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corazondebeskar-reads · 5 months

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well it's love, make it hurt - chapter fifteen

well it's love, make it hurt series

fifteen: would have been nice to say I knew you

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: You and Mando meet again.

Warnings: discussions of genocide, the purge of mandalore, descriptions of grief, survivor's guilt, communication?, talking about feelings??, a tiny bit of groguito

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

9 ABY - Fall

You can’t breathe. Sure, it could be a different ST-70. Maybe all Mandalorians flew them.

But—

You turn your wrist over and stare at your chrono.

You have to try.

You feel like the ghost, now, your limbs cold and prickling. Your feet carry you down the tree to the forest's edge.

It never worked at long distances. But—

If it’s his. If he hasn’t changed the programming.

It pulls right up when you turn the dial.

You press the first button to disable the ground security protocols. It gives no indication of success or failure, but it never had.

Your finger hovers over the button that, if he’s left your chrono coded into the system, will open the ramp.

Your hands shake so badly that you miss the button on the first try and end up jamming your thumb on the screen before getting it right. You’re so busy being mad at your chrono and your stupid nerves that the hiss of the ramp lowering startles you.

The thought of walking up it nearly makes you puke.

It’s funny, you think. You haven’t delved into any of the games you used to play with Mando in five years, but one look at the Crest makes a masochist out of you. That must be it, because otherwise, why would you be stepping into the hull while your chest is screaming?

Time has stood still in the Crest. It’s neat and clean. Your old bed-turned-sofa sits against the wall. You can’t bear to open the bunk or climb up to the cockpit. You can’t move at all, actually, leaden feet stuck in the purgatory of the entrance. Neither in nor out.

But it doesn’t smell right. It doesn’t smell like Mando. Sure, gunpowder and oil permeate the air, but the deep spice of his cooking is completely absent. The scent was so strong before that it clung stubbornly to every soft surface and couldn’t be shaken out.

“You went to all the trouble of that elaborate stunt in the cantina just to come right to the ship?”

The crackle of the modulator startles you enough to whirl around, blaster pointed.

“It worked, you know,” he says quietly, hands up but slowly climbing the ramp.

You back up, blaster unwavering.

“I lost your trail. Smart trick.”

“Then how’d you find me?”

“Got an alert that you disengaged the ground security.” He sighs, and his shoulders slump. “Can we talk?”

“Where’s your baby?” you counter.

“Sleeping in your apartment.”

“What?” You stare, mouth agape, top lip arched in a facsimile of a sneer.

“Well, it’s the safest place in the city, other than this ship. And I wasn’t sure how this was going to go.”

“You left your baby in my apartment. My apartment full of weapons.”

“He’s in the pod, he’ll be fine.”

“You left your baby locked in a pram in an apartment full of weapons.”

“He’s not my baby.”

Mando gives a little shrug with one shoulder.

You stare at him, eyes wide and wild. “That’s... that's worse.”

“I have a monitor.” He presses a button on his vambrace and a speaker crackles. If you listen closely, you can hear soft breathing.

You think something in your brain has snapped. Or exploded. Something critical, maybe. The nausea has been replaced with rage colder than hyperspace. It gives you the nerve to stomp past him down the ramp.

He doesn’t try to stop you. He does, however, follow you.

“Kriff off, Mandalorian.”

“I would, but I have to go with you.”

You whirl around, blaster still in your hand. “Do not follow me.”

“I need to pick up the baby. He’s at your place, remember?”

You scream. You honest-to-stars fucking scream, throwing your blaster in favor of shoving him hard with both hands.

He stumbles back a little. He must have had his guard down; he didn’t really think you’d come at him.

But you do it again, and it’s all the worse to realize he’s just letting you, and nothing is satisfying the burn, the way your teeth ache for a fight. What are you supposed to do? Punch him in his beskar head?

“Fucking coward,” you snarl, gearing up to push him again for lack of a better outlet.

He catches you by both wrists this time. His grip is firm but not painful.

You struggle even though you know it’s over.

He holds still and silent as you spit vitriol and kick at him. He even anticipates when you lunge to sink your teeth into his gloved fingers, yanking your wrists away, and you stumble.

Of course, he pulls you steady, unwavering.

Your chest is heaving; you’re still burning. “Fight back,” you huff. “Fucking fight me back.”

“You don’t want to fight,” he says, infuriatingly calm. “You want to hurt.”

“Don’t you start that shit.”

“I’m not going to, cyar’ika. But I know you.”

“Stop,” you yell. “You don’t get to say that or anything to me. You’re dead.” Your voice breaks humiliatingly on the last sentence.

“I’m sorry.”

You wrench out of his grasp as he repeats it.

You let yourself fall on the ground on your ass., leaning back on your hands in the damp field to stare straight out at the trees.

He sits down next to you, wise enough to keep a safe distance. You hate that it’s easier when you don’t have to look at him. That you can feel him, and you know, you just know it’s really him.

You close your eyes and shake your head. “S’not real. I had a bad ronto, and I’m going to wake up in the fresher.”

“That happen a lot?”

“Nah, just the once.”

“That's good. I gave one to the kid.”

You tip your head back and stare up at the stars. "How are you here?” It’s just a breath louder than the breeze.

“My tribe did not live on Mandalore, but on one of its moons,” he begins but pauses to think. “There was a... complicated political history, one I was too young to understand, that split the Mandalorians. My people built a home on Concordia.”

“You always said—”

“I know. I’m sorry. At the time, it was simpler. Easier than explaining something I didn’t know enough about.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” you mumble. “You didn’t owe me anything. Still don’t.”

He’s quiet for a minute. “Do you truly believe that?”

“Why now?” It comes out softer than you meant it to. Defeated.

He sighs. “At first, I couldn’t. I tried to reach you. But from the sound of it, I made it to Nevarro about three months after you left.”

The nausea comes back with a vengeance. “Oh.”

“I understand, now. Why you left,” he says.

It doesn’t matter. You’re fractured, like the next words out of his mouth will shatter you.

You hadn’t waited.

You had run away.

The horror must show on your face because he does a double take and sits up on his knees, turning to you. “No, sweetheart—”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Maybe not. It was selfish. But I’ve been looking for you in every crowd for the last five years, and when I finally got a lead, I couldn’t help it. Told myself I’d just see if you were alright. But then I got here. And you were. You were safe, almost happy. I had about worked up the nerve to walk away.”

“And then I tackled you and held a knife to your throat?”

“No. Then I saw you wearing my tunic.”

"What, were you watching me sleep through my window?"

He's quiet for a beat too long.

"Wow. You were."

"And you were using it on purpose."

“It’s just a shirt.”

“Is it? If it is, I can go.”

You both fall silent.

You wrap your arms around your knees and stare at the ground. “I grieved for you,” you whisper. “It’s so stupid. I know it's nothing compared to what you've been through.” You wipe your eyes on your sleeve. "And it’s not like we were together. ” You fail to keep the bitterness from your voice.

“It would have been so much easier if we just… never saw each other again. I would have missed you, but I always knew how it would go. But the idea of you—” Your throat tightens, and you stop, struggling to take a deep breath.

You thought you were over this part. Instead, it's like cutting open a freshly-cauturized vibroblade gash. “I wish you hadn’t come. It was cruel of you.”

The night is quiet, save for the gorgs. What feels like hours pass as you sit side by side in silence.

“You never said it back," he says, not without a trace of sorrow.

You look up, the sudden noise catching you off guard. “What?”

“You said we weren’t together, but that was your boundary. Your choice from the beginning. ‘Hunting and fucking, nothing complicated.’ I thought, for a while, that things had changed. That you just needed time. But you never said it back, and then you left.”

“Never said what back?” Something is itching in your brain, something horrible and sickly. Oh, no. No, no, no.

He tilts his head, and you realize you’ve said the last bit aloud.

“No, that was a dream. We were on a beach, which never happened, so it was a dream.”

“That night? After… after we left Axis?”

You bury your face in your hands. This cannot be happening. You don’t know if you’ll survive this.

“You might have been falling asleep, cyar’ika, but I said it.”

You shake your head. “No. It wasn’t real.”

“It was. I said I loved you.”

“Stop. Stop it. You’ve done enough; fine, I hurt you. I didn’t mean to, but you can’t do this to me.” You dig your nails into the flesh of your forearm and focus on breathing, but the world has narrowed to a roaring wind in your ears and black tendrils taking over your vision.

It's been three years since you've blacked out like that, but it must have happened, because he’s holding you up when you can feel again.

“There you go, sweetheart, just breathe,” he’s murmuring. His bare hands are on you; you can feel the heat on the back of your head and middle of your spine. Your face is burning, and throat flayed.

“What doesn’t matter?” he asks.

“What?”

“You said it doesn’t matter.”

You shake your head to clear the storm and pull away from him, thankful that he lets go without a fuss. “Oh. It doesn’t matter, Mando. It doesn’t matter what was or wasn’t said. Not now.”

“Why? Why doesn’t it? It feels like it matters a lot.”

"We've lived completely different lives; we're not the same people we were then."

"We're not so changed that we can't understand one another."

You’re tired. You’re too tired to move or think carefully enough for this conversation. The panic always drains you, and it’s as if your body is finally catching up to the last three hours. Instead of answering, you just bury your face back in your hands and groan.

“Hey,” he says, reaching over to pluck a leaf from your hair. “I don’t want to leave things this way. Will you stay? Just for tonight, so we can talk in the morning.”

“I don't think that’s a good idea.”

“You fainted. I don’t think you should try to walk home. Unless you want me to give you a ride?”

“Don’t think you can land the Crest at my apartment.”

“No, with the phoenix. The jetpack.”

That wakes you up a little. “No. Absolutely not. No, thank you. I’ll sleep here with the gorgs.”

“You’ll get eaten by a puffer pig.”

“Will not.”

“They can be vicious when they want to.”

“They love me,” you say and wish you hadn’t.

“I bet they do,” and it’s sickeningly soft, not a hint of teasing. “Please, cyar’ika? I’ll sleep in the cockpit; you can have the bunk to yourself.”

You sigh. You don’t think you have it in you to scale the fucking spires and Oga’s roof again. You could go around, but that’ll add another hour. By then, the fucking suns will be up.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you say.

“Okay,” he lies. “C’mon, let’s get you inside.”

You let him help you up but pull away when he tries to support you. You don’t need the help; you could stumble around the Crest and find the bunk even if you were fully asleep. All these years haven’t changed that.

When you lay down, that’s the end of it for you. All your energy slips out, and you barely notice when he tucks the blanket in.

You meet the kid first thing in the morning. Like, first thing. Two hours later, with the three Batuuan stars beaming down from the cabin to the hull.

You meet him immediately because he climbs onto the bunk, and you startle awake, reaching to draw your blaster. Lucky for the kid, you left it in the fucking field overnight.

You sit up, and he climbs into your lap and looks up at you with huge brown eyes that should frankly be weaponized. He tilts his head and coos.

“Are you the baby?” What a stupid question, you think through the haze of too little sleep and too much everything else.

He grabs your hand with three little fingers. It’s painfully cute. And painfully painful. He has some sharp little nails.

You look around the bunk. It’s the same as it ever was, except for a fabric draped across the ceiling. The sharpness starts to grow again behind your sternum, but it’s cut off when the kid makes another sound. He reaches up, and you inexplicably lean down. His little hand touches your cheek.

“Yeah, okay, you’re very cute. Did you need something?”

He looks up at you, unblinking, and you find yourself in the galaxy’s strangest staring contest for a minute. Then he yawns and reaches his arms up, and it clicks.

“Oh! That’s your bed, isn’t it?” You lift him and help him climb in. He nestles into the hammock and falls right to sleep.

You think about doing the same. Just going back to bed, or at least pretending to, so you don’t have to face Mando.

Who, of course, pops up in the doorway. He was always so fucking quiet; it only got worse after he stopped wearing his armor around the ship.

Now, though, he's fully clad. He has a hand on his helmet, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I tried to keep him away.”

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “I kind of stole his bedroom.”

“No, it’s okay; he sleeps in the pod all the time.”

Another awkward silence falls. Your head is pounding.

“C’mon, I got breakfast.”

“You got breakfast, or you made breakfast? Because I haven’t had to eat rations in five years.” You accept his peace offering and slide out of the bunk.

He closes it behind you.

“You trap him in there, too?”

“No, he can get out. This is just in case you yell at me again.”

So much for the fucking peace. You scowl and rub your left arm.

He sighs. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this, either.” He waits a moment. “It’s a platter and caf from the docking bay.”

He’s got you there, and he knows it. He brings you the caf as soon as you sit down.

You brace yourself when the modulator picks up an inhale, but when he speaks, it’s not what you were afraid of.

“He’s a foundling. I’ve been quested to return him to his kind.”

“Oh.”

“He was a bounty, first. It’s a long story, but one I would very much like to tell you someday.”

And there it is. You close your eyes, lips pursing.

“I know you said it doesn’t matter. And if it’s what you really want, I’ll leave you alone,” he says.

You chew on your lip but don’t speak, which he takes as an invitation.

“Or, you could come with me.” He raises a hand when you open your mouth. “Just for a few days. I have to leave today to follow a lead before it’s too late. I can come back. Or you could come with us.”

“I have a whole life here,” you warn.

“Is that a yes?”

You groan. It shouldn’t be. You should go to your apartment, pack up your things, and take the next ride out of here so he can’t find you again. That would be the smart choice, to protect yourself.

But what you say is, “Fine.”

“Okay.” He tries to weigh his options, how best to proceed without spooking you. He wants to tear his gloves off and grab your hands, to pull you into his lap.

He doesn’t. He knows you’re not wrong. The things you both have lived through while apart are not insignificant. The pain has forced you to grow in different directions.

But it aches to have you sitting there, to have you home, and to not really have you at all.

So he does the only thing he can think of in that moment. Something desperate but not reckless. He’s thought about little else since the encounter with Gideon.

“Cyar’ika,” he begins cautiously, fingers tapping against the table. “I need to tell you something.”

You look up, lips pursed but eyes soft. Open, willing to chance what he’s about to say, but not without a hint of fear.

“My name is Din.”

*title from "Carpathia" by Taking Back Sunday

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian fic #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #mando x you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x oc #mando x oc #din djarin fic #make it hurt verse

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godjustwontletmedie · 10 months

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enrichment time for me means getting high and reading mandalorian smut, and i love that for myself <3

#the mandalorian #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #the last of us #hbo series #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel the last of us #the mandalorion spoilers #mando x y/n #mando season 3 #mando x reader #mando x oc #mando smut #mandalorian smut

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livingemkayde · 11 months

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Twin Moons - Chapter Seven: The Song

Series Summary:

when you meet a Mandalorian on the sands of Tatooine, for some reason you both can't stay away. even through all the pain—you keep coming back to each other. it's all you know how to do.

Chapter Seven: The Song

Notes: Ummmmm. No notes for this chapter other than ur not fucking ready. PLEASE ENJOY.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive f!reader

Series warnings: *Although this chapter may not contain graphic content, this story is rated 18+ due to graphic depictions of violence and sexual scenarios.*

Warnings: This chapter is rated mature (18+) for graphic sexual content (Fingering, f!receiving). Not much else.

Summary: He trails his hand up your leg, bunching the fabric along with it, his touch soft on your skin. He reaches further, passing by your knee and you close your eyes, bite your lip and involuntarily let out a small whimper. His head snaps up to meet yours when your soft sounds echo through the room, but it only spurs his hand up.

Masterlist Chapter Five Chapter Six

Some months later.

Beep…

Be–

“Fuck,” you mumble under your breath as you slam your hand down on your alarm clock.

You sit up from your bed in the dark room. It's late. You can tell. You see the strewn clothes around your room and your blaster and viroblade sitting at the foot of the bed on a chest. You rub your tired eyes and move to use the refresher.

As you wash your hands the bite of cold water shocks your system. Fuck. You groan, finish drying your hands quickly and move towards the bedroom to put a sweater on. As you move to the closet, you see it in the corner of your eye. The black fabric seems to glow to your sight in the darkness of the room. You push it to the back of your mind.

You get dressed quickly, and step out into the dark night sky and make your way to the cantina. You pull your hair into a small bun at the base of your neck—baby hairs falling loosely down your neck and around your face. It's a cold night, the wind rips through your skin and you brace your jacket further around your body.

You enter the cantina, travel to the back and put your apron on to begin the night shift.

Bartending—what a fucking joke.

But you needed credits.

After Davin—his followers seemed to scatter in the wind when someone tipped the New Republic he was dead. They raided the place, ransacked the spice, released the prostitutes working, freed the prisoners you didn’t even know he was harboring in the dungeons.

After that, you fled to the upper levels, looking for work in a much more approachable cantina. A cantina hired you for bartending. He said you were pretty enough that he would let it slide if you didn’t have any experience.

You met someone who worked with the New Republic and made friends with him—a regular at the bar. Just to get them off your back until everything died down. And it did die down. No one ever sought to question you—to the New Republic, you were some lowly servant girl looking for work after escaping her home planet. No one would know and you would keep it that way.

The man you befriended, Leo, offered you housing for cheap, in a complex near his.

He was okay—you guess.

He was some pilot for the New Republic but was decommissioned after an injury to his brain. He kept you company—no—kept you busy.

He was okay—until his touches turned lingering when he began inviting you out to late night drinks and parties going on till the early mornings.

But he was harmless.

The two of you have never talked about whatever is going on between you. There was never any need to—you felt nothing. And he was harmless. He let you push out of his hugs that lasted too long and squeezed you too tight.

But he was nice—he was fine.

His friendship allowed you to be invisible to the New Republic records and in turn the Empire. If it meant slipping through the cracks, you would put up with much worse.

He does make you laugh—not in the way the Mandalorian did.

But he certainly doesn’t make you cry.

He also never brought a flush to your face, never gave you butterflies, never asked more than you let on, never excited you. Not the way the Mandalorian did.

You think back to his shirt you saw this morning in the closet. You haven’t put it back on since Sorgan, all those months ago. You wonder if it still smells like him, or if he’s truly lost forever. It makes your heart ache, even after all this time—you wonder if it will ever stop.

You tie your apron around your waist and make your way to the bar. It should be a slow night. You know Leo will come in for a drink soon, and to talk to you.

As you watch the time pass, he enters the cantina doors and finds your eyes almost immediately. He smiles. Really smiles. That’s something you like about him—you can always tell what he’s thinking. You smile back, tight lipped and continue to make a drink for a patron seated at the bar.

When Leo approaches the counter, you excuse yourself from the other customer, and begin to prepare his usual—some spotchka the cantina gets from a backwater town. You made fun of him when he revealed it was his favorite, but he only told you it reminded him of the glory days.

Whatever that meant.

When you set the drink in front of him and place your hands on the bar, he smiles at you again.

“Hey doll.” He winks at you. The nickname seemed like overkill in the beginning—but you barely notice it now—many people have had many nicknames for you your whole life. His flirting was getting tiresome—but you always put on a fake smile in response. He’s none the wiser to your apparent lack of blush.

“Hey Leo. The usual.” You gesture to the drink in front of him and he takes it while raising the glass to you.

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks while pulling the glass from his lips.

“Just working.” You respond and start polishing glasses for more drinks. “Why?” You peer at him, he has a devilish smile on his face.

“Two tickets. Tonight. You and me,” he says coolly. More declaring the plans rather than asking.

“Where to?” You ask while prepping another glass.

“You can’t say no. I gambled away next month’s rent for these tickets.”

“C’mon just tell me,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes—a small smile on your face.

“We’re going to the Opera.”

He convinces you to go—somehow. Maybe you feel bad for him or maybe you want to get out of your room. You feel trapped in this life. Stuck in a place you were seeking to leave. It feels different even 1000 levels up, but you still feel uneasy being in one place for so long. You told yourself you should go see Ahsoka, go do anything. So you go.

He convinces you to break out an old dress, do your hair for once, put on some makeup—telling you he would be in his best suit. You dig through your closet to find a black dress that comes down to your ankles. You had bought it to attend a ball Davin made you go to. It makes your skin shiver at the thought and when it pools at your ankles, the feeling doesn’t dissipate.

You smooth the dress over your body and grab a small shawl to go over your shoulders. He knocks on your door as you grab your clutch, pinning a few fallen pieces of hair back, and make your way to the entryway.

“Hey,” he greets you. “You look really nice,” he adds, wrapping your body in a small hug and looks down at you with a smile.

You don’t feel nice. The heels you’re wearing digs at your toes and the dress keeps surfacing old memories you fought so hard to bury. But you don’t tell him that. You don’t tell him anything.

“Thanks. You too,” you reply shortly.

You enter the speeder first, he opens the door for you. He’s a gentleman. He’s sweet, nice, everything you should be settling for, but you can’t help but think about a certain beskar covered man. He floods your thoughts constantly when you’re with Leo—you don’t know why and you don’t care to think about that particular notion further.

On the way to the opera house he talks your ear off about the show, saying something about how it’s his favorite since he was a kid and wanted to take you there. It’s fucked up, but you stop listening half way through. Just absentmindedly nodding your head and look at him smiling every so often. The ride feels like it lasts forever.

