isn’t the work around you think it is. I understand it’s not done in purpose and you most likely don’t realize it, but saying that says poc don’t fit your aesthetic and it’s still alienating and hurtful. Just something to keep in mind.

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself.

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door.

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it.

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him.

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core.

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it.

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off. The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think.

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound.

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough.

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it.

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.”

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would.

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly.

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless.

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red.

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #female reader #reader insert #din djarin smut #dom!din djarin #trying real hard to be sub!din djarin #angst/comfort #fluff

3K notes · View notes

no-droids · 1 year

Text

Another Rough Day

gif credit @chrishemsworht

Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7K

Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort

A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long). As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that

ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello

ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing

anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall

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You take two of them down before they even realize they’re being attacked.

Your aim is as swift and steady as if Din were behind your shoulder right now, calmly pointing out which stationary tree to hit next in rapid succession. You’re positioned perfectly at the bottom of the ramp to take full advantage of the ambush, the only thing running through your mind is strategy and the constant calculating of angles and ricochets. The other three troopers are trapped inside the open Crest and you’re right next to a large boulder that you can step behind for cover, but it proves unnecessary as the rumors were apparently true.

They’re… awful.

Not a single blaster is even fired in your direction—you think you see maybe one panicked red shot bounce around in the hull, but that’s it. The troopers fumble for their guns and trip over each other at the unexpected attack—a few scream like children through the modulators, but you’re temporarily deaf to anything besides the screech of your weapon hitting its target and the crumpling of armored bodies.

Later on, if someone were to ask you to describe exactly what happened—who died first, who ran for cover, who cried out for help—you don’t think you’d be able to. You don’t even really feel like a person right now. The entire thing is cold, robotic survival instinct, pure ruthlessness rising in your soul for the first time in your life. It feels sick. Wrong in your bones. Born from preemptive defense in fear of your life, but that doesn’t mean you stop. Not until all of them stop moving.

You empty the entire fucking canister for a handful of stormtroopers, firing plasma and char marks across every square inch of the pristine hull even after the last one drops. Your heart is beating too fast, your finger keeps pulling the trigger multiple times even after the blaster clicks uselessly, completely empty and beeping a warning that it must’ve begun emitting ages ago. Being out of ammo scares you—you suddenly feel vulnerable, even though the very far away logical part of your mind reminds you that they have to all be dead at this point and no physical threat was ever able to graze you.

Regardless, you quickly spin behind the boulder and grab another canister from your belt, giving it a spare check for leaks while the empty one slides and drops to the rocky ground. It’s the first time you’ve ever had to reload this weapon instead of just pointing and shooting, but the mechanics are relatively simple and your brain makes up for your lack of coherent thoughts with lightning fast perception. What's difficult is that your hands are starting to shake now that you’re not aiming, you’re not breathing correctly because you’re not really breathing at all. You can’t tell the difference between the adrenaline-fueled dissociative silence that muffles everything around you or if it really is just that quiet now. No more clatter of armor, no modulated voices or terrified screams. No blasters, no footsteps along the ramp, no birds singing.

You quickly pause to lift your elbow and check the enormous eyes blinking up at you, tiny claws still holding tight to the fabric of your tunic and completely unharmed, and then you force yourself to move. The blaster is held out in front of you while you walk forward and your finger rests on the trigger, begging to be pulled again. It’s suspenseful and terrifying in a different way than before—now it’s less about psyching yourself up for confrontation and more about the fact that any sudden movement could mean your very swift end.

Silence. Silence. You’re numb and raw at the same time, walking up the ramp as your eyes fly everywhere, not even registering the blood or gore, just searching for movement. You don’t know if you feel like a predator or prey, you’re that much more brutal and inhuman because of how fucking terrified you are. You count four stormtroopers in the hull laying crumpled and still on the metal floor, but the one in the far corner only has blood on his shoulder. You quickly swing the blaster around to remedy that, but then—

“P-Please don’t kill me!”

His words remind you of something. Reality, maybe. A world outside yourself and the kid’s survival, the living beings behind the bloody armor your enemies wear.

It’s a miracle your finger stays hovering over the trigger, and you watch him throw the blaster at your feet with a clang and scramble to show you his empty hands. “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me—I’m not loyal to the Empire, I don’t want to be here, please, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die—”

Behind the mask, your expression furrows. Stormtroopers are loyal to the bitter end, what is he saying? They embrace their expendiality, it’s the only thing that makes them any sort of a real threat. Kuiil told you horror stories about them during your childhood, the cloning facilities and the propaganda they’re force fed since infancy. It’s nearly impossible to find one who hasn’t been raised from birth to serve the Empire, no matter how crumbled and trace its remaining authority may be.

No, this is a trap, it has to be. Your expression twists with dread after hearing him speak, readjusting your aim with the blaster and preparing yourself for the years of nightmares that’ll follow—but then he cries out, “Wait!” and then removes his helmet with trembling hands.

You pause, staring down at him in shock.

It’s him, you recognize him immediately. It’s the same face from a hologram puck you bore into your memory, spent multiple days staring at so you’d be able to spot him under any disguise or circumstances. Oshua Ryler. Your quarry, the fifth puck, the one Din was out Maker knows where searching for before this entire mess happened. A stormtrooper? His puck said nothing about the Empire, this doesn’t make any sense. What is he doing here? Stormtroopers don’t have pucks, they don’t have bounties or relatives or loved ones searching for them. They’re brainwashed, replaceable, faceless soldiers in suits of armor and they don’t even have names.

“Please don’t kill me,” he begs again, staring at you with wide eyes even as he cowers. “I have a family, I-I just want to go home, please—”

“Shut up.” You can’t think straight with him crying like that and you’re wasting so much time just standing here trying to process when your brain had to literally shut itself down to even do the things you’ve already done. You have to kill him and escape, you have to—you can’t trust this complication, not with the tiny claws currently digging into your back and reminding you of your purpose, but it was so much easier when he had on a helmet. You hate looking at his face. It’s going to haunt your dreams now, just like the man you stabbed on Corellia.

“Please don’t kill me—please don’t kill me,” he screws his eyes up and breathes over and over instead, and your stomach wrenches with disgust. His posture and expression are so fucking pitiful, you can barely keep your eyes on him through the overwhelming nausea and aversion that climbs up your throat. He’s with the Empire, and they’re looking for the baby. You know what needs to be done. Pull the trigger, just one small movement from you and it’ll be all over. It would be the easiest thing in the world, it would be so easy.

But then instead, you ask, “Why are you a stormtrooper?”

“I’m n-not—I hate the Empire—”

“The Empire is ashes.” You don’t know if you’re yelling or whispering with how much blood is roaring through your ears. “They hold no power anymore. Why are you with them?”

“Because the one thing they have left is money!” The quarry shrills the words at you, ghostly pale to the point of turning green. “Th-They buy troopers now—they opened up a whole new market for the smugglers, there’s a base nearby that’s used for training and…” He stares wide eyed at you and gulps. “C-Conditioning.”

Your brain is already going a trillion lightyears an hour and it doesn’t have the capacity to empathize or understand anything beyond the child’s survival and the relevant details right now. “Were they expecting the baby?”

“W-What?” He squeaks up at you.

“Was the bounty put out on you a trap set by the Empire?” You ask him, lifting your free arm just enough to flash him the tiny child clinging to your side. “He said they’re coming after the baby, so tell me if this was planned from the beginning.”

“Who is ‘he’?” The stormtrooper asks, furrowing his eyebrows and looking around. “What are you talki—”

“Tell me if the bounty on you was a trap to take this baby!” You roar, your blaster shaking as you aim it down at him. Your mind is acutely focused on the tiny claws hanging onto your tunic, the continued safety of the kid and the life or death situation facing him that you were given absolutely no information about. “Now—”

“If it was I didn’t know!” He quickly cries out, pleading with you and clamping his eyes shut in terror under the barrel sight. “I don’t know anything about a b-baby, or a bounty! They just put blasters in our hands and told us to search for a ship and to bring back anyone we find alive, I swear!”

You’re silent for a moment, biting your lip under the mask and caught halfway between discerning and stalling. You could still kill him. You should still kill him, time is ticking down and more troopers could be heading this way any second.

Shit. “Who put the bounty out on you?” You ask sharply. It might not be a completely fair question, but he can’t exactly blame you for not feeling completely fair right now.

“I—I don’t know,” he gasps, clutching his bleeding shoulder. “Could’ve been anyone—my mother, Cyra, o-or my dad, Obediah, or Thia, or Benja, or S—”

“Thia,” you interrupt his rambling, catching the slurred word and repeating it back to him.

“Yes!” Oshua jerks his head up, tears and hope immediately filling his eyes at the sound of her name, “Yes, Thiadura Celi Ryler, that’s my sister!”

Maker, if he’s lying, then he’s fucking brilliant at it. You look towards the cockpit of the ship, biting your lip under the mask. Get to Nevarro, tell Karga and he’ll… something. Din was cut off before he finished. Help? Know what to do? You’re lost, but you have a clear directive and the precious seconds are sliding by. The controls are right up there, two steps to the ladder and less than a minute until you’re rising into the atmosphere.

But then you think back to the terror in Din’s voice. The blistering panic that made him speak faster and with more urgency than you’ve ever heard from him. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga. Get to Nevarro. Tell Karga.

You look back at the quarry. “How many of you are there?”

“At the base? Around three hundred,” he immediately spills. “Half of us are in the hole right now getting brainwashed, they do it in shifts, but they can be mobilized in a few hours. There were a lot of bodies outside when we were ordered to split off, maybe a third of our squadron, but the rest were still shooting at whatever was—”

“So around a hundred left,” You finish breathlessly, almost wanting him to speak faster and cut to the chase so you can calculate quicker. “How many were dispatched on the search?”

“Uh, there were eight groups of five sent in each major direction,” he informs you, still trembling on the ground. “Told us not to come back until we covered the entire sector.”

Of which, four you’ve already taken care of. In other circumstances, you’d be nauseated at the thought, but right now, it’s just another number to subtract, just more panicked math in Din’s frightening absence. That leaves at least sixty troopers left wherever the base is, minimum, and likely a couple more hours before they’ve combed the sector. If this wasn’t a preconceived trap purposefully set for the kid, then that means reinforcements haven’t arrived yet but likely will soon. And if this is a base meant for training and conditioning, then that also means there’s a chance not all of them will be loyal yet.

You make the decision immediately.

“Okay,” you announce, clicking the blaster’s safety switch and holstering it, sounding lightyears more certain than you feel. “Then you’re going to help me carry out a rescue mission, and I’ll take you back to your sister.”

“You…” He looks uncertain, blinking at your blaster and slowly lowering his hands. “You want to rescue the men?”

Ideally? Sure. Realistically? You don’t say anything in response. Instead, you kick his regulation firearm at your feet further away from the quarry just in case your judgment is flawed, and then turn around and grab one of the bodies behind you.

Your adrenaline is still blaring so fast that you only just barely note the severity of what you’ve just done and what you’re continuing to do. The corpses aren’t real to you right now, they’re inanimate things that you need out of your ship before you can close the doors to it. They are, however, heavy as fuck, but the only other adult here has a wound in his arm from the gun on your hip. Regardless, you have experience with lifting dead weight without a big, strong, capable man to do it for you.

“Help me out here, kid,” you mutter over your shoulder, and in response, you feel his claws dig in and climb up just a little bit until he can peek out in front of you. Thankfully, the burden is suddenly lifted and you can quickly slide the dead troopers down the ramp with ease. It takes hardly any time at all—you just yank and haul and release and all four of them tumble the rest of the way all by themselves.

When you stand back up, Oshua hasn’t moved and he’s looking at you with a pale, queasy expression. Glancing down, you see that your white robe is now stained with streaks and patches of rusty blood. Instead of swallowing back bile at the sight and bolting to the shower to scrub off every last remaining trace, you breeze past it, noting nothing more than a change of color. Dirtying your white, pristine clothing with the consequences of protecting this baby—you’d rather have blood-soaked fabric with an unharmed kid clinging to you than any other combination of those things.

“Can you make it up to the cockpit?” You ask the quarry, kicking his rifle off the ship before closing the ramp and then gesturing up the ladder. Your voice is calm and steady but your hands are beginning to shake again. “I need as much information as possible about the base.” You know that’s where Din is, judging from the wall of blaster screeches that drowned him out through the comm. Logically, you know you could be headed right into a trap, and every instinct inside you wants to find safety, but… you just cannot imagine flying the ship away from this planet without Din onboard. It isn’t fucking happening, you’ve made your choice.

Without waiting for a response, you climb the ladder and plop down in the pilot’s seat of the Crest. While Oshua finds some way to clamber up the steps behind you in bulky stormtrooper armor with one good arm, you hold the kid closer on your lap and begin flight checking. Din will be fucking furious, but the scolding you’ll be sure to get is the least of your worries right now. Following his instructions and going back to Nevarro is just making shit infinitely more dangerous for him, turning what could be a potential rescue mission into an undeniable suicide mission. Even if Karga somehow decides to send a few guild members along to infiltrate the base, it’ll be a war you want to avoid.

Besides. What did you always tell him about running away from him, even when he instructs you to?

It’s just… not really your thing.

---

They’re everywhere.

They crawl like flies out of the base, and for every single body that falls, three more spill from the open doors. Rapid fire plasma beams launch from the end of Din’s blaster, melting white armor with every twitch of his gloved finger. Their aim is terrible, as is to be expected, but the sheer number of them more than makes up for it, as is by design.

Din’s heart pounds with exertion, his breath comes in ragged huffs through the modulator as his helmet identifies and isolates which body is closest to him, which body he needs to bring down next. His blaster is so hot it nearly burns his hand, even through the thick gloves he wears. When he runs out of ammo, he holsters the pistol and swings his rifle from around his shoulder, spinning to catch a handful of troopers behind him in the obliterating blast.

He’s not thinking much. He can’t think, even though your safety and that of his son is currently dangling by a thread. If he focuses on that, he’ll be dead before he can even picture your faces. He just reacts, he maims and kills without a single thought in his mind. Blood splatters, screams and sirens blare as he becomes surrounded by more and more troopers. Din can hear the sound of plasma colliding and ricocheting off his armor; every single one of them is a potential injury he could currently have but might not even be able to feel right now.

His helmet starts beeping rapidly and he turns just enough to see, highlighted in bright red on the screen, two enormous artillery turrets slowly rising up out of the roof of the imperial base. He feels a fierce flash of anger burn in his chest, it’s like a lightning strike to his veins.

Din needs to go.

And yet… if he was another man. If he wasn’t a father, or a husband, if he had no family and no attachments like the creed declared he should, he would go. With just a twitch of his fingers, he could be launching into the sky and retreating as far away from this battlefield as he could reasonably get. He’s never been the type to run from a threat, but this isn’t just a threat. Dozens of troopers are gaining on him, they’re trampling their own dead to get within range. Plasma pings off his shoulder, another one hits his back as they flank from behind. He can feel the heat through the sizzling beskar, he can see them surrounding him on all sides, and the propulsion trigger for his jetpack is right there under his wrist.

Din holds his ground and continues firing, he plants his feet firmly to the dirt with only one thought in his mind.

Run, sweet girl. Run.

---

You type in commands to scan for Din’s signal, quickly locating it through the Crest’s computer onboard. Not far from here, three minutes or less. The ship rumbles to life beneath you, slowly lifting off the rocky ground and rotating in place as it hovers. It’s not on autopilot but you feel like you are, you can barely feel your hands as they move the yoke forward and the Crest takes off in the direction of Din’s blinking frequency.

“Tell me about defenses,” you instruct Oshua, restlessly bouncing your leg while the baby coos.

“Two plasma turrets on top of the base,” the quarry quickly answers. “There’s usually guards stationed around the perimeter, but everyone who’s capable will be outside right now.”

Your mouth twists downwards under the mask. Blasters don’t scare you much from this high up, but Din’s armor doesn’t cover every inch of his body, he’s not completely invincible. Doubt churns in your stomach, but you have to stay focused on one task at a time so you don’t get overwhelmed. The turrets, then. “Are they automatic?”

“Manual,” he corrects with a shake of his head.

“Radar?”

“Old. Only engages above fifty meters.”

You eye your altitude and dip the Crest considerably, beginning to weave through the rocky canyons and dodging crumbling cliffs while you travel. “What about ships?”

“None,” Oshua says, “except for a passenger shuttle used for transport. TIEs are flown in the Vesta sector, this base is remote and used for basic training only.”

“Anything else?” You ask, stomach twisting with the knowledge that barely four questions is all you’ve got. You’re planning to drop into an imperial base to save the man you love and you can’t think of a single other question?

The quarry shrugs, and your heart slams, does somersaults in your chest at the mere notion that you could fucking die here. Today, in two minutes or less, you could die here. The child in your lap looking over the ship’s front panel with a quiet determination in his eyes could die here. Din could already be dead—that signal broadcasts his location to this computer regardless of whether he’s still breathing or not. He could already be gone and you’d be flying the baby right into a trap without knowing any differently.

Whelp, you think while taking a deep breath, some strangely calm existential acceptance beginning to flood your soul. If he isn’t dead, he will be soon if you don’t make it to him on time.

You immediately lift your wrist and speak into the communicator. “Mando?” You have no idea if he can hear you, but you need to try anyway. Your voice is still firm, there’s a strength to it you don’t feel in your chest, but it certainly sounds convincing. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Try to figure something else out.”

That’s it. That’s it, improvise until you don’t have to. Even if you’re lacking confidence, you can at least scrounge up some conviction. Your arms gain feeling again while you veer the Crest through the stony terrain, the familiar reverberations under your feet begin to fill your body with a powerful sense of purpose. Your breaths begin to come steady, every falling rock you see through the transparisteel feels like it drops in slow motion, allowing you to evade them easily. It would normally be stupidly dangerous to fly this low with so many unexpected obstacles and hazards narrowly missing the ship, but considering what you’re flying into, a few boulders seems comical.

“Where’s your helmet?” Oshua asks out of nowhere, and for a second, you don’t think you heard him correctly.

But then it strikes you all at once what he’s attempting to imply, and the sheer lunacy of the thought is enough to make you laugh while you clutch the controls. “I’m not a Mandalorian.”

“You wear the armor of one,” he points out… rather fairly, you have to admit. “You cover your face like one. You have a blaster that fires Philithiorium, a rare and expensive gas native to Mandalore’s stratosphere, and you’re a bounty hunter—”

“I’m not a Mandalorian.” Your words are short and cutting, you have a daunting task to focus on and don’t feel like having small talk right now. “I’m not a bounty hunter, either.”

But then again, Karga made you a member of the Guild, didn’t he? He handed you Oshua’s puck and said this one is for you to find, and you are technically part of a Mandalorian clan. All of this seems like it happened without your knowledge. You may be marrying a Mandalorian, you may wear his armor and mother his child and shoot a blaster with his signet branded into it, but war isn’t in your blood. This robe was a costume when you first made it, this armor was a relic that was restored as a hobby. In a sense, it still feels that way. The mask covering your face lended itself to a temporary surge of bravery earlier, but beyond that, the only thing that’s keeping you moving forward now is your family. The man you love that may or may not be alive right now, the baby holding tight to your leg while the ship sways and weaves through the stony landscape.

Your eyes quickly flick down to the child in your lap, both of his three fingered hands clutching onto the stained fabric of your knee without moving a single inch. He’d know, you tell yourself. If his father is gone, he’d already know somehow. Din is still alive, and he’s counting on you.

---

There’s too many for Din to handle.

They swarmed him, overpowered his endless artillery with massive numbers and there’s nothing he can do anymore. The backs of his knees are kicked from behind and he slams down to the ground with a clatter, his sizzling hot blasters are ripped from him, and Din folds his hands calmly behind his back even as one of the stormtroopers barks out, “Binders,” to another one, who disappears quickly in response. In the meantime, a few of them apparently decide to just attempt holding his arms in place, and their measly combined grip is almost enough to make him roll his eyes under the helmet. These imperial soldiers are even more pitiful than they usually are, but his silent resolve to stall to ensure your escape is enough to keep him stationary and compliant for the time being.

Eventually, a few voices call out from beyond the crowd and there’s some movement from the back. Dozens of troopers with their blasters all pointed at him begin to shuffle to make way, careful to keep their barrels aimed at him while a path slowly forms. The crowd of white parts and a stormtrooper with a singular red pauldron on his right shoulder saunters confidently towards Din as he kneels on the ground.

An officer, he assumes. Conveniently missing from the firefight, the scanner inside his helmet would’ve caught the change in color and Din would’ve made sure to kill him first.

“Well now, what do we have here?” Comes his thin metallic voice through the tinny filter. The officer studies him curiously for a few moments, before slowly looking down by his feet, reaching out one cheap, plastic covered foot to gently nudge the body of a dead trooper on the ground with a sigh. “What a shame.”

Coward, he thinks, his lip curling with disgust under the helmet.

“This is an imperial training base,” he turns his attention back to Din to inform him when he doesn’t immediately respond, rather stupidly he might add. “How were you able to find us?”

Silence. The grip on hands held behind his back is even looser now. He just tilts his chin up slightly in defiance, the scanner inside his helmet locating each weapon strapped to the man’s body and highlighting it red. Small text boxes blink into existence under each one with a manufacturer and classification—a BlasTech E-11 rifle, a Merr-Sonn thermal detonator, a Kolvo vibroblade—and Din is severely unimpressed with the quality. The detonator is the only weapon that even catches his eye, and that’s only because the chamber inside that houses the explosive baradium has a release mechanism that’s completely dead. Useless, then. Good to know.

After a long moment of quiet tension where Din refuses to speak and the officer continues to confidently scrutinize him, in some strange sort of silent battle of egos that only one seems to have a genuine interest in, another stormtrooper makes his way to the front, shoving past his fellow soldiers to address the superior in charge.

“Commander, we’ve sent out an alert for an intruder,” he tells him, slightly out of breath from running through the crowd in the lightweight armor. Din wants to roll his eyes, but what he says next makes him snap to immediate attention. “The fleet informed us that Moff Gideon is currently on route.”

Gideon. The last time someone spoke that name, it was a quarry on Coruscant and you just barely managed to stop Din from suffocating the bastard for even saying it aloud before freezing him in carbonite. It would’ve meant half the return on a hunt that lasted nearly a month but he saw red and his hand was crushing his windpipe before he realized what happened. But he’s dead, Din thinks with a clenched jaw and fists tightening behind his back, he watched that TIE fighter explode and slam into the ground, crushing the man inside it. The wreck was unsurvivable, he can’t be alive.

“For what? This Mandalorian?” The trooper in charge scoffs in response, and Din remains completely mute.

“Yes, sir,” the other one confirms. “Orders were to capture him, alive.”

“Hm.” The officer turns his attention back to him, less analyzing and more musing while he tilts his head. “I see,” he eventually says, and he sounds like he’s grinning, before strolling slightly closer as Din stays completely still on his knees. “He must want the beskar. I’m sure it’s worth more than this entire battalion combined.”

All of a sudden, a gloved hand carelessly catches the rim of his helmet and tugs, and Din’s movement is explosive. He launches off the ground, arms easily slipping from the pathetic grip they were being held in and his fist colliding with the side of the officer’s flimsy white helmet, the plastic making a deafening crack against his face.

Multiple hands immediately rush forward to grab him and yank him back down again while the commanding trooper stumbles backwards in shock, and Din amicably drops to his knees and folds his hands behind his back once more like nothing happened at all.

“Binders!” A trooper behind him roars loudly once more, and a few men surrounding him begin trotting away this time.

The officer in red stands a few feet away from him now, grabbing his helmet and twisting it back to its proper position on his head where it was skewed. There’s a shattered hole near his jaw where the material splintered and busted like the cheap piece of banthashit it is, and while he might normally feel pleased with himself for being able to see his skin peeking through, it just fills him with more righteous fury. It’s such a punchable jaw.

After a few awkward moments of silence, the other one clears his throat and continues. “He… has inquired about the location and status of a child that should be accompanying him.”

