#din djarin romance

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Days Sixteen to Nineteen, Part III

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C    

word count: 11K 

chapter summary: Din continues to have a difficult day, Fennec gives Din a piece of her mind, and Marathel makes a declaration 

warnings:  fluff, angst, mention of blood and injury, violence, death and dismemberment, mention of sexual devices, mention of nudity, violence to women, rape, rape aftermath, war aftermath, non-con sexual situations, sexual situations, suicide ideation, description of medical procedures, English and Mando’a cursing, excessive glitter    

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

You Were Marked: Masterlist    

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Din looked dubiously at the hatch in the ceiling.  To get to it, he’d have to handle a number of what appeared to be well-used rental sex droids, and he really did not want to touch them, gloves or not.  And these were new gloves too.  He’d enclosed Grogu inside the bag with some sweet seaweed balls again, just to make sure the kid didn’t grab anything either untoward or crawling with … ugh.  He didn’t consider himself a prude, but unexpected bodily fluids — especially out of context — made his skin crawl.  Some of the sex droids were of non-human species, which made Din do a couple of double-takes.  I could have lived my whole life without knowing that Trandoshans had hemipenes.  He also took a quick surprised second look at the female Rodian; his experience with them didn’t involve vaginal tentacles.  Perhaps these were fantasy models.  Perhaps the Rodian females he’d been with didn’t have tentacles.  Don’t know, don’t care, just need to get in the hatch.   

With a shudder, he moved several droids aside to access the hatch.  Damn thing is right out in the open for anyone who gets curious.  Din reached up and pulled the handle, and a cool breeze blew down on him from above as the hatch opened.  Din could see a ladder leading up, and then darkness.  Putting Grogu’s bag across his body and under the cape, Din hoisted himself up.  The clerk must have ambled over at some point, for Din heard a disinterested voice saying, “Have a good climb, Grandpa.”  The hatch was then closed, leaving him in darkness. 

Din flipped on his light and peered upwards.  He couldn’t see any landings, any cross-bridges, just darkness and the single vertical ladder.   He started the climb.   

The ache in his hips and thighs began quicker than he had hoped.  He had climbed past a cross-tunnel a couple hundred rungs ago, and he was approaching another one.  If these cross tunnels are regularly spaced, I’ve gone about … 70 stories.  Resting his helmet against a rung, he cursed himself for getting soft.  And old.  

He looked up again, still seeing no end, only infinite darkness.  Up to the top, said Blewogg.  Up to the kriffing top. The arches of his feet were sore from pressing down on the round rungs.  His fingers were sore from pulling himself, 40-odd pounds of armor and weapons, and 12-odd pounds of kid up each rung.  This is for Marathel.  This is for the woman you say you love, so get climbing, you flabby sack of shit.  He imagined Marathel above him, standing in the next cross tunnel, stamping her foot and yelling at him.  That image got him up to the next crossways level, where he stepped off the ladder into the tunnel, shaking out his hands and legs.   

Din looked around, seeing no one — Grogu was still in the bag and quiet for once — and he pulled off the helmet and brushed back his sweaty hair.  He suddenly heard the clatter of something falling down the ladder.  He hurriedly put the helmet back on, pulled out a blaster, and carefully peered up.  He saw nothing, heard nothing.  He waited.  Still nothing.  He looked down the tube and listened some more.  Okay, now you’re just stalling.  Get climbing. 

With a sigh, Din stepped back onto the ladder.  His feet, buttocks, and quads protested immediately.  He would rather be flying naked with his jetpack on Hoth before having to climb more of this damn ladder.   

Wait. 

Jetpack. 

Dank ferrik, you’re an idiot, Djarin. He smacked his forehead on the rung in front of him with a resounding clang.  His buir would have said, thinking with your dick again, kid? 

It would seem so, buir.  Din looked up again, and then around him to gauge the size of the vertical tunnel.  It was hardly larger than he was, and he did not have a lot of clearance on any side.  It would mean that he didn’t have room for error.  It was still worth a try.  He moved Grogu’s bag to his front and wrapped an arm around it, flipped his cape over his shoulder, and fired up the jetpack as he stepped off the ladder. 

The jetpack didn’t ignite right away, and Din dropped a couple of stories before he got any downward thrust. Unfortunately, in panic, Din had tilted his body to look down, so his trajectory pushed him forward against the ladder as he went up.  After bouncing his helmet over each rung as he passed them for a few meters, he over-corrected backwards and slid up the wall, the jet pack making a screeching sound as it was dragged along the concrete.  He clutched at Grogu in the bag, and he pedaled his feet at the ladder, trying to get himself more upright, only succeeding at hitting his upper arches on every single rung for about 30 stories or so. 

Din switched off the jetpack, and he had just enough residual velocity that he was able to grab the ladder before gravity took back over.  He was just above another cross tunnel, so he hopped down into it, his feet screaming at him.  He had durasteel arch and toe protectors, but the unexpected constant beating against the ladder rungs made the protection more harmful than helpful. 

Din sank down to floor and tried to wriggle his toes, causing intense pain.  He sucked in his breath and muttered, “Fuck fucking fucking fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fucking FUCK …” 

“FUH!” came from the bag.  “Fuh fuh FUH FUH-EE FUH!” 

Din groaned.  Of all times for Grogu to start picking up on words.  Fuck my life.  He began unbuckling the straps on his boots.  Hissing in pain, he pulled one boot off a shaking foot. He grimaced and carefully rolled down Marathel’s sock to reveal a severely bruised arch and toes.  He did the same to his other boot, mouthing fuck fuck fuck as he bumped a broken toe.  He laid back, closing his eyes tightly as his feet throbbed.   

Grogu squeaked from within the bag, and then chanted “FUH FUH FUH” until Din reached over and opened the bag, digging in it for the bacta spray he’d began carrying — except for the fact he’d had to look for the oilskin bag, and neglected, in his haste, to transfer the bacta canister to this bag.  Haar’chak.    Grogu cooed and crawled out, standing over Din’s helmet. 

“Hey, kid.  I need your help.” 

“Fuh?” 

“No, kid … ugh …first, I really need you to stop saying that.”  Din remembered his buir telling him when you’re my age, you’ll understand why Mynocks eat their young.  “Time is of the essence, here, buddy, and I really need your help.  My feet …”  Before he could continue, there was a clatter, and Din raised his head to see a small incendiary device rolling towards the two of them.  Din lurched up to his feet, ignoring the pain, and kicked the IED into the vertical tunnel.   

Din turned, scooped up Grogu and his boots, and ran away.  The compression of the explosion had been reduced enough by distance that it wasn’t going to kill them, but Din did his best to fold down Grogu’s ears and buffet him with his own body, curled up against the tunnel wall. Once the blast was over, Din’s ears were ringing, his bare feet were throbbing, but Grogu appeared to be okay.  Din turned back to the cross-tunnel entrance and noticed that his socks were on fire.  “MOTHERFU— …”  

“FUH!” 

Din groaned.  The feet would have to wait.  He pulled his boots back on with a pained grunt for each foot.  He put Grogu back in the bag, pulled out his blaster, and crept — well, limped carefully — back towards the tunnel entrance.  By the time he reached his socks, the fire had extinguished, and all there was left was a small pile of ash.  He stared down at the cremains, chest aching.  As Din mourned the loss of the socks, another IED clattered in front of him from above.  Din kicked it down the shaft and hunkered down again for the blast.  He shouted out, “How many of those you got?  Because I’d just like to skip to the end.” 

“Gimmee the coins, then.” 

The voice was above him.  Din moved closer to the tunnel entrance.  “That doesn’t work for me.” 

“Tough titty.”   

Another IED.  Din kicked it again and protected Grogu from the resulting explosion, wondering if the sex shop was destroyed yet.  He’d have to apologize to Auntie Woggy.  Din figured the mad bomber was on the ladder not far above him; the next tunnel up would be too far to accurately toss an incendiary.  He decided to do something incredibly stupid and ran straight for the tunnel entrance.  Diving forward, Din held Grogu tightly as he swung the blaster upwards, firing the blaster in quick succession as he vaulted across the ladder shaft and into the other tunnel.  He twisted in mid-air so that he would land on his shoulder, protecting a squealing Grogu in the crook of his arm.  He must have hit the mad bomber, for he heard a distinct yelp.  “See, I got a problem with handing over the coins,” Din said as he got to his feet, all pain forgotten for the moment.  “They’re not mine to hand over.  They belong to the woman who made the socks you just burned up.  I’m not happy about losing those socks.” 

A pause.  “Why the fuck should I care about your socks?” 

“You don’t need to care about my socks,” said Din as he moved carefully towards the entrance of the tunnel.  “You need to care about how much I care about those socks and the woman who gave them to me.” He could hear the mad bomber struggling up the ladder.  Din peeked upwards and saw that the mad bomber was the skinny miscreant PeeWee had bounced from Blewogg’s shop.  “You see, I love that woman.”  Din knew he was babbling, but he was too pissed off to care.  “And when it comes to love, there are two kinds of men.”  Din leapt on the ladder, and climbed up with alarming speed, catching up to the injured miscreant in a trice.  “A good man will die for love.”  He grabbed the miscreant by his leg, burned by a laser blast, and the miscreant cried out.  “But you see, a bad man, a bad man kills for love.” Din climbed up so that he was standing on the same rung as the miscreant, who was frozen in fear.  Din pressed himself against the terrified miscreant, trapping him against the ladder.  “What you need to care about is whether I’m a good man, or a bad man.”  Din quickly wrapped his grappling cable around the miscreant and shoved his head between two rungs.  “Unfortunately for you, I’m a bad man,” whispered Din, and he stepped off the ladder, going into a free fall before firing his jetpack.  The miscreant’s head popped off like a cork from a bottle, and Din dropped his body down the vertical tunnel. 

Holding himself straight and rigid as possible, Din flew up the shaft.  After several hundred meters, he cut off the jet pack and grabbed the ladder again.  He took a deep calming breath, and then checked on Grogu in the bag.  “Hey, kid.  Doing okay in there?”  Grogu squeaked in assent.  Din sighed.  “I might have gone a bit overboard there.  I mean, they were just … socks.”  Grogu shrugged and spoke his usual babble for a moment.  “True, he was trying to kill us.”  Din and Grogu looked at each other for a few moments.  Din rubbed Grogu’s head.  “Let’s just not tell Mama, okay?” 

“FUH!” 

“Uh, NO. No more of that word.  Got it?”  Grogu pouted, and Din added, “Mama wouldn’t like to hear you saying that word.”  Grogu looked sufficiently apologetic, and Din chuckled.  He turned on his light and looked up the shaft.  The top was just a few more stories up.  Thank you, Frith, and all your not-a-rabbit starspawn.  Din worked up enough energy to hurriedly climb up the remaining ladder and pushed open the hatch at the top.  Something heavy must be on top of the damn door, thought Din as he struggled to open it.  Bright light and loud music filtered through the cracks, and Din finally got enough leverage to push the hatch fully open.  Drawing his blaster, Din burst through the opening to find himself … surrounded by topless burlesque dancers.   

