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nellasbookplanet · 2 months

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Book recs: black science fiction

As february and black history month nears its end, if you're a reader let's not forget to read and appreciate books by black authors the rest of the year as well! If you're a sci-fi fan like me, perhaps this list can help find some good books to sink your teeth into.

Bleak dystopias, high tech space adventures, alien monsters, alternate dimensions, mash-ups of sci-fi and fantasy - this list features a little bit of everything for genre fiction fans!

For more details on the books, continue under the readmore. Titles marked with * are my personal favorites. And as always, feel free to share your own recs in the notes!

If you want more book recs, check out my masterpost of rec lists!

Lagoon by Nnedi Okorafor

Something massive and alien crashes into the ocean off the coast of Nigeria. Three people, a marine biologist, a rapper, and a soldier, find themselves at the center of this presence, attempting to shepherd an alien ambassador as chaos spreads in the city. A strange novel that mixes the supernatural with the alien, shifts between many different POVs, and gives a one of a kind look at a possible first contact.

Nubia: The Awakening (Nubia series) by Omar Epps & Clarence A. Hayes

Young adult. Three teens living in the slums of an enviromentally ravaged New York find that something powerful is awakening within them. They’re all children of refugees of Nubia, a utopian African island nation that sank as the climate worsened, and realize now that their parents have been hiding aspects of their heritage from them. But as they come into their own, someone seeks to use their abilities to his own ends, against their own people.

The Scourge Between Stars by Ness Brown

Novella. After having failed at establishing a new colony, starship Calypso fights to make it back to Earth. Acting captain Jacklyn Albright is already struggling against the threats of interstellar space and impending starvation when the ship throws her a new danger: something is hiding on the ship, picking off her crew one by one in bloody, gruesome ways. A quick, excellent read if you want some good Alien vibes.

Dawn (Xenogenesis trilogy) by Octavia E. Butler*

After a devestating war leaves humanity on the brink of extinction, survivor Lilith finds herself waking up naked and alone in a strange room. She’s been rescued by the Oankali, who have arrived just in time to save the human race. But there’s a price to survival, and it might be humanity itself. Absolutely fucked up I love it I once had to drop the book mid read to stare at the ceiling and exclaim in horror at what was going on. Includes darker examinations of agency and consent, so enter with caution.

Midnight Robber by Nalo Hopkinson*

Utterly unique in world-building, story, and prose, Midnight Robber follows young Tan-Tan and her father, inhabitants of the Carribean-colonized planet of Toussaint. When her father commits a terrible crime, he’s exiled to a parallel version of the same planet, home to strange aliens and other human exiles. Tan-Tan, not wanting to lose her father, follows with him. Trapped on this new planet, he becomes her worst nightmare. Enter this book with caution, as it contains graphic child sexual abuse.

Rosewater (The Wormwood trilogy) by Tade Thompson

In Nigeria lies Rosewater, a city bordering on a strange, alien biodome. Its motives are unknown, but it’s having an undeniable effect on the surrounding life. Kaaro, former criminal and current psychic agent for the government, is one of the people changed by it. When other psychics like him begin getting killed, Kaaro must take it upon himself to find out the truth about the biodome and its intentions.

Do You Dream of Terra-Two? by Temi Oh

Young adult. A century ago, an astronomer discovered a possibly Earth-like planet. Now, a team of veteran astronauts and carefully chosen teenagers are preparing to embark on a twenty-three year trip to get there. But space is dangerous, and the team has no one to rely on but each other if - or when - something goes wrong. An introspective slowburn of a story, this focuses more on character work than action.

The Best of All Possible Worlds by Karen Lord

After the planet Sadira is left uninhabitable, its few survivors are forced to move to a new world. On Cygnus Beta, they work to rebuild their society alongside their distant relatives of the planet, while trying to preserve what remains of their culture. Focused less on hard science or action, The Best of All Possible Worlds is more about culture, romance and the ethics and practicalities of telepathy.

Mirage (Mirage duology) by Somaiya Daud

Young adult. Eighteen-year-old Amani lives on an isolated moon under the oppressive occupation of the Valthek empire. When Amani is abducted, she finds herself someplace wholly unexpected: the royal palace. As it turns out, she's nearly identical to the half-Valthek, and widely hated, princess Maram, who is in need of a body double. If Amani ever wants to make it back home or see her people freed from oppression, she will have to play her role as princess perfectly. While sci-fi, this one more has the vibe of a fantasy.

An Unkindness of Ghosts by Rivers Solomon

Life on the lower decks of the generation ship HSS Matilda is hard for Aster, an outcast even among outcasts, trying to survive in a system not dissimilar to the old antebellum South. The ship’s leaders have imposed harsh restrictions on their darker skinned people, using them as an oppressed work force as they travel toward their supposed Promised Land. But as Aster finds a link between the death of the ship’s sovereign and the suicide of her own mother, she realizes there may be a way off the ship.

Where It Rains in Color by Denise Crittendon

The planet Swazembi is a utopia of color and beauty, the most beautiful of all its citizens being the Rare Indigo. Lileala was just named Rare Indigo, but her strict yet pampered life gets upended when her beautiful skin is struck by a mysterious sickness, leaving it covered in scars and scabs. Meanwhile, voices start to whisper in Lileala's mind, bringing to the surface a past long forgotten involving her entire society.

Eacaping Exodus (Escaping Exodus duology) by Nicky Drayden

Seske is the heir to the leader of a clan living inside a gigantic, spacefaring beast, of which they frequently need to catch a new one to reside in as their presence slowly kills the beast from the inside. While I found the ending rushed with regards to plot and character, the worldbuilding is very fresh and the overall plot of survival and class struggle an interesting one. It’s also sapphic!

Chain-Gang All-Stars by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah*

In a near future America, inmates on death row or with life sentences in private prisons can choose to participate in death matches for entertainment. If they survive long enough - a rare case indeed - they regain their freedom. Among these prisoners are Loretta Thurwar and Hamara "Hurricane Staxxx" Stacker, partners behind the scenes and close to the deadline of a possible release - if only they can survive for long enough. As the game continues to be stacked against them and protests mount outside, two women fight for love, freedom, and their own humanity. Chain-Gang All-Stars is bleak and unflinching as well as genuinely hopeful in its portrayal of a dark but all to real possible future.

Parable of the Sower (Earthseed duology) by Octavia E. Butler*

In a bleak future, Lauren Olamina lives with her family in a gated community, one of few still safe places in a time of chaos. When her community falls, Lauren is forced on the run. As she makes her way toward possible safety, she picks up a following of other refugees, and sows the seeds of a new ideology which may one day be the saviour of mankind. Very bleak and scarily realistic, Parable of the Sower will make you both fear for mankind and regain your hope for humanity.

Binti (Binti trilogy) by Nnedi Okorafor

Young adult novella. Binti is the first of the Himba people to be accepted into the prestigious Oomza University, the finest place of higher learning in all the galaxy. But as she embarks on her interstellar journey, the unthinkable happens: her ship is attacked by the terrifying Meduse, an alien race at war with Oomza University.

War Girls (War Girls duology) by Tochi Onyebuchi

In an enviromentally fraught future, the Nigerian civil war has flared back up, utilizing cybernetics and mechs to enhance its soldiers. Two sisters, by bond if not by blood, are separated and end up on differing sides of the struggle. Brutal and dark, with themes of dehumanization of soldiers through cybernetics that turn them into weapons, and the effect and trauma this has on them.

The Space Between Worlds (The Space Between Worlds duology) by Micaiah Johnson

Multiverse travel is finally possible, but there’s a catch: No one can visit a world where their counterpart is still alive. Enter Cara, whose parallel selves happen to be exceptionally good at dying. As such she has a very special job in traveling to these worlds, hoping to keep her position long enough to gain citizenship in the walled-off Wiley City, away from the wastes where she grew up. But her job is dangerous, especially when she gets on the tracks of a secret that threatens the entire multiverse. Really cool worldbuilding and characters, also featuring a sapphic lead!

The Fifth Season (The Broken Eart trilogy) by N.K. Jemisin*

In a world regularly torn apart by natural disasters, a big one finally strikes and society as we know it falls, leaving people floundering to survive in a post apocalyptic world, its secrets and past to be slowly revealed. We get to follow a mother as she races through this world to find and save her missing daughter. While mostly fantasy in genre, this series does have some sci-fi flavor, and is genuinely some of the best books I've ever read, please read them.

The Women Could Fly by Megan Giddings*

In an alternate version of our present, the witch hunt never ended. Women are constantly watched and expected to marry young so their husbands can keep an eye on them. When she was fourteen, Josephine's mother disappeared, leveling suspicions at both mother and daughter of possible witchcraft. Now, nearly a decade and a half later, Jo, in trying to finally accept her missing mother as dead, decides to follow up on a set of seemingly nonsensical instructions left in her will. Features a bisexual lead!

The Prey of Gods by Nicky Drayden

South African-set scifi featuring gods ancient and new, robots finding sentience, dik-diks, and a gay teen with mind control abilities. An ancient goddess seeks to return to her true power no matter how many humans she has to sacrifice to get there. A little bit all over the place but very creative and fresh.

The Summer Prince by Alaya Dawn Johnson*

Young adult. Young artist June Costa lives in Palmares Tres, a beautiful, matriarchal city relying heavily on tradition, one of which is the Summer King. The most recent Summer King is Enki, a bold boy and fellow artist. With him at her side, June seeks to finally find fame and recognition through her art, breaking through the generational divide of her home. But growing close to Enki is dangerous, because he, like all Summer Kings, is destined to die.

The Blood Trials (The Blood Gifted duology) by N.E. Davenport

After Ikenna's grandfather is assasinated, she is convinced that only a member of the Praetorian guard, elite soldiers, could’ve killed him. Seeking to uncover his killer, Ikenna enrolls in a dangerous trial to join the Praetorians which only a quarter of applicants survive. For Ikenna, the stakes are even higher, as she's hiding forbidden blood magic which could cost her her life. Mix of fantasy and sci-fi. While I didn’t super vibe with this one, I suspect fans of action packed romantasy will enjoy it.

Babel-17 by Samuel R. Delany

1960s classic. Rydra Wong is a space captain, linguist and poet who is set on learning to understand Babel-17, a language which is humanity's only clue at the enemy in an interstaller war. But Babel-17 is more than just a language, and studying it may change Rydra forever.

Pet (Pet duology) by Akwaeke Emezi

Young adult novella. Jam lives in a utopian future that has been freed of monsters and the systems which created and upheld them. But then she meets Pet, a dangerous creature claiming to be hunting a monster still among them, prepared to stop at nothing to find them. While I personally found the word-building in Pet lacking, it deftly handles dark subjects of what makes a human a monster.

Bonus AKA I haven’t read these yet but they seem really cool

Lion's Blood by Steven Barnes

Alternate history in which Africans colonized South America while vikings colonized the North. The vikings sell abducted Celts and Franks as slaves to the South, one of which is eleven-years-old Irish boy Aidan O'Dere, who was just bought by a Southern plantation owner.

The Sound of Stars by Alechia Dow

Young adult dystopia. Ellie lives in a future where humanity is under the control of the alien Ilori. All art is forbidden, but Ellie keeps a secret library; when one of her books disappears, she fears discovery and execution. M0Rr1S, born in a lab and raised to be emotionless, finds her library, and though he should deliver her for execution, he finds himself obsessed with human music. Together the two embark on a roadtrip which may save humanity.

Womb City by Tlotlo Tsamaase

Lelah lives in future Botswana, but despite money and fame she finds herself in an unhappy marriage, her body controlled via microchip by her husband. After burying the body of an accidental hit and run, Lelah's life gets worse when the ghost of her victim returns to enact bloody vengeance.

Orleans by Sherri L. Smith

Young adult. Fen de la Guerre, living in a quarantined Gulf Coast left devestated by storms and sickness, is forced on the run with a newborn after her tribe is attacked. Hoping to get the child to safety, Fen seeks to get to the other side of the wall, she teams up with a scientist from the outside the quarantine zone.

Everfair by Nisi Shawl

A neo-victorian alternate history, in which a part of Congo was kept safe from colonisation, becoming Everfair, a safe haven for both the people of Congo and former slaves returning from America. Here they must struggle to keep this home safe for them all.

The Splinter in the Sky by Kemi Ashing-Giwa

Space opera. Enitan just wants to live a quiet life in the aftermath of a failed war of conquest, but when her lover is killed and her sister kidnapped, she's forced to leave her plans behind to save her sister.

Honorary mentions AKA these didn't really work for me but maybe you guys will like them: The City We Became (Great Cities duology) by N.K. Jemisin, The Lesson by Cadwell Turnbull, The A.I. Who Loved Me by Alyssa Cole

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adhdslugcrimes · 11 months

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Jason, in therapy: Dick is the golden child, I could never come close to his level of perfection nor be a good son my second time around... Not that I hate him for it, kinda hard now since he's there to support me, made me come to therapy.

Damian, asked who's the good child: well it's Richard of course, he's what I inspired to be.

Tim, talking about the greatest Robin: he started and set what every Robin should be, it's insane how he adapted to this lifestyle!

Cass, asked who's her favorite sibling: I don't have a favorite but Dick is one I can count on for anything, he's a good brother.