Din inhales deeply through his nose and grinds his teeth. He wants to snap their necks one by one for even just mentioning his son, but there are just too many, more than even his whistling birds can neutralize. Still, he gave you as much of a head start as physically possible. You should be rising into the atmosphere right now, making the jump into hyperspace towards safety. Karga will know what to do—he’ll protect his family, separate you and the boy so the threat is evenly dispersed instead of collected all in one place, and arm dozens of trained hunters to keep watch over you both individually. It’s the best Din can do, and it’s the only thing keeping his knees planted on the ground and his body completely motionless while they continue speaking.

“We are combing the sector for a ship with as many men as we can afford to lose,” the trooper in red says, but his voice filter is shattered and now sounds like a puny little droid with a broken voice box, “but our numbers are unimpressive. Assistance may be required.”

It’s too late, Din thinks, mouth twitching under the beskar with a satisfied smirk. They’re wasting their time, looking for a ghost. You’re both long gone by now. They’ve got no idea you even exist—

“He also spoke of a girl.”

And then he feels his heart stop in his chest. Every single cell in his body turns to fire, it’s a fucking miracle he doesn’t move a muscle in response. His sweet girl, the one so far removed from the nightmare of the Empire that she made best friends with the orphans of it. How the fuck did he know? He shouldn’t even be breathing, let alone gathering information about you, how did he know?

But then Din thinks back, remembering your makeshift bed on the floor, your panicked eyes and heaving chest as the quarry taunted him with a sick little smile. Who’s this, Mando? She’s just darling, isn’t she? Does Gideon know your crew has a lovely new addition?

“A girl?”

The trooper nods. “Moff Gideon insisted that if the Mandalorian did not have a child with him, then a girl would likely be protecting him instead.”

He’s going to kill them, Din decides. Every single one of these imperial pigs, every single soldier standing right now is a dead fucking man. The blood pumping through his body suddenly turns to acid, deadly black hate poisoning his soul. His heartbeat morphs into a war drum, the armor strapped to his limbs is the barrel of a gun. He’s going to fucking kill them and leave an imperial base full of bodies to greet his old nemesis upon his return, and he’s going to enjoy every single second of it.

Except, then—

“Mando?” The sweetest voice in existence suddenly crackles through the earpiece under his helmet. “I’m coming to get you. Less than a minute to your location, do everything you can to get outside. If you can’t, I’ll just… uh. Figure something else out.”

And, as Din kneels there in surrender, surrounded by a crowd of enemies he thought he destroyed long ago, all the anger—all the fury and defiance and murder surging through his veins—suddenly morphs to fear.

The emotion is so foreign and old to him, it feels like a face he barely recognizes and a name he can’t remember. He’s panicked before. He’s been in situations where a threat has made him blind with rage, he knows what it’s like to look death straight in the eyes and say that he’s busy and to come back another time. This is different. This is ice cold that freezes over beskar.

He can’t speak out loud to warn you—he can’t move his hands to press the button on the back of his helmet and allow him to talk without detection. There’s plasma turrets on the roof of the base, he can see them right now. The helmet’s scanners say they’re manned and engaged, and though he is outside and this is how you retrieved him before whenever he needed a quick escape, he has fifty fucking imperial blasters trained on him and you know absolutely nothing about this threat. You’re flying right into a war zone and if either you or his son dies, he won’t ever be able to forgive himself.

Behind the helmet, his eyes fly to each and every trooper, wondering which blaster will be the one to do it. Which weapon is going to be the one he can’t block in time when you descend, the one that’ll kill him right in front of you. Which turret will be the one to obliterate the Crest with you and his son inside of it.

“Maker, where are those fucking binders—” he hears someone behind him snarl, but the white noise of pure terror roaring through his ears drowns them out. His chest starts heaving against his will, sheer panic begins to blur his vision. For the first time in his life, his armor feels too heavy, his lungs feel like one of these boulders are sitting on them instead of beskar.

All too soon, his helmet starts making a familiar sound that signals quietly in his ear, alerting him of an incoming ship, and the only thing he can physically do is count down the seconds to prepare himself for what is to come.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…

Like lightning, Din breaks the grip of multiple troopers and surges up, tackling the officer in red to the ground. There’s a clatter as they both slam into the rocky floor, but in the ensuing scuffle, he easily snatches the thermal detonator from his side holster and holds it up for everyone to see, before pressing the red button on the front and hearing it begin to beep rapidly.

---

You’re right on time.

The Crest rises up through the rocky cliffs surrounding the base and you spot the turrets you were warned about. Weapons controls are already engaged and you’re too low to be detected by radar—you fire once, twice, and blast both of them to smithereens from behind before they can even rotate around to target you.

Alarms start wailing but the guns are destroyed. It’s not comforting, though; blasters won’t touch you up here, but that doesn’t mean they can’t fire at Din on the ground. Your eyes dart across the sea of white, looking for a flash of silver anywhere, and then you spot him instantly in the chaos.

For some reason, the troopers in his vicinity all seem to be bolting away from him. Their rifles are down, clutched in their hands while they nearly fall over each other to run away as fast as possible, and your heart soars when you spot his jetpack firing up. Din launches into the sky while another trooper is revealed underneath him, seeming to juggle something in his hands and then throw it into the crowd of retreating soldiers, but the sight of the man you love rising into the air while a flurry of blaster shots from the far edges of the imperial structure follow him gives you the confidence to immediately turn the guns down towards the horde of troopers.

“Which ones are in charge?” You ask Oshua breathlessly, who leans forward and points out the transparisteel.

“Red pauldrons—” he barely has time to say it before you aim and fire at one of the troopers wearing red that was closest to Din, the plasma beam launching from the Crest so powerful and devastating that it outright obliterates the surface he’s laying on. Pieces of shattered armor fly and a smoking crater of rubble is all that’s left behind, but your mind is whirling and you’re already onto someone else wearing red at the edges of the complex, and then two more near the doors, and then another—

To their credit, you think the sixty or so soldiers in training seem to figure out that you’re not aiming into the enormous collection of them. If you were, the damage would be catastrophic and spraying everywhere, but you’re precise and meticulous with your shots, and the only ones who are loyal enough to the cause to hold still and raise their blasters at the incoming threat tend to be the ones you need to mow down anyways. The rest of them scatter in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape and then disappearing into the distant boulders surrounding the base—but you notice that not a single one of them runs back inside the safety of its open doors.

The hull dips with the weight of Din dropping in, and relief floods your soul even as you continue raining hell down on the superiors in charge. Any flash of color you see is a target, your eyes lose focus of everything, your vision blurs and turns monochrome as you just search for red.

“Lift up!” You hear Din’s voice roar from the hull. You can hear his rifle unloading through the open door. “Now! We have to go now!”

You press the button to shut the hull door with Din inside and punch it, rising so fast that the shove of gravity makes it difficult to keep your head up. Through the sudden surge of downward force, you just barely manage to raise your incredibly heavy arm to push the button that pressurizes the Crest and ignites the launch boosters, preparing the vessel for space travel. Outside the transparisteel, the gray sky begins darkening as the atmosphere eventually disappears. The ship’s engines roar, burning so much fuel at once that you’re actually accelerating through the climb, you’re boosting through the gradual ease of gravity as the planet’s curvature and glow becomes softer and softer below you.

As soon as the blackness of space begins to fill the windows, the slight subsiding of force allows you to plug in the coordinates for Nevarro with less difficulty, but you’re still moving, still rising, still escaping. You can’t find it within yourself to slow down, but then something catches your attention.

Claws suddenly dig sharp into your thigh, sharp enough to sting and cause you to wince, and you look down to see that the kid has gone incredibly tense. Deadly tense. Your heart is still pounding even though you’re away from danger, you’ve got Din in the hull, everyone is safe, and yet—

It flickers into existence all at once. One second it’s just space, just the endless depths of nothingness spread out for light years in front of you, and within the blink of an eye it’s suddenly there.

A star destroyer.

Your body freezes in horrified awe, having never seen a ship so fucking big in your entire life. It looks like a massive satellite, the size of an enormous asteroid instantly appearing in your vision and dwarfing the vastness of space around it. All the stars you used to dream about are suddenly blotted out within a fraction of a second, terror so immense seizes your soul that you stop thinking. You stop calculating, you stop being yourself for a split second that lasts an entire lifetime.

Before you can move a single muscle, the computer beeps quickly and lurches the Crest into hyperspace.

---

The stars streak across the transparisteel like so many times before. Utter silence nearly deafens you with how abrupt it is after so much noise, but the peace it used to bring does nothing to quell your fear. Everything is the same as it always was, same bursts of light as you hurdle faster than it towards Nevarro, same quiet, same rumbling hum of the ship. But now, everything has changed.

You hear the quarry next to you suddenly inhale and exhale loudly, and it shocks you a little bit, reminds you that there’s a person next to you and another is on your lap. Other people exist outside of the vision of death that just flickered out of existence just as quickly as it appeared. They’re breathing, Oshua is shakily unbuckling his seatbelt, life is continuing on in the quiet cockpit but you can’t seem to move like he is. You can’t seem to breathe like he is. It’s only when the baby slowly maneuvers himself around on your thigh and blinks up at you, placing a tiny hand on your stomach that you finally feel air enter your lungs.

After a moment, you reach down and click open your seatbelt with trembling fingers, scooping the kid up in your arms and slowly attempting to stand. Everything feels wobbly and dreamlike, you have to brace yourself on the headrest to prevent yourself from falling back into the chair again.

“That was…” Ryler mutters, his voice sounding foggy and distant, “uh. A close one.”

You look over at him, recognizing that he’s speaking but not quite able to understand the words right now. Red catches in your vision, and you blink down at the way he’s clutching his left shoulder, the smear of blood darkening the white armor he’s wearing. You blink a few more times at the sight of it, and though it feels like you normally would be sickened at the wound, somehow shocked out of your state of shock, it does nothing to you. When you look back up at his face, his expression seems strangely grateful, even when it’s screwed up in what you know must be excruciating pain. You did that, a quiet voice whispers in your mind, even though the rest of it seems incredibly blank.

Instead of responding, you stumble a few steps over to the ladder, spinning around and hesitating for a moment. You’re severely lacking in coherent thought, but one thing seems to break through. You’re not sure if you have enough coordination to do this safely right now. However, when there’s movement in your peripheral and you look to see Oshua gently offering his right arm to you, seeming to understand you’d like to use both hands for this, you snap back to your senses just the slightest bit and hug the baby tighter to your chest. Carefully, you begin making the slow climb down the ladder with the kid, still trembling with the aftershocks of adrenaline. Your limbs feel extra heavy, but eventually the floor meets your feet.

Din is standing there when you slowly turn around, armor gleaming and still as a statue, but he has his back to you. His helmet is tilted down at the ground, and when you follow his gaze, you’re met with the sight of the bloodstains of dragged bodies that leave dark red streaks all the way up the ramp.

You feel something this time. It’s… cold. A burning, searing cold that creeps into your skin. Like your heart decides to pump nitrogen through your chest instead of warm blood. You did that.

There’s a sudden urge inside of you to speak, to address him and inform him of your presence, tell him everything is okay, everything worked out, but you can’t find it in yourself to say a single word. You can’t find a single word to say. The kid twists as best he can in your clutch, his ears drag against your chest to greet his father, but for some reason, there’s still a strange sense of fear in your bones. It’s enough to wake you up slightly, it’s enough to tell you it’s not over yet. There’s a terror in your heart that hasn’t left since he first called over the comm and begged you to run, a crippling dread that you thought climaxed after seeing that star destroyer appear, but it’s somehow only increased after laying eyes on him like this.

You watch as his helmet turns, slowly meeting the pauldron on his shoulder, and for some reason, you feel yourself harden. Your feet brace against the metal floor like this is another threat you have to face, you let its unyielding metallic strength transfer up through the souls of your boots to your heart in your chest.

But the second you hear cheap white armor clatter as the quarry steps down the ladder behind you, Din bursts into movement. He suddenly spins and storms up to you in one single step while catching your holstered blaster on your hip. It’s out and aimed in the blink of an eye, and it’s a miracle you remember how to speak before he remembers how to kill.

“Mando—” you warn, just in time for the quarry to land on the floor of the hull and turn around to reveal his face.

Din holds there for a second, his helmet locked on Oshua’s features. His gloved fingers twitch wildly on the trigger of your gun held over your shoulder, like he has to remind himself multiple times not to. You hear Oshua’s armor clack while he likely raises one good arm in surrender, but then Din’s helmet moves a fraction of a millimeter to your face and holds there. He just stares down at you, and the air feels heavy, your body feels heavy, the feather light child in your arms feels heavy.

Slowly, he lowers his arm, lets it fall while he continues looking at you from behind the visor. You look back at him, unblinking, unfeeling, and there’s a few seconds that last an utter eternity where nobody moves. Nobody speaks, nothing happens, but then a soft coo comes from your arms before you can finally break eye contact, knowing there are still some things that need to be done.

You eventually turn around and lift your chin to address Oshua.

“You have to go into carbonite,” you inform him quietly. Your voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from outside of yourself. “We’re taking you to Nevarro, and then you’ll be transported to your home planet. When they unfreeze you, your sister will be there to collect you.”

He looks uncertain, one hand still raised while the other hangs uselessly at his side, and you don’t blame him.

But you also don’t feel like saying anymore, not unless he decides he doesn’t want to go in willingly. Normally you might’ve tried to empathize, offer him further reassurance beyond just a couple short sentences, but you don’t. Speaking feels difficult, thinking feels difficult. You’re still in survival mode, not active but reactive. There’s also no reason for you to lie to him about this, and you can see him glance at Din standing silently behind you, who hasn’t moved a muscle.

He eventually nods and you walk him over to the chamber without another word, watch him turn to face you as he backs into the opening while you reach up towards the control panel.

But then there’s a moment. One where you hesitate slightly, one where your vision flashes back to the sight of those bloodstains on the floor, and that burning cold fills you again, so cold it feels completely numb.

“I’m… sorry,” you whisper quietly to him, though your voice sounds so empty. There’s so much emotion that should be there but isn’t, so much regret and pain that should break through but can’t. “I’m sorry I… killed your friends.”

Later, you’ll think about how you felt absolutely nothing saying it. Your heart doesn’t constrict with remorse at the mere words leaving your mouth, guilt doesn’t flood into your soul, pain doesn’t wrack through your bones. You could’ve been saying anything at all and nobody would be able to tell the difference.

He blinks at you, flicking his eyes between yours for a second or two, but then you press the proper button and watch the gas quickly freeze him where he stands. He’ll be conscious the entire time, but Karga will send him to the correct location and you have no doubt that this elemental purgatory is leagues better than where he just escaped from. It’s a benefit being the last quarry to be retrieved—he’ll only have to spend a few days trapped in here before being reunited with his family.

When that’s done and Oshua is a complete statue in front of you, bulky white armor now colored a dull metallic gray and frozen in time, you will yourself to finally turn around to face the enormous mountain of a presence behind you. The baby gently reaches out for him, but Din doesn’t move from where he’s stood. Your blaster is still clutched tightly in his hand, and he isn’t looking at you.

Slowly, you walk over and stop directly in front of him in the middle of the hull, blinking at him while the helmet subtly moves to lock onto your face. The kid begins wiggling in your arms, making soft impatient noises while you both stand in complete silence across from each other.

After a few moments, you hear him flick your blaster’s safety on by his side and then toss it carelessly to the ground. It skids along the floor, light enough to be mostly quiet. Gloves reach out as he carefully takes the kid from you and settles him in the crook of one arm, and then he looks you up and down, still not saying anything.

Your eyes follow his movement, watching his arm slowly reaching out to you, and you think he’s going to cup your jaw, or brush your hair back. Give you some sort of physical reassurance since he hasn’t spoken a single word of it.

Instead, Din suddenly grabs the armor clinging to your chest and starts ripping it off you with one hand. It clangs to the floor so loudly in the silence of hyperspace, the kid’s ears twitch and flutter with each shattering bang. You hold still while he does it, you barely respond except the unavoidable movement your body experiences as the pauldron is yanked from your shoulder and thrown against the ground. The ammo belt is tugged over your head and hurled away, the thigh braces are snatched from your legs and they clang to the floor, and the pearly, opalescent fabric revealed underneath is stained in dead man’s blood, rusty and in such great quantities that it shows up as brown instead of red.

“Are you hurt?”

He sounds… dead. So monotonic that you can’t possibly gauge his emotional state. He doesn’t move. His fists don’t clench, he says every single word like it means the same exact thing as the last. If nothing at all was a person who could speak, they’d use his tone of voice.

“No,” you eventually whisper.

The helmet nods once, and then he spins around and walks away without anything else. Without saying anything, without touching you, or double checking you for injuries in case you were lying. You stand utterly still while Din climbs the ladder with the kid cradled in one arm, and you don’t even flinch when the door to the cockpit slides shut behind him. You have no idea how long you stand there in the splitting silence afterwards, numb and unmoving.

You feel… nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The hard defenses you strapped to yourself today to reconcile the things you had to do are still high and strong, guarding your soul even if he stripped away your physical armor. Self preservation is still animating your body, and your facial expression barely changes. Your first thought, as soon as you remember that you can have one, is that there are things that still need to be done. Tasks to complete.

Alone, you shower the lingering traces of blood off your body, the normally clear and refreshing water running a sickly, toxic brown. Alone, your stomach rolls and suddenly decides to empty itself of the very little that was in it as the scalding drops rain down over you—mostly liquid and bile that easily rinses down the drain. The water is too warm, it beats down on you like blazing hot sand pelting your skin in the desert. You feel like you did those first few months with Din, where the silence was suffocating, where you’d only interact with the baby if he was on a hunt or if you could tell he didn’t know how to calm him when he was fussy. If you were in hyperspace, you usually spent time by yourself in the hull while he lived in the cockpit, and if he decided he needed to be in the hull for whatever reason, then you’d trade places with him. It was… isolating. Lonely by yourself. The quiet used to haunt you before it became your cherished friend, but now it’s a betrayer, a ghost that whispers memories and nightmares in your ears.

When you finally finish rinsing the blood from your skin and get dressed, you see the sheets that used to make up your bed now have fried holes in them from your charred plasma marks, the inside of the hull is covered in them and the trails of dried blood where you dragged the bodies down the ramp. Your armor is still strewn about the hull, the kid’s hovering shield lays dead in the corner. Everything you meticulously cleaned and organized and collected and created, now the scene of a bloodbath. One committed by your hand, your blaster still laying uselessly on the floor forever linked to this atrocity.

You spare a glance towards the ladder, but you don’t want to come face to face with Din yet. You already knew he’d be furious, but… you had hoped that he’d at least…

What? At least what? Comfort you? Coddle you after you deliberately ignored his instructions? What exactly, in the past year or so of learning Din’s inner workings and intricacies, would ever give you the impression that he’d come give you a big hug after you purposefully defied him? You flew the kid directly into an imperial base after being told to protect him, you ignored every order he gave to you in the moments he thought would be his last, and though you did it to save his life, you have a feeling that Din has never valued his life even a fraction of what you do.

The misery stabs at your soul, but your mind is finally beginning to process things logically. He’s alive, the kid is alive, the quarry is secure, and you’re all onboard the safety of this ship hurtling through hyperspace where nobody, not even the Empire, can touch you. You weighed the consequences before making your decision, you did what you had to do. If he wants to be mad, then he can fucking well be mad and you’ll find some way to comfort yourself. At least he’s here being mad, at least he’s alive and safe and breathing and mad, and your rare act of disobedience is to thank for that.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realize it’s probably easier than it should be to reconcile the punishment. Right now, you welcome the exclusion, the negativity and sorrow beating itself into your soul. Four innocent people died today on this ship, gunned down under your blaster while they panicked and ran for cover. You keep hearing their screams.

So you start to clean up the hull, needing another task to focus your thoughts on. You work to erase every inch of the evidence of your deeds, make it disappear like the pool of blood Din once cleaned up while you were sleeping and never acknowledged again. You only allow the bloodstains to fuck with your head for a single moment, and then you swallow back the nausea until you’re a blank slate again and sink to your knees with a rag in your hand. After that, your vision stops focusing and it just becomes red contrasting against gunmetal gray, and you work tirelessly to get rid of all remaining traces of it.

Then you start on the blaster marks, you need them gone. After a few informed attempts at mixing cleaning chemicals, you find one concoction that allows you to wipe them away like they’re nothing more than dirt that got tracked in. The Crest’s oxygen recycling system works overdrive to constantly purify the air so you don’t get high or pass out, but your nose still stings. It’s fine, it’s sterile, it burns a bit but it smells sharp and metallic and keeps you hyper focused on the task at hand.

After that’s done, you pick up the charred blankets and ball them up to throw into the trash vent. You don’t feel anything as you do it. You don’t think about how long it took you to collect these over months and months of being stuck on this ship, how comfortable they were when everything else was industrial and rigid, how many nights you spent with Din curled up in their softness while he breathed easy and warm. Sheets are just luxuries, they can afford to be lost.

Next, you gather your armor and wipe it down with the rag, put it away along with your blaster. The stained robe goes in the trash, along with the sheets and the blood soaked cloth you used to clean everything. They’re all ruined, you’ll never be able to make them right again.

The hull is sparkling clean when you decide to take another shower. Nothing on you is dirty except your hands, but you feel filthy. Wrong, cold, numb, cold, stained, cold.

After scrubbing your skin raw under the water and changing clothes again, since you don’t really know what to do with yourself anymore, you slowly climb the ladder to the cockpit, keeping perfectly silent. When you reach the upper platform and come face to face with the closed door, you can just barely hear Din’s whispered voice speaking quietly to the baby beyond it.

You raise your hand for a moment, hovering your knuckles over the metal, but then it eventually falls. Instead, you look over and spot the corner, the same corner Din bunched himself into when he snapped at you for even suggesting going on a hunt with him, blew up at you for the mere notion of something happening like what happened today. You back yourself into it in defeat and slowly sink down on the floor, resting your head against the metal and hugging your knees to your chest since you don’t have a tiny baby to take their place.

You can’t sleep. You don’t even try, it’s pointless. The concept feels foreign the longer you sit here by yourself. You don’t hear Din or the baby anymore, but you feel… so fucking awful that it’s fitting that you don’t knock or go looking. You don’t want to hold that sweet child with hands that were covered in blood just a few hours ago. You killed more people than you can count on your fingers today, and of the ones who had done nothing wrong… They screamed like younglings, ducked for cover and were able to fire off one single useless shot in the mayhem before you closed their eyes forever and left their bodies to rot in armor that wasn’t ever their choice to wear.

You didn’t know they were kidnapped and smuggled and forced into that situation. You couldn’t have known, but that isn’t the point. In this case, knowing doesn’t make one bit of difference.

You also can’t face Din yet, not like this. You don’t want him to see you cowering, shattered with guilt over the decisions you made under pressure. How will you ever get him to forgive you for not listening to him when you can’t even forgive yourself for the result of your choices? Din is a hardened man who grew up in blasterfire and bloodshed, just because you love him doesn’t mean he’s going to magically become someone he isn’t. You’re here letting guilt sink sharp claws into your chest over four dead men when he had a good fifty or more corpses scattered on the battlefield around him. You decided to wear that armor, you decided to fly into an imperial base with the kid on your lap, and this is now your penance. You’ll accept it with your back straight and your chin held high.

Figuratively, of course. Physically, you’re smaller than you’ve ever been. Crumpled up into a ball, taking up as little space as possible, curling up as tight as you can like an animal protecting all your vulnerable parts during a brutal attack.

So, since he isn’t here to comfort you himself, you just try to think about what he would tell you. A long time ago, what would he tell you?

Din would tell you… that you killed someone. Multiple people, this time. He’d also tell you that it doesn’t matter what he tells you, what you could have reasonably foreseen or what you should have done. The end result won’t change. You own this now. You’ll carry their deaths with you.

You take a few deep breaths, self-soothing with the undeniable truth that would be murmured matter of factly from his quiet voice. He wouldn’t argue with you. He wouldn’t deny the decisions you made or the consequences of them. It happened, and at the end of the day, you either learn how to handle that, or you don’t.

