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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months

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Say Yes

Bounty Hunter Boba Fett x Female Reader

Content & Trigger Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, heavy suggestive themes, protective!Boba, Mandalorian!Boba, light angst, non-descriptive sex

Word Count: 2.5k

A young, handsome bounty hunter on Tatooine makes it a daily intention to ask you to marry him.

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Mando’a Translations: cyar’ika – darling / sweetheart riduur – partner / spouse “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde” – marriage vows

“Marry me, cyar’ika.”

You glance up from the worn open tome resting on the counter in front of you. “Again? Really, Boba?”

The Mandalorian helmet, dented with flaking green paint, tilts slightly to the right. “You called me ‘Boba’ this time,” teases the bounty hunter.

You roll your eyes and push off from the counter, cheeks heating even as you grumble in false irritation.

Boba Fett, Jabba the Hutt’s favorite mercenary for hire, has asked you to marry him every day for several weeks now. And each time, you have refused him. For the first few, you were overly polite. But as his attempts continued, your polite rejections transformed into snarky quips and blatant dismissals.

It’s not like you don’t find the man attractive. Underneath the armor is an incredibly handsome man, and his attention has always been sincere. But Boba Fett is a dangerous man, and you’re just a simple shopkeeper trying to make a living in Mos Espa. In that regard, the two of you are incompatible no matter how much he persists and chases after you.

“I like how you say my name,” continues Boba, his voice a soft purr. “Sounds beautiful on your tongue.”

“And you are too forward,” you snap, knowing that your sharpness is just a cover. Which is silly, because you do like him, and Boba seems to understand this. Boba burrows beneath your skin, and you cannot dig him out.

“Am I?” he asks with mock offense. You really want to throttle him, but you also really want to kiss him.

“Yes. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, Fett,” you emphasize, deliberately using his last name. “But a ‘no’ is a ‘no’ even if you don’t like it.”

Yep. Push him away. Keep pushing. Maybe he’ll take the hint this time.

Boba Fett stands tall, arms crossed over his chest, one hip slightly popped. With the helmet on, you have no idea what his expression might be or what he’s feeling. Not knowing is maddening, and it quickens your heartbeat, a growing tingle buzzing in the tips of your fingers.

“So, all those touches meant nothing to you?” he asks with just the faintest hint of roughness in his tone.

“Yes,” you lie.

Boba shifts on his feet, shoulders straightening. “What about all the kisses you’ve given me? Hm? Nothing?”

Kriffing hell, why is this man always so direct? It’s nice that Boba is good about telling you what he wants and what he’s thinking for the most part, but it always catches you off-guard. It makes you weak, melting you into goo that he can mold however he wishes.

“Those are not enough to build a marriage, Boba,” you shrug. “There has to be more.”

“But there is more.” He steps around the counter, stepping into your space. “Isn’t there?”

Boba is right. There is more. There has always been more. Whenever Boba is on Tatooine, he is visiting you, talking with you, bringing you gifts, fixing things around the shop without you having to ask. He has offered to take you out after you’ve closed shop. He routinely takes a personal interest in your safety and security. Because of that, no one bothers you or tries to harass additional credits out of you. They stay away and respect you because they see you as Boba’s woman.

And it isn’t only that. He only ever speaks softly to you. He only ever treats you with respect and shows general interest in your life. The most maddening thing is how many women have actively shown their interest in him to his face, and he has brushed them all aside. Even after all these refusals on your end, Boba still declines their advances, and shows up at your shop each day insisting that you marry him.

“Why do you keep denying this, cyar’ika? You know I’d make you happy.” Boba is standing too close, almost on top of you.

“The shop is closed,” you reply. “If you’re not going to make a purchase, you should leave.”

Boba nods his head and backs up, reaching for an item off the shelf without looking. He deposits some credits on the counter, much more than what the item is actually worth.

“I’ll return tomorrow,” he says over his shoulder, tapping the counter as he makes his exit.

The soft chime that alerts you to when the front door opens echoes throughout the room.

You’re in the backroom organizing. It’s the next day, and Boba hasn’t shown himself yet. This might be him, but it’s likely not. There are times when Boba does not come, and you are fully aware that those are times when Jabba sends him off for a job.

“Sorry. We’re closed.” You step out from the backroom and immediately freeze.

Three Nikto bikers loiter in the middle of the shop. It’s evident that they are not here to purchase anything. Their dark eyes roam over the shelves and tables, but once they notice you, they focus in, drawing closer.

“Apologies,” you say, attempting to project your voice, to sound tougher than you are. “We’ve closed for the evening. If there is something you need right away, I can ring you up. Otherwise, you’ll need to leave.” You do your best to keep your voice steady and calm, but you hear the gentle shake.

“This street is our new territory,” hisses the leader of the group. “We were stopping by to offer our…services.”

Services, meaning protection, meaning “pay us or you’ll be a target.”