When you reach the platform of the house, he holds his hand out to you, taking your silken gloves in his hand to lift you out of the speeder. You remember the Mandalorian. His hands. The way it felt to touch his gloves in your bare ones—feeling the heat of his palms sear into yours.

He leads you to your seats, the lights dim, the show begins. He claps enthusiastically throughout the show. You like it too—when you’re not fighting to keep your head from slumping to the side. It’s too long for you, too domestic, too…boring.

The lights slowly lift when the show ends, Leo jumps to his feet to clap, you join him slowly, while stealing a glance at him through the corner of your eye.

You smooth your dress over your thighs and adjust your shawl over your shoulders. The room is cold, you can feel the chill go up your spine. As you clap and look around the room, people begin to exit. You can see them filing out through the aisles. Leo got seats in the mezzanine so you place your hands on the balcony ledge and peer down into the audience below you. You watch as the people move towards the exit.

But something shiny catches your eye and momentarily blinds your vision.

No.

It can’t be.

It…can be—but surely it can’t be because what are the odds?

He’s moving against the flow of traffic. Going towards the stage, and peering around—looking left then right. When his helmet moves towards up, you duck behind Leo and let out a small squeal. You aren’t sure why. You’ve been thinking about him for months and he’s here. In the flesh. Your heart skips a beat at the thought that he might be here for you—looking for you.

Leo guides you down towards the exit, holding your hand as you make your way down the grand steps which lead out to the main entrance.

You keep looking around you, curious about his arrival at the show. Leo notices your sudden uneasy energy and asks you about it—but you simply brush it off as being tired.

He appears then, in front of you. You can see the top of his helmet as he sticks up slightly from the crowd. You continued down the staircase, vision remained locked on his T visor looking around the room and at the people passing him as they make their way towards the exit.

He looks past you, further up the staircase and when his vision finally lands on you, you stumble. Holding onto Leo’s arm for dear life, you look down, your dress getting caught on the toe of your heel. You frantically look back at him, curious as to his reaction to everything. Seeing you here. Seeing you alive. With another man—in some outfit playing dress up. You pick your dress off the toe of your shoe and quickly descend from the last staircase.

Leo follows your hasty figure. His gaze coming up to meet your eye line.

“Is that a Mandalorian? Wait—hold on—he’s dangerous.” He grabs your bicep and attempts to hold you back gently. Your pace towards the Mandalorian doesn’t falter.

You meet him in the middle of the room. He stalks towards you, the crowd parting for him as you push through. Leo follows fast after you, breaking into a small jog.

It feels like time stands still—you push and push—rude, you know. But he’s here. And he sees you. And you want to explain everything before it’s too late. Before he leaves you like you left him.

You finally reach him. He stands still before you. He looks the same. Sans a small green child at his hip. Good. You note. He’s probably with Luke.

You’re breathless as you stare at him. You move to open your mouth and say something—anything, but Leo finally catches up to your side and pulls at your waist. You notice how the Mandalorian’s helmet looks down at Leo’s hand on your body.

“Geez. You move quickly. I–” He pauses when he looks up to who you’re standing in front of. Leo suddenly straightens his posture, though he’s still not taller than the Mandalorian. His voice appears in your ear, whispering lowly as if the Mandalorian can’t hear him.

“Do you know this guy or something?”

You ignore him and his touches. Only the man in front of you matters. You step toward him. Leo’s hand falls from your waist—he’s speechless, you can tell.

“Hi,” you say dumbly. He doesn’t respond. Only nods his head back at you.

Fuck. Maybe he’s mad—pissed even. But you can make it up to him, right? Explain everything?

“What are you doing here?” You ask, still breathless.

“Bounty work.” He replies. Your heart drops for a split second. He wasn’t here for you. It was all a coincidence. But maybe it was meant to be because, Maker. His voice. It sounds the same as you remember, richer even if that’s possible. It sends you into a trance. “What are you doing here?” He continues. Your face blushes embarrassingly.

“I—” You start but Leo’s touch on your body causes you to spin to look at him. He’s ruining everything.

“We should get going.” Leo says, hand coming to find your hip now, pulling back slightly towards his own body.

You look around and suddenly realize a small crowd has formed, watching you and the Mandalorian.

Fuck.

He’s right—too much attention.

But you can’t bring yourself to walk away from him. He’s right there, and you look pretty, and seeing his helmet in the flesh makes you feel lightheaded after so many nights of imagining his image.

“Go,” he says through modulation. Almost knowing. Like he understands everything—because for some reason, he does.

“I—” you start again before Leo’s hand drags you away, and the Mandalorian continues through the crowd and disappears from your vision.

“What the fuck was that?”

Leo drags you to some back alley away from the opera house. Maybe you should be scared in this situation, but like you said before, he’s harmless.

“Just someone I knew okay? Can we just drop it?”

“You just know a Mandalorian?” He places one hand on his hip and questions you with furrowed brows.

“Yes, it was a while ago—look can we just go back?” You don’t meet his eye.

“No, what business do you have with a Mandalorian? They’re dangerous. You know that right?”

“Yes. I know. Just drop it okay? He—I have no business with him—he’s no one.” The sentence coming from your mouth stings at its blatant lie.

“I’ve never seen you like that. You were—flushed—or—I don’t know. Can you just tell me what’s going on?”

“He’s—just—Maker, can we just go? He’s nothing.” You say with a slightly more threatening tone. Leo’s eyes sink to shock and he turns around, hands coming up to his head.

“You don’t tell me anything. I give you everything. And you can’t even tell me who that was. You’re awfully flustered for him being nothing.” He says, you look at him with pity.

“He’s someone from home. Okay? Just someone I used to know. I didn’t expect to see him here.” You say while not meeting his eye. You feel bad that you’re still searching for him even in this dark alley.

Leo looks at you. Really looks at you, and you finally meet his gaze. Fuck. He looks hurt. This isn’t what you meant to happen tonight. The Mandalorain pulled you against your wishes and this is you dealing with the consequences.

“Leo stop c’mon. I promise you. He—he’s no one. ”

Another lie to add to the pile.

“Maker I—you don’t get it. Do you?” He asks, his head hanging to the side.

You stare at him shocked. You’ve never seen him worked up, let alone mad at you.

“Get what? Leo I—”

He cuts you off, bringing his lips to yours. You don’t kiss him back, but you don’t push him off. He stays pushed against your lips for a couple seconds. Then he releases his hold on you—panting against your lips.

You pull back your head slightly, trying to find his eyes. You probably look like a deer in headlights right now.

“And now you look like that.” He says, breathless, defeated.

“Like what?”

“Scared.” He replies.

“I—Leo, I-I don’t know if I wan—” “I know. I just…I just had to try.” He drops your body from his hands and steps back. You don’t know what to say.

When you don't respond, he gestures towards the street and lets out a soft, “Let’s go back.”

He walks you back to your room, eventually. He leaves with his head down. You should feel bad—for lying. But all you can think about is the Mandalorian.

Fuck.

He was right there. You wanted to fall into his arms and tell him everything. Confess everything. But you couldn’t—and now you don’t know if you will ever be able to.

You reach into your clutch for the keycard to your room, and shuffle through some spare makeup to find it. You swipe it through the sensor and your door flushes open. You look in the mirror beside the front door—you’re unrecognizable to yourself after so many years in hiding.

You feel awful. You’re distraught and devastated—now it’s the appropriate feeling to use the word. He was right there. And even worse, you can’t shake the feeling of Leo’s lips on yours. You tried to wipe it off, but to no avail.

You slump down into a chair and begin to take your heels off. You unclasp them and drop them to the ground while reaching into your dress to take off the holster you had strapped to your thigh with your blaster and blade—just in case. You struggle with the clasp and begin to yank on it, the movement rustling your dress. You feel your blade cut into the skin on your pointer finger.

“Fuck.” You curse to yourself and bring your hand to your eye to inspect the damage.

“Need help?” A thick voice peels through the air of your small room. You yelp out of instinct, jump out of your seat, grab your blaster, and spin to face your bedroom.

Fuck are you dreaming?

He stands there. Just like a few hours before. In front of you—head tilting to the side. You don’t know whether or not to drop your blaster. Maybe he’s here to kill you.

“H–how–I–I…” You start breathless but can’t find the words.

“C’mon. Put that down.” He says while nodding his head to the blaster you still have raised at him. You lower it slowly while he steps toward you.

“H–how did you g–ge—” “Your lock is easy to pick.” He states—still approaching your shaken form.

“You—the opera. I—” you start, but he comes close to you. His body crowds your senses and you move your head to stare up at him.

“I got the guy.” He says. “And you live here now.” He looks around the room in reference. “And you’re with…him.” He says the last part and his voice raises at the end like it’s almost a question, but he’s trying to convince himself it’s a statement.

“Yes. I—well no—I-I live here. But we’re—he’s not—I’m not—we’re not together.” You stutter over your words. You can’t believe he’s here, in your home, crowding your senses like all the weeks before.

“Sure looked like it,” is all he says in reply. Fuck. Was he talking about the kiss?

You don’t know what to say to that—nevermind what he’s doing in your bedroom.

You choose to shake your head in response. You break your gaze, your eyes falling to your feet.

A few moments pass until he begins to move in front of you. He slowly kneels at your feet, mimicking the first time you met him, in the cantina. His hand finds your ankle and your breath hitches in response. You say nothing. Partially because you’re scared your erratic words will cause him to leave forever and the other half because you truly do not know what to say.

He trails his hand up your leg, bunching the fabric along with it, his touch soft on your skin. He reaches further, passing by your knee and you close your eyes, bite your lip and involuntarily let out a small whimper. His head snaps up to meet yours when your soft sounds echo through the room, but only trails his hand higher. It reaches the holster on your thigh. He slowly begins to unbuckle it and lingers there slightly longer than necessary, kneading the flesh of your leg while the holster falls to the ground.

He drops his hand from under your dress when you let out a small moan.

The Mandalorian stands and comes face to face with you again.

A thousand years could pass by but you would still be stuck in this moment. You look into his visor—you find his eyes immediately.

“You left,” he breaks the silence first. He sounds—mad. Or maybe hurt. You can’t tell under the modulation.

“I know. I–I’m sorry. I…” You don’t want to make excuses, so you settle for that.

“Why?” He asks anyway.

“Davin. He—I needed to be done.” You state, breaking your haze on his visor and looking to the side.

“You killed him?” He asks.

“Yes. I—the New Republic was all over the club after. I had to come up here to get away from it.” Your eyebrows furrow at the memories. “Leo is just…I don’t know. He worked with the NR. Takes the heat off me,” you confess.

“I see.” He notes in reply.

Silence surrounds both of you. You look back to his visor.

“I’m sorry. About everything.” You say. You want to reach out and touch him. Hold his hands in yours while you speak. And you do, before you even realize you’re moving. His hands feel rigid in yours while you mold with them.

You feel connected with him at your touch. Even through gloves you can feel every nerve ending in your body.

You feel the attachment that led you to him all those months ago—what kept you dreaming about him, what kept you coming back over and over again.

And maybe whenever you thought about him, it was because he was trying to find you. Searching the galaxy for your white eyes—dreaming about them behind his eyelids.

His hands pull back in your grip but you don’t let them go.

You’re done letting go.

But he’s angry with you. You can tell. Maybe it’s Leo, or maybe it’s just you. He was looking for you while you sat here pretty—leading on the guy next door.

“I should be going now. I…wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I–” He lets out a breathy laugh. “I saw him drag you into that alley.”

“You followed me?” Your eyes widen in shock.

“I guess. But you’re fine. You got out of there when it started looking…intimate,” you wince at his words. So he saw everything.

“Yeah. He-he just kissed me. I don’t know what happened.” You reply softly. His hand drops from yours and comes up—much like all those months ago, to touch your waist but he falters. Din remembers the man who was with you. His hands were all over your body. The way he glared at Din from behind your shoulder—threatened. Din silently shakes his head, this isn’t what he was here for.

But he isn’t sure what he was here for. He saw you, walking into the opera house. He rounded up the bounty quickly, dragging him back to the ship and sought after you when the show ended. It was supposed to be nothing more than following closely behind you—to steal a couple glances at you in that dress again before he got off world. But you had spotted him through the crowd—and then he knew there was no turning back.

Going to see you after the opera turned into following you to the alley, then to your complex, and picking the back door silently when you bid Leo goodnight.

Now he was—he wasn’t sure. But he knows getting involved with you again was dangerous—and he should treat it as such.

His arm drops and he balls his fist at his side. He feels your hand in his other one.

“Please,” you say with white eyes while you look at him through your lashes. All that was looking back was a black T.

“Don’t go.”

“You left. You left me.” He says with a certain bite that registers in the back of your throat and shoots down to create a pit in your stomach.

“I didn't know you were looking for me. In your dreams, you were looking for me,” you say while your head hangs and you drop his reluctant hand.

“I’m always looking for you.”

Tears well your eyes at his words. You stifle your cries for soft sobs but feel like dropping to the floor and staying there forever.

“Don’t cry,” he says. He brings his hand to your face—his thumb rubbing away fast falling tears from your eyes.

“I'm sorry,” you plead through tears.

“I know,” his hand remains on your face.

You push your cheek into it.

You stayed like that for a long time. He pulled you into his chest and gripped the back of your neck as he held you.

When you both settle to the table in the kitchen, you tell him about Davin—everything about him. You don’t miss how his hand tightens its fist at the mention he was your first kiss.

He tells you he took the kid to the seeing stone, lost him for a bit, then Luke swooped in and saved them all. Typical. Luke is so much like his father and yet, not at all.

“Can I get you anything? Are you hungry?” You say, making your way to the kitchen cabinets. Your bare feet patter into the floors—you’re still in your dress, the shawl wrapped around your body.

“I’m okay. Thank you,” he responds while looking around your home.

“Can I?” He gestures to the expanse of the big room—your living room, bedroom, and kitchen stand undivided, your space looking more like a large loft rather than a house.

“Go for it,” you prepare some berries in a bowl for him anyways. Although you aren’t sure how he will eat them in front of you—a reminder of the rift between you.

You watch him from the kitchen as he stalks around your small space. He looks at the books on your side table, inspects the small trinkets lining the shelves above your bed, touches the headboard with an open palm. It sends a heat to your lower stomach. He’s here. He’s in your room—your bedroom.

It's late. You both left the light switch turned off—blanketed in darkness, the only light coming from the glow of the moon through your windows.

You sit on the counter in your dress, next to the bowl of berries. You nibble at one while watching him look around your open closet.

“You like it here?” He asks, making his way back to you slowly while looking around.

“It’s cheap. It’s…fine. I guess.” you smile slightly at him. He meets your gaze and continues through the small space.

“Leo got it for me. Says he knows the landlord or something,” you concede—heart beat picking up slightly at the mention of his name.

“Leo.” He echos.

“Yeah. The guy from the Opera,” you note quietly, staring down to your swinging feet.

His figure stops a couple feet away from you, hip popped out, leaning on the side of the table with his arms crossed.

“He–y–he treating you right?” He asks, his stance looks ridgid.

“I guess. He’s…nice…fine. I told him I didn’t want anything though.”

“Before or after he kissed you?”

Your eyes widen at the statement. You try to find your words, lips parting.

“I–a-after. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

“No?”

You shake your head in response.

“Why not?” He steps towards you again, you find yourself parting your thighs, a quiet invitation for him to settle between your legs.

“B-because…” you trail off when his hands come to rest on both thighs, massaging them gently while he separates them more, his hips resting in between your legs.

The only contact you feel is the sides of his body on the inside of your knee. You look down, flustered, and when you see his hands on your legs it makes your breath hitch.

“Because?”

You close your eyes momentarily while he rubs your legs. You hesitate in your confession, but find your voice, maybe this is your proposal for him to stay here between your legs forever.

“Because everytime I'm with him I can only think about you.”

His hands stop moving on your thighs and your eyes snap up to meet his visor.

A long silence passes between you. His chest plate rises and falls with every breath. You count them. You’re worried your confession has upset him in some way.

“Fuck. You’re killing me,” he finally mutters. His hands begin to move again, wrapping around your waist—feeling your ribs under the dress. “You look…good. In this dress,” you let out a sigh of relief. You relish the feeling of his hands on your body. You want so desperately to tell him to rip it off you—do anything he wants with you.

“You wear this dress for him?” His words break your trance.

“No,” you shake your head furrowing your eyebrows, leaning into his touch, and arching your back slightly. You start breathing heavily, you can see it fogging his visor.

He crowds your senses, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. You can feel his cock—hard and wanting under his flight suit push into your core. It makes you gasp and see stars. Your hands instinctively come up to his chest plate. You feel the cold beskar bite your hot skin—it makes you shiver.

“You fuck him?” He says, his crude language mixed with the feeling of his body pressed to yours runs laps in your mind. He pulls the shawl off your shoulders and toys with the strap of your dress. You can’t breathe, let alone see straight. You are drunk at the feeling of his hands on you—his body so close to yours.

“No…no no. Definitely not,” you shake your head while leaning up to his helmet. If things were different you would reach up to kiss him.

“No? Would you have let him?” He pulls the straps of your dress off your shoulder, the fabric falls down your chest, exposing your breasts to the air—your nipples pebble at the cold.

“No—I…no. P-please,” You aren’t sure what you’re asking for, but you need him to do something, anything.

“Fuck, angel. Please what? What do you want from me?” The nickname burns your skin—unlike anything you’ve ever felt.

“Anything. A–anything. Whatever you want,” you plead. There’s almost tears in your eyes from your whining. The pool forming in your underwear is ever growing as he runs his hands along your bare chest, coming to grasp your tits in his hands, thumbing your nipples slowly.

“Anything I want?” His hand pulls back, travels under your dress, and toys with the hem of your underwear. “You’re just for me?” He continues.

“Yes. Y-yes—just for you. Only for you. Mandalori—”

He dips into your underwear, the pad of his gloved finger touches your aching clit lightly, you gasp and your head falls to rest against his chest plate.

“Mandalorian.” He chuckles. “I’ve got my hand up your dress and you don’t even wanna call me Mando?” His head tilts down to the side to see your face. He suddenly pulls his hand out, and starts to undo the fastens on the wrists. Fuck. Is he going to show you his hands? His real hands? You look up to him, and back down to his wrists. You can’t take your eyes away from his hands.

“Mandal—”

“Bite.” He cuts you off, his fingers appearing in front of your mouth, you bite down on the tips of his fingers and feel him pull back—his hand slipping out of his glove. He undoes the other glove. You see his skin. Decidedly human, and tan. You figure his skin never sees the sun, so it must be his natural color. Tan. Human.

“Do you want to know?” He returns his hands back under your dress, inching up your thighs again. The skin to skin contact makes your head spin and you feel lightheaded. Maybe he’s no good for you—something so simple isn’t supposed to feel so good.

“Know what?” His fingertips dip back into your underwear, feeling your wetness. He groans slowly. He begins to push his right middle finger into your aching hole, but pulls back out so only the tip remains.

“My name.”

That snaps you out of it. He can tell. His fingers stop working on you.

“I–only if you want…or you can just be Mandalorian to me.” You say and try to find his eyes beneath the visor. You whimper at the feeling of his fingertip in you. He pushes in—twisting his palm up so he can fill you till his knuckle. Maker, he causes you to see stars.

“I want you to know. ‘Cause you’re not just an assassin to me. Can I tell you?” He starts to pump slowly, finding a steady but achingly slow rhythm that has you whining into his chest. He brings his other hand to your chin, forcing it up to look at his visor. His head cocks—maker, he’s really asking you this question when he’s got his finger deep inside you?

You nod your head frantically and shut your eyes. You feel close just from his slow movements—the pressure building from months of dreaming about him is about to explode.

“Maker, I can feel you. You gonna come already angel? If I tell you, will you say it when you come? ”

“Yes—yes fuck—please, please, f–anything for you.”

He pumps more, adding a second finger, leaning down so his helmet’s forehead touches your own. That makes you want to cry. You bite your lip to soften your whimpers.

“Din. Din Djarin.” He mumbles under his breath and starts pumping faster.

Din. Din. Din. Din. Din.

Maker, you can barely breathe. When you feel the heat in your belly begin to spill over, you clutch onto his bicep so tight you’re afraid it’ll hurt him.

“Alright—alright. C’mon pretty girl. Give it to me,” he says—and you do. You come all over his fingers with a whine, louder than you expected, but then again it feels better than you ever expected. You say his name, his real name. Kriff. Your heart could explode.

When you come down from your high, he leaves his fingers inside you while he holds you in his arms, yours strewn over his shoulders, hanging from his body to keep upright.

You drift to sleep in his arms, your mind only chanting one thing until you see darkness.

Din. Din. Din. Din. Din.

Chapter Eight: The Resurgence

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makrokosmuss-blog · 1 year

Text

To see me

Summary: A head wound can be fatal for a Mandalorian. To not reveal ones face contrasting strictly with a pain that needs to be treated. Yet Din finds himselfs a savior - and is himself shocked at how much his touch starved soul enjoys each and every caress of soft hands.

Warning: Head trauma, blind reader, a lot of pining and a bit anxiety from Mando's side A/N: Due to request here a little short story about a blind reader/ medic reader tending to Mando.