And, for the four you did shoot, you were responsible for freeing ten times that amount. You’re responsible for reuniting Oshua Ryler with his family, even if your place in yours is momentarily shunned. You’d rather be out here alone than in there with the kid, wondering where his dad is or if he’s even still alive. You rescued Din and now he gets to be here to shut this door on you, hold his son, and whisper calm reassurances to him. If you listen really hard and imagine, you can pretend they’re for you, too.

That’s it. Focus on them both, alive and well together. Focus on the bodies wearing white armor that were moving, the ones that were bolting away from the imperial training base as fast as they could, free from the torture of imprisonment and conditioning.

Finally, you close your eyes and slip into unconsciousness. It’s not a testament to your exhaustion, but rather just how long you’ve been left to sit here by yourself. Hours, maybe. Time is strange in hyperspace.

You dream of a faceless man ringing bells.

---

When you wake up, a small baby has been placed in your arms, and you’re being dragged into a strong, secure beskar hold on the floor.

“Din,” you suddenly lift your head as soon as you’re conscious and nearly bonk it into solid metal, apologies rising in your throat before you even remember where you are. You did what needed to be done to keep your family alive and together and you’d do it a thousand times again if necessary, but that doesn’t mean you won’t apologize anyways. After the deeds you’ve committed today, regret feels as natural on your lips as speaking your own name. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you’re mad at me but I—”

“Shh,” he whispers, running his gloves through your hair. He’s still wearing his helmet, he hasn’t taken anything off yet. “Don’t say anything. Just… stay here, stay right here with me.”

“I tried to save you,” you croak, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You did save him. You saved him and the baby and yourself but you’re so physically and emotionally exhausted that all you can recall is your intent. “I tried. Wasn’t gonna leave you there by yourself. I tried to be brave, like you—y-you wouldn’t have left without me.”

His arms tighten around you, cradling you in such a strong embrace that you burrow into him, you find a place for your head on the hard metal strapped to him and bury yourself there, wishing that you had shovels of dirt being piled on you to justify the death you still feel staining your soul. Your heart is starting to pound now that you’re remembering, your body is starting to shake with tremors of shock now that you’re aware of your own skin again.

“I was so sc-scared, Din, I didn’t—didn’t know what was happening,” you lament through watery eyes, gasping it out in hopes that it’ll relieve the slightest bit of the gut wrenching guilt just mercilessly crushing you. It caught you before you could protect yourself against it, that armor you built around yourself isn’t on when you first wake up. “I-I didn’t want to kill them, but they were already on the ship and y-you said—you said they were coming after the kid s-so I had to, I had to—”

“Stop,” Din whispers, voice so quiet that you can barely hear him.

“I-I cleaned up the blood,” you turn your face against the cold beskar to let all the positives you listed for yourself before scrape across your throat. They don’t sound comforting anymore, they just sound like excuses. “It’s gone, it’s like it never happened, everything is okay now, I got the quarry, I protected the baby, I saved a bunch of people, you’re both safe—”

“Stop,” he chokes out. The modulator cuts off before you can hear his next breath, but you feel it shudder under your body. “St-Stop it, please.”

Your eyes clench shut so tightly you feel like the streaking stars outside are behind them, tears drop down against his pauldron and you press your face tighter to it like it’s a wound, like the pressure will somehow ease the bleeding.

“Listen to me,” he says very quietly, and you instantly brace yourself. The walls you just let down shoot right back up, your body physically tightens in preparation for another pain, another trauma, another scar you’ll carry, and you stop shaking. You stop breathing, even when his hand comes up to ease your face away from his armor.

“You,” he whispers, holding your chin so you’re staring right at him, and your eyes flick fearfully in between his behind the visor, “are a sweet girl.” Din’s leather thumb brushes along your skin, dragging over the tears below your puffy eyes. “Not,” his voice catches, “a Mandalorian.”

Your heart goes cold. Again, everything turns numb. It doesn’t matter that you already said this yourself out loud earlier today. It doesn’t matter that you acknowledged this fact, verbally insisted it more than once to hammer home the truth and felt some sense of comfort in it. For some reason, hearing the words from his mouth is a fucking knife to your chest.

“I taught you how to fight, how to shoot a blaster,” he murmurs, thumb catching every single tear that continues to fall as he speaks. “I taught you everything I know, everything that’s been taught to me. I taught you how to defend yourself, how to protect yourself when you’re in danger. I gave you your blaster, I gave you my armor, I gave you everything I could give you to keep you safe. And when I thought you were ready, I let you loose on Sanctuary II. Do you know why I did that?” The helmet tips forward the slightest bit at the question, probing deep into the most shattered part of your heart. “After all those months of fighting, and shooting, and training, do you know why I told you to run?”

You blink silently at him, a shaky breath quaking through you, and your expression wants to crumple under the reprimand. You’re so fragile right now, taking hit after hit after hit to the softest parts inside you, and you want to just give up. Let the guilt and remorse take you, let it wash you away. But then, instead…

There’s a flicker of something inside you. Something strong, endlessly strong, and it makes you want to revolt against what he’s saying. It replaces the hurt and fear and desperation for comfort with a strange sense of insurgence, like it did earlier when you were hiding behind a boulder, cowering and trembling and not wanting to die. You’re filled with a quiet urge to defend yourself in the face of this, stand up for yourself and refuse to be beaten down any longer.

“Because you needed to know how to escape danger,” he answers himself when you don’t. “You needed to know how to disappear, how to outsmart any pursuer and find safety, even the trained ones. Especially the trained ones. Anything else was meant to be your last resort. Not your choice. Not something you chose.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” you admit to him quietly, voice shaky and tears still coming even as you try to speak up for yourself. The regret you carry has nothing to do with this, and you decide right now that you won’t feel bad for saving him. Your hurt comes from the meaningless things, the ones without any need whatsoever, not the necessary ones, and you tried. You repeated his words to yourself over and over again, told yourself to run, told yourself to get to Nevarro, and it wasn’t going to happen. “I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t a choice.”

“It was,” he tells you. He says it softly, whispers it like it’s the gentlest thing in the world, but the power and inherent distance of the armor strapped to his body finds its way into the words. “And it was the wrong one.”

“What was I supposed to do?” You ask, just a hint of that rebellion swimming to the surface now, rising out of the waves of self doubt, the one that feels like a spine growing in your back, an energy coursing through your veins that makes your heart start to beat faster. Din’s hand slowly drops from your cheek but you don’t care. “Was I supposed to run away and just let you die?”

“Yes.” It’s quick and blunt and completely emotionless. Delivered like a punch to the vulnerable parts of yourself he taught you how to protect, and the utter silence following this single word is comparable to the physical pain you learned to defend against. It jabs hard against everything good and sweet and tender inside of you, and you’re left speechless even as he continues impassively. “That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”

It takes a second, but then that unfamiliar feeling suddenly surges up, breaches with the power of an entire ocean. Your voices may be nothing more than whispers in the dark, you may be clinging to each other, holding each other with the softest, gentlest love in your hearts, but the strength of your conviction on this would rip metal apart.

“No.” The word holds the might of your entire being, and it stands alone and defiant in the face of everything you fear, everything that threatens you, him, and this child. Never. You’ll die before that happens. “I love you, and there’s nothing in this galaxy that would ever make me do that. Not fear, not danger, not the Empire, nothing. Not even you.”

Din stares at you. His visor reflects your hardened expression back to you, the force in your soul and the purpose in your eyes, and you don’t even realize the gravity of what you just said because like your love for him, gravity is a constant. It’s a fundamental truth cemented into the rules that govern your actions and it stays true no matter where you are, no matter what terror you face, or how scared you become. You have him, you have this little boy in your arms, and if that’s all you have, then you have everything.

After an eternity of this, of feeling his eyes pierce deep into you from behind the helmet while you refuse to wither under his stare, you watch him slowly turn and look down, landing on the sleepy child tucked between you both. He holds there for a long time, before finally whispering, so quiet that the modulator barely picks it up, “It was the wrong choice.”

You stay quiet. It happened. What’s done is done, you can’t change the past. He can scold and reprimand you about this as much as he wants, but you did the right thing and that decision is the only reason he’s even here to be able to do so. This exhausted child was reunited with his father because of your choices, and this exhausted father was reunited with his child. You won’t argue anymore, but it’s a certitude that lives deep in your heart now, builds a home there right alongside the both of them. Din eventually looks up, his eyes find yours again behind the visor, and his hand rises once more to gently cup your jaw.

“I… thought I’d enjoy seeing you in my armor,” Din finally whispers. It’s not what you expected, but his voice sounds… weak. Broken. “You wore mine once before, and it was…” He brushes his thumb along your cheek, and then his head shakes slightly, pushing the thought away. “It wasn’t real. It didn’t fit. It dwarfed you, it made you look out of place, it made everything soft and innocent about you stand out. I liked it because it wasn’t real.”

“Was it… really that bad?” You whisper back, partially to ease the tension just slightly but quickly breaking eye contact with him when you realize it doesn’t land correctly, it just sounds self conscious and sad. You try to find that conviction again, that strength and assurance that propped you up so sturdily before, but… Not a Mandalorian, he’d said. Of course not. Of course not.

“It wasn’t the armor.” Din gently tugs up on your face so that you look at him again. “It was you covered in blood. It was you purposefully putting yourself in danger. You killed multiple armed soldiers of the Empire, you dragged their bodies off the ship. And then you flew into an imperial base, where you killed the officers, too. You…” He shakes his head slowly at you while speaking, and although you can’t see his face, you don’t need to in order to hear the horror in his voice. “You… collected a quarry… in the middle of a massacre, sweet girl.”

Not a Mandalorian.

“You don’t chase down bounties,” he tells you. “You don’t fly into war zones. You don’t kill imperials, you don’t collect quarries, you don’t sacrifice yourself, or our son, to save me. You said you tried to be brave… like me.” His fingers tighten against your cheek, he dips his helmet to make sure you understand. “I’ll never ask you to be brave. I’ll ask you to survive.”

“I’m… sorry,” you finally whisper, and his arm drops from your cheek to join the other in wrapping around you and holding tight. They hug you and squeeze, encasing you and the baby in a beskar shield and staying there for a long time. Long enough for you to tuck your head back into its proper place under his helmet, long enough to start to feel okay with the silence again. It brutalized you the last time you were surrounded by it, it made you feel alone and desolate and barren inside. You greet it warily now, settling into it for an unknown amount of time until it’s forgiven once more.

After a while, Din quietly breaks it.

“How many?” He murmurs to you. You already know exactly what he’s asking, there's no more clarification necessary on his behalf.

You slowly close your eyes and think back to the smoldering craters, the blood soaked ramp, the fear in Oshua Ryler’s eyes as he begged you not to kill him.

“That didn’t deserve it?” You ask, clenching your eyes tighter at the memory. “Four.”

And maybe, maybe six or eight months ago, you would’ve begged for some guidance on how to reconcile that. Hell, maybe a few hours ago, you could’ve used his arms around you exactly like this, his low voice repeating the same things he’s already told you before, over and over again, if only for some semblance of stability when everything feels turbulent and uncertain. You’ll never be able to change it, though. This belongs to you now.

This time, all Din says is, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that covers everything.

The silence envelops you both again, but… there’s something else. Something that still sits deep in your worries, an image that isn’t a scar of what’s happened but a dread of what’s to come. You need to tell him. You don’t feel like saying it, you don’t want to speak it aloud for fear of bringing it into existence, but you need to tell him.

“Din?” You breathe out, and he makes a soft noise in his throat while cuddling you on the floor. “I saw…,” you whisper, every word sitting tight and reluctant in your throat. “Right when we made the jump, I was looking through the window and I-I saw…”

“A star destroyer.” He says it like… like it’s the worst thing in the world and also completely expected at the same time. He says it like he already knew, yet can’t even imagine. You lean every bit of your weight against him since you can’t hold him in return, squish him as best you can against the small corner and curl up even tighter in his arms for comfort.

He takes a deep breath, a shuddery sound you don’t think you’ve ever heard him make before. It holds untold anxiety, unsaid conflict, uncertain action, an unknown path forward.

“I don’t know what to do,” Din eventually whispers to himself, to you, to the baby in your arms. His voice is barely a breath through the modulator, his fingers digging into your skin with how many emotions he’s repressing. “What do I do?”

He sounds so distressed that you automatically feel your soul find the floor—instantly, you become steady and calm and you locate all that rationality that kept you going today. All your worries still twist deep down, all the guilt and the turmoil wrestles with your soft, easy nature until you can only find bits and pieces of it in the most vulnerable places inside you, but if he’s struggling this terribly, then the least you can do is offer some good, true, unwavering faith in times of uncertainty. You’re in hyperspace, everything worked out, and it’s going to stay that way for right now. If he doesn’t know how to talk about it yet, then you trust him enough to wait for him.

“It’ll be okay,” you tell him with a newfound confidence and purpose, carefully easing the baby into one arm so that the other can find its way to the other side of his helmet and pull him closer. Din tucks his head and allows you to brush your lips against the metal, whisper the words soft and steady to him. “We’ll figure it out together.”

---

@cptnbvcks thank you so much for the incredible art!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #star wars #rough day #no-droids

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kyberblade · 1 year

Text

Just Need You (Din x Reader)

A/N: Okay. This turned into waaayyyyyy more than I expected but once it started it just kept coming, and I…. I kinda love it? Like for real? These two are a mess and I’m kind of obsessed with them. (Also, thank you, Anon, for being my first Mando request and for sending a request at all! You made me happy dance, you have no idea.)

Anon asked: “Hey babes, can you do a Mando x reader where the reader is a bounty hunter and leaves the ship to complete a mission and is only supposed to be gone a few hours but they’re gone all night and Din starts to panic and the next morning they show up slightly injured sand Din completely loses it and he was so scared then feels guilty? (fluff and ANGST) (sorry this is long!)”

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is a warning in and of himself in this one. Typical show violence. Space swearing. Arguing? Mentions of injury, brief mention of blood, stitches. Mando’a.

Word count: 4,014 (I’m this person now, okay?)

Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex, @grippingbeskar, and @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis for reading this over for me and letting me know I’m not crazy.

Masterlist

Xxx

“It’ll only be a few hours,” you grumbled, shoving another blaster in your belt from the weapons locker.

“Do you know anything about this planet?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a vibroblade to tuck into your boot. “I know it’s hot.” Reaching for a thermal detonator, a gloved hand came out to grab your wrist, stopping you just short, your fingers barely scraping along its surface. With a sigh you turned your head to your left to find the Mandalorian’s helmet inches from your face.

“I’m serious,” he said in a low voice, his grip on your wrist tightening slightly.

“So am I,” you whispered. “Mando, I’m fine. I’ve done this a few times.” He scoffed at your sarcastic remark, making you smirk. When he released your wrist, you grabbed the detonator, fixing it to the back of your belt. “Besides, like I said, this’ll be easy. In and out. This guy’s not particularly dangerous, just a bail jumper. Probably won’t even get a scratch.”

He grunted. “And when you come back limping, what do I get? Hmmm?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, leveling a flat glare on him. “That’s just rude.”

“What?” He asked innocently, holding his hands out to the sides. “I’m not saying he would hurt you. I’m saying you’re known to…. Trip. A lot.”

After a loaded moment where you two just stared in silence, the only sound the child ambling down the ladder from the cockpit, you turned to the ramp, grumbling, “I’m going now.”

Pulling the lever to release the ramp, you stood at the top as it lowered, feeling the wall of beskar hovering closer and closer behind you until finally the modulated voice taunted by your ear, “Good luck.”

A wave of hot air rolled up into the Crest, making Grogu scrunch his face and babble as he tried to scale his guardian's armor.

Din bent down and scooped up the child, cradling him in his arms and shaking his head as the little green ward squinted at the bright sunlight pouring in the now open hull. Bringing his visor back up to meet your gaze as you made last minute adjustments to your belt, he tilted his head to the side just slightly before he added, “You’re gonna need it.”

With a roll of your head to face back toward the unforgiving landscape, you began down the ramp, disappearing in the glare of the sun beating down on the barren tundra.

Tugging the lever to close the ship back up, the Mandalorian turned to the child in his arms as he cooed softly. Letting out a sigh, his shoulders rolling forward slightly as he still held on to the lever with one hand, he let his head fall forward toward the kid. “I know. I know, I miss her already too, little guy. But don’t worry. She’s gonna be okay.” Bringing the hand down from the lever to rest comfortingly on the child’s front, Din patted it distractedly. “And she’ll be right back.”

Xxx

A few hours had come and passed while Din worked on a handful of odd repairs around the ship. He was currently under the control panel in the cockpit, laying on his back as he fiddled with the wiring under the console.

Grogu was playing with his ball in the copilot's chair, chittering happily about something or other.

Looking down toward the child, Din sighed, pulling Grogu’s attention to him. “Don’t worry. She’s just running a little late. That’s all.”

The kid tilted his head as he hummed questioningly at the Mandalorian. “She’s just a little late,” Din repeated, a bit more forcefully. “That’s all.” Looking back up at the mess of wiring overhead, he stared at it absently, his voice quiet. “Don’t worry.”

Xxx

More time had passed, it was the middle of the night, and Din began to pace. There wasn’t anything left on the ship to fix to occupy his time. Well, there was, but it would take hours, and you’d be back soon, probably needing to take off as soon as possible, so he didn’t want to get tied up in that.

The kid blinked blearily from a nearby crate, watching his protector pace back and forth as he ate from a ration pack. He paused his snacking, offering a warm, “Patu!” when the Mandalorian stopped for a moment. Grogu grinned when the shiny visor turned toward him soundlessly, beginning to babble aimlessly as he reached back into the ration pack to pull out a piece to offer to his friend, extending it as far as his little arms could go.

“Thanks, kid,” Din mumbled, taking the dried whatever it was and lifting his helmet just enough to take a small bite. He hummed in satisfaction once the modulator was back in place, the child grinning like he’d solved a dire problem for a world at war.

And in a way, Din guessed he had. It offered him peace, if only for a moment. His mind found rest, some silence for a beat, long enough to get some perspective, long enough to take a breath, and tamp down the worry niggling away at him under his armor.

It was an unfamiliar feeling to him, worry. Something he’d not really experienced until the child, and something he didn’t altogether quite understand. He’d been in worrying situations before, but this was different. It was removed from him. It was for something outside of himself, his control, and it drove him crazy.

You drove him crazy.

Absolutely insane.

….and he loved it.

With you gone, something was missing. Some part of him, some piece that made up the rest of him was lost, and it was like he couldn’t settle, couldn’t find any semblance of peace until you were…. Home.

He didn’t know when or how the Crest had become home, much less when you had joined that picture, but there it was.

He needed you home.

He needed you back.

He needed you….

Just needed you.

Xxx

The child was asleep in the bunk, sealed away as Din rearranged the weapons locker for probably the seventy fifth time, or something near there, it felt like. The open spots for the weapons you’d taken out yesterday glaringly obvious no matter how he rearranged things.

With another long sigh, he moved to open the ramp, and he watched as a brilliant sunrise peeked through, streaking the reflective surfaces of the Crest in shades of pink and orange.

He’d sighed enough to sail a ship across the seas on Kamino, he thought bitterly. Every huff of air an attempt to release pent up emotions, something longing in his chest, but all it did was fog up the inside of his visor. ….Which made him sigh in frustration, doing it again, and it was a whole cycle.

A figure appeared on the horizon, and his spine straightened, attention on full alert. He hoped it was you, but since it was well past when you’d said, there was no telling at this point.

The outline looked closer much faster than anticipated, and it was then he heard the hum of a speeder engine begin to whir closer. Hand going to rest on his blaster, he drew it slowly, aiming at the rapidly approaching stranger as he pressed a button on the side of his helmet to zoom in with his display.

A fog had rolled in, concealing the features of the person atop the speeder, but something in his chest began to constrict when he thought it looked a lot like you.

As the speeder swooped to a stop in front of the ramp, Din took a cautious step forward, blaster raised and aimed as he switched the safety off.

The figure astride the vehicle hopped off, stumbling slightly before pushing themselves up using the seat of the bike for leverage, grunting as they went. Taking a few wobbling steps toward the ramp, finally the figure stepped out of the fog enough for Din to see who it was, and his throat was suddenly so dry, he could barely croak out your name.

You huffed out a breathy laugh before grimacing and grabbing your right side with your hand. “I know I’m late, but, kriff, it’s no reason to shoot me, Mando.” Moaning, you slumped with your back against the speeder, head tilted back as you winced. “Actually, go ahead. It might be better than this.” With a hiss through your teeth, you slid to the ground, landing with a plop onto the dusty earth, barely registering the rapid holstering of a blaster, the heavy footfalls of beskar quickly making their way down to you, or his hurried questions over your tight lipped groans as you were lifted from the ground.

“What’s wrong? What happened? No, kid. Get back. Go to your- kid, no.”

Opening your eyes as much as you could muster, you peeked at the kid standing at the top of the ramp, his expression drawn in concern. “I’m fine, tiny. Do what he says.” The last part of the word came out on a strangled hiss as a wave of pain jolted through you, the Mandalorian adjusting his hold under your knees and behind your back with a soft apology.

“I must be dying. Did Mando just apologize to me?” Reaching out, you ran your hand exaggeratedly over his helmet, patting it down like it held something you’d lost. “Is this real? Am I dreaming? I’m hallucinating, aren’t I?”

“Be quiet, mesh’la,” he rumbled, setting you on the floor of the Crest before pressing a button on his vambrace to close the ramp.

“No! No wait!” You said as strongly as you could. Reaching out you smashed the buttons on his vambrace until you found the right one, ignoring his protests, halting the ramp's upward movement. “My bag. On the speeder. The quarry…. What’s left of him….” You relaxed back onto the floor, closing your eyes.

Din shook your shoulders, making you sit up abruptly, wincing before you turned to him. “What does mesh’la mean?”

Din hesitated only a moment. “The quarry?”

You pointed at the speeder, your eyes shutting tight in pain. “He grabbed the thermal detonator. Idiot. All that I could find left of him is in that bag. I’m never using those again. The clean up isn’t worth the credits.” Turning back up to his visor with knit eyebrows, you peeked up at him. “Can we put him on ice?” You shuddered. “I don’t want to look at that bag ever again.”

Nodding, Din ran over and jumped off the ramp, grabbing your stuff off the speeder, and freezing the bag in carbonite as the ramp sealed shut behind him. You carelessly tossed your weapons to the side, mumbling about feeling heavy, so heavy….

When Din turned back from the chamber, you were slumped back against some crates, jaw hanging open limply. As he took a cautious step toward you, he realized your chest was barely moving with your shallow breaths.

Yelling your name with no response, Din closed the last few feet left between you in seconds, sliding the last foot or so on his knees, numb to anything besides the pain in his chest at the thought of you leaving him. Not like this.

Not today.

No.

“Kid!” He said determinedly, looking across your body to find Grogu already reaching out, a few inches from you. That’s all that would come out. Tilting his head to the side pleadingly, Din turned his visor back down toward your face, smoothing some hair back away from your eyes.

Grogu understood. He always did. Putting one clawed hand on your shoulder, he closed his eyes in concentration, his already wrinkled face crinkling further.

Din watched in amazement as color returned to your face, a dull lifeless mask having settled over it before, your eyes fluttering open as you took a deep breath.

Your eyes darted over to Din before landing on the child, wide in wonder, but you didn’t say anything.

Reaching out, Din nudged him off of you with a gentle push of his finger. “Thanks, ad’ika.” Grogu blinked up at him in confusion. “I’ll take it from here. You rest.” Turning back to look down at you, he wagged a finger close to your face. “Don’t move.” (“Little one.”)

“Don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” you mumbled, smiling softly when he chuckled.

Getting to his feet with a quiet groan, Din got the med kit before settling back beside you. Peeling your blood soaked shirt up just enough to see the sear from the blaster shot along your side, he apologized quietly before he got to work cleaning and stitching the wound.

“You’re lucky. They just grazed you.”

“I know,” you mumbled, looking up at the ceiling of the Crest as he worked on the side of your abdomen, wincing every now and then. “Thank you. For not saying anything. I know, you warned me, I just….”

“You just….” He repeated your words back at you questioningly when you never attempted to finish the statement.

