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stardustdreams-andcaffeine · 1 year

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The Past That Haunts | Din Djarin

Din Djarin x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: It's been months since you stowed away on the Mandalorian's ship, running from the ghosts of a past you'd rather forget. You shouldn't have fallen in love, you knew better than to get close, and now you have to pay the penance for your sins. Your past has come back to haunt, and you're his next bounty.

A/N: Really really proud of this one. Should have been studying, but was doing this lol so you all better enjoy. As always, requests are open and I'll get to them when I can because college is insane. Love you all dearly, hope you have a great day wherever you are 🤍

Warnings: violence, sexual themes and suggestive content, mentions of blood, fem!reader, angst, fluff, happy ending I promise (i only like hurting you a little bit, not enough to take away the happy ending)

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No one can run from their past forever.

Lies, secrets, sins—they all have a nasty habit of breaking through the thin soil they've been buried beneath and rearing their heads. What was left behind never stays gone, but rather skitters behind in waiting for the right moment to revive. The past haunts, it stays connected to the essence of a soul and refuses death itself until its dues have been paid.

No one can run from their past forever, not even after you'd almost forgotten it was lurking right there.

And yet, the reason you'd nearly forgotten was laying unconscious in the midst of a hunt he'd dragged you along on.

"Mando, if you're done dreaming of me I could use some backup!" You shout, barely avoiding the clawed fist of the Trandoshan mercenary before you. The bounty was stronger and deadlier than you, but you were faster.

As you danced and weaved around his blows, your eyes slipped to your Mandalorian still unconscious from where the Trandoshan had snuck up on the two of you. This job was supposed to be simple, but even lower grade mercenaries like the one fighting you were still deadly.

With a breath of frustration slipping your lips, your mind quickly raced to try and work out how to get out of this situation. Mando clearly would be no help and while he often punched his way out of problems, you didn't have that luxury. That's why within seconds you whirled around to the mercenary with a nervous smile on your lips.

"My friend, I believe we got off on the wrong foot." Your smile was charismatic as you extended your arms out in welcome to the target. The mercenary snarled at the comment, and you both glanced down to the foot he'd just regrown after Din had managed to chop it off.

You look back up at the reptilian male, a sheepish smile on your lips, "Bad choice of words"

He hissed at you and lunged again, slashing a knife you hadn't even seen him pull. A yelp left your mouth as you dodged the hit, desperately trying to be diplomatic.

"Look, the Mandalorian is out cold," You placated, ducking out of a knife swing by a hair's breadth, "He's the bounty hunter, not me. You and I, we can work something out."

This caught his attention, his yellow-orange eyes tracking your every breath, "You're not a hunter, but you're with the Mandalorian. You wouldn't betray him."

"He doesn't have to know," You reason, shoving every ounce of honey-coated deception you have into your tone, "Look at him! One hit from you and he's out like a light, big guy. There's no way he'll even remember this happened."

The Trandoshan's knife was lowering now, and your heart skipped a beat with hope. This was going to work, and when it did you were going to give Mando hell. You nearly smiled at the thought, but remembered where you were.

"What are your terms?" He hissed, and you take a calculated step towards him.

"I let you go free, and you let me leave with my life." You were getting nearer to the bounty, and he seemed to be so caught up in pondering your bargain that he missed your hand slip to the beskar knife Din had made for you a few months back.

"That seems acceptable," The bounty finally admits, slipping his knife back into its place and surveying you, "I'll-"

With a war cry, you launch yourself at the Trandoshan and jump onto his back, one arm around his neck and the other trying to plunge the beskar knife into his thick, scaled skin. He roars in response, spinning wildly and clawing up at you.

"Just die!" You pant, slashing and seeming to miss every swing.

Din was right, you really did suck at this whole combat thing. It's a good thing you were one hell of a thief.

"Y/N!"

It took more effort than you'd like to admit to keep the relief you felt from crashing over your entire form. Your eyes flicked up mid-spin from your perch on the Trandoshan's back to see the Mandalorian stumbling to his feet.

"Morning, sleepy head! Wanna join the fun?" You breathlessly call out, a tired smile on your lips.

The target takes advantage of your split attention and slices his razor-sharp claws through the tender flesh of your forearm. You clench your teeth to grit through the pain, "Not cool!"

It was mere seconds after the minor blow had been landed that the wild spinning and thrashing of the bounty finally stopped. Your dizzy mind righted to see a gloved hand grab the reptilian male and rip him to a stop.

You slide off his back, groaning to find your balance severely off-kilter. You fall on your ass just as Mando fires a shot at him, slicing it through the target's shoulder and making him roar in pain. His cry is cut off when Mando fires another blast into his skull, making the silence following the thud of the body deafening.

"Cold it is," Mando grunts, holstering the blaster.

The beskar helmet he wears immediately snaps to you, and you've been around him long enough to tell by his body language what he's feeling. Anger, worry, guilt.

Against your better judgement, your heart stutters as Din crouches down in front of you and reaches out for your bleeding arm. The lightning that crackles under your skin as his gloved hands tenderly lift your forearm makes your already dizzy mind spin. It takes the strength you've built up over the last few months to ignore the effect he has on you.

"You waited for a grand entrance, can't say I'm mad," You quip. His shoulders are tight as he keeps his gaze down on your arm.

"I should've seen him coming," Is all he replies, his voice that same sugar-sweet gravel that makes your inhibitions crumble.

"You know, I had it under control until I accidentally made a joke about the foot you chopped off." You laugh, the sound light in comparison to the biting pain, and Din shakes his head.

"That's not funny." He tried to sound convincing, but you could tell he was loosening up now that he'd seen your injury was just a scratch.

"It's a little funny," You fire back, a smile growing on your lips. He looks up at you and that damn mask makes your heart race and your mind wander.

It's the almost imperceptible breathy laugh he lets out, though, that makes you remember how far gone you are when it comes to him.

"I like it when you laugh." Your words are soft, and they're out before you can even think to stop them. Mando goes still before you, your arm still in his grasp. It's then that the position you're in, with him crouched before you, seems much more intimate than it did a few minutes ago.

You go still as one of his hands lifts to your face, and you nearly forget how to breath when he almost absentmindedly brushes a gloved-knuckle against a light bruise forming on your cheek from the fight. His fingers leave fire where they touch, and you can only dream about how it would feel if it were his skin and not his gloves.

He catches himself too quickly for your liking and stands, extending a hand down to you, "Come on, we've got a bounty to cash in."

You take his hand and let him help you to your feet, "I think I deserve a larger cut on this one. I did take him on one-on-one, you know."

"And nearly got yourself killed."

You glance up at him, your brows lifted in a challenge, "I saved your ass, didn't I?"

Din doesn't move back an inch, but rather stays towering over you and cocks his head in response, "Is that so?"

Your heart stumbles yet again. The air is thick with tension and unspoken attraction, and the way he's looking down at you isn't helping. Din is usually as close to void of emotion as he can be, save for his temper and inability to keep from sassing you. It's moments like this though, moments where he's almost playful, that make you remember just how powerful the hold he has on you is.

"Can't deny it this time, Mandalorian." You try to sound cool and calm like he always does, but fail miserably. He just hums before stepping back and breaking the tension-corded air between you.

"Help me get him to the Crest."

And you do, but as you work in the comfortable silence you've grown used to, you can't help but think about how lucky you are. This life, it may seem dangerous and hectic, but it's a blessing to you. It's everything to you. He's everything to you, he has been since the first few moments he found you. There was a sudden tightness in your chest, and you can't help but think of that day—the day your life would never be the same.

||| Months Prior

Your breaths were labored, your legs burned, your vision was blurred with sweat and tears.

You had nowhere to go, nothing in the bustling port town on Corrida could shield you from your fate. Panic clawed up your throat, so thick it nearly choked you.

Not like this, you pleaded to yourself, it can't end like this.

Mind-racing and heart-pounding, you swiftly and nimbly darted in and out of shops and between buildings. You danced in the shadows, became one of them. It was your greatest strength, your stealth, and even though it was what had gotten you into this mess, it was now your only chance at survival.

The day was turning into night, and as light dwindled your hope flared and grew. Once darkness settled over the town shrouded by mountains, your pursuers would lose every chance of finding you. All you had to do was find a way onto a ship and ride it out of this forsaken planet. Then, you'd be-

"Hey, you!"

The voice that rang out sent tendrils of fear to your very bones. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice for as long as you'd live. While there were still thoughts in your brain, that voice would haunt you. You ducked around the alleyway between two shops, your heart racing at a painful speed as you chanced a look in the direction of your old Master.

"You seen a girl running through here?" He snarled, his tone boiling with anger that he thinly kept composed under his Imperial getup. The Empire was gone, but unfortunately the New Republic could not monitor every planet in every system when it fell. You just had the supreme misfortune of dwelling in the town of a group of Imperial officers that refused to back down.

"There's plenty of girls here, be more specific," The shopkeeper he'd asked grunted, going about his work.

Your Master spoke to him for a few more minutes before you forced yourself to slink away, melting into the shadows growing longer as the sky grew darker. As you snuck around the back of the buildings, you heard your Master's voice rise in volume.

"Anyone who finds an indentured woman in a green cloak is to bring her to me, immediately."

You froze, looking down at the cloak around your shoulders. With a pounding heart you shucked it off, cursing the Imperial scum for the clever tactic. Now if he saw you sneaking around, you'd have nothing to hide your face.

Indentured. You bristled at the word, anger flooding your mind. What a pretty way to say enslaved.

You had to get out of here and fast. The Empire might be gone, but this town was still pinned under their thumb. These people wouldn't think twice before turning you over. The satchel that was slung across your body was heavy with the reason why you couldn't let that happen.

With silent steps, you made it all the way to the ship port. There weren't many options present, and the choice would be paramount. Pick the wrong ship, and you'd be cast into the streets for your old Master and his troopers to find you and the item you stole from him that was nestled in the bag you bore.

As you surveyed the ship port, you noted three choices. First, the light freighter that sat loading its cargo near the middle of the port—too busy, too central. Second, the old Razor Crest sitting nearest you—low profile, but you could've sworn you'd just seen a Mandalorian walk into it. That was too risky, too dangerous. Third, and most appealing, the CR90 Corvette—no one dangerous was entering, enough cargo to hide in, it was perfect.

Making your mind, you begin to dart across the ship port, dodging past the Razor Crest and towards the Corvette. It would work, it would be perf-

You skidded to a stop so fast that you nearly tripped and fell. Walking up to the Corvette was your Master, and he'd just begun talking to the owner. Your eyes widened as he motioned to the three storm troopers with him, and they began to search the ship.

This wasn't good, you weren't going to make if off of this planet.

Your eyes wildly searched the port and landed on the Razor Crest just as its back hatch began to close. It wasn't ideal, but it was taking off soon, and that made it your only choice. Holding your breath, you surged towards the beat up ship and vaulted into the space between the closing hatch and the ship's interior. Luckily for you, the Mandalorian you'd seen was in the cockpit taking off when you clanged and rolled into the ship's belly. The engines started and the ship lifted, and before you could comprehend it, you were leaving Corrida.

You escaped. You stole from the Imperial guard Finon Kane, the man who'd enslaved and tortured you and hundreds of others, and escaped. You were free.

A laugh of pure and raw joy bubbled out of your chest as you clutched your satchel close to your chest. You'd done it, you'd actually done it. The other slaves had cheered you on as you made your grand escape, had laughed and whooped with you as you bested Master Kane. And now, you were free.

You barely felt the ship slip out of the atmosphere of the planet as you shoved to your feet. Now was the tricky part—you had to hide from the Mandalorian until he docked somewhere else, and then you could-

A strong, gloved hand closed around your shoulder and whirled you around with such strength and speed that you could only yelp as you were pressed into the cool metal of the Crest's walls. One massive arm barred your throat, and the other held a blaster to your head. The Mando's grip was strong and he oozed confidence, but he was silent.

Silent as death, silent as the reaper in beskar armor.

His shining helmet tilted at you, and your heart dropped to your feet. He hadn't killed you yet, he just kept looking at you, inspecting you, almost testing to see if you were a threat or not. So, he wasn't a cold-blooded killer then. There was a heart, whether it was flesh or beskar, somewhere underneath his armor. You needed to exploit it, and fast.

A shaking smile made it onto your lips and you tried your best to seem as calm as he was, "A Mandalorian, and one with fine armor too. What a pleasant surprise."

"What are you doing on my ship?" Was all he gritted out, his tone rough and smooth all at once. A walking and living dichotomy that, against your better judgement, made your heart trip over itself.

"Is this your ship?" You noted, humming to yourself as your pulse thrummed, "I must have boarded without even looking, it seems so much like mine that I-"

The blaster moved closer to your skin and your words died, your eyes widening as the Mandalorian stared you down through his mask, "The truth, stowaway."

It wasn't a question, but a demand. Flattery clearly wasn't getting you anywhere, so you needed to find a different way.

"I need safe passage," You honestly announced, your charming, hopeful smile still on your lips to persuade him you're not a threat, "And clearly, Mando, you need some help around here. I could be of service to you, I've got a great many skills!"

"Can you hunt?"

He didn't mean animals. That was when you realized this Mandalorian was a bounty hunter, and you cursed every star for crossing your fate into bad luck.

"No, but I-"

"Can you fight?" He interrupted, his voice a calm and collected drill.

"Well, not particularly, but if you'd just-"

"Can you fix the ship?"

You were getting frustrated now.

"Never really been good with mechanics, but-"

"Then you are of no use to me." He decided, letting go of you and holstering his blaster. He stepped back and shuffled through one wall of his ship, looking for something, "I'll dock at the next inhabited planet and turn you over to-"

It was his turn to be cut off, but not by you. Instead, the whooshing of a cabin door opening followed by a child's giggle makes his words die out. Surprise skittered through you at the site. A child. This large, rough Mandalorian Bounty Hunter was taking care of a...a child?

As he stormed over to the little thing, he muttered soft chiding to it before picking it up gently in the hands that just held your life. The child nestled into the crook of his arm, batting its massive eyes up at him lovingly.

And, against every warning and better judgement, your heart, your very soul, melted at the site.

"You're a bounty hunter with a kid?" You asked boldly, stepping forward towards the beskar-coated hunter that turned sharply around to you, the kid still in his strong arms, "And what do you do with it when you're on jobs?"

"He stays here or comes with me," he rasps out simply. You let out a short, unbelieving laugh.

"And you say you don't need my help," You chide, being bolder than you should be and stepping up to the pair. The Mandalorian freezes as you brazenly pluck the child out of his arms, cradling the little one into your torso.

The pure shock of what you've just done makes Mando stand awkwardly, unmoving and sputtering for a moment as he tries to respond. Whatever he's saying keeps dying on his tongue as he watches the child giggle and play with your hair, nuzzling into you the way he was just doing to him.

"I can take care of him while you're on hunts," You reason, looking up at the Mando with a bright, unwavering smile, "And, as I was going to say before you rudely interrupted,"

This shocked the bounty hunter even more. The audacity of this woman, who could neither kill nor fight, to be so bold with him? It struck him into an astonished silence.

"I may not have any of the skills you listed," You continued, looking up at the Mandalorian with his child in your arms, "But I'm amazing at sneaking into places. I'm not a killer, but I'm sure a bounty hunter like yourself could use a good thief."

He crosses his arms at this, cocking his head at you in a way that makes you imagine his face with risen brows and a taunting gaze, "Obviously the sneaking part isn't your strong suit."

"Hey, I got in here, didn't I?" You challenged, holding his gaze before looking down at cooing at the child, "Besides, your little one likes me, don't you sweetheart?"

"Could you give him back, please?"

"What was that?" You hummed, tilting your ear towards the child before smiling at it once more, "I couldn't agree more. Your father does need to lighten up."

The Mandalorian sputtered at her words, not understanding how a little thing like you could have rendered him completely speechless and without knowledge of what to do next. No hunt he's ever been on has ever done that to this extent, and yet here you were. A stowaway that, as much as Din wanted to ignore, needed help. You tried to hide it behind your smiles and remarks, but he could see the desperation in your eyes, the worry in your soul.

You needed help, and damn it all he was going to give it to you.

Din cursed himself beneath his breath, shaking his head at you. If the Guild members knew what a softie he was under this armor he'd lose his entire reputation. He could slaughter targets without faltering, but throw in a child and a smartass stowaway and his spine leaves him.

"I'm not his father," The Mandalorian rebuts, but you can hear the lie in his tone, "I'm just looking out for him"

You scoffed at that, "Leaving him alone, taking him on dangerous hunts? Not things a good father would do."

"Hey I'm a great father!" His temper snapped, and you smiled smugly. You glanced up at him, tilting your head the way he'd just done to you.

"So you are his father?" You challenged.

The Mandalorian started and stopped three different sentences before he let out a defeated grunt and walked towards a far wall of the Crest. He slammed his hand onto a button and the door whizzed open to reveal a spare bedroom with three cots. A hope-filled, bright smile lit up your lips.

He was going to let you stay.

"You can sleep here. You'll earn your keep how you promised, but what I say goes, is that clear?" He ordered, staring you down. Your smile widened, and you noted to your memory the soft side the Mandalorian had that you'd bet only a few people had seen.

"I can't thank you enough, Mando," You responded, and he could see that you meant it. You handed him the child and moved to set your satchel, all that was left of your life, in the room he'd opened.

"Don't mention it." His voice of gravel ordered, and you heard him walking away. You couldn't ignore the sense of safety that he radiated, especially because you hadn't felt safe like this in years.

Thinking he was gone, your smile dropped as you sank onto the cot and rested your head against the cool metal.

"I'm free," You whispered, almost to ensure it was real. A genuine, small smile worked its way onto your lips and into your soul, "I'm free."

The Mandalorian watched from the other side of the ship, and he couldn't help the way his heart tugged. He didn't understand why, but Din knew he cared more than he should have to make sure you stayed free, to make sure you'd smile like that again.

|||

You'd only meant to stay for a little while until you had enough credits and resources to make it on your own. And yet, here you were. It had been months and you still hadn't found a way to leave Din and the child.

He had found ways to make you stay. When he got used to your presence, he found that jobs often went easier with your expertise in stealth. The two of you became a team, and with the child it almost felt like...

Your mind stopped at the word that wanted to come next. Family. You hadn't had one in years, and it scared you because you knew you could do this forever. You'd begun to fall in love with Din Djarin the moment he'd picked up the child for the first time, and by now you were properly whipped.

Once the two of you had the bounty secured away, Din turned to you without leaving room for argument, "Sit down."

You did as he instructed, settling down on the cot in your room as Mando grabbed a med kit and walked back over to you. Even as he sat on the cot across from you, his massive frame shadowed your smaller one.

"Give me your arm," He said quietly, his voice sendings shivers racing down your spine that only worsened when he took your skin into his gloved hands.

He inspected it for a moment before humming, "It's not deep, it should heal quickly without bacta."

You were silent as he worked, something out of the ordinary for you and he knew it. As his skilled hands worked quickly, his modulated voice reached out to you, breaking the silence.

"What is it?"

You knew what he meant. Knowing that he could see through every lie you threw at him, you sighed and settled for the truth.

"Today...scared me."

The words surprised your Mandalorian as he went still before you, his hands faltering with the bandage for only a moment before he continued wrapping your cut.

"The hunt did?" He prodded. You shook your head.

"Seeing you lying there..." You began, and shook your head, the image stuck in your brain, "That's going to haunt me for a while, Din."

He tucked the end of the bandage in, and you kept your eyes down on his work. You couldn't stand to meet his masked-gaze, he'd see the emotion working its way through your eyes. One of his gloved hands hooks under your chin and tilts your head up softly to meet his gaze.

"You saved my life today," He said softly, his thumb brushing gently over your skin, "As much as I hate to admit it."

His words had their desired affect and you laughed softly, shaking your head at him as your soul lightened. Din was right, he was alive and well and it had a lot to do with you. The thought calmed you, but you couldn't hide the way it still scared the very depths of you.

"I should be apologizing to you," Mando started, but you cut him off.

"Din-"

"No, shut your mouth and listen to me for once." His voice was sharp, and it made you go silent with surprise. There wasn't cruelty or anger in that tone. Instead, you found it wavering with what you could have sworn was fear.

The Mandalorian moved his hand from your chin to hold more of your jaw, and with the movement you could hardly think straight, "I almost got you killed today. Had I woken up seconds later, you would have been that Trandoshan's target and not the other way around."

The words made your mouth go dry, and you tried to protest them but Din held you jaw with a gentle firmness and shook his head. It wasn't often that he preferred to do the talking, but you could see how bad he needed you to hear him.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika. I'm so sorry"

You were stunned into silence. You'd never heard him say any of those words before, not sorry and certainly not cyar'ika. You knew what it meant, and it made your head spin. Slowly, so not to startle him, you lift your hands and rest them on the cool beskar of his helmet. He goes still and you can't help but smile softly at him

"There is nothing to forgive, Din."

His hand drops from your jaw and somehow finds its way absently resting on your waist. The touch sends fire shooting through you, and you have to blink a few times to focus.

"Besides, if I could count the number of times I almost got you killed..." You sentence ended naturally as you laughed softly, and he joined in. The sound was honey to your soul and it made you remember that you'd rather be here than anywhere else in the galaxy.

Much to your disappointment, he pulled away and stood surveying you through his mask, "I should go check on the kid. Get some rest."

And then he was gone, and you spent the rest of the night wondering what in the stars you were going to do.

|||

You docked at Tatooine soon after, the ship in dire need of a tune up.

The last few days had been strange. You'd thought the near death encounter would continue to keep the two of you close like it had that day in your room, but he seemed to be ignoring you at any and all costs. He only spoke to you when he needed to and even then it was clipped and short.

By the time you saw Peli, you were dying to slug him over the head with one of her wrenches.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite band of three," The mechanic greets, jogging out to meet you with a smile, "Where's my baby?"

Mirroring her smile, you handed the kid over to Peli who eagerly tucked him close, stroking his long ears and cooing to him softly, "I only tolerate you two for him, you know."

The two of you knew better.

"Can you watch over him for a few hours? We have business here." Mando gruffly stated. You furrowed your brows and glanced over at him.

Business? He hadn't mentioned that to you. Then again, he barely mentioned anything to you these last few days.

"Go, go," Peli shooed, already turning around and walking with the kid back to her lodgings, "He and I will make sure the Crest is all fixed up, won't we precious thing? He loves his favorite aunt, doesn't he?"

Aunt, which would make you and Mando his...You brushed away the thought, not letting it bring you hope or joy. You smiled once more at the mechanic before following Mando as he quickly exited the hangar.

"What business do we have?" You asked. He almost seemed like he was not going to reply before he did so without even glancing at you.

"You'll see."

Your patience was waning, but you went along with it nonetheless. You hadn't been walking long on the desert planet before Mando ushered you in a bar nearby. The business ended up being nothing more than a job hunt, leaving you confused as to why the Mandalorian was being so stand-offish. He'd collected a new round of pucks and then left you to spend your evening alone however you pleased. You didn't know where he went and you didn't quite care. He was being an asshole to you, so you could return the favor.

You returned rather quickly to the hangar and the Crest, finding there was nothing better to do. After a few hours of cards and gambling with Peli and her droids, Mando still hadn't returned and you decided to go ahead and tuck the child in for the night. Bidding you friends goodnight, you hoisted the kid into your arms and climbed the hatch to the Crest.

"What's going on with you father, hm?" You asked softly, bouncing him in your arms. He stared up at you with wide, dark eyes, drinking in every word you spoke.

You walked him over to his makeshift bed, sighing as you settled him in it. You spent a moment longer tracing a finger down his wrinkled skin, a saddened look flickering in your gaze.

"He's going to be the end of me," You whispered, and could've sworn the kid's eyes softened on you. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his brow and walked out of his room, "Sweet dreams, little one."

When you shut the door, your eyes traveled to the bandage still tied securely around your wounded arm. Although Mando assured it would be alright, it hurt like hell. You made your way into your room, grabbing a med kit as you went. You set the kit down on your bed and opened it, about to tend to your would when you heard footsteps and then the hatch closing to the Crest.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you stepped away from the med kit and out of your room, your eyes traveling over the ship until you saw the flash of beskar in the dark, "Finally, you were starting to worry me."

"I'm sure I was," came Din's response, but his voice made you freeze.

You watched in shock for a moment as he turned and stumbled slightly as he walked towards where you stood. With wide eyes, you barely could speak, "Are you...drunk?"

The Mandalorian came closer to you, his massive body making you take a few steps back. He kept advancing until your back was pressed against the cool metal of the Crest's wall.

"Din," you whispered, your heart racing as he stopped before you, settling his forearms above your head and caging you in. You could hardly think straight with him like this.

"Close your eyes, cyar'ika." His voice came, low and rough and gentle and slurred.

"Din, what-"

"Close your eyes." He ordered again. With him this close to you, your inhibitions were all but gone and you did as he asked, shutting your eyes. Before you, you could hear him let out a long sigh.

"I was thinking," He started, followed by the moving of his arms away from the wall. You furrowed your brows at the absence of his presence, but before another thought could leave, you heard a sound that made your heart stop and your mind go blank.

You heard him take his helmet off.

"Din, you're drunk-" You couldn't make it past that before he was cutting in. He's never taken his helmet off around you, it was the creed. It was his life. He'd regret this in the morning.

"Shut up." He murmured, his body heat returning close to you. Your eyes stayed firmly shut as he told you too, that way it wouldn't break the code he lived by. You felt his hands touch your neck softly and jumped slightly in surprise at the absence of gloves, "I know what I'm doing. Just keep your eyes closed, mesh'la."

His skin. His skin was touching yours.

Your breathing hitched, and you knew when he settled those bare, rough hands onto your jaw that he did so in a manner to feel the thrum of your pulse in your neck. It was wildly racing, quicker than it ever had.

"I was thinking," He started again, running his thumbs over your skin and forever ruining you from contact with anyone else ever again, "That you almost died."

His low voice had taken on an edge of sadness and you nearly opened your eyes out of habit, but forced them to stay closed.

"You almost died, and I never got to know what those pretty lips of yours tasted like"

What in the stars was happening? Was this real? Were you going to wake up and find it was all a dream in a few moments? Or was this finally putting the last few days into context? Even after your talk, the hunt had messed him up and haunted him just as it had you. And now here he was, his breath fanning across your skin and his lips almost brushing against yours.

You never imagined this would happen, not in thirty lifetimes did you think you'd ever know what it would feel like to press your lips against Din Djarin's.