Steph: oh I know goodie two shoes won't do anything that would be anywhere near stealing, come on Wally, stop lying.

Duke: I don't think Dick can do anything wrong, I might be signal but he's the light of Gotham so I can't believe he's done anything wrong, I mean he ran away but that was mostly Bec Bruce hurt his feelings. No, I think the only thing he ever did anything wrong in his life was maybe stepping on an ant, he's a good guy and an amazing big brother, dramatic as hell but still a good guy.

Dick's good child times

Bruce, at his last straw: the Geneva Convention was not a checklist for your war crimes! You're 8yo, you shouldn't be a wanted man by the government!

Dick, sassy pants: correction, one I'm a wanted child, okay. Two, I didn't use it as a checklist, I added onto that list. I improve that list.

Bruce: your a wanted criminal, you set a man on fire!

Dick: whatever geezer, can you leave now I'm doing my homework or now it's an issue for you

Bruce: it is now, you are grounded, no, your beyond grounded your... Your forever grounded!

Dick: wow, you went to a the best college out there and the best you come up with is "forever grounded", why I'm even studying at this point if you're supposed to be smarter than anyone in the world.

Bruce: you're a nightmare.

Dick: and you're losing to an 8yo, now tell the government to shove it where the sun doesn't shine and leave me alone.

Bruce: I'll... I'll forbid you to see your friends then, ha whatcha going to do about that one.

Dick: leave to see them like always, just like I do to do my "crimes". This game getting boring, take the lost.

Bruce: this isn't over young man!

Dick: uh huh, yeah.

#dick grayson #batfam #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake #stephanie brown #cass cain #cassandra cain #duke thomas #i love that Bec be mellow out siblings thinks he's a innocent man #when in fact he's a war criminal the government couldn't find #his file there siblings read it and only Dick and Bruce know that's his file

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blairelythere · 7 months

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Cutual Fridge: The Final Update

So, here we are. 150 cute mutuals hanging out on my fridge. Some new, some old. A rainbow mosaic of gay pride, memes, and debauchery.

To think it all started with this singular dork in the heat of a shitposting fight:

Then, there were two cuties.

And from there, the little trend caught on.

After this update here, I started to realize just how much I loved having my mutual's pfps on my fridge. All day I couldn't stop smiling at how silly and genuinely cute the whole thing was. Some of my favorite blogs were watching me make shitty sandwiches and drink too much coffee!

And it just kept growing.

And the requests got funnier, and stranger, and more endearing.

And here we are now, in its complete artistic glory.

Sometimes, it's hard to bridge the disconnect between online life and real life. Seeing how many mutuals and new friends were willing to make that little leap and be part of my everyday routine means a lot to me, even if its something as simple as becoming a sticker on my fridge. This fun little experiment pulled me out of a bad rut I've been in for a few weeks. So, thank you, everyone. Thank you for making this hellsite such a lovely place for me.

I love you, little gays in my phone (and now on my fridge) 💛💛💛

@hooid @drowsy-siren @butch-manticore

@clarificationsw @sovereign-skyy @smorzinc @cynthjam @pestisly @alicethebard @tadbitsickchickwithadick

@maythecatgirl @dyke-pollinator @jennytheghostie @turnip0revoluti0n @chaos--themralds @terraowo @original-username42 @kira-serialfaggot @shaddy-bee @glitch-frog @k1nky-r0b0t-g1rl @willowo-luna @freyjabreadwitch @echo-dislocation @spectral-ash @wizardcunt @aetheryi @captainkranos @puppymiqwerty @smallkloon @skrullkii @thatmfpenguin @internet-toon @androgynousfox @errorlyn @possiblyjuno @girlboss-war-criminal @kinderedgeisc00t @ill-posed-problem @flumperdumper @good-girl-gock @therealhoodiewearer @vissadev @epicrainbows @ne0ndawn @blandandtasteless @kivanos @i-am-fucking-desperate @justsomespiders

#The Cutual Fridge #trans #196 #r196 #196 campfire #lgbtq

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can-i-see-your-passport-please · 5 months

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Okay so here's everything I know about TF2. Please no one elaborate on anything I know about, because I think it's so much funnier if I have no context to anything. I have absorbed all of this through Tumblr osmosis

Emesis Blue is an excellent film

Soldier apparently was never an actual soldier, he just loves America and really wanted to kill Nazis (the second one i respect greatly)

Medic would probably give you a lobotomy for fun (i don't think this guy's even a doctor)

Two really old guys are fighting bloody wars over gravel I think and their father is named Grey Mann which was most definitely meant to make Gman enjoyers lose it but to be fair his name could also be Gary Man.

What am I on

Heavy and Medic are apparently gay but idk if this is a fandom seeing two men next to each other and going "gay" thing or a "all but confirmed gay" thing but TVTropes referred to them as "Heterosexual Life Partners" which is very funny

emesis blue is so fucking good oh my godddddd the respawn machine is horrifying just from the concept it turned scout into soup

Scout is half French and loves his mother (who is not french) and does not love his father (spy i think)

Medic presumably died went to hell and told the devil "oh I'm like a cat I have nine souls actually. So I should get to go back to being alive" and it fucking worked??????

THE FUCKING SCENE IN?? IN EMESIS BLUE??? WHERE. WHERE SOLDIER TELLS MEDIC "YOU'RE GONNA MAKE IT OUT" AND MEDIC SAYS "i KNOW" BEFORE HE JUST FUCKING DIES AND HE'S THE PROTAGONIST SO YOU'D EXPECT HIM TO LIVE RIGHT??? AND THEN HE JUST DIES AND DOESN'T APPEAR AGAIN FOR SO SO LONG

Pyro is an any pronouns warrior and it commits great atrocities while also having so much sillyness in his heart. I love her

I think Engineer blowed up his arm. I think

Spy is a cunt and also French. I do not think this I know this. I look at him and I sense his cuntery. It radiates off him. I can feel it.

SOMETHING ABOUT THE LETTER M BEING BRANDED ONTO MEDIC'S FACE BEING A REFERENCE TO THE MOVIE SCOUT WAS WATCHING WHERE THE LETTER M IS USED TO MARK A MURDERER. HE'S LITERALLY MARKED AS A MURDERER BY PYRO. SOMETHING ABOUT THE SCENE WITH DEMOMAN AND DELL'S BAR BEING A REFERENCE TO A SCENE IN THE SHINING WHERE THE MAIN CHARACTER IS LITERALLY TALKING TO A GHOST. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S MOTHER'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED PARALLELING PYRO'S HEAD BEING HELD AROUND A CORNER AND DROPPED. SOMETHING ABOUT SCOUT'S "IF THEY EVER HIT YOU WITH SOMETHING, YOU HIT BACK TWICE AS HARD" WITH MEDIC SHOOTING SPY TWICE IN THE HEAD AFTER BEING SHOT ONCE IN THE GAME OF RUSSIAN ROULETTE WHY IS EMESIS BLUE SO GOOD

TF2 is in an eternal war with Overwatch for some reason

I was doing a poll a few days ago and the tags psychic blasted me with the information of "by the way people pay like fifty dollars to see medic's tiddies in game." I have gotten varying answers between ninety dollars to three hundred fucking dollars but the constant remains that people will pay Valve comically high amounts of money to see Medic's boobs. What

Scout almost got Earth exploded because he died a virgin???? But then God was like "Okay go back down to earth I'm giving them one last chance to all have sex with you" I'm so confused what does any of this mean none of this makes any sense but it's hilarious

Scout might be legitimately named after Jerma and bears a frightening resemblance to him (though to be fair scout is every white boy in one)

You should watch Emesis Blue it's free on youtube

Demoman's eye is sentient even though he doesn't have it????

I can't decide who's my favorite the white boy the unethical scientist or the silly nonbiney war criminal

Conclusion: What the fuck is team fortress the second one about

#cassie rambles #please don't tell me what it's about it's so much funnier if i am confused forever #tf2 #emesis blue

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marthawrites · 10 months

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Only A Scratch

Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word count: 3.4k+

About: Aemond requests you, a healer who has tended to his wounds before, to accompany him on a trip to Duskendale.

Includes: One bed trope! A more balanced mix of plot and porn featuring elements of mean!Aemond, injury, dick sucking, cockslapping, roughness, mild manhandling, mild degradation, unprotected vaginal sex, and mentions of fem receiving oral sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! This story is based on a request from @babyaemond with the quote of "you know what your problem is?" with our favorite one-eyed war criminal. Thank you, Chris ily! 💖 I had an absolute blast writing this and I hope you like it too! As always, reader is non-descript. Please, enjoy!

The realm might not believe it, perhaps not even the occupants and workers of the Red Keep would believe it, but, Aemond Targaryen was a momma's boy. He loved and respected his mother more than anyone else in all the kingdoms. With her nameday coming up, Aemond wanted to get her something extra special.

One afternoon while visiting Helaena during her embroidery time – little niece and nephews playing with him in the middle of the floor – he brought the idea up to his sister.

"I think that a lovely idea, Aemond. You fetching Duskendale's greatest painter? Mother will hang the portrait somewhere everyone can see," Helaena replied with bright eyes. "And they have those mollusks who produce the most dazzling pearls. You can't go all that way and not get her jewelry!"

Aemond smiled. Helaena and her children were the rare people to draw genuine emotion from the prince. "I will pick something in your honor. Your gift to mother."

"And Aegon?" She asked.

"Aegon won't get any credit for these gifts. He wouldn't even be able to keep the secret, much less add to the surprise."

The princess giggled; unguarded in the company of her family.

To say receiving the dragon prince's offer was a surprise would be a vast understatement. He wanted you to go along on this trip with him? Out of all the healers and maesters? Even if you wanted to, you could not tell him no. Bewilderment buzzed around you as you rode out of King's Landing on horseback with him, Ser Arryk, and Ser Erryk.

It wouldn't be a long trip. Perhaps a week, there and back, with some leisure time to enjoy the city when you arrived.

The twins were a skilled and respectful pair. You felt safe with them. You wondered, mind idly wandering as the twins led the way out of King's Landing, if you were Aemond's first pick for an accompanying medic. Fog rolled up from the sea and blanketed everything with a haunting gray. If it weren't for golden ways of sun piercing through clouds and fog like javelins it would be considerably creepy. Rays brought out your natural coloring, and when you turned to look across your shoulder to prince Aemond he looked wholly regal: silver hair shimmering, riding garb decorated with his House's sigil (as if anyone would need reminded who he was), breath hanging in the chilly morning air like he truly breathed smoke.

He felt you looking at him. "I don't need two eyes to see you staring so hard, girl," he said, turning the full attention of his single eye to you. Lilac. It nearly glowed in the foggy subdued brightness.

"Apologies, your Grace," you said with a guilty little grin. "The last time I saw you I was bandaging your newly stitched thigh. A much different sight than what I have of you now. You clean up well," you said, tiny smirk not leaving the outermost corners of your mouth. "Nasty cut it was… how did it heal?"

His face remained skillfully blank. There could have been a dozen emotions hidden behind that perfected poise; from his posture to the way he held the natural shape of his bowed mouth, he didn't allow you a glimpse into how your words affected him. "It healed well."

"I'm pleased to know I made such an impression that you'd request me to join you on this journey. An honor, truly, my prince," you said with quiet pride.

"There are two women in court who are heavy with babes. Both will be making their entrance into the world and day now. None of the maesters would risk leaving them," he replied with an edge of curtness, words clipped and even. "It was only then I considered you."

Ouch. "Oh," you said, a little taken back. "Well, I still stand by what I said," you added, trying your best to deflect the sting his words gave you.

"Hm," he hummed, smug. It was his turn to smirk, now.

The rest of that first day’s ride went relatively smooth and uneventful. That is, until Aemond got bucked off his horse. It was a miracle you were able to stay on yours! The twins’ horses, while still terribly frightened, appeared to be of a more mellow mind for they were able to be soothed while Arryk scouted ahead to see what might have caused the fright. You dared not leave yours during the ordeal in case you needed to get a galloping headstart. Tension hung in the air until Arryk came back. “A black bear is perhaps a quarter mile away,” he said upon arriving. “I didn’t see any cubs and the beast seemed unbothered by me. It was gorging on berries. Are you alright, my prince?”

Luckily Aemond was able to break his fall. Unfortunately it came at the cost of landing on his forearm upon a ridiculously sharp rock. A jagged cut ripped through his riding gear and into his leanly muscled flesh. You had helped wrap it with a clean linen bandage for now, but crimson bloomed beneath the binding. He would likely need stitches once all of you were settled into an inn for the night. “‘Tis only a scratch. Let’s get to the next town before nightfall, yeah?”

Arryk stole a glance with you, and then his brother, and you once more before nodding to Aemond. "A scratch," his eyes had silently said to you; a flash of sarcasm gone quicker than a blink.

The next town on the road to Duskendale was small and hardly worth mentioning on a map. Climbing roses in full bloom covered the inn's facade making it quaint and homely alike; their heady aroma lingered heavily and you wished you could bottle the fragrance. Echos of the scent followed you inside and mingled with savory foodsmells of dinner.

"'Fraid we're about full t'night. I hope you all don't want separate rooms," a middle-aged man with wild eyebrows said from behind the bar. He leaned on it as he looked all of you over. "Ain't seen one of you Targaryens around in awhile. Pleasure ta have you, Prince Aemond. Now, what can I do for you lot?"