Blinking up at him a few times, you changed the subject. “You never told me what mesh’la means.”

Din just went back to sewing you up carefully, his head tilted to the side at an odd angle to see properly. Silence settled between you, and you’d accepted that’s how it would be - this was normal for him, after all - until he spoke so quietly you almost missed it.

“Beautiful.”

“Wha-”

“It means beautiful.”

Smiling softly, you winced when he pulled the thread taught. “And adi- ad- the kid? What you called him?” Stumbling over the word, you pointed to the little green face in his hammock for reference.

The Mandalorian chuckled, his voice a little louder now, but only slightly. “Little one.”

Looking at the little one, you smiled, nodding. “It fits. Speaking of,” you turned back to face your reflection in his visor. “What the hell did he do to me?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Din paused in his work for a moment, bringing his gaze up to look at you straight on. “He’s…. Special.”

“Yeah, I’ll say,” you snorted, turning back to face the child, finding him peeking over the edge of the hammock, only from his nose up showing, and of course, his ears. Smiling, you tilted your head at him affectionately. “You could open a sideshow. Make some nice credits between quarry’s.”

“You sound like Peli,” Din grumbled.

“Hey, that woman has wisdom, you should listen to her.” You held up a finger while speaking, sitting up straighter, only to collapse in on yourself as Din tugged the stitches tight with a grunt and began working on them again.

Another silence settled in between you, filling the spaces between breaths with something comfortable and familiar.

“Well, Mando,” you finally decided to break it. “Have you eaten?”

“The…. The child fed me.”

You hesitated. “I…. I’m sorry?”

“Yes,” he said instead, tying off the stitches as he cleared his throat, reaching for a gauze pad to cover them. “And it’s Din.”

You blinked at him, your mind failing to keep up with the last few topics, especially still struggling with the image of the tiny baby feeding the giant beskar warrior. Amusing as it was. “I’m so lost.”

The Mandalorian stayed silent as he used some adhesive to keep the pad on your side, smoothing it down gently with a gloved hand. He fumbled in the kit for something else, but you couldn’t see, your pant leg being tugged by impossibly small green hands drawing your attention away.

The child ambled up into your lap and settled, giggling when you yelped at a sharp pain in your side. Looking down you saw the Mandalorian withdrawing a bacta shot and letting your shirt fall back down to cover it before turning your fury up toward his visor.

“My name,” he explained simply. “It’s Din.”

“That hurt!” Your face crumpled from anger to nothing. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me,” he said tiredly, but amused, as he collected the used items and the kit, taking them back over to the corner they came from.

“I did,” you nodded, staring at the floor. “And…. Wait. What?” Looking back over at him, you groaned as you pushed yourself up with the help of some crates at your back.

Grogu’s hand resting on your cheek instantly relieved some of the pain, pulling your focus down to him. “That will never not be amazing,” you breathed with a smile.

Din rushed over, helping you to sit on top of the boxes you’d just used as leverage.

“Sit,” you demanded, finger pointed at him.

With a sigh, he obliged, plopping on the crate next to you gracelessly.

“Explain.”

“When I was born, my parents had to give me a moniker-”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

With the heaviest sigh you’d heard yet, he leaned back against the hull of the Crest. He looked so tired.

When he began speaking, it was the softest voice you’d ever heard him use, and somehow that made you pay more attention than anytime he’d yelled at you in the middle of a firefight.

“When you were gone…. I realized something.”

“….Be more cryptic. Please.” You sassed when he didn’t continue after a long moment, only raising your eyebrows at him when he rolled his visor toward you with as much attitude as you had just voiced. The kid squeaked something as his own contribution, pulling your eyes down to him, and you pointed at him, nodding in agreement before looking back at Man- Din. “Yeah!”

Din couldn’t help the snort of laughter that escaped as he turned his head back to look across the lower level of the Crest at nothing in particular.

“I don’t know what I would do…. If I lost you. If I really lost you.” He looked down at his hands as he fiddled with the ends of his gloves needlessly. “I’ve…. I’ve only ever felt that way about the kid, and- and I honestly don’t know what to do with this.” He looked at you again, and somehow this time you could feel his eyes on you, not just the weight of his visor. “Don’t know how.”

Holding his gaze in silence, you let his words sink in. It’s a lot to process. In reality, it’s not much, but emotionally, you need a minute. Everything you thought you knew about this man has just been turned on its head, and you just…. Need a minute.

When you didn’t say anything, Din nodded silently, going to rise from the crate when you reached out to stop him, hand resting over his. Opening your mouth, you stared at your reflection in his visor, then turned your face to look at the floor as if it held the words you needed.

From the corner of your eye you saw Din’s shoulders deflate, roll forward in defeat, but you put a stop to that with a squeeze of his hand in yours. Weaseling your fingers into his clenched fist to open it, you threaded them with his, holding tight while you searched for the words, using the grip as an anchor while you took a leap.

“Din,” you tried, smiling at the way it felt rolling off your tongue, enjoying the way he squeezed your hand at the sound, and his breath stuttered through the modulator.

“Din,” you said more confidently, unable to shake the smile as you go on. “There is nothing I can think of that would make me happier in the entire galaxy than anything you just told me.” Pulling your eyes up toward his visor, you looked at him through your lashes, face still down towards the floor. “When I’m here, on this piece of shit ship-”

“Watch it,” Din mumbled good-naturedly.

“-I have never felt safer or more at home anywhere in my life.” Lifting your face up to him in some insane wave of courage, you squeezed his hand again. “And whether that’s as your friend, or…. Whatever,” you tucked your face into your chest for a moment to hide the smile that’s not going anywhere. “I’m just honored to get to be a part of…. This.” You gestured around the ship then between the two of you and a sleeping Grogu in your arms with your joined hands before resting them back on his knee softly. “Din,” you mumbled around another grin, unable to shake the renewed pull of your lips no matter how you tried. “I’m honored to know you.”

After staring at one another for a long moment, Din finally shook his head in amusement, gently tugging you closer by your joined hands. “Well that’s all nice, but…. I was thinking of something a little more…. Personal.”

“Oh, thank the Force,” you said in relief, letting your eyes flutter shut as he rested his forehead against yours. “Ner cyare.” (“My beloved.”)

Din pulled away slightly, tilting his head at you in question.

You just kept grinning. “Elek, Ni jorhaa'i Mando'a.” (“Yes, I speak Mando'a.”)

Shaking his head at you, he began to chuckle. “Mir'sheb,” he mumbled. “Then why ask me all about what I said?” (“Smartass.”)

“I just wanted to see if you would tell me. You’re always so secretive.” You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “Plus, it also seemed kind of important to you, so I didn’t want to ruin it.”

Din tilted his head to the side as he stared at you, shaking it in disbelief and amusement. “Well, way to go with that.”

The smile wasn’t going anywhere, and you didn’t mind. “I also know Huttese, Jawaese, and- oh, what else? What would you like to hear, I’ll see if I can make it happen.”

Tilting his beskar back against your soft skin, he watched as your lashes fluttered to look up at him. Despite being so close, and not truly being able to see him through the visor, he felt like you really could. And for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to hide from that feeling.

“I just want to hear about your hunt while we get off this hellhole,” he mumbled, standing and lifting the child from your arms. Tucking him into his hammock before sealing him in, he turned back to find you standing at the ladder to the cockpit, looking at it like it’d wronged you. “What’s wrong?”

Looking up into his visor, you pouted. “I don’t think I can get up there with these stitches pulling against me the whole way up.”

“Oh, come on,” he teased, touching his forehead to yours one more time briefly simply because he could now, then turning you to face the ladder and mumbling right into your ear as he crowded in behind you. “You just got shot today, and you’re complaining about stitches?”

“I’m not complaining, it’s a genuine concern,” you mumbled, fighting another grin trying to tug up the corners of your lips.

“Well, don’t be concerned,” he lilted, taking a step closer and making you begin up the ladder with nowhere left to go but up. “I’m right behind you, the whole way. I won’t let you fall.” His voice softened as you began climbing the ladder, and true to his word, he stayed behind you, almost caging you in the whole way. “Don’t worry.”

“I can see that,” you mused, climbing up into the cockpit with a soft smile. “I’m not.”

Din brushed past you, settling into the pilot’s seat, beginning the take off sequence. “Now. Tell me about this quarry.”

You sighed, plopping into the copilot seat with a roll of your eyes. “Oh, you would not believe the chaos that started from the moment- the moment-” you held up your finger, pausing for emphasis as you closed your eyes for dramatic effect, “I was off this ship.”

Din spun in his seat to face you as the ship began to lift off, his voice smug. “Try me.”

Xxx

My everything taglist: @lam-ila, @oliviajdjarin, @peonyophelia, @Itsavicf, @jxvipike, @momc95 What’s this?

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joelslegalwhre · 11 months

Text

My Riduur

I put translation for the Mando‘a words at the end, so you don‘t get confused but I also have the link to the dictionary right here

Took me long enough to write this 😮‍💨 Thank god my exam is over (and I stressed for nothing, it was actually really easy), so here you go with my first ever din fic, I hope you like it x

pairing // Din Djarin x fem!reader

word count // 1.6k

summary // Mando didn't like it at all that some boy thought he could get close to his wife. He couldn't show with actions that you were his, the helmet prevented that, but he had his own way to show it.

warnings // jealous Din (let‘s still call him Din okay, thanks), pda, established relationship, lovesick puppy energy, protective!din, allusions to smut, Din and reader speaking Mando’a, me having absolutely no clue about Mando‘a grammar, taking the helmet off if you’re married is okay here, okay? Thanks (did I miss something?)

Masterlist// Mando‘a dictionary I used // my kofi 🩷

It felt strange to be sitting here, in a bar on Mos Eisley, surrounded by all kinds of people, droids, and even a few bounty hunters.

It wasn't the feeling of sitting in a cantina that was weird. No, it was more the feeling of not having to accept a job. You were not here to look for one. In the last months you had almost had no break, and now you could finally lean back a little. The thought, of picking out a nice place with Mando for the three of you for the next few days, pleased you.

But before you did that, you just had to have the ship repaired a bit, after it had taken quite some damage.

Mando was still at Peli Motto's place, busy showing her the ship and checking the price for the repair. You had been looking around the bar ever since he left, hoping he'd be back soon. The jobs of the last weeks had been unique, the wages you had collected for them were easily enough to sit back and relax for a few days, even after getting the razor crest repaired.

You were sitting at a free spot at the bar of the cantina and watched the people and other beings talking to each other. Some argued, some laughed with each other.

You wondered how long it would take for Mando to-

"Hey there, gorgeous." someone sat down next to you, interrupting your thoughts.

You looked at the stranger for a moment, eyeing him. He had to be your age, a few strands of his dark hair fell into his face, and his eyes were not only gleaming with a deep blue, but with an extreme amount of confidence. "I didn't expect to see an angel today." he smirked in a way that almost made you laugh. He didn't lack any confidence, that was for sure.

You drew your brows together, and tilted your head slightly as you looked at him.

"Say, does that work on any woman?"

At his next sentence, you were sure he definitely had a drink too much or just a little too much self-confidence to flirt so shamelessly.

"You're not any woman." he winked.

You raised your eyebrows and nodded with an amused smile. "Oh, is that so?" you chuckled lightly.

"You're here with someone?" he asked, leaning closer. You immediately brought some more space between the two of you again, "I am, actually."

"Well, then where are they?" he asked with a grin that told you he didn't believe you. "Right here." you could hear Mando's deep, modulated voice. Your heart made a little jump when you turned your head and saw him walking straight towards you.

If looks could kill, this wannabe bounty hunter would be six feet underground by now. Mando's jaw had clenched when he saw the stranger talk to you. His jealousy stewing at the mere thought of another man looking at you this way. He’d been ready to stomp up to him and place a good, hard punch right at this fool's flirtatious face.

"Me'bana?" Mando asked, looking at you. His hand naturally found its place on your waist.

"Nothing," you leaned a little closer to him, "Kaysh mirsh solus."

Mando's light, breathy laugh made you almost turn into a puddle. 'He's an idiot.' you'd told him in Mando's native tongue, so the stranger in front of you wouldn't understand.

You had learned it when you started to accompany Mando. He was confused at first, to say at least, as to why you'd wanted to actually learn the language. But you wanted to get to know Mando, that included his native tongue. And besides, it was fun, sitting in the razor crest next to him, Grogu on your lap, learning to speak and read the extraordinary language of your Mandalorian.

"Hey, just so you know," said one started again, "Unalike that tin can there, I can show my face whenever, my lips too." he smirked. His obvious confusion about the two of you speaking in a language he'd never heard but knew must've been Mando'a.

You politely declined his request, slowly getting annoyed. "Thank you very much, but I actually really like the tin can right here."

Mando wanted to kiss you so bad, show you off as his, but he couldn't. That's just how it was, he couldn't take off his helmet. He was proud of his religion, it was part of him. You'd probably wouldn't even let him take it off, even if he tried. That was one of the many reasons he loved you so deeply. You respected his religion, tried to understand and learn about it.

And he could always take it off when the two of you were back in the privacy of the razor crest. He loved the curious look on your face every time he did, as if it was the first time you've seen his face.

But the truth was, that you were enamored with his features, the patchy beard paired with the mustache, his brown eyes and the brown curls… You could just never get enough of him.

Even before you two were married, you always loved to play with the ends of his fluffy hair, whenever it was getting longer once again. It was never much, but enough.

He had other ways to make sure everyone, especially the fool in front of you, knew you belonged to him.

"We need to look for our child." he was well aware that people believed he meant a human child when he referred to Grogu as "child" or "kid".

The look on the boy's face made a smug smile appear on Din's face, carefully hidden by the beskar helmet. He was so satisfied with himself, you could practically feel it spill over, and you didn't even need to see his face for it. You just chuckled quietly.

"Next time," Mando said, "watch who you talk to. My wife is off limits, understand?" his voice cold, almost threatening.

The eyes of the stranger widened, hearing the title.

You took Mando's gloved hand from where it was still firmly placed on your waist, and intertwined your fingers with his.

"C'mon, let's go," you smiled up at your riduur. You turned back around to address the guy, trying to sound nice, "It was nice meeting you."

With that, you left him sitting there, Mando‘s grip on your hand tightening in a protective manner, as you left the cantina.

When you were back at the ship, you could see Grogu fast asleep in his pod, "He's the most adorable thing I've ever seen." you say to Mando, looking at the little being with a look of pure love. Mando‘s heart warmed at the sight of you and Grogu. His little odd family.

"Even more than you getting all jealous of that guy back in the cantina." you grinned at him teasingly.

Mando stepped closer to you, his hands on your hips once again. You slung your arms around his neck.

"I wasn‘t-" but he interrupted himself, he was jealous, so much so that he would've loved to take his blaster out of the holster, even if it was just for show. "I was protecting my aliit." Family. You could barely get your fastening heartbeat under control, no matter how many times he'd say it. "I'm all yours, Din."

"Good." he said, and lowered his head. You could feel the cold beskar of his helmet touch your forehead. A Mandalorian kiss. You loved when he showed you his love that way. You closed your eyes, just soaking up the moment. You couldn‘t see it, but Mando had also closed his eyes, his hands still on your waist, he tried to memorize every little detail about this, about you.

After some time, spent taking the other in, after savoring the intimacy, you could hear a content sigh voice through his modulator.

"I'll look after you, always." His hand wandered to your cheek and cupped it gently. “And trust me,” he huffed, "I won't let anyone flirt with my wife like that, cyar'ika."

You grinned up at him. You couldn't wait to be all alone with him, leaving Grogu in the cockpit to sleep, and kiss him. Oh, how badly you just wanted to give his lips a little peck. You settled for wrapping your arms tightly around his armored middle, pressing yourself against his chest.

Mando's arms around your shoulders, he leaned his helmet against your hair. Even if all you could feel was his armor, it was still him. Your Mandalorian. Your husband. "I love you, mesh'la." the modulator had barely picked it up. He'd whispered it into your hair, like he couldn't believe that you were his. That he had the privilege to be the one to hold you… to love you. And to be loved by you.

"You know," you started smiling at him innocently, „since the baby's asleep, I thought you could show me how much. I mean, just so I know-"

"Haav." he interrupted you, his voice low, "Now." This was no plead, no, a demand. You chuckled and started walking to the makeshift bed you shared with him.

Behind you, you could hear him taking off his helmet, and you could barely hold in your excitement to finally see his face again. You had really missed it, although you've just seen him this morning before getting up. His armor followed next, a second later you could feel his arms wrap themselves around you. "Too many clothes." he whispered into your ear, his voice clear without the modulator. It gave you goosebumps all over your body, "Take them off then.".

Mando‘a translations:

ner = my, mine

riduur = partner, spouse, husband, wife

Me‘bana? = What‘s happening? What happened?

Kaysh mirsh solus = He‘s an idiot (lit. His brain cell is lonely)

cyar‘ika = darling, sweetheart

mesh‘la = beautiful

aliit = clan name, identity, family

haav = bed

🩶taglist: @alexxavicry @kittenlittle24 @hereforfics124 @Snow30285 @cl16version

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian reader insert #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian #grogu my beloved #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #jealousy #pedro pascal #fluff #em's masterlist

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imaginedisish · 1 year

Text

Home (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey everybody! Here is a new Din Djarin fic! I don’t know if I’ve done this trope already...there’s a good chance I did. I had a version of this fic in my WIPs for a while, and I don’t think it ever made it out of the doc, so here it is. I hope you guys like it! It’s heavily based on “Home” by LCD Soundsystem.

Summary: Din learns the truth about your past...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), praise kink for sure, hurt to comfort, friends/idiots to lovers, Jedi!reader (implied conflict/is training Grogu), implied kidnapping (Inquisitors kidnap reader as child), cursing, Crest still exists because I’m lazy, probably grammar mistakes because again, I’m lazy.

Word Count: 3,661

Your lungs burn painfully as you sprint through the forest, dodging trees, maneuvering through the thicket. You swear Grogu is giggling in his little carrier strapped carefully onto your chest. “This is not funny, little guy,” You mumble in between breaths. Grogu babbles and giggles some more in response.

This was not how this training session with Grogu was supposed to go.

BANG! You flinch a bit to the left as a blaster shot whirls by, smashing violently into a tree, leaving a burning gaping hole in its wake. You make a sharp turn to avoid the tree as it crashes down in front of you. The dark troopers were closing in on you and Grogu; you could feel it. It was only a matter of time until they circled around you, blasters pressing at your back.

Another. BANG! The tree to your right comes crashing down a few feet away. You turn around for just a split second, searching for Din, for something, for a way out. They were gaining on you, you could see them coming from over the hill.

You press a button on your comlink. “Hey Mando?” You practically shout into it. “Things are getting a little messy over here.” Your words are panicked, jumbled.

“I’m almost there,” He reassures. “What’s going on?”

“Well, they’re-,” BANG! That answers his question.

“Just hold on, okay?” You can hear the fear in his voice; it wasn’t something you were used to. Din was normally confident, but this time there was a sense of insecurity, as if this time was going to end differently than all the others. As if he was afraid you weren’t going to make it.

You take a deep breath and navigate away from the now burning, fallen over trees. You turn around; the troopers were even closer than they were before. You swear there weren’t this many a few minutes ago. You turn to the left, trying to find another way out, but it’s too late. You were surrounded. You weren’t fast enough. Maybe this was the end.

“I am not getting killed by a bunch of droids,” You huff, raising your hands above your head. But the troopers don’t stop, they continue to creep closer towards you and Grogu, raising their blasters, readying to shoot, aiming to kill. “We are not going down like this kid,” You whisper, Grogu’s ears picking up as the words slip from your tongue.

The troopers finally stop, their metal joints freezing in place. Their blasters are still pointed towards you and Grogu. You swallow harshly, staring at your reflection in the metallic armor of the dark trooper directly in front of you. You watch closely as their robotic fingers hover over the trigger. You had one shot, one chance to get this right. You shut your eyes, waiting for it.

All at once. CLICK. BANG.

Your hands extend out. You can feel the energy pulsing through you. It’s controlled and stable. You slowly open your eyes, and hovering in the air are at least twenty violently shivering blaster rays, threatening to finish the job if you let go. You can feel the rays dancing under your fingertips, struggling against your grasp. You shut your eyes again, the tension of each one growing. You couldn’t hold this forever.

A new feeling abruptly shocks your system. It’s a certain power you haven’t felt in years. It rattles your bones, sending shockwaves throughout every inch of your body. There’s something delicious about it, tempting even. It’s powerful, yet intrusive, quickly invading your senses and taking over. You allow it to course through you fully. You can almost hear something calling out to you. Let go.

And so you do.

With a swift motion, you release the energy building up inside of you. It’s a radical feeling, but still somehow familiar. The shocks flow through the palms of your hands and out of your fingers. There’s a slight sting. It’s almost painful. And that’s when you remember exactly what this feeling is. Your eyes open wide, and you watch as electricity, and the blaster rays, shoot out towards the dark troopers, decimating them immediately.

Fire consumes the trees around you, embers quickly filling the air. You’re not sure if the electricity you just shot out of your hands caused this, or the blaster shots, or the dark troopers themselves. Most likely, it was some sort of messy combination of all three, which meant that you were in part to blame.

“Cyare?”

And Din saw the whole thing.

He’s standing just a few feet away from you. You can see the flames and carnage reflecting against his armor, and in the center of it all is you. This wasn’t a side of yourself that you wanted him to see, or even know about in the first place.

But it was too late for that now. “Din, I can expl-,”

He cuts you off, curt, emotionless. “We need to go.” You nod, taking slow strides towards the ramp of the Crest. You pass Din along the way. You want him to say something, to look at you, to move at the very least. But he doesn’t. He’s motionless, frozen in the aftermath of what you had done, of the secret you had tried so very hard to cover up.

You reluctantly step into the Crest, taking Grogu and his carrier off your shoulders, placing him in his crib. You throw the carrier to the ground. He gurgles something entirely unintelligible. There’s a tiredness in his grumblings. Good, you think to yourself. At least he’ll be asleep when you and Din have it out.

Din’s steps echo against the walls of the Crest. You know he’s disappointed. You can feel it. You should’ve told him the truth, told him who you were, told him that person isn’t who you are anymore. It’s certainly not the person you are with him. Din makes your past seem like some non-existent, intangible, fictional far-off tale. It was like he made you forget. No. He changed you, altered your brain chemistry, made you feel like you mattered. And not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

You needed him, and it scared you. You were almost afraid of the connection, of the dependency.

But he needs you too, you just don’t know it yet.

You wait a minute, trembling a bit in the hull, watching as Grogu’s eyes struggle to stay open. Within a few seconds, they’re closed. Din’s figure finally appears in the doorway. He’s apprehensive, tentative, as if he hasn’t made up his mind about coming inside. Your stomach knots, twinging as he finally steps all the way inside, pressing a button as the ramp shuts behind him.

He looks over at Grogu, fast asleep in his crib. A modulated breath escapes from under his helmet. It’s a sigh of defeat, of dejection. You build up the courage to stare into his visor, half expecting to get an indication of how he’s feeling. But there’s nothing, no sign of life save the shallow breaths slipping through his vocoder.

“Din, just let me explain.” It’s a plea, a solicitation for forgiveness.

But he isn’t buying it. “Did you lie to me?” There’s no anger in his voice, no agitation, not even an ounce of annoyance. It’s hurt, pain, possibly even betrayal, and that feels far worse than any vexation or outrage ever could. “Last time I checked, Jedi don’t use the force like that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes breaking away from his glare. You know he’s staring at you under his helmet, searching for answers, trying to convince himself that what had just happened was a figment of his imagination. But it wasn’t. It was you. The past had caught up with your present, and now they’d fight for control.

“No, they don’t,” You pause, breathing deeply before continuing. “The Inquisitors kidnapped me when I was a kid. I was saved just a few months after the first Death Star was destroyed.” There’s a moment of relief before the fear of waiting for his response kicks in. You had told him the truth, and he wasn’t running away. Din was still in front of you, listening to every word you had to say.