And yet, in the next second, you knew.

Without warning, he captured your lips with his and pressed his body against yours, keeping you against the wall. He grabbed your hands in one of his, pressing them together over your head to keep you from touching his face. As his lips worked desperately, hungrily, passionately against yours, your knees buckled and his free hand slipped around your waist, keeping you from falling.

This had to be a dream, it had to be. This couldn't be real, but it was. You knew that he was drunk and that he'd probably not remember this in the morning. You tried to pull away, tried to force yourself to stop but he held you fast, crushing your body against his and making you forget your own name with his tongue in your mouth.

You didn't want it to end, but you knew it would have to eventually. It would end and you would have to go back to pretending like you weren't in love with him.

As if you'd brought it about by just thinking it, Din's lips left yours. He wasn't kissing you, but he stayed so close that his nose touched yours.

"I'm sorry," He breathed, his lips brushing against yours.

And then he was gone.

You stood there with your eyes closed long after you heard his bedroom door shut. You cursed every star in the sky, because now that you knew what his skin felt like, every moment without it touching you was pure and unbridled torture. This torture was worse than any you'd felt under Master Finon Kane and his troopers.

When you slept that night, you dreamt of Din's lips on yours.

|||

In the morning, you didn't know whether or not Din was going to continue ignoring you, address what happened last night, or pretend like the last few days haven't even happened. When you greeted him in the belly of the ship and he he greeted you the same as he has for months before heading off to find bounties, you realized it would be the last option.

Anything was better than the blatant ignoring, but having him act normal around you was horrific in itself.

"Hey little guy," You greet the child, a smile on your lips as you reached down and stroked his ear. He giggled up at you just as the Mandalorian walked up the hatch and into the Crest.

"So," You began, watching him set down the bag of pucks he collected in town. He goes still for a moment, but keeps his helmet firmly away from you.

"So," He repeats, sounding utterly anxious but trying to play it cool. It makes humor curl in your gut and you decide to push you luck.

"What's the plan for today?" You ask, and from the sigh he lets out you can see he was expected something regarding last night.

"Picked up some pucks in town, we can go through 'em and see what we can do." He responds. You nod, reaching down a hand and letting the child play with you finger.

"So getting drunk isn't in the cards, then?"

The sharp intake of breath from the Mandalorian nearly makes you crack with laughter. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your humor at just the smile on your lips.

"No." Din replies gruffly.

"That's a shame," You sigh, looking up at him finally to find him already facing you and the child, "I like drunk you. He's fun."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry." He states, making your humor dissipate in record speed. You hold his beskar-covered gaze for a moment, feeling the phantom scrape of his calloused hands on your skin and the touch of his lips to yours.

"Which part?" You ask, holding your breath in a way that made it clear whatever he said next would cement something between the two of you. He stays silent for a long while before walking up to you, the child between the two of you. He reaches down and strokes the kid's head lovingly before looking to you.

"Which part do you want to be the mistake?" Din whispers, the gravel of his tone silky smooth as it caresses you. He's playing with you, you suddenly realize. You played with him with the drunk comment and he's playing back, testing to see which of you will break first.

You have to smother your smile before it can make it to your face.

"Careful Mando," You respond, your tone barely stable, "You've got a clan of two to protect. I-"

"Three."

He interrupts you with such a sure, calm voice that you almost miss what he says, "What?" You whisper, your teasing gone.

"Three," Din repeats, "Clan of three."

Before you can respond, a nonsensical babble from below makes the two of you look down to see a confused and yet very aware child. His smalls hands are holding your fingers and Din's hand is on his ear, and for a moment it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

But then you and Din come to your senses, and you mutually decide to push off the game of testing the tension until it breaks again.

"We should go through those pucks," Din states, walking away and to the sack he set down earlier. With a smile that you're glad he doesn't see, you wonder how much longer you can go without telling him what he really is to you. You repeat what he said to you in your mind.

Clan of three.

Mando dumps out the bounty pucks, sorting through them as you lean against the wall, your arms crossed and giving your input with each one he clicks open.

"Another mercenary, set on Naboo." Mando announces, the picture of the target hovering over the puck. You click your tongue.

"After the Trandoshan, I think we should take a break from mercenaries," You advise, earning a nod of agreement from Din. He sets the puck aside and grabs another, clicking it on.

"This one's on Tatooine, but I think I'm ready to see something besides this desert planet," The Mandalorian notes, and you hum your agreement.

"Trees would be nice, like on Felucia" You add, an absentminded smile growing on your face, "Or maybe a nice water planet."

"Water and this armor don't go together, mesh'la"

You smirk at him from your spot at the wall, "All the more reason to go."

His sudden laugh is enough to make every sorrow remotely near your mind melt away. Everything is back to normal, everything is going well, everything is beautiful.

Until he clicks open the next puck.

That's when your world comes crashing down.

The silence that settles over the cabin is thick and unlike the comfortable one you are used to. Mando goes as still as death before you, his body taught under his armor. Horror, real and true, washes over every fiber of your being.

Because that's your picture on the bounty puck, and the one who put it out is Finon Kane.

No. No. This isn't real, this isn't happening.

Din says your name, slow and guarded.

No, not when everything was perfect. Not when you'd found your family, your clan.

You begin to shake your head, all of those years of torture and darkness roaring through your mind. You'd just begun to forget it all, truly forget it all.

But you guess it's true what they say, you really can't run from your past forever.

"Y/N, what-"

You're shoving through the Crest towards your room, leaving Din in stunned silence until he comes to his senses and follows.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" You mumble, blinding panic tearing you apart as you rummage wildly through your belongings. It only takes a few seconds before your hands close around your satchel, and your chest doesn't loosen even an inch when you lift it and find it still heavy with the item that is dooming you.

You clutch the satchel close and sling it across your body, standing to leave your room only to find Din blocking the path with his massive body.

"Cyar'ika, what's going on?" His voice is commanding as usual, but it holds an edge of panic that you can't deny.

You feel like a cornered animal, and your fingers clutch the strap of your bag tightly.

"Mando, move." You plead, moving to go around him only for him to grab your shoulders and pull you back.

"No, Mando move!' You beg, pulling against his hold, "Din please."

"Stop it!" He orders, holding you fast, his chest heaving with worried breaths. He stares at you for a moment before it seems to click in his mind, "What were you running from?"

You know what he refers to, you mind zipping back to that moment when you stowed away on his ship. Your silent for a long while, your panic not lowering an ounce. You've always felt safe with Din, always. You long to tell him everything, to let him help you because you know he'd never hunt you. You'd feel safe, but you wouldn't be safe.

The Mandalorian couldn't protect you from this, but you could protect him from it.

"I stole something," You whisper, your voice barely above a breath, "And my old master won't stop until he has it and me."

"What did you take?" Mando asks, his tone flooded with calculation as he tries to figure a way out of this, "If we hunt him down first, we can-"

"Din," Your voice breaks as you cut in, placing one hand on the beskar chest plate and longing for the feel of his skin again, "My reaper has come for me. And I can't let him take you too"

Before he can get out another sentence, you use your free hand to search in your satchel until your fingers close around the cool metal of what doesn't belong to you.

Then you pull out the lightsaber you stole and crack the butt of it so hard against the Mandalorian's helmet that he drops to the floor, unconscious.

He taught you that move with a blaster.

And now, you've saved his life with it.

You stand for a moment in silence, your heart slowly shattering in your chest as you look down at the love of your life. Tears cloud your vision, and you look up to see the child looking at you with confused eyes. You break, a sob wracking your body as you bend down to the Mandalorian's slumped body grip his gloved hand, pulling it up to place a kiss to his palm.

"I'm sorry," Your words mirror his from last night, and then you're pocketing the lightsaber that once belonged to the Empire and running out of the Razor Crest.

You're now his bounty, and if he knows what's good for him he'll let this one go.

Let you go.

||| Din Djarin

When the Mandalorian awoke, he was alone.

There was one heart-breaking moment of confusion as he sat up from his slumped position on the floor. It wasn't silent, but there was something missing in the array of noises. There was no laughter, no yelling. There was no light-hearted remarks, no sarcastic punches.

There was no her.

The thought jarred him so deeply from his newly-conscious muddled mind that he shoved himself to his feet, his heart pounding so loud in his chest that he could feel every thrum.

This wasn't happening. She wouldn't have just left, she wouldn't.

He stumbled out of her small room, his gaze wildly shooting around the Razor Crest. The child lay exactly where Din remembered, right before...

What the hell happened? How did he-

The memories came back in a rush—the hand on his chest that had distracted him as her other hand grabbed something from her satchel, something metal and cylindrical. She'd hit him with it, whipped it across his head like he'd taught her. She must've gotten the blaster...no, it wasn't a blaster. It was...it was...

Stars

A lightsaber. She'd stolen a lightsaber all those months ago.

The thought made his head spin and it took a great deal of effort to keep his knees from buckling. Whenever she'd spoken of her past, it had been vague. Mentions of an Imperial encampment even after the Empire's fall, the shoving of her city into slavery, the torture she endured at the hands of her master.

The very thought made him clench his jaw. The first time she'd spoken about this Finon Kane, he'd wanted to find him and slaughter him with his bare hands for ever laying a finger on her. And now...now he had a bounty on her and Din wasn't there to protect her.

The thought spurred him back into action. Din scooped up the child into his hands before rocketing down the hatch of the Crest and towards where Peli worked with her droids. The mechanic seemed slightly nervous, almost as if she was avoiding his gaze.

"Mando, off to do a hunt?" She asked, trying to sound casual and failing. Din didn't falter as he walked up and shoved the child into her arms. Peli startled as she took the kid, looking up at Din with wide eyes. She couldn't see the Mandalorian's face, but it was clear to anyone the pure, guttural rage tangling with a panic he's never known.

"What-"

"Where did she go?" He demanded. The mechanic sputtered for a moment, holding the child close.

"I don't know what you mean," Peli tried, and Din almost growled.

"Peli if you don't tell me where she went I will rip your tongue out," Din snarled. The woman looked at him desperately, her gaze torn.

"She told me not to tell you, Mando. How do I know you're not going to..." Her words died out and it took every ounce of Din's restraint to keep from yelling again.

"Hurt her?" He finished for the mechanic, his voice just as lethal when it was quiet, "She's in danger, Peli. Real danger, and if you don't tell me where she went someone else is going to find her first and she'll...she'll-"

He could't get the words out, couldn't hide the panic flooding his tone. Din didn't know what he'd do if someone else found her first, he couldn't even comprehend that she wasn't with him right now. He didn't think he'd ever have to know what it felt like for her to be absent. The mechanic softened immediately, letting out a long sigh.

"She didn't say exactly where she was going," Peli finally admitted, holding the kid tighter, "Just that she needed to get as far away as she could as fast as possible. When I asked, she said something remote, something green. She took the spare ship in the hangar an hour ago."

Mando didn't need an exact answer to know where she was going, he knew. With a brisk nod of his head, he gestured at the kid as he walked towards the Crest, "Watch him for me?"

Peli nodded, "Of course. Do you think she'll...do you think she'll be okay?"

The Mandalorian stopped, looking over his shoulder slightly so that the mechanic was in this peripheral vision.

"If she isn't, I'll burn the planet down."

With that he was getting on the Crest, his heart hammering in his chest and fear, real fear, flooding every part of his being. He shut the hatch and practically vaulted into the cockpit. Din threw himself into the captain's seat and swiveling to face the control panel. He didn't hesitate as he put in the coordinates. She mentioned trees earlier, and he knew the way she thought, knew she was smart enough to go somewhere with more jungles than cities right now.

Felucia.

He'd go, he'd find her, he'd knock her upside the head for running away from him, and he'd get her back.

And stars help anyone he’s found has so much as touched her.

||| You

It was strange, being on the run again.

Even though it hadn't even been a full year since you last were sprinting from your reaper, it has felt like a lifetime because of your company. Time slowed down with Din Djarin, and for a long while you felt safe, protected, home.

And now you were scrambling around, planet to planet, in the dark alleyways and through dense, uninhabited forests to put distance between you and...

You stopped for a moment, your back pressed up against a tree in the rich, winding forest of Felucia. Who were you trying to put distance between?

Finon Kane, his squadron of stormtroopers, and the only real family you've ever had.

That last one sent a spear of heart-wrenching pain racketing through you. Typical, so very typical, to find something so worth having and to think the galaxy would let you keep it. This galaxy was cold and cruel, it was a better thief than you'd ever be and you knew it, you knew it. And yet you let yourself get close anyways. It's a strange thing what love can do. It made you reckless enough to think that for once, just once, the galaxy would let you make it away with what you found.

It turns out you aren't as good of a thief as you thought, because the happiness you stole has been returned, and your time playing at a good life has run out.

You picked up your brutal pace again, trekking through the jungle and refusing to stop for even the barest of needs unless it was unavoidable. This would never end, this hunt. As you moved, the lightsaber in your bag banged against your hip, reminding you of what had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

You shouldn't have taken it, you really shouldn't have, but you couldn't stand to watch Master Kane take another slave's life with a weapon that didn't belong to him. He'd found it in the rubble of the fallen Empire and he thought he was entitled to it. It had been used as a weapon of terror during the Imperial rule and then after because of your master, and taking it? You'd not only done it so the weapon could be given back to the New Republic where it belonged, but because after everything he'd done to you, after all of the scars you bore because of Finon Kane, you'd wanted to hurt him. You had wanted him to feel every ounce of pain and desperation you had, and for that cause, you were willing to pay the price that was now due.

The jungle-covered planet would do well to hide you for a little while, give you time to gather up some credits in case you needed to run again. You walk around a grove of trees, the jungle beginning to thin the closer you get to a city. As you do, a sound you're all too familiar with makes you stop dead in your tracks.

A steady beeping, consistently increasing as it gets louder.

A tracking fob.

You barely have time to scramble around to the back of a thick tree when a blaster sounds out behind you, singing the side of the tree where you'd just been standing.

"Come on out, thief! I get more credits for bringing you in alive." The gruff voice of a bounty hunter wafts out to you, a hint of smugness in her tone.

Your mind is grappling for options as you sprint away from your tree and towards another thicket up ahead. Your feet are silent on the grassy floor and you deftly miss any roots in your path, so the bounty hunter doesn't notice you at first. When she does, it's made known by the firing of the blaster at your back.

Gratefully, the hunter has horrible aim.

Blast after blast burn into the trees around you, so you continue to stick close to them as you run. How the hunter found you is incomprehensible, but you don't waste time worrying about that matter and sprint for your life towards the city that thrives just outside the jungle's end. The only tricky thing would be making it across the large clearing between the end of the trees you were approaching and the city gates up ahead.

"Get back here!" The hunter shouts to you, falling further and further behind.

You allow the hint of a smile, but don't dare to slow down. The end of the jungle is growing nearer, and it's only a minute or so of sprinting before you're at the city g-

Another bounty hunter steps out from around the last tree in the clearing, a blaster held lazily in his hands. You skid to a stop so suddenly that your feet slip on the floor and you have to catch yourself with a hand to the jungle floor to keep from falling on your ass. You whirl around to go back the way you came only to come face to face with the other hunter ho had already been pursuing you approaching, her chest heaving with breath but her blaster lifted nonetheless.

"Nowhere to run, thief," The one behind you lilts, his voice heavy with experience and sounding almost bored, "Surrender now and I'll let you keep your life."

"I saw her first, the bounty's mine!" The first hunter grits, her eyes flicking from your face and to the hunter behind you. You turn halfway to keep them both in your vision, your heart pounding in your chest.

"You would've lost her if it wasn't for me," The other counters, both of their blasters lowered slightly. You would make a run for it, but you're directly in the middle of the quarrel, and they'd have you dead in seconds. So, you do the only thing that can save you, the thing you've wanted to do for months now.

You pull the lightsaber from your satchel, clutch it in both hands, and turn it on.

The argument between the hunters dies as a burning blade, as red as death and blood and anguish, ignites into the green of the forest. The two colors clash, one seeming wrong with the other, but you clutch it nonetheless and move before they can lift their weapons again.

"That's a..." The male hunter stands shell-shocked, his words dying as he watches you advance on the female hunter who has already begun firing at you.

You're clumsy with the foreign weapon, but her bad aim and you're mild understand of how to move the saber allows the blasts and blade of the same color to clash as they collide, saving you from the death her weapon assures.

Her weapon may bring death, but yours is death.

She nearly blasts your head off, but you manage to shove the lightsaber through her middle before she gets another shot out. Her strangled gasp followed by the thud of her body into the ground nearly makes you falter, but the sound of the other hunter approaching snaps you out of your own mind. It was you or them, you assure yourself.

You'd wounded the other hunter quickly, grounding him before turning the saber off and sprinting for the city ahead. As you did, you shoved the blade into your satchel and barreled through the open gates, the merchants and travelers bustling through gasping and yelping as you shoved through them. The second you were inside, you stopped running and allowed yourself to meld into the crowd, walking in their flow and moving in their manners. It was mere seconds before you were blended into their midst, the only difference between you and them being your heaving chest and singed clothes from a blast or two that got dangerously close.

You thought you'd made it out before a figure shot out of the alleyway you were passing.

A gasp left your lips as they grabbed you and tugged you inside faster than you could comprehend. Before you could reach for the saber in your satchel, the bag was ripped clean off your shoulder, nearly dislocating the limb in the process and making a cry of pain leave your lips. The sound couldn't even make it fully out before you were being pressed against the sand wall of a building with the steel edge of a blade at your throat.

Your eyes were wide and wild as they took in your surroundings—two hunters surrounded you expectantly, not counting the one holding you at knifepoint. They must have agreed to a split bounty and a temporary alliance.

"Check the bag," The one holding you grunts out. On command, one of the two standing around you searches the bag he'd ripped clean off, his hand rummaging through until a sickening smile lit up his lips. Slowly, he pulled the lightsaber out.

"It's here." His response was smug and nauseating. You knew this was going to happen, but you thought you'd have a least a bit more time before it did.

"Haven't seen a real lightsaber before," The other muses, the two of them in the back looking over the silver and gold-plated handle, "You're going to make us rich, girl"

"Give it-" You struggled against the hold of the hunter only for the knife to cut down into the tender skin of your neck, making your words collapse into a breathy cry of pain. He kept the knife embedded slightly into your skin, his eyes boring into yours as a smirk captured his lips, "Move again, and I'll knick an artery on accident. Then, we can see how long it will take for the life to drain out of your eyes."

The word accident rolled off his tongue with a promise, and you fought back a shiver of fear. The press of the burning steel in your flesh was agonizing, and you realized all at once that you were going to die. Whether it was here and now with this group of hunters or when they handed you off to Finon Kane, you were going to die.

The thought made your body grow suddenly cold.

You'd spent so many years thinking that you'd never have a family again, that you'd never know what it meant to love and be loved. It became your bleak reality, and then you quite literally stumbled into the two individuals that would become your entire world.

It was selfish of you to stay, so damn selfish. Deep down, you had known that Kane would put a bounty on your head, that he'd find you one day and make you pay for every bit of trouble he'd endured because of you. Yet you did it anyway. You stayed and you let yourself grow attached beyond hope.

You let yourself fall in love, and that was possibly the worst of the sins you'd committed.

And, just like the other sins, you had thought you could run from that one, thought its penance would never arrive. Now here you were, facing death at the hands of those in the very same profession as your Mandalorian while he was far away on Tatooine, probably wondering what had gone wrong. You knew you'd hurt both him and the child by leaving, but you would rather they be hurt and alive than dead.

"Now," The one holding you announces, stepping back and easing the knife out of your throat, "It's time to bring you to your master in top shape."

You barely had time to register the warm blood trickling down your neck from the cut of the hunter's knife before his fist was cracking against your cheek. The force of the unexpected blow slammed your head into the wall and brought you crashing to the ground. Your groan was just out of your mouth when the next blow came, this one to your ribs. A cry of pure agony slipped out as a loud crack resounded amongst your rib cage with the powerful kick, making tears collect in your eyes.

You felt utterly helpless as you desperately tried to lift yourself off of the ground, but you were so tired. You were utterly exhausted, and it took every ounce of your strength to pull out your beskar knife and slash the tendons along the back of one of the hunter's heels. Purple blood sprayed and he shouted, collapsing to the floor beside you.

"Get back here, you little bitch!" One seethed, grabbing you by your hair and yanking you up to your knees. Before your eyes could focus on where he was, you slashed with your knife. He must have seen it coming because he grabbed your wrist in a bruising grip.

"Drop the knife," He growled, one of his hunter companions still on the floor clutching his ankle and the other standing by the one who held you, the lightsaber handle in his hands.

"Give me the saber," You bargained breathlessly, your voice crutched with torment.

The hunters didn't like that very much, and the one holding the saber slammed it against your cheek. You took the hit with a groan, enough pain already crawling through you that you barely even felt it.

"This isn't a negotiation," The one holding you gritted, "Drop. The. Knife."

It was stupid, and you knew that you should just listen at this point, but you couldn't stop yourself from lifting your chin stubbornly and holding his gaze, "You'll have to break my hand."

"With pleasure," He snarled, his grip tightening on your wrist. Before he could snap it, a low, modulated voice rasped into the alley.

"Break her hand, and I'll make sure your death is the slowest."

You shut your eyes instantly, your shoulders loosening with both relief and agony. He'd come for you. Din had found you, and you couldn't stop the bittersweet feeling crashing through your soul. You wanted to hate him for it, wanted to scream at him and knock the sense of your desertion into his brain. But you knew you weren't capable of hating Din Djarin, not even if you wanted to. Especially not now as he stood like a dark angel in the entrance to the alleyway, glowering with rage wholly directed at the hunters left standing.

"This is our bounty, Mandalorian," The one holding the lightsaber sneered, "Find another-"

He was dead before his sentence could complete, his neck twisted at a wrong angle from where Mando had snapped it with his bare hands.

That made the one holding your wrist let go of you instantly.

"Y-You can have her, she's all y-yours Mandalorian." He stumbled back, running into his downed companion who had finally managed to limp to his feet.

Din didn't respond as he stooped slowly, grabbing the lightsaber and slipping it along his holster. He was as silent as death as he stalked up to you, his beskar clinking slightly in the tense silence. You were still on the floor, your skin bloody and your heart pounding so fast you thought it would burst. You wanted to crash into him and hold him, never letting go. You wanted to let him take you back to the Razor Crest and help you figure all of this out. You were safe with him. But he wasn't safe with you, and neither was the child. You had to protect the child, you had to protect Din.

The two remaining hunters were frozen in terror, trapped in the dead end alley like cornered prey. Din stopped in front of you, his mask peered down at you as his hand reached out. Much gentler than you could even imagine, his hand softly gripped your chin and tilted it upwards and to the side so he could see the blossoming, nasty bruise on your cheek.

His gentle fingers were in a fierce dichotomy with the rigid, furious posture of his body. Mando slid them down, leaving lightning where he touched as he lightly traced the cut in your neck. Your gaze locked with his mask, and he held it for a long minute. Then, he dropped his hand and cocked his head over at the two hunters.

"Which one cut you, cyar'ika?" His voice was dark and tender all at once, and it sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"The one limping," You responded without hesitation, your eyes up on him as he nodded once and began to stalk towards the two hunters.

Confusion rippled across their features, and the one who hadn't cut you was quick to shove his ally in front of him. Their loyalty only ran monetary, and even though you knew it wouldn't save his life he had to try.

"What are you doing? I t-thought you were a hunter!" The hunter who the Mandalorian had his sights on was shaking with terror, and it brought you a wicked sense of justice.

"I am."

The next few moments passed in a mess of beskar and knives and blood. The last remaining hunter could only watch in horror as Din ripped his colleague apart with a confidence that could make any skilled fighter wary. The man's pleas and cries were shrill, and the people on the main road were wise enough to keep walking as they passed.

Then, it was quiet. And Din turned to the last hunter pressed against the wall across from you.

"No, please. I'll tell you anything you want, I'll give you anything please!" He begged, but his hurried words were cut off by Din's hand on his throat. He tugged the hunter close, his beskar helmet splattered with blood.

"If you find anyone taking her bounty, tell them what happened here. Make sure they know they will suffer the same fate. Understand?" Din's tone was taught with thinly veiled anger, and you could tell that it was an effort to keep from killing the man.

The hunter nodded briskly, his eyes wide and his legs trembling. When the Mandalorian finally released him, he was sprinting out of the alley, leaving a tense silence to settle over the two of you that remained. Din turned towards where you still sat on the ground, and as he walked over you were suddenly aware of the conversation that was about to happen, the anger he was about to rain upon you.

Mando extended a hand down to you, which you took and gladly accepted his help as you stood. Your hand gingerly pressed against your cracked rib, every breath and every minuscule movement sending sharp, shooting pain through the area, "You alright?"

"I will be," You nearly whispered, you eyes locked onto his brooding, helmeted stare. There was only mere inches between the two of you, and you knew that if you stayed this close, you wouldn't be able to leave again. You went to step back, but he tightened his hold on your hand enough to keep you close.

"Let me go," You breathed, the words meaning more than just physically.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Din gritted out, his voice conveying the worry and hurt and anger that his mask hid. His voice broke your heart.

"Din, you have to let me go." You were almost begging now, and you could feel the tears welling in your eyes. He shifted his hold so that he was holding both of your hands, probably to keep you from reaching for the saber at his belt.

"Not again," He vowed, his usually collected voice portraying how barely bridled his emotions were, "Not until you tell me why the hell you left me."

You were silent for a moment, trying desperately to find a way to speak without showing just how deeply this was shattering your heart, your soul.

"Did you really think I would turn you in? That I would collect your bounty?" Din asked finally, his voice breaking.

"No," Your shaky voice finally began to work, growing stronger by the moment, "That's the thing, Mando. You wouldn't, which means when these hunters came looking for me, they'd find you and the child."

"You think I can't protect you?"

"Din, I have never known safety until I met you," You swore, the tears collecting in your eyes beginning to fall, "But the man who's hunting me, Finon Kane? He will stop at nothing until he has me and the lightsaber. If I had stayed, I would be giving you and the child a death sentence."

"Y/N, you're staying with me." The Mandalorian asserts, his voice trembling. You shake your head, your tears falling steadier now.

"Din please, you have to leave me here. Protect the child, it's your duty. You have to forget you ever knew me, forget I was ever with you, forget me."

"You think I could do that?" He cuts in abruptly, tugging you closer to show the urgency and truth of his words, "You think I could ever walk away and just forget you?"