“It is fine.” “It is not.” The Armorers voice was firm and it still made Din quiver like a boy when she spoke in that tone to him. It also made the throbbing pain on the back of his head worse. Injuries to the head were not usual for Mandalorians. For reasons that need not be explained. Especially because of that reason they were deadly as well. The motivation to never show one's face was deemed to be greater than the one to stop a slow painful death due to a head wound. This was the Second time Din had ended up with one. The first time he’d thankfully been in the presence of a droid that helped him out. This time however, he hadn’t been as lucky. It was at the back of his head too, he was unable to treat it no matter how often he’d tried. With dizziness and a migraine that drove him mad he’d made it to the others, hoping he’d recover if he’d just rested. Again, he hadn’t been lucky. Days had passed and his state had nothing but worsened. A fever joined the migraine and the vertigo and it hadn’t been long til the Armorer had caught on to it. “If it’s a head wound it needs treatment. Soon.”, she spoke, her voice still tense and like she was scolding a thick headed child. “And how am i going to get that?”, Mando asked, looking up at her. In his state, sick with fever and his vision blurred even through the sharpening visor he felt like laying straight back down. Grugo sat on his makeshift bed beside him. Cooing worryingly. The little guy had not left his side since it had happened and had that saddened look on his little green face that made Din’s heart melt. The foundling had tried often enough to get under his helmet, use his healing on him but yet again and again Din had carefully sat him down, telling him it was not right.

The Madnalorian before him crossed her arms, armor shining in its golden hue as it caught the light of the setting suns outside the window. It caused Din’s migraine to flare up worse than before. “I would know someone. I have to see if they are still around…”, she said. Her voice lower now, nearly a whisper. Mando frowned, shaking his head, slowly, not to make matters worse. “How would that work out?”, he asked, confused by her statement. Yet again, he wasn’t quite fit to think at all lately. “It does. I’ve sought them out many times before.”, the Armorer explained in a calming tone. “Is it a droid, then? I still don’t love them but i’d surely give it a go…”, he answered. Even he noticed just how weak he sounded. “No droid. But it is right for our kind. You can trust me on this, I will make contact. Rest now.” Din felt her hand on his shoulder. Warm. And reassuring. His head killed him. He closed his eyes. Trusting her.

Grogu whined. A day had passed and Din found himself in his cockpit, readying the ship for flight. He looked over his shoulder, watching the little guy squeal. “What? I’m fine. I can fly you know.”, he said out loud. Watching Grorgu’s reaction. “I can. Don’t give me that look. I’m fine enough. I won’t kill us.”, he muttered, turned back to face the console again. Sometimes he felt crazy. For talking so much to his foundling, knowing he would get no answer. Maybe all the years of doing missions in solitude had made him mad after all. Nervous, definitely. Nervous to meet someone. Nervous about what would happen. About how this would go. He stared ahead. The ship was ready to go. Grugo cooed. “Fine Fine I’ll put the thing on auto-pilot. Let’s go.”, Din sighted, forcing him to just trust fate on this one. I. A Gaze He held Grogu closely, pressed against him. This was the place. He was sure of it. And yet he had not knocked nor rang for a minute now, simply staring the door down. The planet was nice. Clean. Green - bluish flora bloomed around the place. The street seemed awfully clean. No shady alleys, no run down taverns, no greasy walls. This wall before him was pure white. A house build of strangely white and smooth stone. Strange flying tiny creatures around him, surrounding the flowers in the garden before it that he still stood in. Grogu, once more, brought him back to reality. A soft coo this time. As if he was asking if everything was alright. It caused Mando to take a sharp inhale, his heart still beating fast. He did not know why he was nervous at all. Maybe because he was about to take off his helmet in there. Or maybe because this place seemed all too wrong for him. Too clean, too nice. He sat his Foundling down carefully. His head spun as he did. It reminded him all too well exactly why he found himself here in the first place. He stared ahead again. The display in his visor telling him once more that yes - this was the location he was ought to be. Somehow, even though it was the Armorer herself who’d sent him here, he felt his anxiety act up. He’d messed up already. He’d taken off the helmet before. He’d swore to himself he’d do anything to never have that happen again. And here he was, about to break that promise. Grogu squealed. He seemed happy enough. Raising his little hands to touch the blue leaves and then tried to get to the little creatures that sat on it. “Alright then. Let’s go.” Din took a deep breath, lifted his hand and knocked. Three times. Muscles tight. Expression stern. And then it all changed. Then She opened the door. II. A Whisper

It had taken her a while to get the door. To make her way towards the knocking sound, but as she did, she had surely noticed him standing before it. Mando stared her down. Straight up gazing at her soft features. The shine of her hair. The silken dress that hugged her figure loosely but oh so wonderfully. She was radiant. Dazzling. Mando felt his heart drop into his stomach, his heart picking up. She hadn’t spoken a single word until now. And he hadn’t either. Damn it he hadn’t even moved. This woman was supposed to take care of his head? How was that going to work out? Ignoring the fact that her looks bedazzled him, he still did not know how she was to solve this problem that he had. That he was here for. Mando watched her closely. Taking a deep breath. He was just about to say something when he noticed her soft smile changing into a confused little tilt of her head as she drew her brows together. “Hello?”, she asked, uncertainty tainting her voice. Hello? Mando was the one frowning in confusion now. Why was she asking as if she didn’t see him standing right in front of her. Grogu squealed on the ground, raising his tiny arms towards the woman and grinning brightly - as if he’d solved the mystery before him. Mando, following the little one's gaze looked up again and then, suddenly it clicked for him as well. She did indeed not see him. It was the certain silver glimmer in her eyes that had given it away. Only visible when he was truly looking for it. She was blind. It rang through his head. And so many questions were answered. Quickly explaining himself, Mando stood up straight. He cleared his throat, then spoke: “I ah…the Mandalorian. The Headwound. The Amorer send me.” Not much of an explanation, he noticed quickly. Feeling a bit shy and nervous and still dizzy before her. The smile returned to the woman's features none the less and she quickly nodded, making a small and elegant side-step to make room for him to enter the door. “Of course! I’ve been waiting for you. Please, come in.”, she chimed, the smile on her lips genuine, Mando did notice now. In the way the focus of her eyes was just off. She moved so naturally though. So beautifully, swayfully elegant. The woman had already made him forget the pain in his head for just a minute there. III. A touch He had entered the small house. Had been told to sit down. Mando did, as usual, exactly as he was told. It gave him time to look around and calm his breathing. He was still nervous as hell, even though this turn of events had indeed calmed him a bit. She could look at him, straight up, no helmet involved, and would not see his face. It was quite the genius concept for a mandalorian medic, really. Yet again, he asked himself just how good of a medic she was if she could not see what the hell she was doing. It frightened him a little. As did the fact that he was still to remove his helmet right in front of the lovely woman. He had asked her where he could sit Grogu down for the time being. She had shown him to a room. A couch in it. A desk. Not much more. Yet the cushions were soft enough and with some loving words of encouragement and explanation the little foundling sat perfectly still on them. Mando bringing his favorite snack along and offering it as a bribe surely had helped as well. That dilemma was taken care of then. Only her remained. Her, the mysterious woman who still sorted things out just behind him. Her, that made him all so nervous in two very different ways. “Are the blinds closed?”, she asked, her voice as soft as he remembered it. He did not need to look at them to know they weren’t. “No. May I close them?”, he asked, a frown on his features. He’d love to get up and just…move to ease the tight muscles and calm his quickly beating heart. “Yes that would be lovely, thank you.”, she smiled softly, turning to him. He watched her again. Not returning the smile. She wouldn’t see it anyway. He asked himself if that was making it better or worse for his conscience. He needed to ask. At least to take the pressure off a little. Yet he felt it was not very nice to do so. He wavered, then turned over his shoulder as he closed the black curtains before the window, darkening the room. “I…I’m sorry to ask. truly I am but…”, he started, soon to be interrupted by her. He was surprised that it turned out to be a chuckle. A sweet and delightful yet soft chuckle. “I see nothing. No worries. You can take the helmet off without restraint, Mandalorian. This isn’t the first time I am doing this.”, she explained. Her tone was reassuring and well meant. It eased him a little. “Huh…Alright then.”, he agreed quietly, taking his seat once more. He looked around. The room was pretty barren, a bit minimalistic but apart from that nice and still cozy in a way. “Anything I can…do?”, he asked, tapping the chair nervously with his gloved fingers. She smiled at that, concentrated on her silver tray before her with all kinds of useful utensils on it. “You may undress.”, she spoke. It made Mando’s skin trickle. “All or…”, he asked, voice deep, trying his best not to stutter. “It’s just the head wound, yes?”, she asked, raising a brow. “Yes, all else iis taken care of.”, he answered dryly. “Just the helmet, the gloves and the shoulder pieces then. Please.” Just. Mando disliked even that quite a lot. Yet got to work quickly. All felt relatively normal but the helmet. He wavered at the helmet. Not quite daring to take it off just yet. She moved over to him then. And then he felt her. Soft hands, caressing over his shoulder, towards his chest.

The man felt blood rushing to his head and his skin tingled. He had been so touch starved for so long that even this felt like the most intimate thing he’s felt in months and just like that, he tensed up underneath her gentle hands. She stood behind him. Her hands on his shoulder, caressing and massaging along the neck. “Helmet is still on, I feel.”, she teased. The woman did not judge nor pressure him. She sounded understanding, if anything. “I..yeah…Sorry it’s…”, he started, stumbling over his words. impossible. horrid. most intimate. near hurtful. “I understand. Completely. We’ll take it slow, no need to remove it just now.”, she spoke. Her tone was so calm and reassuring. So very guiding and careful with him. Mando found himself enjoying that a bit too much for his own liking and just like that he leaned back a little, enjoying the massage of his strained neck. A touch most magical.

“Tell me what exactly the problem is.”, she offered, trying to ease him into teh experience. Mando sighted. Closing his eyes. “Mission gone wrong. I landed head first on stone. Hard. Usually the helmet buffers each fall but I must've landed in a bad way. Hit my head. Just above the right eye.”, he explained. He was still tense. Still nervous. His heart was pacing quickly and his breathing was irregular. She only hummed softly. Urging him to go on. Her hands never stopped caressing him. She felt wonderful.

“I…had a bad headache after that. Noticed blood trickling out from underneath my helmet. Checked myself in the mirror. Was too dazed to do something about it myself. It only got worse after I checked back in with the others.”, he continued. He was easing slightly. Losing himself in her touch and his tale. “I understand.”, she nearly whispered, “What exactly worsened?” This time he answered straight away. Way less restrained. “The pain. Dull and throbbing behind my forehead. Dizziness. Nausea.”, he sighted.

“I am very sorry to hear that. I’ll see what I can do, It might be serious however.”, she warned him, genuine worry and feel in her voice. Mando nodded. “I…trust you. I suppose.”

“You can. Many of your brothers and sisters have come here. There wasn’t one yet whom I could not aid.”, the woman spoke reassuringly, squeezing his shoulders lightly as a little heads up. Mando found himself smiling at that. “Now. Helmet. Want to take it off yourself or do you want me to do it?”

He froze again at that. Damn he’d grown quite comfortable just now. Could’ve stayed like that…but there was the matter at hand. “I…” Mando had never ever thought that he would ever let someone else touch his helmet. Yet again. Many Mandalorians had come here. He was safe with her. It was alright. It was fine. Trauma trickled underneath his skin. To be seen. To remove the helmet himself and… “Would you do it?” He wouldn’t want to repeat that trauma.

She was soft. And respectful. Her slender hands found the right button to release the tight grip of the helmet all too soon and with the uttermost care she grasped underneath the metal, lifting it off his head.

Mando still hated and loathed every second of it, yet again, the extreme pain that flooded through his body like a toxin as soon as the pressure of the helmet was released showed him just how much this action was necessary,

“Are you okay?”

She had asked carefully, still holding his helmet in her hands. “I…Yeah.”, the Mandalorian before her answered. Sweetly, she reached over him, placing the helmet back into his hands, so he could hold tightly onto it during the procedure. She still stood behind him. Still, even in theory could not glance at his features. Din Djarin felt utterly naked nonetheless.

“You have a lovely voice. By the way.”, she then said. Mando frowned, turning his head over his shoulder to look at her without a second thought. “What?”, he asked, not noticing he had just turned his features to her right then. She seemed to look right through him. So sweet, so beautiful she stood before him, a lovely smile on her perfect lips. “Without the modulator. You sound handsome.”, she repeated herself. A blush creeped up her cheeks and Mando felt his heartbeat picking up pace once more.

“I…thank you.” “You are very welcome.” “You”, , he stopped himself there. not daring to tell her just how wonderful she looked, “It’s…nothing. Sorry.” “All good then. Let’s get you sorted out.”, she spoke with that smile of hers, closing in again.

Her soft hands running over his bare skin. He reveled in every last one of her touches. Painful or not. “You’ll be out of here in no time, Mandalorian.”, she promised. He could hear the smile in her soft voice. Hoping she would be wrong.

@animefan3223 @shinymoonstarfish @imokayunlessyoumentionendgame @that-girl-named-alexamed-alex @frau-moon @leeeggggsssssss @beardie-mama @why-always-me-gosh-please @lizziel1410 @momolulukai @hymnofthevalkyrie @sunshinerainbowmurderkitten @sunipostsstuff @louist91syndromedrome @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @danceswithsporks @minetticatinwonderland @sunipostsstuff @sparrowwithaquill @monkeyking-and-liuer-mate @sinon36 @a-rose-of-amber @ and for : @lolitalatteart

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dindjarinandlysakane · 11 months

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The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 15 - Seeing Red

When Din Djarin meets a beautiful cake seller from Nevarro, do you think he’s just going to stand back and let her suffer at the hands of her abusive boyfriend? After a lifetime of heartache and pain, Lysa Kane realises she’s not on her own any more and finds an unlikely friend in the Mandalorian. And Din Djarin does not like men who treat women like that, not one tiny bit. Friendship/comfort and maybe something more…

Masterlist

Chapter 15

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A week passed slowly.

Din and Grogu had spent four of those days off planet, tracking down a bounty on behalf of the New Republic.

But even that had done nothing to distract Din Djarin from his own thoughts. From his own painful recollection of what had happened on that stormy night.

Playing it over and over in his mind, desperately wishing he had done something differently.

Just said something…

Anything…

To stop Lysa leaving.

Din’s heart hurt.

Right now there was nothing in the galaxy Din wanted more than her.

But he had missed his chance, been too cowardly to tell her how he felt.

He wasn't sure if it was fear of rejection, or humiliation that had driven Din to just stand there silently and watch as Lysa had fled his home, running out into the night alone.

But just the way she had been so defensive of Crix. The man that seemed, to Din, to take all the light out of her eyes every time she spoke about him.

And that hurt.

To think that she could love a man that treated her that badly.

Din had pondered this, and only this, for the past week.

And despite them being due a delivery from Lysa today, he knew it likely would not arrive…after how they had left it the last time he had seen her.

Despite how sweet and truly delectable the sweet treats that Lysa had dropped off last time were, Din had not been able to even stomach a bite of it, instead allowing Grogu to eat it all. Which his son had of course revelled in.

Grogu however, had not been completely oblivious to the tension felt between Lysa and Din. The child had bleated a little after she had left on that stormy night. And every landspeeder or similar they had passed on their travels ever since, Grogu had stared quickly at, as though hoping to see her.

Din would be foolish to think that Grogu hadn't noticed how happy Din seemed around her. It was rare that anything bar his son could get Din to laugh, but around Lysa laughter and happiness felt easy.

It was a bright evening, the still sun high and hot in the sky - a complete opposite to the weather a week ago.

Din was sat on a low bench just outside his cabin, fixing a stuck trigger on one of his blasters, as Grogu played beneath a tree a little way from him - his favourite spot.

The blaster wasn't even one of his favourites, but he was fixing it more as a distraction than anything. Just something to keep his mind from Lysa.

But that was a feat that Din Djarin was about to find impossible, as a flash of something shiny in the distance caught his eye.

He glanced up through his beskar helmet, seeing a vehicle speeding across the lava flats towards them, a vehicle that he recognised almost immediately.

Din’s heart began to pound as if on cue, his entire body suddenly numb.

His stomach lurched with apprehension and excitement as he saw Lysa Kane’s landspeeder zipping quickly down the long path towards his and Grogu’s cabin.

Din had no clue what to say to her.

Would she be angry…upset? Would she drop the package and leave without a word?

Din let out a shallow breath and got to his feet, his cape billowing behind him in the breeze, watching as the vehicle drew nearer.

Grogu’s ears pricked up, only just noticing the sound and turning, getting to his own little feet.

As was usual, the landspeeder wound its way down the makeshift path towards the cabin.

But today, instead of parking up near to Din’s large N-1 Starfighter. Curiously, the battered old speeder came to a sudden stop a little way away, down the path.

Behind his mask Din gave a light frown.

Grogu, who let out an instantly happy chirp, obviously recognising Lysa, waddled away from the tree and over towards the little speeder.

From here Din could just about make out Lysa’s face, just about visible behind her yellow tinted visor.

And rather than hop quickly out of the landspeeder like she usually did, Lysa remained there for a long few seconds.

Din’s heart ached to think that now she didn’t want to see him. Maybe she didn’t want anything to do with him. Perhaps she was as embarrassed as he was.

But dank farrik he was a Mandalorian.

And so pulling himself together, Din decided to be the bigger man, walking slowly down the dusty path towards her.

But as though spotting him, Lysa lifted herself quickly from the speeder, looking a little stiff.

“Hi,” she called over in a friendly tone.

But she didn’t look at Din or Grogu, nor did she make any move to remove her helmet. Instead moving hurriedly around her vehicle and pulling their small wrapped parcel from the basket at the rear.

Today she was clothed in a grey jacket, covering a pale green shirt and breeches. But it was certainly odd for her not to even make a move to remove her helmet.

She kept her back to the pair of them as they came to stand just a couple of feet away. Waiting for her to turn…

But Lysa didn’t. Instead, passing Din the parcel with a quick swivel of her hips, keeping her face turned away.

Grogu at Din’s feet gave an expectant croak. But there came no response from Lysa as Din took the parcel from her grasp. He tried to catch a glimpse of her expression, but from where he was standing could not see one.

“I can't stop,” she said quickly, her voice sounding a slightly higher-pitch than normal. “I’m running behind on some deliveries today.”

Her tone was matter-of-fact and friendly.

But there was something behind it that made Din feel uneasy.

Was she feeling uncomfortable about what happened last time they saw one another?

No, thought Din, eyeing her as she fiddled with a buckle on the basket. This was something else…

Again from the floor. Grogu gave a croak as though asking her to turn around, to give him the attention he wanted.

But still she remained turned away, helmet on.

Din bristled.

Something was wrong.

“I’ll see you next week,” she muttered, turning back to the driver's seat and making to hop up and swing her leg over the side, when Din suddenly spoke.

“I still need to pay you,” he said, his voice sounding stark, as Lysa froze, fingers tensed around the rim of the speeder. “I actually owe you for two deliveries.”

Din eyed her as best he could through her visor.

Why was she in such a hurry to get away?

Lysa’s foot dropped back down to the ground, causing black dust to puff up into the air between them.

She was quiet for a second or two before she finally spoke, turning his way for maybe the first time.

“Of course,” she said lightly, flashing Din a half smile through her visor. Though he noticed that her eyes still couldn’t quite meet his.

The frown at Din’s brow deepened beneath his beskar, as he reached into his belt pouch extracting six credit chips, before handing them to her.

But as Lysa reached out to take them, her shirt collar shifted slightly and a flash of something dark against the paleness of her skin caught Din’s eye immediately.

Din stopped still, staring, his heart suddenly thudding hard…for another reason entirely.

But Lysa caught his look, hurriedly shifting back and making to turn away once more.

But there was no way Din was going to let this slide. Not this time.

“Lysa,” he said in a sudden low voice through his modulator.

She froze again and Din could see her breathing become suddenly very shallow and very fast, her eyes widening through the yellow plastic of her visor.

“I-I’m late..I’ve got to go,” she said hurriedly, a sudden panic in her voice.

But Din reached out before she could move…his gloved hand catching around the top of Lysa’s arm.

He instantly felt her flinch beneath his grasp, as she turned towards him, suddenly looking terrified.

“Show me,” uttered Din in a sudden serious voice. A voice he reserved usually for bounties alone.

But to him, now, this was a job. A job where someone would be punished for what they had done.

Din could feel Lysa trembling beneath his grasp now, as she stared up at him.

He could see the fear and reluctance in her now tearful eyes…

She knew exactly what he was talking about.

Din took another considered step closer to her, letting go of her arm, and carefully reaching up with his gloved hand… gently pulling her shirt collar down by an inch or so….

…revealing a large blossoming bruise covering the expanse of her collarbone and neck. And how far it went beyond that point was anyone's guess.

In an instant, Din clenched his jaw hard, sheer fury filling every crevice of his body.

And before Lysa could do a thing to stop him, Din had turned and made for his N-1.

“Din-” she said, her breath hitching, sounding fearful. “Please don't-”

Right now she knew full well, that Din knew exactly what had happened. What was still happening.