“Oooooh, who had a Mandalorian in the Hatch Pool??” squealed a Zabrak with brightly painted horns.   

Din immediately tried to shove Grogu back into the bag, but a Chiss woman with flaming red hair plucked Grogu out, cuddling him in her arms — and her glittered bosom.  “Oh, he’s so cute!” 

Din reached out to take him back but drew back his hands, stammering, “Miss, please … I’m sorry for the intrusion, but we …” 

“ME!  ME!  I picked Mandalorian in the Hatch Pool!”  In a flash of sequins and feathers, a young leggy woman threw her arms around Din and kissed him on his visor, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. “Quick, Gowiar, get a holo of us!” Another young woman in a matching costume took the holo, and the other dancers shrieked with delight. 

Din sighed.  Oh well. No one will believe it otherwise.  Besides, he was in love, not dead.  He raised the holo function on his vambrace, and called out, “C’mon girls, squeeze in,” as he took a few holos himself, including a good one of Grogu getting kissed on the cheeks by two women at once. 

Shortly after, Din was able to — escape — the dressing room with Grogu.  A security guard just outside the dressing room door asked him, “Have fun in there?” 

“We had a lovely time, thank you.” 

“Hopefully not too lovely, Mandalorian, my daughter is in there.”  The guard flashed a keycard to Din, who took it.  “This will give you access to elevator three on the casino level.” 

“Thank you.”  As Din pocketed the keycard, he asked idly, “So which one was your daughter?”  The guard glared at him, and Din moved towards the casino as fast as his painful feet would let him. Looking down at Grogu, he said, “Not a word to Mama, now, hear?  She does not need to hear about … the … pretty ladies.  Right?”  

“Pree lay-ees?” 

“Right.  Nothing about the pree …”  Din tilted his helmet.  “Pree, huh?  You’ve been calling Marathel pretty this whole time.  And here I thought you only liked her for her cooking.”  So Pree Mahr is Pretty Mahr.  I’ll accept it.  I like it better than Sad Mahr, that’s for sure.   They made it to the bank of elevators, and Din presented the keycard to a porter who looked him up and down dubiously but let him pass to elevator 3.  Din stood with several casino patrons, all finely dressed.  Several high rollers sneered at him, but he held his head high.  He was a Mandalorian, after all, despite being covered in glitter and lipstick kisses.   

“They just let anyone in here these days,” muttered a pink-skinned woman wearing a gown that probably cost more than the Razor Crest.   

“They certainly do,” remarked Din as his lift arrived.  The elaborate scrolled doors opened to reveal a gold protocol droid.  Dank ferrik.  With an inward sigh, he stepped on the lift and turned around to face the doors.   

“Good evening, sir,” chirped the droid.  Din grunted.  If he could be positive the elevator wouldn’t plummet to ground level, he’d consider doing a hasty re-wire of the damn thing, or at least pull a Marathel and hurl something at it.  “The Senator is looking forward to meeting you, sir.”  Senator?  Din grunted again. 

Grogu popped his head out of the bag and stared at the gold droid.  He pointed at the gleaming droid and turned back to Din.  “FUH-eh.” 

Din looked down at Grogu, prouder than he’d ever been.  “You got it, buddy,” said Din, ruffling the boy’s hair.  

After an incredibly long ride in the lift —making Din thankful he didn’t have to climb that far — the car stopped, and the doors opened to a most elegant foyer, and an even more elegant-looking woman stood within.  Her hair was white and exquisitely coiffed; her gown was brocaded and shot through with threads made of precious metals.  If the gown of the snooty woman below could have bought the Razor Crest, this gown was worth a whole Star Destroyer.  Din felt like a ragged, drunken hobo, standing in front of her.  “May I present … the Mandalorian, Senator,” said the droid, and Din wondered if he should bow.  Fortunately, the Senator came forward with a smile and her hand out. 

Din took a few unsteady limping steps towards the woman, took her hand and tilted his head towards her. “Senator.” 

“Former Senator, as this is a new era, so I’m told.  I am Senel Traig.  Are you injured, Sir Mandalorian? You appear to have had … an interesting time reaching me.” 

“On both counts, yes, I have.” 

“Do you require a medic?” 

“I believe I only require some bacta, Madam Wraig.”   

Just then, Grogu peeked out from the bag, and Senel stepped back quickly.  “Maker,” she said, her hand at her throat.  “Is that little one yours?” 

“He is a foundling … and my traveling companion.” 

“You travel with a child and no bacta?  Shame on you,” she said archly, but with a small smile.  “We have some time before we are to meet the Jeweler.  My droid will fetch you bacta … and some washcloths.” 

Din thanked her and bowed slightly anyway, noticing that he was leaving a trail of glitter everywhere he went.  Haar’chak.  The golden protocol droid ushered Din to a side room, and provided him with bacta spray and injections, as well as some cleaning supplies.  After tending to his feet, Din managed to remove the lipstick, but the glitter was a losing battle.  Both Din and Grogu were completely dusted with the stuff.  The droid attempted to assist, but Din threatened it with a blaster, and it scuttled from the room, waving its arms. 

His feet now feeling better, and at least some of the glitter off, Din made his way to the sitting room where Senel waited for him.  She was on a settee, looking like a woman who was unassailable in her role as a leader in high society.  She motioned for him to sit, but Din hesitated, saying, “I have polluted your home enough.” 

Senel laughed.  “I had six children; I am more than familiar with glitter.  Your injuries have been ameliorated?”  Din nodded.  “May I see one of the coins?”  Din sat with Grogu on his lap and handed a coin to the woman.  “Oh, it is exquisite.  Better than any I’ve seen.” 

“May I ask why you want to acquire these coins?” 

“They are a symbol for those of us who were Senators during the Empire.  A reminder that we can’t, won’t go back to what we were before the Rebellion.”  Senel pulled a slender chain from the inside of her neckline.  An ornate pendant hung from the chain, and at the center of the pendant was an Aurodium coin, more than likely of the same vintage as his coin, but of much lower quality.  “I backed the Empire early in the Rebellion.  I regret that I did so.  Unfortunately, there is still much support on Coruscant for the Empire.  Those of us who are loyal to the Republic don’t know whom to trust.  So, we use the coins as a … password for safety.”  She tucked the pendant back inside her clothing and handed the coin back to Din.  “How did you come to possess these?” 

“I received them as a bounty.” 

Senel raised her eyebrows in surprise but did not ask any more questions regarding the coins.  Instead, she held out her hands and said to Grogu, “Would you like to visit me, little one?” 

Grogu cooed, but Din held him fast, saying, “He would get glitter on you.” 

“Nonsense; I’ve eaten more glitter than he has on him.  What is his name?” 

“Grogu.”  Din loosened his grip, and Grogu leapt on the woman’s lap. 

“Charming child.  They are so much fun at this age.  Mine are all … gone now.”  Senel softly ran her fingers through the boy’s hair, and he purred.  “My wife had to do much of the work herself because of my duties in the Senate.  You must find it a challenge.” 

Din was about to answer when his comm.link chirped.  Saying, “Please excuse me,” to Senel, Din got up and moved to the doorway.  “What?” 

“Din.  Where are you?” 

“Fennec?”  Din looked back at Grogu.  “What’s happened?  Is Marathel all right?” 

“She’s with the Reconstructionists.  They wouldn’t take the coins as payment.  I’m on Coruscant; it was the only place I could think of.” 

“You left her alone?” 

“She was fine when I left her, Din, please try to focus here!” 

By this point, Grogu had jumped down and was toddling over to Din, crying, “Mama?  Mama?”  Senel rose and stood in the center of the room, a worried frown on her face. 

Din bent down and picked up Grogu.  “I’m also on Coruscant.  If my contact is willing, you could meet us here.  What are the Reconstructionists asking for?”  Fennec told him, and Din grimaced.  He turned to Senel and said, “I require this amount in cash.  New Republic credits, not Imperial.  Can your contact provide this at our meeting?” 

Senel blanched, and said, “I’ll see what we can do.  And tell your friend to come here.  I will contact the concierge.”  She passed by him and went down the corridor. 

After giving Fennec the information, he said, “Fennec … is Marathel all right?” 

“She managed the trip fairly well, all things considered. She was in good spirits when I left, but quite nervous, of course.” 

“Did she … seem upset about anything?” 

“She had another meltdown about you still having the damned coins.  She went straight to worst-case scenario and convinced herself you deceived her about your intentions.” 

“Not at all.  The covert wouldn’t accept the bounty.  I just … never explained it to her like I should have.  Was she upset about anything else?  Did she say anything … about me?” 

He could hear Fennec sigh deeply.  “Din Djarin, while you have the social and emotional capacity of blue milk, we are all grown-ups, and I refuse to carry on with your childish requests to be a liaison for you two.  No, I did not ask if she ‘likes you, likes you.’  Do it your damn self when you see her next.”  

With that, Fennec clicked off, leaving Din feeling properly admonished.  Din held Grogu close, saying, “Mama is okay.  She’s with the secret doctors.” 

“See-kit.” 

“That’s right, buddy.”  Din felt Grogu’s little arms squeezing him tightly, giving Din the comfort he needed.   

“Is everything all right?” 

Din turned to see Senel standing in the corridor.  “Yes.” 

Senel tilted her head. “Are you sure about that?  You seemed to be quite concerned about this Marathel.  I take it she is also Grogu’s Mama?” 

Din felt discomfited.  “She is not Grogu’s natural mother, but he loves her as his mother.” 

“Is this Marathel in need of major medical care?” Din did not answer.  “She is why you need the payment in cash.” 

“… Yes.” 

“Well, then.  Your friend is on their way?” Din nodded.  “As we now must wait for the Jeweler to prepare the cash you require, may I at least offer you dinner?  You and Grogu may eat in the room you used earlier.” 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” said Din. 

“Thank you for making my afternoon interesting,” replied Senel with a warm smile.  “A Mandalorian and his son, covered in glitter and smelling like a brothel may not be as exciting as my late wife wrangling our six children, but it will serve.” 

Marathel felt very fog brained.  She wasn’t sure if she was awake or not … but she couldn’t seem to form the words to ask anyone.  She was immobilized in a giant chair, strapped down and locked in, only able to move her fingers, toes, and eyelids.  Her head was held at a severe angle by an uncomfortable neck brace, and her hair had been twisted into two braids, not from her temples this time, but hanging loosely from behind her ears. She felt like she was blinking a lot, but then there was a bright light shining right between her eyes.  There was also a rhythmic clicking sound that corresponded with the blinking of the bright light.  The chair itself would move and rotate from time to time, and she had just spent a long time facing downward while the light blinked at the back of her head, her braids swinging. 

Marathel could not see much beyond the light, and looking down at herself, she could only see her forearms from her position.  Her inner forearms bore many multi-needled injection marks, which would bruise, and then fade, and then bruise again.  Many of the injections felt like the spiky pebbles were under her skin again.  Others burned ferociously, while others merely felt like heavy weights were being placed in her arms. 