His words were dangerous, and you tried to stop him, "DIn-"

"You have ruined me, ner cyar'ika. Every moment I spend away from you is torture, it's a moonless night that never ends."

His words leave you breathless, your eyes wide and your heart stumbling in your chest as you try and fail to find a response. He won't let you speak, though.

"The child and you? You are my clan, my family. You two are all that I have, and I am nothing without you," He's so close now that you can almost hear the unmodulated tone of his voice. Din lets go of one of your hands to rest at the base of your neck and bring your head close to his. What he does next...it's a moment that will forever be etched into your brain.

He brings his forehead to yours, and he leaves it there for a moment. The cool metal of his helmet bleeds into your skin, and you can't stop the soft gasp that leaves your lips. You grab onto his beskar-plated chest for support because you know what this is. On easy nights, Din would often sit and tell you stories of the Mandalorian culture. He spoke once or twice of the Keldabe kiss, a gesture meant to show love and affection. The meaning of this moment was not lost on you, and it nearly ripped out your heart to think that he could...that he could love you back. He possibly loved you and now you were about to die.

"I'm not leaving you," Din murmured, the cool beskar of his mask pulling away from your forehead. You felt the cool metal of something pressing into your hands and you look down to see him handing you the lightsaber, "We'll end this together."

You couldn't look away from him, couldn't bring yourself to walk away again. You were being selfish and stupid, but with what just happened, with what Din had just said, you couldn't leave him.

You simply nodded, "Okay."

Din nodded as well, stepping back from you, "Okay."

There was a moment of tension between the two of you, a moment where each was waiting for the other to say something more, to mention those three words that had yet to be spoken. You watched him walk towards the alley exit, following slowly behind. He'd begun to say some sort of strategy, but you weren't listening. You didn't know what was going to happen next, you didn't know how much time you had. You needed to say it, and you needed to say it now before you lost this chance.

"Mando?" You cut in, making him pause and look over at you as you entered the streets of Felucia, "I love you"

The Mandalorian froze, his muscles going taught. The bustling world around you seemed to dull for a moment, and all that was left was you and him. Your heart pounding in your chest and you felt your breaths getting shorter and shorter as you waited for his response.

You heard Din take in a breath to respond, but someone beat him to it.

"So this is what you've been doing all this time."

It was your turn to freeze, and your gaze was still locked on the Mandalorian's as your eyes went wide with fear, with terror. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice if the galaxy ended and then begun again a hundred times over.

Slowly, you turned to face Master Finon Kane and the six storm troopers that flanked him.

"I believe you have something of mine," Kane cut straight to the chase, his troopers making quick work of clearing the street while he stood not ten paces from you. Your fingers tightened around the handle of the lightsaber still in your grasp, and you saw Kane's eyes dart down to it.

"Hand it over now, and I might consider killing you. Your Mandalorian doesn't scare me."

There was no hiding the blatant horror inundating you. Those words, you knew what they meant. You preferred death to what you knew life with Kane would promise. Staring into his eyes, you were reliving every moment of pain you'd endured at his hands—every beating, execution, and humiliation, they haunted you.

You didn't know when Din had moved to your side, but you felt the nudge of his body next to yours, and it knocked you from your spiral. He was letting you know that he was there, that he wasn't going anywhere. And, looking at the odds, you could honestly say that the two of you had fared worse.

“Stand down and I’ll make your death quick,” you fire back, your voice surprisingly strong. Kane barked out a laugh as the six troopers fell into line behind him.

"You can't kill me, pet. You know it and so do I." With a flick of his fingers, his troopers were moving, two next to Kane and four fanning out in front of us.

"I know that," You responded quietly, but not weakly. Your fingers barely brushed against Din's hand, the movement so small it was imperceptible to those before you, but the way his fingers touched yours gave you the assurance that you were about to make the right move, "But he can."

The troopers couldn't even raise their blasters before Din and you moved on them. The next few moments were a blur, shining beskar and frantic blasts missing their targets as Din cut down the troopers with ease. You could hear feel the blast of the fire caster on his wrist as he incinerated two more.

He had four dead before you could even turn on the lightsaber.

Your eyes shot to Kane's, whose were wide with shock and a bleat of panic when he saw your hands move to grasp the lightsaber before you.

"Don't-"

His cry died in his throat when the red saber born of a bleeding, hate-filled kyber crystal ignited before you. You barely new how to use it, but it wasn't difficult to shove the burning side into the armor of the troopers.

Then, it was silent.

Din sauntered up beside you, standing tall and strong with his helmet cocked intimidatingly at Kane. You didn't turn off the lightsaber, but let its red light cast a vengeful glow across your features.

"You think you're so clever," Finon Kane spat, his desperation betraying him, "You think you could so easily b-"

His words were cut off by the hiss of a lightsaber meeting flesh, and something in your chest loosened as you looked up from where you had shoved the saber deep into his belly. Your old master's eyes were wide and his mouth gaping. He was shocked, he really hadn't thought you could do it.

"For every friend of mine you slaughtered," You grit out, shoving the lightsaber an inch deeper and making him cry out in pain, "Their souls are avenged."

He was dead before his body hit the ground, and you simply sheathed your lightsaber, looked to your Mandalorian, and walked away. You didn't realize that you were trembling until the two of you walked outside the city gates and Din's hand grabbed onto yours, large and warm and sure. The Razor Crest sat waiting ahead of you, and you nearly buckled and sobbed in relief.

"It's over," You whispered, you eyes dazed and your words no more than a breath as the gravity of what just happened crashed over you.

You stopped walking in front of your beloved ship, turning to face Din as he did you, "I'm...I'm free"

You let out a breathy, wild, joyous laugh and launched forward, wrapping your arms around the Mandalorian's neck. He paused only for a moment before you felt him melt into you, his hands slipping around your waist and holding you closer than life.

"Thank you, Din," You whispered, your words a vow and a prayer, "I am forever in your debt."

His hold on you tightened, one hand slipping up your back to hold more of you to him, "You owe me nothing. Your life is yours to hold, you are no longer in the service of any master."

Tears you hated to acknowledge slipped down your cheeks, and you were glad to be pressed so close to him so that he couldn't see them fall. He knew, though. He knew.

You didn't want to pull away, didn't want to know again what it felt like to be away from him. Eventually, it could not be avoided. You wanted to get on the Crest and fly away from this place, to bring your life back to the normal you'd fallen so deeply in love with, the one with the child and the bounties and the adventure and him. Especially him.

"Now," You announced, your tone light and jovial as you pulled away and looked up at Mando with a smile, "Where's the child? I'm sure he's been miserable without me,"

You began to walk up to the Crest, but you hadn't realized that the Mandalorian hadn't followed you until his voice called out and made you pause.

"He's with Peli, safe and sound."

You stopped in your step and turned around to see Din walking slowly up to where you stood. Something in his tone made your heart jolt. Your voice was no more than an unsure whisper when you spoke next, "That's good."

Din hummed, and the sound made every thought abandon your mind. He stopped in his gait when he was just in front of you, but not as close as you thought he'd be.

"Are we going to...get on the ship?" You asked, for the first time unaware of what he was going to do next.

"We will," He finally responded, taking one step closer to you and suddenly making you realize why he'd left the room that was quickly dissipating. He was torturing you, playing with you, and once again uncaged butterflies swarmed your insides, "But first, I want to talk about what you said earlier."

His voice was low and smooth and sure, in direct contrast to your trembling one as you tried to act cool. He was making you squirm and he loved it, "You'll have to be more specific, Mando."

Din took that last step closer to you, nearly closing the gap as he tilted his masked face down at you in a way that had your head spinning, "You know what I'm talking about, mesh'la."

You grappled for a response, you really did, but you didn't know what to say, didn't know how you could possibly respond cooly to that.

"Look at you, finally the speechless one." His voice was taunting and you could hear the smile in it. He grew more serious as he slowly pulled off one of his gloves and achingly slow brought his calloused hand to brush against your cheek. His skin on yours again almost had you buckling to the ground.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika," Din's words blanketed over you with such a tenderness that your mind raced to understand what they meant. You didn't have to think long, because Din held your chin and brought his beskar-masked forehead to yours, "I love you too, sweetheart."

In all the years of captivity under the Imperial rule on Corrida, you never thought you'd hear those words again, I love you. They were sacred and seldom spoken, and you had stopped hearing them long before your family was taken from you. And now here you were, pressed close to Din Djarin, a Mandalorian whose ship you stowed away on in pure coincidence, and you were hearing those words be said to you in a way that no one had before.

His voice was quiet and playful as he leaned closer to your ear, "And I've got plenty of ways to show it once you get your ass on the damn ship."

Din stepped back from you and turned, walking to the Crest as if he hadn't just promised you everything you've been dreaming of for months. With your pulse thrumming wildly, you followed after him.

"What about the lightsaber? We need to return it to the New Republic," You called out.

The hatch opened to the crest and he walked in without looking back, "They can wait. I can't."

Your cheeks were warm with a blush as you followed him into the Crest, and you couldn't help but wonder how you'd gotten this lucky, what you had done to deserve this. You didn't know, but all you knew was that you'd waited for long, torturous years to have the freedom of forever, and here it was. Here he was. Din Djarin was your forever, no matter how long the breath was left in your lungs.

Your past had finally died, and the ghosts had stopped haunting you. Your present was now your future, and you'd never look back again.

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin oneshot #din djarin angst #din djarin fluff #mandalorian oneshot #the mandalorian x reader #din x female reader #din x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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luxurychristmaspudding · 3 months

Text

let me be needed

summary: the mandalorian pays you an unexpected visit. you both get more than you bargained for.

pairing: din djarin x f!sex worker!reader

ratings/warnings: 18+, MDNI. set in the star wars universe. sub!din, soft dom!reader, oral (m receiving), thighriding. established sexual relationship. you get cockblocked by grogu and feel a little sad at the end :(

wc: 3k

an: written for @iamasaddie's writing challenge!! <3 i know i said this would be for dieter, i know. it still might be. the links to din are SO tenuous but that tin can has left me with devastating brain rot.

The Razor Crest is docked in a terminal in the main part of the city, but you are yet to see the Mandalorian.

Not that you particularly expect to, but it’s rare that he takes a trip to your city and doesn’t visit.

You’ve been busy enough with customers all day not to dwell on it, and as the evening begins to wind down, golden light slanting through the windows, you begin to make peace with the fact that he might just not have time. He has the child to look after, and, presumably, quarry to retrieve.

You make your way back to your room with a fresh cup of caf, passing the droid which mans reception and the welcome area.

‘You have a client waiting,’ it says, smooth and robotic. You frown.

‘Who?’

‘A walk in. They did not leave a name.’

You nibble at your lip and sigh, gut swooping, heart kicking up a notch at the thought of him seeking you out at last. You shake it away. The last thing you need is to be disappointed further by some ragged old merchant laid out on the bed.

When the metal of your door clicks and sweeps open, you do well to suppress your delight. The Mandalorian is sat upright on the mattress, hands clasped over his lap.

‘I’m surprised to see you, Mando,’ you say, placing your mug on the console and busying yourself with your data-pad to check his information. ‘I wasn’t expecting you today.’

‘I wasn’t expecting to be here.’ He answers, voice smooth and husky through his vocoder. But it’s twinged with something a little different, a little warmer - you notice it the more he speaks. You smile up at him.

‘Anything changed?’

‘No.’ He says, and you tick the relevant boxes on the data-pad, tucking it away again on the console by the threshold.

‘Business or pleasure?’ You ask, locking the door.

‘Business.’

Your mouth quirks.

‘Nothing to do with me?’

He cocks his head at you, and you flutter your eyelashes like he hasn't already paid the droid on reception your fee and, likely, a generous tip.

‘No. No bounty for you.’

You smile with your teeth as you move towards him, the helmet tilting to watch you, to look up and down your body.

‘So pleasure, then?’ You purr, placing your hands on his shoulders.

‘Pleasure.’ He echoes, voice a little tighter than normal, betraying him more than you’re used to. You cup the side of his beskar cheek, stroking your thumb over the cool of the steel, though you know he can’t feel it.

‘What do you need?’ you ask, gently. ‘Do you want to watch me again? Or do you want my hands?’

Mando’s head drops to look down and away from you. You’re getting used to it - to an extent - his hesitancy, his shame. It spurs you on, wants you to make him feel good, to realise his desires. To live them, and not push them away. It’s why you wait for him to come around.

‘I want -’ he starts, but cuts himself off with a choked sound, and you tilt your head. You place two fingers below his helmet and tilt his chin up towards you.

‘Use your words, Mando,’ you remind him. You’re rewarded with a sharp intake of breath.

‘I want - your mouth.’ He breathes.

And whatever you were expecting, it was not that.

You keep his chin tilted upwards, eyes searching his visor as though you could see the face beneath.

‘You’re sure?’

The Mandalorian nods, once.

‘Yes.’

You nod back, considering, thumb swiping back and forth again over the beskar.

‘Are you gonna be good?’

A broken moan filters through the modulator, and his head tips back further of its own accord.

‘Yes.’

You smile down at him.

‘Take yourself out for me, baby.’

You step away from him as the hunter’s hands scrabble with his fly, shifting his hips up briefly so he can pull his cock from his trousers. He grunts when it makes contact with the cold air of your room, and holds it steady, squeezing at the base. You coo at him, at the deeply flushed tip, at the precum already smeared down his length.

‘Oh, baby boy,’ you breathe, lowering yourself to your knees with two hands on his. You blow even cooler air on his tip, smirking as he flinches and hisses. ‘How long have you been like this?’

‘Dinner.’ He grits out. You raise your eyebrows at him.

‘Hours?’

He nods quickly, squeezing his base again. You watch, thrilled, as more precum oozes out.

‘Yeah. Couldn’t leave without seeing you. Knowing you were so close by. Just had to get the kid to sleep.’

You pout at him.

‘My poor Mandalorian. Let me make it better.’

He watches with dogged devotion as you lean forward and brace your elbows on his knees. You watch as his gloved hands clench the edge of the bed in anticipation as you draw near, watch his thighs tense beneath his clothing and armour as he feels your breath against his skin.

You don’t let him think anymore before you’re licking a long, hot stripe from his heavy balls to his tip, and his whole body goes slack, helmet thumping against his breastplate. When you do it a second time, a ragged, torn breath echoes from the modulator, and you hum against him, bringing a hand to his base to squeeze as you slot your lips over the tip.

Mando knows the rules from here. He has to watch you, has to keep his visor trained to your movements, has to keep his hands to himself. These are his rules every time.

You’re excited to see how he holds up tonight.

You swirl your tongue around his slit, and he groans long and loud, twitching as you flutter at his frenulum. His precum is thick and salty in your mouth, and you swallow it greedily before loosening your jaw and taking him all the way to the base.

The Mandalorian’s whole body goes rigid as he watches you, feels you take him down your throat and swallow around him.

‘Fuck,’ he half-sobs through the modulator, and you hum against him. ‘So good. How is your mouth so good? How do you -’ he cuts himself off as you begin to bob up and down him, swirling your tongue and hollowing your cheeks. He chokes out moan after moan, lost at what to do with himself.

But he doesn’t touch you. He’s a stickler for rules, after all.

When you pull off him to breathe, you make sure he sees you palm your tits through your dark tunic. Make sure he sees you cup your sex through your trousers, rolling your eyes back for good measure, already feeling the wetness soak through the linen.

‘Fuck, baby,’ you groan, ‘If you could feel what you’re doing to me.’

He moans desperately as you move your mouth back to him, taking him faster, deeper, stroking what you can’t manage so easily.

You huff against the neatly trimmed hair at his base as your nose presses against his belly, and the Mandalorian physically holds his breath, drawing his spine straight as you swallow around him again, as you move a hand to cup his balls, feeling them tighten.

‘Please,’ he gasps, ‘Please, please, I’m so close -’

You draw off him, painfully slow, and pump him with your hand as you talk.

‘You wanna come, baby boy?’ You coo, fluttering your eyelashes and drawing your brows together. His helmet bops hastily, sharp breaths being drawn in through hidden teeth.

‘Please,’ he chokes.

You nod.

‘You can come, baby. You’ve waited long enough.’

He whimpers loudly, unrestrained as you continue pumping his base and sucking his tip, fluttering and tracing with your tongue, sucking with just enough pressure to send him hurtling over the edge. His hips push up into your throat as he comes, spilling himself, warm and salty, down your throat. His cock twitches and jumps as he moans brokenly above you, the noise unusually vibrant through the vocoder. You keep him in your mouth long enough for the overstimulation to kick in, and let him whine and beg and thrust shallowly a little longer before you pull off him, smiling.

You swallow and open your mouth, and he groans at the sight of his spend disappearing.

‘You okay, baby boy?’ You ask as you gently tuck him back into his trousers, doing up his fly. He tries his best to catch his breath, heavy head hanging limply between his shoulders.

‘Yeah,’ he gasps. ‘So good. Thank you. So good.’

You hum approvingly at him, standing.

The sight of him still so spent, so fucked out, has you burning. You press your thighs together through your trousers just as he looks up.

His movements are languid, his words slurred, but his shoulders square. His hands twitch at his sides, loosening their grip on the mattress.

‘Take them off,’ he begs. ‘Please. I just want to see -’

You raise an eyebrow at him, at his tone. You want to be unimpressed, want to be disappointed. But the horrible, deep ache you feel in your core won’t let you. You’re soaked, and as Mando continues to meet your eye from the helmet, you begin to move.

He sucks in a breath, huffs out a moan as you hook your thumbs in the waistband and push them down. They pool easily at your feet and you step out of them, left bare after having forgone underwear as soon as you’d seen the Razor Crest this morning.

Your chest heaves, and all the Mandalorian can do is stare at you, taking in the shiny slick covering your pussy, so painfully obvious now you’re not covered.

‘You’re wet,’ he says, voice heavy and desperate, cracking. ‘You haven’t been touched. Come here. Come here, sit down -’ as he moves one of your legs on either side of his thigh and presses you down onto it, hands on your hips. You let him, going easily, brain fogged with arousal.

The metal is bitingly cold, and you hiss as your clit makes contact. But Mando continues, unfazed.

‘Go on, pretty girl,’ he groans. ‘Go on. Wanna see you come like this. Want you to feel good, too.’

You moan against him, driving and grinding your hips down. It feels wrong, the way he’s so quickly taken control, but having him finally in charge makes you feel lightheaded. Wanted, needed.

And it already feels so good.

‘Good girl,’ he whispers in your ear as you lay your head on his shoulder. ‘Such a good girl. Using your fucking mouth on me. I want you to come. Need you to come.’

You moan loudly against him, gasping at the coolness, how solid he feels as he rocks you back and forth. You’ll recall this later, imagining his cock instead, imagining dragging yourself over it, onto it, feeling him thick and long, moving inside you as you whisper praises to each other, as you clench around him. The tightness in your stomach grows more ferocious, winding itself until it’s hot, strong. If you can catch the right angle, if you can steal five more minutes -

A loud, ringing shriek fills the room, and you jump out your skin. The Mandalorian’s firm hands on your hips are the only thing that keep you from leaping up. He growls as your heart hammers in your chest, as you look around wildly for its source.

‘Mando -’ you moan -

‘Keep going. It’s nothing.’ He grits, and the shock of hearing his voice firm like this, close and a little clearer than usual, makes your cunt clench. You moan against his pauldron, teeth scraping against the metal as you give in, as he moves your hips faster, as you feel yourself moving easier over the slick you’re swiping over his armour.

‘Feels so good,’ you murmur. ‘Wanna soak you. Want you to go back outside to your ship and everyone to know where you’ve been. Want them to know how you made me come for you.’

He groans back at you, digging his fingers into your flesh, pulling, pushing, pulling, pushing, and you grit your teeth against a particularly strung out fuck as his vambrace begins to shriek and buzz with more urgency. Mando’s hands on your hips falter and then stop completely. You whimper against him, sucking in air as you bury yourself in his clothed neck.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, and you tilt your head back to gaze, bleary-eyed, at him. ‘I have to go.’

He lifts your hips effortlessly off his lap and sets you on unsteady feet, holding your arms until he’s sure you won’t fall.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ You croak, panic clawing up your throat as he rises. Your legs shake, wet almost down to your knees, and you feel so bare and vulnerable. Fuck, you should have known -

‘No. No. Stars, I -’ The Mandalorian looks around the room, exasperated. He looks down and catches sight of your wetness spread on his thigh guard. He groans breathily, and your cunt pulses at the noise. ‘I want to stay. I want this. It’s the kid -’ he huffs, shaking his head. ‘He’s fuckin’ with the ship. Maker, the day he listens -’

‘It’s okay,’ you soothe, relieved. ‘It’s okay, let me clean you up.’

‘No.’ He barks. You flinch, and he rounds his shoulders apologetically. He repeats it, softer. ‘No. I want people to see. Want them to know,’ he steps closer, a gloved hand coming out to touch your jaw. You allow your chin to dip into it. ‘And I want to remember. Before I come back.’

You swallow, staring into his visor, seeing yourself reflected back - needy, wide-eyed - a state he has never had you in before.

Another sharp, tinny noise echoes from his vambrace, and he hisses out a frustrated, pained sigh. You soften your gaze.

‘Next time.’

‘Next time,’ he agrees. ‘Next time, I’ll - I want you to feel so good. Going to make you feel so good.’

You can’t help the shudder that runs down your spine, the way your body curls in on itself at his promise. Mando clears his throat, agitated, and busies himself with signing the data-pad, his back to you. You’re grateful. The longer he stares at you, watches you, the easier you find it to forget about the adorable little green frog he travels with.

‘And get your helmet checked,’ you say absentmindedly, gathering your trousers from the floor. The Mandalorian stops at the door.

‘What?’

You flush, biting down on your lip. Shake your head, shrug.

‘Your vocoder. One of the filters for the frequency bands in the modulator sounds like it’s damaged.’

He whips his head to look at you, unreadable. You twist your mouth at him.

‘Used to be a mechanic.’

‘A mechanic?’ He asks from the doorway. You try to smile at him, wishing you’d kept your mouth shut.

‘Little while ago, now.’

The Mandalorian stares at you for a while, the beskar of his helmet glinting in the low light from your bedside. You shift from foot to foot, heart beating so hard in your chest you can feel it in your arms. Leave, you chant in your head. Please leave, please go, please -

‘What happened?’ His tone is so soft that it skips past being condescending. Past the point of what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this and straight to worry, to sadness. Stop. Stop.

‘The usual,’ you say quietly. ‘Not enough money, some hostile competition.’

‘You didn’t have anyone who could help you?’ The question is simple. You know why he’d ask it. Mandalorians have always been big on family, only abandoning them with good reason.

‘No. My parents died when I was young. A man who lived close by took me in. He was a farmer. Taught me all he knew,’ you huff a little laugh. ‘If it weren’t for him, I’d have been a foundling.’ Your heart stutters and you suck in a sharp breath as soon as you say it, eyes shooting to the Mandalorian’s visor. He doesn’t react, doesn’t move an inch. Your skin burns hot, anyway. ‘Sorry.’

‘It’s okay,’ he says. ‘What planet?’

You furrow your brow at him.

‘Lothal.’

He looks away, up at the steel ceiling, piecing it together.

‘Your hostile competition…’

‘The Empire.’

A breath rushes through his vocoder, easily heard through the fault in the mechanics.

‘And the farmer?’

‘Got me out in time. He - he didn’t -’ The softening of the hunter’s stance is enough to tell you he understands.

‘I’m sorry.’ He says.

‘It’s okay.’ You murmur. You want to reach out, want to touch him. Want to be held, even against the coldness of his breastplate. People don’t usually ask, don’t care enough. But he has, he does. He curls up in your arms after a particularly intense session. He loves watching you come. He makes you feel safe, like he sees you.

It makes you feel sick.

The silence is heavy, thick, until you turn your back to him to place the dirtied trousers in the laundry chute. It breaks the spell, and you clear your throat.

‘You should get back to the child,’ you say, strained, facing him again.

The Mandalorian dips his head, once.

‘Take care.’ He says, voice part-controlled, wrapped over that warmth trying to escape.

‘You too. Be safe.’ The words are soft, quiet as they leave your lips. Mando nods at you once more, still, before stepping out into the corridor, past the droid, back out into the city.