That bruise was fresh. And must have been excruciatingly painful.

And for someone to do that to Lysa…

Right now Din felt more angry than he had done in a long, long time.

Seeing red. Hopping up into his ship as Lysa approached.

“Din-” she tried again. He could see tears falling from her cheeks now, behind her visor, as she shook her head, almost pleading with him not to do this.

But Din was too far gone to listen to her. Furious.

“Stay here,” said Din commandingly. “Both of you.”

He looked to his son who was staring up at him from the ground in confusion. He would explain everything to Grogu later.

But right now Din Djarin had only one thing on his mind.

One priority above anything else.

To find Crix Val’shif.

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noisynaia · 2 years

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Among the Stars: Distant Suns

[Din Djarin x Reader] Chapter 1

Chapter title: The Inn

summary: You have lived on Tatooine your entire life, never even been off-planet. Your path crosses a mysterious Mandalorian and his even more mysterious child. You end up having to leave your home after getting caught up with the mysterious duo by mistake.

word count: 3.1k

rating: E

pairing: Din Djarin x afab!reader

note: This has not been beta read. No use of (y/n). The reader goes by she/her pronouns. She is described as being shorter than Mando and having hair (length, texture, or colour not mentioned) but no other physical descriptions are used. This is a slow burn y'all, but it will eventually become smutty™️. Hope you enjoy :)

crossposted on my ao3

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Luckily, the child doesn’t seem to mind the heat too much. The pod has good ventilation, making sure its little green inhabitant doesn't overheat. Din, on the other hand, is both hot and bothered. The armour has a cooling function, keeping his back and chest free from sweat. But the suns of the desert planet are unforgiving, the fabric of his cowl clinging to his neck and his gloved-covered palms are sweaty, sticking to the leather. His boots feel heavier and heavier with each step he takes on the loose sand.

Skywalker. It is the only lead he currently has on finding a Jedi. He had gotten a tip that a kid named Skywalker had lived on Tatooine years ago, but had not been able to find any information on the planet that have helped him to get closer to finding out what have become of him. It irritates Din, a whole day in the scorching heat and he was still not coming any further in his search for a Jedi for the kid. But there is also a part of Din that feel relief, it is a part he desperately tries to suppress. Not coming any closer to finding the Jedi also means that Din hasn’t come any closer to being separated from the kid. His lifestyle is not suited for a child. It is a selfish and nonlogical feeling, but Din have ended up caring more for the little womp rat than he ever had thought possible. He have not been letting himself dwell on it, trying to just take one day at a time, but it have been harder to do lately.

Din had been alone for a long time and having the small, green, youngster around had definitely been an upheaval, he was so used to not having anyone around. Din had gone many days without saying a word over the years while traveling alone in the crest. The child can, of course, not speak back, but Din talks to him. It is not like these oneway conversations involve any deep subjects, usually, Din simply says what he’s doing out loud, trying to include the child in the task at hand. Having someone around, especially a young child was foreign to Din, but he had ended up caring for the child in a way he had never even thought possible. However, what had come as the biggest shock for him was that the child seemed to care for Din too.

They had landed in Mos Eisley at dawn, dropping off the Razor Crest at Peli’s shop. The Crest had had a close encounter with an asteroid belt on their last mission, and the ship was not in the best condition now. Fortunately, the damage was sustained on the hunt for a very high-profile bounty, which Din brought in warm, so the repair fee shouldn’t be a problem. But it did mean that they had to stay on Tatooine for a night or two while the Crest got repaired. It was convenient that the only clue Din had about a Jedi was Tatooine. What wasn’t convenient was that he had not been able to find any information about where the Skywalker guy was. The only thing Din could confirm was that there had once been a Skywalker kid on the planet, but that it was many years ago and no one knew what had become of him. Din was back to square one. It’s been a long fruitless day and the kid, even with the decent protection from the pod, needs to get out of the heat, Din does too. He is tired, not only physically but mentally too.

The suns are about to set as they return to town. Din finds the place Peli had told him about with relative ease, as the woman had given a good description. He had asked her if there were any lodging places in town more kid-friendly than the cantina’s, in which Din knew many of the rooms was used by the brothel. It is not something Din would normally mind, but he would feel weird bringing the kid to such a place. The inn seems nice, it is probably also pricier than the rooms at the cantina, but that’s okay, it will be good for the kid, and Din doesn’t exactly hate the prospect of a few night's sleep on a good mattress.

A little bell rings as Din opens the door into a cozy lobby area that connects to a small dining hall. An elder Nautolan greets them. Her blue tendrils are twisted together down her back, held in place by a black ribbon.

“Welcome.” She salutes, immediately gravitating towards the child in the pod, cooing over his cuteness, seemingly completely unaffected by the fact that a Mandalorian in full beskar just stepped into her inn. She introduces herself, telling her name is Yina while getting some papers to check them into their room. Din signs, he feels a bit reluctant to do so, but he knows it’s just a formality.

She collects the papers looking at the now filled line at the bottom of the page. She smiles at him. “Well, Mando, why don’t you two go get settled in your room, and then I’ll tell our chef to get dinner ready for the two of you.”

“Thank you, that would be nice, but it’s only the kid that will be eating.”

She hands him the key to the room, giving the kid another friendly smile.

The room is nice, simple but nice, with a big freshener. Din put the kid's pod in the corner before picking up the child, who is starting to become a little cranky. “I know it has been a long day kid, let’s get you washed up and get you into some new clothes then dinner will probably be ready.”

Din will have to wait till the kid has fallen asleep to use the refresher and to get something to eat. Din is used to the freeze-dried nutrition packets he usually lives off, but he always makes an effort to get real food for the kid. He gets the things he will need for the kid’s bath from the small bag he brought from the crest.

–

You fold the last sheet and adds it to the basket with the others. You’re humming an old lullaby, it is one Yina used to sing to you as a child. You like the laundry cellar, the cool cellar is a nice escape from the heat and you enjoy the smell of the laundry detergent. You have just finished the last load, timing it perfectly with the setting of the suns, meaning you wouldn’t be overwhelmed by heat when you step up from your underground haven.

You grab the basket of fresh linens, balancing it against your hip as you climb the stairs.

Yina had let you sleep in this morning. You had tried to scold her for not waking you up when you finally had made it downstairs - but she wouldn't have any of it, telling you that there's no reason for you to get up so early anyway. It was, technically, true. You don’t have many overnight guests this time of year. The inn still making an okay profit since you have many loyal local customers coming to the inn’s restaurant - many agreeing that your chef, Groob, is the best in Mos Eisley if not all of Tatooine.

But you still don’t like it when Yina lets you slack off. You want to help as much as you can, take some off the burden. It was only recently that you had been able to persuade her to take a weekly off-day. You know she loves the Inn and is kind of a workaholic but you want to take care of her and ensure she is not overworked. She had powered through your entire childhood, taking care of the inn and raising you with all the love and care a child could ask for, all by herself. She had not had an easy life. She had grown up on Takodana but had fallen in love with a man from Tatooine, she had decided to follow her heart and leave her family in Andui and travel with him to Tatooine. They had gotten married, but tragedy struck and he died shortly after their wedding. She had been alone on a foreign, arid planet, mourning the loss of her love, but she had worked hard to save enough money to buy the inn. It had only been a couple of years after that you had been left on Yina’s doorstep as an infant.

You close the stairwell door and turn off the light after you. You find Yina behind the front desk in the lobby after you have put the clean sheets away.

“There you are, love. Already finished the laundry?” Yina smiles at you while putting away some paperwork.

“Yeah, I just finished the last load.” You join her by the front desk, stealing a glance at the papers. “Have we gotten a new guest?”

“Yes, a man with the cutest little youngling I've seen since you were a baby.” She says while getting on the other side of the desk, booping your nose on the way before sticking her head into the kitchen. You are pretty curious about this new guest. You rarely get off-planet folks, those people will usually stay in the lodging over the big cantina in town. The guests at the inn mostly consist of moisture farmers, or tradespeople from Mos Espa or other towns whenever they needed to visit Mos Eisley. Yina gets back from the kitchen, grabbing her shawl from behind the counter, to get ready to leave. You had insisted on taking the night shift since you had slept till so late.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” She says as she put the fabric over her shoulders. “I gave Groob their dinner orders.” She grabs the last of her things. “I told him to cook you something too.”

You smile at her, thankful to have her always care for you, even though you are more than old enough to take care of yourself.

“Should I get the crib for their room?” You ask before she leaves out of the backdoor leading up to the apartment.

“No they had their own with them, but you should probably get the highchair from the backroom.”

You bid her goodnight before going out to the back to get the chair for the child. You don’t have much more to do, the dining hall is empty and it’s too late for new customers to come in so you grab your datapad to get a little reading done.

You are soon totally engrossed in your story, you’ve come to a really exciting chapter, making you miss the familiar squeaks of the stairs. You first realize that you’re no longer alone in the lobby as the man stands right in front of you at the other side of the counter you currently lean against. You let out a squeal of surprise, feeling your face get warm in embarrassment, from your outburst, but the fact that you just had reached a rather steamy scene in the story you were reading did not help. The man, however, doesn’t really react to your outburst. You take in the sight of him before you. A man, or at least who you think is a man, towers before you covered in armor from head to toe, and a little green child with large black eyes is settled at his hip. It is in many ways a bizarre vision, but also bizarrely cute. The child is in itself adorable, but the way it’s calmly being held by the tall, brute-looking man while grasping the man's gloved thumb with it's little claw hand and looks at you with big curious eyes.

“I’m Mando, I just checked into room 8. I was told some food would be prepared for my kid.”

His voice is slightly modulated by the helmet, but not enough to hide the rich, gentle warmth of it.

Mando, you think for a second. Mandalorian. The man in front of you is a Mandalorian. You remember reading about them when you were younger, how they were a fearless warrior-people. You realised you were starring, get yourself together.

“Yes, of course. Yina told me we had gotten new guests”. She didn’t mention it was a bloody Mandalorian though.

“Follow me, I’ve gotten a chair ready for the little one. The food will be ready in just a moment.” You say as you bring them with you to the table you had made ready for them. The man seemed surprised by the gesture, slightly tilting his helmet as he sees the highchair. You tell them to make themselves comfortable before going out to the kitchen to get the food.

You tell Groob that you will clean the kitchen after you have eaten your dinner. The Rodian gives you a big smile, thanking you before wishing you a good evening before leaving for the night. You get a tray ready, grabbing the bowls with the steaming stew, and add a big glass of bantha milk for the child. The food smells amazing making your stomach rumble and you realise how hungry you have become. You balance the tray as you open the door to the diningroom with your elbow. The child’s head turns the second you open the door, visibly excited by the prospect of food. You put the child's dinner down on the table and the little green kid digs in immediately, making small sounds of delight. You can’t help but chuckle at the little one’s joy. The Mandalorian scolds him, telling him to slow down so he won’t make himself sick. The love and care he holds for his child is undoubtable. A gentle loving tone in his voice even when he reprimands the little one about table manners.

You don’t really know what to do now if you should go back to the kitchen to eat your own dinner or if the man and child wouldn’t mind you sitting at one of the other tables in the dining hall. You don’t get time to make a decision before the solid black visor from the armored man is focused on you.

“Won’t you sit down with us, I think he will appreciate having someone to eat with.” He tilts his head towards the child who gently coos up at you. You smile at the little green cutie-pie.

“I would love to keep this little cutie with company”. You say before sitting down at the table. You are very curious about the pair, you don’t know much about Mandalorians and you don’t even know what kind of being the child is. What kind of being they are since he must be his father.

“What’s his name?” You ask, thinking that would be a good start to get to know the duo better without stepping over the line.

“I don’t actually know, I usually just call him kid.” He shrugs, wiping some stew from the corner of the youngling's mouth with a napkin.

“He… He is my foundling.” The Mandalorian follow up with.

You look at the child. A foundling, huh, just like yourself. You smile at the kid.

“Well, he is very cute.” You conclude. “With or without a name.”

The Mandalorian chuckle, a deep warm sound that makes something in your stomach flip.

“That he is.” He agrees. You continue the rest of the meal with light small talk. You gather the idea that the man doesn’t take off the armor around strangers, it does fit with something you think you read about Mandalorians. You wonder if it includes the child or if he gets to see his father without the helmet. You feel like asking him would be to overstep, but you are curious. Instead you ask him when he will eat, hoping that it was an okay question.

“I usually eat after he has fallen asleep. ”

That makes sense, but you still can’t wrap your head around how he gets enough food and water through out the day. The child finishes his meal soon after, starting to look very sleepy. Mando chuckles at the little one, which heads keep nodding with sleep. The sound so warm and gentle. You can’t stop yourself from thinking how beautiful the sound is. He scoops the kid up in his arms.

“I better get him off to bed.” He says voice as gentle as ever. “Thank you for the company, I feel bad that he has to eat alone so often.”

You smile up at him. “It was my pleasure. Sleep well you too” You say as you get up from your chair and start to collect the empty dishes.

“You too.” He says before heading up to the room with the child.

You can’t help but smile as you return to the kitchen. You hum as you finish up the dishes, you’re efficient and finish the work fast. You look around the spotless kitchen, pretty proud of your work, as you wrap your cardigan tighter around yourself, pulling on the sleeves to warm your wrists. The temperature always falls significantly after sunsdown.

You can go up to the apartment now since there isn’t really more for you to do down here, but you kind of lingers in the kitchen. You had gotten an idea, but you were unsure if it would be welcomed or not. You could cook something for the Mandalorian, bringing it up to his room so he could eat in peace but still get a real meal instead of the flavourless nutrition-packs you learned he eats. You’re no Groob, but you are a decent cook. You make a quick decision, finding ingredients for a fairly simple but very tasty soup you enjoy. You cut bread into thick slices which you heat up on the stove. You fill up a new tray, carefully arranging the food before putting a lid over it.

You carefully climb the stairs. When you finally reach the door for room 8 doubts start to kick in. He might not even like the food you have made, or it will make him uncomfortable that you had fixated on what he told you in the dinner hall. You stand frozen in front of the door for a while longer, dicussing with yourself if you should put the try down or not.

But you finally take a deep breath before putting the tray down in front of the door. You knock on the door, gently enough to not wake up the sleeping child or the man if he already had gone to bed. You turn on your heels immediately getting away before the Mandalorian in the room could open the door.

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moralesispunk · 1 year

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Astra (Din Djarin x Witch! Reader) Masterlist

Between a decade of roaming the galaxy, Din has always had somewhere to go when his heart calls him home.

0.5. Terra (prequel)

1. Astra

2. Claraste

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin #mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x female reader #the mandalorian #mando #mando x reader #mando x you #mando x oc #mando x female reader #din djarin fic

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kaysfanficcorner · 1 year

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Out of This World Chapter 7: Stellar

Author’s Note: Well, here we are. From here on out this story is going to be SPICY. As we make our way into the events of season two, be ready for things to heat up considerably. I’m both nervous and thrilled to share this chapter with you, so please be kind and above all else ENJOY! My use of Mando’a is about to ramp up as well, and I’ve attempted to to give definitions within the story itself, but if I use any words you aren’t familiar with feel free to ask me about it. As always, if you want to join the Taglist please let me know!

Jate - Good Ca - Night Elek - Yes Ad - Son

Summary: As we make our way into the events of season two, things between the Mandalorian and the Earthling start to really heat up.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader

Warnings: Warnings: Angst, Cursing, Light action violence, Nudity, Graphic depictions of sex. SMUT AND FLUFF ABOUND 🌶️

If you are under the age of 18 you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration

We Might Even Be Falling In Love - Themes inspired

Music Inspiration

Stellar - Title inspired by, themes inspired

AO3

Original OOTW Fanart by Justin Wood (at the end)

*****

Life back on the Razor Crest feels incredibly strange after all that has changed. You feel like a different version of yourself when you once again climb the ramp to the ship you now openly consider to be your home. You’d left it feeling like a shell of a person after killing Ranik and now you’re returning with a stronger disposition, determined to become a warrior in your own right. Determined to feel like you can pull your weight around the ship as an equal to the Mandalorian. You’d also left the Razor Crest completely unsure of where you and Din stood with each other. The mild flirting and signals here or there had been maddening, and now the two of you are closer than you were before. Which is maddening for entirely different reasons.

You’re so happy to be reunited with your cat that you spend a good ten minutes carrying her around the ship, until she gets restless enough to pry herself from your arms. Jupiter is thrilled in her own feline way to have everyone back on board, and the kid is just as thrilled to be back home with her. Similarly to yourself, the little green child won’t leave her alone for the first few days out in space.

On the second day after Nevarro, you even walk in on the kid using his powers to grab at Jupiter’s tail from a few feet away. Every time the poor orange feline meows and tries to whip around to slash at an assailant that isn’t actually there, the kid giggles. You’d scooped him up and giggle too, before booping him on the nose and lightly telling him he shouldn’t use his powers to mess with people or animals.

The Space RV is pretty much just how it had been left, save for the little tune ups here and there that were ordered. Being back on board is both a comfort to you, and a frustration. Frustration eventually evolves into aggravation, and it isn’t until a few weeks have gone by that you come to terms with why you’re so fucking irritable all the sudden.

It’s Din.

You came back to the Razor Crest assuming that things were going to continue to feel the way that they had on Nevarro, that Din would continue you dote on you with the soft side of his personality that is only ever meant for you or the kid to experience. Somehow what you end up getting from your cosmic companion is the complete opposite. He’s not touchy feely anymore, and the words of affection have drifted from his tongue.

As the weeks drag on, you sincerely miss the inn on Nevarro. Comfortable bed aside, now that you’re home on the Space RV, you and Din no longer sleep next to one another. It’s back to taking turns in the cot. You’d gotten used to the feeling of your bodies intertwining as you both drifted off to sleep, and it’s hard for you to find comfort in your nightly rest without it. Sometimes he’d spoon you, others you’d been the one holding him. If you had to choose a favorite position, holding Din while he fell asleep would hands down be the winner. Feeling his body relax against you, limbs twitching here and there as his mind switches over from consciousness to unconsciousness, is something you’d come to treasure by the end of the week long stay on your beloved lava planet.

As upset as you are that you’re not going to be able to sleep next to Din like that any time soon, you’re even more upset that you never got around to sleeping with Din while having such a luxurious bed at your disposal. With the kid around there was just never a good time to try again.

Being home, it’s painfully obvious that there aren’t a ton of comfortable places to have a sexual encounter on the Crest. Declarations of mutual attraction and a week of fluffy little moments had been absolutely lovely, but you’re dying to consummate whatever this is between the two of you. Wondering when or if a good time for it will ever present itself is making you extremely antsy, and its becoming impossible to hold it in around the increasingly grumpier Din Djarin you find yourself stuck with. It’s driving you nuts, to the point where now you’re just getting pissed off about it.

Perhaps he’s dealing with similar frustrations about what’s going on between you. Perhaps it’s the fact that he’s got your makeshift family on a wild goose chase to drop off one of it’s members with complete strangers. More than likely, as it is with yourself, its a combination of the two things.

You’re perfectly aware that aside from the issues going on between the adults, a part of your heart shatters every single time you share a loving moment of fondness with the child. That being said, your only goal in regards to the little foundling is to love him and enjoy your remaining time together.

Which is one of the reasons why, today, you’re so pissed off at Din that you could punch that fucking helmet off of his head and risk breaking your own hand in the process. It’s as if he’s actively trying not to enjoy his time with anyone.

The Razor Crest is parked at a star port for a quick refuel, and so you insist that loading up on some more food and supplies for the cat is a necessity. Din just seems completely irritated with you when you suggest this, and it’s all you can do not to snap at him.

With a huff you tell him, “I’ll just go take care of it myself, you don’t have to come.”

“Absolutely not,” he counters, arms crossed over his chest.

You roll your eyes so hard that you nearly pull an ocular muscle. “Okay, then come on. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we can get back on the road.”

“Fine,” Din agrees, voice dripping with animosity.

Between you, the child can sense your friction and his ears are casting downward as he frowns. He clearly dislikes his humans being snippy with one another. You sense this, so you scoop him up into your arms and begin walking down the ramp.

“Shouldn’t we use the pram?” Din asks, watching the two of you walk off.

You call over your shoulder, “Screw the pram. Just come on.”

And so you’re forced to shop for food with an uninterested, grumpy Mandalorian hovering over your shoulder and you feel as if you’re going to explode at any minute. Fighting with Din is the last thing you want, but if you aren’t able to have a conversation with him about what his problem is you’re afraid it’s going to come to that sooner rather than later.

What you really don’t understand is why a conversation hasn’t been had already. Aside from that first awkward month of living together, the communication between yourself and Din has been pretty good up to this point. Why it feels like you suddenly can’t approach him, you do not know. It’s starting to make your fight or flight instincts want to kick in, reminding you of what it felt like to constantly be on edge around your toxic family. Din is far from toxic, but it triggers you nonetheless.

So you try your hardest to ignore him, juggling the baby on one hip as you look at he various foods before you. The shop on the star port is small, and much like gas stations on the side of big highways back on Earth, the food seems both overpriced and unhealthy compared to the various fresh markets you’ve been to.

“Would your son like a free sample?” A voice suddenly catches your attention.