Tatooine might be overrun with crime lords and criminal activity, but the main powers at play are not known to harass the smaller folks just trying to make a living. These are outliers. These are individuals who answer to no one but themselves, and believe they can carve a piece out for their own gain.

Rarely are they ever successful, but that doesn’t mean they don’t try.

Just as you open your mouth to reply, the soft chime comes again. This time everyone turns and you sigh with relief when you see who it is.

“Boba Fett,” says the Nikto slowly. His shoulders stiffen and they all put their hands on their blasters.

The bounty hunter does no answer right away. His helmet moves, scanning the Nikto, and then you, assessing. Even from across the shop, you sense Boba’s anger. There are few things that rile him up, but you’re one of them.

“It’s not smart moving in on Jabba’s territory. Or to harass what’s mine.” When Boba says mine, he growls it. The possessiveness in his tone heats your flesh, sends a sharp spike of desire down to your belly.

The Nikto all glance at each other before the leader addresses Fett. “We didn’t know the female was yours, Boba.” He holds his hands out in a placating gesture, indicating that he didn’t mean any harm. Yet you know that isn’t true. Their intention from the start was to harass you for credits.

You scoff at female but decide to let it go.

“I think it’s best that you leave.” Boba steps to the side.

The duo glance at their leader for direction. The Nikto’s features are impassive, but he eventually inclines his head, exiting as Boba insist they do. When the last one leaves, Boba momentarily glances in your direction. The door stands open, and Boba exits with him.

When it whooshes shut, you sprint over to the wall panel, immediately engaging the lock and shuttering the windows. You stand in the silent shop for a few minutes trying to calm your heartrate. Once it’s manageable, and not beating so hard it might burst from your chest, you head upstairs to your small apartment above the shop.

By the time you’re curled up in bed, you’re no longer anxious, but there is the slightest bit of tension that lingers in your limbs. Sighing, you turn over in the bed, only to hear the brief pulse of a jetpack shutting off and boots on the small balcony outside your bedroom window.

Slowly, you push up to sitting, the bedsheets falling to your waist. You know it’s Boba. He does this some nights. Camps out and protect you in the only way he knows how because you’re too stubborn to take him up on his numerous marriage proposals.

Tonight, it’s obvious as to why he’s out there. Part of you is reluctant to leave him outside. You’d prefer it if he were with you, within arm’s reach, to see him without the helmet. Plus, nights on Tatooine can grow cold. You want him inside where it’s warm.

On quiet feet, you go to the door that leads outside. Opening it silently, you stick your head out into the chilly air, finding Boba as he leans against the exterior wall, arms crossed.

“You should be in bed, cyar’ika,” chides Boba playfully.

You swallow, suddenly nervous now that you’re confronting him. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask, a bit hesitantly.

Maybe it’s the uncertainty in your tone, or the way you shrink back a bit into the interior of the room, because Boba is suddenly alert, all of his attention attuned to you.

Boba immediately pushes off from the wall and approaches you, his hand on the door, pushing it wider. “Are you hurt? Did one of them touch you?”

You shake your head vehemently. “No. I’m fine. Promise.”

Boba’s chest heaves slightly but you’re not sure if it’s from his sudden movement or a releasing of relief. He glances over his shoulder at Mos Espa, the t-shaped visor of his helmet fixated on the city’s skyline. Turning back, Boba nods.

You step away from the door and Boba enters. Even with the door closed and the windows’ shutters slanted to dim the moonlight, some of it still spills over the room like tiny white rivers.

His helmet hisses as the pressure seal disengages. Slowly, Boba lifts the helmet off his head and sets it aside on a nearby table. He runs his fingers through his dark hair, the ends sticking up slightly after he does so. With the faintest movement, Boba turns, and that moonlight cuts sharp glowing lines over his face, highlighting tanned skin and dark eyes.

You don’t even realize you’re moving closer to him until Boba grabs you by the waist and pulls you against his armor-clad body. Instinctively, your hands reach out, locking onto the beskar. Boba’s head dips and yours rises to meet him automatically, and yet there is no connection. It is simply holding, a waiting between two hesitant people.

“You haven’t asked me to marry you today,” you murmur.

The corner of Boba’s lips turns upward in a soft smile. “Will you marry me, cyar’ika?”

“No,” you say automatically, before the two of you start laughing.

“Let’s try that again.” Boba reaches up and cradles your cheek. “Cyar’ika. Will you marry me? Will you allow me to speak the words of my people? And will you speak them back?”

The words of his people. The Mandalorian marriage vows. You are distinctly aware of what they are and what they mean. Which is why Boba’s earnestness isn’t fake to you. Mandalorians take their weddings vows seriously even though the process of exchange is simple. It is the intention behind the exchange that is most important to them.

That is how you know Boba speaks the truth, that him asking you to marry him is a genuine desire of his.