You watch him go, bereft, throat tight. And you can’t work out for the life of you why.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you

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thebookbutterfly · 10 months

Text

°•. Din Djarin .•°

Fan fiction recommendations from BB’s Bookshelf. All my favourite Din Djarin works in one place. Disclaimer: I am aware that most people refer to Mando as ‘Din’ but as it is canonically his last name I prefer to call him Djarin. Also with maybe the exception of one or two fics none of the works recommended here depict Djarin breaking his creed ( I just don’t like it). Anyway, please enjoy! ☺️

⭐️ = One of my favourites

ONESHOTS:

🦋 Beautiful [Fluff] Translating for a Tusken raider leaves Mando no other option than to be vulnerable. You tell him just how much he means to you. << Female Reader >> ⭐️

🦋 Injured [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] After Mando is injured you refuse to leave his side. He is a little loopy on bacta shots and confesses things to you like the sweetie he is. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Breathe [Fluff, Angst] You think Djarin wants another woman, he thinks you want the safety that comes from being away from him. Both of you are wrong. Very fluffy ending. << Female Reader, Brief Miscommunication >>

🦋 His [Fluff] Djarin has just come home from a long hunt. Exhausted, he finds the heater broken and you in his bed. << Female Reader, Allusions to Sex >>

🦋His World [Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff] When the Crest explodes, seemingly with you in it, Djarin’s universe falls apart. AKA Din Djarin thinks that you died, you’re delighted to inform him you didn’t. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Conceal [Hurt/Comfort] Din Djarin was a master at hiding his injuries, that’s why he’d always discover yours. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 skin [Fluff] You love it when Din Djarin touches you, but after working outside in the snow all day his hands are freezing. Domestic fluff with pregnant reader. << Female Reader, Pregnancy >>

🦋 My Riduur [Fluff] Of course Mando feels a little jealous when someone is flirting with his riduur. As a Mandalorian he can’t kiss you but he has other ways to stake his claim. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Snowflakes In Your Hair [Fluff] You have never seen snow before, so Mando takes you to Ando Prime to experience it for the first time. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 That’s Not My Name [Fluff] You find out that you have actually been calling ‘Din’ by his surname all along. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Asleep Together [Fluff] Djarin can’t find Grogu, until he finds you asleep with him. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 touching Din [Fluff, Slight Angst] Din Djarin loves being touched and you love touching him. Touch starved Djarin getting the love he needs. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Haircut [Fluff] Mando hadn’t cut his hair in a while. When your fingers brushed through the pieces that stuck out from the edge of his helmet, he found that he didn’t mind. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Meeting the Family [Fluff] Mando takes you to meet the covert for the first time and introduces you as his riduur. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Language Barrier [Fluff] You hadn’t found the right moment to tell Mando that you were fluent in Mando’a, and now it was too late to mention casually. You finally tell him when he confesses to you under his breath. << Female Reader, Allusions to Sex >>

🦋 Significant [Fluff] Djarin has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means and get more than you bargained for. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Offer [Fluff] Din Djarin is absolutely sure that you know that he is courting you. He wants to make the offer formally anyway. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Warm Sand, Soft Hands [Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] After Djarin’s stunt with the Great Krayt Dragon, you were furious and scared. Right up until you realised why he did it. << Gender Neutral Reader, Injury >>

🦋 Common Mistake [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] You had accidentally stabbed yourself with a knife. Embarrassment aside you didn’t want to be a burden and hid the injury. Mando takes care of you. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Distracting [Fluff] Mando removes his beskar in front of you for the first time. Safe to say that it is terribly distracting. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Kiss [Fluff] Curious, you ask Djarin if he has ever kissed anyone before, secretly hoping to be his first. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Good [Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst] Din Djarin was the only person you ever told about your weakness, and yet he wasn’t “good enough” to shield you from it. << Female Reader, Drowning >>

🦋 Blood Loss [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Mando comes back from collecting his bounty injured. You take care of him. << Female Reader >>

🦋 Jealousy [Fluff] Vanth keeps you company while Mando is out running errands. He gets flirty and Djarin decides to reveal that you are his riduur. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

🦋 Rumble [Fluff] Djarin comforts you during a thunderstorm. << Female Reader >>

SERIES:

🦋 Orbit: Part 1 (Body Warmth), Part 2 (Battle Scars), Part 3 (Bruised Skin) [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] You and Din Djarin had been orbiting one another for a long time. Sharing a space, sharing warmth and sharing skin. Mega Fluff with a healthy dose of “Who did this to you?” << Gender Neutral Reader, Injury >>

🦋 Not Like This, Not You [Angst, Hurt Comfort, Fluff] After being captured by Moff Gideon, Djarin is forced to break his creed and show his face to you. You are devastated but both of you are determined to escape. << Female Reader, Violence >> ⭐️

🦋 In Sickness and In Health: Part 1 (In Sickness), Part 2 (In Health) [Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff] The time when the kid got sick and the time you caught the same illness from him. << Gender Neutral Reader >>

DRABBLES:

🦋 Bacta Patch [Fluff, Hurt/Comfort] Mando stops by your store to discover that you’re hurt. He decides to fix that. With a healthy dose of ‘Who did this to you?’ << Gender Neutral Reader >>

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thefrogdalorian · 3 months

Note

Hiiiii can you please do a din djarin fic where he is helping the reader with her injuries and she is nervous and insecure

Hello there, dear anon. It would be my pleasure! I started off writing Din tending to your wounds and an actual plot sort of developed out of it. Might've gotten a little carried away, but I hope this is something like what you were looking for.

Hope that you enjoyed it and thank you for sending me a request! ♡

Word Count: 2398 Rating: General Summary: You have spent the last few months caring for the son of a mysterious Mandalorian who moved to Nevarro. Along the way, you found yourself developing a crush on him. However, when you arrive for your latest shift, you are stunned to discover that rather than caring for Grogu, Din wants to spend the day with you. Although it doesn't go entirely as planned, you both end up with a little more than you bargained for. Content Warnings: Brief descriptions of bloody injuries to reader's hands and knees.

The touch on your throbbing hand was so achingly gentle that it was difficult to believe the man currently tending to your injuries once had such a notorious reputation for violence and destruction throughout the galaxy, thanks to his time in the Guild. The Mandalorian that you so admired had assumed many roles throughout his life: first he was a son, then a Mandalorian foundling. During adulthood, he had been a mercenary and a Bounty Hunter long before he was a father. There was even a brief time where he was technically Mand’alor, before his current role working with the New Republic. But today, Din Djarin took on a new role: nurse.

The day had started off promisingly enough. You arrived at Din’s cabin on the outskirts of Nevarro for your usual shift, expecting to take care of Grogu while Din ran some errands in town. But instead of answering the door like he usually did, clad in a full suit of armour and holding Grogu in his arms, Din's appearance was noticeably different. While he wore his usual helmet and gloves, everything else was unrecognisable. Instead of his unpainted Beskar, Din wore a form-fitting brown shirt with matching brown shorts and what appeared to be hiking boots. You were instantly curious, fearing you had perhaps gotten the time for your shift confused.

But even more intriguing than Din’s appearance was that Grogu was nowhere to be seen. Before you could question Din on his son’s whereabouts, he explained that he had already left Grogu in the care of High Magistrate Karga. You turned to leave, realising that, clearly, your services would not be required today. But Din gently grabbed your wrist to prevent you from walking away so that he could explain his actions. It transpired that Din wanted to spend the day with you and that leaving Grogu had been the first step of his plan. Now, it was time for the two of you to spend the day exploring the volcanic planet you both inhabited.

As the two of you had set out on a hike across the lava flats of Nevarro, you found your head was spinning with questions. Why in Maker’s name did Din want to spend time with you? What had you done to be worthy of his time? After all, you were initially employed to look after Grogu because Din was often so busy during the brief time he spent between missions that he wanted to enjoy his time and run errands that could be difficult with a child tagging along. Why would he waste a day on you?

Despite the questions spinning around in your mind, you were too shy to vocalise a single one of them. It was to be expected, as you found that you were always nervous in Din’s presence. You found him equal parts intimidating and mesmerising with his hulking, looming presence as he shimmered in all of his unpainted Beskar glory. You loved his deep, raspy voice and the way he held himself so confidently.

After so many months of getting to know him and caring for Grogu, you found that you had developed somewhat of a crush on the mysterious Mandalorian who you had taken on childcare duties for. Although some of your nerves had dissipated the more time you had spent with Din, there was still a feeling whenever you were around him that you could not quite explain. You just knew that whenever you left him, you ached to be in his presence. Any amount of time with him would never be enough.

Was it a possibility, given his sudden desire to spend time with you, that Din reciprocated such feelings? It was a thought that had caused you to almost fall over your own feet several times, so giddy were you at such a prospect. You had mentally chastised yourself each time, reminding yourself that you needed to focus and keep your balance. There would be nothing more embarrassing than tripping over yourself because you were too busy daydreaming about what being on the receiving end of Din Djarin’s affections would feel like.

So, instead, as you followed Din across the planet’s surface, you tried to focus on the purposeful, even steps that he was taking by staring at his weathered brown boots. But even that proved difficult, given the fact that above his boots were his legs, which were, for once, bare. You found yourself unable to tear your gaze away from his muscular calves as he strode along Nevarro’s grey-black volcanic surface. The firmness of his skin and how tanned it appeared fascinated you. You wondered what such skin would feel like beneath your hands. Would it be soft and smooth or weathered like the leather of his boots? You wondered, too, whether the smattering of dark hair on his legs was any indication about the hair on top of his head. You knew that removing his helmet in your presence would violate his creed, but you wouldn't lie and say that you weren't curious about what he looked like. You often wondered whether Din's face matched his gorgeous voice.

You watched in awe as Din's muscular arms reached up to adjust the bag that was slung across his broad shoulders. You were just appreciating being in his presence as much as you were his physicality. Ever since you had first met Din, you had felt inexplicably drawn to him. You would follow him anywhere in the galaxy, should he only ask.

As it happened, today he was asking you to join him on a hike up one of the volcanos that littered the Nevarrian surface. You had been a little daunted at the prospect of such an endeavour, but Din promised you that the views would be worth it. So despite your reservations, you began to follow him to the top of the volcano.

Things had been progressing nicely for the most part. Although you had struggled to keep up with Din at first with the long strides he took, he had adjusted his pace and the two of you had fallen into step at each other’s side.

Your heart felt as though it was beating out of your chest. You weren’t sure if it was because of the exertion from hiking up a volcano or at the realisation of how close the man you harboured a crush for was to you. Although the temperature was beginning to rise as it approached the afternoon, you were actually starting to enjoy the hike. The frequent water breaks that you took were welcome, too. You and Din would sit for a few minutes and share sips from the canteen of water he had brought. Din used a long straw to take his sips, a sight that you found impossibly adorable. There he was, such a mountain of a man, using a small straw to take small sips of his drink.

As you set off from your most recent water break, it appeared that the path ahead of you narrowed. You and Din resumed walking in single file, treading a careful path across the surface. Din warned you to mind your step as there were rocks up ahead, but in the couple of seconds you took your gaze off the path to look at what lay ahead, your foot snagged something.

Everything which followed seemed to happen in slow motion, you put your hands out to brace yourself, which proved to be a painful mistake.

“Din!” You screamed as you tumbled to the ground.

For a few moments, you thought that you had avoided any injury. Your pulse was racing, your heart pounding in your head as you lay there disorientated. The first thing you heard once your senses returned was the crunch of the gravel underneath Din’s boots as he raced to your aid. Then, the T-visor of his helmet came into view. Din placed his hands underneath your shoulders and gently helped you into a seated position. It was only then, with him in front of you, that you finally felt the extent of your injuries.

You howled in pain as Din held your left hand carefully in his. Finally, you felt the way it stung. Your palm throbbed, it felt as though you had just been cut by shards of glass. Although the cuts weren’t deep and, luckily, you had avoided any stones getting stuck in your skin, blood was seeping from the cuts on the palm of your hand.

“Oh dear. That looks painful,” Din offered sympathetically as he assessed the extent of your injuries. “Hold on, I have a medkit in this bag.”

As Din swung the bag over his shoulder, you looked down at the rest of your body to check for further injuries. You felt your stomach drop as you noticed more blood oozing from your leg.

“Din, it’s my knee, too,” You whined, as your left knee joined your hands throbbing with pain.

“It’s okay, I have some Bacta patches and spray. I’ll have you patched up in no time,” Din said softly.

You sat back and watched as this enormous, hulking man removed his gloves and began to tend ever-so gently to your wounds. Perhaps, if you weren’t in so much pain, you would have appreciated the fact that the two of you were touching skin-to-skin, with no barriers between you.

Din's broad shoulders hunched over as he carefully examined the damage and began to apply the Bacta spray to your hands. You had been privileged enough to witness the softer, caring side of Din Djarin on multiple occasions since you had met him during the time the two of you had spent together in his cabin. However, the caring side of him was usually reserved for his interactions with Grogu. But today, it was your turn to experience this tender side of the Mandalorian that you had once been so intimidated by.

Now the Bacta spray was beginning to take effect and lessen the thrumming pain in your hand, you found that nerves overtook you. Your heart raced with anxiety. You were so nervous that being in such close proximity would reveal the extent of your feelings for Din.

But you were distracted by such thoughts as Din applied the Bacta patches to your injured hands. You bit your lip to stop the tears that threatened to fall down your cheeks, moved by how much care he took with his ministrations. With your hands successfully cared for, Din moved to address your injured knee.

“You probably think I’m a clumsy fool,” You scoffed as Din tended to your knee, suddenly embarrassed at how careless you had been in his presence. The man just wanted to spend his day off hiking up a volcano, he had invited you to join him and you had ruined those plans by being such a bumbling idiot.

“Never,” Din shook his head with absolute conviction in his voice. Din raised his helmet to look at you and softly added: “I could never think such a thing about you, cyare.”

The tears you had been holding back then flowed freely down your cheeks. You found yourself so moved by his reassuring words and the kindness and warmth in his voice. The word Din had used meant nothing to you but you supposed it was from his native tongue.

“Come here,” Din sighed as he inched his way to sit closer towards you. He moved his hands to cup your jaw gently, wiping the tears that began to feel with his thumbs.

The comforting words and actions had the opposite effect, however, as more tears trailed hot paths down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry for ruining your day, Din,” You sniffled apologetically as you struggled to meet his helmeted gaze.

“Ruin it?!” Din exclaimed, incredulous at such a notion. “Never.” He asserted. “Any day I spend with you is a day to be treasured. I enjoy your company.”

“Really?” You asked, stunned at his admission, wiping your cheeks with the backs of your hands as the tears finally began to subside.

“Of course,” Din nodded. “I’m sorry today didn’t work out. I wanted to show you the most gorgeous view on Nevarro. As it turns out, it appears it was right here in front of me all along…”

Your mouth hung open and your eyebrows shot up your face as you stared at the Mandalorian by your side in stunned silence.

“Oh, Din…” You whispered, voice full of emotion. But you were still a little confused. You furrowed your brow and sought clarity: “Do you… I mean…” You stammered, unable to form coherent thoughts following the implication of his words.

“Let me be clear: I intended for us to hike to the top of the volcano so that we could finally have some time alone,” Din took a deep, steadying breath before he continued: “And once up there… I could tell you that ever since I met you, I haven’t been able to shake you from my mind. I think you’re an incredible person and, if you’d allow me to, I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I’d love that, Din,” You practically squealed. “Although, perhaps for our first proper date, we should do something indoors,” You joked, the pain from your fall already subsiding after the rush of excitement that coursed through your body after Din had confessed his feelings for you.

Din laughed at that and wrapped his arm around you. The two of you shifted to a more comfortable position on the ground, swinging your legs out over the side of the rocky path and facing out to the rest of Nevarro. Even though you hadn’t made it to the top due to your unfortunate accident, you reasoned that it couldn’t possibly be as incredible as this. You were sure the view was even better from down here, especially with Din’s strong arm slung around your shoulders. You smiled as his hand rubbed the top of your arm gently as you leaned against his firm, warm chest.

You sighed in contentment as you gazed across the volcanic planet before you. It may have taken you falling flat on your face to finally force the two of you to address your feelings for each other, but it was undoubtedly a price you were willing to pay.

#my fics #request #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin fluff #me: oh maybe i'll write 500 words.... also me: ends up writing almost 2.4k adhgjk DOWN CATASTROPHICALLY!#inbox

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magpie-to-the-morning · 1 year

Text

Corner Booth

Rating: Explicit (18+ ONLIY)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female!Reader

Wordcount: 1k

Tags: Sex worker/stripper/exotic dancer reader, inexperienced Din comes with his own warning, lap dance, flirting

Summary: Din gets more than he bargained for going to a strip joint for intel.

Author’s Note: I’ve been in a writing rut for awhile now and when I asked the lovely @acrossthesestars for a starter prompt for some context-less smut, she suggested “lap dance” and “immobilization”. That screamed Din to me so I happily settled in to write some filth.

…. And, naturally, turned it to tooth-rotting fluff almost immediately. Enjoy. 😘

“Normally this is where I’d ask if you come here often but, uh, I think I’d remember if you had.”

You offer him your brightest, most professional smile but the black void of his visor gives away nothing. It devours instead, pulling your gaze down into its depths even as the shining Beskar surrounding it reflects the candy-colored neon lights of the club.

“Not much of a talker are you, handsome?” You roll your hips again, savoring the blissful contradiction of cold steel beneath your bare thighs and the warm rasp of duraweave against your flimsy “uniform.”

This may be a job, but that doesn’t stop you enjoying it.

Your only answer is a grunt. Well, that, and a stirring heat between your bodies. Interesting. Twining your arms around the back of his helmet, and noting the way the Mandalorian’s body tenses for a moment when you do, you can’t help wondering what else this nearly silent customer enjoys.

“Not that I mind,” you purr, leaning in closer, your barely-covered breasts pressed against his armor. Your nipples pebble instantly at the chill sensation.Eager for warmth, you slip your arms beneath the edge of bounty hunter‘s cowl. The man radiates heat, making you relax against him further.

“Most people who come in here are *all* talk,” you continue, your hips moving in sinuous rhythms in time with the music. “Those are the ones who never seem to listen, too.” You jerk your chin towards the grabby Trandoshan who’d cornered you before the broad-shouldered bounty Mandalorian strode into the club, all cold steel and heavy tread. The other pleasure-seekers had taken one look at him and decided their drinks and their dates were far, far more interesting than the bounty hunter suddenly in their midst.

The man in question follows your gaze now, his own hands tightening almost possessively at your hips when he locks eyes with the Trandoshan across the bar, before releasing you with a quiet “Sorry.”

Intrigued, you replace his hands, running your own playfully over the well-worn leather. Even these are warm beneath your hand. It’s enough to make you wish you could sneak a peek beneath that visor, to see if he’s as overheated as he feels. It’s almost… sweet.

“You’re fine,” you assure him, trying once again to find his eyes beneath that flat black. “I chatter enough for two anyway, or so I’ve been told.”

You’re rewarded with a low, amused huff.

“I like it,” he admits, almost shyly.

A genuine smile tugs at your lips this time. Maker, who is this guy, and what is he doing in this dive?

The music changes, turns faster, more insistent, driving such ridiculous questions out of your mind. No good can come of them anyway, you remind yourself. You’ve sworn off dating clients completely. Too… messy. Too complicated. Better to do the job, get paid, and continue on your way.

Shaking out your hair, you resume the lap dance he’d paid for, trying not to think of the uncertain way he’d handed you the credits, or the way his fingers tightened around yours when you’d held out your hand to lead him to your favorite booth. It’s tucked away in the darkest corner of a club full of dark corners, the only one with anything close to privacy.

The only one with a window to the stars beyond.

The Mandalorian’s helmet tilts to the side when the silence stretches between you, though you can tell from the restless movement of his hips and the ragged cast to his voice that he’s appreciating your efforts.

“D-don’t stop,” he says, the words so strained you nearly lose them between the driving pulse of the music. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was right on the edge. But he’s no boyish virgin - there’s no way he’d be this desperate for you.

“Oh, don’t worry baby, you gave me enough for a long dance.”

“Not that,” he groans. “Don’t stop… talking.”

You’re so taken aback that you stop grinding against the growing bulge beneath you. You blink, eyebrows raised, caught between surprise and delight.

The Mandalorian stills beneath you, only the rapid rise and fall of his chest belying the sense of patient focus. You get the sense that he could sit this way for hours, waiting for his quarry. It must make him a fearsome hunter. And maybe, just maybe, the kind of man worth breaking a rule for.

“Mando,” you smile down at him. “If you really want to hear me talk, you should come back at closing time.”

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x Reader #Din Djarin x Fem!Reader #Din Djarin x F!Reader #Fic #My fic

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sinisterexaggerator · 11 days

Text

Stars Above! | Cad Bane

Chapter 14

Explicit: Semi-slow burn, gratuitous smut /pwp, canon-typical violence, mildly dubious consent, angst, Tatooine Slave Culture.

This chapter: Flashbacks / nightmares, whump, mild-medical procedure involving a needle/dispenser and sedatives.

Word count: 5.3k+

Notes: It only took me TWO YEARS TO UPDATE. SORRY ABOUT THAT. I promise that I will try to update more regularly from now on.

[ Ao3 ] - [ Masterpost ]

《 Previous chapter ||

“Supposin’ us bein’ partners don’ mean nothin’,” Bane flippantly offered. Though feeling despondent, he masked it well. The two men were a lot alike in that respect; Bane hardly knew what went on inside the Mando’s over-complicated mind.

“You’ve learned everything there is to know, Cad. And what you don’t know, you don’t want to learn, even if given the opportunity.”

“What’s dhat even mean,” the Duros asked bitingly, throwing down the butt of his cigarra on the cold, hard ground. The two began to make their way, Jango sighing under the beskar helmet that hid his face, Bane trudging along behind, albeit slowly; he was freezing.

Vandor was an icy planet, located in the Sloo Sector of the Mid Rim, currently home to a target that had made his home in Fort Ypso, a snowy village that lay sequestered in the foothills of the Iridium mountains, only crossable by bridge. The wooden planks groaned under their feet as the pair of hunters ventured onward, Slave I left beyond its borders so as not to attract attention and give the game away.

“It means you are stubborn,” Fett returned, his voice carrying over the blistering wind. “Perhaps it is time for you to branch out on your own; be your own man. I am beginning to think I cramp your style.”

The Duros sneered, offended in more ways than one, fangs chattering even though he wore specialized gear meant to curtail the cold from leeching through to his very bones. “Says de man who don’ know when te turn down a job; if Ah had nips, dhey’d already be frozen off.”

“You didn’t have to come with me,” Jango informed him, his joke lost on the dour man. He wasn’t in the mood for Bane’s attitude, much less his complaints.

“As fer style, Ah got plenty, naht countin’ dhis ridiculous ‘fit ye’ made me wear.”

Bane frowned despite himself, feeling each minor movement of his facial muscles; they were stiff from the frigid temperature, the younger man desiring to find a place of warmth. At least his body glove was able to retain some heat, otherwise he was sure to succumb to this positively ridiculous weather within mere minutes, seconds.

“Fine; maybe Ah should leave ye te it dhen; wait in de ship, if yer so keen on gettin’ rid of me.”

Then, his sour expression deepened, Bane’s footfalls ceasing as he came to a full stop. “It’s ‘cause Ah don’ agree with ye, ain’t it.”

“It’s not your life, nor your decision,” the Mandalorian shot back without delay, unable to hide his bitterness. “I know what I want, even if you don’t.”

Bane braced himself, realizing this was about to become more personal than he had bargained for, Fett having never bothered to explain his motives. All Bane knew was he had won some contest, proving he was the best bounty hunter in all the galaxy—a title he assumed might one day rightfully be his.

Fett had trained him, after all. More than that; he had become his friend, his confidant. Bane might go so far as to think he even loved the man, though never voicing those sentiments out loud; he buried them, like everything else he felt.

Perhaps it was fear that kept him quiet. Fear, or maybe anxiety. They both lived in the same place—inside his chest. The chest that currently housed a heart beating furiously behind a wall of ribs, even as Bane reached out to touched Fett’s shoulder.

What he couldn’t understand was why he needed a million of himself; Jango would be tasked to train an army for an unknown benefactor, an army of clones.

The idea sent shivers down Bane’s scales. He understood there were credits to be made, and lots of them. But even so, this was a line Bane himself would never cross—playing God by ignoring ethics, by ignoring quandaries he thought might only come about in science labs. Not in the field; not in the relatively short life of a bounty hunter.

“Ah know what Ah want,” he muttered softly, “de one of ye.”

The Mando whisked around, batting his companion’s hand away. He could not see his face, but Fett’s annoyance easily radiated out beyond his suit of armor. He thought Bane would never understand his hatred for the Jedi; the duty he had assigned himself that consumed half his personality. “Come off it.”

Bane hesitated. The sky began to darken; he thought he had been to this place before.

“You’re a fool,”Fett’s voice, a low baritone, seeped into Bane’s ears, in turn causing the Duros to tremble. It was not out of the coldness of the weather, but the coldness of his words, that Bane’s body involuntarily shuddered, wide, red eyes blinking away flecks of snowflakes as they floated toward the ground; they were gossamer, each one intricate by its own design.

“But Fett-”

“Shut up,” the Mando cut him off. Something wasn’t right. Bane gazed around himself, even as Fett continued. “You really think I care about what you think?”

Bane stared at him, a wounded look taking over his already glum face. Even so, he thought to follow-up, wondering if he had said these words before. “Just dhat-”

Flames were birthed from blankets of white snow, shooting up as pillars of an all-consuming heat, Bane taking a step back as he watched the fire cast a shadow on Jango’s beskar helmet. Those little flecks, those tiny snowflakes, were now tendrils of hot ash, the icy ground nearby the bridge they stood on a carpet of dirt and soot.

“Ja-Jango?” Bane stuttered out; the man approached, deliberate, even as his voice rose in his anger.

“You are nothing to me, Cad. You are nothing.”

The fire blazed more luminous than a main-sequence star; the heavens were black as pitch and no sun shone; Bane heard another sound, this one the creak of weakening ropes as the Duros realized the bridge they stood upon was near to collapse. It was old, rickety, and the only way into town.

“You are not my friend, and you will never be my family,” Fett assured, his vehemence laced with mockery. The Mando laughed, dry, and borderline sadistic; it was out of character for him. Bane grimaced.

“Fett, we gotta go back!” Bane ignored his hurtful remarks, noticing the bridge was starting to sink and give beneath their weight and the onslaught of the flames. The youth would peer over the side, eyes set to broaden as he realized the mountain valley was now nothing but a pit of hellfire.

“You are weak; pathetic; worthless-”

“-stop it!”

“-just a frightened little boy.”

“Enough!” the Duros shouted; he could hear the panic in his voice. He cursed himself, wanting to be brave; wanting to prove to Fett that everything he said was erroneous, inaccurate – but he was right; Bane was frightened.

Suddenly, Bane had nothing below his feet, just a gaping hole and a river of bright flames. Fett was hovering; he had activated the thrusters of his jetpack; Bane aimed to do the same, pressing a button on his wrist gauntlet, except his boots wouldn’t fire; they sputtered and died out.

He kept on falling.

“Jango!” He heard his voice crack, Bane reaching out and up toward the Mando. The man only laughed that wry, cruel laugh, even as Bane fell to what he knew would be his death.

With hands grasping, arms flailing, and legs kicking erratically, Bane yelled one last time as his body was engulfed, swallowed by the void.

“Ah’m sorry!”

---

“Oh, no!” Todo 360 articulated. “I was afraid this might happen!” the droid verbalized in a mild state of panic. He began zooming around the room, peeking into cabinets and pulling out various tools, utensils, and medical implements. It appeared to Zulara that he might be looking for something in particular, so hurried were his movements in his haste.

“Can I help?” she asked quietly, though eager, not sure what was even wrong or what it was she would be looking for. The girl had been seated on the floor, tinkering with one of Bane’s fancy vambraces; it was sparking.

The girl glanced to the bacta pod where Cad Bane slumbered, but something was amiss; his eyelids twitched. She stood, then approached with caution, peering down into the coffin-like contrivance – that’s when she noticed.

The Duros trembled, the muscles of his face distorting into what looked like fear, then pain. His head shifted back and forth from side to side, though not awake. Zulara’s heart ached for the man.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, turning to stare at the frantic Todo. He was too busy in his search to hear her, muttering his many grievances and even a few expletives.

“Todo?” she asked again, the concern apparent in her voice. She stepped forward toward the little droid, tapping him gently on his tiny shoulder.

Todo whirled on her, having forgotten momentarily that she was even aboard the ship, Zulara noting she had startled him by the widening of his citrine eyes.