You look up from the vegetables to see an attractive young human man behind the counter. His dark skin is in contrast from his white hair and light blue eyes, and he’s dressed very plainly. A kind simile graces his features as he holds out what looks like a fried frog leg on a stick towards the baby, who is in turn grasping for it hungrily.

“What? Oh,” you hear yourself still sounding on edge so you try to force your voice to become pleasant with a fake smile plastered to your face. “Uh, yes thank you. He’s constantly hungry so I can’t say no to free food.”

“Here you go little fella,” the man says, smiling down at the kid as he hands it to him. “You have a beautiful family, ma’am.”

The compliment causes your chest to swell and you squeeze the kid tighter. Just as you’re about to say thank you and move on, the man speaks again.

“What’s his name?”

Then the tightness in your chest drops down into your stomach, a feeling of dread washing over you. How fucking embarrassing, even though it’s no one’s fault that neither you nor Din know the kid’s actual name. You fumble around for a quick answer, “Oh, well you know how it is with babies. He’s got a ton of nicknames. We hardly ever call him his real name because I can’t stop calling him ‘Green Bean’ at the moment.”

The man laughs, throwing his head back a little. “Oh, I get it. My wife can’t stop calling our little one ‘chubby cheeks.’ I keep telling her it’s going to give the kid a complex but she doesn’t listen.” He looks past you to where Din is standing behind and to your right side, “I’m sure you can relate, sir.”

You look back to Din, making a face that hopefully reads as “just play along”. The beskar helmet looks at you for a long moment, his shoulders squaring. Eventually he looks to the vendor with a shrug, “I try not to fight her on much.”

You can’t help but feel that his statement was directed at you just as much as the vendor, hoping that this is him making an attempt to address the misplaced bitterness between you. If it is, his timing really does suck. The kid is already done with his frog leg, so you take the pointy stick from him before he accidentally pokes himself.

With another laugh, the kind vendor nods his head, “I should try that with my wife and see if it gets me out of trouble more often.” The man reaches below the counter and pulls out another of the free samples. “Here, have another leg for Green Bean. On the house.”

“Thank you,” you say, smiling brightly at the man. As annoyed as you had been when you entered the shop, having a friendly human encounter has helped to liven you up a little. You look down at the child in your arms, jerking your head towards the man. “Say bye, Green Bean.”

The kid complies, ears shifting as he looks to the man with a big smile on his tiny mouth. He gurgles and makes a few noises, using his free hand to wave up at the nice man.

You make a few more purchases, including more protein packs for Jupiter, and when you have everything on your list you inform Din and the child that it’s time to head back to the ship. Once the group is no longer around other people in the sanctity of the Razor Crest, you look down at the baby on your hip and lift him up so that you can kiss him on the head. “I wish we knew your real name, buddy. Sorry we have to call you ‘Green Bean’ or ‘the kid’ all the time.”

Din walks up beside you and speaks in a low voice. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” his tone is sharp.

Great, you think sarcastically. With a sigh, you stop what you’re doing and turn to look up at him. “Do what, Din?”

“Pretend that we’re his parents,” he says flatly, irritation floating just bellow the surface.

“I didn’t feel like explaining the real situation to that guy,” you offer lamely.

“You could have just declined his offer and moved on.”

“The kid was hungry.”

“You enjoyed it when that man called him your son,” Din’s voice sounds like it’s on the edge of control.

“Oh my God,” you groan with frustration, “yes! Okay? I did. Is that such a crime? I’ve practically been his foster mother for months. And like it or not you’ve been his foster father for much longer than that. I love him as if he was mine, and I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“It is irresponsible,” Din quietly seethes, you can practically hear his jaw clenching under the helmet.

“What is?” It’s all you can do not to raise your voice, “Giving him a home full of love? Letting him be a child?”

The kid makes a sad little noise between you and you both stop to look down at his distressed face. A feeling of guilt arises in your chest, having never wanted to make the kid feel as uncomfortable as you did when your own parents would fight in your presence.

“We shouldn’t do this in front of him,” Din finally says after a long moment of silence. He reaches out to touch one of the child’s downcast ears. The kid is clearly upset. “It’s okay, pal. We aren’t fighting.”

You drop your voice even lower as your eyes fill with tears. “We kind of are, Din. I hate this. Why are we being so cold towards each other? This isn’t us. At least, I didn’t think it was.”

He sighs heavily, “You’re right. This isn’t us. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” you move closer to him, grabbing one of his gloved hands. “But I’m not sorry for how I treat this child. What if we take him to these Jedi people and they aren’t who we think they are? Or what if they are great, but the kid still doesn’t like it? Don’t you want him to know that he has a place to come back to where he is loved?”

“I…” Din seems to falter for a second before dipping his head towards his foster son, “Yes. I want him to know that. I want you to know that, buddy. ”

You squeeze his hand tighter, looking into the visor as you speak. “Think about us, what our childhoods looked like. We didn’t get to enjoy being kids for very long. I couldn’t live with myself if I thought I was denying him the right to actually be a child while he’s in my care. I realize that when we do find the Jedi, its going to be extremely hard on all of us. And I realize that the more attached we get to each other, the harder it’s going to be to say goodbye. I know that this is going to be especially hard on you as the one who’s been caring for him the longest, but pretending that you don’t have feelings wrapped up in this isn’t going to make it any easier. We owe to to him as well as ourselves to treat him with love. Is he not an integral member of your two person clan?”

“It’s already hard,” Din says, voice choked, “I am going to miss him.”

“I’m going to miss him too,” you agree, misty eyes threatening to boil over as you cradle the child between the two of you. Din places a hand to the back of his tiny head so that you are both holding him. “But as long as he knows he can always be a part Clan Mudhorn, we may not have to miss him forever.”

Din seems to agree with this, gently touching his beskar forehead to the child’s fleshy one as he speaks to him in Mando’a. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, ner ad.”

You’ve been studying very basic phrases, numbers, and the Mando’a alphabet since leaving Nevarro, but what Din just said is almost completely lost on you. Not wanting to break from this tender moment, you decide that asking for a definition can wait until later. Instead you snuggle into the small group embrace, whispering to the green child that you love him dearly.

“It’s nice to have you back,” you tell your Mandalorian after he lifts up to pull apart from you. His body language is more akin to the Din you know, less stiff.

“Thank you for reminding me to be here,” Din replies.

You set the kid down between you, letting him waddle off to find Jupiter or something to mess with that he shouldn’t. You look at Din, opening your arms to offer him a real hug. “Still friends?”

He nods, pulling your body against him, “Elek, ner burc’ya.”

Instead of responding with the word in basic, you decide to reply to him with the Mando’a word for good, “Jate. I am sorry for letting my bitchiness get the better of me. It was not easy to go from having you feel like my partner on Nevarro to unexpectedly getting the cold shoulder for over half a month.”

“I thought I needed to pull away,” Din confirms.

“Yeah, well next time you feel the urge to pull away can we try to talk about it first?”

“I will try,” he sighs, “I’m not good at this.”

“You were doing great on Nevarro. Real boyfriend material.” Cringing, you wish to hell that you hadn’t just said that last part. If this thing between the two of you does end up progressing even further, boyfriend is the absolute wrong term for a man like Din. It sounds so… Earthy.

Din squeezes you, “On Nevarro things didn’t feel real. It felt like time had stopped and all there was, was you, me, and the kid. I could have stayed there forever, and when I realized this it unsettled me.”

You can’t help but chuckle a little, “Aww, Din. You had the post-vacation blues. It happens to everyone, totally normal.”

“I did not care for it.”

*****

A few more weeks go by and things between you and Din have improved considerably. He’s no longer shutting you out or acting cold, and the communication between you is more at the surface.

Unfortunately, though, the two of you have still yet to take any measures to further your budding relationship along. Now that you’re no longer irritated with him, you really just wish that you could fuck him already. It’s getting to the point where it’s actively a problem.

Din seems to be able to tell that something is up with you, because he eventually calls you out on it when the two of you are practicing with whipchord launchers on the lower deck of the ship. He’s begun training you on the various weapons that a Mandalorian considers to be essential, and up until now you’ve been incredibly enthusiastic. Even though a lot of what he’s trying to teach you does not come naturally, and most days you end up both exhausted and vexed, you approach every one of his lessons with respect.

Today, however, all the fervor has drained from you. The whipchord launcher seems impossible to use, and Din’s so fucking mesmerizing that you you could care less about weaponry. Watching him move so effortlessly to shoot his whipchord at the makeshift dummy he’d set up only serves to cause your mind to wander to lewd places. Horny and nonplused, your heart just isn’t in training and it must be obvious.

“What’s going on with you?” Din asks, stopping mid sentence when he figures out that you haven’t been listening.

“Sorry, I’m just in a mood,” you explain with a half hearted shrug, “I swear I’m trying to pay attention.”

His shoulders soften a little as he looks you over, “Is it anything I can help with?”

You stare at him for a long moment, knowing full well that the kid is within earshot only a few feet away. He’s curled up in the cot with his meerkat toy and his silver ball, watching you and his dad with huge eyes. Considering your words carefully, you say, “Actually you’re the only one who can help with this particular problem, but it’s most definitely not the right time to talk about this.”

Din follows your gaze to his foundling, then his silver head snaps back to you, “Oh.”

“I can’t help it that you’re really attractive and distracting,” you smirk a little, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you watch him.

“Mm,” Din seems to consider his own words carefully before responding to you. “Tell you what, if you can master the whipchord while overcoming your distraction, I’ll let you jump the Razor Crest into hyperdrive by yourself. A warrior must learn to fight in spite of distractions, to purge them from the mind completely in the face of battle.”

“Deal, Chrome Dome,” you agree with a grin. You’ve been practicing your flying almost daily, but he’s barley let you touch anything in the cockpit without his strict supervision.

And so you practice over and over again, listening to every word Din says to you. Each syllable you let soak in with respect, ignoring the fact that he now seems to be purposefully doing things to distract you. He keeps flexing as he shows you the controls or titling his head a certain way. Then you know he’s really trying to get under your skin when he comes up behind you to adjust the forearm holding the spare vambrace he’d given you, and he gently presses his slight bulge into your ass.

Even though you can’t see his face, you know for a fact that he’s enjoying every moment of tormenting you. It’s all over his body language, which you’re getting increasingly better at reading. Who knew that Din Djarin has a wicked side.

Eventually you’re able to successfully launch the chord at the dummy, watching as it wraps around it just the way Din showed you. You try to yank the thing forward and knock it onto its side, simulating the act of pulling an enemy to the ground in one fell swoop. But nothing happens, much to your shock and disappointment. As hard as you’re trying, you just can’t seem to get this right.

“Ugh,” you groan.

“It’s okay, Cyar’ika,” your cosmic companion comforts, a hand on your shoulder as he peers down at you. You can see your frustration in the silver reflection. “You’ll get it eventually,” he adds. Obviously you have no idea what his face is doing behind the beskar barrier, yet for some reason you feel as if he’s looking at you fondly.

You repeat this action until it’s almost coming naturally, and Din decides that he’s pleased with enough with your progress that he declares the training session to be over. After cleaning up and putting the dummy away, you both realize that the kid is napping in the cot. The two of you decide to leave him there as you climb up to the cockpit one at at time.

Once upstairs, you look to Din with a sigh, “Sorry about getting distracted earlier. I was definitely on edge.”

“You’re still on edge,” Din observes, “Your body is very tense.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right,” you mumble, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist. “I miss sleeping next to you.”

Din’s arms find you, “I miss that as well. But I know that’s not where this tension is coming from. You’ve been like this for the last couple of days.”

Cheeks flushing, you burry your head into his shoulder with a groan. “Am I that obvious?”

“You’ve been giving off signals,” the Mandalorian chuckles a little. “But I am not without tension of my own. I’m sorry that there hasn’t been a good moment for us to resume what we started on Nevarro.”

“It’s no one’s fault,” you pull apart from him slightly to look right into the visor. “I think I’m just psyching myself out about it.”

“I don’t understand the phrase.”

“I just mean I’m overthinking it, and subsequently second guessing myself. I haven’t had a partner in almost three years, so I’m worried that I’m a little rusty in the sheets.”

Din scoffs a little, shaking his head, “I have similar worries. I have not… been with another in nearly ten cycles.”

“Fuck, that’s a long time,” you utter softly, wondering how uncomfortable this conversation is for him as he confesses this to you.

Din nods, voice wavering as he speaks, “It hasn’t been entirely up to chance that we have not moved forward. I have not pursued connection with another in so long. Worry of my own inadequacy has been on my mind, preventing me from pursuing you.”

Brow furrowing as you regard your very good friend and possible lover, you reach out to trail delicate fingers over the black visor of his silver helmet as if touching his brow. “Then let’s not rush this. It can happen when the timing feels right for the both of us.”

The Mandalorian leans his head forward to knock lightly into yours, and a warm smile finds it’s way to your lips. No amount of Mandalorian head butts you receive from him are ever too much.

“I know we had a deal but I’d still like to see you jump the ship by yourself. Do you remember what we went over when I last showed you the hyperdrive?” Din asks, lifting up to his full height again as he moves over to the pilot’s seat.

You follow, coming to stand beside him as you look over the many lighted controls. “We talked about how to enter in jump coordinates into the navigational computer.”

Din takes a seat, pulling you down with him so that you’re seated in his lap. “Correct. Do you think you can enter them in without my help?”

You nod, “Yeah, I think so.”

It sounds like there is a smile riding the tone of his voice, “I want you to enter in these coordinates and jump us there.”

A little orange holographic display pops up from Din’s left vambrace, letters and numbers written in Mando’a. You can read some of it, but you squint at it for a moment before you turn your head to look at him. It’s taking most of your will power to ignore the feeling in your belly that stirs from being seated on his warm legs. His lap is comfortable, even with the hard beskar upon his thighs.

“I can only read some of that. I know there’s a x, a three, a four, and a nine.”

“You’ve been studying,” Din says fondly, switching the holograph over to basic so you can read it clearly. The basic alphabet is something you’d memorized with Cara prior to meeting your Mandalorian.

“Learning Mando’a is important to me,” you reply with equal fondness. Neither of you says anything else as you lean forward to begin entering in the coordinates into the computer. Din’s hands come to rest comfortably on your waist as you fumble a little bit with the typing, still not used to all of the symbols yet. Eventually you have the correct information inputed into the system, and then your hand lingers over the button which will jump the ship to those coordinates through hyperspace. You look back to Din and wait for him to give you the okay.

“Punch it, Cyar’ika.”

The ship lurches forward as stars begin their dance all around your metal home, an incredible sense of pride washing over you. Successfully jumping the Razor Crest feels like such an achievement.

When the jump is over in a few hours, Din helps you to bring the ship out of hyperspace. Now the kid is awake again and in his usual seat with Jupiter, so you’re seated in the pilot seat without the added cushion of one Din Djarin. The Mandalorian in question tells you that you’ve jumped the ship just outside the atmosphere of a planet on the outskirts of the outer rim, and that he’s brought all of you there so he can question a crime lord named Gor Koresh about where to find other Mandalorians. There have been rumors that Koresh is an underground beskar dealer, and Din thinks that he may have leads.

According to Din, if he can navigate through the various Mandalorian coverts scattered across the galaxy, then maybe he’ll have a better chance of finding a Jedi. Perhaps one of his own kind has information on where to find such a being. He’s made these Jedi people sound like literal space wizards when trying to explain it to you with what little knowledge he has on the subject, and if you weren’t sour about the fact that the purpose of finding one is to give them the kid, you’d probably be pretty excited to see what a space wizard looks like.

Din assists you in bringing the Razor Crest in for a landing, something you’re only starting to feel slightly comfortable doing, and then the two of you take the kid and the cat downstairs to discuss the plan.

“Follow my lead,” Din says as he hands over your blaster. He also hands you the small dagger you’ve been practicing with and the old whipchord vambrace you’d used earlier. “Do not say anything that’ll get us into trouble, and above all else stay calm. There’s a good chance that this could turn into an ambush for my armor, so try your best to remain unperturbed if things go south.”

You nod, holstering the blaster before strapping the vambrace to your forearm. This one isn’t made of beskar, but you still feel somewhat official adhering it to your person. You’re in your favorite outfit, and it helps to make you feel more confident about going on a mission at Din’s side. You stick the dagger into the side of your right boot, grinning up at Din once you’re done. “I’m starting to feel like a badass, getting to go with you to do cool Mandalorian shit.”

“Don’t get too cocky either,” Din adds, sounding amused.

With the child in his pram, the three of you make your way out of the ship and into the crime ridden streets of the city’s grungy warehouse district. Every run down building is riddled with graffiti, and you know that nothing good must happen in a place like this. It’s all very Gotham City in a weird sci-fi kind of way.

“Yeesh,” you mumble to yourself, eyes flicking around in every direction as your guard moves up on high alert.

Din seems to be purposefully staying under the dim street lamps, and you realize why as you see a glimmer of red to your right. It occurs to you that what you’re seeing is several sets of glowing eyes watching you from deep within a dark alley. When you hear the faintest growl coming from that direction, you quickly pick up the pace in order to keep closer to Mando.

Eventually you come to a stop where a male Twi’lek, as you’ve learned they are called, is working as the doorman for some sort of seedy looking establishment. Din tells him that your group is there to see Gor Koresh, and you’re surprised that the doorman moves to the side without much of a second thought. You’d assumed it was going to be much harder than that to get in.

You and the kid follow your Mandalorian into some sort of underground wrestling match, and you feel even more like you’re in a Batman comic as you take in your surroundings. Aliens of all shapes and sizes are packed into the space, screaming with fistfuls of drinks and paraphernalia as two green pig-like men fight each other in the large ring. The room is smoky, stinking of sweaty men, alcohol, and blood. A cacophony that only seems to get louder the further you tread into the crowd begins to hurt your ears, leaving you to hope that the kid’s big green ones are doing okay. You can only imagine how loud this may sound to him.

Being in a place like this is slightly exhilarating in spite of the nerves you feel. It reminds you of the one time you went to Earth wrestling, or some of the really low rent EDM shows from back in your early twenties. Except on Earth when you had gone to watch wrestling it was old dudes with metal folding chairs, not green Pumba-looking aliens with battle axes.

When your group comes upon a cyclops alien with an open seat on either side and group of goons surrounding him, you assume this must be Koresh. Din takes one of the seats beside him and motions for you to take the seat on the other side, the two of you surrounding the stout man. You try your best to ignore the lecherous stares from some of the other men around you, focusing on Din and the business he is here to conduct.

“This is no place for a child,” Koresh says, causing Din to straighten slightly.

“Where I go, he goes,” Din replies cooly.

The two of them talk things over for a while, until Koresh mentions Din giving his beskar armor up in exchange for information about the other Mandalorians. It’s all you can do not to chime in with something snarky, but you remember what Din had told you about not getting them into trouble. It seems that trouble comes regardless though, when Din says that he’s not going to leave his fate up to chance and Koresh agrees by pulling out a blaster. He shoots one of the wrestlers dead before pointing the blaster right at Din’s unprotected neck.

If he were to fire, Din would be dead in an instant.

Keep calm. Trust him, your voice is whispering inside your head, which also has a blaster pointed to it. All of the goons surrounding Koresh have drawn a weapon and are now pointing it at either Din or yourself. Any patrons who are not involved begin to scream and scatter from the building.

Koresh gives some small speech about how beskar has been rising in price and that he’s become quite fond of it, while threatening to peel the armor from Din’s corpse if he doesn’t give it up. You notice that Din is calmly arming his whistling birds, and the kid sees it too as he closes himself inside the pram. Then, Gor Koresh turns to you for the first time since you’d sat next to him and places a hand on your upper thigh. He’s dangerously close to snaking a hand between your legs, and still you remain calm.

He makes a lewd remark about how he’ll take you as well if Mando is willing to give up just some of the beskar, and Din’s voice never falters as he speaks to the crime lord with an even but forceful tone.

“Tell me where the Mandalorians are, and I’ll walk out of here without killing you.”

Koresh scoffs, “I thought you said you weren’t the gambler.”

“I’m not.”

And with that, Din’s whistling birds take down all of Koresh’s goons who’d had you both at blaster point. Both of you are up from your seats immediately, and you manage to dip down and dodge the oncoming blow from an alien directly behind you. For a second you think of Ranik’s death by your hand on Nar Shaddaa. Then when your body begins to freeze up you’re somehow able to purge the feeling of fear from your system and focus on the situation at hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see that Din has his hands full, but your not worried about him as you continue to move away from the man before you and his oncoming attacks. While you are crouched down to avoid a high kick, you pull the dagger from your boot and jam it into his thigh just above the knee. Howling in pain, he falls to the ground as you yank your dagger from his thigh and begin to lift yourself up. He attempts to lunge at you again, so you run the blade along his wrist before standing to your full height to move away from him.

Glancing to Din to make sure he’s still okay, you notice that Koresh is using the fight as a distraction and he’s waddling off towards the back of the arena. Without thinking twice, you take off after him. The rest of the goons are attacking Din, so you’re able to slip away quite easily. Koresh is shuffling as hard as he can but his little legs don’t get the portly man far, so you’re able easily to follow him out into the street. Huffing and puffing, Koresh looks back at you and shouts as you lift your right forearm. Aiming as much as you can with a moving target, you initiate your whipchord and watch with glee as it wraps around Koresh’s legs on the first try. The alien falls to the ground with a grunt and a thud.