He takes a few steps toward you, slowly closing the distance between you and him. “You could’ve told me that,” He whispers. “You should’ve told me.” He’s more assertive the second time around.

“I didn’t want you to think that I-I was still like that.” You can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, begging to be blinked away. “I d-didn’t want you to t-think I was some monster.”

“What are you talking about?” He finds himself being drawn even closer towards you, his gloved hands gravitating to yours, his fingertips brushing against your wrists as he presses his palms into your own. Home. The word flashes in your mind in big bright lights, your hands fitting perfectly into his. “How could you think I’d ever see you like that?”

“I could tell you were scared, when you saw what I did…” You trail off, your heart beating wildly out of your chest. “Maybe I shouldn’t be training the kid. Maybe I’m not…” Din shakes his head. “Not what?”

“Not good enough,” You mumble, fighting back sobs. “If I can’t let go of my past, let go of those feelings…”

“No.” There’s no hesitance in his statement, no question, no consideration. Din means it. “Don’t think like that, mesh’la. You’re more than enough, more than the kid and I could’ve ever asked for.”

“But I-,”

He cuts you off again. “You protected Grogu. You protected me.”

“I lied to you, Din,” Your voice is soft, quiet, timid. “I did something I’d promise myself I’d never do again.” You blink a few times, letting the inevitable tears stream down your cheeks.

Din squeezes your hands lightly and lets go. Before you can internally grieve the loss of contact, he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. He had never been so gentle with you, so kind, so soft. This was so unlike him.

You sob into his beskar covered chest. The cold metal feels good against your burning cheeks. “I-I’m sorry.” You croak out, your voice reverberating through his armor.

“It’s alright,” He mutters, the top of his helmet coming down to rest on your head. “I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay.” You sniffle as he whispers sweet reassurances in your ears, reminding you that you’re good enough, that he’s right next to you, that nothing bad is going to happen. “You should get some rest.”

You nod, and Din pulls you from his chest, stepping away from you and into the cockpit. You wish he was still next to you, his body pressed against yours. The closer you get to Din, the more dangerous things become. Luke and Ahsoka had told you the dangers of maintaining connections, building relationships. Ahsoka had been more forgiving, given that she believed in a more balanced way than the Jedi did. But Luke…Luke had been warning you for years.

Honestly, you didn’t care anymore. You wanted to forget Luke’s grating voice, to dispel each ideal he forced into your head. You wanted Din, needed Din. He was all that mattered now.

Forget your past This is your last chance now And we can break the rules Like nothing will last

Luke’s warnings fade away as you search through your clothes for something more comfortable to wear. Naturally, there’s nothing clean, nothing that Grogu hadn’t spit up on.

There’s one shirt of Din’s that you had borrowed a few nights ago when he was out on a hunt by himself. It still smells like him, feels like him too. You like how you look in it, the way it hangs too long on you. You like that it’s his and not yours. You slip it on and walk out into the hull and towards the cockpit as the Crest takes off.

You can’t see it, but his eyes settle on your reflection in the viewport. He turns around to get a better look. His shirt is massive on you, falling just above your knees. He hadn’t expected to see you in his clothes, but fuck did you look good. He couldn’t hold back anymore, not after today, not after you had sobbed in his arms.

He needed to remind you of who you are. He needed to tell you what you meant to him. Maker, he needed you to know everything, how he wants every inch of you, how much he cares about you, how much he loves you.

You can tell he’s looking at you now. You’re suddenly incredibly self-conscious. “I-I’m sorry,” You stutter. “I took i-it the other day without asking…should’ve told you I had it.”

He clutches his fists as the Crest comes out of the planet’s atmosphere. He presses a button, putting the ship on autopilot. “You need to stop apologizing,” He says, pushing his palms into the arms of the pilot’s chair and standing up.

You tilt your head to the side, confused and somehow even more apologetic than you were before. “I-I didn’t mean to offend you-,” “You’re not offending me, you never could.” He closes the gap between the two of you with one small step. “So stop saying sorry.” There’s an urgency in his voice, and an undeniable sense of certainty, like he had thought hard about what he was going to say, as if he had wanted to say this for an incredibly long time.

“Sorr-,” You cut yourself off, a smirk spreading across your face.

Din’s hands hover over your waist, softly settling down, waiting for you to protest. But you don’t. “Is this alright?” He asks.

“Y-yes,” You stutter. Din’s grip becomes firm against your hips. You hum at the contact, slowly pushing your body closer to his until your chests are flush against one another’s.

The tension is palpable. This is no longer him simply trying to comfort you; this is much, much more than that.

He makes the first move, taking a step in between your spread-out legs so that your back presses into the wall behind you. You can feel a pulse of heat shoot down to your core. “You need to know what you mean to me,” He whispers, his knee pressing lightly into your clothed cunt. You hold yourself back from grinding against him. “Need to show you how I feel about you, how you make me feel…” He trails off, letting himself get lost in the moment

Your hands snake up to the base of his neck, where his flight suit and his helmet meet. Your fingers slip under the fabric, exploring the exposed skin there. You’ve always wanted to feel him, to let him feel you. But this was never the deal, this was never something you expected. These were uncharted waters, a feeling that was so far shoved to the back of your head that you were positive this would never happen.

But this is happening.

He tugs the shirt up so that his hands can slip underneath. “Take off your gloves.” Your voice is breathy as the plea slips out. “Wanna feel you.” Din nods, quickly pulling them off before gluing his palms back to your skin. His calloused fingertips graze over your stomach, sending chills down your spine. “Din,” You whisper as he trails towards your bra, dipping underneath. His thumb brushes over your peaked nipple. You shut your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wall.

“What is it, pretty girl?” He asks, teasing you, his fingers pinching your nipple lightly. “Tell me what you want, need to hear you.”

He was going to be the death of you. “I-I want you to f-fuck me,” You beg, shamelessly grinding against his knee, searching for some sort of relief. You can feel your wetness pooling in between your legs. “N-need you to touch me Din, please.”

Din nods, his hands slipping out from under your shirt and down to the waistline of your panties. He drops to his knees as he slips them down your legs, practically tearing them off of you in the process. His fingers glide up your inner thigh as he stands. His palm finally settles against your cunt, the heel of his hand pushing into your clit, his fingers teasing at your opening.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, such a good girl,” He praises, moving a bit so that his fingers find their way to your clit. You moan out at the sudden pressure. “You like that? Like my fingers there?”

You hum a yes, unable to pull any sort of coherent thought together as Din’s fingers swirl around your clit. “N-need more,” You mumble. “W-wanna feel you, please.” You can feel his erection against your leg, throbbing in his flight suit. But Din doesn’t stop, his fingers continue their unrelenting circles at your core.

He moves his hand ever so slightly, shifting the angle so that his thumb brushes against your clit, and his fingers begin to tease your folds. Your head falls against his shoulder at the feeling. His fingers suddenly thrust into you, pumping in and out.

“You’re so perfect,” His honeyed, modulated voice rasps. He watches as your chest heaves against his shirt, your back limp against the wall of his ship, your head pressed against his shoulder. Fuck you looked so good like this, taking him, letting him make you his. And Maker, you felt good doing it. Nothing would ever compare to this, to the feeling of having him this close to you. “Doing so good for me.”

“Din,” You whimper. “I-I’m so close.”

He smirks under his helmet. He was going to make you come on his fingers. You clench around him, his fingers hitting the spot you need him in most every time. “That’s it sweet girl, just like that,” Din whispers, his thumb mercilessly toying with your core. You can feel yourself coming undone around him, like a wire snapping in two, heat spreading fervently across every inch of your body.

“D-Din,” You stutter, pulling him against you, his fingers still buried inside you, his thumb still drawing gentle circles. You needed more, you needed him closer than humanly possible. You bring a hand down to his erection, jerking him off through his pants. “N-need you inside me, Din.”

He doesn’t waste any time undoing his belt, shoving his pants off. He’s so fast you’re not even sure any of it happened in the first place. He lines himself up with your entrance. “Are you sure you want this?” He asks.

There’s no question. “I’ve always wanted this, Din, always wanted you.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “…‘always wanted you too, mesh’la.” You gasp as he buries himself inside of you with one thrust, splitting you open. “So fucking tight, so perfect,” He praises you again, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at his words. He gives you a minute to adjust to him before pulling out and shoving himself back in. You’ve never felt so full, so whole, like he’s tearing you apart just to put you back together.

“Feels s’good,” You murmur as Din sets his pace. It starts slow, his hips rolling against yours with each thrust. He’s taking his time, exploring every inch of you. His thumb finds your clit again. The sensation is almost overwhelming. You’re already on the borderline of being fucked out.

You can feel your core pulsing as he works at you, toying with you. His thrusts become quicker, needier. “So perfect for me,” He soothes, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek, brushing away a tear you didn’t know had escaped your eye. “Taking me so well, wanted to do this for so long.”

You were already practically there. Every pump, every praise, every swirl pushes you closer to the edge, threatening to throw you over, to split you in two, and Maker, you wanted it.

“Din I-I-,” You can’t even get the words out.

“I know, pretty girl, I’ve got you,” He coos, fucking you into the wall, his thumb still beating away at your heat, his other hand still holding your cheek. Your legs are hooked around his waist, your fingers digging into the beskar that dawns his shoulders.

Your walls flutter around him, and you can feel yourself falling apart around his cock. Searing white heat floods your vision. You can feel a few cool tears against your hot cheeks. You look into his visor as you come. You want him to see you, to know how he makes you feel. “F-fuck, Din, I-I love you.” The confession doesn’t bother you as it slips out. It’s natural, like you had said it countless times before.

And you’ll say it countless times after.

It’s what sends Din over the edge. “S-shit,” His voice is shaky, breathy, broken, his cock twitching inside of you. You can feel him fill you up, pumping in and out a few more times before stopping, still buried deep inside you. His forehead rests on yours, your body limp against his. “I love you,” He confesses back. “So fucking much.” You shut your eyes, letting yourself melt around him. “Can we stay like this, for just a little while? Don’t wanna leave you yet.” You hum a soft yes in response. You didn’t want him to go anywhere either.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in, keeping you held against his chest. There it is, that same feeling from before, the one you felt the very second you joined this little clan of three.

Home.

If you're afraid of what you need If you're afraid of what you need Look around you, you're surrounded It won't get any better

And so, goodnight

1K notes · View notes

dameronology · 2 years

Text

rest (din djarin)

summary: for was a commission for an anon on ko-fi, i hope you enjoy <3

warnings: language, mentions of nightmare

-jazz xx

Din Djarin hadn't known a proper night's sleep until he met you.

He always slumbered with the weight of the world on his shoulders; the burden of his next bounty, of being a good father, of living up to the Mandalorian name. It felt like he couldn't fucking escape - trapped in the same four walls of the Razor Crest, on edge, waiting for the kid to cry or for something to attack. The first was a common occurrence but the latter rarely happened. It was all in his head. His worst nightmare, on repeat. And he was lucky enough to have front row seats.

Then you happened. Din wasn't sure where you came from or what he'd done to deserve you, but you were the key to unlocking the more relaxed side of him. The one that drifted off easily at night, one arm hanging off the bed and the other slung over your bare back. It was the first time in years that he'd truly escaped the grip of his own mind. It felt like paradise, within the confines of the same ship that used to haunt him. Now, it felt like home - maybe it was your presence more than anything but he truly felt like he belonged now; as your protector, as the provider for your tiny little family. Of course, Din knew that you could fend for yourself - you'd be fine without him anyday - but that made it all the better. He protected you because you let him. It was all at your own will. A want rather than a necessity.

That didn't mean the nightmares had disappeared. They'd dwindled, without a doubt, but there were nights where they would seep back through the cracks in the foundations of his head and find their way back to his consciousness. You were the star of the show, taking the leading role in his bad dreams - they were always about losing you, or you and the kid, or you turning around and declaring your hatred for him. The latter was always the most painful, mostly because it was something you were choosing to do. In his head, at least. Because normally Din could give one look to your sleeping form and know in his heart that you were content.

Tonight had been different. It had been so real. Your voice had been clear as the Tatooine night sky in his head: I wish I'd never met you and you're bad for me and the kid.

Din had jolted awake; you fell off his shoulder, letting out an oof! as you hit the mattress in an awakening that felt only slightly sacrilegious. Despite your initial anger, your scowl quickly faded when you saw his chest heaving, forehead glistening with sweat. A few moments more of this and Grogu would have picked up on his father's discomfort; that would mean tears and screaming, and that wasn't something you could take right then.

"Hey," you murmured. Hands reaching out, you took Din's face in your hands and pulled him to look at you. "What's going on?"

"I... he trailed off, brown eyes still foggy with sleep and exhaustion. "I had a bad dream."

Letting out a tiny oh, you moved your arms to hold his waist, planting your head just under his chin. Din stayed still for a moment, brain working at a thousand miles an hour as it darted between what he'd just dreamed about and the fact you were holding him, right here, right now. It was whiplash. And all the more a sign of how fucking stupid his head could be.

You weren't going anywhere. You'd told him that enough times; even if the future was a little uncertain, he could be sure that you would be there. Your words and your actions showed it - you were always looking out for him, always asking him where you were headed next and how you could help him. Your lives were so intricately intertwined now that separating could break you both.

"Talk to me," you quietly said.

"It's nothing-"

"- Din," you pushed. "It's not nothing if it's enough to wake you up in a cold sweat at 3AM."

He sighed, glancing down at you. "We just...we had a fight. And you left. You took the kid."

You felt your heart break a little at that. The two of you had fought before but only so much as it was natural for two people who constantly shared a space to. And your intentions were always out of love for one another; it was normally just a case of miscommunications or unspent frustrations. It never took much to solve them.

"Nightmare me sounds like an idiot," you said, voice muffled by his chest. "Mostly for leaving you, but a little for thinking I could handle Grogu on my own."

Din's body shook with what felt like a half-chuckle. He moved then, one arm pulling from beneath to you wrap around your waist, the other meeting it half way to hold you fully. He properly rested his chin on top of your head then, body moulding around yours and welcoming the embrace. It was natural now - even felt weird when he wasn't holding you - but it had taken a lot of trust from Din to get to this point. The first few months of your relationship had been spent at an arm's length; he never would have dreamed about sleeping next to you then, even less so coming clean about his nightmares. It made you grateful now every time he held you and every time he opened up to you.

His breathing steadied now; he closed his eyes and timed it with yours, begging and willing for the feeling of sleep to return.

"It's okay. I know you're here now," Din said quietly. "That's what counts."

You smiled, glad that he was certain in himself. Though he'd never verbalised it, you always knew that insecurity was there - more so in the start of your relationship but he still had his moments. You couldn't blame Din; it was his first proper relationship. He'd quite literally never bonded with a human before and he was lucky that you were the first. With your patience, kindness and wit, it wasn't exactly hard to fall head over heels. It was hard to remember a time before you now.

You'd never believed in soulmates or love at first sight, but you knew from the second you met Din that he was special. It was hard to put your finger on what exactly at first; just intuition, really. It had taken a bit of pushing on your part and a bit of pulling on his, but now you found yourselves here.

"I'm always going to be here," you replied, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. It was scratchy with a five o'clock shadow.

"I know," he replied. "I get in my head sometimes. It's hard."

"Yeah, I get that. Is there anything I can do?"

He glanced down at you, giving you a small smile. "No. Just being here is enough."

That was Din's own way of saying I love you. He very rarely said the actual phrase - he very rarely had to, not when his actions said it for him. You and the kid were at the forefront of everything he did; every bounty he took, every planet he found, every weapon he brought. You never doubted his love for you. Not for a second.

Kicking the covers back up, you slipped underneath them and gently tugged Din's hand. He followed suit, arms not leaving your torso as he put his head against the pillow. His breathing was completely steady now, brain void of any nightmares.

"Rest," you whispered.

And he did.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin fluff #din djarin reader insert #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian imagines #mandalorian reader insert #mandalorian fluff #star wars imagines #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert

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kaysfanficcorner · 1 year

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Out of This World Chapter 3: Bittersweet Symphony

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the support thus far, and for your patience! It took a moment for me to find the groove with this chapter, but it’s finally here! Looks like I was just in time with the return of our beskar-clad love on the 1st. This will be the first chapter with a tag list, so if you’d like to be added going forward please let me know!

Summary: As complicated feelings persist, the Mandalorian and his new ship mate continue to learn more about each other as they head off to Nar Shaddaa for one more bounty.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Earthing Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, and mentions of emotional childhood trauma. This story is eventually going to have NSFW scenes so please no one under 18 interact. If you are under age, you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration

AO3

*****

As Din Djarin is coming out of the fresher on the Razor Crest, feeling a little like a new man after taking a much needed shower, he hears a soft melody coming from the second floor. The kid’s nowhere to be found, nor are you and nor is the cat. Curious, he climbs the ladder to see what you’re doing up there and the light music grows louder the closer he gets.

Now he recognizes your voice, singing along to one of the songs on your primitive personal device with the accompanying music softly playing in the background. He finds the sound of it to be one of the loveliest things ever to grace his ears, despite the fact that the music itself is unlike anything Din has heard prior to meeting you.

Din is also acutely aware that the tone of your voice sounds very sad, and disquiet washes over him.

He enters the cockpit, eyes immediately landing on the back of your head. You’re sitting in your usual spot with both feet on the seat and both knees hugged to your chest, looking out at the unmoving, purple tinted star field and rocky asteroid belt. You hair is pulled up into what you call a “messy bun”, and you’re wearing Cara’s hand me down clothing. A long sleeved black tunic with diagonal straps going across the chest and a red line going down the side of each arm, as well as a pair of grey pants with dark red pockets and straps going down each leg. Black boots sit beneath your chair, but your socked feet are obviously not in them. These clothes have seemed oddly fitting on you as of late, making you look more like a citizen of the galaxy to Din, while still looking entirely like yourself. It’s a good look, if he’s truly being honest.

You stop singing when he comes further into the room, and Din finds himself disappointed by it’s sudden cut off. Even dispirited, you sound so beautiful. The device playing the music remains to do its job, laying nearly forgotten on the floor beside your boots. The kid and the cat are both sleeping together in the other passenger seat, nestled against one another.

“Hey, Chrome Dome,” you say with even more sadness in your voice.

Din moves in closer, coming to face your right side. You don’t look up at him.

“Is something wrong?” He asks, genuinely concerned.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you reply with a shaky voice.

Din feels incredibly uncomfortable seeing this sudden change in your otherwise pleasant demeanor. You don’t sound like the you he’s come to feel so friendly towards, and it bothers him. In this current moment he can’t explain to himself as to why, but he wants desperately to take the sadness away from you. To see a smile grace your plump lips again. He knows logically that he can’t just remove an emotion from another person to just to replace it with another, but he wants to all the same.

It’s because you care for her, a voice that sounds a lot like his says in the back of his mind. He ignores it and focuses his attention back to you.

Moments like this have always been awkward for Din Djarin. The tight-lipped bounty hunter has rarely showed this much emotion in front of another person, not at all since entering into adulthood, and seeing someone else openly wallowing in throws of despair is uncharted territory for a man like him. He has no idea how to conduct himself, but in spite of this he still feels this tugging urge to help you feel better coming from somewhere deep inside his belly.

“You’re clearly upset,” Din says, mentally kicking himself for how unhelpful that probably sounds.

You sigh, “I just get like this sometimes. I think a lot of it comes from having a lack of a normal childhood and growing up in a generally unaccepting society. At least that’s what I’d been trying to figure out with my therapist back on Earth.” There’s such a lack on enthusiasm in your voice as you speak, shrugging your shoulders as you say the last sentence.

“What’s a therapist?” Din inquires with a slight head tilt to the left, ever curious about the world you come from.

“A mental health doctor, or healer rather. They try to help you figure out what’s going on in your head and give you healthy ways to deal with it.” You explain, adding on with, “I don’t know how to explain why I suddenly feel like shit. I don’t feel like I’m at my lowest or anything, but I don’t feel great.” You begin to hug your knees even tighter, burying your face into your thighs to try and hide your obvious tears from him, but Din sees them.

He’s at a loss for words. He has literally no idea what to say, but maybe saying something isn’t what he needs to do right now. Perhaps what you need is to get these feelings out of you, to know that someone is there and someone is listening.

Without truly understanding himself, the bounty hunter succumbs to an impulse and removes his gloves, letting them drop to the floor before kneeling beside you. Tentatively, he places a bare hand at the base of your exposed neck. You flinch slightly, before relaxing into his warm touch a little by pressing back against his palm. Din takes this as permission to keep his hand where it is, your soft skin driving him mad somewhere deep inside.

Then words seem to come to him after all. Not many, but enough to communicate the necessary information. “My childhood was ripped away from me without my consent. I may not experience the same feelings that you do, but I might be able to understand. You can trust me.” As he says this Din begins to gently squeeze your neck, lightly massaging around your vertebrae. His other hand turns the music on your device down a little so that he can focus on your voice.

You take a deep breath, “I wasn’t treated with a lot of respect as a child. I was born to parents who got pregnant by mistake when they slept together at some party and I was the end result. They got married because more often than not in my culture if you got a girl pregnant it was your responsibility to marry her, even if you couldn’t stand each other. So they grew to hate each other, like a lot. Whenever they fought I always felt to blame for existing, even though I never asked to be a part of their shitty little lives in the first place. To them I was just this constant burden they had to bare and I was the reason that they never got to have the lives they’d dreamed of. Which is such bullshit. They could have done anything they wanted to with their lives, I was just an easy target for blame.”

Pausing for a moment, you catch your shaky breath again and continue, “My grandparents on my dad’s side might as well have been non-existent. My grandmother on my mom’s side is horribly judgmental and controlling and I could never be myself around her. If the family as a whole was not meeting her standards then she would rain hell upon anyone and everyone to get her way. Everything had to be perfect on the surface with her, even if all of us were dying inside. The only person in my family that I’ve ever felt close to was my mom’s father. My grandfather was a great man.” Your voice hitches every few words as you softly weep out this explanation.

Din’s hand never stops rubbing circles into your neck and the other grabs hold of one of yours.

You squeeze it for dear life.

“You said your grandfather was one of the few who got to break your planet’s atmosphere,” Din says, letting you know that he remembered your mention of the family’s patriarch. Letting you know that he’s listened to every word you’ve ever said to him with respect.

Nodding, you continue to tell Din about the father figure you’re clearly missing. “He worked for my government’s space program until they kicked him out for theories about human life in other parts of the universe. They thought he was crazy, and so he lost everything. My grandmother left him and I was forbidden from seeing him anymore. But I broke the rules all the time, and I spent a ton of time at his house until I finally got caught one day. After that I had zero freedom until I was old enough to move out on my own. I started seeing him again once I detached from the rest of my family. I was pretty much disowned at that point, so he let me move in. Shortly after that he disappeared and then five years went by without a trace of him. I looked everywhere. Well, at least I tried. He was eventually declared legally dead, with a funeral and everything. I refused to go because I wasn’t ready to admit that he probably is truly dead. I refused to think that he would just abandon me on purpose. The only person who ever understood me, who didn’t make me feel like I had to pretend to be someone else, left me without a single word. I’ll never see him again.”

Your crying becomes increasingly more emotional, shoulders shaking violently as your voice takes on a new layer of pain. “Fuck, I just wish that he could have at least found out that his theories were correct. He’ll never get to know he was right and that everyone else was wrong.”

“That is unfortunate,” Din agrees, still feeling uncomfortable and unaware of what to say.

“Screw those assholes. Screw my family. Screw Earth. Part of me doesn’t even want to go back there, Mando. I’ve barely got any friends, and the ones I do have are out living their best lives. Marriage, kids, careers. It feels like I blinked and suddenly we were all thirty and I couldn’t relate them anymore because my life didn’t keep moving forward past school. I don’t have a real family to go back to. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Mando. Maybe I never really knew to begin with.”

Sharply, you sit up then and Din’s hand slides down your back. While letting out an uninhibited noise of frustration, you gesture to the cockpit window where the stars and small asteroids sit serenely in space. “Why the hell would I want to go back to a boring life without this?”