“Do not do that!” he proclaimed, immediately taking back up the search. Zulara’s lower lip quivered as she turned on her heel, refacing the injured man; he at least seemed calmer now, which Zulara pointed out.

“He’s stopped moving,” she whispered.

Todo zipped on by, a cool rush of air tickling her arm. He observed his master through the glass, a pane of two-inch thick transparisteel.

The droid sighed a human sigh, then rounded on his thrusters. He stared up at the girl, finally managing to find the time to give her a halfhearted story of some kind.

“When in the bacta pod, Bane’s subconscious is left totally unguarded! He is vulnerable to whatever it is his mind can conjure up, and I will have you know these things are not pleasant.”

“He had a nightmare,” Zulara stated, though the end of her phrase had a questioning lilt to it.

Todo nodded in assent, then added: “He has a lot of those, I am afraid.” He wondered if he should be telling all Bane’s secrets. Was this a secret? Nightmares were common among organics. He was unsure.

Zulara frowned at him, then looked down at her boots. She often had nightmares herself, a reoccurring one; the one where she was stripped from her mother’s arms by her drunken father; the one where she was ushered off like chattel into a life of slavery.

Her gaze returned to Todo once she had repressed that bit of sordid memory. “Will he be all right?” she questioned anxiously.

“You are humorous, human. Mister Bane has endured much worse. But I must find this pneumatic dispenser! It holds a sedative we may need; it is only a precaution.”

“You are going to sedate him?” Zulara asked, perplexed.

“Well, it is better than what Bane would do!” Todo scolded, continuing his rummaging. “I, for one, do not wish to suppress my memories, but in all likelihood Bane will hurt himself in this state, and he is already wounded.”

Zulara seemed confused. “What do you mean?”

Todo was becoming irritated. If this woman was not present, he could work in peace! Just who did Boba think he was, leaving her with him! Granted, she seemed to care about his master, but she was still a nuisance! Perhaps the droid was now beginning to understand why Bane called him that on limitless occasions - and when he meant well.

He started to have a change of heart, though his metal shell was empty besides his circuitry; his own thought process set him straight. Todo simply sighed again, though trying to be patient. “Mister Bane seems to think that libations will solve his problems. Why, ever since Boba Fett shot him in the head, he has never been the same!”

Zulara’s frown remained fixated, though deepening. She had heard this mentioned once before as they had dragged Bane inside his ship. Why would the man that had helped to rescue him want him dead instead? It made no sense. She thought to ask, but wondered if the droid would answer her.

Todo seemed two things: high-strung and untrusting, though Zulara’s interest was not self-serving, she was only curious. It was hard not to want to learn all she could about the Duros, his history, and those things that made him tick.

“What happened?” she finally managed, fingers trailing a path down the outside of the convex, transparent glass. “Boba would not tell me how he knew Bane,” she added, studying the curves and angles of the hunter’s face despite the mask he wore that fed him oxygen.

“Because then Boba would be admitting to attempted murder!” the incensed droid piped up, rounding on her. He was flustered by the question, and even more so aggravated by the answer he was about to give. Young Fett was a traitor and a deserter in his opinion; a fly-by-night, disreputable scoundrel to say the very least!

“When one commits to a job, or when one is given a home and specialized training - for free might I add – with only the expectancy of loyalty, and then for that person to defect, to try Mister Bane’s patience after all he did for him!”

Todo scoffed, turning back around. He opened up a lower cabinet, somehow sticking his large head inside, so his words were muffled. “To question his authority is one thing, but to shoot him?!” Todo’s voice was elevated, despite being dampened within the cupboard he was scouring. “Simply because you do not agree with his methods!?”

Zulara watched Todo’s metal chassis shift back and forth as his upper half continued with its plundering, tossing things haphazardly behind him. The girl would lift one leg, dodging something sharp that vibrated—a sonic scalpel? What did Cad Bane need that for?

Zulara bent down to pick it up; she switched it off. Her eyebrows furrowed as she thought about the head plate Bane always sported. “So, then Boba betrayed him? He shot him at point-blank range?”

Her thoughts drifted to the man whose comlink was in her pocket. The youthful face, the curly hair, the deep brown eyes – so soft and rich – she could not imagine him to be a killer, yet he was another bounty hunter. A bounty hunter like the Duros she had feelings for, the one who left her, the one who desired her dead for the sand she had thrown into his stark garnet eyes.

“Well, no,” Todo admitted. He had been there, after all, observing it all unfold. “There was a duel. It was a tie-” the little droid emerged to swivel toward her once again, “-but Boba cheated! A Mandalorian’s helmet is made of beskar! And while Boba is no Mandalorian, his -er- father was.”

Todo 360 made an irritated harumph. “A solitary clone should have been grateful to have Mister Bane mentor him! I know I would be. Of course, he did owe Jango many favors, or so Mister Bane has said…”

His voice trailed off; Zulara realized something. It was no matter that this droid was comprised of ones and zeros, or its many servos. Something clicked inside her brain—Todo had no bolt, no way in which he was restrained. He loved his master, and to some extent, Cad Bane must love him.

She could only imagine this Fett harbored some kind of guilt, as well he should. If she ever saw him, if he ever commed her…yet it was not her business.

Zulara refocused her attention, “a pneumatic dispenser, no?” Her inquiry was soft, calming. Todo perceptibly unwound, as the organic’s voice was somehow soothing.

He was not used to women hanging around; he had only known those that Bane kept on retainer for one reason or another, namely Aurra Sing; she had not one gentle bone in her whole body. In fact, he might blame her for the way young Boba had turned out. While Mister Bane had a hand in it, it was not until he had been abandoned and thrown in prison thanks to the Palliduvan that his master had offered Fett his guidance.

“Yes,” the exhausted droid replied, returning to his work. He kept one eye on her, but he was thankful for the girl’s assistance, however wary. One could never be too careful.

---

“Boba?” Bane had heard the name, floating out in empty space, inside his mind, or spoken by a God. It lingered, the two syllables leeching their way into his cerebral cortex, even as pure darkness surrounded him, enveloping his cold flesh like a thickset, heavy blanket of unease.

His stomach lurched; he felt like throwing up. Instead, he sat upright and was faced with a nearly obscene brightness. Someone had unveiled the stars, but one shown more luminous than all the others; the one that warmed the desert planet he was now stationed on.

“Bane!”

The Duros’ eyes rolled to his left, spying within his hand a bottle of dark liquor, Bane ascertaining this might be the reason for his sickness; the empty feeling that tarried in his guts. But still, nothing was making sense.

Bane dropped the bottle, glancing up. Some distance away was a teenaged Boba Fett.

How many times would the kid shout his name in anger? How many times would he have to remember his father’s face when looking into his? That armor, that helmet – all a cruel reminder.

“You should have been there.” That’s what the boy had said that fateful day.

Bane stood, gazing out. He was supposed to say something, words that had been repeated time and time again. The outcome would never be any different, he suspected, but the hunter was caught in a web of his own delusions. Maybe this time he could make it right; maybe this time Bane would not lose his self-respect or his dignity to a fourteen-year-old brat.

“Ah wouldn’ be so-” Bane’s voice dropped; he said the rest quietly and to himself, “-hasty now, boy…”

No. This wasn’t at all accurate. This had happened once before. Bane studied his surroundings, noting the placement of the buildings, a fire that burned in the distance, wisps of dark-colored smoke emanating in tight curls.

Fire.

There was a fire.

He had fallen.

Boba turned his head; Bane followed his lead, spying C-21 Highsinger and his faithful droid companion. Held prisoner in their grasp was a white-haired old man. The child - Fett’s offspring - demanded that he be released along with all the other hostages.

What hostages.

“Let them go, Bane.”

What had he done? He could not remember, the Duros craning his hat and head to stare down at both of his blue hands.

“This isn’t their fight anymore.”

Bane knit his brow in thought, his gaze returning to the boy. He took a new approach, or at least he thought. He was unsure, second-guessing, caught in a place that resembled reality, yet Bane was positive none of this was real.

“Yer daddy ain’t here, boy. Ah knowit. But ye gonna go ‘head an’ bite de hand dhat feeds?”

Bane took two steps forward, somehow knowing what came next. He had always wondered if there was some other way than this, something he could have done to change Fett’s mind. But in the end, he had it out for him; it was a part of history that could never be rewritten. Boba had got it in his head that Cad Bane was his enemy, and the sole executioner of the people here, as if he was the only one who was unscrupulous among those present.

“Yer gonna wind up poor, or dead, out on yer own – dhis galaxy is harsh. Ye think Jango was perfect? Ye think he wouldn’ do whateva’ it takes te get de job done?”

“Shut up! I am not my father!” Boba scolded beneath his helmet; Bane ground his teeth as he glared at him, his expression full of venom. Always such an impudent, brazen child. He hated Jango then – all of them – and his clone army; his poor decision.

“No more innocent people are going to die, or be locked up, or live in fear,” Fett reiterated, brandishing a finger. It was ironic, all this talk, when Boba Fett was supposed to be a bounty hunter.

“Did ye ferget what profession ye’s in? We’re hunters, Boba. Unless ye ain’t one. Maybe yer just soft.”

A poor choice of words, considering the circumstances. Bane was sure he had only made things worse. He did not have the time to contemplate anything beyond that, for Bossk and Embo had arrived.

At least they were fairly trustworthy, the Kyuzo only second to Bane himself. Bossk knew how to take directions, even though he had connections, strong ones, to the Guild. Bane had thought, incorrectly, that they might back him up and take his side, but the blood that ran through Boba’s veins was a testament to his skill and to his mounting leadership, despite his age and stature.

Bane smiled a crooked smile. “Looks like yer lil’ insurrection has failed.”

Boba looked behind himself and to the others; Bane’s smile faltered. He glanced around as the thin shroud separating this world from the next shimmered and disjoined. He saw stars; realspace; a depthless abyss of nothing, like a curtain had been pulled back to reveal the stage, and he was the main character.

“I say we give the kid his shot,” he heard the Trandoshan rasp.

Bane dug his boots into the sandy earth. There was a suction pulling him, like a vacuum, toward a gaping hole that now stretched so wide the entire town was gone. The only thing that remained were the other hunters; Bossk and Embo had stood down, and Boba was rounding on him.

Bane realized they did not seem to be affected; it was like none of this was happening. He knew what he was supposed to say, as if only reciting his own name.

“So, dhat’s it – just ye and me dhen, Boba Fett.”

“I guess it is,”the boy would reply.

Their eyes met, or at least he thought they did. That damned bucket was in the way, Bane mentally cursing its utility – it’s why he hated them – it was a place to hide.

And kark the others; their loyalty was forfeit, Bane reminded of a most important lesson: he was alone, and he always had been. Always would be, save his droid for company.

A sharp wind picked up, yet Bane’s hat did not fly off—not yet. He fought with all his might against an invisible adversary, even as his fingers danced above one LL-30 BlasTech pistol. If he could only be a fraction faster, if he could only put this disgruntled adolescent in his rightful place, his anger, his heartache, his headaches—they all might vanish.

His quick draw was the cause of his notoriety. To be outdone - to lose to a snot-nosed kid - it would be an embarrassment, though highly understated. The only thing he had left to him was his reputation, and Fett was out to steal it from him, albeit fair and square. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – let that happen.

Bane pulled his weapon; he squeezed the trigger. Simultaneously, another shot was fired. Superheated plasma - imbued with an explosive quality - transferred kinetic and thermal force to the armor plating that lined his signature bolero.

It was not enough to stay the bolt; he felt a searing pain on the left side of his head, radiating across his brow and the upper part of his domed skull. He fell back flat, staring up at a now starless, barren sky. He was out of breath, and he thought this is where he ought to die.

Bane would close his eyes, legs stretched out and arms taut at his sides. He had no idea the outcome; that it had been a tie; that Boba Fett had saved himself from his demise by wearing that accursed beskar, yet the young hunter’s aim had not betrayed him.

“Mister Bane!” he would hear his droid call aloud in a worried tone. He had repeated it three times now, though the Duros found he could not move. The only thing he could perceive in this state was a scathing ache; an excruciating, endless throbbing, right where the bolt made contact with his hat and ricocheted.

The plasma had been so hot, so volatile, it had dissolved his scales clean off and scorched him to the bone—the durasteel panel had dented inward before his hat rebounded off his head and fluttered to the ground, molten metal boring easily through flesh and osseous tissue, slowed only partially.

Tears welled behind shut eyelids, as in that moment, he wished the boy had killed him.

---

Zulara, hours later, had traversed Mos Eisley’s streets. She had been looking for something, something good to eat. While she was not hungry, she imagined Bane would be the moment he awoke. The girl had not strayed far in her search for the right ingredients.

She aimed to concoct a Twi’lek dish, though she would modify it. Her palette did not enjoy the fungi that accompanied the rycrit meat. She would add carrots and potatoes, along with various other root vegetables, to cook a hearty stew, a thing to keep Bane’s strength up and paid for with her own meager credits.

Todo had confirmed there was nothing much edible aboard Bane’s ship; she had found out shortly that its name was the Justifier; curious, though she would not mention it. Once they had found the lost dispenser, Zulara made it her new objective to prepare a home-cooked meal for the healing Duros. Perhaps he would be appreciative and would not mind that she was here, doing her best to look out for him.

To think, she could still be napping in Ohnaka’s arms if Fett had not sounded the alarm. It was something more complicated than a mere regret; she did not feel that way. In fact, it pleased her. It had scratched an itch Cad Bane had left behind. Still, she had been hurt, a stupid thing, as the youth had asked how long she had known this man; her answer proved unsatisfactory, even to herself.

Why? Why care? As if his attempt to free her was not enough, though Bane had made her feel things she had never felt before. Maybe Zulara has naïve, a woman with no sense, but what sense could she have considering her circumstances? Some might call it a learning curve, though that did not mean she was not harboring intelligence. In this case, she was thinking with her heart and not her head, but she could not help it; all she cared for was Bane’s good health.

Zulara absentmindedly stirred a pot; it was something she had located in a cabinet by the conservator. It barely appeared used; she wondered if Bane ever liked to cook, or if his starship had come equipped with those things he needed, whether utilized or not.

Once the rycrit stew was at a simmer, she lowered its heat setting and placed a lid on top of it. With this accomplished, she thought to find Todo and pose another question: where was there a workroom, a space with tools? She had it in her mind to fix Bane’s gauntlet, wanting to feel useful.

Now, just where had that droid gone off to?

---

Glowing embers of crimson red bothered to open up again as Cad’s body began to move of its own volition.

No – it was the wind, that suction. It had gained momentum; it was stronger, rolling him like a tumbleweed toward the open maw of nothing!

The hat went first, vanishing beyond the veil. Bane grimaced as he dug his fingers into the pliant earth. There was no stopping it, head pounding as his legs thrashed violently. He was like a fish out of water, surrounded by only grit and sand. Death, once more, seemed imminent.

The Duros panicked.

---

Zulara heard a crash, like something falling. She rushed back to where Bane rested, Todo’s mental state in a disarray as he had dropped something. Her eyes traveled toward the pod; Bane was seizing. The girl would gasp as she ran for the tank at lightspeed.

It wasn’t that the droid was clumsy, he had simply moved too quickly. Seeing his master at the mercy of his nightmares had drawn out all his worry; it must have been preprogrammed, but by who was an unsolved mystery—unless it was Vertseth Automata. Surely, Bane would have preferred a model with more strengths than weaknesses, but he had his purpose. Currently, it was to act as nurse, though he was not one; he had been built for techo-service.

By the time Todo arrived, Zulara had already pried open the bacta pod. Bane was coughing, sputtering, even while unconscious. The girl tried lifting him, cupping his upper back as he broached the surface; the sticky gel still held him, her face strained with the effort, though Zulara kept him aloft, fighting the weakness of her arms—Bane was too heavy for her alone.

“Todo, do something!” she pleaded, though she needn’t ask. The droid had readied the dispenser that housed the sedative mid-dash.

“I am sorry, Bane, but this will only hurt a moment!” he said in warning, still somehow afraid of incurring his master’s wrath, no matter that he was incapacitated. He aligned the needle and pressed with all his might; the medicine was injected directly into the site; it would disperse and travel throughout his bloodstream, suppressing his dark memories to the best of its ability.

Todo sighed, dropping his hand and arm. He let the empty dispenser fall onto the floor. Bane had noticeably relaxed; his breathing evened out. Zulara finally felt convinced enough to lie him back down within the healing gel.

“Is-is that it? Will he settle now?” the girl asked fretfully, adjusting Bane’s breathing mask for him; it had become somewhat crooked.

“I do believe so, yes,” Todo stated, though his confidence was shaken. He backed up a foot to let her work, watching how Zulara tended to his master carefully.

It was then Todo wobbled on his axis, believing himself to be tuckered out. For a droid to feel this way was like when organics suffered from lack of sleep. He could not remember the last time he had plugged in, knowing that his power supply was finally dwindling. “I do not feel so good,” he reluctantly admitted.

“What?” Zulara appeared alarmed, turning now upon the droid. He placed his feet down on the ground - too much time spent hovering was another drain on his internal generator – knowing he had only a few minutes left.

“It is not..hi..ng…to worry a..bo..ut,” Todo’s speech came out garbled and slowed down, “I am in need of a re..ch..ar..ge…There is a sta..tion…do..wn the ha.ll.”

Bane’s companion’s eyes flickered, like two glowing yellow fireflies, flashing her at intervals. What would she do without him? What if Bane woke up again? She ran to his aid as he began a make his way, albeit awkwardly.

“You can’t leave me! What if the tank malfunctions, or what if Bane has another nightmare!” Zulara begged of him.

“Bane will most likely be remain un..con..scious for se..veral hours n..ow,” he tried to reassure, his tiny, robotic hands trailing the wall to his right side; his eyesight was no longer reliable, and he had to feel for it: the door that would lead him to his charging bay where he would gladly sit and wait to be replenished. “Do not wor..ry, he is safe. You can always ca..ll… Bo…ba.” He could not believe he was saying this.

“Are you sure? But I don’t want to call him!” Zulara argued, watching as Todo ambulated toward another room. It was the place with all their tools, the one she had been searching for. Todo had nearly made it to his recharge station when he stopped dead.

“Todo?” Zulara whimpered.

There was no response; he had lost all power.

#Cad Bane #Cad Bane x OC #Cad Bane x Original Characters #Star Wars #Bad Batch #Clone Wars #TCW #BOBF #Book of Boba Fett #Star Wars OC #Twi'lek species #Todo 360 #Boba Fett #Jango Fett #Flashbacks #Nightmares #Lost Bounty Hunter Arc

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eashn · 1 year

Text

You’re an Idiot Darling - Ch. 1

Rating: Explicit (18+ only) | Mando x Reader

series masterlist | AO3 Link

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: The Mandalorian needed you to fix the Crest, but then, he went and got stabbed. Now, he needs you to fix him up, too.

A/N - this is the first of a multipart Hurt/Comfort series. Later chapters contains smut.

WARNINGS for this chapter: Violence, no use of Y/N, knives, Star Wars guns, minor antagonist death, swearing, blood

Everything was cast in liquid gold. As dusk fell, the junkyard glowed. Piles of litter and scrap metal glimmered in the final rays of sun—drenched in buttery light.

Despite the scene, something else on the horizon had caught your eye. You rose, wiping the sweat from your brow. No way, you thought. There’s no way.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor gleamed in the dwindling light as he made his way toward you. You grinned.

The setting sun rippled across the broad planes of him as he approached, and for a second you saw the same dark, intimidating hunter you’d met so many months ago. You remembered that day distinctly: scrambling out of your workshop as the Razor Crest all but collapsed into your docking bay. In your line of work, that was what you called a “crash landing.”

“Seems like spaceport control lets anyone on-world these days,” you called out. “Or did you just crash that kriffing ship onto my planet again?”

Predictably, the bounty hunter said nothing in response. You snorted, all too familiar with his deadly stoicism. After you fixed his Maker-damned ship that first time, he seemed to realize you had a knack for working miracles at a bargain price. So he came back a few weeks later—his nameless green baby in tow. Then, after a month, they came back needing fresh repairs.

And then, it happened again. And again. Until months had passed, and you’d both become part of each others’ routines. Trust didn’t come easy to Mando; distance and secrecy were just as much a part of his armor as the beskar itself. But after all this time, you’d caught glimpses of what lay beneath it all. It was…unexpected. Soft-spoken. Sarcastic. And stars, did the sight of it entice you to peel more and more of his rigid surfaces away.

Fuck.

You hated yourself for it. For these fat, kriffing feelings you’d begun harboring for the Mandalorian.

You had no idea what he looked like under there; you didn’t even know his name. And yet, this inane, cavewoman part of you felt a thrill up her spine each time he showed up in his piece-of-junk ship. You reveled in the easy banter that crackled between you—shivered at every accidental contact with his massive frame. The coolness of his pauldron on your bare shoulder, or the warmth of his gloved fingers on your arm: every morsel of his touch was engraved into your mind.

Stars, you just wanted to help him. Not with tools and scrap metal, but something softer. Warmer. You wanted to ease the tension from those hulking shoulders after a bad hunt, take all his stress, rage, and frustration away. You wanted the devastating strength beneath that armor to shift and quiver beneath your hands; the calluses from his blaster to scrape against your skin; that rough, throaty baritone to whisper your name, snarl praise right into your ear—

BANG!

You froze.

A gunshot had pierced the night.

In horror, you watched as half a dozen men leapt from the shadows behind Mando, carrying blasters. You grabbed your own gun, barreling toward him.

“Don’t!” Mando growled in your direction, but you weren’t listening. Six men—mercenaries, by the look of them—were converging on him. He was a frenzy of violent motion: his blaster in one hand and a wicked-looking vibroblade in the other. Darting back and forth, he slashed one man with the knife, then turned to shoot another point-blank in the head.

It was carnage. Chaos.

Amidst it, you caught sight of a small, glimmering object. Mando’s kid—his little floating crib. And behind it, a single attacker emerging with his blaster raised, aiming for its surface—

You didn’t think twice before taking aim and shooting the man where he stood.

The mercenaries went still, watching their comrade fall. You didn’t dare slow down. Even with the distance between you, you could see the taut silence that had overtaken Mando’s frame. You watched the slow shift of his helmet in your direction.

Then, you watched him realize the mistake his attackers had made. As the mercenaries stood dumbly in shock, Mando holstered his blaster. And with a lightning-quick flick of his wrist, he unleashed a bombardment of dart-like bullets from his vambrace. Whistling birds, you remembered. They were bullets made of beskar. Tiny, but just as lethal as the man that wore them.

They rained upon the mercenaries, dropping them like flies. By the time you came to where he stood, all six men were on the ground.

“Stars, Mando,” you panted, doubling over.

Stoic as ever, he loomed over you.

“You can shoot,” he said finally, the words deathly quiet. You turned your head to look up at him.

“Um. Yeah.”

“Is he…?”

“Alive. Only stunned,” you answered the unspoken question.

He said nothing for a moment. You flipped the blaster in your hand, flicking the weapon’s safety on before tucking it into the waistband of your trousers. The motions were easy and practiced. When you faced Mando again, you found him silently watching them.

“Where’d you learn how to shoot?” he asked.

“Uh,” you started. He was observing you with rapt curiosity, fixated on the gun currently sticking out of your pants. Kriff, why was he looking at you like that? “Don’t—don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.” As a lone mechanic on a crime-ridden planet, you did business with enough seedy people to acquire a sparkling education in self-defense. Learning to shoot was a necessity, more than anything. But Mando seemed…oddly intrigued by this unexpected skill set of yours. The way he was looking at you right now—with that dark, keen interest?

Oh, stars. Cavewoman You stirred.

FOCUS, you screamed at yourself, shaking your thoughts away. Six men had just attacked Mando, and the logical part of your brain demanded to know why. “Mando, who the hell are these guys?”

“Mercenaries,” he replied, tart and abrupt.

Well no shit, tin can. You knew he’d given a half-answer on purpose—there was more he wasn’t saying. “But why exactly are mercenaries after you?”

He went silent. “Well?” you prodded.

“Well, what?”

Fuck. This was classic Mando. All terse replies and feigned ignorance when he wanted to avoid a question. But the fact that he was evading meant…something was wrong. What kind of trouble had he gotten himself into this time?

“No. We’re not doing this.” You shook your head irritably.

“Doing what?”

“This!” you snapped. “This beating-around-the-bush routine you pull when you don’t want to tell me the truth!”

“I’m not—” But Mando hesitated. Going quiet again, he gazed at you.

In the time that’d passed since he showed up, the sun had dipped fully below the horizon. By now, the sky’s reds and purples were fading into perfect black. He appraised you beneath the falling darkness, marking the indignant stare you were giving him. You watched him with scrutiny of your own, taking in the broad, shadowed expanse of his armored shoulders.

“Please,” you said suddenly, your resolve fracturing. For you knew Mando. When shit hit the fan, his first instinct was to push people away, especially when they wanted to help. It was the conditioned habit of a man painfully used to doing everything alone. After all the time you’d known each other, you tried to convince him he wasn’t alone. He had allies. Friends. And they could help him when things went wrong, if only he let them in.

“Please,” you repeated. “Just—just tell me what’s going on.”

Maybe he saw the anger bleed out of your face, or heard the tremor in your voice. Because when he looked at you this time, something in that rigid stance had softened. He loosed a heavy sigh. And then, impossibly, he spoke.

“I don’t know for sure, but…I think they’re Guild. And it’s not me they’re after.” His voice was a tight growl through the helmet when he said, “It’s the kid.”

Your heart dropped. Well, that explained why he didn’t want to tell you.

You’d fixed enough ships for enough bounty hunters to have a working knowledge of how they operated: bound by the Bounty Hunter Code, Guild members were forbidden from attacking each other. You figured that also forbade threats against each others’ adoptive children. Which could only mean…

“There’s a bounty on his head,” you breathed, the realization knocking the air from your lungs. Mando nodded gravely.

You stepped past him, rushing towards the floating crib that hovered a few feet away. Jabbing the controls at its side, you watched the lid slide open to reveal a familiar green face. The child cooed when he saw you, his huge, glassy eyes twinkling in the dim light.

“Hey, little guy,” you murmured, stroking his chubby cheek with your knuckle. He giggled at the touch, and you felt your heart clench. How could anyone send a hunter after him?

“Since when?” you asked, feeling Mando come up beside you.