"Three rooms and dinner for everyone. That's all," Aemond replied as he produced payment for the innkeep.

Turning, the man inspected what keys were left. "Hmm… I have only two rooms available." Pulling the keys from their hooks he handed them over. "One bed in each of 'em."

Yet another tense silence fell over the group. The unmistakable tingle of a blush rushed to your face. Shit shit shit.

"We need three. Surely you can kick someone out for the night," Aemond said a bit too sharply, fingers reaching for another few coins to bribe the man.

"Ha!" He guffawed. "No can do. Prince or no, I have a good reputation and I don't intend on breakin' it."

The twins shared an amused glance and you wanted to die.

"Fine," Aemond said as he took the keys and tossed one set to Arryk and Erryk. "See you at first light to break fast before leaving."

You followed Aemond into the room you'd be sharing for the night. One bed. You hoped it was a big one.

Once inside, any hope of surviving the night with all your sanity and wit vanished in an instant. The bed was tiny. And, as if things could get any worse, there was only one pillow and blanket. Surely Prince Aemond Targaryen never considered this happening.

Tension crackled between you two and you wanted to jump out the equally tiny window and run all the way back to King’s Landing. "At… at least neither of us will be cold in the middle of the night?" You half-stammered, trying, feebly, to break the silence.

"You better not snore, girl." He flashed you an icy glare but the smirk of his mouth spoke to something else. Amusement? A challenge? "I'm going to bathe."

While he was gone you were left to stew on the current predicament. Ever since you first laid eyes on the young prince he never left your brain. To you, he was unbearably dashing and roguishly handsome. He was cold, cruel (according to rumors), and smug in a way that made you want to strangle him and drown him in kisses alike. Over the last year or so you'd helped tend to his wounds a few different times, and each time you left with more butterflies in your belly than before. They said his kin were closer to Gods than men, and you believed it.

After hardly eating during the day you were half-starved. You ate your dinner while he was still gone, and left for the women's side of the bathing quarter before he returned. In your experience not all inn's had the space for a proper bath – you weren’t going to pass this up.

Upon returning – clean, refreshed, and still warm from the bath – you saw Aemond laying on the bed in his nightclothes with his uninjured arm tucked behind his head. It was stupid – absolutely fucking stupid – how handsome he looked in such a regular position. He was all long, and lean, and sharp angles. You wondered if he housed any softness within himself. He'd got a fire going in the small mantle and it crackled peacefully. Light and shadows accentuated the natural lines of his chiseled face, eyepatch practically orange in the glow. After a moment of awkwardly fumbling with your damp hair, you asked, "how's your arm?"

"'Twas only a scratch. I'm fine," he answered, making no move to shift his position to make more room for you on the bed.

"You're lying. It bled through your bandage on the way here," you retorted, squinting at him suspiciously.

He sighed. "And now it's done bleeding."

Turning, you double checked the latch on the door. Sure of the lock you turned back to Aemond. "Can I at least see it?"

"No."

"Please?"

"Are you deaf, or daft?"

It was your turn to glare at him. "You know, I never truly believed the rumors of you being cruel." You threw a cloth you’d used to help dry your hair onto the table as you stepped, firmly and deliberately, across the small room to the bed. "But now I believe it. You know what your problem is? You are rude." Without allowing yourself to process what you were doing – and not giving him a moment to, either – you were straddling over his lap. Demanding. Determination hardened your features. "Let me see it."

Aemond tensed beneath you and the pupil of his eye swelled. He wasn't expecting this. His jaw feathered as the hand behind his head immediately lunged forward to grab your throat. Squeezing gently, warningly, he smirked. "And you know what your problem is? You are an insolent brat." Your eyes softened to those of a doe and it sent his cock twitching beneath your thinly covered center. "Mayhap you forget who you are speaking to, girl."

Breath shuddered from your lungs. You felt him beneath you and it instantly sent fire rolling through your belly. Desire. Lust. So easily he turned your irritation to something else entirely. "I only want to check on it," you said against his careful grasp, trying your best to appear innocent.

He laughed. "Climbing on my lap like this I think you want something else. Tell me… what more does this bratty little mouth do?" With his question he slowly released his hold from your throat, thumb trailing across the softness of your bottom lip. The darkness of his eye glinted when he heard a faint whimper tickle up through your chest. "You'll have to be louder than that…"

Without having to be told you grazed your tongue along his curious thumb, pulse hammering behind your ribs and between your legs alike. Could he feel how hot you were? Boldness coursed through your blood. "Your Grace…," you simpered, looking at him with dazed eyes. "I've wanted you for so long." You dared to nip the tip of his thumb, gently rolling your tongue beneath it. He tasted clean with hints of wood and smoke from stoking the fire. It made you ache.

"I've other things that need tending to, now. Perhaps if you play by my rules I'll play by yours," he proclaimed, pushing his digit further into your mouth. He hissed quietly with the sensation. Greed and need simmered in his chest, threatening to boil over. You weren’t even doing anything and yet you still drove him near wild.

Your hands spread across his chest. “Those are fair terms,” you said with a playful tilt of your head. Your eyes roamed over his throat and what was exposed of his collarbone. Sleek, pale, warm. He was so warm. How could he be when it was so chilly? You unlaced the lazily tied strings of his cotton sleep shirt, fingernails gently scratching down his front. You smiled when he hissed another inward breath. Beneath you, he neared full hardness. “Needy prince…,” you crooned, sliding from his lap as elegantly as you could so you were laying between his legs. You stroked along his cock through his cotton sleep pants, teasing. “Perhaps Targarenys are closer to men than Gods after all.”

"I like you better with something in your mouth," he said, tutting, as he shifted his legs a bit to give you more room. Now he moved, you thought, how generous of him.

Vibrating with your own need and impatience, you unlaced the front of his pants and tugged them down just enough for his cock to spring free. You gasped, satisfied. "So big, your Grace." He had a lovely cock. Truly. It was hot and solid in your hand when you stroked it, head blushed and swollen without you even having to tug downwards on his length.

You'd be lying if you didn't secretly hope something like this would happen with the tension of sharing a bed and room. But this? You licked up the underside of his shaft, wrapping your lips around his tip, sucking, and moaned at the sensation and taste.

Aemond groaned. "Is this what all you little medics do, hm? Tend to broken men before swallowing their cock?" He taunted, glaring at you triumphantly, mouth parted in silent bliss.

Instead of answering him verbally, you took more of his length into your wanting mouth. Flattening your tongue against him allowed you to hollow your cheeks. You looked up at him all the while, basking in the way his features changed; the way he somehow tensed and relaxed at the same time. You dragged your mouth up until only his sensitive head was wrapped by your lips, then down, lower, and up again.

"Fuck…," he groaned, eye rolling closed. One hand gripped into the thin faded sheets while his other moved to your damp hair. He threaded his fingers through it, gripping, tugging, just slight.

Your eyelids trembled as a needy whine broke free from your lips. He popped free from your mouth with the noise. You chased his cockhead; wanton. Saliva built in your mouth and the sounds of you lavishing his cock were borderline obscene. You willingly choked on him; you throbbed as you squeezed your thighs together.

He grinned when you came up for air. His hand unfurled from the bedclothes and moved to the base of his length. He gripped himself and held your head still by your hair, expression widening with smug pride. He smacked his cock against the side of your face, traces of your saliva shiny on your skin. "Who knew my favorite little healer was such a whore, too," he purred. A second and third series of smacks followed.

Bolts of lust jolted right to your core. You clenched around nothing; arousal gushing from you like syrup. "Aemond…," you gasped, vision hazy. "Please," you begged, unsure what you were truly begging for.

Him. Just him. Whatever he would give you.

"Such a pretty sound from your lips," he said, darkly and adoringly, as he delivered a final slap of his cock to the silky skin of your mouth. He leaned forward and grabbed you by the sides of your arms, pulling you up so you were nearly nose to nose. Without even looking he raked the hems of your sleep gown up while simultaneously yanking your smallclothes down. His fingers slid up your folds, testing your arousal. What he felt sent the entirety of his manhood aching.

He had to be inside you. Now.

"This little cunny is soaking. I don't even have to prepare you," he growled, shoving a long finger up into you without hesitation.

You might have peaked from that alone if he'd kept his digit inside you. If he pumped it. If he added a second. But, no, the prince did neither. When he pulled it from you he instantly brought it to his mouth and smeared your slick across his tongue. He smirked and you were sure you'd never been so desperate in your life.

Once again he gripped the sides of your arms and pushed you down into the old used mattress. He maneuvered behind you with ease. True to his word he didn't have to prepare you so he didn't. The young dragon prince guided himself right to your dripping center and eased forward.

You arched deeper beneath him, supporting yourself on your knees while propping your ass up as much as you could. The stretch your body yielded to his sizable intrusion was glorious. You moaned, barely able to bite it back as he buried all of his rigid inches into your core. When he pulled back to snap his hips into you, you cried out his name.

"Be a good girl and shut up. Unless you want everyone in this inn to know what's going on in here," he said huskily behind you, the tremble in his voice betraying his outwardly restraint.

You tried to be quiet. You really did. But his hand holding the hair at the nape of your neck, and the lewd slaps of your smacking skin, and the pant of his breaths, had you wild with bliss and excitement. "So good… fuck! Aemond…! S-so good," you whimpered, body becoming lighter by the second.

The half babbled praises from your pretty mouth had the prince soaring. He gripped harshly onto one of your hips while the fingers of the other snaked beneath your pelvis to work your clit. "Wanna eat this pretty cunt 'til you're crying, too. Will you let me?"

"Please! Yes, yes, yes please," you answered as if in prayer.

His pace quickened, the angle of his strokes hitting you deep and hard, cockhead dragging and battering against that wonderful patch of nerves inside your walls. Leaning forward, his silken hair tickled your back. He bit into your shoulder, harshly drawing your flesh between his teeth so he could mark you.

You squirmed beneath him. Gasping, you basked in the sharp sensation of his teeth. It was the final thing you needed to lose yourself to the euphoria.

"Give it to me," Aemond growled in your ear. "Give your Prince your pleasure. Squeeze my cock like the little whore you are."

You did.

He fucked you through it, chasing his own high all the while. When you became too loud he turned your face into the mattress to muffle your noises. It helped. It also made all those sounds all the sweeter. For Aemond, it was the final thing he needed to lose himself as well. With a groan from deep within his chest, he pulled out of you at the last second and released his spend all over your back. It shone upon your skin. He couldn't help but admire it and he had half a mind to make you sleep with it on your back; marking you with his teeth and scent alike.

Slowly, you both came down from the natural high of orgasm. That cloth you brought in earlier was put to good use.

"I don't mind that the bed is so small, now," you said as you both got comfortable beneath the blanket. Laying on your sides seemed the best way; him, the big spoon.

"Me either," he replied, a grin audible in his voice.

You found yourself no longer caring about the state of his arm. Not with the way it laid over your waist and rested up between your breasts. He held you against him.

Sleep came easy.

When you woke up to Aemond's morning-stiff cock against your back you knew you had to find a reason to share a room with him for every night of the journey.

He would make it happen, he told himself, as he drew a lovely climax from you with his mouth before burying himself into you once again. All, before dawn cracked over the horizon.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

Masterlist

To be added or removed from the taglist, please let me know!

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @targaryenbrainrot @ruby-dragon @bloodwyrmcaraxes @chompchompluke @fan-goddess

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @babyaemond @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista @avidreader73

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond imagine #request

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pessimisticpigeonsworld · 1 month

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On the "Choose a Side" Discourse

With HBO leaning veryyyy heavily into "pick a side" for their promos, the "no team" people are crawling out of the woodwork. I want to preface this post by saying that I'm not saying people shouldn't have favorite characters who aren't mine, nor that people should just be totally invested in fandom discourse.

I already made a post about the issues with the arguments of the "no team" people, so I'll just summarize my thoughts from that real quick. A majority of their arguments and metas are thinly veiled anti Rhaenyra thoughts. That's still true of this new wave of this group.

Now, one thing I will agree with them on is: GRRM did not write this story to be one of choose a side. However, that is not because the Blacks and the Greens are equally bad or the Targaryens are all evil. No, it's because the Greens were always in the wrong and GRRM makes this abundantly clear to us in F&B.

Let's look at some facts from the Dance. While male primogeniture is tradition, it's not the law; the king's word is law, something ASOIAF has established time and again. The Greens took the throne through underhanded ways. They left Viserys' body to rot for days while they prepared for Aegon's coronation to prevent Rhaenyra from learning and coming to KL. They forced the smallfolk to attend and most didn't cheer for Aegon, with some even calling for Rhaenyra while most were confused and angry.

Aemond drew first blood by killing the unarmed thirteen year old envoy, Lucerys Velaryon. A majority of the realm declared for Rhaenyra; 53 houses supported her, while only 28 supported Aegon. The Greens committed the greatest atrocities of the Dance: Aemond burning the Riverlands and Daeron massacring Tumbleton. They also committed the greater number of atrocities.