Then your voice dips down to nearly a whisper, outstretched fingers slowly curling back down into a tight fist that you slam against your own thigh. “Fuck, its so fucking beautiful that it tears me apart inside.”

“You don’t have to go back,” Din says after a beat, meaning every word even though it scares him a little to say it out loud. He’s not sure where he finds the words, but they come regardless. “You could start over, make a new life here. Go anywhere in the galaxy. Become anyone you want. It wouldn’t be easy, but you could do it. There’s nothing stopping you.”

You look at him then, cheeks wet and nose slightly runny, and even so he’s struck by how raw your facial expression is. Although wrought with hard emotions, Din thinks you look stunning.

“I feel like I’m stopping me,” you say with a small sob, whipping your nose on your sleeve and your cheeks with your palm. Your other hand is still clutching his tightly. “I can barely do anything for myself here. I’m completely reliant on other people. On you. I have to let you do everything. You hunt, you make credits, you fight, you cook, and you fly the ship. All I’m good for is watching the kid. Back on Earth I was completely self-sufficient because I had to be. Sometimes I love it here and I never want to leave and sometimes it’s so frustrating not being able to take care of myself.”

Din moves his hand back up to your neck, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the base of your skull. Your eyes slip closed as if experiencing a small moment of pleasure. Din argues, “Why do you have to be completely reliant on me? You can learn how to do anything that I can do. I’ll teach you, or at the very least I can try.”

“I already intrude on your life enough as it is, Mando. Ugh, fuck, I’m literally a burden on everyone I ever meet. Maybe my parents were right. I know you had no interest in taking me on, and I’m sure I’ll overstay my welcome at some point.” You huff, prying your eyes open to look at him again.

There’s so much pain behind your irises that something in Din’s chest crumbles at the sight of it. The need to fix this becomes entirely too strong to control but he can tell you're not done expressing yourself, so he lets you finish.

Your voice is laced with the same pain from your eyes, “Then I’ll just be on my own again. I’m so fucking tired of being alone.”

Din decides to be honest and firm, but in no way intended to hurt your feelings. “It’s true, you may overstay your welcome one day. It’s also true that I didn’t want to accept this arrangement and I feared that this would quickly become tiresome.”

Your face contorts into a tiny look of agony so he squeezes your hand tighter, taking on an even firmer tone of voice as he says your name to really get your attention. “Don’t focus on the pain, focus on me.” He’s not sure if what he’s saying is helpful, but he feels as if he’s got to say something. As new and strange as this is for him, he truly wants to help his friend.

Din waits for you to blink at him and nod slowly before going on, “I do not regret this. It didn’t become clear to me that I’ve missed having a friend around until a few weeks ago. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m tired of it too.”

When Din says that final sentiment, your face softens considerably and you let out a new kind of sob that almost sounds like relief is lacing its tone. You dive into him with such speed and force that he lets out a surprised yelp as he’s knocked on his ass. You’re clinging to him with nearly crushing force. Arms around his waist, your face burrows into him as the rest of you curls up on the floor between his sprawled legs.

At first he just lets you squeeze him with his own arms awkwardly outstretched on either side of you. After a moment, Din’s arms tentatively come to circle your upper back, one hand cradling your head slightly. This is all so foreign, but at the same time he can’t help but think that it feels entirely right to be in this position with you in his arms.

“I’m here,” he soothes, and you sob until you have nothing left in you.

Somehow Jupiter and the kid sleep through all of it.

*****

When you finally calm down enough to dislodge from the mandalorian, you scoot back until your back is pressed to the side of the red seat. Throwing your head back with inflamed puffy eyes squeezed shut, you rub at them with your hands as you start to take more even breaths. You know a splitting headache isn’t going to be far behind a good cry like that.

“Fuck,” you exclaim. “Sorry that was kinda intense.”

“You don’t need to apologize for expressing yourself.” Mando says sternly.

You feel incredibly awkward after being so vulnerable in front of someone so stoic like him, but he let you get out several months worth of pent up feelings. “I just feel like that was a lot,” you say, feeling as if it’s necessary to make further excuses for yourself.

Looking back over at Mando, you watch his silver helmet shake in the negative as he speaks. “Well you don’t have to. Thank you for trusting me.”

“You’re welcome, near bursha. Did I say that right?” You demeanor is shy as the foreign words leave your mouth.

“It’s ner burc’ya, but you got close.” He pronounces it slowly, tone low and warm.

“Ner burc’ya,” you repeat softly.

Mando stands then and holds a bare hand out to you. You sniff a little, trying to clear your stuffy nose as you look at his skin and stop to really register that it had been exposed for most of that interaction between you. The way in which he’d rubbed your neck while you cried your eyes out had been so soothing, but you’d been so caught up in your feelings that its not until now that you really realize how long you were feeling his warm skin touch your own.

You take Mando’s hand and let him pull you up easily, wobbling a little as you come to your feet. A hand on his beskar chest plate steadies you, his own hand holding your elbow for extra support.

“I feel woozy,” you say with your other hand to your forehead. The throbbing in your skull is already beginning its painful rhythm.

“You need to hydrate,” Mando says matter of factly while leading you to his seat at the front of the cockpit. “Sit. I’ll get you water.”

You comply, sitting in the pilot’s seat of the Razor Crest for only the second time since the ship became your sort-of home. It definitely feels more worn than your own seat, having way more give in the cushion. Obviously your mysterious friend didn’t have a lot of passengers prior to you. Pulling your feet up and laying your head on your knees, you breathe in the comforting aroma of the Mandalorian surrounding you for a few moments as you look at the stars and asteroids surrounding the ship.

Behind you the baby stirs and makes a little yawning noise.

“You slept through a shit show, green bean.” You say, turning to see his huge black eyes blinking awake at you.

“Language,” Mando’s voice reappears in the doorway, “His first word is going to be something awful thanks to us.”

You roll your eyes with a small grin, “You are dramatic. Is that a mandalorian thing or just a you thing?”

He hands you the cup of water, shaking his silver head at you. “Just drink.”

As you take a few sips he comes to stand next to you, leaning slightly on a buttonless section of the control panel with his arms crossed at the wrists just at the base of his abdomen. His right hand is holding onto his left forearm slightly, and even in the state you’re in you can appreciate how attractive he is to you. The visor fixes on you and you feel slightly unnerved by it, your system still all over the place after coming down from the extreme state of dysregulation.

Feeling an awkward need to break the silence, you say, “So we’re landing on Nevarro soon?”

“Yes. Before we get there, would you like to practice flying the ship?” His voice is even as he says this, and you’re dying to know what his face is doing on the other side of the beskar. He can’t be serious, can he?

“Uh, what?” You say almost dumbly, features scrunching. “Don’t think I heard you right.”

His head tilts to the side slightly and his arms shift. “You heard me right. If you want to feel more self sufficient, you’re going to need to learn how to live in this galaxy, not just exist in it. That includes flying. Besides, it would take some of the strain off of me if you could man the controls as well.”

Some of your normal snarky personality is starting to resurface as you quip back, “I was just thinking the other day that if there was an emergency and you needed me to fly the ship we’d be screwed.”

“Exactly,” Mando agrees.

“I was being sarcastic, but that’s cool too.”

“Would you like to learn to fly or not?” His tone, although playful for him, has a seriousness laced within it.

You decide to take the hint, looking at him seriously. “Yes, please.”

The Mandalorian shows you a few very basic controls and how to steer. Watching his gloveless fingers dance across the controls effortlessly is mesmerizing. Maybe its because his hands are the only part of him you ever get to see, but damn are they lovely.

As he explains navigation and thrusters, you realize how intimidating a ship like the Razor Crest really is. So much goes into flying these ships, but seeing as the craftsmanship is far beyond anything Earth has ever come up with you're not really surprised. It’s definitely not like driving your shitty old Honda, that’s for sure. This vessel is designed for deep space, not driving to the mall to get cheese fries and a new t-shirt from Hot Topic.

After he shows you what you need to know for very basic maneuvering, Mando steps back and picks up the kid. Jupiter has since jumped down from the chair and is circling between Mando’s legs. They come to your side, the foster father and son who are slowly winning your heart, and and any nerves you felt up until this point slowly fade away. You feel a little more confident as you reach across the controls, clicking on the few buttons he’d showed you before grabbing the left and right joysticks meant or steering.

Just as the ship begins to move, your forgotten iPad changes over to the next song and “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve starts to play. It’s so faint you can barely hear it, but you can’t imagine a more fitting soundtrack to this moment.

You steer left, then right, feeling the Razor Crest glide exactly where you direct it. You speed up a little, dipping up and down then back and forth. A feeling of joy rises to your chest, and if you hadn’t just cried out everything your body has to cry, tears might have formed again at the experience of getting to fly a spacecraft for the first time. But they don’t, so you just allow yourself to enjoy this moment. This confident feeling of freedom is unlike anything you have experienced, like you really could tackle anything you put your mind to.

“How do you feel?” Mando asks as you slow down to a stop and release the steering, grinning up at him with bright eyes.

“Like I can do anything,” you reply honestly. “I could get used to this.”

The kid reaches for you then, so Mando passes him over. Your bare fingers run across his as you take the child into your arms, skin tingling where his touch had once been.

*****

The stop on Nevarro is intentionally quick, with Din demanding that Karga give him the biggest payout bounty on his list as soon as he arrives in his office. You’ve taken the child off to see Cara and visit with her until Din comes to retrieve you both.

“Well hello to you too, Mando,” Greef Karga says with a raise of the brow.

“I need to focus on the mission. On the child. Hunting that last round of bounties took up too much time.” Din says matter of factly. “If I could get one big payout, enough to last us a couple of months, then I can take care of the matters at hand.”

Karga shakes his head, “You know better than most that the biggest payouts are the most dangerous. Are you willing to put the child and the girl at risk?”

“If I do my job correctly, there will be no risk to speak of.” Din replies evenly, unappreciative of Karga’s tone. “I’d like to be done with this for a while.”

“There is always a risk, Mando. But frankly, with Nevarro becoming such a prosperous and respectable planet I’d like to move away from this kind of work myself.” Karga agrees before changing the subject all together, “How is the girl doing on the Razor Crest, anyway? You never dropped her off back here and it’s been well over two months, so I assume that I was correct and the arrangement has been beneficial for you both.”

Struck by how much the idea of just dropping you off and likely never seeing you again truly bothers him, Din doesn’t answer right away. When he first met you he’d been willing to do that at a moments notice, but now the thought of it isn’t something he’s willing to consider. After learning more about you he’s aware of how cruel it would be on his part, and he would miss your presence. He would miss the feeling of you making him laugh.

But Din knows that a part of Karga is just trying to distract him in order to haggle, so Din decides to change the subject back. “She’s well, and the arrangement is indeed beneficial. Now about the bounty.”

The two of them do this verbal dance for a little while longer.

*****

At the same time the Mandalorian is arguing over bounties at the desk of Greef Karga, you’re sitting across the desk of Marshal Cara Dune. She’s playing with the child as you fill her in on the events of your life since you last saw each other.

After a few minutes of letting you ramble, Cara suddenly stops waving her hands in front of the kid’s face to grin widely at you. It’s distracting enough that you forget what you were just saying.

“What’s that face for?” You ask.

“You have feelings for him,” she replies, completely sure of the statement she’s making.

“What?!” Heat floods your cheeks, “I have feelings for who?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t look good on you. You like him. It’s clear as day when you talk about him.” Cara looks so pleased with herself that you want to throw something at her. If only this were Earth and she had papers strewn about on her desk, you’d wad one up and chuck it at her face.

Instead you just sigh and hang your head, “Is it really that obvious?”

“Painfully so,” the warrior woman says, still grinning.

Between you both, the child is looking back and forth at each of you with a curious look on his tiny face and you briefly wonder if he understands what you’re talking about.

“Why are you so happy about this?” You groan out, sinking into your seat.

Cara shrugs, “Because you have a pleasant air about you that I’ve never seen before. It’s nice to see.”

You look over at her to confirm that her face looks as honest as she’d sounded and it does. “Aww, that’s actually a very sweet reason. I’m a little less embarrassed now.”

“You’re embarrassed?” She asks with a slightly raised eyebrow, “Why?”

“Because I feel like an adolescent with a crush. What if its just a result of being cooped up with him for over two months or I’ve just gone too long without sex?” You ask with a groan, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling. The baby makes a noise and your eyes flick back down to him, remembering that he’s there and he’s listening to you. “Whoops I shouldn’t have said that last part in front of the kid.”

“I’m sure he’s scandalized,” Cara quips sarcastically. She leans both of her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in her hands with a smirk playing at her lips. “Do you really think that’s the reason, or is it possible that you’re actually compatible with each other?”

“I mean, I like his personality. He’s funnier than I would have ever expected him to be. His voice is sexy, he’s got a nice laugh, he’s been teaching me how to do stuff around the ship and that’s been nice. I’d like to learn more about him, about his life. He’s my friend, Cara. This is so conflicting and complicated. I don’t know what to do.” You answer your friend honestly.

“Does it have to be complicated?” Cara’s question is blunt and to the point.

You shrug, “I guess not, but when it comes down to the fact that I’m not from this Galaxy it feels like it does.”

Cara fixes you with a serious stare before asking, “Do you even want to go home anymore? From what you told me, your life back on Earth wasn’t much of a life. Instead of focusing on trying to get back to a place where you weren’t happy, why not build a better life for yourself here? Your chances of going back are slim to begin with. Would you really want to waste your life looking for something that could never happen and miss what’s going on around you?”

You counter with, “Honestly I don’t want to leave the galaxy anytime soon, but a crush on man is a dumb reason to build my life here. I wasted a lot of time on men back home and I promised myself I’d never make decisions about myself for a guy again.”

Brow furrowed, the little tattoo by her left eye wrinkles while she narrows her gaze and looks even more stern with you. “I’m not saying stay because of him. It would be because of you. Sure, see where things with Mando go if you want to, but if you stay in this galaxy do it for yourself. You need to live life for you, and you alone. All I meant was that a connection with someone can’t hurt either.”

“You make excellent points, Cara.” Her words ring true for you and you can’t help but agree with your friend, nodding. “When I first came to Nevarro I was desperate to go home because I’m so out of my element here, but now I’m starting to realize that I don’t have to be. Maybe I can find a new element. I don’t know if or how I’ll act on my feelings for Mando, though. Can Mandalorians even,” you pause while making eye contact with the kid so your voice drops down a few octaves while you wave your hands around, “you know what I mean?”

Cara shrugs, “ From what I understand, yes. As long as you never expect him to take that helmet off. And as for making a move, just let it come naturally. It’ll feel right when it’s supposed to. He might even make the first attempt if he feels the same way. Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know. He’s not cold towards me anymore, that’s for sure. I expected him to barely talk to me at first but we actually talk quite a bit. He’s opened up around me a lot in the last few weeks.” Thinking back on earlier that morning, laying in his arms as you’d cried your eyes out, you add, “He’s been there for me when I needed a friend.”

“Well that sounds like a start to me,” Cara approves of this, nodding.

“A start to what?” The Mandalorian’s voice is suddenly behind you and you stomach does a flip inside your body.

Dread fills your brain as your heart speeds up, but Cara stays cool and recovers for you. “Our friend here was telling me that she’s been learning some new skills thanks to you,” she says.

“Yeah I told her that you’ve been teaching me to shoot a blaster,” you add, turning to look back at him. Seeing him just solidifies the conversation you just had with Cara. You want him. Badly.

“She’s not awful,” Mando says with a nod.

“Gee thanks,” you reply sarcastically with an eye roll and a laugh.

“Just being honest,” he quips back with a shrug.

Cara looks back and forth between you before sending a smirk in your direction. “I think it’ll end up working out,” she adds this just for your benefit and you wonder if Mando is confused by her phrasing.

Oh well, you think. He comes to stand beside you, a hand coming to the back rest of the chair you’re in. Cara waggles her eyebrows at you and you fight the urge to wave her off. Instead you focus on him, and ask if he’s done with bounty business.

“Yes, I settled it. We are going to go grab one last bounty and the payout should last us long enough to focus on the kid for awhile.” Mando looks down at you and nods his head towards the doorway, “Is it alright if we get going? You two can catch up more when we come back. This one should only last a few days, a week tops.”

You nod back, standing at the same time as Cara. She comes around the desk to give you a hug. “Thanks for the advice,” you say.

“Of course. Be safe out there. See you soon.” Cara says, nodding to Mando as you grab the child and turn to follow him back to the ship.

Outside, Mando waits so that you are walking in stride together. “What advice did she give you?” He asks sincerely.

“I was telling her that I’m not sure if I want to leave this galaxy any time soon.” You say honestly, and he stops for a second to look down at you.

“Was her advice useful?” His tone takes on a certain vulnerability for a split second, but you hear it.

“Yes, I think so.” You reply with a smile, and the walk back to the Razor Crest resumes.

*****

The bounty turns out to be hiding on Nar Shaddaa, the moon of Nal Hutta. The Smuggler’s Moon. Nal Hutta being a green marshy planet with rings on which a race of large slug-like beings called Hutts reign. The moon, where your little group on the Razor Crest are now headed, is covered completely in urban sprawl and criminal activity. Making it the perfect place for a very wanted person to lay low.

Yes, of course you have to make a Pizza Hut joke when Mando explains all of this to you. The two of you are standing in front of the little weapons locker on the first floor of the ship, and his confusion is adorably worth it.

Then he hands you a spare blaster, and tells you that he is hoping that you’d be willing to help him hunt the bounty. Both terrified and thrilled, you take the blaster and hold it in both of your hands as you look at him with skepticism.

“‘Smuggler’s Moon?’ This place sounds incredibly dangerous. Is me tagging a long such a good idea?” You ask genuinely.

Mando nods at you, “This place is very dangerous, but the worst of it is at nightfall. During the day, the street market that we are going to is fairly harmless. I want to try to lore him out, and I want your permission to use you as a sort of bait.”

“Bait?!” Exclaiming incredulously, you narrow your eyes at him and hold the blaster back out to him. For a moment you imagine yourself dangling on a fishing hook. “I thought we were friends, Mando.”

“We are,” he says pointedly, gently pushing the blaster back towards you. “I would not ask you to do this if I wasn’t sure I could protect you. I promise.”

You look at him and huff, “If I die I’m allowed to haunt you.”

“Deal,” Mando sticks his gloved right hand out to shake yours and you begrudgingly take it. “I have a theory about something. If I’m right, this could end the hunt that much faster.”

You shift your footing and cross your arms over your chest. You’re nervous but he’s trusting you a lot, so you want to hear him out. “Okay, shoot. Tell me what this idea of yours is.”

“The bounty is an Anzat.” He says this as if you know what he’s talking about, and you roll your eyes so hard you nearly get dizzy. Mando must notice this, and continues speaking before you can take the opportunity to be a smart ass. “The Anzati are a humanoid people who survive on soup.”

No you’re sure he’s fucking with you, so you scoff. “Like potato soup because their planet can only grow potatoes?”

He sighs, “No. Soup is what they call the brains of the living beings that they murder for food.”

Stomach dropping to your feet, your mouth forms an “o” and you do not interrupt your friend again.

Mando goes on, “They look like normal humans most of the time, but they have these proboscises that retract and extend from their cheeks. They snake up the nostrils of the victim and suck out the soup.”

“You’re not making a good case as to why I should be involved. This brain vampire guy sounds terrifying.” You say, growing somewhat anxious.

“They can smell the soup even from miles away, and the Anzati only ever go hunting for the most delicious smelling soup. Or the most rare. Even though you are human, your body chemistry is going to be slightly different than mine, or that of a human from another planet. Your brain will likely smell unique to an Anzat.” Mando explains this cooly, and you can’t help but think that it makes sense.

“Alright, go on.”

“So the plan is we go to the market during the day, in the area he was last spotted, and just pretend to shop around for an hour. Then we come back to the ship, I lock you inside of it so tightly that nothing can get in, and then when he comes sniffing around I grab him. They don’t need him brought in alive according to the puck, so worst case scenario I kill him and we just freeze the body.” The Mandalorian finishes telling you all of this by placing a hand on your shoulder and sighing heavily. “This does sound like a stupid idea now that I’ve said it out loud. I’ll just hunt him the old fashioned way.”

“What if we land the Crest closer to him than you think and he can smell me anyway?” You counter, looking over to where the kid is happily eating something with tentacles. “And what about the kid? He’s got a rare brain too, Mando.”

“I thought about that. We’re going to put him down for a nap and we’ll keep him locked up in the cot until things are safe.” Looking off into a corner of the ship, Mando sighs again before adding, “I regret this idea. Karga was probably right about it being too dangerous with the both of you involved. Even five years ago I would have taken this bounty with a small team, I don’t know what I’m thinking trying to do it alone.”

Your nose wrinkles as you think about it for a moment, and then you look into the T-shaped visor nestled between the beskar covering Mando’s face and you square your shoulders thinking that the two of you could be a team. A great team, even. That has a really nice ring to it. “If I am going to consider living here for the foreseeable future I need to learn what it’s like to be in possible danger. Let’s try your plan. An hour at the market, and then I lock myself in with the kid until you get back.”

The helmet turns sharply to look at you, his voice sounding surprised. “You’re sure?”

You nod, “Why not? I trust you. I can be your team for this one, at least a little bit.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes slightly, tense shoulders loosening as his arms drop a little. “Thank you, ner burc’ya.”

Feeling braver about your feelings after your conversation with Cara, you place a hand to his forearm just above the vambrace. “You’re welcome. I know I’m probably crazy for agreeing to this though.”

“Perhaps,” he chuckles, and your heart swells at the sound of it. You might follow this man anywhere just to hear that pleasant noise rumble out of his armor plated chest.

You think for a moment and then you recall something that Mando just said. Excitement suddenly floods your system. “Wait, hold up. You said Nal Hutta has rings? I’m going up to the cockpit to look at it. My favorite planet in my solar system has rings and I think it’s the most gorgeous thing ever.”

“You’re going to love this one, then. It’s a handsome planet.” He says, and from the tone of his voice you like to think he’s smiling.

*****

Din is attuned to your presence every moment that you are out of the Razor Crest on Nar Shaddaa. Things are going as planned thus far, but he is on high alert all the same. He knows how much of a risk he’s created and he intends to keep his promise that you’ll be safe. To your credit, you’ve listened to his every instruction and followed them perfectly. You’re taking this extremely seriously, causing a newfound respect for you to blossom within his already blooming garden of feelings regarding you.

You’re dressed in galaxy fashions a la Cara Dune, and your face is hidden behind a low hanging black hood. The old blaster he gave you is strapped to your right thigh. You’ll blend in perfectly in the impossibly huge moon-city.

Din looks you over as you finish coming down the ramp of the ship, glad to see that you’d followed his advice on how to dress. “There are so many people here that it doesn’t matter who you are in a place like this, unless the wrong people are looking for you. Good call with that hood. You’re a beautiful woman, you might draw too much attention to yourself with your face fully exposed.”

Beginning to fan yourself, you throw the other hand to your forehead while donning some sort of terrible accent. “Why, Mr. Mandalorian, did you just call me beautiful?”

“I did,” He says matter of factly, tilting his head with a hidden smirk.

Batting your eyes at him a bit you respond with, “Well thank you. I bet you’re handsomer than hell under that beskar, but I’m fine with never finding out.”

Din’s eyes widen, a smile creeping up his cheeks in place of the smirk. “I like to think so,” he says honestly.

You put a hand to your chin and pretend to think for a moment. “So the man who hides his face from the world is vain after all?”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t have a problem with the way I look.” Din just shrugs, and the little giggle you let out guts him with a jolt of joy.

The little smile playing at your lips also does Din in a little as you speak. “Your confidence is nice. I wasn’t sure how you felt about yourself in that regard and it never seemed polite to ask.”

Din looks you up and down, deciding to open up more of the wall he has put up around others for most of his life. “My choice to become a Child of the Watch and wear this helmet never came from a place of dissatisfaction with my face. I wanted to be a part of the people who saved my life when droids destroyed my home and killed my parents. I wanted to be a part of The Tribe, to know The Way of The Mandalore.”