The Reconstructionists kept asking her to think about things, and half the time, she didn’t understand what they wanted her to think about. Earlier, they had asked her to imagine a black bird standing on a gravestone.  The black bird was easy enough, but Marathel was not knowledgeable about gravestones. This happened several times, until the doctors simply asked her to count certain number patterns, or to name things that began with a certain letter sound.   

This time they had asked her to say words that started with the sound of the letter B. It took her a long while to come up with any words at all, B-words or not.  Marathel was getting frustrated with herself, but the doctors didn’t seem perturbed; they just kept turning their dials and pressing buttons and encouraged her to keep trying.  Finally, Marathel burst out, “Bounty Hunter!” 

Cieroprac smiled.  “That was a good complex word, Marathel.  Keep trying.” 

Marathel squeezed her eyes tight.  She could see the images of things in her mind, but the words were hard to come up with.  She thought of Grogu to calm herself, and then she was able to say, “Boy.  Baby boy.”  Then she remembered, “Black bird.”  The words started to come easier now.  “Bread.  Beach.  Bed.  Berries.  Blue.” Then, “Beatings.  Blood,” said Marathel, her voice hitching on the last word. 

“I think we got it now, Marathel.  Can you try the D sound?” 

“Din Djarin,” said Marathel immediately. 

“Any more?” 

“Dahls. Door. Dreams. Dewback,” she said, remembering that Cobb had pointed out the toy lizard in the market.  “Dilimgau.”  Marathel felt tears in her eyes.  “Death.” 

“I think that’s enough,” said Cieroprac.   

“Yes, Marathel, enough D-words and enough treatment for the moment,” said Eliadu.  “You need some time to recuperate.  How do you feel?” 

Marathel blinked a few times, her eyes dry and itchy from the blinking light.  The chair slowly set her back upright, and the restraints loosened.  She immediately winced: her neck hurt terribly from fighting against the collar that held her from moving her head. “I feel … tired and sore.  Itchy.”  She rubbed her eyes.  

“Hungry?” asked Eliadu.  Marathel nodded.  Eliadu held out her hands to Marathel, helping her to stand.  Marathel felt wobbly, like a newly hatched Dahl kit.  She seemed to have forgotten how to walk, and she muttered apologies to the elegant, blue-skinned woman.  “It’s normal to have some loss of motor control, we have found,” said Eliadu.  At Marathel’s puzzled expression, she clarified, “Feet and hands not quite working.” 

Marathel held up one of her hands, saying, “My hands don’t work so well right now, anyway.” 

Eliadu helped Marathel into the next room and helped her to sit in a comfortable chair next to a table.  “Those splints are clever, by the way.  How did you come by them?” 

“The Modifier.  My hands were … my hands and fingers were smashed.” 

Eliadu sat across from her.  “Where did that happen?” 

Marathel swallowed.  “I don’t know.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

“It was … it was a … a Red Room.  I don’t know where it was.” 

“No, Marathel.  There was no Red Room.”  Marathel remained silent.  “No one gets out of a Red Room, Marathel.”  Marathel looked at Eliadu, wary.  She wanted to hide her hands in her sleeves, but she had no sleeves, as she wore only the short sleeveless gown the doctors had provided her.  She remained silent while Cieroprac placed a cup in front of her. 

“Try to drink this, Marathel.  It doesn’t taste the best, but it has a lot of protein and is easy to digest.  You may not be able to handle much more,” said Cieroprac. 

Marathel carefully held the cup in both hands and sniffed the contents.  She smelled nothing, and the liquid inside was an unappealing milky-tan color.  Marathel took a careful sip and found the cool liquid completely unappetizing.  “Ugh.” 

Cieroprac smiled.  “Welcome to Imperial rations.” 

Marathel curled her lip as she drank some more.  “It’s hard for me to eat much with my broken teeth.” 

Eliadu tilted her head.  “Would you like to have your teeth repaired?”  Marathel nodded.  “We don’t do that, but we have a colleague who can.  But first we need to solve your blood clotting problem.  Does anyone else in your family have the same condition?”  Marathel shrugged and worked to swallow more of the protein drink. “Does that mean you don’t know, or that you don’t want to tell me?” 

Marathel drank the rest of the cup contents with a grimace.  “I don’t have to tell you anything,” she said, hugging her shoulders tightly. 

“No, you don’t … but anything you tell us may be helpful.”   Marathel began to rock, almost imperceptibly.  Eliadu recognized the attempt at self-soothing.  The drink, which had contained a mild sedative — as well as a tiny amount of an Imperial-grade truth serum — seemed to be working. 

Eliadu disliked the use of the serum and would rather draw out the truth by using calm reinforcement. Unfortunately, everyone lied about their illnesses and injuries.  It made the work so much harder, so Cieroprac suggested the truth serum.  She had been an Imperial geneticist and was usually impatient, as she had been required to get quick results.  They weren’t therapists; it wasn’t their job to heal the soul, just the body, she would insist.  Using the most minimal amount of the serum had been their compromise.  They had to compromise often on many things.  Eliadu was thankful that Cieroprac was willing to start treatment on Marathel with only Fennec’s promise to return.  She was most anxious to work on Marathel.  Her genome was bizarre, unlike anything she had personally seen before. The failure of her initial treatment had not disturbed her — in fact, Eliadu had been delighted, for it meant she got to work on Marathel directly, and the data she had received from the Modifier had been highly useful.  He had been a good student of hers, but he preferred to be flashier in his treatments.   

Marathel, meanwhile, felt a bit like she had when she drank the spotchka, or when she had eaten the dreamberry sauce.  She didn’t feel warm and fuzzy — in fact, she felt quite alert — but … she found she wanted to tell everything that had happened to her, every thought that popped into her head.  Her arms began that spiky-pebble-feeling again.  She wanted … she wanted Cobb here; he understood the spiky-pebble feeling and his strong hands had been quite soothing to hold.  His strong arms were pleasant to be held in. She liked his good looks and easy smile.  She liked him.  She liked the attention he gave her.  She liked his hands on her.  He could kiss me, he could be my lover, he doesn’t hide behind armor and a helmet, locking away all feelings and desires until he wants to finger me under the guise of teaching me how to touch myself.   

What in the name of Frith? 

Marathel blinked and rubbed her eyes, startled by her thoughts.  Cieroprac was sitting at the table now, tapping away at a holopad.  Eliadu kept gazing at Marathel with a pleasant look on her face.  “How are you feeling, Marathel?” 

Marathel lifted her hand, confused to see the splint removed, and her fingertips now ensconced in clips with wires leading from them, connecting to the holopad Cieroprac was holding.  Disoriented, Marathel asked, “Did I fall asleep?” 

Eliadu smiled indulgently.  “No, you’ve been awake the whole time.  You were telling us about where you came from.” 

“Was I?”  She could not remember speaking about anything.  She thought she had been thinking about … about …  

“Do you know who your mother is, Marathel?”  

“My mam?  Why is that important?” 

Eliadu pushed a cup in front of Marathel.  “Are you hungry?  This doesn’t taste very appetizing, but it will fill you up.” 

Marathel found she was hungry, so she picked up the cup, which was difficult, as her hands both had clips at the ends of her fingers, with leads going to the blonde woman’s holopad.  Who is that? wondered Marathel while she drank half of the liquid in the cup. As she put the cup down, her hand got tangled in the wires coming from soft pads attached to her temples, which she didn’t remember being adhered to her skin.  The sensors felt very warm, almost too hot, so she tried to pull them off. 

“Leave those alone, Marathel, continue talking about your father.” 

Marathel’s head snapped up.  She may be stupid, she may have scrambled brains, but there was no way in Frith she would be speaking of her da of her own free will.  Who are these women and what are they doing to me?  Where am I?  The blue-skinned woman was now looking at her with a strange look on her face, and then she exchanged glances with the blonde woman. 

The blue-skinned woman — she seems familiar, thought Marathel — leaned forward and gently took Marathel’s hand.  Marathel looked at her hand, now completely bare of clips and wires, the splint apparatus back on.  The blonde woman was gone.  The blue-skinned woman — Eliadu, that’s her name, thought Marathel — softly said to her, “I am so sorry that was done to you.”  

Marathel blinked, and she felt tears on her cheeks.  What just happened?  “I don’t … I don’t remember saying anything, Eliadu.  And where did Cieroprac go?” 

“She went back to the treatment room long ago, Marathel.  And you did say a lot; in fact, you were quite thorough in all your answers.” 

“I was?”  Marathel felt panicked; what secrets did she give away?  Fennec had told her why Din couldn’t come with them, that it would put both him and Grogu in danger.  She could not bear the idea of endangering their lives and had agreed to keep their identities a secret.   

Eliadu smiled.  “We are not interested in your interpersonal relationships, or your secrets regarding them … only of the people who are related to you by blood — your kin and the place you came from.  Although …” — Eliadu raised her eyebrow — “I do believe your bounty hunter and his son hold very strongly to a place deep in your heart, while this roguish marshal merely tickles your fancy.  But take that as you will from another woman who knows you not.” 

Marathel was stunned.  Eliadu had managed to get her questions answered without her remembering a word she spoke.  “Did you get … what you required?” 

Eliadu looked distressed.  “I did.  More than I realized I needed.”  She took a breath.  “Marathel … I’m going to repeat back to you what you told me.  Please, tell me whether I’m correct in my understanding.”  Marathel, pensive, agreed, and Eliadu began to speak.  It took a little while, and she then asked, “Did I repeat what you told me accurately?”  Marathel, saddened to hear her life spoken out in so few sentences, nodded.  “Did I leave anything out?”  Marathel frowned but shook her head.  Eliadu sighed.  “Well, then … it turns out I was correct, even though … I hoped, for your sake, that I was not.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

Eliadu began to speak again for a long time.  Marathel listened.  When she had finished, Marathel, confused, quietly thought for a while, and asked many questions, which Eliadu answered.  And as Eliadu continued to speak, Marathel learned that everything, everything she had ever known, how she had lived her life from the moment she had first drawn breath, was wrong. 

Fennec arrived quicker than Din thought she would; she must have have the same idea as he did — that the casino strip was the best place to fence the coins.  Din and Grogu had finished eating and had another attempt at removing the glitter by the time she’d made it up the elevator.  Senel greeted her warmly, and Fennec responded in kind before she stalked over to Din and punched him hard right above his elbow.  “Ow!” 

“Do you know what you have put me through?” hissed Fennec. 

“Do I get to hit you after you tell me?” 

“That emotionally crippled woman is fragile enough without you making … grandiose declarations!  You say you love her, right before she has to suffer who knows what kind of medical treatment?  You — need — to — learn — a — sense — of — timing!” snapped Fennec, punctuating each word with another smack to Din’s arm. 

Senel nodded in agreement.  “For shame, Mandalorian, toying with a vulnerable woman’s heart.” 

Din scoffed, saying, “I needed her to know!  If some …” He went silent.  Both women were glowering at him. He looked down at a frowning Grogu, who was balanced on his hip.  “Don’t look at me in that tone of voice, kid.”  Din sighed.  “Can we go now?” 