The Greens also lost the war. The Blacks weren't just fighting for Rhaenyra, they fought for her heirs as well. This is why they swore to her and Jacaerys; later for Aegon III after the deaths of his older brothers. The Black forces continued to fight after Rhaenyra's murder and took KL. Aegon was murdered by his own men when the Blacks were marching on KL; in other words, the Greens knew they were beat, so they killed Aegon in an attempt to save themselves. Since Aegon left no heirs aside from Jaehaera, Aegon III was crowned and married to Jaehaera. The Blacks won the war.

Aegon the Usurper's bloodline is destroyed with the deaths of Jaehaera and Gaemon Palehair. This is the final affirmation of the Greens being in the wrong. GRRM's books punish usurpers by wiping out their bloodlines; Maegor and Robert Baratheon being the most obvious examples. Aegon and all the Greens have no descendants, their bloodline is dead.

Rhaenyra's bloodline, on the other hand, continues all the way through to the main series. Daenerys Targaryen, the most powerful character in the series, is her descendant, as is Jon Snow (unconfirmed as of now in the books) who is another of the key five. Rhaenyra may have died, but her faction won the war and her bloodline will save the world through her two greatest descendants (alongside the rest of the key five).

The Dance of the Dragons is, ultimately, a story of the damage the patriarchy does and how misogyny is destructive to the world. The Dance caused the death of the dragons and a great loss of power for women in the realm. Queen consorts after Rhaenyra had markedly less power and there was a drop in female leaders of the great houses. The loss of the dragons caused the weakening of magic in the world as a whole.

The Dance isn't about who your favorite war criminal is, nor is it about the evil of the Targaryens. It's about misogyny; something HOTD seems to have forgotten. Even before they started pushing TB vs TG so hard, they still missed the point.

It doesn't matter that Rhaenyra isn't a perfect, or even a good, person. It doesn't matter that Rhaenyra is non-conforming, plays the political game, and exploits her father's favor. Rhaenyra could have been as pious and well-behaved as Naerys and the Greens still would have usurped her. Rhaenyra could have had children with Laenor, and still the Greens would have usurped her. HOTD tries to paint the usurpation as partially being on Rhaenyra and her choices, but nothing Rhaenyra could have done would have been good enough.

The Blacks are the protagonists of the Dance. Are they perfect? No. Are they heroes? No. GRRM loves his gray characters, the Blacks are no exception. If you people want a story with black and white morality and perfect protagonists, go read another book. Just because people aren't perfect and don't operate exclusively in what's right according to our modern standards doesn't mean they aren't the protagonists.

In conclusion: there isn't a TB vs TG discourse in the Dance because the Greens are the antagonists and completely in the wrong. The point of the Dance is that the misogyny of the Greens damaged the realm. Rhaenyra is the rightful queen, there is no actual argument for Aegon or any of his allies.

Rhaenyra is the rightful queen to Westeros, go cry to George if you don't like it.

#rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #asoiaf #house of the dragon #team black #anti team green #anti team green stans #anti aegon ii targaryen #the blacks #dance of the dragons #hotd s2 #anti hotd

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cosmicmakos · 2 years

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imagine holding your f/o when they need comfort from their lover (even if they don't make it known and/or try to deny it). they feel safe in your presence and can finally let their walls down and release all of their pent-up emotions while in your embrace.

#my favorite war criminal <3 would sometimes avoid letting herself let her emotions out #half the time its because her mission takes priority and she wants to avoid distractions and the other times she denies she needs it #when she first came back to the citadel after she died and got brought back she shoved all her emotions down when she saw me again #a friend of hers convinced her to go over to me while i was watching skycars go past in the market area #she came up right next to me and said my name quietly to get my attention - all i could do was stare at her confused #she started to stumble out what happened and to tell me everything but she started talking too fast and the tears made it worse #i pulled her close to me and told her it was a story for another time while she mumbled apologies into my neck #she held on to me like i was going to disappear into thin air #during the war she just refuses to give herself a moment's rest since the galaxy is depending on her to save it #she always tells me her emotions can wait and goes off on her next important mission #unless we're all alone between missions she won't let her emotions out as they could compromise the task at hand #if those conditions are met she finally lets her emotions out while i hold her close to me for as long as i can #corporate necromancer has a hard time letting her walls down and at one point it caused an argument between the two of us #she doesn't like/want people to see the vulnerable side of her #she thinks it'll make people think less of her or make her look weaker #she slowly opens up to me and after some time she doesn't keep her walls up around me #its hard for her to admit she wants to be held while she lets her emotions out but one of the times she did was before the o4 relay mission #oops only two characters on this one since i have too many thoughts on this #f/o imagines #imagine your f/o

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dindjiarin · 1 year

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The Savior - Din Djarin x f!Reader

The Mandalorian, side-quest extraordinaire, accidentally frees a slave, kills a Senator's son, ends a criminal conspiracy, and falls in love. Just a month in the life of the galaxy's favorite chaotic space cowboy and his son.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

A/N: i fucking love this man. here's the spotify playlist i made while hallucinating being wrecked by him. I accidentally based this fic on Euphoria by Angels & Airwaves.

AO3 Link🤠

TAGS: Fluff, m!falls first, plot with porn, helmet stays on for now, P in V, outdoor activities, protective!Din, soft-ish!Din.

WARNINGS: reader is/was a slave; references to abuse; no curses or slang outside of Star Wars canon (that's a warning if you hate that hahaha)

**************************************************************

"I thought vagrants were barred at the door. How did a Mandalorian get in here?”

The Mandalorian in question does not react to the insult. At the table before him, the taunting Trandoshan guffaws, but his laughter dies when he gets no reaction from the bounty hunter.

"What do you want?" He snaps, his green jaws clicking shut.

Instead of replying, certain the answer is obvious, the beskar-covered man leisurely surveys the colorful, boisterous room, his hands folded in front of him. Having already scouted the upscale casino, he does this for sarcastic effect. He’s also certain that fact is lost on his Trandoshan quarry.

Upon returning his direct attention to the lizard, a small movement in the booth catches his heat sensor. A young woman, likely his quarry’s slave by her frayed appearance, sits with her head bowed behind her master.

“Hey, tin man, you in there?” Your master’s voice sounds more like rocks scraping together than fluid language.

The Mandalorian chucks a bounty puck onto the table, the name and alien visage of Rathos Craaf glowing in a blue cone of projected light.

“Go quietly or don’t - it makes no difference to me.”

“Ahh,” Rathos Craaf hums in his throat and leans back in his seat, making your demure form more visible to the bounty hunter. “What’s the price?”

The Mandalorian again does not dignify a response.

“Can’t be greater than what I’m willing to pay,” Rathos insinuates.

The tense silence eats through your body as the ruthless men stare at each other - the probability of oncoming violence ratcheting up.

“Go prepare my ship,” your master barks suddenly at you, raising his hand.

Flinching, you scoot around the U-shaped booth to obey.

You weren’t always a slave. As a child on Kenari, you had been born into a world of vivid green, rippling blue, and rich, brown soil. Trained in both hunting and fighting from birth, you had been too young to save your village from the brutal relocation program of the Empire.

Dispersed onto harsher worlds, you’d been sold from one slaver to another until finally coming into the collection of one Rathos Craaf. He has been your master for several years by this point, and while not the worst, he was close.

“What will you do about the girl?” A modulated voice asks.

Pausing on the edge of the hard bench, you look between the two antagonists. Me?

“Who cares about the mudscuffing girl? Tell you what, I’ll sell her to you.” The crafty Trandoshan gets an even better idea: “Or - take her in exchange for the bounty. She’s considered top-tier sentient property.”

“Not what I was asking,” a gloved hand thumbs his blaster. “Once you’re in carbonite, wh-”

The Trandoshan lunges up from his seat with a booming yell, launching at the cloaked, beskar-free neck of the Mandalorian. Rathos’ claws reach around the smaller man’s throat, but the Mandalorian is lighter of foot, ducking out of the hold.

Off-balance, Rathos tumbles but rolls back on his feet, his scaly tail acting as a counterweight. Gasps and mutters spill from the crowd as people scramble out of harm’s way.

You remain seated in the booth, frozen and unsure. But then, as the silver bounty hunter aims his blaster, Rathos whips his tail into the Mandalorian’s legs, knocking him with a clang onto his back.

The blaster goes skittering through the crowd, and you’re shocked to find your legs racing after it.

The thunder of a powerful flame roars in the cavernous room as you weave through aliens and humans alike, searching. The blackness of the blaster appears on the gray floor and you dive for it.

Cold steel excites your skin. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, and though you’ve never fired one, your ancient muscle memory remembers the feeling of a bow in your hands; the trajectory, strength, and steadiness necessary.

Sprinting back through the crowd, you find Rathos pinning the Mandalorian’s chest. The solid armor prevents any of Rathos’ blows from truly hurting the bounty hunter, but the weight of the lizard is too awkward and great for him to shove away from this angle.

The fire-throwing vambrace comes up again and, as it billows into the Trandoshan’s face, you fire a blast at the substantial tail that had once been used against you.

Rathos bellows in pain, tumbling to the side, and the Mandalorian takes full advantage. He jumps to his feet, then connects his fist to his quarry's skull, rendering the creature unconscious. Binders clasp around the arms of your master and the successful bounty hunter staggers backward a single step to catch his breath.

You freeze at what you’ve just done, the blaster still pointed at Rathos. People murmur, and the words, “Killed by his slave” can be heard, though he is only unconscious. Your chest heaves, far more out of breath than the Mandalorian walking toward you.

“Thank you,” he says drily, taking his blaster out of your hands.

Unsure what else you should do, you follow your master as he is dragged without dignity along the smooth fogstone floor.

Exiting the casino, snaking down an alley, and traipsing to the outskirts of the city limits, the silhouette of a ship against the orange horizon becomes visible.

Neither you nor the Mandalorian have spoken a single word since he took the blaster from your hands, but as he presses a button on his vambrace to lower the loading ramp, he turns to you now.

“Grab his tail."

An order. That you could do. You immediately grab Rathos’ tail and lift. The Mandalorian half-drags and half-lifts the Trandoshan by his cuffed hands and the lizard is loaded into the ship’s hold.

Standing at the far end of the Mandalorian’s rather busted ship, you’re surprised to see a small, green being. Dressed in what must be a sack, its long ears perk up and its eyes glimmer at the sight of the bounty hunter. A happy coo reverberates in the quiet, metal space.

The child looks at you and makes another, similar noise. It waddles toward you, but before you can react, the Mandalorian scoops the child into his arms and sequesters it behind a thin blast door.

“You are free to go.”

It’s an odd statement. He must be familiar with the underworld. He knows how slaving works.

You’re not sure when you last spoke; you weren’t allowed to speak. But the bounty hunter seems to expect a reply.

“I am not. The law says I am to be returned to the slavers’ coalition for repurchase.” Your voice is scratchy from disuse and the helmeted man tilts his head in curiosity.

“You won't run?”

It seems too monumental a task. Hopes and fears trip over each other in their efforts to be heard. Freedom. Finding a place to call home. Your family was long dead. But… maybe there was hope of a family somewhere.

Where would I even go? No way I could stay ahead of the slavers. They’d send hunters like this Mandalorian after me. I’d be worse off than I am now.

“I do not know if I can,” you whisper honestly.

The Mandalorian looks at you - at least, you think he does - for so long that you begin to squirm under his gaze.

Without warning, the wind is knocked from you. Rathos’ tail slams into the back of your knees, crumpling you to the floor. His claws wrap around your neck, and you yell, plunging two fingers into his lidless eye.

“Traitorous shutta!” Spittle from your master flies onto your cheeks.

As he recoils from your jab, you squirm underneath him, trying to flee, when the weight on your chest vanishes in a rush of air. Coughing and wiping your face, you lie there momentarily until your throbbing pulse abates inside your head. You sit up and widen your eyes to hasten their focus.

The Mandalorian has the Trandoshan by the throat with both hands. Rathos sputters and gags, but you watch as gloved fingers dig harder into the scaly throat. The anonymous man shoves his quarry into the carbon freezing chamber and smashes the button with more force than necessary.

It's over.

When you woke in the dark that morning, never would you have expected to watch your master be frozen in carbonite aboard a bounty hunter's ship.

That bounty hunter turns to you now.

“I have something I need to do. I’ll give you passage if you provide assistance.”

________________________________

Crossing your arms, tucking your legs under your body, and leaning against the hull in your seat, you try to make yourself as small as possible. You wouldn’t have even climbed up here if the Mandalorian hadn’t indicated that you should.

He wanted to keep an eye on you. He did not trust you around the kid - despite (or perhaps because of) its interest in you.

Moments after leaving the planet’s atmosphere, a new emotion bubbles in your chest: elation. The stars flow by in a technicolor kaleidoscope; hues and shapes you have never seen race past your eyes. It’s beyond anything you could have imagined.

“Has it always looked like this?” You wonder to yourself.

You jump when a deep, electronic voice answers, “Yes.”

“Oh,” you murmur, realizing he had been watching you. “I’ve never seen hyperspace. I was kept in the hold,” you state without self-pity.

The Mandalorian lets that terrible fact hang in the air before eventually saying,“I recommend you get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Mid Rim.”

He turns away from you and folds his arms. The muffled clang of his helmet tipping back against the headrest tells you that he will be taking his own advice.

Interestingly, you feel safe enough to get some rest. Being constantly attuned to the temperamental wills and whims of others, you've become a great judge of character.

This Mandalorian, though quiet, is clearly capable of kindness to those who deserve it. A rarity for someone in his profession.