“Months now.” You turned to find him gazing at the child. While the beskar revealed nothing, you imagined his features were drawn with concern beneath it.

Months, you realized. That could easily mean the entirety of the time you’d known the two. Sometimes, in these rare moments when another chunk of Mando’s secrecy fell away, you often felt unmoored: left wondering what else lay hidden beneath all his silence. You found yourself asking if he really even trusted you. If, after all this time, you even knew the bounty hunter at all.

But today, he’d already revealed far more than you were used to. Silently, you thanked the stars for it. At the very least, it was a start.

“I’m gonna hazard a guess,” you drawled, letting derision drip into your voice, “that these guys are the same reason the Crest needs repairs?”

He grunted an affirmative. Kriff, you didn’t like the sound of that. “How bad is it this time?” you asked, afraid to hear the answer.

A beat. And then—

“Bad.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Mando gave an apologetic little dip of the head. “Shouldn’t you be glad?” he chided. “It’s more credits out of my pocket.”

“Hard to be glad when I know I’ll be spending another sleepless night fixing that dumpster fire of a ship.”

Images of the Razor Crest’s decrepit engines and carbon-scored hull rose to mind. By now, you knew every inch of that damned ship by heart. The Crest was, frankly, an embarrassment. Just remembering the maddening details of her ancient schematics had your expression souring in distaste.

Then, Mando said, “Hey,” and your eyes snapped to him. “Be nice,” came his gruff voice through the vocabulator.

And suddenly, a slew of…other images rushed to mind. Memories of late nights in your hanger with the dark ship looming over you, and the Mandalorian pacing back and forth as you worked. You remembered lighting the fire when the open air got cooler—sitting with him by the crackling flame. Just talking. At some point, the curt, businesslike nature of your conversations had given in to rippling chemistry: the edge of your snark sliding perfectly against the wryness of his sarcasm. And though some part of him always remained distant from you, sometimes, a certain closeness bloomed beside the heat of the fire.

Your bare leg beside his armored thigh. The accidental brush of beskar on skin. That time he stood watching you repair the ship’s circuits, and leaned in to rub his thumb across your jaw. The way he froze when you jumped at the touch. And murmured, “Easy. There was grease.”

“We need to get back to my hanger,” you said, forcefully shooing the thoughts away. Focus—you needed to focus.

“What’s the damage to the ship?” you asked, turning from him and beginning to pace through the junkyard.

“One of the thrusters, her hull took a hit—comms were down, too, or I’d have let you know we were coming,” he said. Then, he paused, watching as you sidestepped around the heaps of junk metal and rummaged through a pile or two. “What—are you looking for something?”

“My rucksack,” you growled, rifling through the scraps. “Kriff, it’s around here somewhere.” It was the whole reason you were in the local junkyard in the first place: restocking your inventory of spare parts. You enjoyed mechanic work, but the job had a tendency to make one feel like a glorified Jawa sometimes.

“I can’t leave without it,” you said. “In any case, I’ll need some of those parts to fix the Crest, and….wait.”

Something clicked in your head. “Mando, if your comms aren’t working, how’d you know where to find me?”

You turned to find him following after you, the kid’s pod trailing close behind. “You told me about this junkyard once,” he replied. Yes, you had. “I would’ve checked the market next, then the taverns in town.” All the other places you’d ever mentioned to him, even in passing.

“Were you just…going to check everywhere till you found me?”

“Lucky first try,” he replied.

You scoffed. At his nonchalance—at the fact that he even remembered such tiny things about you. Then, you fought the warmth bubbling up in your chest at the sheer domesticity of it.

Your rucksack lay beside a heap of junk metal a few steps away; you made a small sound of relief, grabbing it. “Let’s get out of here,” you said, heaving the bag over your shoulders. “It’s already dark, and let me tell you, this side of town isn’t a place you want to be this late at night.”

“Which is why you carry a blaster.”

If it was supposed to be a question, it didn’t come out like one. As you walked, Mando was watching you with that keen curiosity again. You gave him a look.

“You know, Mando, all this disbelief feels a tad offensive,” you said drily, unable to stop the grin from spreading across your face. “Sounds like sexism to me. Pure misogyny.”

“Really,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, really.”

He took a slow, careful step towards you. Your breath caught.

“That’s rich,” he said quietly, “considering how often you’ve used the phrase testosterone-fueled jackass as of late.”

You both stopped in your tracks. There was barely a foot between you now. His powerful shoulders were a wall of steel in your face. Shit, you thought, fucking shit. Because as Mando stared down at you with that little tilt of his helmet, you felt your blood begin to pound in your ears.

Your brain’s circuitry was frying. Switching off every thought but the sight of him, his heat, and his scent. Apparently, from this close, he smelled like gunpowder, warm leather, and musk.

You tried and failed to fight the needy, sordid thoughts that revelation brought to mind.

Maker, he was a jackass, wasn’t he. He was a complete and utter bastard for being so perfectly unaware of the effect he had on you. For months, the Mandalorian had been luring you into an unstable orbit, wearing your guard down while keeping all his armor on himself. He made you crave stupid, reckless things. And stars—sometimes, between the heated arguments and passing touches the two of you shared, you found yourself wondering if he craved those things, too.

It really couldn’t have been just platonic. Right? This strange, fascinated way he reacted to the sight of a gun in your hand—it…it wasn’t normal. But then again, there was no logical way that Mando was somehow aroused by seeing you get violent. That made absolutely no sense.

…Or did it?

You were this close to just asking him, honestly. But then, your gaze flicked up to his helmet. And the question died in your mouth.

He was motionless. The dark line of his visor was silently fixed upon something in the distance. In a moment’s notice, he went completely tense before you.

“What?” you breathed, feeling the air shift.

He said nothing.

“Mando? Mando.”

Talons of fear grazed their way up your throat.

“Mando!” you cried. You turned to follow his line of sight, only to find:

A bright plume of dust on the otherwise dark horizon. Rippling and writhing, it steadily moved closer. You had no idea what you were looking at—you only knew that it was gaining on you. Fast.

Then, you listened. You heard the telltale rattle of engines, rumbling through the quiet night. Speeder bikes.

Fuck. Fuck.

You looked closer, and sure enough: the glow of their headlights. More than twenty mercenaries riding speeders, hurtling right toward you.

thanks for reading! follow @eashn for more!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #mando smut #mando imagine #star wars #star wars fanfic #the mandalorian x reader #mando x you #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin smut #din djarin imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin x f!reader

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newpathwrites · 6 months

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You and Din have problems… and a marriage of convenience could solve them all…

What you didn’t bargain for was finding the love of your life in your bounty hunting partner.

————————————————————————

Summary: Set after season 2, non-canon from there. This could be read like a reader insert. I first posted this story on AO3 in February 2022.

Din and his platonic work partner with whom he’s very close, a relatively non-descript female referred to only as Cyar’ika, decide to take vows for mutual convenience. Both are on the asexual and aromantic spectrums (though they don’t have this vocabulary) and discover a new and unexpected intimacy once the beskar is no longer a barrier between them. Ultimately, this story depicts the progression of a committed, loving, and physically intimate but non-sexual QPR. I hope you all enjoy this unconventional love story!

Warnings listed by chapter may include sexual themes and references, discussions of sexual trauma and abuse, non-sexual nudity, and blood/injury. Also - first chapter starts a bit clunky, but my writing improved significantly from there.

Lots of fluff and found family vibes. Grogu will make appearances!

I will be posting two alternate endings which are rated mature.

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Chapter 1 - The Vows

Chapter 2 - Affection

Chapter 3 - Closer

Chapter 4 - The Truth

Chapter 5 - Consummation

Chapter 6 - The Bunk

Chapter 7 - The Morning After

Chapter 8 - Confessions

Chapter 9 - There Was Only One Bed (prequel)

Chapter 10 - Cyar’ika (prequel)

Chapter 11 - Riduur

Chapter 12 - Home

Chapter 13 - Holding Space

Chapter 14 - (pending)

A Marriage of Convenience Ramblings

To Be A Family (Dincember 2022)

Love Day (Valentine’s Day story)

A Marriage of Convenience Alternate Ending #2 (demisexual/demiromantic Din Djarin) - Mature

A Marriage of Convenience Alternate Ending #3 (sex favorable asexual Din Djarin) - Mature

#the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #a marriage of convenience #newpathwrites #queerplatonic relationship #din djarin x original female character #din djarin x ofc

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wanderingjedi77 · 1 year

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The Armorer x Fem! Reader (Kar'ta)

Summary: Intrigued by a Mandalorian thief, the Armorer seeks answers and finds more than she bargained for in the process.

You grunted hard as the Mandalorian lifted you up against the cave walls, and your feet dangled. So maybe it was a bad idea to steal from a literal covert of Mandalorians. But you needed beskar and parts for your speeder bike. How would you have known they actually guarded these stupid caves?

"Where did you get that armor thief?" They demanded. Referring to the outfit you were already wearing.

"It's mine!" You argued. "I was just trying to get it fixed."

"That is no excuse."

You look up and take in a sharp breath at the tall, female Mandalorian in beautiful armor approaches you. She stands there with her hands clasped behind her back.

"I look...clearly I made a mistake. I do this all the time on different planets. I didn't think you would mind anything."

"And yet, you steal from your fellow Mandalorians?" The Armorer asks you. You look into her visor and can't come up with an answer.

"She's surviving."

You startled as Din appears at the entrance to the cave. Of course, he would be here. Din usually saved her skin 90% of the time

"Y/n? You could have come to me for help." Din offers, and you nod. "She has no one, Armorer. I ask you to please show some leniancy. She won't steal from us again, will you?"

"No...no.." You shake your head. "I won't. Thank you Din."

"I will show you leniancy this one time." The Armorer motions her hand, and they drop you, kneeling at her feet. "Leave."

You scrambled to your feet and almost ran out if the cave, nodding at Din as you went, half expecting to be shot in the back.

When you returned home, you breathed a sigh of relief. You never wanted to see them again.

Of course, fate had other ideas.

The Armorer was curious. She couldn't understand why you would choose to live alone. Away from a family or a clan. And she started to make inquiries every time she went to town. It didn't take long for people to point her in the right direction, a set of stairs leading to a small but well lit home.

The Armorer knocked and pushed the door in. Stepped inside. She wondered briefly if you were out. Before she felt something, someone slammed into her from the side and pushed her against the wall.

"Get out of my home." You demanded. The only reason she here was to take you away, and you sure as he'll weren't going with her.

The Armorer pushed you back and you stumbled, bringing your hands up in a defensive position.

"Enough. I didn't come here to kidnap you." The Armorer tells you. She moves toward you, and you take a swing at her, and the Armorer reacted, grabbing your arm and forcing you to the ground. "I just l want to ask you some questions."

You feel your helmet fly off as your head hits the ground and grunted hard as The Armorer pinned you, straddling you. Her armor was heavy, and you tried to do anything to get away. She grabbed your arms as you took a swing at her and layed them down next to your head.

"I am not here to hurt you." The Armorer repeats more firmly. "Calm down."

"No, I don't believe you." You say desperately. "Leave me alone."

The Armorer shushes you, and you lay there; trying to focus on your breathing and not the fact that the Armorer has you pinned down.

"It's okay. I'm going to get off of you now. I want you to get up and sit on the bench." The Armorer orders gently. "Do you understand?"

"Yes." You swallow. "I understand, Lady Armorer." You manage to get out, trying to figure out what game she was playing. But she wasn't being aggressive. Just...commanding.

You frown, and she tilts her head at you.

She gets off of you, and you sit up, winching as your leg cramps as you stand and sit down on the bench. You wonder what's going to happen now. You winch again as pain travels up your leg and tilt your head down.

"Here. Allow me." The Armorer steps closer to you where you sit on the bench. "I didn't hurt you?" She asks, and you wonder how someone so intimidating can sound so soft.

The Armorer moves her hands to your leg and gently moves them down, checking for injury. Satisfied, it's just a pulled muscle she pulls her hands back from you, and you feel like you can breathe again. Although your heart is beating dangerously fast.

"No. Not really." You reply as you look back up at her. "Are you...alright?"

The Armorer laughs, amused. "Yes. I'm afraid I escaped most of your wrath." She moves closer. "Hold still for me."

You shy away as the Armorer fixes the armor and cloth next to your neck, shivering when her gloved fingers press against the exposed skin. You swallow hard, and you're sure she's noticed, but doesn't say anything.

"You need new under armor as well." The Armorer remarks. She tilts her helmet as she moves to the front of your armor. "A new chest plate, too."

"Yes." You breathe out sharply. "But I can't pay for that right now."

The Armorer chuckles. "Oh? And your not going to steal from us again?"

"No...no?" You reply. "I won't steal from you or another Mandalorian again."

"Good girl." The Armorer remarks casually and you can't help the squeek that escapes your throat. Oh gods, you want to die. You think, blushing as the Armorer pauses in her inspection of your armor.

"You could help me in the forge to pay for it." The Armorer continues, moving away from you to pick up your helmet to inspect it. "Do you have any experience?"

You shake your head. "No. But I'm...I would work hard." You admit. And you would. You wanted to be better for her, at least. You felt awful for disappointing her, and you had only ever met once before.

"I'd like that." You finally say, and the Armorer hands you your helmet. You place it next to you again, and she holds out her hand.

You furrow your brow, confused, but take it and allow her to help you up. "Is something wrong?"

"No. I will be back with food and supplies for you soon." She brings your hands up and presses them against the mouth of your helmet. "If that is agreeable?"

"It is." You choke out. You feel more like a lady than a Mandalorian.

The Armorer nods and sweeps out of the room. "I will also repair some of your armor. Be patient for me."

You sit down hard when she leaves, and find yourself staring at the door long after she's gone.

True to her word though, The Armorer returns a few times. Asking you questions, explaining the tribe and the creed in more detail as you get to know each other. You find yourself enjoying her company. A touch on the knee here, getting her to help you with forging by having her show you how to do things up close, a squeeze of your shoulder when you do a good job.

You don't wear your helmet around her, which you think the Armorer enjoys. Especially when she insists on removing it from your head for you. It's...domestic. you wish you could remove hers to see the woman underneath, but settle for sweet compliments and gentle touches instead.

You're working on fixing your chest plate when you feel the Armorer come up behind you, and you turn to face her, putting your tools down. Instead, she takes your hand and leads you over to a nearby bench, quiet. Thoughtful. You wonder if you've done something wrong?

"I need you to listen to me for a moment." The Armorer commands, and you are about to pull away when she squeezes your hand in hers

"Okay. I'm listening." You reply.

"I wanted to apologise for judging you. When you were first brought before me I was angry. How could one of our own people steal from us? I didn't understand your situation until I came here and got to know you." The Armorer says, and you feel hot all of a sudden, because this wasn't what you were expecting at all.

"You are a capable fighter and are truly a survivor." The Armorer continues. "I am sorry, truly for acting the way I did. I would like to offer you a place in the Tribe. If you accept, I would teach you the ways of forge. More than what you are learning now. " She pauses. "But I would also like your permission to court you my Ka'rta. If you'll have me."

You couldn't have heard her properly, you think. She wants to marry you?

"I..." You struggle to form a sentence. Any sentence. "I've never courted anyone. Or been courted...I mean..."

The Armorer steps closer. "You are so sweet." She tells you. "But I will not make you do anything you do not wish to do."

"I'd like to be courted by you." You admit shyly. You blushing, you know she can see it, and she tilts her head in a way that you think is a smile.

The Armorer wraps her arms around you and sits down next to you, pulling you up on her lap. You dont have time to register this information properly before the Armorer is tilting her head towards you until your foreheads are pressing together. A Keldebe kiss.

You sigh contently and softly ask, "After we're married, may I see what you look like under the helmet?"

"Yes. As much as you want." The Armorer says softly. "As much as you need."

#star wars #the mandalorian #star wars mandalorian #star wars the mandalorian season 3 #the armorer #the armorer x fem!reader #the armorer x reader #star wars x y/n #star wars x reader #anon request #request answered

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captainkirkk · 2 years

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✩ WEEKLY FIC ROUND-UP ✩

All the fics I’ve read and really enjoyed in the past week-ish. Reminder: This list features any and all ratings and themes.

ATLA

hey, isn't this easy by WitchofEndor

Zuko doesn’t have time to deal with pressure for an arranged marriage, especially since he isn’t even sure he likes women that way. (A realisation that has absolutely nothing to do with Ambassador Sokka - shut up, Suki.) Katara and Aang have broken up again, and the Northern Water Tribe are pushing for a match between the North and South.

Which leads Zuko and Katara to develop a genius, foolproof, only slightly drunken plan: they can pretend to date for the length of Katara’s stay in the palace, giving them both a brief reprieve from political pressures on their love lives. What could go wrong?

Stranger Things

this is your home. these are your people. by oaseas

“Your heart’s racing,” Steve noted, quietly.

Eddie laughed. It was more of a shaky exhale, lashes fluttering as he struggled to keep his composure. “Stevie,” he whispered, fingers cradling Steve’s side like he was precious. “Yeah, no fucking shit.”

OR: Ma Henderson & Wayne Munson get cosy, Dustin makes an off-hand remark, and Steve spirals. It works out in the end.

Tell me you love me, it's all I need. by ThisB_tchEmpty

Steve isn’t sure what wakes him, his clock reads 8:43 which is twenty minutes before he’s supposed to be up to go and take the kids to the arcade for what must be the fourth time this week but it’s the middle of summer and everyone is back in Hawkins for the first time since the Byers left for Cali so he supposes they’re just excited to spend time together again.

He stays laying for a moment, to see if it was anything particular. The house is as silent as it always is, his parents are rarely back anymore and the silence has become almost as comforting as it is daunting. Just as he’s about to decide that it wasn’t anything, there’s a crash from the kitchen that has Steve up and out of bed, grabbing his nail-covered bat and sneaking as quietly and quickly as he can towards the noise. He doesn’t know what it could be, there’s a long list of Upside Down related stuff he hopes it isn’t, it’s too early for that. He’s getting too old for that.

He’s just shy of being seen from whoevers there in the kitchen but close enough that he can still see in, it says enough that he’s shocked to see his own mother in her own house. Or: Steve's dad dies and he deals with all that.

Star Wars/The Mandalorian

How the Blooms Yearn by ShyOwl

Din has been king of Mandalore for many years but knows war is on the horizon for his people if he is not careful. In a desperate move, he agrees to an attempt at a shaky truce and was to marry an Imp chosen by the Emperor himself. Sensing an opportunity, he and a mysterious group plot to kill the Emperor so Mandalore can take the power that's alluded it for so long.

They were expecting most anything as an obstacle to their plan…except for Luke.

Luke who has constant memories of agony and loneliness; of Master with his yellowed-eyes and crooked teeth and his smile that cuts skin as he purred out toxic words of “monster” into every waking moment of Luke’s life. Luke with his heart on his sleeve and a past shrouded in mystery that may give more opportunity, and trouble, to Din's plan than he originally bargained for.

Oh, In Only A Moment's Time by snapdragonpop007

With the New Republic Senate demanding nothing less than Luke Skywalker’s only student’s head on a spike, he has finally had enough of their hypocrisy and backhandendness. He leaves Coruscant in the dead of night with Rey and heads to the only place the Republic wouldn’t dare go.

Mandalore.

only as strong as the warrior next to you by EmilianaDarling

With an indolent air, Luke rests his elbows on the railing, then leans forward to better take in the action.

Below, the Mandalorian is already in motion, beskar a glinting contrast to the mostly-black floors and walls. Luke’s eyes trail him as he moves, both bitter and gluttonous in the act of taking him in. Taking stock of concrete half-walls, helmet tilting upward to survey the turrets looming above. Exploring the terrain before the simulation is initiated; expected, but still noteworthy. His movements are precise and deliberate, the lingering tension beneath his armor in no way affecting his outer professionalism.

Compartmentalization is a skill Luke learned involuntarily; a way to cope with the horror that was once his daily existence. Din, though – he embodies the very practice of it. That rigid separation between self and other.

The Mandalorian’s inner world is so vast, Luke could get lost in it. - Imperial High Prince Skywalker has taken himself a bodyguard. The Mandalorian, and the rest of the galaxy, don’t know what’s coming for them.

#happy friday everyone!#hope you can enjoy these fics over the weekend #weekly fic round up #my posts #sw recs #stranger things recs #atla recs #fic recs

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 7 months

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Thank you for the WIP Wednesday tag @anxiouspineapple99!!!

I've got a few in the works (clone x reader bingo is murdering me), so have a tidbit for each!

Some of these are in the super-early drafting/outlining stage, so apologies in advance for bad grammar, spelling errors, and pure weirdness.

Chapter 4 of "A Man's Worth"

When visitor hours were over, you never received a goodbye or goodnight. You came in silence and you left in silence. After closing his hospital room door, you would sink to the floor and cry. Sometimes Kix would be walking by and see you crouched into a little ball. It broke his heart to see you like that, so he would stop, look down at you with soft, tired eyes and get on your level. There were no words of comfort, but a simple embrace as you wept spoke volumes.

"The Last Notch" - Fives x Reader

“It’s our reality,” Jesse retorts. “What did you think you were going to do? Date, settle down, have kids, and live a normal life?” “I could try,” Fives answers. Jesse snorts. “In ten years time, you’ll be old enough to be her grandfather. How gross is that?” Fives grunts and rolls his eyes.

"Of Frogs and Clones" - Hardcase x Reader

“Oops,” Hardcase says. “Oops?” Kix scowls. “That’s all you have to say is ‘oops’? You’re a kriffing frog!” Hardcase spits out his tongue and whacks Kix’s nose in defiance. Kix scrunches his face in disgust, pulls Hardcase away, and places him back in Jesse’s hands. “He’s your problem,” Kix says as he wipes the slime off his nose. “Me?” Jesse protests. “What am I supposed to do with him?” “I don’t know,” Kix says. “Figure it out.”

"Untitled" - Fox x Reader

Fox chuckles. "You don't understand." "What?" the man asks. Fox gets real close and whispers. "I'm the freak of nature." He grabs the man by the throat and lifts him against the wall. "Let go!" the man yells. "You're not in a place to bargain," Fox says. He bears his fangs. The man wriggles helplessly in the Commander’s grasp. "Confess your sins," Fox says darkly.

"Untitled" - Jesse x Reader

"You can't be serious," Jesse complains. "Afraid not," Rex answers. "Your name was drawn, so you're going." Jesse grunts. "This program is stupid." "It's tradition," Rex says. "Go and learn something." "Can't you send someone else?" Jesse pleads. Rex narrows his eyes. "No."

NPT: @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @vodika-vibes @t3mpest98 @wings-and-beskar @ladyzirkonia @starrylothcat @freesia-writes @moonlightwarriorqueen @mooncommlink @littlemissmanga

(Sorry if any of you were already tagged. I was trying to find people that I haven't seen wips for yet)

#tbbb writes #wip wednesday #tup x reader #fives x reader #hardcase x reader #fox x reader #jesse x reader #never let me sign up to write 16 fics ever again #please #i am suffering #the clone wars #clone wars #tcw #star wars #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

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dindjarindiaries · 1 year

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Mandalorian Musings: The Hunter and The Chaser

summary: Din teams up with the galaxy's most renowned thief and earns much more than he originally bargained for.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x fem!nondescript

warnings: canon-typical violence, suggestiveness, angst

rating: T

word count: 2.825k

note: As a Mandalorian Musing, this piece is unfinished. High demand for a part two could lead to the piece being completed.

main masterlist • mandalorian musings

Just seeing her across the room made Din know he was doing something dangerous.

He leaned back in the booth and took a deep breath. There was no reason to break his resolve now and weaken his composure. Din needed the information and she would love the reward he was being offered. With an arm thrown over the booth, Din tried to make himself look approachable.

A green Twi’lek approached with the hint of a smile on her lips. “Welcome.” Din could hear the slight tremor in her voice. Mandalorians didn’t frequent a place like that, and stars knew how many people in that cantina had a price on their head. “How can I help you?”

Din pointed at the person he came for, where she served a table across the room. “I’d like to buy a drink for her.”

The Twi’lek started to shake her head. Her eyes had doubled in size. “I’m sorry, sir, we usually don’t…”

Din reached into the pouch on his belt and handed her a generous pile of credits. “Bring it here.” He nodded and leaned back in the booth again.

Without another word, the Twi’lek returned his nod and walked off, pocketing the credits as she went. Din kept his visor fixed away from the one he was seeking, but his gaze flickered to her. The Twi’lek had already approached her and was whispering something in her ear. Her gaze found Din and she stared. Not a single flicker of fear appeared in her eyes.

Din shifted in his seat. Perfect. He needed someone who wouldn’t be afraid to do the job.

He made himself relax more before she made her way to his table. The Twi’lek had handed the drink right to her, which Din understood despite the fact he had requested otherwise. There was no telling how many times patrons had slipped something into people’s drinks, and Din had asked for something out of the ordinary.

“Mando.” Her voice was velvet as she set the drink onto the tabletop and leaned upon it with both her hands. Her gaze gave Din a onceover and, despite the fact his visor hid his own gaze from her, Din resisted to do the same. “What’s given me the honor of getting a drink from you?”

Din lifted an arm and gestured to the open side of the booth across from him. “Have a seat and I’ll tell you.”

She grinned without showing her teeth and shrugged. “Sorry, honey. Can’t get caught sitting on the job.” She used her head to gesture back to the bar. With a deep breath, she came a little closer to him. “I can tell you’re a very smart man.” She lifted a hand to the side of his helmet and caressed his beskar cheek. “And I promise I’m a very good girl.” Her fingertips lingered on his helmet before she pulled her hand back to her side. “So, I can either show you out, or I can take care of you another way.”

Din’s gaze flickered to where her hand had gone. It remained at the edge of her skirt, no doubt ready to reach for a concealed blaster in a thigh holster. Din took a deep breath and leaned forward to rest his elbow upon the table. “That won’t be necessary.” Her gaze darkened, but only for a moment. “I’m not here for the price on your head.”

She took the drink and drew a long sip from it while she considered his words. When she was done, she leaned her hip against the table and lifted an eyebrow at Din. “Are you gonna give me a way I can trust you?”

Din tightened his gloved hand into a fist and never broke his visor away from her gaze. “Mandalorians don’t go back on their word.”

She smiled and reached out with the hand not holding her drink to grasp the lip of Din’s helmet and tilt it up even more to face her. “Well, honey, you’re the first one I’ve ever met.” She kept her hand on his helmet as she drew another sip of her drink. “Will you make it memorable?”