“Passion does not make a relationship,” you reply.

The answer is a shift away from actually having to answer. How many times have you and Boba ended up on the floor of the backroom after rejecting him? It’s more than you can count on your hands.

“That’s all this is to you?” he laughs. “You know I can give you more. I do more than that now.”

You curl forward a bit, rest your forehead against the beskar. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

“Of what?”

“Of what will change.”

Boba’s fingers brush under your chin and lightly guide your gaze back to his. “I wouldn’t ask you to give anything up.”

“Yes, but—”

Boba gives the slightest shake of his head and you instantly quiet. “Do you want me?” he asks. “Tell the truth.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I want you,” you breathe, allowing the words to drip off your tongue.

“May I have one of your kisses?” he asks softly, one gloved thumb lightly pressing down on your bottom lip.

“Yes,” you breathe.

Boba closes the distance, forms perfectly to you. It is slow and delicate and sweet. Your body hums with energy, and when you press for more, Boba growls and pulls back, hastily ripping off his gloves to reveal his bare hands.

Then he’s cupping the side of your face, drawing you back to him, tasting and tasting and tasting until your fingers are clawing at him in desperation. When he breaks the kiss, you still lean forward as if you can reach him.

“Then repeat the words with me, cyar’ika. Become my riduur.”

Boba presses his lips to yours, draws forth an air-stealing shiver from deep within your lungs.

“Mhi solus tome.”

“Mhi solus tome,” you repeat.

We are one together.

Boba slides an arm around your waist to drape softly over your curves. “Mhi solus dar’tome,” he says.

You say it back to him. “Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.”

We share all.

This time, Boba slots his pelvis against yours, and you understand his heated intention.

“Mhi ba’juri verde.”

“Mhi ba’juri verde,” you say with shaky breath.

We will raise warriors.

Boba snuggles the side of your neck, breathes in your scent. “I’d like to lay with my riduur.” His fingers find the edge of your sleeping robes.

“As long as I can have my riduur the same way.”

Boba grins against your throat. Together, the two of you remove his armor, piece by piece by piece. The moment his flightsuit is unzipped and he steps out of it, Boba is on you, drawing your lips to his, desperately claiming what is now so rightfully his.

Your own clothes are gone before making it to the bed. Boba runs his hands over your back, sliding down to lift you into his arms. Your legs wrap around his middle, and Boba carries you off, placing you gently onto your back.

His mouth upon your skin is a brand. Hot. Searing. It goes lower, lower still until you’re crying out for him, begging for him to be with you as your riduur should. Boba is happy to do so, sliding between your thighs so perfectly, you both lose yourselves momentarily before becoming nothing but a raging storm, waves crashing into each other repeatedly until one of you breaks.

Rest does not come until the morning suns begin to ascend over the horizon. You do not open your shop. And Boba does not return to Jabba’s palace.

There is peace for a while.

Harmony.

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 11 months

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Clan of Three (BOBF) - Chapter 1

Chapter One: The Mandalorian and the Jedi

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with a slowly discovering lineage. With the child off with the Jedi, the close-knit pair continues their travels through the galaxy.

Word Count: 5.7K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, semi-angst, slight ptsd, some wholesome moments, father-daughter moments

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The streets are empty besides the few that travel with the star that the space station orbits around and lights sections of the streets before incasing it into darkness. Gentle footsteps were barely noticeable unless you were skilled in listening out for them. The men work away in the slaughterhouse the smell of raw meat and blood fills the air as the butches cut into the large slabs of meat a shadow passing by and one looks back catching something in the corner of his eye but shaking it off not seeing anything. Hidden behind the slaughterhouse is a makeshift officer who works the corrupt side hidden behind the facade of a meat packing industry. A Klatooinian sits at his desk working away while others stand around either talking to one another or making sure the man at the desk is well protected.

“Kaba Baiz…” A voice speaks out and they all look over at a hooded figure resting against one of the walls, “You sure are a difficult man to find.” They speak out as the men surrounding Kaba brandish weapons but the figure raises their hand, “You don’t want to hurt me.” The voice calming but commanding as Kaba watches his men lower their weapons obeying this stranger's orders. Looking back jumping back slightly seeing the hooded figure in front of the desk their hands resting on the table.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about…you’re looking at the wrong person.” He says and the figure chuckles and he can see their shoulders move with their laughter. “Trust me Kaba I’m looking at him. So here’s your option you either kindly follow me so I can turn you in and get my money or someone who won’t care if you’re alive is going to come. Your choice.” The person speaks and Kaba can see just a glimpse of their mouth as they smile waiting for his decision. He wasn’t sure if this person was insane or just dumb enough to think he would listen. The voice sounded young and to think whoever they were was trying to threaten him.

“Get lost. I won’t tell you again, I’m not your guy.” He says and he sees their shoulders slump. They reach out and grab a credit hold it up to the light seeing the integrity of it before dropping it back down.