___________________________________

The blue cone glows in his hand, projecting the face of one ugly slug. The name at the bottom, written in a language you had been forced to learn, reads: Salaa the Hutt.

Fearful eyes flick up to the veiled Mandalorian, “A Hutt?”

The helmet nods, “You will be my way in.” You make a whimpering noise, but the bounty hunter continues. “You’re a slave on the run. I will be returning you for a small reward.”

Crushing disappointment deflates your body. Believing yourself to have been wavering between freedom and the life you had known, you realize, now that the decision was being made for you, that you’d chosen freedom. Further adding to your pain is your misjudgement of the Mandalorian.

I’d have never made it to freedom - far too naive. Thought a karking bounty hunter was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. Unbelievable.

Still, to your credit, you take several steps back, almost as though you might try to outrun the nimble, strong bounty hunter with a kriffing jetpack, of all things. You’re proud of yourself for even thinking about doing it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t react. He pockets the puck and opens his weapons cache on the hull wall. He lifts a small item from the assortment and shuts the doors. You can’t see what it is, and he doesn’t return to you.

He opens the blast door to the child’s tiny room. The baby snores in his bungalow, and the ever-fascinating Mandalorian rubs the green, fuzzy head before closing the door. He turns and strides toward you.

You take one more step backward, just because you can. Because you should.

He still says nothing. Closer, and closer, the armored man advances on you until you can see your nervous eyes in his breastplate.

“Give me your wrists.”

Is his voice naturally that persuasive or is it the vocoder?

Overriding your fledgling autonomy, you obey him with a preprogrammed respectful nod. He clasps binders around your wrists.

The Mandalorian steps away to retrieve another weapon, then he lifts his chin toward the boarding ramp.

Shouldn't you at least try to gain freedom? Beg him to let you go?

“Please, I can try to pay you,” this is a lie and he knows it. “Or I could work off the debt of transport. Something!”

It’s the loudest your voice has been in living memory, and it both surprises and emboldens you. But the Mandalorian does not seem swayed.

“Walk,” he orders.

You minutely shake your head twice. It means nothing to him, but everything to you.

An electronic sigh, then he takes a single step toward you. Fear switches you back into the subservient girl of the last twenty years. You flinch, your manacled hands blocking your face.

The Mandalorian falters, slightly abashed. “I am not going to hurt you. But you need to start walking.”

Slowly, you lower your hands. His gloved fingers curl around your bicep, and he leads you out into the sunny air.

It’s a hot day on Niamos. The beachside resort that serves as the capital city is teeming with families of all species bathing in the muggy air. The sandstone path that Mando - that’s what everyone calls them, right? - parades you down is packed with beachgoers. Embarrassed by your plight, you try to hide the binders, but it’s impossible with the angle he holds your arm.

Finding another gust of will, you reason, “Surely you could find a way inside without turning me in? You’re good at your job. You could've killed my m-”

“Salaa angered powerful people. There is a bounty on him and it’s higher if he’s dead.

“What does that mean?”

“He's careful. Employs expensive security. Easiest way in is through the front door,” Mando finishes.

Mando’s leathery hold on your arm is soft. Unyielding, of course, but he doesn’t hurt you. It saddens you to realize how different that is from your usual treatment. He had still binded you and planned on turning you in, but hey! At least he wasn’t going to leave a bruise.

Directing you down a narrow alley, the Mandalorian stops in front of a tan-colored, generic shield door. He raps twice on it, standing casually still. If he feels you shaking, he says nothing about it.

A Yaka man is standing behind the door when it opens with a whoosh. His metal implants reflect the sun and you squint. Behind him are another two Yaka and a particularly menacing-looking Zabrak, all armed with pulse rifles.

“We ain't buyin'," he slurs.

“I'm here to claim the slave reward.”

The Yaka stares at the impenetrable, T-shaped slit in the silver helmet, scrutinizing, before stepping aside. Mando guides you ahead of him, then you hear the spur-like sound of his step over the threshold. The close quarters are sweltering, and sweat beads on your temple.

“This way,” the Yaka servant veers to the right and up a steeply inclined hallway. The other members of the security team follow behind you.

The Mandalorian’s thumb slides over your skin. You would give it more thought if a wide, dingy room wasn’t quickly coming into view.

On the second floor, a muted, sparsely furnished area overlooks the residence across the street, and the beach beyond. However, you can’t see the view because the balcony is being taken up by a massive, blob-like shape, and a tall, spiky silhouette.

“Ahh,” the huge shape speaks, and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful you speak Huttese. “What is this?”

Bowing, the Yaka guard explains, “This Mandalorian has returned a loose slave.”

He grabs for your arm, but you lurch when Mando pulls you out of reach, warning, “Careful. She killed her master before fleeing."

The bodyguard recoils as though you personally threatened him. He steps away, waiting for actual instruction from his boss. The green Rodian next to Salaa tuts in his sour voice.

Deciding it was best not to speak, you raise your chin with dignity as Mando drops his hand from your arm.

“Why do you return her here?” Salaa the Hutt inquires. “Surely you know that I have been removed from my associations. Including the slavers.”

“I am here for information,” Mando drops the ruse completely, his voice calm.

“Information,” the Hutt laughs horribly. “I have much of that, pateesa. What do you wish to know?”

“You should ask what I have to trade first.”

“Hmm. You do not wish to trade the girl, I hope. Must be better than that,” the slimy giant slug laughs derisively.

You don’t even bristle. Worse things had been said to you daily.

The green, mohawked Rodian chuckles. Though you do not understand his language, the human bounty hunter does: “She is too sad-looking to be any fun. Pity.” The reptilian-looking male then makes a vile comment about what he can see through your ratty, loose clothing.

The Mandalorian's eyes narrow, and his right hand drifts toward his hip of its own accord.

“Make your offer, Mandalorian.”

“If you provide the information I need, I won’t claim the ten-thousand-credit bounty on your head.”

That horrible, bulging laugh bursts from the ex-crime boss once more, hurting your ears in its pitch and volume.

“Far too aggressive, Mandalorian. I decline.”

Salaa’s stubby arm motions at the armed security who raise their rifles at the two of you.

While you freeze in terror, the Mandalorian stills in focus. Faster than a hyperdrive, he clenches his fist. Miniature rockets whistle through the tense air, eliminating all three bodyguards; the angry Zabrak, the mouthy Rodian, and the blubbery Salaa remain.

The Mandalorian draws his blaster, pushing you behind him, and fires from his hip as the Zabrak guard begins to raise his modified arm. What type of weapon it held, you’ll never know because he falls to the ground, dead, before he can use it.

The Rodian darts away from Salaa, circling the room. To you, it seems as though he is intending to flee, not fight, but the Mandalorian fires a laserblast at his bug-eyed head, dropping him.

Mando calmly swivels his blaster to Salaa.

Resigned, the Hutt slimily states, “Ask what you wish to know, pateesa.”

“I have been told that you have seen another Mandalorian. Where?”

“Ahh, that is all? I have seen one here.”

“On Niamos?” So surprised, Mando forgets to keep the tone from his voice.

“A beskar-covered man does not go unnoticed on a planet filled with water-bathers,” Salaa laughs again. You visibly wince.

“Where?”

“Where else? Water’s Edge.”

Mando twists his head toward the opposite window as if he could see his fellow Mandalorian from here. He holsters his weapon and turns to leave.

“Those Yaka were expensive guards, pateesa,” the Hutt grumbles ominously.

“You paid too much.”

He returns his hold on your arm, pushing you forward. Marching awkwardly down the sloping halfway, you try to make sense of his actions.

Your face screws up in confusion, “You didn’t turn me in or claim the Hutt’s bounty. You're earning no credits.”

That’s the defining feature of a bounty hunter.

The silence lengthens as you reach the ground floor, and hurriedly exit the sandstone building. As you soak in the blistering sunshine, the hand on your arm turns you to face him. The Mandalorian’s quick fingers remove your binders.

“That’s it?” You rub your wrists even though he had left them on the loosest setting.

“Passage for assistance,” he reminds you.

He then nods once and takes his leave. For an interminable length of time, you watch as he calmly walks away, breaking only when he turns down an alley and is lost from sight.

What the hell do I do now?

__________________________________

The new day is growing late. Din Djarin basks in the heat of the single sun. For being one of those odd planets without plural light sources, the strength of the lone sun is incredible. Din much preferred the scorching, arid planets to the ice-covered ones, and Niamos is perfect. The breeze gently carries through his light flight suit, while the sun warms whatever dark material is visible around the beskar.

While Din feels more comfortable in this climate, heat signatures can be a little bit more difficult to read. He had managed to track a faint heat signature around Water’s Edge. The day before, immediately after speaking with Salaa, Din had come to check the place out, but his quarry had left some hours previously and he had lost the trail.

Din enters the establishment for the second time in as many days. Inside is a large, open floor with dining tables set out across the expanse. High society clinks glasses as they wait for the next act to grace the small stage. Din surveys the room, switching between heat sensors and normal vision, before concluding that the Mandalorian he searches for is beyond the far wall.

Heads turn and stare as Din, strutting as if he belongs, makes his way to the unobtrusive doorway next to the stage. A Mandalorian stands out here. This was a place for people who employed bounty hunters, not those whom they hunt. Din slides the door open, and he is greeted by a dark hallway.

Light spills from a room to his right. Din flips on his heat sensor again, and presses his lips together in satisfaction when the heat signature picks up.

Rounding into the room with confidence, Din observes everything at once.

A large mirror, complete with lights, sits above a desk. A rack of clothing stands lonely in the far corner. And on a stool in front of the mirror sits a Mandalorian, their flaky, blue-painted armor having seen better days.

“My name is Din Djarin,” he announces. “I have been tasked with finding other Mandalorians in order t-”

“Oh, my stars!” The Mandalorian squeals. The helmet is removed by purple hands, and a humanoid species stares in awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet a Mandalorian. I- I do this character because I just love your culture so much.”

Blinking behind his helm, Din confirms what he's already becoming sure of, “That armor you wear - it is not real beskar.”

“What? This stuff?” The actor scoffs. “This is expensive paint and cheap wetboard.” He stands up, advancing unwisely on the real Mandalorian. “Can I ask you some questions? I’ve got a real opportunity here to elevate my perfor-”

Din backs out of the room in a single, fluid motion, punching the button for the door.

He sighs.

***

A blaster shot turns the corner of the building Din had just walked past into dust and debris. He spins, drawing his own blaster, expecting to see the Empire itself. Instead, a young human bounty hunter stands there, nervously fumbling with her jammed blaster. The Mandalorian rushes her, pinning her by the collarbone against the alley wall.

"Bounty?”

Terrified, she nods and whispers, “Yes.”

"Who contracted it?"

She wheezes from under Din’s forearm, “Don't know. It's open Rim-wide for now. Just told to kill you and the girl.”

Under his helm, Din’s brow pinches. “The girl?”

The wide-eyed woman shrugs, again in the dark. If this inexperienced bounty hunter managed to track him down already, it's likely another has found you. Din releases the woman roughly and rockets up into the sky.

_______________________________

The sights and sounds of the beach are incredible. The late-daylight is deliciously warm as it touches your skin through the holes in your clothing. You sit on the top step of the tiered beach area, staring out at the water as you try to come up with a plan of action. Having slept on a lounge chair last night, you’re nearly grateful for the decades of poor lodging training your body.

The sky is hazy, but the flash of sunlight glinting off of something tiny flying far above has you twisting your head and squinting. Unable to make out the object, you return your attention to the ocean and ignore it.

From behind you, a voice calls your name and you automatically turn.

As you stare down the barrel of the blaster pointed at you, you remember no one should know your name here.

"Let's go," the bounty hunter tells you.

It's a woman with red skin and long, blue, braided hair. Etches in her cheeks make her bone structure look even sharper.

You frown. What you’d told the Mandalorian had already been proven correct. You weren't able to run.

Resignedly standing to your feet, you take a step, but go stumbling forward as the woman kicks your back.

Your second foreign emotion of the last twenty-four hours sparks in your chest, glowing as hot as the sun above.

"Hey! I was going," you glare.

"Move faster, scum," she orders.

You continue walking, your eyes scanning for something, anything, to get you out of this.

Ahead on the right is a large crowd of vendors and their customers. If you can duck through them, maybe you can lose the blue-haired madwoman behind you.

A cold, circular shape presses between your shoulder blades as you march, and your bravery starts to fail. If you make a single wrong move, you'll be shot before you even get to the crowd.

Just do it - better to die now than live as a slave.

The crowd swells as a school trip pours out from a nearby museum. Your confidence rises at the sight of the increasingly busy, confusing horde.

Closer. So kriffing close.

The female bounty hunter cries out suddenly as a blaster shot scalds her arm. She defensively spins, kicking out powerfully behind her.

A large species you're unfamiliar with, tall and teal, is thrown sideways with the force of the kick. The competing bounty hunter recovers into a crouch and shoots at your captor, hitting her in the chest.

With a violent exhale, she falls. Too busy sprinting into the crowd, you do not hear her final, pathetic breath.

Weaving, keeping ducked and hidden, you whisper a constant stream of 'excuse me.' You don't want to push anyone, knowing a reaction from an offended beach-goer could give away your position.