“Oh shit,” you exclaim, holding the chord tight, “I did it!”

You can feel the presence of another coming up behind you, but before you can react to a possible attack Mando’s modulated voice is in your ears. Upon hearing your cosmic companion, your body relaxes a little.

“You caught him?” he sounds completely amazed.

“Yeah, holy shit!”

You observe as Din takes the chord from you and swings the end of it up over the light post above your head, pulling Koresh up until he’s hanging upside down in front of you. Din ties him off and then comes to stand before him as he pleads for Din to stop.

“Serves you right for tying to buy me, creep,” you shove at the alien, making him swing a little.

“I’ll tell you where he is, but you must give me your word that you will not kill me,” Koresh pleads, panting.

The Mandalorian steadies him and looks down into the one upside down eye as he speaks evenly, “I promise you will not die by my hand. Now where is the Mandalorian you know of?”

“Tatooine.”

“What?!”

“The Mando I know of is on Tatooine!”

“I’ve spent much time on Tatooine, I’ve never seen a Mandalorian there.”

“My information is good, I tell you! The city of Mos Pelgo. I swear it by the Gatra.”

“Tatooine it is, then.”

Koresh starts screaming for Mando to cut him down as your friend simply motions to you that your group is leaving. The kid’s pram is floating just behind Din as he walks off so you turn to follow as well. When Koresh screams that he can’t be left like that, Din turns back to the little one eyed man with his blaster raised.

“That wasn’t part of the deal,” Din says cooly, and shoots the street light out.

Koresh dangles there in the dark like a piece of meat, and you turn back for a moment to watch as he’s swarmed by those same red eyed creatures from the alley. You quickly spin around and catch up to Mando as the alien’s screams of agony echo behind you.

*****

“I’m going to put him down in the cot, I’ll be right back.” Din says, squeezing your shoulder with his free hand. The kid is sleeping in Din’s other arm and you just nod your head, on the verge of falling asleep yourself.

Space RV is back in hyperspace and you’ve since cleaned yourself up from the fight in the arena. Dressed in comfortable clothes for sleeping, you feel almost cozy curled up in your blanket on the red leather seat. The Mandalorian only leaves you alone in the cockpit for a few minutes, and you start to nod off a little while he’s gone. But then he’s climbing the ladder again, his voice bringing you back to reality.

“Thank you for your help tonight,” he says, moving all the way into the small control room to join you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, throwing a sleepy little smile up his way.

“The way you handled yourself was… exemplary. Taking the initiative to chase after Koresh, using the whipchord launcher just like we practiced. You kept calm even when we were being held at blasterpoint. I’m very proud of you, ner burc’ya.”

As Din is saying all of this, showering you with compliments, he’s slowly dropping down to his knees in front of you. Positioning himself between your legs, Din’s tone of voice morphs into something akin to sultry, and he reaches a hand forward to cup your face. His gloves and most of his armor have been removed.

“So fucking proud of you,” he says lowly, and your back straightens as his phrasing sobers you up from the sleepiness you’ve been feeling up to this point.

Din never uses that word in the way that you do. In fact, he’s only ever repeated it to you the one time after he had realized it’s definition. So when he says it right now it gets your full attention, causing you to sit up and look at him with raised eyebrows. The blanket falls from your shoulders in a clump behind you.

“Yeah? You’re how proud of me?” You repeat back, scooting yourself forward so that your groin is right up against him. You place a hand on either side of his head and look straight down at the beskar, pleased when he doesn’t move to stop you like he had last time. He trusts that you are not trying to remove it, and that fact alone fills you with joy.

The helmet in question tilts up at a sharp angle to look at you, “Take off your clothes and I’ll show you how proud I am.”

“What’s gotten into you? What happened to taking this slow?”

Din starts to lift the hem of your Bowie shirt, sliding his bare hands underneath the thin fabric as he inches it upwards. “Watching your bravery, seeing you use the skills that I’ve taught you. We felt like a team, like partners.”

“It was pretty nice to feel like I could be useful in a situation like that,” you agree, grinding your hips a little as you speak.

Din’s fingers continue pushing your shirt up until your breasts are exposed, stopping to tease both nipples with soft little pinches. “What I didn't like, was Koresh having the audacity to touch you.”

Your heart is beginning to beat faster, loving where this is going as you play dumb, “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Don’t like people touching things that don’t belong to them,” he growls, lifting up to be more level with you as he pushes you back against the backrest of your red seat.

“And who do I belong to?”

“Me, Cyar’ika. You are mine,” Din’s voice is so lascivious, you feel as if your entire body could melt into goo right then and there.

“Tell me that again,” you demand as Din begins to yank the yoga pants and underwear from your waist.

He wiggles the fabric out from under your ass, leaning in towards you. “You are mine,” he repeats in that same lusty growl.

You long to run your fingers through hair, his hair, so you squeeze the helmet tighter. “I’m all yours, but that means you have to be all mine.”

“Naturally,” he finishes disrobing your bottom half, discarding with your clothes behind him, “I belong to you.”

Feeling a chill run through you now that most of you is exposed to the cool air, a little moan escapes your lips. You let go of him and rip the shirt from your head before leaning back into the seat more as you spread your legs. Of course, your planet necklace is the only thing adorning your now nude form. “Mmm, tell me that you’re proud of me again. That I did a good job.”

He’s beginning to unfasten his own pants, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Cyar’ika.”

“Show me, Din. Please,” you whine for him.

Din is almost fully dressed save for his hands, but now he’s pulling himself out and you really stop to appreciate how impressive he is when fully hard. Uncircumcised and quite large, he’s unlike any of the sexual partners you’ve been with in the past. The prospect of feeling him enter you is enough to make your entire body quiver with anticipation, core heating up rapidly.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, reaching out to take him into your hand. His entire body jerks forward when you make contact, a soft moan escaping him. “What is it, handsome?” Your voice is salacious.

“Been so long,” he mutters, his own wanton voice strained and husky.

You begin to stroke him, loving the way he melts into your hands. He braces himself on your chair as you scoot yourself forward and slide off of it, landing softly on your butt so that you’re at eye level with the impressive appendage. Then you part your lips, tongue protruding, and the noise Din makes when you slide the tip of him into your mouth is one you plan to cherish forever.

Hips bucking involuntarily, Din slides himself in and out as you gently suck. You’re careful not to use too much pressure or teeth, and under the beskar his eyes are rolling into the back of his head at the sensation. This doesn’t feel real. It’s got to be a dream, because nothing in his life has ever felt this fucking good.

“It’s real, Din,” you say as you come up for air, saliva running from the corners of your slightly swollen lips.

Had he said that out loud? He was sure that had been a private thought.

It doesn’t matter, all that matters is the pleasure he hasn’t felt in far too long. The dust and cobwebs have been cleared from his dormant libido, and he can feel a much older version of himself start to reawaken. Your mouth is lovely and warm and wet, but he’s suddenly ready to feel you clamp your muscles around him as you whine in ecstasy.

Pulling out of your mouth with a small pop, he leans back and brings your blanket down with him. You watch him with hunger in your gorgeous eyes as he lays the thick black fabric down on the floor of the cockpit before guiding you to lay down on your back.

You allow him to gently push you down, spreading your legs as he positions himself between them. The floor is hard and unforgiving, and will likely fuck your back up for the following day, but in this moment both of could give a shit less.

“Tell me what you want, ner cyare,” Din demands, swollen cock in one hand as he hovers over you with his other hand finding your soft wetness. It’s not lost on you that he’s calling you a word you do not know, but that can wait. His fingers are grazing over the sensitive swollen flesh of your clit, and nothing else fucking matters anymore.

Hands at the base of his neck, you lift up to whisper into the right side of his helmet, “I want my Mandalorian to fuck me so hard that I forget my own name.”

The heat between your legs only fires up more when you feel the tip of him press into your opening, and when you least expect it he thrusts all the way in. A gargled cry erupts from your throat, pain and pleasure both cascading through you as you realize you really haven’t taken anyone this big before. You’ve never been this full.

“Oh fucking hell,” you grunt, wiggling your hips around to try and adjust to his size pushed all the way in.

“You okay?” He pants above you. Fuck, if only you could feel his tongue in your mouth.

“Don’t stop,” you grunt out again, “you’re just bigger than I’m used to.”

Din pumps in and out, slowly at first but soon his pacing picks up to a more feverish rhythm. Nothing about this is picturesque. It’s rough, and raw, and messy. Both of you are so full of passion that your movements are almost frantically out of sync for the first few minutes. Eventually though, you start to tune yourselves into each other. Your hips rock up to meet his has he thrusts forward, and when your legs wrap around his waist it feels like he enters you even deeper. It feels so intense that you dig your nails into his lower back under the shirt as a loud noise escapes you, louder than any of the noises you’ve made thus far.

Din’s hand comes to clamp over your mouth, adding enough pressure to make you moan even louder against his palm.

“Shh,” he coos, “don’t want to wake the kid.”

With his hand stifling the obscene noises you’re unable to control, Din begins to really fuck you. No gentle thrusting, no consideration for your pain tolerance. He’s slamming into you with so much speed and force that you can barely keep your eyes open to look at him. You’re fully aware that you’re going to be sore tomorrow, but you adore every second of his rough handling of your body. It hurts, but in that way that you’ve learned to crave when it comes to sex.

Then he suddenly pulls out, leaving you feeling empty as he releases you to the ground and sits back on his booted heels. “Shit,” he exclaims, breathing more heavily than you’ve ever heard him. His hands are on his knees as he hunches forward.

Din really had to force himself off of you, afraid that if it went any further he’d finish too soon.

You’re similarly worried, sitting up to look at him with your brow furrowed. This is the most unprotected you’ve ever been, and it’s only just now occurring to you that the two of you need to be careful. “Did you…?”

“Almost,” he’s still catching his breath, “Sorry for being so rough with you.”

“You could be rougher,” you grin at him, “I’ve never been one for gentle sex.”

Crawling forward, you plop down onto your stomach right in front of him and prop yourself up on your forearms. Hesitantly, as this side of Din is so new to you and you’re not sure what will go over well, you stick out your tongue and run it from the base of his lovely cock all the way up to the tip. His body shudders as he moans, and you’re so proud of yourself for being able to cause these reactions in him.

“Mm, I taste so good on you,” you remark, smirking up at him as his head leans back to point up at the ceiling.

Din grunts out, “Oh fuck, Cyar’ika,” as his hips buck forward.

You take the opportunity to pull him all the way into your mouth, letting as much of his length as you can take slide down your throat. Bobbing, you begin to work his cock with your mouth and his hands come to grip at your hair. He pulls harder than you expect him to, but this only serves to kindle the blazing fire in your core as he helps guide your head up and down.

Then he yanks upward, causing you to pop off of him and look up. The beskar helmet is looking directly at you, and you whine a little bit just from the sight before your eyes. Din’s hardness in the foreground and the way his head is tilted down, you can only imagine what his face must look like riddled with lust.

“I want you to cum for me, Din,” you pant, mouth dripping.

He shakes his head, voice taking on a commanding tone that leaves you weak, “I’m not done with you yet. My chair. Now.”

Din never lets go of your hair, walking you on all fours across the short distance to the pilot’s seat. As uncomfortable as this is on your knees, you do not complain one bit. He’s handling you in the way you’ve been fantasizing about for months. You let him guide your naked body up on the seat, chest and stomach pressed down into the leather as you bend over it.

Oh shit, he’s going to take you from behind.

“Ner Mesh’la. Ner Cyare,” he croons, “tell me who you belong to.” He’s positioning himself at your opening once again, so you brace yourself against the seat as you turn to look back at your Mandalorian in all his glory. Din Djarin is absolutely fucking intoxicating like this, and now that you’re finally getting to experience it first hand, you feel as if you never want another person besides him to touch you for the rest of your life.

“I belong to Din Djarin, the best fucking Mandalorian in the galaxy.”

“That’s right, Cyar’ika.” Din grasps onto one of your forearms with his free hand as he places it to your lower back and holds it there. “And who do I belong to?”

“Me,” you moan, “you’re my Mandalorian, Din. All fucking mine.”

The next words that flow from Din’s mouth come so naturally that he doesn’t stop to second guess himself. He unabashedly says how he feels, how he’s been feeling. “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

You’re squirming beneath him, pushing your ass out. “Quit teasing me,” you whine.

“Don’t get mouthy,” he reprimands lightly, spanking your ass once for good measure.

“Oh shit,” you squeak, looking back at him with a devilish little grin.

“Mm, my girl did so well tonight,” Din says as he begins to slowly push himself into you once more. “So fucking proud of my beautiful fucking girl. My girl deserves everything she wants.”

You feel your body envelope him, and everything else fades away besides Din Djarin. The sensation of his voice and the words he’s saying paired with the feeling of fullness in your core nearly sends you over the edge. This is the closest you’ve ever been to having an orgasm from another person’s involvement, let alone just from penetration. Your free hand moves to play with yourself, hoping to coax climax on if you can.

Then Din starts to pump again, pulling back slowly and then slamming his hips into you at nearly full force. He purposely tortures you with every thrust, loving how much you squirm and quiver each time he gradually pulls out. He really is close, and knows he can’t go on much longer, but he intends to savor every second that he’s inside of you and the effect it has on your body. Your tight wetness is so inviting that he feels like he could move in and never leave.

“Your girl wants you to fuck her harder,” you eventually plea, voice dripping with need.

So Din gladly complies, grabbing both of your hips to steady himself as his movements become relentless. He goes for as long as he possibly can, until he’s dangerously teetering on the edge and has to rip himself from you at the last minute. It’s over so fast, orgasm rocking his body completely as he leans his helmeted head on the small of your back and empties himself onto the floor between your knees with several soft moans. He’ll be sure to clean that up later.

Once he catches his breath, he’s lifting himself from your back to sit on the floor. You slide from the chair, coming to sit on your blanket directly in front of him. Your hair is a mess and your face is flushed, and Din is so enamored with your appearance that he wishes he could kiss you. Truly kiss you.

“How’s my Mando doing?” You ask, leaning forward to kiss his messy tip and lick up some of the remnants. His body shakes violently, a strangled little noise escaping him.

“He’ll let you know when he can think clearly again,” Din eventually chuckles, adrenaline slowly beginning to ebb from him. “That was…”

“Good?” You offer, looking hopeful.

“Magnificent,” he counters, head moving as he looks you up and down. “Did you…?

You grin, “Did I enjoy it? Din, I don’t think there are words for how much I enjoyed that.”

Din wishes you could see his own grin. “I’m glad, Cyare. But I was asking if you finished.”

Then your face falters, souring for a moment before you force a smile back to your lips. Din’s heart drops as a certain awkwardness washes over you. “No, I didn’t. I was close at one point, but its okay. I’m probably not going to.”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, avoiding his gaze, “I’ve been having sex since I was nineteen, and I’ve never been able to cum when I’m with someone. If I’m alone it happens like it’s nothing, but if I’m with another person it’s like I get close but that’s all that ever happens. A guy went down on me for a full hour once and I still couldn’t climax. I don’t know if it’s that my body just freezes up or I’ve never had a true connection with anyone or what.”

“Your body was hardly frozen,” Din remarks, mulling over this information. His own orgasm feels lessened knowing that you did not experience the same amount of pleasure from the encounter. “You deserve to feel good as well.”

You shake your head, “I do feel good. I don’t have to finish to have good sex with you. And please know, that was very good sex.”

Din’s not taking no for an answer, he’s determined to make this right. “Is there anything more I can do?”

“Unfortunately not with the helmet on,” you say, squeezing his hand. “But it’s not important. I’ve already written that off.”

“What are you talking about?” He asks, but then once he really thinks about it the realization dawns on him. You’re suggesting he preform oral on you. Something he’s only aware of, certainly nothing he’s ever had a chance to try. Xi’an used to beg him to do that for her, but being true to the creed he’s never had sex without his helmet. “Oh.”

“Yeah, so out of respect for you lets not even go there. We should just stop talking about it all together. It’s off the table.” You wave him off as if you really are unconcerned, but Din can see the smallest glimmer of disappointment in your eyes and he simply cannot let this stand.

There’s got to be something he can do instead. He looks around the cockpit as if anything in this room could aid him, and then his eyes land on the pinkish-purple scarf that was given to you on Nevarro. You had recently tied it around the headrest of your seat and declared that you were decorating your space, but now Din thinks of a better purpose the piece of fabric could serve. He refers back to the dream about you that he had right after Nar Shaddaa, and a part of him wonders if this idea is actually taking things too far. Then he looks over your naked body and he suddenly doesn’t care.

It very well could be taking things too far, but that doesn’t seem to matter as Din feels himself moving towards it before the rest of his mind can catch up. He yanks at the fabric until it loosens away from the seat, and then he moves to sit in front of you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, eyeing the scarf skeptically.

“Do you trust me?” Din asks, ignoring your question. You nod, so he continues, “I will not let this happen lightly. If we do this, I need you to vow to me that you will continue to uphold your respect for my way of life.”

“I promise,” you whisper, eyes widening.

Din folds the fabric in fourths longways, holding one end in each hand. His face is completely serious below the beskar. “I have no idea what I’m doing, so this might not even work. But I do not wish to see you disappointed, and I would very much like to know what you taste like.”

You seem to react to this, face melting into the same one that was full of lust just a few moments ago. “Only if you’re one hundred percent sure.”

“I am,” he nods, “Turn around and face that way.”

You comply, moving your body to face in the opposite direction. Din lifts the fabric of the scarf above your head and comes to a stop right in front of your face. You nod once, so Din gently places the fabric over your eyes and ties it tightly behind your head.

“Too tight?”

“No it feels fine.”

“Can you see anything?”

“Not at all, its totally dark under this thing.”

When you eventually hear the hiss of his modulator and the sound of metal clunking to the ground, a thrill runs through your body. Gooseflesh prickles all the way up your arms and legs, up your spine, and comes to rest at the back of your head. The tingling sensation you feel all over is maddening, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Are you okay, Cyare?” His voice sounds completely the same while also sounding so different. Without the speakers of the modulator, it sounds more human. More tangible.

“Whoa, your voice sounds different. I… did you really take it off, Din?” Blanketed in darkness, you’re not sure if what you’re hearing is real.

“I did,” his voice is suddenly in front of you, much closer than it was a moment ago.

Then you feel hands in your hair, and something fleshy brushes up against your nose. “Is that…?”

One of the hands in your hair moves to grab hold of one of yours, gently lifting your fingers upwards until they come in contact with skin.

“My nose,” Din says, trailing your fingers over more skin and you giggle at the feeling of prickly facial hair. Then you’re touching what feels like lips, and this is only confirmed for you when they part slightly and you can feel the heat of his breath. He kisses your fingertips, “My lips.”

“My lips wouldn’t mind getting to know yours a little,” you say with a small laugh, gasping at the end of your sentence when he cups your face and pulls it forward slightly.

“I have not done this since I took the oath,” he says, sounding almost awkward and unsure of himself.

You smile, “I don’t have any expectations, Din. I just want you to be yourself.”

Then your lips are captured in his and suddenly the reality of what is going on really kicks in. Din has taken his helmet off, you are blindfolded to be kept from seeing his face, and he is kissing you. Something that you assumed would never happen, and had come to terms with long before anyone admitted their feelings for the other.

Just as it had been when you were having sex, the movements are feverish and all over the place but soon enough the two of you find rhythm with one another again. Your tongue snakes out from behind your teeth, slowly entering his warm mouth as his own tongue runs over yours in exploration. You think idly that he tastes of caf and something else you can’t place. He moans against you, so you take it that he enjoys your advances. Cradling his face in either hand, you push yourself forward to really get leverage in the kiss. The facial hair feels so nice against your hands, his mustache tickling your nose.

Then he pulls away, a hand to your chest as he gently coaxes you to lay down. You whine a little, openly pouting. Din growls, and the hand on your chest increases pressure.

“I want my mesh’la girl to feel good,” he declares, and you finally give in to the hand pushing you down onto your back.

His lips travel down your neck, pecking every few inches until he makes his way to your breasts. Licking at one of your nipples, he then takes it into his mouth as he nibbles lightly. It sends you into a tizzy until he pulls away.

“Kissing you felt really good,” you finally counter, grinning in his general direction as you lay there. “I was ready to go on for the rest of my life not knowing what that feels like and now you’ve spoiled me and I don’t think I can live without it.”

A hand moves your left leg outward. “Let me spoil you even more, Cyare.” Then another hand moves your right leg, spreading you open. Nothing happens for a moment, until you hear the distant sound of Din inhaling deeply through his nose. “Delicious,” he breathes, referring to the scent of you.

His movements are hesitant at first and when you feel the warmth of his wet tongue for the first time you jump a little, flinching away with a sharp noise when his facial hair tickles the sensitive flesh between your legs. Before he can stop and ask if you’re okay, you assure him that you’re fine and urge him to keep going. You have to consciously keep your legs spread, fighting the instinct to clamp your thighs around his unsuspecting head as he tentatively runs his tongue from the base of your entrance all the way up to the clit. Din repeats this motion several times, before showing complete attention to the swollen nub. You can tell that he’s not sure of himself, that he’s truly never done this before, so you decide to coach him a little bit.