Senel took a coat from her droid’s hands.  “Yes, we can go now.” 

They all entered the lift.  Fennec gave Din the once-over and asked, “What’s with all the glitter?” 

“Don’t ask.  It’s been a long day.” 

Fennec made a rude noise.  “Tell me about it.” 

“How many people have tried to kill you today?” sneered Din. 

“Children,” said Senel in the best Senatorial / Mother tone she could muster.  “Behave.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” grumbled Fennec and Din.  Both remained quiet and still for a few floors, until Fennec stuck her tongue out at Din.  Grogu shouted “FUH-er!” as he pointed at Fennec.  Din quickly hushed Grogu, saying apologies to Senel, who had turned around to glare at Din. 

Turning back around, Senel muttered, “I had forgotten about times like this with the children,” under her breath.   Din, embarrassed, was glad he didn’t have six Grogus to contend with by himself.  One was quite enough; six, he’d need someone to run zone defense with. 

The elevator car came to a stop, and the doors opened to a landing platform.  A livery droid met them and escorted them to a large custom luxury speeder.  Fennec and Senel — who was cuddling Grogu on her lap — made small talk while Din silently seethed about being driven by a damn droid.   

They must have been getting close; Senel handed Grogu back to Din, saying, “You must conceal him when we go inside.  Will he be quiet?”  Din gave him the remaining handful of sticky seaweed balls, and Grogu happily went back into the bag.  Senel nodded.  “Bribery.  It always worked for me, too.  When we go in, act like my hired bodyguards.  Give me the coins?”  Din handed the bag over.  “How many are there?” 

“165.” 

“164,” interjected Fennec.  “I had to leave one with Marathel.” 

Senel grinned.  “Good thing you’re asking for only a percentage in cash.  Otherwise, you’d bankrupt the Jeweler’s business.” 

“Who is the Jeweler anyway?” asked Fennec. 

“You’ll see,” replied Senel.  The cruiser came to a stop in front of a gleaming expanse of brass and glass, emblazoned with the shop name Kugerrand.  A doorman leapt forward to open the cruiser door, but Din did it himself, using his imposing appearance to make the doorman retreat to his station at the shop door.  Din handed out Senel, and Fennec let herself out on the other side, making a point of scanning the area as she came around the back of the cruiser.  Din and Fennec flanked Senel as she walked with proud grace through the lead-crystal archway into the shop. 

Someone cried, “Senel!” as they entered.  Several lovely young women scuttled about in tight dresses and high heels, moving in tiny halting steps.  Both Din and Fennec looked around surreptitiously; even though they were here under false pretenses, they did have valuable assets with them and the last thing they needed was for this to go sideways.  Senel moved effortlessly through the jewelry shop, approaching the speaker who had greeted her … a short, thin … Hutt. 

Din was so glad to have a helmet, and he stole a glance at Fennec, amazed at her ability to maintain so expressionless at this most bizarre sight.  It … is a Hutt, isn’t it?  The Hutt had the bulbous head, the slotted nose, the wide eyes … but beyond the folds of skin at its neck, that was where the similarity ended.  The Hutt was wearing a caftan that hung from its bony shoulders, ending above the — knees? — of the usually vestigial legs that it was using to pull itself forward.  “Senel, my darling, my absolute favorite, how have you been, my love?” 

Senel grasped the Hutt’s hands and bussed it on both cheeks.  “Wonderful, Kugerr, now that I’m here with you.” 

“Liar,” said the Hutt with a snort. “Come with me, sweetheart, wait until you see what is coming for next season …” Kugerr led them all into a private salon, the door shutting tight behind them.  Instantly, the Hutt’s demeanor changed.  “Slumming with Mandalorians, are we?” 

“He’s the one who brought us the coins, Kugerr,” snapped Senel, as she pulled out the bag of coins and laid it on the counter.  Din decided to hang closer to Senel; skinny or not, this was still a Hutt, after all.  Fennec remained closer to the door under the auspice of guarding it. 

Kugerr narrowed his eyes at Fennec.  “I believe I know you,” he sneered. 

Fennec raised an eyebrow.  “And I believe you’re mistaken.” She folded her hands, standing at the ready. 

Kugerr harumphed and spread the coins out on the felted countertop.  He looked at two or three coins, and his hands began to shake.  “It can’t be … it can’t be!”  The Hutt glared at Din.  “Where did you find this?” 

Din shrugged.  “Why?” 

“This is the Hoard of the Archbishop of Serenno, you metal fool!” spat Kugerr, nearly apoplectic.  “It disappeared 2000 years ago!  According to legend, it was stolen by the illegitimate sons of the Archbishop who wished to usurp their father’s place.  Is it all here?” 

Din shrugged again, but under his helmet, he was curious about this Archbishop.  “How much is there supposed to be?” 

Kugerr scoffed.  “No one really knows.  Ten coins, ten thousand.” 

Din said, “Before you is all that I have.”  That, at least, was the truth. 

“And what did our mutual friend Blewogg have to say?” 

“Blewogg, that charming woman, said a great many things, none of which I will repeat in front of Lady Senel.” 

Kugerr grinned.  “I suppose now we get to chat about what you want.” 

“So long as you understand that I need that certain amount in cash, now, I am amenable.”  The deal was made quickly and cleanly.  Din wanted away from the freakishly skinny Hutt, and he wanted Fennec to head back to his Marathel.  He wanted to get off Coruscant and make a quick trip to Nevarro to execute part of his new plan.   

Finally, back in the luxurious cruiser, Senel asked Din and Fennec if they’d like a nightcap before they left.  Fennec politely refused, saying that she needed to get back to Marathel, asking that they drop her at the nearest travel port.  Din asked, “So did you know that Hutt?” 

Fennec smirked.  “When he was fat, yes.  The story goes that he was poisoned, which turned into a nasty wasting disease.” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “And you wouldn’t know anything about that.” 

“Nothing whatsoever,” Fennec said.  “Any message you’d like me to pass on to your lady love?” 

Senel, who was cuddling a sleeping Grogu, smiled.  Din rolled his eyes.  “Just that … we miss her, and we hope to see her soon.” 

Fennec smirked.  “That’s it?” 

“That’s it.  I thought you didn’t appreciate being a liaison for my … grandiose declarations.” 

“Well, Mando, I will pass your message along.” 

Din reached over and squeezed Fennec’s hand.  “Thank you.  For everything,” he said quietly. 

“I’ll bring her back as quick as I can,” said Fennec.  “And thank you, Lady Senel.”  Fennec hopped out of the cruiser and disappeared into the night. 

The cruiser went back into the night traffic, and Din watched Senel stroke Grogu’s head as he softly snored.  “You ever wish he’d stay this size forever?” 

“He’s been that size for a long time, Lady Senel.  Like a Jedi you must have seen in the Senate during your service.” 

Senel’s eyes narrowed.  “I do not speak of that time, or of those people.  Ever.”  She closed her eyes for a few moments.  Then, she handed back Grogu, and tapped on the dividing window, looking away from Din.  “You got what you came for.  Now get out.”   

Confused, Din said, “Lady Senel, I …” 

The cruiser stopped.  “I said, get out.” 

“I’m only looking for the boy’s family, if he has any.” 

Senel looked at him, her eyes glistening.  “The Jedi caused me to lose my entire family.  The Empire only began because of them.  I have no love for any Jedi, good or bad.” 

“Your wife and children … all died in the Battle of Coruscant?”  Senel nodded. “I am sorry for your loss.” 

“Thank you.”  Senel dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief.  “We all might have survived if there had been no such … creatures like them, ensconced as they were, politically.  A religious cult like that has no place in politics.”  They sat in silence for a long time, traffic rushing by as Senel stared out the tinted window.  “If my memory serves me, Mandalorians and Jedi have a … tenuous past as well.” 

“They do,” said Din, looking down at the sleeping boy in his arms.  “I just want to find any kin he might have, for his sake.” 

“It seems like he’s with his kin already,” Senel said with a sad smile.  “I hope you are able to add Marathel to the family as well.”  Senel sighed.  She tapped the window, and the cruiser began moving again.  “Perhaps you could tell me about her while we return you to your ship.” 

Din settled back in the seat, shifting Grigu to a more comfortable position.  “Have you ever heard of a planet called Unmanarall?” 

They talked all the way back to the hangar where the Razor Crest was docked.  Din was surprised that he was so willing to chat to anyone about anything, really.  Having Grogu allowed him to not only have a sounding board to speak to, but he also had a topic of conversation that was practically universal — the parent-child relationship.  But Marathel was different.  His only other romantic relationship — if it could be labeled as a relationship — was with Xi’an, and there was hardly anything romantic about that extended time filled with danger, chaos, and rough, angry sex.  Disastrous would be a better descriptor.  Perhaps even catastrophic; Din felt lucky he got out of that one mostly intact, vasectomy by explosive notwithstanding.  He knew that with Marathel, he was completely out of his element, and would need guidance in maneuvering a relationship with her. 

They had reached his hangar, and Din carefully packed the sleeping Grogu back in the oilskin bag.  “Thank you, Lady Senel.  I wish you luck in your future.  Again, I am sorry for your loss.  You have my sympathies.” 

“Thank you, Mandalorian.  I wish you luck as well.  For your people as well as your lady friend.  Her life will be hard for some time.” 

Din swallowed.  “Any advice?” 

“Love her.  As best you can.  You may not always like her but do your best to love her.  Have patience. Endless, endless patience.  And this may be difficult, as you are a Mandalorian, but kiss her as often as possible.” 

Marathel was dreaming again.  This time, she was outside herself, for she could see her own back as she sat on the large flat boulder on Unmanarall.  Marathel knew that boulder well.  She had sat on it many times, staring in the one direction that led to the edge of the high cliff.  This time, she was wearing dark blue pants and tunic.  They looked relatively new but were badly torn and stained.  Her arms and legs were scratched and splattered with blood.  Next to her, on one side, was a wooden cup.  On her other side was a spear with a broken pole.  Her hair, which hung in a tangled mess, appeared to be much shorter on one side than the other.  Marathel watched herself slowly stand and begin to walk to the edge. Walk, Marathel, walk, don’t run to the edge, sleeping Marathel told her dream self.  I don’t know what you’ve suffered now, but you’re where I want to be. You’re almost finished. I’ll see you soon. 

Marathel’s dream suddenly stopped.  Someone was shaking her shoulder.  Marathel awoke, completely alert with no lasting sleepiness.  She was curled up in a tight ball on the cot she was given to sleep on, forehead and knees against the wall, in the most protective position she could make.  Her arms were wrapped tightly over her chest.  Her stomach and ribs ached.  Her heart hurt.  Her mind hurt. 

“Marathel?  Please get up.”  Eliadu’s voice was calm, entreating, meant to soothe. 

“Why?” 

Eliadu took a moment to answer.  “So we can talk.” 