“Depends.” Din took a gentle grasp around her wrist to lower her hand from his helmet. “But I can prove that credits are the last thing I need.” He reached towards his belt and showed her the generous pouch of credits he had saved for his new ship. The reward for turning in Moff Gideon had, in fact, been just as generous as promised.

“Then what do you need, Mando?” She swished the drink in her glass as her gaze flickered with a curious light. “Is that code of yours making you lonely?” The corner of her lips turned up in an amused smile.

“I need your help.” Din made his intentions clear. He nodded at her. “I can promise you a handsome reward.”

“I’ve already got a handsome reward right in front of me.” She smiled wider as Din’s face burned underneath his beskar. “All right, hon, you’ve got me interested.” She finished off her drink in one smooth swallow and set the empty glass on the table. “I’m off in five minutes. Meet me outside around the back. The speederbike’s mine.”

Din nodded and held back a sigh of relief. He started to reach for the empty glass to bring it back to the bar, but she stopped him, her hand wrapped around his wrist as she raised her brow at him and lowered her voice.

“And if you double-cross me, Mando, you’re gonna wish you never stepped foot on this planet.” Despite her threat, she lifted his gloved hand towards her face and used her thumb to push the edge of his glove up. Her lips left a burning kiss on the skin of his wrist before she turned and walked away.

Din released a deep breath and grabbed the empty glass. He considered it in his grasp as he tried to calm his racing heart. She could very likely become the death of him, but it would be the loveliest way to go.

After a minute or so had passed, Din rose from the booth and strided over to the bar. He set the empty glass down and added a few credits alongside it for good measure. Din felt many gazes on him as he made his way to the door, though that wasn’t unusual. He had become accustomed to the attention his silver beskar had given him.

Din stuck to the shadows as he made his way to the back of the cantina. There was a speederbike just as she had said. Din kept a gloved hand by his holster, but relaxed. It was good to know that she had told the truth; he knew that he would remain honest, but she had yet to prove the same thing to him.

He leaned his armored shoulder against the back of the building. Sure enough, she emerged through a backdoor and offered him one of her signature smiles. “Mando! You look happy to see me.” She stepped up to him with her chest almost touching his own. “I was half expectin’ you to bail on me.”

“I told you, Mandalorians stay true to their word.” Din nodded at her and tried to ignore the tightness in his throat. She lived up to her reputation, as much as Din wanted to ignore the alluring part of it.

“An honest man.” Her grin widened as she set a hand upon his cuirass. “I like it.” She gestured with her head to the bike. “C’mon, let’s get going. You’ve got me all excited, now.” She turned to the bike and sat upon it. It was large enough for two people, but Din was still hesitant. He kept his gloved hands to himself as he took his place behind her. She laughed and reached back for his hands. “It’s all right, baby. You can hold on to me.” She eased his arms around her waist and Din felt the skin beneath his armor get hotter. “I’m a little reckless when I drive.”

Din huffed with amusement. “A ‘little?’”

“Yeah.” She revved the bike before she finished. “I like to chase down whoever’s in front of me.”

With that, she took off, directing them through the streets of the planet’s busy city. Reckless had been a generous term to describe her steering. Din’s grip on her waist remained tight out of necessity as she turned without slowing and weaved through the other vehicles and speeders that flew around them. He didn’t know where the hell she was taking them, but with no ship of his own and no place to stay, it didn’t really matter. The more private it was, the better. Din wanted his plan to remain airtight.

It wasn’t long before she pulled the speeder bike into a secluded alleyway. She stopped the bike and Din got off first to offer his hand for her. She grinned and took it as she stood from the bike. “Such manners.” Her tone was nothing short of lighthearted while she led him to a door in the alleyway. She entered a code into the panel beside the door to open it, and after guiding him through a hallway with a few other doors, she stopped at one and entered another code.

The apartment they stepped inside was small, but suitable for someone living alone. The kitchen was attached to the sitting area, and one more door separated the rest of the apartment from what was no doubt her bedroom and washroom. Din waited for her to guide him as the door closed behind them.

“Welcome to my place.” She looked at him and lifted her arms to gesture to their surroundings. “I hope this proves that you have my trust.”

Din nodded at her. “I appreciate it.” He made a point to look around and study it. “It’s very nice…” He waited for a name.

“Chase.” She smiled and offered a curious look. “Do you have a place of your own, Mando? I’ve never seen you ‘round here before.”

Din felt a breath get caught in his throat. The image of the Razor Crest bursting into flames flashed in his mind. “I… used to.” He tried not to let his voice reveal his hidden distress. Din shifted his weight and continued. “I don’t keep myself limited to one planet.”

“I guess Mandalore’s out of the picture, then.” Chase kept an ounce of sympathy in her tone before she started to make her way to her bedroom. “Tell me about this thing you need help with.”

Din remained where he was as he answered. “It’s a job. I’ve got a bounty, but there’s… more to it.”

Chase kept the door to her bedroom open as she raised her voice to respond to him. “I’m not a hunter, honey.”

“You don’t need to hunt.” Din crossed his arms and leaned against the nearest wall. “I need you to steal.”

Chase’s chuckle could be heard even through the walls that separated them. “An honorable man wanting to steal?”

“That’s why you’re doing it.” Din let his amusement bleed into his tone. “And because you’re one hell of a thief.”

“I’m not a thief, Mando.” Chase’s words were playful before she paused. “I’m an artist.”

“Whatever it is, I need you to do it well.”

Chase’s voice was much softer when she replied after another brief pause. “It sounds personal.”

Din sighed and tightened the grasp he had taken on his arms. “It is.” It was hard to confess, but he was the galaxy’s worst liar. “The man hunts Mandalorians and loots their hiding places. He’s gotten the beskar melted down and by Creed, I need to return it to my people.”

After a full minute, Chase emerged from the bedroom, her shirt and skirt exchanged for an all-black ensemble of a shirt, vest, and loose-fitting pants. Her brow was furrowed as she looked at Din. “Beskar’s worth a lot, hon. You want me to steal it and then give all of it to you?” She scoffed and crossed her arms. “One bar of that could get me the most luxurious place in this city.”

“I know.” Din stood up straight and took a few steps closer to her. “But the reward I can offer you is worth even more than that.”

Chase’s gaze flickered over him as she kept her jaw tight. “What is it?”

Din tilted his helmet. “All the credits I earn from turning him in.” Chase was about to cut in when Din continued. “And I can get your name cleared with the Guild.”

Chase’s mouth fell open as she tried to process his words. “You can get the price off my head?”

“I happen to be close with the magistrate himself.”

Chase’s eyes were wide as she took a few steps towards Din to close the distance between them. Her gaze searched his visor with a palpable disbelief. When she spoke, her words dripped with meaning. “You would do that for me?” She shook her head and let her gaze fall for the first time since Din had met her. “You barely know me.”

Din lifted a gloved hand towards her as his chest ached with a familiar and unwelcome tightness. His fingers were gentle as he rested them under her chin and tilted her head back up to face him. He let them both wallow in the silence before he spoke. “I know what it’s like to live with your head always turned over your shoulder.” Din gave his helmet a shake. “No one deserves that.”

Chase’s gaze softened as she studied the Mandalorian. “Even a thief like me?”

“I’ve done my research.” Din nodded at her and kept his gloved fingers where they were. “You only take from those who’ve exploited many others to gain their riches.”

Chase smiled and took a hold of his wrist. “Well, that’s sweet, baby.” Just like before, she lifted his glove and kissed his wrist. Din set his jaw to keep himself from drawing in a sharp breath at the pleasant sensation of her lips upon his skin. She released his wrist and urged his arm to fall to his side again. “Now, what’s your plan?” Chase spoke as she walked towards her kitchen to get something to drink.

Din took a deep breath to compose himself. “I go in to secure the bounty. While I distract him and his guards, you sneak in and… do your thing.”

Chase gave him a look over her shoulder as she filled a glass and raised it to her lips. “‘Do my thing?’” She took a sip and grinned. “You mean steal?”

Din tilted his helmet and tightened his fists. “Sure.”

Chase leaned against the counter and raised her brow. “So, when do we start?”

Din gestured with his helmet towards the door. “Now.”

“Now?” Chase released a mirthless chuckle. “And what if I had said no?”

“I knew my offer was too good to refuse.”

Chase finished her drink and smiled as she stepped up to Din again. “So, you are a little arrogant under there.” She rested her hand upon his beskar cuirass. Din wondered if she could feel his heart hammer against the metal. “I like it.”

She stepped away and Din released the breath he’d been holding. Chase disappeared inside her bedroom again to retrieve a knapsack that she kept on her back. She walked towards the door and spoke without ever looking away from her path.

“Who’s this guy, anyway?”

Din released a quiet breath and prepared for a storm. “Tannon Halcorr.”

Chase stopped what she was doing and looked back at Din with wide eyes. “Tannon Halcorr?” She turned her body around to face him. “That damn Pantoran practically owns this whole city.” She scoffed and crossed her arms. “You’re kriffing crazy if you think you’re gonna pull this off.”

Din sighed and shifted his weight onto one leg. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

Chase raised her brow. “And me?”

“You’ll be fine.”

She blinked at him, dubious. “And what if they—?”

“You’ll be fine.” Din stepped closer to Chase, until his armored chest was nearly touching her. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He nodded at her. “You have my word.”

Chase gave Din a once-over before her severity cracked and a smile shone through. “Protective.” She raised a hand to cup the side of his helmet. “I can handle myself just fine, but I appreciate it, honey.” Chase stepped away and gestured with her head towards the door. “Now c’mon, we’ve got somewhere to be.”

main masterlist • mandalorian musings

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#this was the one inspired by the batman which means it's been sitting in the drafts for a very long time #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x oc #the mandalorian x oc #dindjarindiaries

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dindjarinandlysakane · 9 months

Text

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 47 - The Bridge

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

Masterlist

Chapter 47 - The Bridge

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Din stood on the bridge, fingers tensed around his blaster, and his other hand clenched into a tight fist, still holding onto the torn piece of Lysa’s bloody dress.

He watched now as Ran glanced at the doorway behind him for a brief moment, before letting out a long sigh.

“You know, it was actually because of you leavin’ that we even met Crix,” said Ran conversationally, turning back to face Din now. “That day you decided to leave…go your own way…we all decided to drown our sorrows in some force-forsaken cantina and got talkin’ to this guy. Turned out to be one hell of a rallier and we ended up invitin’ him along with us for a while.”

Ran gave a chuckle now, as Din growled under his breath.

He didn't have time to hear these pointless stories.

He was here for one thing and one thing only.

“I’m not here to listen to you reminisce…” said Din in a low, deadly voice.

“Cool your jets, Mando,” snapped Ran, gesturing with the cannon he held between both hands viciously. “I was tellin’ a story.”

He cleared his throat, and continued.

“Crix travelled with us for a while. Course’ he was no replacement for you, but he could talk the talk when he wanted to. Then after a couple of years or so, we fell into a little trouble with the New Republic. Had to lay low for a while. Disband the group. And, well, we all ended up here. In Nar Shaddaa. Ready to go our separate ways…” Ran said with a knowing grin.

“...An’ the last we saw of ol’ Crix, was him at a bar here, talkin’ to some blonde gal. The same gal we’ve got locked up inside,” said Ran gesturing back towards the hanger with a nod of his head. “Kinda poetic really. ‘Cause when you think about it, in a way, if it weren't for you leavin’, we’d have never met Crix. An’ in turn, Crix would never have met her.”

Beneath his beskar, Din gave a sudden hard swallow.

All those years that Lysa had suffered at Crix’s hand….was all because of Din?

He thought of the bruises now, the broken ribs and the dislocated jaw she had spoken of casually, as though they were a drop in the ocean compared to the rest of the horrors Crix had put her through, time and time again.

Was all of that, in a way, all down to Din himself?

If he had just stayed with the gang of mercenaries, Lysa could have lived a happy life, out there, free. Not under the rule of Crix Val’shif and his cruel words and his violent fists for years on end.

But Ran merely let out a hollow laugh now, taking Din’s silence for realisation.

“Listen…brother,” said Ran. “In all seriousness, whatever issue Val’shif has with you….that’s his business. But I don't want any of this to get messy. Your gal doesn’t need to get hurt in all this-”

“Then let her go,” uttered Din darkly.

“I will,” Ran nodded firmly. “...I will. But first….you’ve got to do something for me.”

Din lifted his chin, eyeing Ran. Whatever the bearded man was trying to bargain for, Din knew that it couldn't be good.

“There’s a ship I want. I’m hoping its gonna be my next base after you got my last one destroyed,” said Ran, in a voice tinged with bitterness. “You’re the best I know, Mando. So I want you to get onto that base an’ help me take it over. In exchange, you get your girl back safe and sound…then we’re even.”

Din clenched his jaw hard.

“And what about Crix?” Din asked in a low voice through his modulator. “He agree to those terms too?”

Din wasn't stupid. There was no way Crix and Ran wanted the same thing.

Crix was here for one thing and one thing only…

Revenge.

“Screw Crix,” said Ran quickly, his face twisted up into a grimace, as he opened his mouth, likely to curse some more.

But Din’s attention was suddenly drawn by the door behind Ran opening again.

But to Din’s dismay, neither Lysa nor Crix appeared through the doorway.

Instead it was another figure Din had hoped to never see again as long as he lived.

“Well, well, well…” came the high-pitched voice of Xi’an, the purple skinned Twi’lek and Din’s old comrade. As she stepped out onto the bridge beside Ran, her eyes fixed to Din. “...if it isn't Mando.”

“I sprung Xi’an from a prison transport ship,” explained Ran with a grin. “Good to have the old team back together, aint it?”

Din very much doubted that was true. Knowing that the last time they had all been together Din had gotten Xi’an’s brother killed.

“I’ve been spending some time with your girl, Mando,” taunted Xi’an, taking a couple of steps forwards. Her words ruffling Din slightly. His new life with Lysa colliding with his old sorry existence. Two worlds he never wanted to see meet. “And I can understand what you see in her. She’s veeeery pretty-”

“If you’ve laid one finger on her, Xi’an-” uttered Din in a dangerous tone.

But Xi’an let out a cackle, obviously enjoying herself.

“Oh I’ve done more than that,” uttered the Twi’lek in a sickly tone, flexing her long fingers. “I’ve had a taste…”

Din’s grip on the blaster in his hand tightened as he gave an angry growl beneath his breath.

“I have no problem killing you, Xi’an-” said Din in a deadly voice, staring at the woman he had once had more than just a complicated relationship with, with dark furious eyes.

During his younger years, with less to lose. Din had been far less picky about the types of women he enjoyed. And after a job well done on a couple of occasions, Din and Xi’an had gotten more than a little hot and heavy with one another after a late night session in the cantina.

But there had been no feelings there, not on Din’s part at least. And not once had he chosen to remove his helmet, having reserved that in his lifetime for Lysa and Lysa alone. His feelings for her, far stronger than anything else he had felt for another he had been intimate with, as long as he lived.

The Twi’lek stepped forward a few paces, crossing the bridge towards Din.

“Aw it’s just like old times isnt it?” she cackled suddenly, pulling a two knives from either side of her belt with a flourish, her sharp teeth bared like an animal. “But no more flirting. I’m here to kill you, Mando…”

Din readied himself for a fight, readjusting his grip on his blaster and calmly shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“...for what you did to my brother!”

“Hold your equinoid there, Xi’an,” said Ran suddenly in a loud commanding tone, as Xi’an suddenly stopped in her tracks, giving a hiss of anger in Ran’s direction, looking utterly frustrated and angry at her reigns being pulled.

She made to open her mouth to protest, when from behind the pair of them, the door opened and out stepped two figures.

Though it was the first figure, and the first figure alone, that was all that Din cared about.

Lysa.

She walked out of the rusty metal door with hands bound and mouth gagged, looking mightily unsteady on her feet, being led from behind by Crix Val’shif who looked as vicious as ever, one hand on Lysa, and a blaster in the other.

Din’s eyes widened in horror behind his beskar helmet now, as he took in every single imperfection that littered her form.

The long blue tunic he had seen her dress herself in when she had risen for work the previous day was now dirty and tattered and ripped at the shoulder. Which revealed a nasty-looking blaster wound covered in blood, that looked like it had been hastily sealed over with a bacta spray.

But it was obvious now that all was not well, with both the wound and with Lysa. The blonde woman looking like she had suffered a large amount of blood loss, perspiration beading on almost every inch of skin that Din could see.

Lysa’s face was deathly pale and bore the marks of a purple bruise blossoming over her cheekbone and three red scratches down the side of her face, with Din knowing these were likely the marks of Xi’an’s fingernails which she had so boastfully presented to him not even a minute ago.

Lysa seemed to wobble slightly on her feet as she was shoved forwards, towards the far right side of the bridge, her green, tearful eyes meeting with Din’s.

And despite Lysa not being able to utter a word to him, with the dirty rag tied around her mouth. Din could see in her gaze the utter hopelessness that poured from her.

As though already having resigned herself to death ten times over.

There was no relief in seeing him at all. Only tears and fear in her eyes now.

Din’s heart ached, just wanting to hold her close. To tell her that everything would be ok. To never have her leave his side again.

But Din knew how volatile this group were. And despite how confident Din was in his ability to win almost any fight. It was now not just him in jeopardy. But Lysa as well.

And he wasn't going to lose her now, a fury building inside him.

“Can we kill her now?” said Xi’an suddenly, tilting her head and pouting over at Lysa before turning back Din and offering him a sickening grin.

Din noted that Crix, at Lysa’s side, holding onto Lysa’s upper arm firmly, didn't say a word. But the look on his face really did say it all. Looking back at Xi’an with a smug, gleeful smirk plastered over his features.

After how loyal Lysa had been to him for so many years, it was hard to come to terms with the fact that this was really the fate he wanted for the woman that had loved him. Torture and death.

All to get one over on Din. On a Mandlaorian who he felt had taken something that belonged to him. With Crix considering Lysa as no more than a mere possession now, no more important to him than a speeder bike or a set of sabaac cards perhaps.

It broke Din’s heart to think on how Lysa must be feeling now, his eyes not able to catch hers, seeing that her gaze was now on the floor, visibly trembling now as she stood there…waiting…

“Not so fast, Xi’an,” came Ran’s sudden voice, smoothly. “There’s been a change of plan.”

The Twi’lek and Crix turned their heads suddenly to look at the bearded man. Their expressions turned to sudden confusion.

“Mando is going to help me out on a mission,” he said, glancing first at Din, before looking back towards his two comrades. “The gang back together for one last job. An’ prividin’ all goes well we can see about him gettin’ his girl back…safe and sound.”

Ran looked back to Din once more as he uttered the final three words directly to him.

“So what do you think, brother?” Ran said with a serious nod. “Do we have a deal?”

But before Din could say a word in response, Crix had cut over him, his face suddenly a picture of anger.

“This wasn't the plan!” said Crix suddenly, his face now red and his eyes wide and furious as he glared at the bearded leader of the mercenaries. “I dont give a kriff about your base! I want him and her to pay for what they did to me!”

Xi’an gave another hiss.

“And my brother!” she snarled, flashing her sharp teeth his way, as she raised the knives in her hands threateningly. “Ughhh…he always was your favourite, wasn't he?”

And with that she gave a feline roar and launched herself towards Ran, brandishing her blades in both hands.

But as she leapt towards the bearded Ran, as quick as a flash he let go of the cannon with one hand, as pulled a blaster from his belt…

…firing it directly at Twi-lek who immediately hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Din raised the blaster in his own hand.

But Crix somehow got there first. And, in seeing Xi’an hit the ground, he let go of Lysa and fired his own gun in angry retaliation at Ran. Who dropped instantly like a stone near to the base of the hanger. The cannon rolling from his hand.

In that moment Din saw his chance, running suddenly forwards, towards Crix and within a second, Din had knocked him off balance…knocking Crix’s blaster from his hand as he did so.

Din was furious.

Now this close to Crix Val’shif there was no way he was going to let him go unpunished for what he had done to Lysa…what he was still doing to her.

Pinning Crix down, Din quickly landed a hard punch across the thug’s cheekbone.

But before Din could hit him again, he heard Lysa give a loud cry from behind her gag…drawing his head around, only to see that her eyes were no longer on him, but instead on another figure behind him, who had gotten to her feet.

Din gave an instantly loud grunt of pain as he felt the impact of a sharp knife colliding with an exposed portion of his ribs, just above his kidneys.

He arched his back in pain, as Crix took that as his opportunity to lift his leg and kick Din directly in the stomach.

His thick leather vest took most of the impact, but even so Din couldn't help but stagger backwards a little, crouching down on one knee, clutching at his side and removing Xi’an’s knife from his ribs with a groan.

“You're getting slow in your old age, Mando,” came the voice of the purple Twi-lek as Din looked up to see her advancing on him once more, the bleeding blaster wound at her side, seemingly slowing her down a little as she lopped towards him determinedly.

In amongst all the chaos, none of them, bar Lysa, seemed to notice a ship flying overhead, looking to land on the far end of the bridge behind them all.

Din staggered to his feet, managing to get upright as Xi’an reached him, jabbing at him with her other knife.

She was fast. And even despite her injury, her blade scraped across his beskar armour twice, before he was able to shoot at her with his blaster.

The shot missed, just as Xi’an kicked her leg up, knocking the gun from Din’s hand.

Din grunted out again, feeling the blood at his ribs begin to ooze out at quite a rate, as he ducked and dodged Xi’an’s blows.

A moment later, Crix was there two, his fist landing a punch in the space between Din’s shoulder and head where there was no beskar to cover it.

Din threw a punch of his own in return. It landing squarely with Crix’s jaw, knocking him off balance.

Now Din could turn his attention back to Xi’an, who had launched herself towards him.

But using his flamethrower, he managed to create enough space between him and the Twi’lek for him to compose himself once more.

Din chanced a glance over at Lysa who was stood at the edge of the bridge, staring wide-eyed as the three of them fought, her long blood stained hair tangling around her with the wind at this height.

But the Mandalorian’s attention was soon drawn back by Xi’an. As Din advanced on her now, crossing the metal bridge to where she stood, knife brandished, looking like she wanted nothing more than to end Din’s life here and now.

“Come on, Mando, what are you waiting for?” she cackled, blood from her abdomen dripping to the ground beside her. She ran her long tongue over her pointed teeth. “I know you want me…”

He could tell she was trying hard to goad him into a reaction, but Din wasn't prepared to risk everything now, trying to remain as cool as he could. Waiting for his moment.

Despite having dropped his blaster, Din still had his own knife and a dagger at his belt. His whistling birds, fibercord whip and flamethrower at his wrists.

But he wanted this done.

And so pacing over towards Xi’an, Din saw her give a sudden hiss before she lunged his way, jabbing at him violently.

She was quick…

…but on this occasion, Din was quicker. Suddenly igniting his Z-6 jetpack and putting on a spurt of flight, which launched Din around eight feet off the ground.

He kicked out with both of his legs quickly, his feet making contact with Xi’an’s shoulders…

…sending her toppling suddenly backwards and over the edge of the bridge.

He heard her give a shriek as she disappeared from sight.

Hurriedly, Din landed on the edge of the bridge and peered over, only to see Xi’an’s body lying on a second bridge, horizontal to the one he was on, about fifty feet down.

He watched for a moment and was almost certain he saw her stir slightly….

But his attention was drawn suddenly by a whistle behind him.

Din turned instantly, his cloak whipping around his as went,....

….to see Crix stood around fifteen or so feet away, pointing a blaster directly at Din. Din’s own blaster to be precise.

“Don’t kriffing move,” spat Crix, his lip curling as he spoke.

From here, all Din could see was Crix. With his long, tanned features, and, normally-slicked back greasy hair, now hanging around his face untidily.

He looked ruffled but relatively unscathed as he stood there, squat legs wide apart and leather vest now torn at the sleeve.

Din knew that the chances of a blaster shot getting past his beskar were slim , but Din would bide his time until he found an opportune moment to strike. The vibro-knife at his belt would do the job of cutting Crix’s throat easily enough.

He could see Lysa behind Crix now, trembling hard as she gazed at the two men, as pale as anything, almost swaying on the spot as she stood there.

And it was in that moment that Din could truly see all the pain and suffering that Crix had put Lysa through.

The woman who had lit up Din’s world from the moment she had arrived in it. Like a perfect ray of sunlight, warming him for what felt like the first time in years.

And to know she had gone home each night and suffered through endless beatings, verbal abuse and control….that ignited something in Din now.

A pure fury building inside him as he stared at Crix Val’shif.

“Don't worry,” said Crix with a sneer, almost reading Din’s previous thoughts and taking a step to the right so that he was stood directly between Din and Lysa. Blocking her from the Mandalorian’s view. “If I don't get through that armour of yours, I’ll just put another blaster hole in her instead.”

And with that, he gestured backwards with his head, giving a sneer.

Din clenched down on his teeth so hard, he was sure they would break under the strain, his brown eyes boring angrily into Crix’s.

“I know what she probably told you about me,” said Crix giving a hard uncaring sniff. “But just so you know, she likes it rough. Down on her knees, mouth open…crying…”

“One more word and I’ll gut you like a burra fish-” muttered Din, in a low and dangerous voice.

Din gave a growl, his gloved hand extracting his dagger from his belt.

“What?!” continued Crix gleefully. “You think you know her or something? After what? A couple of weeks? You really have no idea what she’s like to live with. How much whining I put up with over the years. The days I had to sit there and watch her come home in those dowdy clothes of hers, and what? Pretend I was attracted to that shit? Y’know, anything I did- she drove me to.”

By now Din could feel himself almost trembling with a burning fury.

Free hand clenched so tight, he could hear the creak of his leather gloves as he did so.

“So you really think I was just gonna let her go…an’ what? Live a happy little life with you?” said Crix, giving a hollow laugh, shaking his head.

And with that he clicked off the safety on Din’s blaster, taking aim.

‘Cause she’s mine. And she’s gonne die being mine. Because at the end of the day… I’d rather her dead, than let anyone else have her…”

Suddenly, and before Din could do anything, a blaster shot cut through the air loudly.

Din sucked in a breath, blinking once and glancing down quickly…

…only to find himself unscathed.

He lifted his eyes once more…

to be met with the frowning face of Crix Val’shif…

…and the smoking blaster hole that had appeared through his chest.

Din parted his lips, his eyes becoming wide, watching as Crix staggered around on the spot, dropping the blaster from his grasp, and turning to face Lysa, who was standing directly behind him. Crix’s own blaster clutched between her bound and trembling hands.