“I did warn you..” They say and heavy footsteps grow closer to the room he turns to look back at the hooded figure finding them gone right as the plastic curtains open revealing a rugged man in shiny beskar armor. He should’ve taken their advice.

The night air cools your skin as you rest on a metal railing looking up at the space that was looking down at you. The cloak and mask covering your face were pulled back as you watched the stars move past you. The sounds of fighting faint coming from the building as you wait for it to die down before you hear footsteps though it sounds like something is being dragged as well.

“I’m guessing he didn’t take my deal.” You say looking over at the bounty hunter in his hand a sack that you assume contains Kaba's head. You instantly notice him limping and you quickly join his side, “What did you do?” You ask looking at his leg and seeing the large burn on his upper thigh the skin badly injured.

“I’m fine,” He says waving you off and taking a step forward but he can’t stop the groan from escaping his mouth and your body goes under his arm supporting his bad side, “What did I tell you about speaking to the bounties? What if they-” He speaks up his tone scolding and you roll your eyes.

“They didn’t see my face Din, and if they had you probably already took them out.” You say as you travel through the streets of Glavis Ringworld, you’ve both been traveling for bounties for information on the coverts of Mandalorians. With Din being reinstated into the Guild you could have some credits to keep you afloat but with no ship or a permanent home, you’ve bounced around planets and worlds following after the hardened Mandalorian. “We’re in this together…I’m not leaving you to do all the work.” You say leaving the grimy streets of Glavis to a more glitzy area, people dressed in silks and clothes covered in jewels. The two of you probably stuck out like sore thumbs you mainly, while Din had the shiny beskar armor you were dressed in layers of clothes. After the Jedi and Grogu left you and Din traveled with the group to see him get turned in from the New Republic before you both took off. It took time with the limited credits Din had from bounties though you put your effort in a pickpocket or two you never told the man. You were able to rebuild a new outfit. Your old one was too ripped up and covered in blood and you didn’t like the memories associated with the clothes.

Din didn’t say anything following your comment the both of you entered a turbolift with a Caskadag inside who moves to stand towards the side far away from the two of you. He could sense the unease in the man. Din glances down at you still reliving his weight off his bad leg, your gaze was straight forward a permanent frown etched on your features. You refused to speak about what happened on Moff Gideon’s cruiser as if the incident never existed but he could see the few moments the mask you put up cracked for just a second. The flash of panic in your eyes when someone touched you without warning, or when he caught you once as they traveled on a train after a bounty your gaze was focused on your hands. You hadn’t realized Din was watching as you flexed your hands curling them in and out of fists tracing the scars on your knuckles. You had completely shattered your knuckles and needed surgery luckily getting it from a medical droid on the cruiser, the little things you thought he didn’t notice he saw.

You were older…more mature. It was only a year from when he met you when you were seventeen but things had changed now. You smiled less, his poor excuses for jokes were met with laughter that didn’t reach your eyes, and you would stare off shutting out the world around you, when you fought you were vicious but you dissociate during them and once they were over your mind was a blur of what you did. He knew whatever Gideon had done to you would stick with you forever but keeping it all in wasn’t healthy. You had too much on your plate with the weapon that is technically yours but now resting on his. The Darksaber, you refused to touch it or glance at it, hearing the history and meaning of owning this weapon. To bring the people of Mandalore together and rule as Mand’alor but you rejected it and the title that weighs you down. He would think back on what that Jedi said when you rejected his offer to go train with him.

“Your connection to the force is driven by your emotions without proper guidance you walk a thin line that can have you fall down the path of the dark side,”

He wasn’t going to force you to train with the Jedi but he was still nervous when in moments punches wouldn’t be held back or threats to quarries weren’t a fear tactic. The turbolift reaches the floor you’re meant to go to and you and Din step forward the music of the lounge fills your ears. Din feels the helpful hand leave his side and he’s forced to limp forward just catching the hood and mask of your cloak coming on and you disappear without seeing where you went. It was a skill you had acquired with still being a target to the small remnants of the empire and it didn’t take long for news to spread of being the ancestor of a famous Jedi and the Mandalore Duchess. It was being hidden from the last bits of the empire that wishes to rid of the jedi, bounties looking for a highly valued bounty, and the New Republic with a possible political player. Din moves towards the private lounge reaching a table covered in an assortment of foods with people surrounding the table.

From the bar, you had a clear view of Din as he spoke to the contractor for the bounty. Raising your hand briefly to the bartender who comes over and a glass of spotchka is slid over to you and you in return place a credit on the bar, your gaze is still focused on Din as he speaks to them and you could sense the frustration coming from the Mandalorian.

“Hey, you wanna buy death sticks?” A voice calls out to you and you glance over at a man standing beside you holding out fluorescent sticks a smirk on his face.