Marathel was tempted to ask why again, but she knew that would sound childish.  They had told her what her age range was yesterday, which confirmed she hadn’t been a child for quite a long time.  It had taken some time to give Marathel a frame of reference for what those numbers meant.  Marathel decided that she preferred not knowing, but now it was too late.  Now she was spending time trying to figure out how her age related to those people she knew.  Was she older or younger than Fennec?  Cobb?  Din?  Marathel worried that she was an ancient crone in comparison.  A dried-up, worn-out crone. 

Of course, her age was the least of her worries.  She had far more horrific knowledge about herself now.   Marathel supposed she should be sad, or angry, but all she felt was empty.  She had nothing.  

Marathel unfolded herself and got up from the cot, following Eliadu back into the room with the table and chairs.  Cieroprac was already sitting at the table, tapping on her holopad.  Eliadu invited Marathel to sit and provided her with a protein bar and a cup of tea.  Marathel sniffed the cup and could smell only tea.  She took a bite out of the protein bar, wondering why these Imps didn’t seem to eat real food. 

“Marathel …” began Eliadu.  “We’ve heard from Fennec, and she’s on her way back.” 

“Good.” 

“We need to discuss what you want to do.” 

Marathel shrugged.  “It hardly seems to matter now.” 

Eliadu scowled, saying, “It certainly does matter.  You have a long life ahead of you.”  Marathel wondered if that were so.  “Obviously, we want to to solve your blood-clotting problem.  We think we’re very close to that.  You also expressed interest in getting your teeth fixed …” 

Marathel shook her head. “Not anymore.” 

“No?” 

“No. I don’t think it’s necessary.  Yes, solve the blood clotting.  Once that’s done, then the rest can heal properly.” 

Eliadu and Cieroprac exchanged glances.  Cieroprac interjected, “For your exterior wounds, such as the ones on your back, yes.  But we haven’t even touched on the damage done to your vaginal canal.” 

Marathel colored. “I still think …” 

“Those wounds will not heal without some intervention.  The scar tissue alone will make intercourse …” 

“I don’t care about that,” snapped Marathel. 

“Really?” asked Eliadu.  “We were led to believe that you had a romantic relationship.” 

Marathel’s eyes filled with tears.  “Not anymore.” 

“Oh, Marathel,” said Eliadu, her voice full of pity. “You can’t make that kind of decision based on what we told you yesterday.  Your history has no bearing on …” 

“My history has everything to do with my decision.  Make me not bleed under my skin.  Close my wounds.  That’s all I will require for the rest of my life.” 

“Marathel …” Eliadu reached across the table, palm up, silently requesting to hold Marathel’s hand.  Marathel looked at Eliadu’s hand, and pointedly ignored it.  “Marathel, at least, please discuss such a thing with your partner …” 

“I have no partner; he was never my partner.  I’m not his equal.  I am no one in comparison.  I don’t wish to discuss this any further.”  Refusing to answer any more questions, Marathel finally ended up telling herself to be still, and remained in that fugue state until Eliadu asked her if she were ready to get back into the chair.  Wordlessly, Marathel followed Eliadu back into the treatment room and climbed back into the large chair, allowing herself to be covered with sensors and monitors again.  With the collar back in place, Marathel was once again immobilized.  The chair rotated until Marathel was facing downward again.  The light began flashing, the clicking sound began again.  Marathel watched her braids swing back and forth, and tears fell from her eyes to the floor. 

Din was back on Unmanarall.  Or perhaps he was here for the first time.  He was alone, and he was walking down the switchbacks, listening to the crunch of the gravel beneath his boots.  When he got to the sandy path along the grassy meadow, he could see the delicate marks of bare feet in the path.  Din knew he should follow them, that they would take him to where he needed to go, to the person he needed to find.   

He passed the rock outcrop, and a flat-roofed hut came into view.  He remembered it well, yet he had never seen it before.  A woman wearing a yellow dress stood ankle-deep in a gentle stream, back-to, her silver hair pulled into two braids that fell from behind her ears down to her waist.   Knowing she was the one he was looking for, he began to walk towards her, his heavy footfalls announcing his presence.   

The woman turned quickly, her face full of fear, her hair and her dress swaying with her movement.  “Who are you?” she asked, as she quickly dropped her gaze from his helmet visor to his boots.  

Din eyes roamed over the woman in the yellow dress, which was finely woven and nearly sheer; he could see her nipples clearly against the soft-looking fabric, her navel a hollow in her rounded belly, and the shadow of the apex of her legs only barely concealed.  “A bounty hunter,” replied Din. 

“What is that?” 

The breeze shifted to blow directly at her front, and the fabric of her dress hugged her full breasts and heavy thighs, outlining the soft thatch of hair at her crotch.  Din, becoming aroused, said, “I find people.” 

Her eyebrows knitted together.  “Are you looking for me?” 

Din stepped into the stream to stand directly before her.  “Yes, I am, Marathel.” 

Marathel raised her sad eyes to his throat, but no further.  Saying “Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi,” she dropped to her knees in the stream.  Her hands went under the bottom edge of his cuirass and stomacher to release the belt at his waist.  She sighed, and undid his breeches, lowered his underthermals, and released his erection, hot and hard, already weeping with pre-cum. She began to turn her head away, but Din grabbed her braid and roughly pulled; she nearly lost her balance, but she recovered, opening her mouth and taking his erection within, dutifully, still refusing to look up at him.  When Din had enough of her mouth, he released her braid, flinging it from his hand and hitting her in the face with it. Marathel lay on her back in the stream, the water flowing over her, rendering her dress transparent and adhering it to her skin.  She pulled up her dress to her waist, raised her knees and spread them wide, exposing herself to Din, waiting. 

Din immediately went to his knees between her legs, thrusting into her without preamble.  Over and over, he pounded her, grunting, and she lay there, her only movement caused by him, the water of the stream flowing over her shoulders and breasts with each of his thrusts.  Frustrated by her lack of participation, he gripped her collarbone and said, “Look at me.”  She did not respond, nor did she turn her head.  His hand slid to the base of her throat.  “Look at me!” he growled. 

“There’s no point,” she muttered. 

“Look at me.” 

“There’s no point!” 

Din filled with rage.  His large hand went around her throat, fingers gripping her jaw, forcing her to face him.  She closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head no as he squeezed her throat.  The purple-black color of fresh bruises extended out from under his fingers, deep within her delicate skin, feathering out like blood in water, and his arousal for her grew just as his anger at her did.  “LOOK AT ME!” he shouted in fury as he slammed himself into her, harder and harder, the slapping of flesh against flesh louder than the gentle babble of the stream. 

Marathel’s hand shot up and under the side edge of his cuirass, against his chest.  She cried out, “LET ME GO!” as her fingers dug into the bite mark she had left in his flesh.  

Din gasped in pain, and his eyes opened to darkness, a stabbing pain in the bite on his chest.  He was face-down, with a raging hard-on, only a bedroll below him, his hand clutching not Marathel’s throat, but a stuffed frog toy. 

What the …? 

“Patu?” a timid voice softly called out. 

“Uhnnn … what?” Din shook his head.  “Grogu?  Buddy?  What is it?” 

There was silence for a few moments, and then the little voice asked, “Fawg?” 

Din blinked, and then slowly and uncomfortably got to his feet, his erection throbbing almost as painfully as his bite-mark.  He was glad the damn room was dark. Wait. Can the kid see in the dark?   “Got him right here, pal, he must have fallen.”  Din gently placed the frog stuffie back into Grogu’s hands, then rhythmically stroked Grogu’s earlobe with his thumb.   “You okay?” Grogu didn’t answer.  “Did I wake you?”  He felt Grogu nod.  “I’m sorry, pal, I was dreaming.” 

“Mama?” 

Ashamed of what he had dreamt about Mama, Din said, “Something chasing me.  I don’t remember.  Go back to sleep, ad’ika, Mama loves you.”  Leaning closer, Din whispered, “I do too.”  Din gave the boy a last loving pat, then slipped out of quarters, closing the door behind him.  He made a beeline straight to the ‘fresher, locking himself inside.   

Now alone, he took off his helmet, and leaned against the door.  I raped Marathel in my dream.  I put my hand on her and choked her.  Why am I dreaming about hurting the woman I love? And here he was, standing here, still swollen as a Nevarro cactus after a spring rain, practically cumming in his pants after such a horrible dream.  Din thought about punching himself in his traitor crotch. What a reprehensible thing to dream about, hurting Marathel like that — anyone, really. He really hoped he wasn’t making — sounds as he was humping his damn bedroll.  That was something Grogu did not need to hear. 

The bite-wound continued to throb.  Din opened his flight jacket — he had removed his armor to clean the glitter off it — and pulled down the neckline of his thermal shirt.  The wound was red, angry, and seeping.  Red lines extended outward from the wound, showing an infection as well as some flakes of glitter.  Kriffing hell, that shit gets everywhere.  He sighed and cleaned the wound properly, disinfecting it and covering it with a bandage.  Bacta would heal the wound too well … he wanted it to scar, but he didn’t need infection. 

Those words Marathel said … I’ve heard her say those before.  That wasn’t dream nonsense, that was her old language. 

He wracked his brain for a moment.  It wasn’t what she yelled at him the day Grogu put her in a tree.  That had something to do herbs and virtue, and the other thing she told him to do was to piss up a rope.   

Rhaff Codieh.  I’m not forgetting that one. 

Then he remembered.  His finger was inside her, and he’d said … he’d said … Cyar’e, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, mesh’la.  She responded in her own language, and she’d said Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi.  

He didn’t know what she’d said, but he knew now it wasn’t I love you as well.  She’d told  Grogu she loved him when she’d put him to bed that night … but she didn’t say those same words to me.  Din rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.  He needed to get his shit together.  This trip back to Nevarro would get that ball rolling, but … seriously, I’m one kriffing hot mess.   He finally met his own eyes in the mirror, not liking what he was seeing, so he punched himself in the crotch anyway. 

As he was hunched over in pain, holding his knees and regretting that decision, he thought about how he could apologize to Marathel about something he hadn’t done.  What he neglected to consider was why Marathel refused to look at him in his dream. 

 Marathel had not spoken a word for hours.  Fennec had returned while Marathel was resting from another round in the chair, including a session of cauterizing some wounds caused by the Dilimgau.  Both Eliadu and Cieroprac were trying to explain how Marathel was doing. 

“So, she’s refusing most of the reconstructive treatment?” asked Fennec. 

Eliadu nodded.  “She only wants the barest minimum.  But she is very distressed, and it’s obvious her decision-making skills are poor.” 

Fennec sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.  “Tell me about it.” 

“Perhaps if you can convince her …” 

“Perhaps if you can tell me what happened to change her mind!” snapped Fennec. “If you could tell me whatever this damned great secret is, I could maybe make a difference!” 

Eliadu sadly shook her head.  “I can’t, we can’t tell you.  It’s not for us to say.  Marathel is an adult …” 

“A socially, emotionally constipated adult!  From a cult who stunted her entire growth!” 

Cieroprac, who was standing behind Eliadu, crossed her arms and said quietly, “Then it might be best to only do the barest minimum of treatment for her.  She needs time and therapy, LOTS of therapy, to make better decisions for herself.” 