Her gag was now off and her face awash with angry tears. That frown line of hers now deep between her eyebrows.

“I’m not yours,” said Lysa in a shaky voice, staring at him with a pure loathing etched upon her perfect features. “Not anymore.”

So many years of torture and worry and pain just suddenly washed away by those words. The pure strength of her pouring out of her right at this very second- astounding.

Crix stumbled towards her, sucking in an audibly ragged breath, as he clutched at his gaping middle.

He was done for. There was no going back now.

His death coming from Lysa’s own hand. Poetic in its origin. A catharsis of sorts.

Crix staggered forwards again, suddenly making it to Lysa’s side before Din could even realise what was happening….

…and before anyone could do a thing to stop him, Din watched as he muttered something into Lysa’s ear and clutched her arm suddenly…before hurling himself from the small bridge…

…dragging Lysa over the edge with him.

--------------------------

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better-call-mau1 · 11 months

Note

Ok I gotta ask: The Timeless art of Bride theft sounds amazing.

Love that you asked about this one!!! 🤣 It might be the WIP I’m most excited about on the list, which is really saying something. The original idea actually came from the summary of @lothcatlovesysalamiri’s From Here On Out — which I’m waiting to read until after I finish Bride Theft. (But her stories are great, and they were some of the first Sabezra fics I read years ago. Definitely recommend them!)

Anyway, just based on the outline I have, this will probably be the longest fic on that WIP list once it’s finished and posted. A snippet alone won’t do it justice, so I’ll give you the rough-draft summary I wrote, an explanation of the premise, and a little snippet. 😁

(Here’s the link to the WIP list for the ask game.)

Summary:

Ezra may not ‘get the whole Mandalorian thing,’ but when Sabine is captured and held by her own clan, he finds himself enrolling in Fenn Rau’s Mando Culture Crash Course while on a desperate mission to rescue her — not only from house arrest or the lurking threat of Imperial collaborators, but an arranged marriage orchestrated by her well-meaning mother.

He’s pulled off a few impressive heists over the years, but stealing a Mandalorian bride on her wedding day is going to take the uj’alayi.

Obviously Sabine isn’t the traditional damsel-in-distress type, but I wanted to write a rescue fic where she, a damsel by definition, is in serious distress — and if anyone is a match for her, it’s her own mother.

The basic premise is that Sabine first goes down to Krownest alone in “Legacy of Mandalore” to smooth things out with her family before giving Ezra, Kanan, and Rau the green light. And just like in the show, Ursa knows that Sabine’s return is bound to bring Clan Wren into the crosshairs of Gar Saxon — but without the Jedi as a bargaining chip, she has to make a calculated decision to keep her family alive (including Alrich, currently a prisoner of Saxon and the Empire). As far as she can tell, the best course of action is to ‘neutralize’ Sabine in the eyes of the Empire by marrying her off to another Mandalorian clan, signaling that she’s given up fighting for good and is no longer a threat.

Shockingly, Sabine isn’t too happy about the idea, not least of all because the prospect of marriage to a total stranger forces her to face the feelings for Ezra that she’s kept buried for some time. Her initial attempt(s) at escape backfire…but little does she know that among the pool of suitors her mother invited to Krownest, there’s a Loth-rat coming to her rescue. 😏

Here’s a little snippet:

“This is great! Just as light as stormtrooper plastoid, but it feels like it can actually take a few hits!”

Ezra clapped his palm against the stark-white chestplate, enjoying the solid smacking noise that filled the cabin of the Phantom II. Vanity may not have been the Jedi way, but he did feel pretty awesome in Mando armor — and he probably looked awesome, too.

“That armor can take more than a few hits,” snorted Rau. Leaned up against the bulkhead, his weariness was as easy for Ezra to see with his own eyes as it was to sense through the Force — having just returned from a brief retrieval on Concord Dawn, the Protector was burdened with a fresh reminder of what happened to his men. “Beskar disperses heat two hundred times more efficiently than durasteel. It’s practically indestructible to conventional blaster weapons.”

“Unfortunately for Mandalorians,” Kanan added, sitting arms-crossed in the copilot’s seat, “Jedi don’t carry conventional weapons.”

“Beskar holds up better against your laser swords than anything else,” Rau countered, his voice carrying a combative edge for the first time since he joined their cause.

Ezra couldn’t really blame him — he felt just as off-balance. Since Reklam Station, Sabine had become a constant steadying presence, a partner he could count on during high-stakes missions like this one…but this mission was for her, to get her back and bring her home.

“Hey, think of it this way,” he blurted out, making an attempt at levity for his own sake as much as Kanan and Rau’s. “As a Mandalorian Jedi, I’m unstoppable!” He reached out with the Force and called his lightsaber from the cockpit. “Rescuing Sabine is going to be easy! If you lent me your spare set of armor sooner, I could have toppled the whole Empire by now!”

Rau grimaced, his expression darkening. “Firstly, wearing that armor doesn’t make you a Mandalorian.” He drew in a sharp breath, the corner of his mouth twitching. “But the armor you have on isn’t mine. I don’t have a ‘spare set’ — that would be considered profane.”

“Then where’d you get all this?”

“Where do you think?” Reaching behind himself, he scooped a clunky object off the cabin bench and tossed it to Ezra. “Until we return this to Clan Saxon, I’m guilty of the highest desecration in Mandalorian culture. And if you’re caught wearing it…I doubt Countess Wren will hesitate to disintegrate you.”

Ezra gaped down at the white Imperial Supercommando helmet in his hands, staring at his reflection in the transparisteel visor.

“Wait…did you take this off a dead guy?!”

#yes in fact he did #and Jabando (Jabba+Lando) Saxon is about to crash the party on Krownest #basically everyone wants to kill him including Sabine lol #actually she’s prepared to kill anyone her mother makes her marry #and Ezra’s Clan Saxon persona is gonna be at the top of that list #don’t want to spoil anything but it’ll be a wild ride 😝#aeon2407 #thanks for the ask!#sabezra #sabezra fanfiction #fenn rau #kanan jarrus #ezra bridger

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hapan-in-exile · 1 year

Text

Volume 2 - Post #4: Another Thrilling Tale of Emergency Medicine

Another installment in this ongoing serialized fanfic

Genre: Mandalorian x Fem Reader

Total word count: 4K (of 21K total in Volume 2)

Rating: Explicit - smut, language, +18 *NSFW*

______________________________________________

Flashback to four months ago…

IV. The first time you met Ingtar, it was clear he was not a man to fuck with.

When Tigran brought you to Dorumaa, he promised that as long as you did what Ingtar said, this man would protect you. The war had dragged you through some pretty dark horrors, and trying to survive its aftermath had trapped you in a slew of toxic situations. What wouldn’t you do for a chance at security? Stability?

Do what he says, and don’t ask questions.

And really, what choice did you have? You were running out of places and people to hide you.

It was then that Ingtar vowed, “I give my word, I will never ask you for something that might endanger you.”

And to your surprise, you found you believed him. It was clear on some spiritual level that here was a man who honored his bargains.

Ingtar set up your practice in a seedy yet up-and-coming neighborhood. A part of town where domestic drama spilled out into the streets, where folks were always coming and going or passing through. The perfect backdrop for your business operations.

You didn’t live in the apartment, but as per your arrangement with Ingtar, you kept a communicator on you at all times. Whoever got a hold of the signal for that particular channel…

Well, it meant that they were highly connected within the organization and on their way with a medical emergency that they hoped to avoid documenting at the local hospital.

While you didn’t spend much time socializing with Ingtar beyond an occasional drink at the casino when he wanted polite company, the mob boss held a very high opinion of your services. There were a fair amount of late-night calls to heal stab wounds and blaster burns, but mostly, he used you for the delicate stuff—overdoses and other regretful injuries that folks just wanted to go away and not think about later.

Dorumaa was a resort town, and of course, any city that catered to tourists had its network of vice and organized criminality that made for a steady clientele.

The apartment was located in a trendy alleyway above a noodle shop that Black Sun used as a cover to run their private gambling tables in the basement. Not infrequently, you had to rush downstairs to pull someone back from the brink of death after a shoot-out over cards.

Most often, you waited inside the apartment, ears perked for the sound of the gate buzzer, the shouts and grunts coming up the stairs, and the chaotic way everyone burst through the doorway carrying the limp body of a business partner, friend or lover.

So it was confusing when you heard Ingtar’s firm but polite knock. You remember staring at the door from behind your exam table, wondering if you were about to be arrested. Or murdered.

“Come in?”

That’s when Ingtar kicked the door in. He was a big man and well-practiced. It came right off its hinges. At that point, the possibility of being murdered felt very real. But the dramatic entrance is simply because his hands were full, carrying a man clad in Mandalorian armor.

You recognize him.

How many Mandalorians did Black Sun have on the payroll? But, you’d seen him—just that once—walking across the pit floor toward Ingtar’s office.

You knew him immediately by reputation. The escorts and companions who worked the casino all claimed that he gave them the shivers, that his face must be horribly scarred under the helmet, that his hands were permanently stained with blood beneath those leather gloves. But you caught the eagerness in their voices and the way they tracked him with their eyes. Male, female, both and neither, he never visited them, though plenty would have been happy to take him up to their rooms.

“Doc, this is Mando. Mando, this is Doc.”

The man in Beskar says nothing, his helmet shifting from side to side as though he knew words had been spoken, but he could not make meaning from them. The dark ring of blood around his neck probably had something to do with that.

Ingtar deposits him onto your exam table before adding in a low whisper, “Appreciate you getting here so fast.”

“Tamoi is on call. Why didn’t you take him there?”

“Because,” he says, grabbing your hand reaching for the data-pad. “Tamoi can’t heal him the way you can, Doc.”

“He won’t take off the helmet?” You ask, picking up on his meaning. “This could be life or death, Ingtar.”

The blood covering his neck and shoulders was brown and coagulated—obviously not an open wound. But that’s just the blood you can see. A brain hemorrhage or internal bleeding would be just as fatal as a knife to the throat.

“Believe me, he’d rather die,” Ingtar says confidently. “You need to fix him your way, Doc.”

“Ok.” Removing your gloves, “And what about the rest of it? Does any of it come off?”

“He’s Mandalorian. Their armor is sacred to them.”

“Is he human?”

Ingtar shrugs. You roll your eyes and grab a pair of scissors.

“Mando? As in, Mandalorian?”

He didn’t answer.

“But they do, like, have names, right?”

“I respect him enough not to ask,” Ingtar says pointedly in warning. “You’re not the only one who likes their anonymity, Doc.”

Fine. “You’ve made your point, Mr. Cultural Sensitivity.”

There were so many layers of thick quilted fabric and leather…everywhere. The axilla would be the easiest and most discreet part of his body to access. Assuming he is human.

“Mando,” you look directly into the view plate. “There’s a major artery that passes under your armpit.” You trace a finger from the length of your wrist to your heart. “I need to get to it.” Pointing to him, you grip the seam of your coat under your arm, then hold up the scissors and pantomime cutting.

He nods.

After ripping the armscye of his flight suit open wide enough to slip your hand through, it occurs to you that maybe he’s not allowed to reveal any part of his body to outsiders. You’re not exactly an expert in Mandalorian customs. Some fought for the Rebellion, but not in your unit.

You hold up a hand and motion sliding it into his now torn sleeve.

Again, he simply nods, saying nothing.

It seems pretty apparent that he can’t hear a word you're saying. Hell, he probably couldn’t hear anything over the screeching tinnitus in his ears…and there’s no simple way to explain what’s about to happen, so you just shove your hand into his flight suit.

The Mandalorian lets out a startled gasp as soon as the touch of your fingers on his skin builds that psychic connection to his body, the bridge between your consciousness and his. There were few injuries beyond the scope of your abilities to heal, but first, you need to determine what's wrong.

It's a bit like running a diagnostic scan on a starship, except that you're searching for inflammation and cell death. Despite being painless, he did not respond well to the sensation of having you inside his subconscious.

His agitation and alarm at suddenly sharing his brain functioning with a stranger just makes your work that much harder. Most patients descended into a foggy haze of numb dissociation when their bodies went into shock. But this Mandalorian? His mind is a frenetic mess of flashing images as he tries to resist your influence.

There’s a jumble of memories that form and melt away, finally coalescing around the figure of a woman reaching out. Only her hands couldn’t stretch into the murky darkness swallowing him. You sense his panicked struggle to keep his head above water, reaching for her. He was drowning—

“Can’t—ugh,” the Mandalorian chokes, sitting up abruptly and clutching at his chest.

“Hold him down!”

“Can’t—ugh—breathe,” he gulps in panicked shallow breaths, hyperventilating. “Can’t—can’t—”

You jump onto the table to straddle him, using your knees to pin his arms to his side. Sliding the scalpel blade under the strap of his flak vest, you rip the fabric apart between two clenched fists.

“Doc—!”

“I can’t magically generate oxygen into his lungs, Ingtar.” You snap, applying your forearm to push the Mandalorian back onto the table. “Hold him down. His chest cavity is full of air, and I need to relieve the pressure.”

“Mando! You gotta hold still.” Shouting in your loud, firm doctor voice. “This is going to hurt” is all the warning you can give him.

Lifting your hand up towards the ceiling, you bring it down like a hammer and plunge the chest tube into the third intercostal gap between his ribs.

“Uuuuuuuugh,” he swallows in each heavy breath as though he’d surfaced from the depths of an ocean. “Ugh—ugh—ugh.”

“Good.” You smile down at him. You can’t see a godsdamn thing through the black view plate, but something inside you feels sure that you're holding his gaze. “You’re doing so good, Mando. Try to breathe normally.”

And for extra measure, you slowly drop him into a deep, restorative sleep so that he’ll actually relax enough for his body to heal. Sometimes, there's nothing for it but to put the big ones down.

“He’s lucky the blood is just from ruptured eardrums. I’ve started them regenerating, but it’ll take a few hours before he can hear again. Was there some kind of…blast?”

“Doc, you know better than—”

“No, you’re right.” It wasn’t wise to ask questions, and the less you knew about Black Sun's operations, the better. “Force of habit.”

“I have some things to clean up.” That's all Ingtar would say. “Do not leave his side. He’s…”

“A friend of yours?”

Ingtar had to suffer a lot of fools in his line of work, and there were not many on his payroll that he respected. Even fewer whom he’d personally ensure were taken care of. He admired this Mandalorian.

“This one doesn’t have friends,” he says, stroking the unruly bristles of his black beard. This statement was more a matter of fact than a source of disappointment.

“I’ve broken my promise to you. By bringing him here, I've put you in danger.”

Yeah, no shit!

Leaving you alone with an elite bounty hunter was extremely dangerous, just not in the way Ingtar meant. The reward attached to your extradition order, payable upon delivery to the Hapes Consortium, was a small fortune. That's precisely why no one in this glittering city—including Ingtar—knew about it.

So, while the likelihood of this Mandalorian discovering who you really are is slim…it also wasn’t zero.

Ingtar continues fidgeting with his beard, deep in contemplation. “You were in the war, Doc. What do you do with a P.O.W.?”

Are you harboring a fugitive? That was ironic.

“Keep them safe from the rest of the unit,” you sigh, starting to gain an inkling of what he’s gotten you into.

“Right,” he says. “Don’t leave the apartment until you hear from me.”

And with that, he was gone.

About an hour or so later, the Mandalorian awoke.

“Ugh!” He sat up sharply, heaving deep breaths, still caught in his last waking fears of drowning.

“Mando? Can you hear me?” You ask in a gentle yet firm tone. “You need to breathe calmly, okay? One-two-three-four, in. One-two-three—”

“Where am I?”

“My apartment.”

“You’re the healer,” he says. It wasn’t a question.

“I am.”

The Mandalorian did a quick inventory of his surroundings, including the holster and bandolier tucked between his legs. The sight of the blaster seemed to calm him. “Ingtar said I could trust you.”

“About the armor? Yeah, I understand there are rules.”

He let out an exhausted sigh, “This is the Way.”

“Riiight. I’m just not sure about all of the rules…I’d like to check for fluid in your lungs…” You stammer, then peel off the right side of your coat in an awkward attempt to communicate that he needs to open his flight suit. “Can I see your chest? Please.”

He nods, reaching for the closures of his flak vest—then pausing.

“Sorry, I had to insert the chest tube, and I–uh–sutures are the only kind of stitches I know.” You’d done your best to mend the torn strap. “Nothing else came off,” you add hastily.

That breathless assurance makes you sound like a bad date who wanted credit for not taking advantage of him.

Why are you acting like this?

Instead of blathering on, you pull the curtain closed around the exam table.

He spends far less time than you expected removing the chest plate. You suddenly grow curious about how long it takes him to get the rest of it off. And under what circumstances he’s allowed to be naked.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, setting the modulator sizzling. “I’m…ready.”

His voice suggests that he wasn't quite sure what else to say, so at least you’re not alone in finding this whole situation needlessly awkward.

When you tug back the curtain, you see him sitting upright on the edge of the table. There’s a weird impulse you have to step between the Mandalorian’s thighs, but you quash it instantly and stand to his left.

You hold up the stethoscope, “I’ll just listen to your breathing to make sure there’s no fluid collecting in your lungs.”

He pulls the zipper down to his waist and holds open the flight suit.

You find yourself swallowing a sudden lump in your throat as you take in his bare chest. After five years in the military, you should be immune to the male form, but he is an impressive specimen. His shoulders are wide, his waist narrow, and his muscles sculpted with a precision only achieved through constant training.

As much as you marvel at his chiseled body, you're curious about the tense way he held himself, like he was expecting a blow. You stop yourself from making a joke about the stethoscope's bell drum being harmless before you consider the impending touch of your hand on his skin.

“You didn’t wear gloves last time,” he says, reading your thoughts.

Then he catches your hand by the wrist.

“What exactly did you do inside my head?”

The Mandalorian holds you in place, scrutinizing your face. You’re so close that you can see condensation from your shallow breaths beading across the surface of his view plate. It takes all your force of will not to flinch. “Everything within my power to save your life.”

At that, he releases you. “Thank—nnngh.”

He groans and lets out a violent huff of air when your latex fingers press against his ribcage. Which you graciously ignore despite the twinge of arousal. And Erenada be praised, his lungs sound perfectly healthy.

“Alright, with the damage to your eardrums repaired and lung function restored, I think you should be back in fighting shape. If the ringing persists…I guess you’ll see someone else about that,” you say, surprised to catch a hint of regret in your voice.

“You’ve got a name?” The Mandalorian asks.

“Thulani.”

Shit! You hadn’t meant to tell him that. You hadn't meant to answer at all.

“Don’t suppose I get to know yours?”

“No.”

“This is the Way?”

He huffs, sounding amused. “Yes.”

“Mando it is, then.”

“How can I make repayment, Thulani?” Mando asks, suddenly serious. “For saving my life.”

Under ordinary circumstances, you’d gladly settle for a date, but the prospect of dinner and drinks is probably off the table, given that he doesn’t take off the helmet.

“Don’t worry, Ingtar will pay me.”

“Where is he? How long have I been out?”

“It's been a few hours. Ingtar left to make sure you’d be safe here. I won’t stop you from leaving, but he wanted you to wait for him.” They might not be ‘friends’ in the most generous sense of the word, yet his concern for the Mandalorian felt genuine. "You must be special. He doesn't like many people."

"He likes you," Mando says with faint curiosity.

There's an excited little thump-thump of your heart. Had he asked Ingtar about you?

"That's because I'm special, too," you smile.

"I noticed." His voice was gruff coming through the modulator, and something about the tone or register made your stomach tighten.

“Does anyone else know I’m here?”

“I can’t be certain, but I don’t think so.” You say, finally drawing away from him, thankful to be clear of his gravitational pull. You should at least try and act like a fucking professional. “No, wait, that’s not true. There is a furry teenager and a very small, green infant napping in my living room.”

“What?!”

“They came looking for you. Don’t worry, I made them some sandwiches. We played cards. The older one insisted that the little one get a check-up. They’re fine.”

“Really?”

And upon reflection, this is probably when you fell for the Mandalorian. The way he asked so many questions. The care in his voice that still translated through the helmet's modulator. Your fees are rather exorbitant for a pediatric consultation, so you provide some helpful insights on child-rearing.

“I don’t exactly have a handbook on whatever species he is, but the physical exam, his vitals, and brain activity all look good to me. I can’t tell you why he sleeps for these prolonged periods, but when children expend lots of energy, they need rest.”

You can tell he’s not entirely reassured.

“Do you see his eyelids flutter and that little mouth twitching?” You both lean in closer to where he’s asleep, lying in the cradle of Nito’s arms and are instantly caught in the thrall of his cuteness. “When he does that…it means he’s dreaming.”

“So, he’s ok?” The Mandalorian asks, both puzzled and relieved.

“He’s a kid. Your focus should be making sure he gets enough protein for brain development.” Then, perhaps because of the novelty of their visit, “I can check out the furry one, too.”

“Thank you,” Mando says. “That’s...very kind.”

“Well, he did set me up with thirty-two additional hologram networks, so we’re already fast friends.”

“How could he miss the opportunity to impress you?”

For whatever reason, you blush spectacularly.

And in that moment, you decide you’re done with Dorumaa. It wasn’t so much that you'd finally grown weary of the avarice and violence. It was about the epiphany you’re currently having in this dingy laminate-floor apartment, that there’s more you need from life than security. You need some wholesome tenderness to really be living it.

Mostly wholesome...that armor, damnit. And his bearing, the way he shifted those broad shoulders, his voice so cooly assured, the power that emanated from all of his movements. You already wanted him, then.

Midway through Nito’s eye exam, the electric hum of the gate buzzer unexpectedly fills the apartment.

“That must be—” but the closed-circuit monitors show the arrival of Juss Reevo and Gwynn Tanner, two of Black Sun’s most terrifying enforcers. They had brought a goon squad with them to perch outside your apartment.

“Fuck.” This would not end well. “I…I can try to get rid of them?”

“You don’t owe us that,” Mando says skeptically from over your shoulder, sizing up your intruders.

“I know, but...they’re just kids,” is your honest answer as you watch Nito hurriedly gathering up the baby.

“Here, help me move this.”

There’s a false wall built along the corridor to the lavatory where you’d been stashing credits and your bail-out bag in anticipation of a moment—like this one—where it all went to shit. The added advantage is that the compartment is big enough for both Nito and the little one to hide inside.

The buzzer sounds again, making you jump out of your skin. Looking around for instructions about what to do next, you discover the Mandalorian has already disappeared.

Hearing Juss and Gwynn making their way up the stairwell—it’s a struggle to maintain your composure. You're not that great of a liar, especially if it requires pulling off an outright lie. Best to stick to non-answers and obfuscation. Plus, you are a professional, after all. And for fucksake, this is your place of business.

“Hey, Doc!” Gwynn smiles, stepping through the splintered doorway, hands in her pockets, bearing her long, sharp canines. Juss hits his head on the ceiling fan. The Dowutin is almost too large to stand up straight inside the apartment.

“I don’t know what brings you here, but this isn’t a drop-in clinic. You’re in violation of my Terms of Service,” shoulders squared, you point to the sign prominently displayed on the wall behind you, where after a long list of conditions, it reads in gigantic red characters, Failure to comply may result in refusal of services. “I suggest you both leave if you want to be treated the next time you’re in danger of bleeding out.”

“No need to get feisty, Doc.” Gwynn plants both her hands on the desk like a beast, ready to pounce. “Big man, Ingtar, sent us to check on the Mandalorian.”

That was most certainly a lie. Ingtar despised Gwynn's opportunistic cruelty and Juss' mindless barbarism. This is not the team he would ask for a discrete favor to save a friend.

“You know I can’t divulge patient information, Gwynn.” You tilt your head and arch an eyebrow meaningfully. “We all benefit from doctor-patient confidentiality.”

Which is an unsubtle reference to the fact that you were hiding her deepest, darkest secret—that she was fucking Juss—which is only something you know because she'd brought the Dowutin here to treat his torn rectum.

“We just want to know if the Mandalorian is still here...before we start tearing the place apart.”

“Suit yourself, Gwynn. I’ll make an inventory of all the shit you destroy so Ingtar can comp me from your wages.”

“What are you even doing here, Doc?” This time, her smile grew wider by several more sets of teeth. “Tamoi’s on call tonight. Shouldn’t you be at a Sabacc table?”

You hide the creeping panic from your face, but no doubt Gwynn could smell the fear exuding from your every pore.

“Let’s make this easy, Doc. Why don’t you tell us, yes or no, if he was here? Happened to have someone with him. A little someone?”

So, that’s what they were after. What in the world would Gwynn want with a baby?

“I don’t know what the fuck—” Is all you manage to get out before Juss’s monstrous, scaly hand wraps around your throat.

“I wonder, Doc, will you be able to perform a tracheotomy on yourself after Juss crushes your windpipe?” Gwynn sounds like she’s eagerly looking forward to feasting on your corpse.

Lifted up off the floor in Juss’s grip, black spots start to cloud your vision as you struggle for oxygen. Fortunately, they aren’t big enough to obscure the sight of Mando standing directly behind the Dowutin with a raised knife in his hand.

It wasn’t the first time a fight had broken out in this apartment, but they usually weren’t this destructive. When the Mandalorian stabs Juss between the ribs, the Dowutin drops you roughly to the floor, gasping for breath. You manage to grab the ion rifle secured under the intake desk before it cracks in half under the force of Juss’ collapsing body.

There’s the sound of grunts, thudding blows, and then a roar of flames. You wait for silence from under the desk until the last of Gwynn’s agonizing shrieks echo throughout the living room while she's burned to death. Light from the blazing curtains illuminates the remains of her charred body.

You look up at Mando in terror, wondering how the same man who asked you about sleep training an hour ago could do something so brutal. But the next minute, the Mandalorian gallantly threw himself on top of you as the apartment windows exploded in a shower of glass and debris. The sound is something between a thunderbolt and a lightning crack.

The apartment is covered in a storm of white smoke and dust, except for the gaping hole where the living room wall used to be. You cough, the air grating against the lining of your throat as if you’d swallowed finely powdered glass. Which, yeah, that’s the most likely scenario.

“Come on,” you hear his voice in your ear. Lying flat on the ground underneath him with his hands still thrown over your head, it's loud and clear despite the clattering wreckage. “We've got to get out of here.”

And your heart does another little thump-thump hearing that 'we.'

We he’d said. We’ve got to get out of here.

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

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