“I think its nice that you were able to find a group of people to rely on after your parents died, and something that you feel so strongly about to help guide your life forward. It’s beautiful in its own way,” you say this sincerely, “I am sorry about your family, though. And I meant what I said, I don’t care about not seeing your face. As far as I’m concerned, this is you.” You gesture up at the helmet.

Din didn’t realize that this little banter would turn so serious, but he’s genuinely thankful for how much respect you show his way of life. He dips his head in a nod, “Thank you for saying that.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for opening up to me.” You grin up at him before covering most of your face with the hood again. “You ready to go shopping?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Din shuts the ramp of the ship, making sure she’s locked up tight with the precious cargo inside. He then turns and holds out a hand to you. “Hold out your wrist.”

You comply and he fixes a small watch-like device to your arm. “Is this a com-link?” You ask.

Din nods, “Correct. If, and I mean if, we get separated we’ll be able to communicate with each other. Hopefully you won’t need to use it, but I’ll show you how it works.”

*****

Nar Shaddaa is gorgeous in your opinion. Sure, it’s definitely got a crime infested shithole kind of vibe, but its like New York City only ten times bigger and ten times more interesting. You’ve always been a city person, so you can’t help but see the charm in this sprawling urban moon. It reminds you of Bladerunner and The Fifth Element, being practically out of a big Hollywood movie. Neon lights everywhere, even in the daylight. Sky scrapers so tall you can’t really see the top. Thousands of people from all kinds of species wandering around either on foot or little hovering vehicles. Some even walking strange little creatures clearly meant to be pets on leashes. Droids scattered here and there. Seedy or not, this place is full of life and it fills you with a little bout of excitement.

Despite this, you remain very serious as you stay close to Mando through the crowds. This is not the time nor the place to be cracking jokes at the risk getting yourself into trouble.

You stop at a few stands here and there. The Mandalorian instructs you to shop and act naturally. He even gives you a few credits to buy some items you need just to make it seem even more natural. So shop is what you do.

It’s more soothing than you expect it to be. Shopping like this reminds you of going to street fairs back home to look at crafts, or the farmers market on Sundays to get fresh produce.

You do end up looking at the fresh foods first. Being somewhat of a vegetarian, you buy yourself a few things from the produce stand before moving on to meats of all kinds of alien varieties that do not look appetizing. Mando grabs a few of the meats for the kid, and you buy yourself some sort of grilled vegetable on a stick from a street cart when you realize how hungry you’ve become. It’s odd, but tasty all the same.

Then you move on to clothes and handmade items, trying not to get too friendly with anyone while also being polite. At one stand you pick out a black sweater with bell sleeves, cropped at the waist. At another you grab a set of dark purple leather-like suspenders with a removable blaster holster, and a pair of what look like an odd kind of cargo pants. Black, of course. Purple and black are your two colors of choice when actually given one.

It’s coming up on one hour when a particular item catches your eye. It’s a necklace on a small, thin gold chain. The tiny pendant is only one centimeter long, and it’s clearly a small rendition of Nal Hutta as some sort of obvious touristy product. There’s a light white-green stone with a gold band wrapping around it as the planet’s ring. You could care less about having a souvenir from this place, but damn is it a pretty piece of jewelry. You’re not the biggest jewelry person, but you know for a fact that if you had that little planet necklace it would never leave your neck.

“A pretty necklace for a pretty girl?” A croaky feminine voice pulls you from your small trance. You look over to see the shop owner sitting on a little chair behind the table of jewels. She’s definitely some kind of alien, but what kind you do not know. Instead of hair, she has two very long fleshy tubes attached her head like pigtails. Her skin is green, and she seems rather elderly.

“Oh, me? I mean I love this piece but it costs more credits than I have unfortunately.” You say, grabbing for Mando’s forearm to push him along. For reasons you don’t understand, you get a weird vibe from her and you don’t care for it.

“Why not let the gentleman buy it for you?” The old woman persists, and you feel uneasy still.

“The gentleman has already spent enough on her today,” Mando replies cooly, noticing your discomfort and scooting you forward in front of him. Under different circumstances you would have been titillated at the slightly possessive way in which he spoke of you.

This unpleasant old woman gives a sneer and her once kind face morphs into one of ugly distain. “Suit yourselves. I would have cut you a deal, you know.”

“Yeesh,” you say once far enough away, unaware that she can hear better than you think. “I didn’t like that lady.”

“Neither did I,” Mando agrees. “That necklace would have suited you, though.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Mandalorian,” you say in that terrible American southern accent again and he actually groans a little. That’s a new one for him.

“For kriffs sake. Let’s get you back to the Razor Crest.”

You sincerely hope that he’s rolling his eyes as you fix him with a little smirk. He nudges his shoulder lightly into yours and squeezes your hand for a moment in a gesture which you take as a slightly intimate one. He’s letting you know his physical presence is there with you, even in a huge crowd where he’s probably not willing to do more than that.

*****

Ranik A’kazz, the same Anzati man with a very steep bounty upon his head, notices your presence on the moon of Nar Shaddaa shortly after the moment that you set foot onto it’s surface. He is struck suddenly with a scent that he’s never once in his long life ever experienced. Ranik has travelled through all of this galaxy’s outer rim and through most of its inner rim planets, and not once has he ever smelled a soup such as yours.

It’s absolutely foul.

Ranik is disgusted by the rank scent of it, fighting back the urge to gag the closer he gets to the human woman it belongs to and her Mandalorian companion. It’s a powerful scent to be sure, but even more powerful still is the faint scent that accompanies the one which he finds so offensive.

This second scent is utterly delectable.

“The force,” he finds himself whispering with a small gasp when he’s able to pinpoint why his mouth is watering so much. He’s dipping in and out of shops, stealthily following the two individuals who do not carry this scent themselves, but have faint traces on their person.

Thanks to the rise of the Empire and the fall of the Jedi, it’s been so long, decades even, since Ranik has been lucky enough to feast on a force sensitive individual and enhance his own force sensitivity. This one feels powerful. Unlike anything he’s felt before. His skin tingles at the thought of ingesting such a meal, and so he follows the unpleasant scent until the trail goes cold.

He doubles back to the jewelry stand where he saw the woman admiring a necklace, and he goes straight to the elderly Twi’lek sitting behind the table.

“The Mandalorian and the girl. Where did they go?”

“What’s in it for me?” The old crone asks with a skeptical eye.

Ranik drops a small sack of credits in front of her, and the old woman snatches it up faster than a woman at her age normally moves.

“They went back to their ship. I think I over heard the Mandalorian call it the Razor something.”

“Crest. Razor Crest. Ex-military gunship and patrol model. Thank you for your services, madam.” Ranik says, dipping his head politely as he exits the jewelry stand.

Then he heads for the docks, the hunger in his belly growing all the while.

*****

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Masterlist

*****

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peterpparkrr · 2 years

Text

Ch. 4: The Reunion

Series: The Darkest Hour

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: Mando gets a new bounty. He and Aurora are reunited. It goes just about exactly how you’d expect.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Brief descriptions of canon-typical violence

A/N: I’m officially moved into my new apartment! I still have a lot of unpacking to do lol but instead of doing that last night I watched the Met Gala livestream and wrote this instead ;)

previous chapter // next chapter

10 Years Later

“New bounty for you, Mando,” Greef Karga greeted Din. Completely forgoing any pleasantries. Which meant that this was a good one. Karga knew the best way to keep Din happy was to keep this conversation strictly professional. And Karga only bothered to try to keep Din in a good mood when there was a big job on the line.

Din nodded and sat down at the table while Karga took his seat across from him.

“What’ve you got?”

Karga grins at him like the lothcat that caught the canary. “Imperial defector. Huge bounty, too. The buyer wants you to bring the bounty directly to them. Alive.”

“How much?” Din asks.

“Eighty-five thousand credits,” Karga replies. “I saved this one just for you,” He tells Din with a meaningful look.

Din knows Karga wants him to be appreciative. To give some part of him to quell the guild leader's curiosity about the impressive Mandalorian he keeps on the payroll. But Din refuses. He has never given any part of his personality, his past, his anything to anyone.

And he had never wanted to. Well, he hadn’t wanted to do that for someone in a long time. He had been a younger, and far more foolish man the last time he considered sharing himself with another person.

It had been after Aurora, or whatever her real name was- is - that he had decided that there wasn’t a part of himself, any part of him, that he could give to another person. Din was a Mandalorian. Din was a bounty hunter. Those were the only things that anyone in this galaxy ever needed to know about him. And that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

Maker, Din hated that he still thought about her, even nearly ten years after he’d last seen her. She plagued his thoughts more than he cared to admit, he constantly wondered what had happened to her. If she was even still alive. He couldn’t imagine a world in which she had been killed, but the war didn’t seem to discriminate when it came to casualties. Entire planets had been destroyed in mere moments. Din hated to think that she might have been on one.

No. It was better not to think of her at all. To keep his mind focused on the things that he could control. On the things that he was good at.

“I’ll take it,” He tells Karga as he picks up the puck.

The bounty itself was straightforward enough. The puck led him to a remote planet. Din had given chase to the defector for a few days. Longer than he usually took, but by the end of the week his patience had paid off and he’d cornered the bounty.

She had no choice but to go with him.

Varza Q’in did not come quietly. She screamed and cried, begged and bargained, dragging her feet the entire way into the carbon freezer.

Din hadn’t even realized just how loud she had been until he settled into the pilot’s seat of the Razor Crest with a sigh and the ringing in his ears finally lulled.

Desolate was one word that could be used to describe Jakku.

Dump was the word that you wanted to use.

Though the term shithole also certainly held a certain appeal as well.

It was a trash dump. Most of the planet was barren. But there was an outpost or two on every sector, thanks to the Galactic Civil War several Imperial and New Republic crash sites now littered the planet’s surface and had resulted in the planet’s only export, scavenged materials.

It was the perfect place to disappear to.

Or at least the perfect place to lay low and maybe meet up with an old friend.

You checked your wristpiece as you saw the ship landing on the dune across from the watering hole.

If there was one thing you still remembered about the Mandalorian, it was his punctuality. Well, there was almost nothing that you had forgotten about Mando if you were being completely honest. Even ten years later you felt as if no time had passed as you saw the familiar beskar-clad figure making his way across the sand.

And he was carrying your present.

You grinned to yourself behind the fabric covering most of your face (there really is nothing worse than sandy nostrils) as you pushed yourself off of the stool you had taken residence on and began to make your way to meet him with a little more bounce in your step than you knew what to do with.

As you walked up you pushed your hood back and pulled the mask away from your mouth, letting it hang down around your neck.

“Mando,” you greet the man with a sharp nod as the corners of your mouth could help but quirk up at the familiar sight. The helmet kept his expressions hidden but based on the prolonged focus of the visor on your face you knew you were quite possibly the last person he’d expected to run into here.

You scoffed at his silence, “It’s nice to see you too,” you say after a pregnant pause, despite the years it had been since you’d seen him it felt like almost no time had passed at all as you almost reverted back to your younger self. But maybe your hopes had been set too high, or maybe he didn’t even remember-

“What are you doing here?” He asked quickly. You couldn’t read his tone (you never had been able, at least not most of the time).

“What am I doing here? This is my job, Mando. I’m here to collect,” You reply with a small smirk.

He doesn't say anything to that, only stares at you with that stupid beskar helmet tilted slightly.

“I told you that I’d find you if I needed to, and well…” You trail off with a sigh. “I need your help.”

“You’re still gonna get paid, Mando, if that’s what you’re worried about,” You add when he still hadn’t replied. “I didn’t think you cared about the money though,” You add with a slight lilt of surprise.

You hear a modulated huff from the Mandalorian which causes you to grin.

“Why are you here?” He asks again, this time throwing his helmet back slightly, referring to the desert waste of a planet you’re currently standing on.

You reply with your own sigh.

“I already told you Mando, we’re here for a job.”

You have to assume that the facial expression underneath the helmet is not one of amusement at your antics.

“Why am I here?” He tries.

“You always have so many questions,” You reply with a dismissive wave of your hand. “We can’t talk about it here, we’ll talk on the ship.”

“You have a ship?” He asks with surprise.

“Do I have a ship?” You parrot back in disbelief.

“I’ve moved up in the world,” You quip back at him. “Seriously, Mando? It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, did you think I was just sitting in a Cantina on some outer rim planet sipping drinks and twiddling my thumbs for ten years?” You ask him indignantly.

“But no, we’re gonna talk on your ship,” You add as you start to lead in the way of the old clunker you watched him land.

Once your bounty is placed back in the holding racks and you’re seated on some sort of cargo box tethered down to the floor of his ship whilst he leans against another crate, facing you.

“Ah,” You sigh as you lean back slightly, bracing yourself with your hands behind you. “I didn’t miss these awkward silences,” You tell him as you cross your legs underneath you to get comfortable.

“C’mon Mando, I’ll admit that I’ve missed you,” You tell him with a sardonic smile. “Did you miss me?” You ask as you raise your left eyebrow at him.

“No.”

Your grin falls.

Oh.

You clear your throat.

“Here’s the deal. I’ve been tracking a new extremist fringe organization,” You tell him, happy to change the subject to the answer he’s been looking for.

“They’re calling themselves the First Order, but they’re really just what’s left of the Empire. At least, the most devout members. They’re still small, operating in very small sections of the mid rim, and relatively underground, but they’re recruiting. And they’re growing fast.”

You take a deep breath as you brace yourself.

“My father is part of it,” You tell him as you look down at your hands as they twist in your lap. “And we’re going to find him.”

“Well?” You ask hopefully.

“Where do we start?” Mando replies.

Your face breaks out into yet another grin. A little less hopeful than your previous expression. But much more determined.

“And I didn’t even have to mention the money,” You reply with a smirk. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

You like to imagine that Mando merely rolled his eyes at your comment.

“The first step is to question the lovely little bounty that you brought me,” You tell him. “Thanks for not killing her, by the way.”

“And I really am good for the money. You delivered her to me, so I promise I’ll pay you,” You add.

“How about we worry about that after you question her,” He replies.

You nod as your push yourself off the crate and make your way over to the cryo-freezer and storage space.

“So how long does it take to wake her up?” You ask as you look over the slab, wincing internally at the fact that the carbonite caught her mid-scream.

“She’ll wake up instantly, but then there’s the hibernation sickness after she’s been in the carbonite for this long. Mainly the blindness. Depends on the species but for a human, it’s about an hour before that symptom will wear off. So she’ll be awake but she’ll be disoriented and panicked at first.”

“She was loud, when I caught her,” He comments as he sees you studying her face through the material.

“Damn. I guess she thought you might be taking her to one of the old Empire Generals, she was probably scared shitless,” You reply. “I’ll have to apologize to her,” You muse out loud.

“You’re going to apologize to your interrogation subject?” Mando asks.

“I don’t want to interrogate her, I just want to get some information from her. She’s more than happy to share any useful info for taking down the remains of the Empire, that’s how I heard about her in the first place,” You tell him.

“Why did you have me catch her then?” He asks.

“Well,” You reply. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come otherwise.”

Din’s helmet snaps up to your face when at your admission, and you can’t mask your expression in time, just offer him a sheepish shrug as you quirk the right side of your mouth up slightly in an embarrassed half-smile.

“What have you been up to for the last decade anyways, Mando?” You ask, quickly changing the subject.

“Catching bounties,” He replies.

“That’s it?” You ask, mildly disappointed.

“What have you been doing?” He asks.

“Lots of stuff,” You tell him. “After I relocated I had to stay under the radar for a while but the work was still good, plenty of clients,”

“Eventually the jobs got big. Like really big. I started traveling around. Eventually, I got on the rebellion’s radar. Someone must have told them about me because they sent a spy out to try and recruit me. I didn’t take them up on it, but I offered them my services as some pro-bono work on the side.”

“So then why your father? Why now?” He asks.

“I met a lot of Empire defectors, helping the rebellion out, people like Varza when I was helping the rebels. People whose whole lives had been destroyed by the Empire. By men like my father,” You tell him, shaking your head slightly.

“I saw first hand the kind of destruction that they were wreaking on the galaxy. Alderaan? I realized I’d been going about it all wrong. Running from him? Playing cat-and-mouse while he was still destroying planets. I should have been tracking him. Finding him. Hunting him. When the Empire collapsed he lost his power, his resources, and I realized that now is my chance.”

“I want to kill him. I need to kill him. I need to stop him from hurting any more people,” You admit quietly as you glance up at Mando’s helmet.

You sigh before you add, “But I’m going to need your help.”

“I will help you,” Mando replies. “Of course, I’ll help you.”

“Well then let's wake her up,” You tell him as you glance over at the carbonite slab.

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runawrites-blog · 6 months

Text

Protection (Boba Fett x Reader)

(Gif Not Mine)

Summary: Five times the people in the palace saw how protective Boba was of you and one time you got to protect him. (5+1; Gender Neutral Reader) Word Count: 3,325 Warnings: Mild Violence, Disrespectful Language Directed at Reader, Assassination Attempt on Boba, Fire, No Y/N, Petnames (Cyar'ika, Mesh'la) Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35277751

---

Your place at the palace had been a topic of discussion ever since Boba had taken over Tatooine. You had been by his side from the start, arriving soon after him and Fennec. And ever since then, people have been talking. Some assumed you were his spouse, others questioned if you were a pleasure slave – and questioned why the man so against slavery was keeping you as one – and some others thought you were an advisor.

And your interactions with people at the court, diplomats on visits, and the king himself made things no clearer. You were friendly and polite to the others at court as though you were a worker like them, never seeing yourself as above them and always treating them with respect. When there were diplomats visiting, you were next to Boba, making deals and talking politics. And when there was peace and celebration at the palace, you were by his side, holding onto his arm, sitting in his lap on the throne, or affectionately talking to him.

When you weren’t around, like this time, Boba was sitting on the throne alone, Fennec next to him. She was talking to him in a low voice while he surveyed the room. Perhaps he was looking for you, some of the guests mused.

And then, you walked into the room, quickly approaching the throne. Your usual air of confidence seemed off with how fast you approached Boba to grasp his hand and sit on the arm of the throne. Boba noticed the changes in your demeanour, too, and let go of your hands to place one of his on the small of your back, pulling you a little closer until you were leaning against him.

“Are you alright?”

You nodded at Boba, a little too quickly and vehemently for it to not be suspicious. “I’m fine. I just had an unpleasant run-in with one of the guards.”

“What?” Boba hissed and let go of you to grasp at your arm and examine you. When he spotted the marks on your wrists he seemed furious and the people in the court quieted down. “Did they touch you?”

“He tried to-- tried to threaten me. He grabbed my arm and-- and held me to the wall. I managed to free myself but that other guard, she was just standing by and she didn’t help me.” You recounted, stumbling over your words. “On the contrary – she egged him on.”

“What guards?” Boba asked, grabbing your hand once again, watching your shoulders relax at the gesture. “What are their names?”

“I don’t know their names but I could point them out to you.”

“No one touches you.” He hissed. “You are my riduur and no one is allowed to treat you like that, with the intent to harm you!”

“Boba, please calm down. I’m fine.”

“Do you want them dead?”

You quieted down before slowly sliding off the arm of the throne and into his lap, arms wrapping around his arm. His protectiveness seemed to make you feel so much more at ease as you inched ever so closely.

“Cyar’ika, do you want them dead?” Boba asked one more, though his hand found its way to your hair quickly. “I will surely punish them but I want your opinion on what they deserve.”

“No.” You said softly. “I just want to be sure that I never have to see them again.”

“That can certainly be arranged.”

---

II.

You were his spouse. He had said so himself. If you two were actually married or if he just referred to you as such out of possessiveness or sentimentality was still unclear. But nevertheless, people were now sure of his romantic relationship with you. And they acted accordingly.

After the guards that had harassed you were sent away, people worried to meet the same fate and kept their distance. They could tell that it saddened you, could see the disappointment in your eyes and the way you tried to talk to the other people in the palace, but they didn’t want to risk it.

With everyone in the palace being so careful around you and trying to avoid being punished by Boba, it came to no surprise that you were delighted by the news that some sort of negotiator was coming to visit the palace. Now Boba hadn’t told you the exact reason they were coming but you knew enough about them, their plans to trade with Tatooine and their customs to entertain them during the fest that would follow the negotiations.

The people in the palace watched as you laughed away with one of the negotiators, telling her about how wonderfully Tatooine had developed since Boba had come to power. And they also watched as Boba eyed you with a fond expression, helmet on the arm of the throne and a soft smile on his face.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t long until things got out of hand. A guest stumbled and fell against one of the lights that were illuminating the throne hall, kicking loose a chain of events that would lead to the room being engulfed in flames. The light broke and the fire spread over the curtains and few wooden structures, quickly lighting them ablaze. People panicked immediately, cramming to get out of the room.

“Follow me!” You instructed the negotiator. “Keep close to the wall so you don’t get pushed around.”

“Thank you.” She said and grabbed onto your wrist, letting you lead her toward the exit. “Thank you so much.”

With a bit of difficulty, you managed to get her to the door and ushered her outside. You were about to turn back to look for Boba when a cracking sound from just above you caught your attention. And you barely had the time to look up before a large wooden beam came crashing toward you. Instinctively, you cowered, covering your head to shield it but the expected blow never came.

When you looked up, you found Boba next to you, arm angled and held up, keeping the beam from crushing you. Quickly you moved away from the wooden beam and watched Boba drop it to the floor before he turned, grasping your arms.

“You need to leave.”

“What about you?” You asked desperately, trying to find his eyes through the helmet he now had on again. “You need to get out!”

“I need to help put out the fire.” He said and pushed you toward the door. “Go, get to safety and wait for me!”

Despite your initial hesitance, you left, figuring that if you were gone he would have one less person to worry about and could concentrate on getting himself to safety. Yet, no one could deny the worry on your face or the tears in your eyes as you watched more and more people leave the palace, Boba not amongst them.

And when he eventually came outside, the people of the court all watched you sprint toward him before hurling yourself into his arms. He caught you with little difficulty and held you tightly as you took a few deep breaths until he spoke up to calm you down.

“Don’t worry, Cyar’ika. I’m here now.”

---

III.

People knew that Boba was protective. So it came to no surprise that when you came back from a diplomatic mission, bloodied up and covered in bruises, he was up in arms. You had entered the throne room, the helmet you wore when flying under your arm, your hair a mess, your face covered in bruises as you looked up at the throne.

Before Boba could say anything you spoke, voice hoarse. “The diplomatic mission went well. This is simply the result of someone ambushing my ship on the way back.”

“Cyar’ika, get up here now.”

Slowly, you made your way up and everyone in the court held their breaths. Boba grabbed you as soon as you had gotten close and pulled at your arm to get you close enough to examine the wounds.

“Where are you injured?”

“Just bruises and a few scraps mostly.”

“Mostly is not good enough, Mesh’la.” He said sternly. “Anything major?”

Gingerly, you moved your hand to gesture to your hip and Boba’s eyes wandered there before he frowned. There was an obvious stab wound at your hip but your belt had been pulled so tightly that it was stopping the bleeding. Shaking his head, Boba rose to his feet and everyone around watched in anticipation.

“Fennec, take over for me while I treat these wounds.” He said and looked back at you. “You are coming with me.”

“Love, I can take care of myself.” You said softly. “I just need a few stitches and I’m sure I can find someone else to do that. You have your duties.”

“I do have my duties. And protecting my riduur is one of them.”

---

IV.

Your screams of pain jarred everyone in the throne room and within seconds Boba was at his feet, Fennec not far behind as he hurried to help. But he didn’t get far before you came scrambling into the room and when you saw the two of them, you rounded their bodies to shield yourself, fumbling for your blaster before realising it wasn’t secured to your hip and swearing quietly. While Fennec readied her gun, aiming at the door, Boba turned around to you and took hold of your arms.

“What happened?”

“That-- that man who came to negotiate who-- you turned him down and he must have been pretty angry because he grabbed me from behind and tried to kriffing-- I don’t even know what his darn plan was and I don’t want to know!”

Boba stared at you in horror, realising that a man he had let into the palace had attempted to harm you. Quickly, he drew you close, his hand shielding the back of your neck as he held you. And then the man stumbled inside, clearly drunk and a bloodied knife in his hands. He looked beaten, as though you had gotten a few good hits in before he had gotten out his knife.