Eliadu said, “We are not therapists. We cannot heal the soul; we only … work on the body.”   

Fennec watched Cieroprac gently run her fingers through Eliadu’s snow-white feathers.  She knew she was watching a moment of contention between the two women and decided to calm herself. High emotions were not useful at the moment. Fennec took a breath and asked, “May I see her now?  Try to talk to her?” 

“Of course,” said Cieroprac.  Fennec followed her into a little dark side-room.  The blonde woman turned on a light; dim, but enough to see by.  Marathel was again curled up tight, making herself as small as possible.  Her bare feet were folded on top of each other, her toes curled tightly.  Fennec could see Marathel’s fingers tightly clutching her shoulders.  Cieroprac left, closing the door behind her. 

“Marathel?  Are you awake?” 

“I’m glad you’re back.  That means we can leave soon.”  Marathel’s voice was flat, expressionless. 

“I ran into Din when I went to sell the coins.  He asked about you.  He says they miss you.”  Marathel did not respond.  “He also told me why he still had the coins.  His covert wouldn’t take them.  But he managed to find a buyer and got the biggest deal I’m sure he’ll ever get in his life.” 

“That’s good for him.”   

“There’s plenty to fix you up properly with a lot left over.”  Marathel remained silent, and Fennec felt annoyed.  She grabbed the chair next to the cot and sat.  “What is with you, Marathel?  I thought you were on board with these Reconstructionists.  Why are you changing your mind now?”  Fennec rubbed her forehead with her hand.  “Marathel, look …” 

“I’m sorry, Fennec.  I just … can’t.” 

“What changed?” 

“I’m … I can’t say.  Not now. I’m … what did you say?  Emotionally constipated.” 

“I’m sorry I said that …Marathel, please …” Fennec reached out and touched Marathel’s shoulder.   

Marathel leapt up with a shriek, cowering on the far end of the bed.  “Don’t touch me!  DON’T TOUCH ME!” She held out her hands, trying to hold Fennec away from her.  “Just … don’t.” 

“Marathel … honey … what is wrong?” 

“I want to go home.” 

Fennec sighed.  “We will go home, honey, as soon as you’re done here, we’ll head back to Tatooine.” 

“Tatooine?”  Marathel laughed harshly.  “Shithole planet.  That’s not home.  I want to go back to Unmanarall.” 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter->

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[dindjarindiaries]

Love Me Louder

summary: Your secret romance with the Mandalorian is put at risk when you find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x reader

contains: canon-typical violence, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.631k

main masterlist • din djarin masterlist

The chime of your comm device was akin to a sigh of relief. You reached for it without a second thought, the small hunk of metal close to your lips as you spoke into it. “Hey. You’re late.”

“Nice to hear from you, too.” There was a fond smile evident in Din’s tone and you could picture the soft tilt of his helmet. 

Your own lips started to curl up into a grin. “You can’t blame me for getting worried.” You glanced around the dark room, wary. “Where did you land?”

“The usual clearing near the stream, on the forested outskirts.”

“Good. I’m glad that it's still a reliable place.” You took a deep breath and adjusted the satchel at your side. “I’ve got the supplies already, but since I have to cross town, it'll be a little while before I can get there.”

“That’s fine. Take your time.” Din paused, tension straining his voice as he went on. “I need you to be safe above all else.”

Your smile had only grown. “I will be.”

You had started to put the comm device back on your belt when Din spoke again. “And cyar’ika, be aware of the weather.” Your chest fluttered at the nickname, despite Din’s serious tone. “The sky looks like it’s about to open up.”

“Sure. Just be ready to warm me up when I get there.” You had tried your best to fight a chuckle at your cheeky words. Din was rendered silent on the other end of the link, no doubt swinging his helmet away in sweet embarrassment. “See you soon.”

You hung the device on your belt and secured the satchel at your side. One last scan around your home proved that you had everything you’d need for this long-awaited excursion and reunion. You put the hood of your poncho over your head and made your way out of your home, one hand staying on the satchel and the other prepared to reach for the emergency blaster Din had equipped you with long ago.

The town was busy that day, swarmed by merchants and townsfolk alike trying to make their deals before the storm Din had mentioned swept in. The first few raindrops were already falling, though you couldn’t be bothered by it. The crowds would retreat into shelter and you would be able to get through to Din even more quickly. The Razor Crest wasn’t much, but it was a safe haven to both of you, and a little bit of rainfall wouldn’t ruin that.

Only one thing could, and that was the reason you two had made this arrangement to prevent it altogether. No one had ever seen the two of you together ever since your paths crossed in the cantina you worked at many years ago. It was the first time you’d seen each other since those early childhood days in Aq Vetina, and if Din hadn’t remembered you first, you never would’ve known it was him underneath all that beskar. The only other times you had let yourselves be seen together outside the hull of his ship was in low-lit villages on sparsely-populated planets. Many years later, it had still proven to be a reliable method. The love you shared was only for you two to know, other than the little one Din had taken into his charge.

But as the rain started to fall harder upon the townsfolk, you heard a commotion that started to threaten your reliable routine.

As you took a quick glance behind you, you noticed it wasn’t the rain that had people scattering in a panic. A band of three Klatooinians with their blasters drawn went from person-to-person as they strided down the street that was only getting muddier and harder to navigate by the moment. You couldn’t hear what they were saying at first, but when you took a moment to focus in, your blood ran colder than the rain that soaked your clothing.

“Have you seen the Mandalorian?” one of the Klatooinians snarled at a merchant. The Mon Calamari cowered away and shook their head. The Klatooinian growled in frustration and raised their blaster. “Don’t think I won’t know if you’re lying!”

You cursed to yourself and began to weave your way faster through the crowd. Your hand clutched onto your comm device as you lifted it to your lips. “Din,” you warned him, your voice low yet audible above the chaos that surrounded you. “We have a problem.”

There was no hesitation in his response. “What is it?”

“It’s hunters, I think,” you informed him. You glanced over your shoulder and tightened your jaw at their close proximity. “Klatooinians. They’re asking about you.”

Din cursed and you heard a shuffling sound on his end of the link. “Are you okay?”

Your shoulder hit someone else’s and you uttered a quick apology. “I’m fine. They haven’t caught up to me yet.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” Din’s voice was calm, though you could still hear the strain of his worry for you. “Go home and secure every door and viewport. I’ll take the ship—.”

“I can’t,” you hissed, wary of the townsfolk who resisted your movements around them more and more. “They came up from behind me. I can’t get around them.” You took another look and watched one of the Klatooinians catch your gaze. Your heart began to race more as you pushed harder against the crowd. “I’ll keep evading them. You just need to get yourself and the kid out of here.”

“Cyar’ika—.”

“Hey, you!” The Klatooinian’s voice was almost directly behind you. Still, you didn’t stop until the two people in front of you formed a wall that kept you from moving forward. You set the comm device on your belt and turned around, your shoulders set as all three hunters made a slow approach. “You seem to be in a rush.”

“Some of us have places to be,” you responded. Your voice never wavered despite their attempt at intimidation.

“Where are you headed?” another one of them asked.

“My ship,” you lied with ease. You set your hands on your hips in annoyance. “I’m already off schedule, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to keep heading there.”

“What’s in the bag?” The first Klatooinian ignored your words and pointed at your satchel with his blaster.

“Supplies for my journey.” You made a grand gesture to your surroundings. “We’re in a marketplace, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

The Klatooinian huffed with fake amusement. “You sound defensive for a person who’s not hiding anything.”

“I just don’t like to be inconvenienced when I’m minding my own business.”

The hunter had become enough for you to feel his warm breath on your face, his beady eyes giving you a once-over. He held his blaster on his shoulder as he went on. “You ever seen a Mandalorian?”

You raised your brow and scoffed. “That’s a joke, right?” The Klatooinian’s gaze darkened. “Aren’t they all dead?”

The Klatooinian began to snarl at you. “Clever.” He motioned to the two hunters who flanked him and they lunged towards you before you could stop them. One took your wrists and pinned them behind your back while the other emptied the contents of your satchel onto the muddy ground.

“Hey!” you shouted, your voice full of venom. You pulled at the Klatooinian’s hold on you, but he didn’t budge. “What the hell are you doing?”

The first hunter knelt down and inspected the dirty pile of supplies. All of the food, water, medical supplies, and more you had been saving for Din was now rendered useless. You set your jaw when the Klatooinian’s eyes lit up and he reached for something. You fought to keep your expression unchanged when he lifted the vial of polish you’d gotten for Din to use on his armor and his weapons. “Have some armor that needs polishing?” the hunter asked with a sickening smile.

“It’s for my ship,” you insisted, once again fighting the other hunter’s hold on you. “The amount of credits mechanics charge for that stuff these days is insane.”

The Klatooinian shared a look with his fellow hunters before he dropped the polish back into the pile. “You’re quick on your feet.” He stood back to his full height and began to growl again. “A little too quick.” The hunter nodded at the one who held you back. “Keep ‘em with us. I don’t wanna leave this place empty handed.”

The hunter at your side tore your hood off, releasing the storm’s downpour onto you. It made it much harder to view your surroundings and you had no doubt that was his purpose. The barrel of his blaster remained between your shoulder blades, causing you to lift your hands in surrender. The emergency blaster on your hip soon joined the pile of belongings you were forced to leave behind in the dirt.

The Klatooinians continued their interrogations of the other townsfolk about the Mandalorian. All you could do was hope that Din had followed your directions and gotten himself and the little one off-world. They still hadn’t proven that you had a connection to Din, even if they hadn’t been convinced by all the little lies you told them.

The hunters had almost made it through the entire stretch of the town’s main street when the crowd started parting for someone. Your heart dropped into your stomach when the distant blur became a reflection of silver armor you would usually be relieved to see. Din already had his blaster drawn and raised, but the Klatooinians were quick in doing the same. The one behind you forced you onto your knees in the mud and prodded the back of your head with his blaster while the other two aimed for Din.

“Don’t shoot, Mando,” one of the hunters warned with a venomous hiss, “unless you want their blood on your hands.” The Klatooinian gave your head another prod that drew a grunt from you.

“This is ridiculous,” you spoke up before anyone else could. “I told you, I’ve never seen a Mandalorian before in my life. I don’t know who this guy is.”

“Is that true?” The Klatooinian was still speaking to Din. “Would you care if I asked my associate to pull the trigger?”

The hunter’s blaster clicked behind your head. You closed your eyes for a moment, alarmed by the sound. When you reopened them, the torrential downpour still couldn’t hide the tension that Din had built within himself. Hopefully, it was something only you noticed. “No innocent person needs to die for my sake,” Din spoke up, his modulated voice as even and firm as ever. “They have nothing to do with this. Let them go.”

“Then hand over the child,” the hunter insisted. “A life for a life.”

Din tilted his helmet. “I don’t take kindly to unsolicited deals.” His voice was low and threatening, akin to the thunder that rumbled in the distance.