"You don't want to sell me death sticks." You say with a slight wave of your hand and he steps back, "I don't wanna sell you death sticks." He says putting the sticks away.

"You want to go home and rethink your life." You say another small wave of your hand and he looks almost ashamed of his decision, "I wanna go home and rethink my life.” He says and you watch him turn to leave the lounge. You smirk pulling down your mask slightly to take a sip of the spotchka your lips curling at the burn from the liquid. You see Din taking the credits while placing the bag on the table before heading off. You leave the drink at the bar following after him sliding into the lift after him it ascends down. From the corner of your eye, Din examines the burn on his upper thigh.

Leaving the lift you back outside the cool air blows past you as you walk further from the glitz and glam of part of Glavis Ringworld to where the crimes lie and those who don’t want to be found. When there were only your and Din’s footsteps you pull the hood and mask off your face slowly trailing behind the limping Mandalorian. The loud machinery from the railway above you as you move deeper into the industrial layout, you see Din move his hand to his helmet as he scans the alley,

“What do you see?” You ask as he suddenly moves down an alley the sounds of the railways fading away,

“A path..” Din says and you follow after him as he continues after this trail apparently only he can see before you reach a hatch in the wall, “This is the place.” He says as he opens it entering with you close behind the doorway and shutting it behind you. Following down a stairwell that reveals the underneath of Glavis like its own city of metal bridges and platforms under the ring space station. A ladder leads down to a platform but how easy it could be to take a wrong step and fall straight into space and the rusty ladder doesn’t help either. Din heads down first taking it slow, especially with his leg everything was fine until his leg hits the rung and he slips down. Your hand grabs his wrist as you half hang off the top platform as he clutches the ladder.

“Din…are you okay?!” You ask panic in your eyes, it would be so easy to slip and fall off and you had reacted so fast down almost upside down on this ladder your other hand holding onto the railing.

“I’m fine kid,” He hisses in pain in his legs, “I gotta help you though,” He tries moving up to help your hanging body but you shake your head.

“Just head down I’ll be fine.” You reassure him as he painfully heads down the rest of the ladder and once he’s down he looks up at you as you try bringing yourself up but your body is so far off the ladder.

“Kriffff…” You sigh before fixing your grip on the ladder, “Make sure to grab me if I fall and die.” You call out to him, “What do you mean fal-Maker kid!” Din yells seeing you fully flip your body off the platform your hands twisting on the rung as your back hits and you lose your grip falling straight off the ladder. Your hands grip the side of the floor your hold quickly losing and your weightless falling straight into space.

“Shit!”

A harsh grip on your wrist as your held above the vast amount of space and you look up at Din who’s holding you up with one hand, “Give me your hand kid,” You can hear the strain in his voice from holding you with one hand and his leg digs into the metal grating. Swinging your other arm and you grab his arm as he pulls you up and you swing your leg catching onto the platform rolling onto it. You lay on your back trying to calm your heaving breaths as Din sits back trying to calm his own rapidly beating heart, this kid was going to give him a heart attack one of these days.

“Don’t…do that…again.” He pants and you nod holding a thumbs up, “Yeah…thanks for catching me.” You respond weakly before you push yourself to stand holding out your hand to Din, “Come on old man,” You say and you can feel the look he gives you through his helmet but gladly accepts your hand groaning when putting weight on his leg. Heading through the platform as it opens up more area and further ahead on a jutted-out platform you saw the female Mandalorian sitting with her weapons besides her looking to be praying. Din walks forward down a small step but his leg gives out and he grabs his leg, you rush to his side looking over his leg which looked worse.

“Tend to him.” The Armorer calls out and you hear footsteps seeing a very tall and buff Mandalorian compared to Din, “I didn’t know if I would ever see you again.” The man says with a gruff deep voice as he holds a medpack with him,

“Thank you for saving me on Nevarro,” Din says as your hand grazes the burn and he shudders in pain, “Sorry..” You whisper before rubbing your hands on your pants to get rid of sweat, “I don’t know if I’ll be as good as the child when he did it..” You explain before bringing your hand to rest over his thigh and focusing. Breathing through your nose focusing on the breathing and the energy you put it to heal him. Your focus is broken when you’re shoved away from Din falling and you push yourself on your elbows.

“We do not wish for your jedi witchcraft.” The Mandalorian hisses at you and you look at him in shock from the venom in his tone.

“Don’t touch her.” Din tries moving to your defense but groans in pain from his leg.

“Calm yourself Paz Vizsla…the girl is of Mandalore blood.” The Armorer warns him standing up and watching the interaction.

“She does not wear Mandalorian armor. She does not Walk the Way…she is a jedi. She is no Mandalorian.” Vizsla aims his words at you and you can feel his glare through the beskar. His hand moves to point at you and a screech fills the air an orange blade is aimed at him. He recoils back from the heat the blade gives off the kyber crystal producing a powerful and quite destructive blade.