The unblinking bounty hunter, your newest enemy, stands tall above much of the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to spot your trail.

Thundering forward, happily shoving people you had so politely passed, he roars. Fear ices your stomach.

The sound of a sputtering jetpack drowns out the noise of the people. Never breaking stride, you search for the source of another bounty hunter.

I know I’m a runaway slave who assaulted her master before turning him into a carbonsicle but, banthashit, is the price on my head really that high?

The massive hunter gains on you, and just as you clear the other side of the crowd, you gasp, pained, when he snatches your hair. You whirl, packing all of your strength into your right fist. Your blow lands on the creature’s lower jaw, which seems to be two pink tubes, and it wails grotesquely.

The grip on your hair loosens and you rip away, but the much larger creature lunges for you again. It pulls you upward by your shirt this time, and you scream. Kicking out, your foot knocks a breath from the ugly bounty hunter, but it does not release you.

Staring at you with shallow black eyes, it speaks in a language you don’t understand, but the intonation is clearly a question.

Gasping, you boldly say, “Let go of me and I’ll tell you.”

The creature seems to understand Basic because his three-fingered hand leaves your shirt.

Before you get a chance to make up a lie, the hulking bounty hunter vanishes in a flash of silver. Your head snaps in the direction of travel, and a trail of exhaust follows.

A hundred yards away, the jetpack flares out and the two fall to the ground in a tumble of fighting. A strangled laugh exits your mouth.

From bigger fish to bigger fish. Eventually the biggest fish would win and come after you.

The sound of the ugly creature roaring ends abruptly with a choked grunt. You push your legs hard as you run. The doorway to a cantina catches your eye as an intoxicated human stumbles out, and you rush past him.

Inside the dark, clamorous, smoky business, you slide into the booth furthest from the door, hoping that neither hunter saw you duck in. Panting heavily, you tell the droid waitress you’d like a bit of spotchka. You’ve never had it, but you’ve seen how relaxed and brave it makes people and that sounds wonderful right about now.

The circular cantina door slides open and the silhouette of a tall, broad Mandalorian is outlined by the glaring sun. You can’t tell what color or condition his armor is in, but your stomach clenches all the same. It had been an entire revolution of the planet since your Mandalorian had left, so it can't be him.

Wonder if he found his friend, you think about his ten-thousand-credit question for the Hutt. Must’ve been quite a reunion if it was worth that much.

Shrinking back against the wall of your booth, you shift completely out of sight and pray to whatever Ancient is listening that the stories about their helmets’ capabilities are exaggerations.

The droid waitress sets your pretty blue drink on the table without comment, for which you’re grateful. You don’t think your voice works.

Clinking metal is audible despite the volume of the rowdy bar. The sound gradually grows louder as he approaches your booth.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian has his hands on his hips, and though you cannot see his face, you’re certain he looks like a disapproving parent.

“I- what?” You squeak, completely confused by his question. And why he's here.

He moves to sit down across from you, and your nerves flare.

“Why are you still here?” He asks the same question you want to ask him.

“Where was I supposed to go? I have no credits.”

“There is work available on this planet.”

You pause, unhappy to give away just how out of your depth you are, “You mean paid employment? I’m not familiar with the process."

The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, he simply stares at you until you break your stare first.

Looking down at the grimy table, you trace a piece of graffiti with your finger and whisper, “Thank you.”

Mando shifts his head in askance.

“For saving me from the slave hunter.”

“He wasn’t a slave hunter.” Mando’s helmet tips down to where the bright blue liquid sits on the table. “You going to drink that?”

You shake your head, too self-conscious now.

________________________________

“Good.”

He slides out from the booth and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

Standing in the bay of the Mandalorian’s ship once more, you engage in a staring contest with the little green baby as it sits on the floor. Its ears move like he’s listening to Mando speak on his holocall above in the cockpit, but its eyes remain on you.

You’ve always liked children. While they could be blunt, they were kind to you and other slaves because they hadn’t yet learned any differently.

“How old are you?” You ask softly.

In your experience, children prefer to be spoken to as one would an adult, so you refrain from the baby-voice that springs to the surface when you look at the adorable infant.

He tilts his ears toward you.

“You’re pretty cute." The baby coos, then babbles once.

“You really are cute. And you seem highly intelligent. Have you been with the Mandalorian long? He seems to pick up strays easily,” you smile warmly.

The child awkwardly gets to its feet, toddling toward you. Remembering how quickly Mando had taken the child away when it last interacted with you, you slowly move backward toward the ladder. You don’t know if it's dangerous. Maybe the cuteness is a front.

A gurgling noise, as if it’s trying to tell you something, breaks from its little mouth. He raises his hand, pointing, and you whirl.

The Mandalorian is but a few feet away, watching.

How the kark did he get down the ladder so quietly?

“I’m sorry,” you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

Mando strides around you and crouches to pick up the baby, “We're leaving this planet. I won't have enough fuel to get across the galaxy, but there is a job a few systems over."

He cradles the child so gently that it makes your heart ache.

Who is this guy?

The child in his arms makes grabby hands at his helmet, so he tenderly sets it back down. Mando heads back toward the cockpit, indicating you should follow.

Up the ladder, sitting once again in the same seat, you keep your eyes on the Mandalorian as he begins the lengthy takeoff procedures.

“The bounty hunter you encountered was not after the slave reward.”

“But she knew my name?”

“I am referring to the Aqualish you punched.”

“Oh.”

The Mandalorian does not immediately continue, focusing on his tasks for several minutes.

“There is a reward out for you,” he flips another switch. “And a bounty.”

“Both? Why both?”

“The bounty is secondary. Dependant on you giving them m-”

A panicked, childish cry echoes from below, and you’re only a moment behind the Mandalorian as he leaps down the hatch to the hold.

You gasp in horror as you see the long-eared, big-eyed baby squished in the crook of another kriffing bounty hunter’s arm. The loading ramp closes slowly behind him. He must’ve jumped in at the last moment.

Mando raises his hands, indicating his desire to negotiate.

“Do not hurt him,” he says. Instead of coming out as a plea, his vocoded words come out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end.

“Din Djarin, you are wanted for the murder of Senator Nesota’s son. I know your reputation, and therefore do not wish to fight. I’ll release your… this," he nods at the green baby, "when you’re in carbonite. There,” the human bounty hunter nods his head at Din’s own carbon freezer.

He killed a Senator’s kid?

The child frowns, his ears drooping, and he focuses hard on the bounty hunter. His little hand curls, and the man’s ruddy face turns purple. His eyes grow red and glassy.

Din reacts quickly, drawing his blaster and firing at the hunter’s face. The man falls with a clattering thunk, and the child rolls away, unmoving.

“No," you cry. "Is he alright?” You start toward the kid, fear in your voice.

“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian replies, holding his palm up for you to stay back. He reverently lifts the unconscious kid. “He’s just asleep.”

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin - murdered an important person’s child. And his own kid just choked someone without using its hands? I didn’t inhale spice, did I?

“You killed a kid?”

Din believes you’re still thinking of the baby in his arms. “I said he’s sleeping.”

“A Senator’s son?”

“Oh. Yes, the Rodian with Salaa.” Din hadn’t known he was the son of a powerful person, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

Relief floods you once again as your evaluation of the Mandalorian’s character remains intact. After seeing the way he cared for the little green one, how could you have believed he would harm any child?

“Okay." You return to the wildest topic, "What just happened with your kid?”

Din sighs. This was getting more dangerous than negotiating with a Tusken. He places the kid in his hammock and shuts the door.

Turning on you, he threatens, “Never speak of him outside this ship.”

“I- I wouldn’t,” you promise, surprised by the fierceness in his voice.

Din is satisfied. He’d watched you speak to his ward earlier, and the kid seems to like you immensely. But he doesn't solely rely on the kid's opinion.

The experienced, Mandalorian bounty hunter's own character assessment is top-notch, and he finds that he feels strongly about you. He doesn't categorize or identify the specifics, however.

The Mandalorian does not ask for your help in removing the dead bounty hunter from his ship, so you look on in silence as he does it alone. He lowers the landing ramp, drags the body to the edge, and watches it roll down unceremoniously. He turns and stalks past you.

“So, where's that job?”

“The Outer Rim.”

You sigh. “Of course it is.”

__________________________________

The planet blinds you when the Razor Crest launches out of hyperdrive. Brilliantly green, the single sun reflects the vibrant landscape right into your eyes.

Shielding your face, you venture a question. The Mandalorian had not finished explaining.

"Why is there a bounty on me?"

Even through the modulator, you can hear his dry tone: "You aided a bounty hunter in entering the Hutt's hideout through false pretenses which ended in the blasting of a Senator's son."

"Right," you frown, slumping in your seat.

"Don't worry. The bounty on my head is far larger than yours."

You scoff under your breath. So reassuring.

A deep breath, then you postulate, "Is that what the bounty hunter was asking me? About you?"

Din doesn't respond. He didn't hear the Aqualish's question. He was too busy aiming at its body with his own, but his best guess is yes.

"That's the reason you saved me," you mutter, oddly dejected.

A loose end. That's what you are.

Din often - almost constantly, actually - appreciated his helmet for the freedom it gave him to show any emotion at any time. No need to worry about a convincing poker face when no one could see it.

"You could have told them where my ship was."

"Except I thought you'd flown away the day before," you argue, saddened that he thought you would’ve talked.

Of course, he didn't know you, and he had a child to protect, but it still stings.

"Why not just kill me?" You wonder seriously.

You're a liability. Two separate prices on your head? The Mandalorian's easiest solution is obvious. A slave of no importance, no one would put a bounty on his head for your death.

Din Djarin's armor clanks as he spins the chair a quarter-turn toward you and he cocks his head.

"I don't want to die," you read his body language correctly. "But I don't understand you."

The Mandalorian silently returns to his piloting duties as he nears the lush planet. He does his best to shut his thoughts away, but he stumbles over you again and again.

Din had rescued you because he didn’t want to see you harmed for his actions with the Hutt. The idea of protecting himself from prying questions had been an afterthought.

He had flown above the city, looking for your trail. Since you hadn’t moved much, there wasn’t much of a trail to find. Then he spotted the crowd roiling and parting for the violent Aqualish.

When he watched it yank your hair, he felt angry. An emotion he experienced less frequently than many of his friends would believe. Frustration, irritation, sure. But true fury was rare for him.

Not wanting you dead was basic decency, but the anger had been interesting.

On some level, Din knows his emotional responses to you deserve greater scrutiny. But he doesn't have the time nor the energy.

When the Razor Crest lands in a grassy clearing between forest walls, Din rises from his chair and commands, “Stay here. Watch the child.”

“O-okay,” you agree hesitantly. “What do I do when he wakes up?”

The Mandalorian stares, uncomprehending.

“You… you don’t do anything for his… condition?”

“I told you he’s fine.” Din thinks for a moment, and remembers there is actually something you should know: “When he wakes up, he might be hungry. Do not let him eat the metal ball on the thruster.”

With that, he climbs down the ladder, and out of sight.

_________________________________

As the fist flies at you, you subconsciously register that your assailant must be right-handed, because this left hook is much sloppier than the other. Or maybe it's because his left arm is still human.

Ducking, you escape the jab and slam your palm-sized stick into the quarry's metal shins. He doesn’t react except to kick your thigh. You cry out, knowing it will bruise if you survive this.

The blaster you had taken from the Mandalorian’s cache lies just out of reach. The silver gleam is stark against the rich soil of the forest floor.

Enraged, the cyborg quarry leaps at your hunched form, knocking you flat. Surprised by his speed, you forget to keep hold of the heavy branch you use as a weapon.

The growling man rips the stick from your hands and slams it against your throat like a vise, choking you, “Die, wretch.”

You turn your head to the side, providing yourself with a precious moment of air before the quarry shifts to cut that escape route off, too.

Swinging your leg up, you kick him in the back of the head, pushing him forward. You take the opportunity to headbutt him - thankful that his head is still completely human - and he falls sideways. Right next to your blaster.

You snatch up your wooden weapon, but it's too late.

He laughs mechanically as he grabs the blaster, swinging it at you. “Too late, sweetheart.”

Panting, you don't raise your hands. If he's going to kill you, he'll do it when you charge him.

You take a step and the sound of a laserblast ricochets through the trees.

The creature cries out, dropping the weapon, his arm useless at his side. Wires spark from the elbow joint that had been blown away.

"Found you," the Mandalorian says flatly, his blaster pointed at the machine.

The metal man lunges but Din fires again - hitting the quarry in what should be its gut. It doubles over, groaning, then topples, fighting for labored breath.

He must still have lungs underneath, you shudder.

Still trying to catch your own breath, you gasp, "How-"

"Heard the fight. You were supposed to stay on the ship," his voice turns scolding.

Clenching your jaw, you finally find a steady breath. You had stayed on the ship. This piece of space junk had broken inside through the cockpit window.

As you sat in the hold, dutifully watching the kid, the sound of glass shattering alerted you that it was not Din who was back so soon. You had snatched up the baby, touching him for the first time with no concern about his potential dangers, locked him in the little room, and ripped a small blaster from the Razor Crest’s weapons cache.

You crouched at the far end of the hold, against the closed boarding ramp, waiting, uncomfortably far from the child.