And as he took in the blood dripping from the knife, Boba froze and quickly pushed you back to examine you. There was a few cuts on your arms and chest area but nothing major. Still, the knowledge that someone had hurt you like that filled him with burning rage and he called out to Fennec to immobilise the man which she did without much trouble before turning back to Boba.

“What do you want me to do with him?” She asked, holding the man’s arms behind his back and looking up at the two of you. “Shoot him?”

“Shoot me?” The man slurred. “I can-- if you hadn’t turned down my deal, your little spouse wouldn’t have gotten it, Fett!”

Fennec eyed Boba out of the corner of her eyes, watching his body tense up as he kept a protective arm around you. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“Lock him up! I’ll deal with him later.” Boba snapped and looked back at you once Fennec had begun to drag the man off. “What did he do? Did he touch you?”

“No, he just-- he got a few cuts and hits in but I’m fine.”

Boba looked at you for a long time before sighing quietly. “The man I let inside hurt you like this. How can you look at me with love in your eyes? Aren’t you angry?”

You shook your head very quickly, taking his hands into his. “It was not your fault. He attacked me. That has nothing to do with you, no matter what he said.”

“Do you need me to call someone to treat your wounds?”

“Please.”

---

It wasn’t just that Boba was protective of you. He also valued your opinion and despised it when others talked down to you. If a diplomat didn’t respect you, writing you off as nothing more than the king’s spouse or if an advisor scoffed at your opinions, not considering them, Boba would reprimand them. He demanded respect for you just as much as he demanded it for himself.

Most of the time, a stern reprimand or a reminder of your position was enough to shut any disrespect down fairly quickly. But on this particular day, two negotiators had come from a faraway planet, planning on trading with Tatooine. They had talked to Boba in the throne room, laying out their demands and offerings. The other people of the court stood by, watching the negotiations go down as they quietly mused about what outcome to expect.

It wasn’t until you had chimed in, leaning down to Boba from where you had been sitting on the arm of the throne, to remind him that their demands were fairly high for what they were offering, that one of the negotiators spoke up.

“I am certain that the great Boba Fett would rather decide himself than listen to the advice of a simple pleasure slave.”

Everything went quiet as soon as the words had left the woman’s mouth. You raised your head, looking down on her while Boba straightened up in his seat and Fennec cocked her head to the side a little, waiting for the man’s response. But you were quicker.

“If I was merely a pleasure slave – which I am not – it would be horribly embarrassing for your unattractive trade offer to be caught by the likes of me, wouldn’t you think so?” You asked in a cold tone of voice.

“Boba Fett, we implore you to agree to this offer.”

“Why should he?” You asked in slight disdain. “To rely on the harvest of a planet whose climate is unpredictable at best and unfit for agriculture at worse?”

“I can assure you that our planet can sustain a harvest.”

“Is that so?” You raised an eyebrow. “Then how do you explain the countless people that have sought out refuge on Tatooine of all places after a drought or flood have wrecked their whole harvest? Then how do you explain that not even under the merciless regimes before Boba were your planet’s payments ever on time?”

“How dare you insinuate that we cannot pay you?”

“I am voicing my honest concern.” You said, mindful of everyone listening to you. “Your harvests are unreliable and you dare step before Boba with an offer like this?”

The woman shook her head at you. “I will not negotiate with a person who has found their way into the inner circle of the king by looks and no doubt the use of their body alone. I came to negotiate with Boba Fett.”

“Are you saying I used my body to get this position?” You questioned and stood from your place, aware of Boba’s eyes following you. “Or are you trying to deflect from the fact that you are offering a terrible deal?”

“How dare you? You are nothing but a pleasure slave, a common palace whore. And you dare speak to me like this?”

That’s when Boba stood, making everyone back up. The negotiator and her companion shut up, staring up at Boba in anticipation, frightened of what would happen next. He towered over them, his height accentuated by the fact that he stood on the pedestal the throne was placed on.

“How are you speak to my riduur in such a way?” He snapped, voice angry and loud. “And to think you did it because my spouse raised good points is just pathetic. Your planet is not fit for agriculture. You can barely feed your own people. There will be no trade for you with Tatooine!”

“But great Boba Fett--”

“Now leave my sight before I have you dragged out of the palace!”

---

+ I.

People knew that Boba was protective, that he was proud of being your spouse and that he seemed to genuinely care for you. But they also knew that you felt the same way about him. You loved the man, took pride in being his spouse and rarely left his side if you could help it.

Typically you could be found sitting on the throne’s arm, Boba’s lap or standing next to him. You were always trying to be close to him, talk to him or share your love for him. Like a shadow, you were always by his side.

And so you were also by his side when someone tried to assassinate him. It had been a normal day up until the early evening and everyone was gathered in the throne hall. You were as usual by Boba’s side, having long since migrated from the arm of the throne into his lap, idly running your fingers over his armour, head resting against his shoulder as he talked to you about upcoming plans.

The two of you paid little mind to the man that had entered sometime during the evening, assuming him to be another guest, and quickly gotten back to talking. Fennec had started to mingle with the people some time ago, leaving you and Boba to quietly enjoy each other’s company as he overlooked the people.

The stranger came closer to the throne, talking to a man there. You paid him no mind, still running your fingers over Boba’s armour, letting them run up and down his neck periodically as he recounted the meetings ahead.

Your eyes wandered across the room, looking at the man that was still coming closer. Some of the guests noticed the shift in your behaviour, watched as you sat up a little straighter, yet still keeping up your soft ministrations and listening to Boba.

Then, before anyone had even noticed anything, you sprung up from Boba’s lap and grabbed your blaster. No one even had the time to question your motives as you fired at the stranger, hitting his hand and making him drop the blaster he had reached for.

He tried to escape but you fired a shot into his foot, making him fall to his knees by the steps to the throne. Within seconds you were by his side, using your foot to keep in on the ground as the people stared in shock. Boba had risen to his feet and Fennec had come closer now.

“Let me go!”

“Tell me why you were raising your blaster at Boba.” You hissed. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“I won’t tell you anything.”

Your foot moved, resting on his shoulders now. “You are the worst assassin I have ever had the misfortune of meeting!”

The man struggled against your foot but couldn’t get up. “Let me go!”

Huffing at his request you took your foot off his back. He quickly took the chance to get up but he only got to his knees because you quickly grabbed his arm, twisting it onto his back and then doing the same with the other one. Then you turned him so he could face Boba.

“Did you or did you not come here to assassinate Boba?”

“I-- I was forced to!” The man pleaded. “Please, don’t kill me. I was just-- I was forced to or otherwise, my family would have been in danger!”

“Now there’s the information we can use.” You said and let go of him, nodding at Fennec. “I’m sure Boba would like to question the man himself. Isn’t that right, Cyar’ika?”

Boba looked at you, as surprised by the pet name as he was by your quick reflexes but nodding at Fennec nonetheless. “Bring him to the cells. I will see to him later.”

Fennec nodded and quickly took the man away, glancing back to see you walking up to Boba and taking his face into your hands. Everyone watched as you examined him for any injuries before your shoulders dropped in relief when you found he was fine.

“Thank you for your quick thinking, Mesh’la.”

“All I want is for you to be safe, my love.”

#star wars #star wars imagine #star wars reader insert #star wars x reader #boba fett #boba fett x reader #book of boba fett #the mandalorian #mandalorian #the book of boba fett #boba fett imagine #gender neutral reader #gn reader #writing #fanfiction #textpost

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flightlessangelwings · 2 months

Text

What Was Unspoken, And What We Finally Said

Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word count-3.6k

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), sexworker reader (respectfully), mutual pining, reader is said to have been with both men and women but her sexuality is up to you, unprotected sex, hj, finering, oral (f receiving), protective!Din, soft!Din, feelings, no description of reader other than body parts and no use of y/n

Notes- This is part a bonus Valentines fic and part a thank you for 5,000 followers fic! I would have liked to do a full follower celebration but since I'm low on writing time lately, I'm doing 2 gift fics for y'all instead. I just want to say thank you each and every one of you for following and supporting me all these years!

Since this is Star Wars, I looked up if there was anything like Valentine's Day and while there isn't one canonically, there is a "Lover's Day" that the fandom kinda agreed is equivalent so I used that here but it can be read any time of year since it's Star Wars and we can say it's any time lol! Enjoy!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please also follow that and turn on post notifs to stay up to date on when I post new things!

You were exhausted.

If you were honest, you weren’t even sure what day it was… or even what time of day at all. Things had never been busier at the brothel the last couple days, and you weren’t sure why. Especially today it was back to back clients for you. The extra credits were nice, and much needed, but by the Maker were you wiped out. But it wasn’t all bad. The brothel you worked at was safe and respectable and the clients almost always tipped well. You even had a lengthy list of regulars, which was nice. Many of them even came by today too.

The day started with a visit from one of your favorite bounty hunters, Fennec Shand. She was usually more quiet and stoic, but today she had an air of playfulness about her, and the smirk she wore on her face made your heart flutter. Later in the day, Axe Woves came by, and seemed more flirtatious than usual. He always left you with a wink and a kiss on the back of your hand, but today he left a lingering kiss on your cheek… and extra credits in tip.

But there was one person you looked forward to seeing more than anyone else. And he hadn’t come by in some time.

You let out a heavy sigh as you flopped down onto the bed. Wrapping your robe around yourself, you closed your eyes as you finally got some time to rest after a busy day. Just as your body relaxed into the plush mattress and you felt yourself about to doze off, there was a knock at the door.

“Coming,” you sighed as you pushed yourself up, ready to turn away whoever was on the other side of the door. You just wanted to rest for the rest of the night. “Listen, came you come back tomor…” you froze mid word as your eyes landed on the one person you had hoped to see, “Din!” you breathed.

“Did I come at a bad time?” he asked, tilting his helmeted head to the side, “I had a bounty in the area and I thought I would come by.” Since it’s been awhile, he thought to himself, and I missed you.

“No, no,” you ushered him inside before he could walk away, “Come in.”

The Mandalorian walked past you, entering the room while you closed and locked the door, “Everything alright?” he asked, noticing the exhaustion in your voice.

“Fine,” you replied as you crossed the room and sat down, motioning for him to sit next to you, “It’s just been really busy here the last couple days. Not sure why,” you shrugged.

“Want me to come back another time?” he asked plainly, his tone hiding his true disappointment especially after having not seen you in so long. Din truly looked forward to the days when he could come by the brothel and spend time with you.

“I think I can muster up some energy for my favorite client,” you replied with a flirty wink. It took everything you had to not sound like you desperately wanted him to stay, and even if you couldn’t even pull yourself off the bed you would do it for him.

Din tilted his head to the side slightly as a soft amused huff escaped his lips, “Your favorite, huh?”

You heard the smile in his voice. Biting your lip and subtly shimmying your shoulders, you closed the gap between your bodies and traced the chestplate of his beskar armor with your finger, “Don’t tell anyone else. They might get jealous,” you purred as the room started to warm around you.

Din reached in his pocket, pulling out a generous amount of credits and placed them on the nearby table before he leaned in closer to you. He cupped your face, tenderly caressing the side of your head in his gloved hand, “Your secret is safe with me.” Din gently rubbed his thumb against your cheek while his large hand cradled you softly while he pushed his body against yours.

“Din…” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut and you allowed him to guide you back until your legs hit the bed.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured as his hands moved down the front of your body and tugged at your robe.

A gasp escaped your lips as the cool air hit your skin. But, you didn’t feel cool for long. Even through the darkness of his vizor, you could feel Din’s gaze on you, and you could tell he eyed you hungerly. The way his breath hitched whenever he saw you bare for him, the way his helmet tilted slightly, the way his hands gripped you just a little bit tighter… you knew all Din’s tells by now. And you craved the feeling of being under his touch.

“Beautiful,” Din sighed as he guided your body down onto the bed. He stood in awe over you for a moment as your robe fell open and framed your figure. His pants felt tighter as his cock reacted to the way you settled yourself, spreading your legs wide for him. Din let out a low groan as he tugged his gloves off. They were the only thing he ever removed, and he only ever took them off with you.

“Din,” you whispered again as the bed dipped as he hovered over you, “Let me…”

You ran your hands down his chest once more, imaging what it would feel like to feel his bare skin under your touch instead. You bit your lip when you reached the hem of his pants, and you expertly unzipped and freed his cock without letting any other sliver of skin show. You knew the trust he put in you, and you never took it for granted. You felt honored that he even trusted you with his real name- something else you held near and dear to your heart.

Savoring the groan he let out, you stroked his length slowly. You made sure to squeeze right where he liked it, and you let out a whimper every time a louder growl escaped his lips involuntarily. But you let out another whine when you felt his thick fingers cupping your pussy, and you mewled when Din pushed them inside you.

Pumping his fingers to the same rhythm as you stroked his cock, your moans harmonized with his grunts as you both prepped the other. Heavy breaths filled the room as you fought to keep your eyes open and locked on his vizor. Din rested his helmeted forehead against yours as he thrust his fingers deeper inside you, causing you to cry out louder. But, being a professional, you kept your wits about you and squeezed his cock harder in response.

Din groaned and let out an amused laugh, “Are you ready for me, mesh’la?” he cooed.

“Always,” you whispered back with a smirk of your own.

Another short huff echoed from his helmet as he murmured your name and pulled his fingers out of you. At the same time, you let go of his cock, your hand brushed against his as he reached for it to line himself up with your pussy. The two of you froze for a moment as your gazes met, and for a breath, time felt like it stopped.

A whirlwind of emotions ran through both of you as you stared at each other. It was as if you could both sense the other had something to say, and if you both had a secret you kept buried. Yet, it remained unspoken between the two of you. Your mouth dropped open and a deep breath escaped your lips, like you were about to put into words what neither of you would say.

Before you could, though, Din thrust his hips forward, driving his cock into you in one swift movement. Your head dropped down into the bed as you let out a loud, obscene moan as you felt the familiar stretch of his cock.

“Din!” you cried out as he reeled back and thrust forward again.

“I know,” he grunted as he felt his skin sweat underneath all the armor. You had an effect on Din that no one else did. He lost all control when it came to you, especially when he was inside you. And the way you moan with every thrust of his hips only made him come more and more undone.

You cried out in ecstasy as Din rocked in and out of you in a fast and steady rhythm. Tears filled your eyes as you clutched the sheets. He made you feel something you had never felt before. And every time Din visited you, it became harder and harder to deny your growing feelings for him.

Passions ran wild as Din picked up his pace, thrusting deep into you harder and faster. He growled from under his helmet as he felt your warmth engulf his cock. Grabbing your hips, Din gave one harsh thrust, driving his length as deep inside you as he possibly could.

The gasp you let out when he did that made his cock twitch, and Din knew neither of you would last much longer. Din kept a strong grip on you as he repeated the action, changing his thrusts to slow and deep and deliberate.

“Fuck… Din…”

“I know,” he grunted.

You moved your grip from the sheets to his arms as you clung to him for dear life. With every slow, deep thrust, you felt your climax inch closer and closer and closer until you finally spilled over the edge. With a loud scream and trembling legs, you came hard on his cock. Squeezing your inner muscles as you gushed between your bodies, wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through your body as Din continued to thrust into you, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

With a low groan of your name, Din came right after you. He spilled himself deep inside you as he drove his cock as deep as he could once more. Din kept his pace as long as he could, riding out both your orgasms as you moaned and groaned together, clawing at each other in desperation as you did so.

After one last thrust, Din pulled out of you. He watched as you collapsed onto the bed while he regained his composure. Heavy breaths filled the room as you both came down from your highs, and Din rested himself on the bed next to you in silence. His breath hitched in his throat as you immediately rolled close to him and nested yourself comfortably against his body.

“Hey,” you breathed, breaking the silence, “Is your bounty urgent or do you want to stay for the night?”

Din let out a short laugh, “He’s frozen in carbonite,” he sounded pleased with himself, “He’s not going anywhere.”

You smirked against his beaker chestplate as his unspoken acceptance lingered in the air like a comforting blanket between the two of you. Together, you laid in silence as Din wrapped his strong arms around you. Your heart pounded at the feeling of being in his arms, and you wished that it could be like this every night. But, he was a Mandalorian bounty hunter, there was no way that was in the future for you.

Suddenly, an explosion of fireworks echoed from outside, making you gasp and jump up with fright. Din tightened his grip around you, pulling you even closer and going on high alert. The two of you looked out the window as another color firework lit up the sky in the distance. More and more fireworks continued as the show went on, and in the distance you heard a crowd ooh and ahh at the marvel of the show.

Then the realization hit you. “Maker…” you breathed as you burst into nervous laughter, “Do you know what today is, Din?”

He turned to you but said nothing.

“It’s Lover’s Day!” you laughed more to cover the nerves. You just spent the evening of Lover’s Day with Din…

He seemed to mull over for several moments, his gaze moving down before he finally said, “So it is,” Din was quiet again as he turned back to you.

Even without seeing his face, you felt your skin warm under his gaze. Somehow, you felt all his emotions just in the way he held you, and as Din moved his hand and cupped your face your world felt like it was spinning. You savored the warmth of his touch, and you let out a deep breath as you leaned into his hand and closed your eyes contently.

“Since it’s Lover’s Day,” Din was the one who broke the silence this time, “Let me take care of you…”

“Din…”

Carefully, Din rolled your bodies so that you laid on your back while he hovered over you. Looking up at him, your breath caught in your chest and your heart fluttered as he pushed himself down and settled between your parted legs.

You let out a whine as heat rushed through your body. All you could do was swallow hard and moan in anticipation as you watched Din lean forward so that he hovered over your exposed pussy.

He murmured something incoherent before he rested his hand on your hips, gently pinning you in place. Not wanting to let go of you, Din used the leverage of your body to tilt his helmet up while he positioned his face over your folds.

A gasp escaped your lips when you felt his breath on your skin, “Din…” you whimpered as you closed your eyes tightly.

Din growled as he licked his lips before diving into you. The cry you let out sent a jolt through his veins, and combined with tasting you, Din almost lost all his composure. “Fuck,” he groaned against you before he lapped at your cunt again.

His hips bucked against the bed as he savored the sweetness of your pussy. Din groaned into you as his hands gripped you tighter, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And the way you moaned and cried out in pure bliss only added to the overwhelming sensations and emotions he felt.

Not having expected this, tears quickly filled your eyes and your mind and body floated in the pleasure that Din’s tongue brought you. With every lap of his tongue, you felt a shock of pleasure tingle through your veins. And it wasn’t because he physically made you feel good either. It was the act itself, Din putting himself into a vulnerable position just to lick and suck at your pussy, and doing this for you.

It had to mean something, right?

“Fuck… Din…” you whimpered as you moved your grip from the sheets to his wrists, finding just the tiny sliver of skin under his armor.

Din grunted into you as he pushed his face more against your body. His hands shifted slightly so that his fingers curled around yours, holding both your hand and your hips at the same time. As much as he wanted to murmur soft words of encouragement, to tell you to cum in his mouth, he also couldn’t tear himself away. From the first taste, Din was addicted to you, and he already knew he wanted more… Wanted you.

Your legs trembled on either side of his helmet as you felt your body warm as your climax was about to hit. Without warning, you came hard with a loud scream, arching your back off the bed and gushing into Din’s mouth as your cries of pleasure filled the room.

He slurped and sucked at your folds as he tongue hit your clit over and over again, allowing you to ride out your orgasm on his tongue. And Din greedily lapped up every drop of your release, swallowing as much of you as he could. His grip on you tightened as he moaned against your body, lapping at you until you couldn’t take any more.

With one final gasp, you flopped down limp on the bed as Din broke away from you with a huff. His helmet slid down to cover his face in one smooth motion as he sat up and licked at the corners of his mouth from under the cover of his armor. He watched you with captivate fascination as your breasts rose and fell with your deep, heavy breaths as you recovered from your intense climax.

There were so many words on the tip of his tongue. So many things that Din wanted to tell you. The tension in the air was so thick that it almost overpowered the smell of sex in the room. Din ran his hands up and down your body, gently caressing you and letting his touch speak for him instead.

“Din,” you murmured as you broke the silence and blinked your eyes open to meet his armored figure in the low light, “I…”

He moved his hand to the side of your face, not covering your mouth but the motion itself paused your thoughts. He said nothing as he pushed himself up to your face, stopping for a moment to rest his helmeted forehead against your own. As the two of you sat like that for a few moments, he brushed your cheek with his finger tenderly. Din whispered your name as he broke away, moving his hand to cover your eyes as he did so.

Your lips pasted with a gasp, yet you stayed still, fully trusting the Mandalorian. With your eyes covered by his large hand, your world went black. Faintly, you heard a hiss in front of you, but before you could ask what was happening, you felt something on your skin. His breath.

Din pulled his helmet up just enough to uncover half of his face. His lips felt cold as the air hit his skin, but he was instantly warmed again when he pressed his lips to yours. He swallowed the moan you let out as he kissed you for the very first time. Tightening his grip on you, Din pushed himself even closer against you, desperate to feel you as close as possible.

You surrendered yourself to him willingly. Tilting your head, you were mindful to keep your eyes covered as you deepened the kiss by parting your lips for him. Din eagerly accepted the silent invitation, and you both moaned into the other when you tased each other for the first time. The fireworks continued around you, but the only explosions either of you cared about were the ones happening between you.

“I know,” Din murmured against your lips when he reluctantly broke away from you.

You let out a deep breath against his face, and you knew he felt your smile against his skin. Din placed one last kiss on your lips, lingering on yours for several moments before he pulled away and dropped his helmet back down.

Blinking your eyes open, you grinned when you were met with the familiar silhouette in the darkness once more. A soft smile lit up your face, and it made Din’s chest tighten with the sincere look in your eyes. Just as you were about to say something, though, a knock at the door made both of you jump to attention.

Din was quick to stand and shift into attack mode. Out of pure reflex, his hand reached for his blaster, ready to protect you.

“Wait,” you grabbed his wrist with one hand as you reached for your robe with the other, “It might be another client. Hang on,” you slid the robe over your shoulders and wrapped it around you as you moved around the Mandalorian.

He didn’t stray far from you, hovering behind you as you opened the door and recognized the man who stood on the other side, “Hey, I’ve got an overnight tonight,” you told him in a kind voice, “Can you come back tomorrow? I promise I’ll leave a time open for you.”

The man stuttered as he suddenly felt nervous as the Mandalorian glared at him from over your shoulder, “Y-yeah,” he finally said, “Sure… Sorry,” he mumbled before he turned and left.

Closing and locking the door, you turned back to Din and shook your head as you grinned, “He’s a nice guy,” you explained to him, “One of my best tippers too… So please try not to scare away my source of income.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled an apology as he visibly relaxed. Din had no issue with what you did for a living, he only had your safety and best interest in mind. He had seen you mistreated once before, and while he knew it was a rarity, Din never wanted to see you hurt ever again. Especially not if he could prevent it and protect you.

“Let’s lay down,” you said softly as you reached your hand out to him. Your heart fluttered for a moment as he took your hand and allowed you to lead him back to the bed where you both made yourselves comfortable. Din immediately pulled you in close and held you in his embrace.

Settling down for the night, you never felt more safe than you did right now, in Din’s arms. Yawning heavily, you felt the exhaustion start to overcome you once more, and you knew soon you would be sound asleep, “Hey Din,” you muttered sleepily, “Happy Lover’s Day.”

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as you quickly started to snore softly. He looked forward to nights like this, nights with you. And it was pure coincidence that he happened to come to you on Lover’s Day. But perhaps it wasn't a coincidence. Perhaps he was meant to be here tonight… with you. As Din listened to your steady breaking while you slept, he leaned in and whispered, “Happy Lover’s Day, cyare.”

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 1 year

Text

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn.

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate.

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug.

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli.

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold.

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won’t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship.

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction.

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit.

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present.

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed.

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked.

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his.

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.”

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship.

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore.

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging.

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry.

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm.

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated.

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting.

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran.

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help.

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured.

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with.

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love.

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him.

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured.

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no

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