“Touch me again and you will walk no way Mandalorian…” You hiss your body tense on the defensive your threat weighs heavy in the air.

“Kid..” Din calls out and your glare shifts from Vizsla to your guardian, you can feel the look he was giving you and the blade retracts as you quickly stand glaring down at Vizsla. You’re already moving heading off to Maker knows where just wanting to be anywhere but here.

Your legs hang over the platform though no railing might be scary to others you felt at peace having them dangling over the edge. Your fingers trace the raised skin on your knuckles, the shattering pain with each blow you gave flashes of his face and all that blood.

“This is the non-diplomatic option,”

You hiss in pain your hand instinctively rests on your stomach though no scars lie there the memories and the phantom pain forever haunts you.

“Ibic cuyir te ara.” A voice whispers out into the air and you turn towards it finding nothing around you but silence. Swinging your legs back to safety walking on the catwalk back towards the three Mandalorians trying your best to ignore the unease that coats your body.

You can hear large metal moving as you draw closer and you see Din and Vizsla connecting large tubes to what looks like the smelter back in the tunnels on Nevarro.

“Where did you come upon the Darksaber?” Vizsla ponders looking at the weapon attached to Din’s belt, “She defeated Moff Gideon.” Din responds while connecting another tube,

“Then why do you wield it?” Vizsla asks and Din pauses sensing your presence and seeing you have now joined but you sit away from them but certainly in hearing distance. You were leaning against a crate your nose in one of the old texts that you’ve re-read multiple times. He didn’t fully understand some of them not even in Basic but you read them like someone else was hidden within the pages. He saw the disdain and hatred you would give to the weapon he wielded but only for the use of it not as its owner. It’s owner refuses to touch it.

“I can not answer that.” Din replies and they continue working, “Did she kill him.” Hearing Paz’s question his mind could only go back to the light cruiser.

Your fists cave in the warlord’s face the fury in your eyes and blood paints your body. Screams of rage and hysterics as you beat the life out of the man that had tarnished the last glimpse of your innocence. Standing above him the wildness in your face as you hold the Darksaber ready to deliver the killing blow. “He has to die! I’ll kriffing kill him. Gideon has to!”

It was a wrath Din never expected to come from you but you were tainted by that man. Whatever was said to you before Gideon had attacked you was burned into your mind. It was violent and graphic that he hadn’t thought would be occurring to you out of all people, you were kind, compassionate, and caring of others, but Gideon took that from you and he paid the consequences.

“No,” He says shaking his head trying to get rid of those thoughts, “But he was sent off to the New Republic for interrogation, and he will face justice for his crimes.”

“Death would have been justice for his atrocities,” Paz says and Din can’t help to agree. If his priority wasn’t you or the child and the knowledge he has for the New Republic, Gideon’s guts would be spread across that light cruiser.

“This is true. The blood of millions of our kind is on his hands.” The Armorer replies as the smelter powers up flames appearing highlighting the beskar armor.

“Then he will be executed for his crimes by the New Republic Tribunal.” Din says stepping forward as the Armorer moves from the flames to a cupboard, “We shall see. The songs of eons past foretold of the Mythosaur rising up to herald a new age of Mandalore. Sadly, it only exists in legends. Where did you come upon the beskar spear?”

Din moves forward pulling the spear off his back and holding it out for the Armorer to take, “It was the gift of a Jedi. It can block a lightsaber. I used it to rescue the child.” The Armorer examines the weapon hitting it to the ground as the pure beskar rings through the air,

“It can also pierce beskar armor. Its mere existence puts Mandalorians at risk. Mandalorian steel is meant for armor, not weapons.” She says and Din pauses before glancing over at the girl still away from them and the small child off with the Jedi.

“Then forge it into armor.” He says and the female Mandalorian nods, “The Darksaber is a more noble weapon for you to wield. Though the true owner of the weapon should wield this weapon.”

The Armorer puts the beskar spear on top of the smelter glowing a bright red as it heats to a level to melt Din takes a seat before the woman working, “Have you ever heard of Bo-Katan Kryze?” The name has your head perking up, you and Bo-Katan following Grogu’s departure with the jedi had little time to learn of each other. Even then you were practically out of it the world blurring by you as your father’s aunt tried to learn about you and your father but only short sentences or no responses came. Your conversation ended there as Din pulled you away with Cara’s help to get you cleaned up and seen by the medical droid, your blood and…his was still drying on your skin and your knuckles were shattered.

“Bo-Katan is a cautionary tale,” The Armorer explains thinking back on her history of the Kryze House as she pours the melted liquid from a tube into a container to solidify, “She once laid claim to rule Mandalore based purely on blood and the sword you now possess. But it was gifted to her and not won by Creed. Bo-Katan Kryze was born of a mighty house, but they lost sight of the way. Her rule ended in tragedy. They lost their way, and we lost our world. Had our sect not been cloistered on the moon of Concordia, we would have not survived the Great Purge. Those born of Mandalore strayed away from the path. Eventually, the Imperial interlopers destroyed all that we knew and loved in the Night of a Thousand Tears.”