A cyborg, more spidery-droid than man, with a human head and fleshy left arm had come skittering down, bypassing the ladder completely. Unwilling to chance a blaster shot going through the baby’s door, you hit the button on the landing ramp and scrambled out.

The forest. It was your home. Your element. If there was any chance you could kill it, to prove to yourself that you could survive this life - it was then and there.

Of course, you hadn't expected the quarry to get your blaster.

"I tried," you breathe as Din binds the still-groaning quarry.

The helmet turns to face you, understanding. "He entered the ship?”

You nod, and Din stands bolt-upright, his head whipping in the direction of the Razor Crest.

“It’s fine,” you assure him pointedly, walking with your hand outstretched toward the worried Mandalorian. You remember your promise not to speak of the child, “Your ship is fine. Knew you'd hate it if he trashed the thing, so I ran out here.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes his broad shoulders, and your heart tugs once again.

"Thank you," Din says with hidden feeling.

His sincerity wedges a lump in your throat.

He really loves that little guy.

Din turns and snatches the connector between the binders, pulling the quarry. Its metal feet dig trenches as it tries to stall, but the Mandalorian is far too strong.

Somehow, it's the first time you've truly noticed. Din is extremely strong. Is it the suit?

Can't be. It's just metal and fabric.

The realization might as well be a thunderbolt to your brain. Your assailant must weigh as much as a land speeder, and here your bounty hunter was carting him along like a sack of starfruit.

An unfamiliar feeling, something like hot, sharp sparks shoot through your stomach. Your eyes follow the Mandalorian as he makes his way back to the Razor Crest.

Is this attraction? You’ve never experienced it. Far too busy surviving, wanting someone in that way is a foreign concept to you. You roll your eyes at yourself. Din Djarin, a kriffing Mandalorian bounty hunter is not going to look twice at a slave, and it's best to kill those feelings before they take root.

***

Across the large clearing, at the ship, the bounty hunter waits patiently while the boarding ramp lowers.

“She yours?” The quarry asks curiously, his voice wheezing. "You orbited me like a karking moon, but as soon as I go after her, you come runnin’.” It laughs.

The cyborg doesn't expect a verbal answer; he wants a reaction.

Din turns his head slowly with a cold warning, “I would advise you to stop speaking.”

“I damaged her pretty good for you. Might wanna che-” his taunting words end in a pained grunt when Din slams his fist into the man’s cruel mouth.

Surprised by the sudden violence, you inhale sharply. Din hadn’t knocked the thing unconscious, so what was the point of that?

The Mandalorian hauls the creature up the ramp and shoves him into the carbon freezer.

“Should’ve killed me,” the cyborg threatens with a laugh as he freezes into a solid mass.

Din turns to face you and asks in a low voice, “Are you injured?”

The rush of adrenaline you had been riding on slowly fades, and you remember the only blow you’d received had been the one to the side of your thigh. Your hand falls to it, feeling the area through your tattered pants.

A small amount of blood comes away on your fingers.

“Oh,” you murmur.

You pull up the ripped, baggy material, exposing your entire leg. The skin had split with the force of the blow, but there’s no serious damage and it would heal on its own.

The cyborg must’ve been trying to unnerve us. Or distract the Mandalorian? Maybe he thought Din would check right away, you almost laugh aloud at the ridiculous idea.

Din, for his part, really wishes you would let your pant leg fall. It’s insane, it makes no sense to him. Millions of people walked around in far, far less clothing than you, and Din never reacted like this.

But here you stand before him, slowly checking out the inch-long cut on your mid-thigh, and the Mandalorian can’t tear his eyes away.

When you look up at the helmet of Din Djarin, he fixes his face as though you could actually see the way his lips had parted. You fleetingly, timidly, smile at him and, miraculously, let go of the flowy pant leg.

Released from the spell, Din exhales and makes his way to the child’s room.

“You can use the refresher to clean that, if you’d like.” He does not look at you as he speaks.

“Is the baby okay?”

Din need not answer as the child himself murmurs in happiness at the sight of the two of you. To Din’s abject shock, the kid lifts his hands toward you.

You laugh once, flattered. “Can I?”

Din simply turns sideways so that you can fit between him and the hull wall. You reach for the child and it snuggles into your arms, touching your chin.

A brilliant smile lights your face.

“Are we friends now?” You whisper to him.

The baby babbles a response you’ll take as an affirmative.

“I’ve not asked. What’s his name?” You turn your still-smiling face up to Din.

Again thanking the Mythosaur for his helmet, he stares, stuck on your glowing expression as you cradle his ward. His brown eyes swim with an emotion he’s never felt.

“I don't know.”

Taken aback, you realize that there is a far deeper story here.

Did he steal this baby?

You move on quickly, “What do you call him?”

Din shrugs. “Kid.”

The child makes a cooing sound, then reaches for the Mandalorian. You hand the baby to his stoic guardian, and your smile changes to a satisfied one.

“He looks like he belongs there,” you laugh. Then your eyebrows pull together as you regret the too-comfortable comment.

He’s a bounty hunter, a killer, and he may or may not have stolen this fuzzy, long-eared infant.

And you’re just a runaway slave.

You back up a step, feeling awkward now. “You said I could use the ‘fresher?”

Din simply nods his head in the direction of the tiny facility.

When you've shut the door, Din's body relaxes.

***

But not for long. He didn't account for the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and the sound of the sonics. You are steps away, unclothed, and some wild instinct inside him awakens. Ashamed, he sets the child back in the hammock and climbs up to the cockpit to relieve himself.

_________________________________

The planet is purple. Dark and cloudy, the yellow, green, and blue street lights cast strange shadows. Neon signs of every shade flash from every corner. You've been to thousands of cities like this one. An underworld.

The Mandalorian landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts despite there being a busy spaceport made for that purpose. He transported the carbonite body of the cyborg to the edge of the city where he was met by some anonymous creature in a cloak. He asked no questions.

Din had entrusted you with the care of the child. He directed you and the kid to go on ahead to one of the less-reputable inns. The worse-looking, the better. People were more likely to mind their business.

You've found the perfect one. Din wanted seedy, he was getting the seediest. After all, most of your tasks as a slave had been spent in this environment since your masters hated to be seen in them.

But seedy didn't always mean crumbling and derelict.

Din, having tracked the child's chain code, returns later that night. His eyebrows rise at the size of the room.

"I said find an inconspicuous place to hide. You got the emperor's suite," he places his hands on his hips.

There are technically three rooms: the main living space, complete with couch, table, and a space to prepare food; and two small bedrooms both on the same side of the building.

"It was their only available room. Trust me, this place is as disreputable as they come. And he didn't upcharge," you rise from the couch. "If that was what you were worried about. I… made a deal with the clerk."

Din advances on you, "A deal?" His voice is tight.

"I didn’t involve you. I promise."

The Mandalorian clenches his teeth. Anything involving you, involves him.

"The kid?"

You tilt your chin across the apartment and laugh, "He wanted the room with all the toys.”

Din disappears into the room, and you chuckle at how long the child had been fascinated by the weird sculptures inside.

A low, rasping voice travels from the open door, "Hey, kid. Missed you, too."

Your smile deepens and your heart swells with emotion toward the two of them. Though they are not your family, it's comforting to watch them be one.

The modulated voice sounds again with a short laugh, "She can't hear you. Do you want her?"

You shake your head fondly, the kid had been babbling and reaching for you every time you set him down.

After a significant pause, Din softly admits, "I agree. I like her, too."

Flushing with shame for eavesdropping, you move to the far side of the apartment, to another large window.

Several minutes later, quiet footsteps get louder as Din leaves the child's room and closes the door.

"He tried to lift one of the sculptures," Din scoffs.

You laugh, picturing the child peacefully sleeping after tiring himself with the effort. It wasn't the first time today. Growing serious, you turn to face the Mandalorian.

"He helped me today. Someone grabbed at me and he… did what he does."

Din takes two huge strides toward you. "Did anyone see? What happened?"

"No one saw. It was in a closed alley. I-" you pause in momentary reluctance, then remember who you're talking to. "I took care of it."

You glance at the blaster on the table that Din had given you earlier that morning.

For the first time in a long time, Din's sigh is one of relief instead of irritation.

"Thank you," he says. "Again."

You wave him off, "It was between a scumsucker and the kid. Wasn't exactly hard," you try to make light of it.

Din shakes his head slightly. "I've seen you use a blaster. I'm glad the kid was there," he deadpans.

You exhale in feigned irritation, pleased by his playfulness.

He comes to stand next to you at the open window, and the peaceful silence is companionable.

As the breeze flutters, you shiver noticeably and his torn, rough cape curls into your ankle. The Mandalorian turns his head to you and reads how low your heat signature is.

Din stalks back to the entryway where he had set down a cloth bag. He snatches it up and brings it over to you.

"I hope they are acceptable."

Hands outstretched, you freeze as you realize you're being given a gift. You blink and look up, desperately trying to read a face you know you can't.

"Um, I've never -" you whisper, needing to tell him why you look like you've been struck. "Never had someone give me something."

Inside his beskar armor, Din grimaces. Had he overstepped? It might get even worse when you see how personal the items are.

He releases his hold on the bag and you open it, pulling out a pair of clothes. They're dark blue, and, while somewhat flowy like your current clothes, these do not have holes, stains, nor bad memories associated.

And they are a gift from Din Djarin.

How do you thank him for these? They certainly weren't cheap. The clothing is sturdy but light, beautiful but practical.

Embarrassingly, tears collect in your eyes.

"Oh, wow," you look up at him, panicking. "I can't take these." It was too much.

Din has an excuse in his arsenal.

"Take it as payment for your help with the kid."

You look back down at the material in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric.

"Thank you, Din. Really. I- I don't know how to thank you. You have been so kind to me."

His cheek pulls upward when you say his name for the first time. How sweet it sounds in your mouth.

"You needed them. These," he waves at the shredded scraps on your frame, "are no longer clothes."

You smile timidly, unused to being treated so well. "I'm going to go take them off and burn them."

The Mandalorian taps his vambrace. "I have the means when you're ready."

"Thank you again," you murmur, escaping to the refresher.

Din steps to the center of the room and places a hologram disk on the low table.

While you're busy, he's going to figure out how to get out of this.

***

After an actual shower, real water loosening the knots in your muscles, you exhale in pleasure at the feeling of the clean, well-made clothing on your skin. You feel like a person.

It's similar to seeing hyperspace for the first time. It scares you with how good it feels, knowing you’ve missed out on so much.

You slide open the refresher door to see Din seated on the couch, facing away from you. He sits reclined, his legs spread wide. The Mandalorian hears the door open, but he does not turn.

Stomach growling, you head to the cold storage near the front door. The box of food you'd bought from a vendor sits on the countertop. You unpack it carefully, still in disbelief you can eat whatever you want.

"Are you hungry?" You call to the Mandalorian as you continue to pull items from the box.

"You are no longer a slave. You do not have to serve me." The deep, rough voice sounds from right behind you, and you jump in surprise.

"Dank farrik, you move quietly."

Din reaches around you for one of the fruits you had purchased with his credits. His nearness has your body tensing, but he backs away almost immediately.

"How do you eat with that on?" You wonder, clearly meaning his helmet.

"I don't," he answers, walking into the other bedroom.

***

A week passes in that calm hotel apartment. The child provided more than enough entertainment for you, attempting to lift different objects of his desire at random.

For Din, so used to the child's antics, you are the object of his attention. You brush it off when he stands near you at the window, when he ensures that you have something to eat, and when he silently takes the couch over the comfortable bed.

But you're unable to ignore his touch.

Just after you wake, the dual suns begin to peek around the tall city buildings. Trying not to wake Din on the couch, you tiptoe to the window in the main room, still enthralled with the city view. You’ve seen cities thousands of times throughout your enslavement, often imagining running away to explore. Now that you have the opportunity, you find that you don’t want to go.

Seated on the bare floor, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch the suns rise, you're wandering down halls of your own thoughts when a voice drifts into your consciousness.

"I will get your bounty lifted."

Turning your head, Din leans forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees.

"If that's what you are concerned about."

You shake your head, "I'm not concerned. I think I'm happy."

You had just come to that conclusion a moment earlier. It's an emotion you don't remember feeling. It's like your lungs are expanding after twenty years of suffocation.

You look back at the city and smile contentedly, "This is the best my life has been."

The admission is extremely personal, but you can’t keep it to yourself. It’s liberating. You weren't ready to fight for your freedom when the Mandalorian came for your master, but you are now.

Din’s footsteps advance on you until he’s standing off to your right. He says nothing.

After an interminable length of time, wondering what he’s doing, you twist and look up at him. His helmet turns toward the window just as you face him.

His hands are folded behind him, but a sliver of something flesh-toned is visible.

Is that his wrist?

Your stomach drops. His bare skin. It looks warm-toned and soft. You close your eyes and turn away, back toward the window.

“I am glad,” Din says.

“About what?” Since it has been several minutes since either of you have spoken, you’re unsure if he’s responding or making a statement.

He simply looks back down at you as if that answers your question.

“We’ll be leaving today,” Din continues to study you, appreciating the way the orange dawn lights your face. “You’ve almost drained me of credits with this palace of a hotel.”

You deny the accusation with a laugh, “I did not. I told you I made a deal.”

“And you have not told me what that deal was,” he says, a hint of a threat in his tone.