“My patience is running thin, Mandalorian!” The hunter behind you grabbed you by the hood of your poncho and pressed his blaster against your temple. You clenched your jaw and stared into Din’s visor. You could imagine the widened gaze behind it, one you’d never quite seen aside from the rare glimpse of light that shone even in the darkness of the Crest’s quarters. “Either give us the child or take responsibility for their blood!”

Din lifted his free hand in surrender. “Wait.” He began to lower his blaster to the ground. “There’s no need to deal in blood.”

You started to shake your head at Din. The last thing you needed was him getting either himself or the child in trouble for your sake. It was the whole reason why you kept your love secret for so long.

Din’s blaster was nearly on the ground when he spoke again. “We can find another way.”

The Klatooinian, exasperated, sneered at Din. “And what would that be?”

Din didn’t answer. Instead, he used the hunters’ shared frustration as their own distraction. His free hand caught the handle of his vibroblade in his boot and aimed it for the Klatooinian’s hand. The blaster was knocked away from your head and just seconds later, three telling blaster bolts sounded off from Din’s direction. All three hunters hit the mud at the same time like a simultaneous exhale of relief. You remained where you were both out of surprise and the inability to move in your current position.

The rain was still coming down hard as Din made his approach. He knelt down and held your shoulders, his gloved hands trembling as his visor assessed you for injuries. “Are you okay?” His visor met your gaze. “Did they hurt you?”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You observed the gathered crowd and kept your voice low. “We’ve drawn a lot of attention, though.” Din helped you up from the ground and began to look around with you. “We should walk away in opposite directions.”

“No.” Din tightened his gloved hands into fists at his sides. “I need to get you to safety. Personally.”

You raised your brow as you started following him. The townspeople’s gazes followed you, but you couldn’t have cared less. “The Crest?”

“For now.” Din was close enough for his arm to constantly brush against yours. He took a deep, troubled breath, his modulated voice getting louder the further you got from the crowded town. “More hunters will hear about what happened. They’ll know you were involved somehow.”

“So,” you started to finish for him, “I can’t stay here.”

Din looked away from you in guilt. “We’ll find you an even better planet to reside on.”

You crossed your arms and stared at your muddy feet as you walked. “Maybe I don’t want to stay on a planet.”

Din’s visor had snapped back towards you, but you refused to meet it. His cuirass inflated with a breath he held in a suspended moment. “We’ve talked about this, cyar’ika.”

“Have we?” The adrenaline from your quick brush with death raged on in your sharp retort. “Or did you make that decision for me?”

Din stopped just as the two of you were concealed by the natural barrier of the forest. He held his weight on one hip as he faced you, the rain still ricocheting off the trees that surrounded you. “You saw what just happened by chance. I almost lost you.” Din had said the words as if they pained him. You tightened your lips. “If you stay with me, that situation could become an everyday reality.”

“It’s already happened without anyone knowing about us!” You waved a frustrated hand towards the town behind you. “And I came out unscathed!”

“What if you hadn’t?” Din’s voice almost cracked with his quick response.

You looked towards the town in the distance and prepared to lift the weight off your shoulders. “Then it would’ve been better than the torture I’ve had to put myself through for so long.” Your gaze met his visor again. “Never knowing when or if you’d ever be able to show up again and hoping that you’d be okay whenever you did. Sharing your bed for a few nights at a time just to return home and be alone in mine for months.” You shook your head. “A blaster bolt would hurt a whole lot less than that.”

Din’s visor fell to the ground. He shifted his weight between his feet, the beads of water cascading down his silver beskar much like tears would. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I hadn’t thought of how much it was hurting you, too.”

The knot within your chest softened as you took a step closer to Din. “Has it also been hurting you?”

Din looked up at you with a tilt of his helmet that could’ve spoken for him if words failed him. “Worse than any wound I’ve ever had.” He glanced towards the distant town. “But the thought of losing you hurt even worse.”

You lifted your hands to his helmet and held it much like you would hold his face in those darkened rooms meant just for you. “Either way, Din, you could lose me.” Your voice was soft despite the gravity of your words. “One would happen because of our distance. The other would happen with us by each other’s sides.” You gave him a determined stare, one that proved you were ready for any challenge. “I don’t know about you, but I much prefer to be by your side.”

Din’s gloved hand held your wrists and gave them a squeeze. It became clear he couldn’t form a response and you didn’t have to ask him why.

“I know the galaxy already hasn’t been kind to you. My family and I were lucky to have gotten away from Aq Vetina when we did.” Your thumbs stroked his beskar cheeks and you hoped he was soothed by it. “But the galaxy also brought us back together. That’s something we should stop taking for granted, no matter how much fear it tries to instill in either one of us.”

Din nodded. He was still unable to use his words, the lump in his throat no doubt too large to work around. The way he took one of your hands and held it within his own said enough.

“We should get back to the Crest.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Especially if you left the kid by himself.”

Din watched your arms swing back-in-forth in gentle motions between you. He managed to respond to that, though his modulated voice still wasn’t quite back to normal. “He’ll be fine.”

You moved closer to his side. “And so will I.”

The walk to the Crest wasn’t long from where you both had stopped to stand. Like you had told Din before, the longest part was getting through town, something that had already been done thanks to the help of the Klatooinians. Din used his vambrace to open up the ship for the two of you and you looked around the hold that had already become your new home.

“I’m sorry I don’t have the supplies,” you apologized to Din once he’d secured the ship once again. The child was asleep in the hammock Din had strung up for him, a sight that made you smile as Din continued to move throughout the space. “The hunters threw everything in the dirt.”

“That’s fine.” Din’s words were genuine as he held one gloved hand upon a rung of the ladder. “We can stop somewhere else.”

Din started to climb the ladder to the cockpit. You followed him, elated to be a permanent part of his crew. It wasn’t your first time traveling somewhere with Din in the Crest, but it would be the first time where you didn’t have to think of parting from him eventually. Relief swept through you as you took your place in one of the co-pilot’s seats and watched Din power up the ship.

“It’s nice to have you here.” Din spoke the words unprompted from the pilot’s seat, his helmet glancing over his armored shoulder.

You smiled at him. “It’s nice to be here.”

Din’s gloved hands continued to move over the controls before the Crest started soaring into the atmosphere. “I’m sorry I didn’t agree to this earlier.”

You had tilted your head at him. “Don’t apologize for doing what you thought would keep me safe.” Your gaze fell to your hands in your lap. “I’m sorry for how harsh my words were earlier.”

“Don’t be. I needed that.” Din locked the Crest into hyperspace and stood from his seat. He lifted his hand to your chin to make you face him. “Someone had to knock some sense into me.”

You smiled as Din helped you up from the seat and led you to the old storage room across the way. “I still do like the idea of a secret romance, though.”

Din tilted his helmet at you once he secured the door shut. “Do you?”

You shrugged and walked closer to him. “It’s sweet.”

Din set his hands on his hips. “That’s not what you’re really thinking, is it?”

You chuckled, setting your hands upon his cuirass. “I’m thinking about how I told you to be ready to warm me up earlier.” You used your gaze to gesture to your rain-soaked clothes. “Now would be an opportune time.”

Din also chuckled at that. He used his vambrace to turn the light off and you heard the hiss of his helmet as he removed it. “In that case, I’ll work fast.” His lips started to find yours even in the darkness, but he hesitated, his breath practically your own. “But first…” he paused, his unfiltered voice still sending shivers down your spine as if it was the first time you’d heard it, “thank you for taking on such danger for me.” Din kissed the corner of your mouth. “I love you.”

You smiled at the words that had always been difficult for him to say. “I love you, too.” You returned the favor with a kiss of your own. “You know I’d face a thousand dangers for you.”

“Please don’t,” Din pleaded with a gentle chuckle. “For my sake.”

You both laughed as Din finally closed the distance once and for all, marking that night as the first of many you no longer had to steal but could finally possess whenever you wanted to.

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#a secret romance with din i mean come onnnn it's the dream #din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #dindjarindiaries

[draculasfavoritewife]

Touch Me Please

Summary: Aftereffects can be painful to work through by yourself, and a little help from your partner can be a godsend.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Unwanted touch from a gross man, initial lack of communication, suggestions of a panic attack. Extended sequence of getting handsy in the shower. Possessive! Din.

I will never tire of writing shower scenes ❤️‍🔥. I love the thought of Mando's partner sometimes going undercover to flush out particularly oily bounties. And I really don't know what came over me for this one's ending...I have to blame my senselessness on the utter chokehold this man has on me hehe.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

"I had it handled."

Din gives no response to your annoyed statement, simply lowers himself on one knee to yank his vibroblade from deep in the throat of the male Twi'lek on the floor, whose body has just barely ceased twitching.

You angrily stalk towards him, wrenching your chain along in one hand, your own knife still humming loudly in the other. "Don't you tune me out, Mando," you warn, using his professional alias as much out of displeasure as necessity. "I. Had it. Handled. But no, you just HAD to have things done your way. And now he's dead and we have to make a run for it."

"Warm or cold, makes no difference," he says gruffly, still not looking at you. He's a little too focused on the prone body of the asset, and you briefly wonder what's bothering him.

He doesn't usually act so impulsively when you're undercover.

With an exasperated snort, you shake your head and turn your attention to your modified slave collar, pressing the hidden release so it falls away, leaving you unchained once more. "This was a waste."

"We got what we came for." He rises and hefts the dead man across his wide shoulders with breathtaking ease, indicating the doorway with a sharp jerk of his head. "Let's get out of here before too many of his lackeys come looking for him."

You sheathe your knife and pull his pulse rifle from its holster on his back. He doesn't object.

He can tell you might need to disintegrate a few lowlifes before it's safe to hold a conversation with you again.

Your escape goes smoothly, more so than the actual mission, ironically, and soon the two of you are standing in the ship's hold, watching the carbonite seal over your latest asset. Din is acutely aware of how close you are to him, all his senses on high alert as his religiously conditioned mind struggles to process how you can just STAND THERE so exposed. Your slave dancer disguise is perfect, as far as it can be called a disguise.

As much as the pair of you shares under cover of darkness, he's never really seen so much of your skin before, bared between little more than straps of leather and the drape of filmy netting. He has to remind himself repeatedly that you consider yourself dar'manda.

He wonders too, if you'd done jobs like this before your partnership. Not once did he see anything in your stride that betrayed your discomfort. Images flash through his head unbidden, of the way you moved before your new "master", of how you remained still and silent even as that crime lord TOUCHED you....

Din Djarin is a controlled man. So his admittedly violent and perhaps unnecessary reaction to seeing that filth's hands straying -- too close to areas of you that belong only to him -- has him slightly shaken, though he'd never say so.

Does he regret having buried his blade in that scum's neck for his sins, for trying to take what's his?

No.

He doesn't.

He finally emerges from his brooding at the sound of your voice beside him. "I'm not angry at you, Din." Everything from this mission has finally caught up with you, drowning the adrenaline in exhaustion. "I just wish you trusted me more. I know I don't look dangerous like this --" you gesture down your mostly unclad form, not seeing the Mandalorian's gaze subtly follow, "-- but I can take care of myself. I had to, for a long time. I was in control, not him."