“Mm, oh fuck,” you croak out between moans, “when you swirled your tongue there it felt so-oh god-so fucking good. Try to focus your attention there as much as possible.”

Din carries on with the same strokes of the tongue, and then suddenly you feel a finger pressing against your entrance. It traces the slick opening a few times before sliding in completely, causing you to cry out Din’s name in a feral voice. Then a second finger enters you, then a third, and your eyes roll back behind the blindfold as he beings to pump. Your sense of how long this is going on is completely gone, having no idea how much time is passing. All you know is the pleasure your body is feeling, totally unmeasured by time. Blindfolded and filled up with the Mandalorian’s fingers while his tongue swirls over your clit, you can feel the familiar building sensation that always comes before an orgasm. Arguably, the crescendo of nerves firing up is more pleasurable to you than an orgasm itself and this one builds for a long moment of agonizing intensity.

Legs trembling, suddenly your hands are tangled in Din’s hair as you yank harder than you mean to. “Oh, oh shit. Please don’t stop I think it’s actually happening.”

Then the crescendo tips over, and you’re riding out the waves of orgasm with bucking hips and whining moans. Din laps at you a few more times, your body jerking with each stroke, and you beg him to let up as your sensitivity is temporarily maxed out.

You just lay there, quivering in the aftermath, and Din crawls up to your head. When his lips touch yours again everything feels swollen and slick and wet, especially his mustache. You can taste yourself on him and it causes you to pose the question, “So how do I taste?”, once he breaks apart from you again.

“Delectable, Cyar’ika.”

“Thank you, Din. I am beyond grateful,” you choke, the sudden need to cry washing over you as a small sob escapes your mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes as he scoops you into his arms.

Grasping at him, your hands snake up into his lovely soft hair as your body comes down from the adrenaline rush of sexual release. “I really thought that would never happen, and then you manage to make me cum on the first try with zero experience. What are the odds?”

His unmodulated, gorgeous voice is whispering lowly in your ear, “I perform best when the odds are against me.”

“Wow, such a humble Mandalorian.” Chuckling, you turn your head and catch his earlobe between your teeth.

He makes a little noise as you nibble his ear, body shuddering. “Perhaps you were on to something when you said you’ve never had a true connection with someone. I know that this, how close I feel to you, is more tangible than any connection I’ve made since my parents died. It means quite a bit to me.”

You pull away from his ear to face him, in spite of not being able to see. “You’re not wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this close to anther person, Din. I’m glad that black hole spit me out where it did.”

“Mm,” he hums, and you feel the vibration of it, “as am I.”

You rub your cheek against his, adoring the feeling of skin and hair against your flesh as well as the scent of your sex on him. Even if you truly never get to see what this man looks like, feeling him is more than enough for you and you know it in your bones. “Thank you for trusting me. I know that the decision to remove your helmet did not come lightly.”

“Thank you for honoring your promise.”

The two of you lay there for a moment, peppering each other’s faces with kisses. You kiss his forehead, accidentally bumping into one of his eyes at first. He chuckles, and the sound of his unmodulated laugh melts your heart.

“Din?”

“Yes?”

Fingers playing with his hair, you smile a little at him. If only you could see his facial expression. Then an idea strikes you, so you move to his lips again and feel what you assume is him smiling against your fingertips. “What does ‘cyare’ mean? You called me your ‘cyare’ several times. And I don’t think I’m going to pronounce this right but you also said something like ‘kah-tay-leer darasoom’? We haven’t gone over those phrases in Mando’a yet so I had no idea what you were saying. I remember you said something similar to the kid recently.”

Din doesn’t respond right away, instead he kisses you deeply while holding your blindfolded face in both hands. After a moment he pulls apart from you, and you can sense that he’s hovering an only an inch or so from your face as you feel his warm breath on your skin. The pad of his thumb traces your lips.

“Cyare means beloved,” you feel his fingers move some of the hair from your forehead, “and what I told you was ‘ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.’ Kar’taylir means to know, to hold in the heart. Adding ‘darasuum’, eternity, changes it’s meaning to ‘I will know you forever.’ Essentially it is our phrase for expressing love. As I said before, this connection means something to me.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, the realization of his confession hitting you so hard that anther of your soft sobs echos through the cockpit. It’s not lost on you that you can feel fresh, warm wetness on his own stubbled cheeks. Tears, you’re feeling Din’s tears. He just told you that he loves you and he’s weeping. You almost can’t wrap your head around it.

“Din,” you are so overwhelmed with emotion, feeling your own tears form as they soak into the blindfold. The part of you that is afraid to give yourself over to him, afraid of the risk involved in giving your heart to another, wants to stop you from expressing how you feel. “I…”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers.

Cara’s advice echos through your mind, This life is too short not to get what you want out of it. You consider this for only but a moment, deciding that she was right and you cannot let yourself miss out on this. Yet something still feels off, and then it occurs to you, “Saying I love you just doesn’t feel right, like it means less to just say it in basic knowing there’s a beautiful way to say it in Mando’a. Say it slowly so I can hear the pronunciation.”

You feel Din hover just above your navel, placing a kiss to the flesh just below your breasts. “Ni,” his lips move between the soft peaks, “kar’tayl,” they migrate to your throat, “gar,” then he’s kissing you on the mouth again, “darasuum.”

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, Din Djarin,” you whisper, lips spreading into the widest grin.

His face nuzzles into yours some more, sighing heavily before the sound morphs into a low chuckle. “I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.”

“I wish we could sleep together like we did on Nevarro,” you say as you nuzzle him back. The smile on your face would have to be jackhammered off at this point, your heart is just too full of glee to for it leave anytime soon.

“Let’s try to sleep in the cot together,” he suggests, “I can’t be apart from you. Not right now.”

“Is the kid in his hammock?”

“Yes. It’ll be a tight fit but I think we can make it work.”

“It wouldn’t be the first tight fit we’ve had to deal with tonight,” you can’t help but joke, chuckling.

Din laughs, kissing you once more. This kiss is not deep, there are no tongues and the pacing is not feverish. His lips simply linger on yours for a long, loving moment.

“I need to put it back on, Cyar’ika,” he eventually says as he breaks apart.

Your chest aches a little, but you lift up to brush your nose against his once more. “Thank you for sharing this part of you with me. Will this be the only time I’ll ever get to feel you like this?”

“No,” he breathes, tone confident, “this will not be the only time.”

“Well until next time, then,” you say, pecking at him once more.

You feel him move away, and then after a moment his voice is once again being filtered through the modulator of his helmet. “It’s on, you can remove the blindfold.”

The cockpit had been dimly lit to begin with but everything seems incredibly bright as you slowly peel the damp fabric from your face and the visual world comes back to you.

Din is seated in front of you, once again wearing his helmet. You stare at him for a long moment, and suddenly none of what just happened feels real to you.

“Holy fucking hell,” you exclaim, giddy giggles bubbling up your throat. You long to cry out in elation, like when you used to go driving alone and joyfully scream in the sanctity of your car if you were in a great mood.

“You okay?” Din asks.

You nod, “more than okay.”

Din watches you re-dress, the two of you looking at each other as you pull the shirt over your head and hike the stretchy pants back up your legs. He’s sorry to see your body disappear behind the fabric, but sleep is starting to sound nicer than anything else. When you’re finished, you stand next to him with a hand outstretched. Din takes it, allowing you to help him up off the floor. He scoops up the blanket and hands it over to you, checking that everything with the ship is in order before motioning for you to start heading downstairs. He quickly cleans up the mess he’d made under the pilot seat and then comes to join you. As Din descends the ladder, he sees you standing there waiting for him with the blanket draped over your shoulders and a sleepy smile on your soft features.

“You’re a vision,” Din remarks as his feet touch the ground.

“Mm,” you hum, smiling at him. That lovely, kind smile that first caught his attention all those months ago on Nevarro. Maker, how far things have come. He’d been so annoyed when Karga coerced him into hiring you on as the nanny, and now he can’t imagine what his life would look like if he hadn’t.

“Let’s sleep, Cyar’ika.” Din says, tapping his forehead to yours.

“How’s this supposed to work?” You raise an eyebrow at him, grin cheeky.

Din peers into the thin sleeping cabin, noticing that the kid is still sleeping away in his little hammock above the bed. Jupiter has somehow managed to squeeze her way onto the thing with him, and the kid is using her as a sort of pillow. Admittedly, the scene is quite endearing.

“We lay on our sides,” Din shrugs, “you go in first and I’ll climb in after.”

“If you say so, Chrome Dome.” Chuckling, you crawl into the cot, laying on your side up against the right wall to give him enough space to enter.

Din kicks off his boots, bending forward to craw in with you. It’s certainly going to be a tight fit, but he thinks this may actually work nicely. He pulls himself all the way in, the door sliding shut once he’s inside. His body is already pressed to yours, so he carefully shifts around until he’s spooning up to your backside. One arm is tucked under his helmeted head, while the other is draped over you. You pull his hand into yours, tangling your fingers with his.

“Goodnight, Din,” you whisper in the darkness.

“Jate ca,” he whispers your name, “rest well.”

When Din awakes several hours later, his heart is so incredibly full that he’s not sure he could jam any more affection into it if he tried. You’re still out cold, but the kid has since migrated from his hammock to laying between you and the wall. One of your arms is curled around the foundling tightly, a content smile on your slightly parted lips. Jupiter has also relocated, as Din can feel her purring against the back of his helmeted head.

He should get up and start his day, but he instead closes his eyes once more and allows himself to feel happy for a long while.

*****

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handspunyarns · 7 months

Text

You Were Marked: Day Fourteen (Din).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C

word count: 6.8K

chapter summary: Grogu teaches Din a game, Din requires privacy, and the Armorer has words with Din.

warnings:  angst, sexual situations, male masturbation and fantasizing, mention of suicide ideation, stomach illness, Mando'a and English cursing

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

You Were Marked: Masterlist

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter

Din appropriated his jetpack back from Boba so he and Grogu would not have to ride the rattletrap speeder back to Peli’s. Boba was satisfied that Din had recovered enough from his concussion that he was no longer a menace to the skies. He touched down in Peli’s yard without stumbling — for once – and walked alongside his old ship, the Crest, trailing a hand along the fuselage. A pit droid crossed his path and he fought the urge to kick it sideways. The pit droid, already knowledgeable of the opinion of the irascible Mandalorian, skittered away quickly.

“Well, if it isn’t Mando and my favorite little tadpole!” Peli was walking towards him, shielding her eyes from the rising twin suns. Grogu cooed at the bushy-headed woman. “Going somewhere?” she asked.

“Heading to Nevarro for a couple days.”

“Your lady friend doing better?” Din did not answer, but set the side ramp of the Crest to open. “Well, does she have a name at least?”

Before Din could answer, Grogu piped up, shouting, “Mahr! Mahr! Mahr!”

Peli grinned. “So Mahr is the lady friend, huh?”

“Patu Mahr!” Grogu squealed.

Din blushed under his helmet. “She’s not my … lady fr ...”

“Mahr Patu!”

“Dank ferrik, Grogu …”

Peli laughed. “Well, Little Bug has an opinion on that, it seems. Go on, get outta here; the sooner you leave, the sooner you get back to your Mahr.”

“It’s … ah … Marathel. Her name is Marathel,” Din stammered before he rushed up the ramp with Grogu.

Peli stepped back out of range and watched the ship take off and head out into the atmosphere. She chuckled, and said to herself, “Not my lady friend, my fat ass.”

Din got the Crest off Tatooine without out a hitch; his muscle memory and smooth handling was back under control. As he was setting coordinates for Nevarro, he looked over his shoulder at Grogu, sitting in the aft chair with a smug look on his little wrinkled face. Din sighed. “Seriously? Patu Mahr?” Grogu squealed with glee. Din shook his head and turned back to the console. Not that the idea of Patu Mahr was a bad one, but … how could that even work? He — and now Grogu by extension — flew all over the damn galaxy, and Marathel could only thrive outdoors in the sunshine and fresh air. Even having a closed door frightened her. Locking her up in a metal box in the vacuum of space? Impossible.

She’s not even well yet, you osi’kovid. And you’re also assuming she will have anything to do with you, considering what’s been done to her.

He had to admire her, though; she’d managed to survive, even with all the odds stacked against her. The medical practices the rest of the galaxy used had little to no effect on her, yet she still lived. Although … he’d heard her tell Fennec that she didn’t want to.

Would you want to, after what she endured?

But she went in willingly, knowing fully what she faced.

And you know what that means … She was prepared to die before she walked through that gate. She’s wanted to die possibly for longer than you’ve known her.

Now that made Din pause. He knew he walked a fine line between life and death most days and had mentally prepared for his end since before he took the helmet. He’d stood beside his brothers and sisters, pledging to die alongside them with honor when that moment came. The very notion of being so far down in mental misery that death was preferable to living was beyond his comprehension. He thought back to what she’d told Grogu — he could hear perfectly what she’d told him; his helmet was excessively useful when it worked.

She told Grogu to grow up to be kind. And to take care of me, for I needed Grogu more than he needed me.

Din watched the striations of the stars in hyperspace. He thought back to when she and Grogu were digging out clams. Day Six. It had started out terribly with the nightmares and simply got worse.

‘I will be nowhere.’

Din realized with a start that she didn’t mean the planet Unmanarall, the Oldtalk word for Nowhere. She meant gone from this existence.

She told Fennec that she would rather live as a Belwhyn for one day and die, than live as a Whyn.

Haar’chak, what do those words mean?

Din sighed. He could hear Grogu climbing down from the aft chair with a little grunt. Out of the corner of his visor he saw two little hands reaching up towards the console. Without looking, Din dropped the throttle knob into Grogu’s waiting hands, and followed it up with one of the better ration bars. Grogu pouted — he was already missing Marathel’s cooking just as much as Din — but he took the bar anyway, and hefted himself back into the aft chair, munching away as he looked out the view screen. Din put his feet up on the console, relaxed, happy to be back in space. Din’s sleep schedule — such as it was — was still off, and since he was still recovering from his concussions, he nodded off quite quickly. Almost immediately, he began to dream. And of course, he dreamed of Marathel.

It was just a gentle dream of her, sitting still, outside somewhere, the sun illuminating her from behind, and her hair was caught in the wind, billowing across her face, obscuring her features. Her eyes would slowly shift up to look at him, but right before their eyes would lock on each other, her position would change, as if her image was on a stuttering holo-disk message, and her eyes would be far away again. Her face looked serene early in his dream, but looked more and more distressed as the dream went on. The last image he caught of her, she was hunched over as she sat, her arms crossed over her chest, her hands clutching her shoulders, her knees tightly held together. Her head raised up to look at him, and he could see tears on her cheeks, but the image stuttered again, and Din suddenly woke up. He caught his breath, hoping that the dream was not a portent of doom, that Marathel was all right, then deciding that Fennec or Cobb would contact him if something was wrong.

Checking the console, Din saw that he had been asleep for a good couple hours. He wondered if Grogu had been awake and alone that whole time. The idea concerned Din; he’d rather be awake when the boy was to at least be interacting with him. Din wondered idly if a nanny wouldn’t be a good idea, and then wondered why he should engage a nanny when he had Marathel. He then reminded himself he in no way had Marathel; her recovery was still in the early days yet. And then beyond her recovery …

One kriffing thing at a kriffing time, remember?

Din got up from his chair, stretching. He turned to see if Grogu was still in the cockpit; he wasn’t. Din could hear squeaks down in the main part of the ship, so he climbed down the ladder and saw Grogu running in circles. Grogu looked up and squealed at Din’s presence. Grogu ran up to Din, jumped up and down, and then took off, running away. Din stood still and watched him go. Grogu stopped and looked at Din expectantly. Din tilted his helmet. Grogu looked down with a harumph, and then ran back to Din, jumped again, and took off again. Din watched, confused. “What is it you want me to do, kid?” Grogu stopped running, and looked back at Din, frowning. “I don’t get it,” said Din. Grogu grunted and stomped all the way back to Din. Glaring at Din’s helmet, Grogu jumped up and down. “Okay,” said Din. Grogu turned away but looked over his shoulder. “Uh-huh,” said Din. Grogu lifted his leg, as if he were going to start running again. “Did you want me to chase you?”

Grogu threw up his little hands. “Mee-YAH!” he shouted, and he began to run. Okay, then, thought Din, and he gave chase. The two ran back and forth, up and down the corridor, Din laughing in spite of himself, and then Grogu suddenly sat down. Din slid to a stop, looking down at Grogu. Grogu looked back up at him. The two males stared at each other for some time. Finally, Din sat down as well, and Grogu sighed with the beginnings of an eye roll. Din pulled his chin back, surprised. Grogu’s facial vocabulary had been expanding quite a lot over the past couple of weeks, and he felt that Marathel had a lot to do with it. It wasn’t as if Grogu could learn expressions from him; not with the helmet obscuring his face. Din shrugged. “So now what, kid?” Grogu pointed at him. Din pointed at himself. “Me? I don’t get you.” Grogu kept pointing at Din. “Are we playing that running game of yours and Marathel’s? I don’t understand the rules, kid! We were just running, and now you’re sitting down, pointing at me, like I’m supposed to know what comes next!” Grogu tilted his head at Din, much like Din often did towards the boy. Then Grogu pointed at Din again. “I still don’t understand, boy. You had us running, and now you’re pointing at me …” It finally dawned on Din. “You’re telling me … it’s my turn? I have to say what we’re doing next?” Grogu squeaked at Din. “That’s it? You do something for a while, and then the next person comes up with the next thing to do?” Grogu squeaked again. “But that’s … that’s ridiculous! What kind of game do you play where you make up the rules as you go along?” Grogu looked expectantly at Din, who realized that it was exactly the kind of game Marathel would teach the boy to play. Imagination was more important than rules to a child.

“So … my turn, huh? All right, then … uh …” Din stood up. “Time to jump backwards, then.” Din jumped back about a foot, feet together, swinging his arms. Grogu looked at Din, frowning. “Are you playing or not, kid? Otherwise, I’m looking stupid, jumping backwards like this.” Din jumped back twice more before Grogu hopped up and copied Din’s jump. Din jumped again, and Grogu followed suit. “Okay, then, let’s do this,” Din said with a grin, jumping backwards until he reached the wall, Grogu jumping alongside. Around and around they went, until Grogu decided that spinning in circles was a better move. After a while, after they both got incredibly dizzy, Din tried skipping, feeling even more ridiculous, skipping in full armor and weapons. Grogu thought it was great fun, though, and the skipping went on for quite some time, making Din mutter, “C’mon kid, give me a break here.” Grogu finally stopped skipping, opting to do a most silly walk wherein he stood with one leg out behind him, and then slowly rotated the upraised leg to the front, then stepped down on the upraised foot, repeating the process on the other leg. “You’re kidding me,” said Din, but he complied for a short while, half-wishing he’d gotten this whole escapade on holo, just to show Marathel and make her laugh. Finally, Din decided to pull Marathel’s signature move, pretending that he had no bones, dropping to the floor like a rock. Grogu chattered and pulled at Din’s arm in vain, while Din said, “No good, kid, gravity has doubled today,” before grabbing Grogu and tickling him mercilessly. Grogu squealed and shrieked before climbing on top of Din, jumping on his chest. “Ugh! You win, kid, you have me pinned!” Grogu giggled and flopped on his belly, grabbing at Din’s helmet. Din laughed and rubbed the child’s back. “That was fun. Maybe we can play with Mahr when we get back.” Grogu cooed in affirmation, then yawned. Din continued to rub the boy’s back and thought about that tune Marathel hummed to Grogu. Din remembered the melody well, but he despised the words, probably as much as Marathel did. He vaguely remembered a Mando’a lullaby, now that he thought about it. How did it go? Din finally caught the tune in his head, and he quietly sang:

“Nuhoy, ad'ika Gar ner cyar'ika Ni ja'haili'gar Akay vaar'tur

Nuhoy, ad'ika Gar ner cyar'ika Ni laarari'gar Akay vaar'tur

Nuhoy, ad'ika Gar ner cyar'ika Ni cabuor gar Akay vaar'tur…”

Surprised that he remembered the lullaby, Din lifted his head to see that it actually worked: Grogu was out like a light, despite his lack of singing ability. He’d have to tell Marathel. Din carefully stood and carried Grogu to his little hammock in Din’s sleeping quarters. Grogu snuggled down immediately, with only one ear outside the soft blanket. Din tucked the soft frog stuffie under the edge of the blanket just in case. On impulse, Din lifted his helmet enough to kiss Grogu’s fuzzy head, which brought a smile to his face. There was something to be said for this physical affection stuff, he thought.

Din noticed that he had forgotten to get a new bed roll, and he groaned. This meant he’d have to sleep in his captain’s chair. It was comfortable enough, but it would inevitably put a crick in his back. First thing on Nevarro, buying a new damn bedroll. A good one this time, too. He turned off the light in the small room and dimmed the lights in the corridor. Din climbed up into the cockpit and lowered the lights there as well. He put his feet back on the console, interlaced his fingers, and sighed.