You could feel the tension coming off both Mandalorians and the sadness coming off Din, “Only those that walked the way escaped the curse prophesized in the Creed. Though our numbers were scattered to the winds, our adherence to the way has preserved our legacy for the generations until we may someday return to our homeworld.” The Armorer says before looking back at Din, “What shall I forge?”

Din glances at you and your gaze darts from him having been caught listening in, “Something for foundlings.” He suggests and the Armorer has an idea who one of them is and she nods “This is the way. Who is the other foundling?”

“The child…Grogu.” Din says and his chest aches with the reminder his other foundling was not with him, a part of his heart empty, his clan incomplete.

“He’s no longer in your care. He is with his own kind now.” The Armorer reminds him and the bounty hunter nods, “I want to see him, make sure he’s safe.” He says and the Armorer looks down at the man.

“In order to master the ways of the Force, Jedi must forgo all attachment.” She explains and Din hates to hear that. Was the child meant to let go of both himself and you, just forget to be able to properly train? Was this why you rejected the Jedi’s request? But was he a problem with stopping you from mastering the Force, this attachment you had for him for others?

“That is the opposite of our Creed. Loyalty and Solidarity are the way.” Din replies and the Armorer nods, “What shall I forge for the foundlings?”

You watch behind your book as the Armorer works around the smelter and other equipment clearly in her element and you can’t clearly see what she creates but she works diligently. Your focus is glued to the Mandalorian working away you didn’t notice your own Mandalorian’s presence near you.

“Kid..” Din’s touch is gentle on your shoulder but not accounted for as you stiffen your head snapping towards the foreign encounter. Your body relaxes once you realize it was only Din and you look forward to watching the Armorer work. “Kid.” He calls out again and you hum letting him know you have his attention, “You alright..just with what happened earlier and all.” He asks and your gaze returns back to the man though you can no longer see his face you could imagine the concern hidden behind his helmet, his brows furrowed, a frown painting his mouth, and his eyes filled with worry. You nod trying to reassure him.

“I’m fine Din,” You say trying to ignore the venom that burns your skin from Vizsla’s words, “It made sense to be wary of me, aren’t Jedi and Mandalorians sworn enemies or something.” You avert your gaze.

“Well, some still believe that,” He starts but seeing the hurt in your eyes he quickly backtracks, “I mean...I don’t believe that. You hear me. I could never hate you.” He grabs your hand and your gaze is still forward.

“But I’m no Mandalorian,” You say and Din gives you a look, “Of course, you are you’re-” “I know that physical...yes, I’m from Mandalore..I have the Dark-” You stop yourself before finishing the sentence your gaze briefly meeting the weapon before you quickly look away trying to calm your rapid heartbeat, “But I’m not like you. I don’t wear the armor, I don’t speak your Creed, I don’t walk the way.” An empty laugh leaves you as your gaze looks at the saber attached to your belt, “Could hardly call myself a jedi either.” You neither walked the way of the Mandalorians nor the way of the jedi. Din looks at the defeated look on your face before he stands up,

“Olaror. Laam,” (Come. Up,) He calls out holding a hand and you look at his hand before he gestures for you to take it. You’re pulled to your feet, “See you already understand what I’m saying. Already closer to being Mandalorian.” He says and starts away from the Armorer who is still working away. Following after him finding yourself on the catwalk from before as he stops turning to face you. “Okay come at me.” He holds his hands out and you look at him with a slight form of shock,

“What?” “Come on, no weapons, no powers, just straight fists.” He says and you shake your head, “Din I’m not fighting you,”

“Well, I’m not stopping until you do.” He says and before you could get another word a fist is flying toward your face. Leaning back avoiding the attack as you look at him in shock, “Come on,” He flexes his fist and you look at him before dodging another attack spinning around him so you both are on opposite sides. Your hands flex at your sides watching his movement, his fighting was fluid with powerful strikes while also thinking about his weak spots. There was a reason he was a well-feared bounty hunter. You had only got the jump on him a few times was pure luck on your end. In a real fight against him without using your saber or the force you were screwed.