Din is on edge about your ‘deal.’ The night before, he had gone down to the reception desk to intimidate the clerk about it, but the employee you’d dealt with hadn’t been there.

“I promised you already - it has nothing to do with you or him,” you motion toward the child’s room. “It is not worth your attention.”

Din scowls. “You are also under my charge, and if you’ve placed yourself in danger, I need to be aware of it.”

Your face snaps up, uselessly trying to make eye contact with him. His charge? Why does your face feel hot at those words?

Finally taking pity on him, you answer, “He was a gambler. I bet him I could win more rounds of sabacc. And I did.”

The Mandalorian is stock-still. That was all? Din had gotten incredibly worked up over what you could possibly owe this mysterious desk clerk, and all you’d done was a bit of hustling?

“Why would you not tell me that right away?”

“I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging,” you frown. Din had tasked you with something and you had wanted to complete it with as little fanfare as possible.

“What other skills have you been hiding?” Din’s tone is half-mocking, half-serious. He knows next to nothing about you despite the monopoly you’ve had on his thoughts.

You side-eye him, unsure of his intention. “I can do basic ship repairs. I can speak four languages. I know how to fight.”

“I am not convinced of that last one.”

“The cyborg caught me on a bad day,” you protest.

"It was fortunate you were not seriously injured. I wouldn't have the credits for this," he nods his head up at the high ceiling.

For the second time, your head turns to scrutinize him, but he’s as impenetrable as ever.

"Why not?"

Din's silver face snaps down to you. "The quarry would not have made it into the carbon freezer."

And as you open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea - a quiet knock raps on the front door.

Spooked, you whirl so that you face the door, still seated.

“It’s alright,” Din’s deep, rough voice soothes.

When he holds out his hand to help you stand, you take it without second thought.

But it wasn’t just a hint of his wrist that you saw - his gloves are completely off. His rough palm slides into your grasp, and his thick fingers close around your hand.

Eyes widening, you audibly gasp.

Din raises you to your feet with no effort, and you wind up far too close to him. Your breath fogs on his chestplate, and your pulse thrums in your ears.

Too-quickly, his thumb rubs your skin, and then he releases your hand. Do you imagine the sigh he makes as he steps away?

Your eyes are glued to his broad form as he retrieves his gloves from the couch, then heads to answer the door.

“Should I -?” You whisper.

“Stay,” he says simply.

It’s unbelievable how one word could affect you. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in front of you.

***

“As you are well aware, Mandalorian, my esteemed patron was unhappy to hear about her son’s death. However, you are of concern to us for a different reason. If we are able to reward you for your silence regarding where her son was at the time of his unfortunate, accidental death, this business might be put behind us.”

The slimeball flashes her biggest smile at the bounty hunter.

“What am I being paid to be silent about? The Hutt was banished by the Republic due to his slavery connections. Is the Senator afraid of her choice in friends being known?”

The emissary smiles nastily. “Let us say that the Hutt is also on my list of individuals to speak with.”

“I require explicit terms regarding this agreement. I am a Mandalorian, I can assure you of my discretion.”

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slavery you overheard between the Senator’s son and Salaa the Hutt, and we shall reward you with twenty-thousand credits to be paid over the course of three months.”

To your horror, Din rises from the couch and nods his head, saying, “I accept your terms.”

“And what about her?” The emissary wrinkles her nose as she indicates you.

“She is a slave,” the Mandalorian says with harsh finality.

You physically shrink next to him. He had insisted you remain while they spoke, but now you’re regretting agreeing to it.

The distaste with which he had uttered the word ‘slave’ makes you feel unclean, unwanted. Tears threaten to spill over, and you keep your head down in a familiar, submissive posture in case they do.

The bounty hunter escorts the Twi’lek emissary to the door while you sit, head bowed, on the couch.

“Senator Nesota will be most appreciative. If you are ever in Coruscant, she would be delighted to have you visit her apartments. They are most grand.” She disapprovingly glances around the hotel room. “I assume you had your slave pick this one.” The emissary briefly places her hand on the Mandalorian’s forearm, “Remember, we are friends now, Din Djarin.”

The helmet saves his entire operation, for Din cannot stop the disgusted scowl that mars his face. This piece of scum uses his name to both threaten and flirt; the difference in his feelings between her saying it and you saying it are blindingly stark.

“I do not have friends. My name is not for your use,” he says evenly as he punches the button for the front door.

The emissary walks away without another word.

When Din closes the door, he turns back to you with a sense of relief for more than one reason.

But something is wrong.

“Do you not feel well?”

You shake your head, “I misunderstood something. That’s all.” Your head remains bowed.

“You will not look at me.”

“I am… embarrassed,” you mutter honestly.

An emotion Din has never experienced or understood, he is at a loss. Instead, he sits across from you and tosses you the recorder.

The small, comm-looking device lands on your lap, and you pick it up, curiously rolling it in your hands. You press the button.

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slav-”

You stop the device and look up at Din with renewed hope, “You were lying.”

Din leans forward in his seat, “I was not lying. I gave her my word as a Mandalorian. But you didn’t.”

“That’s a stretch and you know it,” you laugh.

Din shrugs. The moral reasoning works for him.

“I am to send this recording to the Republic, correct? Get the senator removed from office?”

“She will no longer have the funds to pay our bounties. They will be considered void.”

Your smile falters. He had done what he promised.

Din tilts his head, “You’re unhappy about that?”

“It’s not your problem, of course. But I have to deal with the slaver’s reward. And… and I am not sure what I should do, where I should go.”

Really, you’re saddened because there is no longer any reason for you to stay. You wish there was.

The Mandalorian is silent, weighing his choice of words carefully.

"There is room on the Razor Crest. The kid is fond of you. I can pay you for your services to him. And, occasionally, the ship needs repairs - you can assist me with those.”

“Is this that ‘legal employment’ you told me I needed?” You grin. “I would like that very much.”

“You will need to learn how to fight, though,” he shakes his head, his tone teasing. “The kid can’t save you every time.”

____________________________________

You sit on the hold floor, the child in your arms. Having left the inn rather early, the child is still asleep.

Jostling as Din lands the Razor Crest on a new planet, you slowly stand and place the little lump in his hammock and shut the door.

The Mandalorian drops down into the hold, passing you and hitting the button for the boarding ramp. Deciding to trust him, you don't ask where you're being taken.

The answer isn't far. Din stops right at the treeline and hands you the same silver blaster from the previous week's fight with the cyborg.

"You need to learn to use it."

"I've done well with a blaster before," you protest. "I shot Rathos."

"But you didn't shoot the cyborg," you can hear the frown in his deep voice. "Pick a tree."

Nervous to be evaluated by a master of the craft, you hesitate briefly before aiming at a massive trunk a few speeders lengths away.

The plate of his armor brushes against your back as the Mandalorian gingerly sets his heavy hands on your shoulders, straightening them. With his boot, he taps the inside of your foot, indicating you should widen your stance.

You blink rapidly. Your face flushes with warmth. Why is your heart thundering? Can he hear it?

He can.

His own heart rate increases when his helmet's display shows your heat signature rising. Din pushes it further: his leather-covered hands slide down to your waist where he turns you a fraction - completely unnecessarily.

Close enough that, were he unveiled, you could feel his breath, he murmurs, "Fire."

Utterly distracted, you squeeze the trigger as a matter of following his command. The blaster shot continues on through the treetops, singeing leaves.

Din straightens, his hands leaving your body, and he huffs.

"You distracted me," you explain. "I can hit it."

You realign the weapon and inhale deeply, releasing on the exhale just as you would with an arrow.

The tree sizzles as you hit it dead-center.

Spinning to face him triumphantly, the smile freezes on your lips.

One of the suns on this planet has begun to drop behind him, and his large frame casts you in shadow. He still hasn't moved away from you. The way his mask is angled toward you makes you believe he's lost in thought.

"What is it?" You whisper in the tense silence.

Din feels dizzy. You're a natural with a weapon you'd fired all of three times. Your words cudgel his mind. He had distracted you enough to miss a huge karking tree.

"Do it again."

You nod and return to the target. Throwing your mind back to your childhood, you once again hit the tree dead-on.

Weighing the blaster in your hand, you turn back to him and say, "I still prefer wooden weapons. Or at least something resembling a spear."

"Why is that?" His voice is rough, and his hands find a home on his hips.

"That's how I grew up," you answer.

"Okay. Grab one."

Your mouth drops open in confusion, but he finally leaves your personal space and picks up a slender, twigless branch.

"You can't be serious," you sputter a laugh, certain he had just found a sense of humor. "I'm not fighting you."

"Why not?"

"Um. Because I can't."

"You can." He holds the stick out toward you.

You stare at him, watchful, as you curl your fingers around it. Din removes a small, cylindrical object from his utility belt. He pumps it once and it unfolds into a thin cane-like weapon.

"It's been twenty years," you frown. "You're going to win."

But, when that makeshift spear is in your hand, it all rushes back. The key to winning is in gaining ground. Whatever you do, push your opponent back. So, you launch at him first.

Only partially surprised by the speed of the typically-timid girl now coming for his throat, Din manages to duck out of the way just in time. But you whirl to the opposite side he expects, and swing your weapon into his helmet. It clangs, and you stand upright.

"I'm sorry!" You react, fearful both from years of mistreatment and not wanting to hurt Din.

He ignores you, swishing his weapon toward your middle, and you jump backward. Hating that you conceded even that little ground, you quickly drop to a crouch and sweep at his knees like Rathos did to you.

Din rockets upward a few feet, then drops back down on your other side. He swings at you and you parry.

Dancing for several steps, you eventually land a blow to his ribs where the beskar does not cover. Din's modulated groan makes you feel a rush of two separate emotions.

You don't want to hurt him, but that sound ignites a heat between your legs.

Din retaliates, kicking his tipless spear into your chest and shoving you backward. He knows your move, now. You don't like giving up ground, so you'll throw yourself at him, arms raised to strike.

When you do exactly as he predicts, he drops his weapon completely, grabbing you around the waist and spinning. He throws you to the ground, coming down on top of you.

You laugh, exhilarated, "Almost."

Something is jabbing your hip, and when you shift to identify it, Din grunts again. Your eyes shoot to his hidden face.

Under the helmet, Din's brown eyes are blown, pained at how aroused he is. He can't handle much more of this. Your wide eyes and galloping heart match his, but underneath him you look so vulnerable that he feels downright predatory. His stiff length twitches.

Din’s voice is raw, barely contained, "Tell me to stop and I will." His gloved thumbs push your bottoms down.

Speechless, your core pulsing, you nod.

Din unfastens the material around his middle, pulls his desperate cock from the flight suit, and hastily positions himself against you. Your slick coats him as he drags himself through your folds. He groans through the modulator.

“Oh,” you gasp when he eases the tip past your entrance.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Din sheaths himself inside you with a determined grunt, his patch of dark curls mingling with yours.

Your hands try to fist in his flight suit, eyes wide at the incredible feeling of him filling you. His right hand cradles your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, cursing as he does so.

For the first time in his life, Din resents his helmet; both for the separation from your soft skin, and the heightened senses it gives him. How is he supposed to last when he can see your heart racing, hear your quiet cries as though they’re inside his own head?

In an insufficient compromise, he rips off his gloves. His tan skin is calloused and scarred.

“Yes,” you plead.

Din intertwines his fingers on both hands with yours, hypnotized for a precious second by the intimacy. Reverently, you press a kiss to his knuckles. He makes a wild sound deep in his chest, then plunges your hands above your head.

Pushing your chest to his, you signal that he can do anything he wants to you. He collects both your wrists in one hand.

Din rhythmically arcs into you, the sound of his body - soaked from your arousal - striking yours nearly driving you insane. When you’d imagined it before, you wondered if looking into the blank face of his helmet might be off-putting, but you find that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s him. If anything, it’s erotic to trust him so blindly.

Din is resolved to know your body better than you do. With his free hand, his fingers nimbly massage your clit until you jerk.

“There?” He confirms.

You nod, unable to speak. His heavy, straining cock dragging through you, and his rough fingers replace the output from all other senses.

When he finds the perfect combination, he doesn’t let up until your eyes screw shut and you shake, incoherent underneath him in ecstasy.

“You can say it,” he hoarsely encourages through the modulator.

It was already on your lips, “Din.”

The hand that acted as a manacle releases you as he places his palm on the ground, giving himself as much leverage to bury himself as deep as possible. The toes of Din’s boots dig up clumps of grass as he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping skin lost in the breeze. Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He feels the spark at the base of his spine and knows he doesn’t have much strength left. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his flight suit again, clinging to him for all you’re worth.

Din makes the mistake of looking into your lust-filled eyes as you speak.

“Let go,” you whisper tenderly, feeling his tense body begin to fracture.

Din has no choice but to obey you, pumping himself into you with a long, harsh sigh. He works his release inside you, gradually slowing until his arms shake.

He finally drops to the ground beside you, breathing rapidly.

Suddenly shy, you want nothing more than to reach over and take one of his hands, but you lack the confidence. You also don’t know what to say.

Din doesn’t believe there’s anything to say. He had never been so tempted in all his life, and he had not passed the test. A shred less self-control and his helmet might’ve followed the gloves.

In fact, the temptation is still so strong that he begins to plan for its eventuality.

____________________________________

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