His thoughts went almost immediately to Marathel. After almost a fortnight of intense closeness to her, he felt the loss of her presence. He hoped she was doing well. He thought about sending a holotext but he’d only been gone for a few hours, and he didn’t want to seem lonely and desperate. He could cover it up by saying Grogu needed her, but the kid was sleeping, and anyway, Grogu was excited by the journey back to Nevarro and did not seem to be pining for his Mahr at all. When we get to Nevarro, maybe then we can let her know we’re safe.

Din wished he knew what to do about her. Technically, she had been correct: she knew nothing about how the galaxy worked. Her limited experience must make everything terrifying to her. The one place she seemed at home was in the kitchen. Din was not strict on gender roles in any way, but he believed in playing to one’s strengths … and that bread making skill of hers was one hell of an asset. Her skill in textiles was another. All those women and girls on that planet of hers …they were uneducated but seemed smart as whips and were fiercely protective of each other, just as he would expect from any warrior. And that Lorica, spitting on his boot like that. If he hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he supposed she would have spit right in his eye, and it would have stung.

Could anything be done for those women?

He didn’t know. The planet was so far off the radar of the Empire and the Republic alike; there was absolutely no sign of either faction there at all. It was as if the Hold had dropped out of the sky, fully formed with the Round Building looming over the courtyard. But there was no forge, so where did the weapons come from? They all looked ceremonial in nature apart from the beskar hammer. Where in shab did that come from? The Aurodium coins? It made no sense.

Din did have one idea, though, and he coded it into a holo-text to Greef Karga. He would be seeing him tomorrow, and hopefully he would have an answer for him by then. Hopefully.

Din briefly wished he were heading back to Unmanarall to face that Captain, the Bishop, to get some answers and give a serious beat-down to all the men who’d laid a hand on his Marathel.

He wished Marathel to be with him while he meted out his justice in her name and tell him precisely how she wanted each one to die.

He wished he had been able to bring himself out of his hut’tuun frozen state and just pulled her out of that hellhole.

He wished he had kissed her when he had the chance, not just when she was unconscious and on the brink of death.

He wished he had fully undressed her — her warm, soft, soft body — when she allowed him to touch her, and allowed her to touch him back, to feel her hands on his body and surrender himself to the touch of another person … something he continually denied himself.

He wished he had removed his helmet for her, made love with her, fully undressed rather than just removing enough clothing necessary for the sex act, reveling in her skin with his own, oh, her beautiful skin, to kiss all that fabulous skin, to nuzzle against it, to get her scent and exchange it with his own by moving his cheek and lips over her voluptuous body as she had his, to lift her soft, heavy breasts with the palms of his bare hands, to feel the different skin textures from her pebbly areolas to the hard nubs of her nipples with his thumbs, to suckle at those nipples and savor them with his tongue, to kiss her rounded belly and curve his hands over the swells of her hips and her buttocks, to move his mouth down her abdomen to between her supple thighs, to let his tongue open her delicate nether lips and dance on the bud of her clitoris with his nose sweeping through the soft thatch of silver curls, grasping the sweet globes of her magnificent ass in his hands, breathing in the sweet scent of her cream that he had once been privileged to smell off her fingertips, her hands, her hands, such strong gentle fingers touching his hair as he lingered at the apex of her legs, and him kissing the tip of each finger before returning to the chalice of her sex, sipping at her opening before lathering his tongue over her entire inner area, so warm and soft and wet, her taste so sweet and just slightly musky, and then he realized he was palming his erection through his pants, exposed out here in the cockpit when Grogu could wake up and find him in here like this. He’d never had to concern himself with privacy before the kid arrived, and it galled him to some degree he had to think about it, but he had to do something right damn now.

Din hopped down the ladder and headed straight for the shower cubicle, locking himself inside. He flipped on the water option, wasteful, yes, but sonic was not the way to go right now. Liquid oxygen would be preferable. Stripping himself as quickly as possible, he stepped under the cool spray and took himself in hand, stroking as slowly and gently as he could manage. Even with the water, the friction was still too uncomfortable, but he didn’t think he had any kind of lubricant in the shower, just in the bin closest to his bed roll, and wait, was that bin locked against a curious toddler? And dank ferrik, man, why was he thinking about that now? He tore open the storage bin inside the shower, knocking bottles aside and on the floor, discarding the soap and shampoo, he’d tried that once, just once, and never again, thank you very much, but at the very back was a small bottle of lubricant he’d forgotten about, and relieved, he filled his palm with the pleasant-smelling lubricant, and finally set himself back to stroking, picturing the naked Marathel lying beneath him on the wooden floor of her hut, those creamy breasts of hers heaving, then her on top of him, his cock in her mouth, breathing on him, only breathing, wishing she had used her tongue, her lips on him, wishing he had let her pleasure him as they’d pleasured her together, those full lips of hers, how soft, haar’chak, that pussy of hers, so hot, always so damn wet, she’d always been ready for him, a perfect fit for his cock, so tight and yet yielding at the same damn time, clenching down on him when he was inside her, and she always came so hard, so hard he wondered if the other women he’d been with had been faking it the whole damn time, he was not a practiced lover by any means, just functional at the sex act, he didn’t even know how to kiss properly, Cobb had to teach him how, but he knew if he could just get back to Marathel, if Marathel would come back to him, perhaps they could both learn together, and it would be so damn good, so much better than fisting himself in this fucking shower, and his strokes got faster and harder as he pressed his forehead against the wall, and he was just about there, and he thought of her face and how it looked when she came, her cries of pleasure, the odd tear leaking from her eyes, her long strong legs flexing their muscles and going rigid, the quiver of her body, particularly her pussy clenching even harder on him, and he finally came himself, grunting loudly and spattering the shower wall with ejaculate, twice, three times, and a weak fourth time before finally feeling spent, and he rested against the shower wall, breathing hard, wondering to himself when was the last time he’d masturbated to a fantasy rather than just getting the job done, as it were, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Din puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. He washed his hair and finished cleaning himself, since he was in there anyway, giving the shower itself a bit of a clean at the same time. After turning off the water, Din realized a couple of things: there were no towels in here, and in his haste to get undressed he had left all his clothes on the floor, and they were now all wet.

Haar’chak.

Din pulled on his flight pants, which were uncomfortably wet and cold on his bare skin and placed the helmet on his head. Catching his reflection in the durasteel mirror, he thought, yup, I’m a dumbass and then dripped his way back to his quarters, leaning inside to grab towels from the bin closest to the door. Grogu was quietly snoring. He also found a fresh set of thermals and padded back to the shower cubicle, kicking the wet clothing and armor out into the corridor before shutting himself inside again.

Din roughly rubbed his hair with the towel, leaving it unruly and sticking up in all directions as he considered his face in the mirror. He didn’t know handsome from a hole in the ground, and he had his father’s hooked nose and the lines between his brows, but his mother seemed to think his father handsome, so he guessed if he resembled his father that would be good enough. His mother, of course, was beautiful, as dark as Marathel was fair, and his father was forever touching her cheek, holding her hand, rubbing her back. Once he had woken up in the night, hearing his parents’ laughter in the kitchen, and he snuck out to see for himself, and peered through the cracked-open door. His father was on his knees on the floor, and he was washing her feet. Her feet always hurt, and she stood practically all day, and here was his father, gently soaping and massaging his wife’s sore feet as they laughed and talked about their day. Young Din went back to bed, thinking that if you were willing to wash someone’s feet, it had to be love.

Din smiled at the memory. Feet, indeed. He combed his hair, dressed in his fresh thermals, replaced his helmet, and hung up his wet flight suit to dry. He set out his armor in the corridor so that he could clean and polish it after getting a couple hours’ sleep. He checked on Grogu, grabbed a pair of Marathel’s socks, and went back into the cockpit for a long nap, thinking about Marathel’s feet, and wondering if she’d let him wash them for her.

It was early evening on Nevarro when he landed on the edge of his covert. Din had cleaned and polished his armor, even the damaged helmet, and had fully dressed himself in armor and weaponry, including the Darksaber, and hooking the marchwyl on his belt. He hated the Darksaber, and the marchwyl even more than that, but he figured he could at least get rid of one of them on this trip … that is, if the Armorer would deign to see him, an apostate.

Din stepped forward with Grogu on his arm. The youngsters came running forward, happy to see their little green friend again. Din set Grogu on the sand, and he immediately ran off to join the others. Some adults nodded at Din in greeting while others looked at him with a only a motionless gaze. Din stepped up to the opening into the catacombs and was met by the imposing figure of Paz Visla. “Paz.”

“Apostate.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. “I wish to speak to Armorer.”

“No.”

“My helmet is badly damaged, and I bring bounties for the good of the covert.”

“Have you bathed in the sacred waters of Mandalore?”

Din bit his lip before he said something he regretted. “I have not.”

“Perhaps you should do that first,” sneered Paz.

“I believe a compromised helmet would be a barrier to Din Djarin redeeming himself,” called the Armorer from deep inside the entrance tunnel. “Show me your helmet, Din Djarin.” Din obediently turned to show the Armorer the deep divot. “What caused this?”

“This beskar hammer,” replied Din, turning back to face the Armorer, and removing the hammer from his belt. “It is called the marchwyl. I bring it, as well as a valuable bounty, from the planet Unmanarall.”

“You have a habit of finding beskar weapons where there should be none. I take it your helmet no longer has any capabilities?”

“It does not.”

“Well, then, follow close behind me. Let’s discuss this more.” Din, as always, resisted to urge to roll his eyes as he walked by Paz as they entered the catacombs. “I thought you were on your way to Mandalore.”

“I had this opportunity come up. I couldn’t pass up what they offered.”

“And what was that?”

“Old Republic Ossum Aurodium coins.”

“Who is this person who commands such an exorbitant price?”

“A woman.” Din did not want to expand on that at the moment. He could just see the Armorer slowly look over her shoulder and then turn back.

“I see.” When they reached the forge, Din presented the beskar hammer to her. “What did you call this again?”

“The marchwyl.”

“Where did you come by it?”

“A planet called Unmanarall, out on the very far edge of the galaxy.”

The Armorer wasn’t sure if she was bemused or annoyed by Din’s truncated answers, but she carried on her questions as she lit the forge. “How did you come by it?”

“The woman, she … she sacrificed herself for me to get the coins. Her kinswomen brought me the hammer.”

“You carry much guilt about these women.”

Din took a breath. “I do.”

The Armorer assessed the weapon in her hands. “Whose blood is this?” she asked.

Din knew that the Armorer knew the answer to her question but was forcing the answer from him. Finally, he said, just loud enough to be heard over the forge, “Hers.”

“Did she suffer?”

“Yes.”

“Was her suffering a dishonorable thing?”

“Yes.” He could not have been more emphatic.

“Did you fight on her behalf?”

Din swallowed twice before he was able to answer. “No.”

The Armorer’s voice never changed its cadence, was not judgmental, as she asked, “Why not?”

And Din felt his soul shrivel; how could he reveal this most childish of reasons for not protecting someone so vulnerable? Yet he had to in order to remain on a path to absolution. “She told me not to.”

The Armorer gazed at him, silently, for an uncomfortably interminable time before she said, “Show me your helmet.” Din turned. He felt her hands examine the damaged area. “And this hammer caused this much damage?”

“Yes.”

“You were injured?”

“Yes.”

She stood silently behind him for a while, and then turned to the forge. “Go to the lower level and enter a meditation chamber. Leave your helmet in the doorway and wait. Think.”

“You will use the marchwyl …?”

“If what has caused damage becomes part of the repair, does it redeem itself?”

Din couldn’t answer that. “Grogu?”

“With Paz’s family.” Din nodded. “This is the way.”

“This is the way.” Din turned and made his way down to a sub-level. It was cool down there due to natural wind tunnels in the cave system. He chose a dark doorway, entered, and removed his helmet, leaving it in the doorway as told. The chamber was long and narrow, and there was no door. Anyone who entered was in darkness, and no one went out into the lighted corridor without a helmet. Din made his way to the far end, trailing his fingers along both walls, for the chamber was so narrow it was less wide than the span of his arms. At the far end was a narrow cot, and no creature comforts. Perfect for meditation without distraction. He sat down where the floor met the far wall and gazed towards the open doorway. Someone came and took his helmet away, while Din thought about how he would now be carrying Marathel’s blood on his helmet for the rest of his life.

Din had no knowledge of how long he sat in darkness. He did have the opportunity to think about many things several times over. Some of his answers depended on a certain woman. Some depended on the existence of the sacred waters of Mandalore. He lifted his eyes when he heard echoing footsteps. A silhouette placed a helmet in the open doorway. Din waited until the footsteps were gone. Coming forward, he saw the dark visor, in a field of gleaming beskar, look back at him. He tried to consider the point of view of a frightened woman upon seeing this helmet for the first time. Of having to interact with only this beskar face, a suit of armor, gloved hands, when she only knew men by the pain and degradation they caused her. And then to have this blank face deny her and tell her that any affection he held for her was less than his devotion to his Creed — something she couldn’t possibly begin to understand — and then still demand her affection towards him.

He placed the helmet on his head and turned it on with the controls on his vambrace. All the screens flared to life, going through all the options and calibrating before returning to Din’s standard options. He felt the back of the helmet, feeling only seamless metal, with no tactile evidence of a repair. He stepped out of the cell and made his way back to the forge.

“Is the helmet back to proper working condition?” the Armorer asked without turning from her forge.

“Yes. It is.”

“Let us discuss the bounty you received for this woman.” Din silently handed the Armorer the cloth bag, and she spread some of the coins out on the table. “For what reason was the bounty placed?”

“The woman was the … intended of one of the Elders of her people. She had been living for some time without fulfilling that expectation.”

“So, you completed this mission?”

“Yes.”

“So, the woman is with her intended.”

Din shifted slightly. “No.”

The Armorer looked up in surprise. “No?”

“She … she is on Tatooine, receiving medical care.”

“So, you … completed the mission on one hand, and not on the other?”

“She suffered …”

“Does she have a name?” asked the Armorer, and Din could swear she stood three inches taller.

“Her name is Marathel.” The Armorer stood motionless, waiting for Din to continue. “Marathel suffered greatly for me to collect those coins. She condemned herself to death for my benefit, for the benefit of this covert.” Din took a breath. “I failed to help her. Ni cuy’ osi’yaim. Ni cuy’ hut’uun.”

The Armorer stood still, letting Din’s confession of his inaction and his cowardice hang in the sweltering air of the forge. “Was Marathel deserving of this death?”

“No one is deserving of what she endured.”

“Marathel compelled you to not take up your weapons?”

“She compelled me to remove my weapons altogether, and to be still.” Din dropped his head. “Marathel was a victim of exceptional cruelty and nearly died due to my cowardice.”

“And what is it you seek here?”

“Absolution. And the knowledge that Marathel did not suffer in vain.”

The Armorer looked down at the coins, which reflected the fire’s glow. “This bounty is not yours. The covert will not accept it.”

Din was struck silent for several seconds. “What?”

The Armorer put all the coins back in the bag and tied it shut. “This bounty was not yours to receive. It is stained with the blood and suffering of the innocent Marathel. The bounty is hers.” She placed the bag in front of Din. “These must go to their rightful owner. This is the way.”

Din automatically began, “This is the …” He looked down at the bag. “Then it was pointless after all.” He looked back at the Armorer. “How am I to tell her? How can I look her in the eyes and tell her that her sacrifice meant nothing? She will … this will destroy what is left of her!”

The Armorer gazed coolly at Din. “You have salvaged your honor by returning the stolen beskar to us. To keep the coins would be dishonorable. Go now, Apostate Din Djarin. Find your path and follow it to find your absolution. This is the way.”

For the first time since he entered this covert as a child, Din refused to respond to the call of his people. He took the bag of coins, shoved it behind his cuirass, and left the forge without a word.

The Armorer sat and considered what Din said of himself: Ni cuy’ osi’yaim — I am a despicable person. Ni cuy’ hut’uun — I am a coward. He was always his own worst detractor, she thought. Every failure, every misstep, was taken so deeply into Din’s heart that he wore shame like he wore his cape. If there is anyone who is deserving of She Cin Vhetin — a clean slate, a new beginning — it is Din Djarin. As she went back to her forge, the Armorer then considered this Marathel, an aruetii — an outsider, who was willing to lay down her life for a Mandalorian. The Armorer, certain of her decision to not accept the bounty, wished her well.

Din stalked out of the deep catacombs and into one of the larger common areas. Scanning over the group, he did not see Grogu or Paz among them. Din remembered where Paz quartered so he headed in that direction. Before he knocked on the door, Din swore he heard laughter behind it. Laughing? Din knocked and the laughter ceased immediately. After a moment, the door slid open, and the imposing figure of Paz filled it. The two men looked at each other briefly before Paz stepped back to allow Din to enter. Ragnar, Paz’s young son, was seated on a large cushion, and he was concentrating on throwing a sour berry in Grogu’s direction. Ragnar tossed the berry high above Grogu’s head, but Grogu stopped the berry mid-air, allowing it to then drop directly into his open mouth. Grogu grinned at Din with berry-stained teeth and mouth, juice drips down his shirt. Din put his hands on his hips and sighed inwardly; now he had to potentially deal with the kid having a major case of the trots, depending on how many berries he’d eaten.

“Your helmet is now repaired?”

Din nodded. “Thank you for watching Grogu.” Paz grunted, and Ragnar threw another berry. “Ragnar has grown into a fine lad.”

“Your green child is spoiled.”

“He is good at bending people to his will. Come, Grogu.” Grogu hopped up and ran to Din’s feet. Din lifted the boy and set him on his arm, wiping his mouth with the edge of his cape.

Paz grunted again, then said in possibly the kindest tone Din had ever heard from the larger man, “I hope you are able to redeem yourself on Mandalore. I hope the waters are still there.” Din looked at Paz in surprise. Paz reached out to his son. “Come, Ragnar, it is time to sleep.”

“Jate ca, Paz, gedet'ye,” said Din.

“Naas wadaas.”

Din left the catacombs, and returned to the ship, not because he didn’t have a place to sleep at the covert — he did; there was always room for another in the covert — but he thought it would be better in case Grogu did end up with the trots from eating all those berries … and unfortunately he was right. He got to spend a good part of the night sitting on a crate, holding Grogu over the vac tube. Thanks, Paz. Grogu had a stomach of beskar for spicy food and amphibians, but too much fresh fruit ran right through the kid with disastrous results. Marathel would probably have a pithy Oldtalk phrase about this situation — like shit through a gochgoch or something equally as ridiculous — and make a mug of her stomach tea. Din missed sitting on her steps, missed her mugs of tea. He missed her. He had no idea how he was going to tell her that the covert wouldn’t accept the Aurodium … or if he should tell her.

“You empty yet, kid?” Grogu’s stomach grumbled in response. “That sounds a lot like your hungry noise, but I’m not trusting your stomach while your back end is acting like that.” Din heard a beep noise from the cockpit that sounded like an incoming message. He grabbed the old towel at his feet and wrapped the naked boy’s bottom with it, hoping for a respite from the diarrhea. It’s always something, thought Din. He climbed up the ladder one-handed and punched the button for the message.

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay

Din smiled, happy to know she was worried about them. He tapped out a message.

DD: Grogu has an upset stomach BF: Marathel asked what happened to his stomach of beskar DD: compromised by fruit BF: Marathel wishes you the best of luck

Din frowned, wondering why Boba was transcribing Marathel’s message instead of her doing it herself.

DD: Thank you Marathel

There was a long pause, so long that Din believed that the conversation was over. He took Grogu — now apparently over his Tatooine two-step — back down out of the cockpit to get him bathed. Din had just distracted Grogu with a cracker so he could dress the boy when he heard the beep from the cockpit again. He got Grogu settled back into his little hammock and whispered Mando’a into the boy’s ear. After setting the lights on the lower level, Din climbed into the cockpit and checked the message.

BF: The Modifier’s contact came through; treatment seems to be working

Din took a breath. She’ll live.

Next Chapter ->

Translation for Din’s lullaby:

Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart I will watch over you Until morning Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart I will sing to you Until morning Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart I will protect you Until morning

Lullaby written by @themischiefoftad on Tumblr

#the mandalorian #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian angst #din djarin series #starwarsficnetwork #din djarin angst #mando angst #din x fem oc #mando x fem oc #mando x oc #din djarin x fem oc #star wars fanfiction #mandalorian smut

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imaginedisish · 2 years

Text

Two Weeks (Din Djarin x Reader)

Chapter 1 (Chapter 2 coming soon)

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

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

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

Word Count: 3,605

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

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

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

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

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

And with that, you left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here for you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mando.

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

—————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re quick to believe him.

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

Ever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two weeks,” He says plainly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—————————————————————————

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

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

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

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

“No!” You shout. “N-“

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

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

Love, true love.

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

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

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

After all, you did just meet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll stay with you.”

It’s like he can read your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

Two weeks, You think to yourself. Two weeks.

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

Just like yesterday

I told you I would stay

Would you always?

Maybe sometimes?

Make it easy?

Take your time

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