“Stop worrying,” He calls out, “You know I’m stronger than you in a hand-to-hand fight, but you’re smarter use your wits to help you,” Din says looking over at you and you nod. He aims another punch toward you and you dodge kicking your leg out it connecting with the healing burn on his calf he grunts grabbing your ankle and twisting it forcing you to hit the ground. He tries pinning you but you spin around landing another kick right on the side of his ribs where the beskar plate doesn’t protect him. He’s quick with defense his fist striking against your chest and the wind is slightly knocked out of you as you fall back clutching your chest trying to catch your breath. He stalks towards you his hand grabbing your ankle and dragging you forward. When you’re close to him your free foot kicks against his chest your arms gripping his shoulders and with all your strength you throw him over you. He flips over not expecting it as he hits the ground and you hear a groan come from him. You stand rubbing your hand to your chest as he too stands as well both out of breath he nods,

“Good…you did good.” He says and you nod your breath calming down the pain in your chest now dull. Looking down he notices the Darksaber had unclipped from his belt and he moves to grab it, “You’re smart to target weakness you did good…kid? Kid..?”

You’re frozen looking at the weapon before you. Trapped unable to breathe or move. There was no flight or fight. You could only hear the blood pumping wildly through your body and your head spun making you weak. You felt restrained..back on the cruiser…back with…him. His touch sears your skin his words toxic as they drown you. You were overwhelmed by it unable to move, to think, to breathe, you were trapped within your own body. Bile fills your throat as your hands flex and unflex remembering the pain from your hands trying to focus on anything but what happened…what he did..just him.

“y/n..” You felt hands on your body and you reacted your vision blinded as they collided with something fighting them off and shoving them away. A yell fills the air before arms wrap around you pinning your arms to the side. Your thrash violently screams tearing through your throat as you’re brought to the ground.

“Stop Kid! Y/n…kid! You’re alright breathe!” The voice clears the fear as your hands shake violently gasping for air as hands grab your face forcing you to look at the beskar helmet. “Breathe…breathe.” He says showing an exaggerated inhale and exhale as you copy with your shaky inhales and exhales.

“I...I’m sorry…I’m sorry…I’m sorry.” You frantically apologize trying to push him off, he shouldn’t see you weak. He didn’t need that baggage but he shushes you pulling you into his chest and your hands are like vices clutching the cape on his back your face cool against the beskar. “You’re fine..you’re fine cyar’ika.” He mumbles his hand smoothing over your hair the other rubbing your back gently as you weakly mumble apologies.

“She’s a danger to rebuilding our covert.” Paz Vizsla’s voice makes you jump and Din holds you close to him pulling back to look at the Mandalorian that was breathing heavily with anger. Din had known when you pulled into yourself or dissociated following a fight be cautious around you not sure how you could react. But Vizsla had just appeared and the next thing either of them knew you were shoving the man off the catwalk. Luckily he had his jetpack to return him to safety but it was unprovoked and just instinct. Din had to restrain you when your hand moved for your saber unaware of what you would do when in a state of panic.

“She’s a child and my ward,” Din says ready to fight tooth and nail to keep you safe beside him. Especially against this man for the threat against his clan member.

“She leaves or I will do it myself.” Vizsla threatens, stepping forward and Din shifts putting you behind him aiming his blaster only to get one in return.

“You lay one finger on her-”

“Enough!” The Armorer’s voice breaks through the fight about to break out both lower their blasters before the female Mandalorian turns over to Viszla, “Paz Vizsla, have you ever removed your helmet?” She asks and Vizsla shakes his head firmly,

“No.”

“Has it ever been removed by others?”

“Never.” He says confidently and the Armorer nods, “This is the way.” Vizsla quickly repeats the saying. The Armorer then turns to Din looking at him.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” Din is frozen and you were fearful about the response. You knew he had…he had taken it off for you and the child. “Have you ever removed your helmet? By Creed, you must vow.” She repeats again when he remains silent.

“I have.” He says.

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.” She says and Din moves forward towards the woman, “I beg you for your forgiveness. How can I atone?”

“Leave, apostate.” Vizsla hisses at him stepping forward but the Armorer holds up her hand, “According to Creed, one may only be redeemed in the Living Waters beneath the mines of Mandalore.” She explains as you listen but flashes of an open cave filled with waters return from your memory. But that was only a dream…or a vision.

“But the mines have all been destroyed.” Din replies and the woman looks at him, “This is the way.” She says before holding out something wrapped in cloth and the Darksaber which Din accepts. Looking at the two Mandalorians now an apostate he turns to the girl still on the ground watching the interaction before he helps you to your feet and you give one final look at the pair before following after Din. Returned to the streets of Glavis you look at the silent Manda... bounty hunter as he walks through the streets. Would you be able to call him a Mandalorian anymore? It’s silent as you walk side but side but he leads before you speak up.

“I’m sorry..” Your voice breaks the silence as he glances down at you, “It’s my fault you’re an apostate..if I hadn’t protected the child on Thyton we wouldn’t have been taken…you wouldn’t have to come after us..you wouldn’t have to take off your helme-” “Stop kid.” He cuts your rambling off and you look at him ready for his scolding or just more silence.

“I took my helmet off because I wanted to…our mishaps had nothing to force that.” He says and you nod slowly before your hand slides into his squeezing it and he returns one, “What do we do now..”

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