"I know." His voice comes out cold; he's struggling to keep himself from unloading all his confusion and dismay on you at once. "I do trust you, Cyar'ika. I just...."

You wait, but it's like waiting for a stone wall to open up for you.

Nothing gives.

Normally you would gently cajole that stone wall into eventually breaking down, but you just don't have the capacity to do so at the moment.

"I'll be in the 'fresher if you need me," you sigh, turning away. "I need a shower and a change of clothes."

He says nothing, and you don't invite him along.

For the first time in a while, the silence that falls between you two is taut, barely stretched over spiking emotions that are too rampant to reach the air.

The feeling of hot water pounding into your skin clears your head as it always does, letting your patience recharge and your frustrations bleed away down the drain. Sense slowly begins to reclaim your thoughts, and you let your mind drift as you wash away the scent of smoke and spice, your fingertips trailing absently across your body as new questions rise of their own accord.

You can't understand why you feel disappointed.

The job went well. It doesn't matter in the wider scheme of things whether you were the one to acquire the asset or Din, not really. You both get paid the same.

Were you simply hoping for more of a reaction to your dancer outfit from your laconic partner?

Your hand slips in the water, brushes over your ribcage. It's one of your favorite places to find Din's hands lingering when the two of you are half-awake in bed, your skin sensitive enough there that the calluses on his fingertips still raise shivers from you every time.

But to your disgust, this time it isn't his hand you feel on your body, but the memory of a much different hand, one with overlong nails searching for something that isn't meant for it. A hand that's been dead for over an hour now, but the sensation is still there, and not only there, but trailing down your neck, slithering around your waist, loitering a moment too long atop your thigh, and you can't keep back the sound of horror that forces its way up your throat.

You feel disgusting and helpless with the mere idea of those hands crawling your body.

And all you know is you need it gone now.

Desperately.

So as the sensations continue to heighten unpleasantly, you do the only thing you can think of.

"...Din?"

His footsteps are swift, and he's in the 'fresher before you even need to call for him a second time. You can see his hulking dark form outlined through the frosted door panel.

"What's wrong?" He sounds concerned.

"I...." You pause and take a deep breath. "I need you, Din. Please."

He doesn't protest, doesn't question you. The lights go out and you hear the clack of the beskar as he strips and sets it aside. Scant moments later, he's under the water with you, solid and familiar and radiating heat, and you're suddenly so needy for his touch it's all you can do to keep from throwing yourself at him.

"What do you want from me?" he breathes, water dripping from his hair down to your face.

"You." Most times you're a playful flirt, but this time you have no room left for games. You just want him to remind you who you really belong to. There will be time for other things later. "I want to feel your hands on me, Din. I need to get the feeling of that miserable scum off of me. Touch me, please."

He pulls you into him, a tad more roughly than usual. "Where, Cyar'ika?"

You melt into the welcome haven of his chest, your hands immediately finding their way to some of the more distinctive scars that ridge his skin. "Anywhere you want, my Love."

He's ravenous in his compliance, all but devouring you with his touch, lips joining his hands as he focuses first on your throat and shoulders.

It's as if he's as desperate for the contact as you are, and suddenly his strange actions become clear to you, as his hands flawlessly overrun all of the places where the other man had been.

He took note of every single unwelcome caress, each one still burning in his mind's eye, each movement of foreign hands a wrong against you and him that cries out to be righted.

And so he follows that path diligently, his heated touch obliterating any claim that vermin tried to make on his sacred space, reconquering everything you offer him like the Mandalorians of old.

You're surrounded by him, blind in the dark and the steadily falling water, held flush against his body, your senses reduced to purely touch and hearing as he growls broken phrases in Mando'a into your skin.

"I've never seen you so territorial," you huff out in a laugh.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs against your lips, as his pause in their journey across the landscape of you.

"Why?" you ask the well-loved chamber of his mouth.

"For my actions. I let my jealousy rule me in the moment and I offended you." He lifts you in his arms, your back resting against the 'fresher wall and your arms wrapping around his neck. You settle into the new position with a happy hum, letting your hips kiss his and feeling his hands slide down the backs of your thighs in reply.

"But seeing that son of a Hutt with his hands all over you like that --" his forehead comes to rest against yours. "That did something to me I can't explain."

One of your hands finds its way into his hair as the other gently scratches across his muscular back, making him sigh.

"Thank you, Din."

You can FEEL the curious eyebrow raise.

"For caring so much. For coming to my rescue when I need you -- every time. Next time," you add, mischief creeping back into your tone, "we can reverse the roles, if you'd rather. I can think of a lot of people who'd pay an exorbitant amount for a dancing Mandalorian. Think of that -- you, dressed in that get-up, but with the helmet still on, of course -- that would intrigue any crime lord, all right."

"You sound like you've imagined that more times than you should have," he chides teasingly.

Your only response is a soft laugh, though you do press yourself more insistently against him and give his hair a suggestive tug.

"Hmm. Someone's still not satisfied." He lets you slide from his embrace back to the floor, and you whine with disappointment, though to your relief all echoes of unwanted hands have dissipated.

Now you're just left hungry for more of HIM.

"Hush, Mesh'la, I'm not refusing you." The extra grit in his lowered voice suggests he wants more as well. His thumb brushes across your lips, rough and sensual. "I just think it would be more...pleasant to finish this in my quarters, don't you? Cold water and romance don't always go so well together if the heat runs out."

You nip at his thumb and smirk. "Thinking as always, Djarin."

"About you, at any rate." He falls quiet abruptly as he pulls away, as if abashed that such a flippant admission actually left his lips.

You laugh and duck back under the water. "Go. Get your hair dry and whatever else you need so I don't see your face. I'll get out when I hear you leave."

He starts to open the door, then suddenly thinks twice and is upon you once again, his fingers digging into the softness of your hips and his lips grazing your collarbone.

"You're beautiful," he grates out in a rush. "And I can't stop thinking about you in that costume. I just thought you should know that."

You sigh into his firm hold, a sinful idea taking delightful shape in your mind.

"How about I dance for you then, Din Djarin? Would you like to see that, ner'alor?"

The breath leaves his lungs all at once in a sharp exhale. "Yes, Mesh'la. Dance for me."

When he finally goes, you're left to finish your shower with an overwhelming ache for him and some very tempting plans turning over in your head.

Dar'manda = Not Mandalorian; separated from one's heritage

Ner'alor = My leader/boss

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #x reader #mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #female reader #romance #steamy #comfort #suggestive #hes my husband #possessive #bounty hunter #shower scene #I love when he gets flustered he's so cute #obsessed with him

[bucksapartment]

people who think of all types of relationships as love stories are so precious to me. like friendships and familial love are so so important and can be so romantic if you choose to view them through that lens! it’s why pedro is one of my favorite celebrities bc he talks about his characters experiencing love like this in such a genuine way. like calling grogu the love of dins life or saying that joel and ellie fall in love with each other. there is so much tenderness and affection and devotion in loves like these and i don’t think we cherish them enough!

#to speak of platonic love with such reverence is so admirable for anyone not just celebrities #maybe it’s the chronically single in me #but i do love to romance my friends!! #pedro pascal #tlou #the last of us #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #joel miller #ellie williams

[djarinskywalkers]

Dinlukes, with no grounds whatsoever for our feelings, watching Bo-Katan save Din, see a mythosaur, have her mind changed, and use the Darksaber in front of Grogu

#DON'T COME FOR ME I LOVE BO KATAN AND SHE DESERVES ALL THE AIR TIME #I'M JUST SALTY AND I KNOW IT'S FOUNDED ON NOTHING #separate ways destroyed the show for me #dinluke #din djarin #din x luke #luke skywalker #the mandalorian #if there is a romance arc with din and bo tho I will not be seated

[larkoneironaut]

My Mandalorian romance fic 🪐Beyond Beskar🪐 is ready to be read! I'm so excited to share it now, I hope you like it, I've put my heart into it 🥹 I will release a new chapter each Saturday, the fic is locked, so you can only read it when you’re logged into AO3!

#the mandalorian #star wars #din djarin #din djarin romance fic #my fanfic #beyond beskar #ao3 #my oc #Elikai Vidis #din djarin x female oc #my art

[yourhighness6]

The last thing I expected to be doing when I started watching the 3rd season of the mandalorian was ship DinBo but here we are

#im home for winter break still so im watching it with my dad #i was like “i think this is romantic subtext but maybe im just reading into things” #and he was like “yeah probably” but then two scenes later he goes “actually i think you were right about the romance stuff” #so my dad is a dinbo shipper i guess #i feel so accomplished #now i just have to get him to ship zutara lol #dinbo #bo katan kryze #din djarin #din x bo #bo x din #the mandalorian #star wars #i feel like shipping in the star wars fandom is dangerous but whatever #mando season 3

[suzdin]

Characters I’d like to write for:

Ezra

Need I say more? He’s morally gray, has a southern accent, and he’s hot. I just have to brush up on my Prospect lore first. Or do an AU version.

Frankie

I mean, duh. He’s the Pussy Eating King. Also hot. Just look at him. He’s probably thinking about eating puss right now. Of course I have to write something with him.

Joel

Yeah, I’ve written Joel before, but I need to do more. Because it’s Joel. And as a fellow Texan he is very close to my heart. Yeehaw

Din

Because he’s my husband and my original Pedro love, enough said. (Once again have to brush up on SW lore.)

Javi P

I spent so much time resisting Javi that now that I’m into him I’m like, really really into him, and I have ideas. So. Many. Ideas. And just look at him?? (Also a Texan, yeehaw)

Javi G

This poor little nugget doesn’t get enough fanfic and frankly he needs more. I also have an idea for him that’s been brewing for a while.

Tim

Came back to specifically add Tim even though I’ve already written a one shot for him, I’d love to do more. Because we all need more grumpy homicide detective fics.

And for non Pedro characters…

Santiago

Perhaps something with Frankie? 🤔 Or solo? Hmm

Steven

I love this nervous little English muffin so much. We would spend all night fucking discussing our favorite Egyptian gods and goddesses.

That’s it, that’s the post.

#pedro pascal #writing #fanfic #smut #author #romance #pedro fanfic #frankie morales #joel miller #din djarin #javier peña #javier gutierrez #ezra prospect #steven grant #santiago garcia

[libraryofneith]

Din Djarin and Y/N getting some *hem hem* alone time before he goes on a long ass mission...

Din Djarin: right let's do this quickly.

Y/N: ugh Din I'm not some fosset you can just turn on and off, you gotta romance me...

Din: *removes single glove*

Y/N: fosset's on let's f*ck.

#i could write a whole ass fic about this #source: brooklyn 99 #thank you michael schur #one of the greatest and unrecognised romance writers of all time #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction

[replaytech]

yeah i’m fine (sometimes fictional characters are the only people i feel loved by)

#din djarin #joel miller #call of duty #ghost cod #simon riley #fictional men #fictional crushes #fiction #fictional characters #leon kennedy #hunter bad batch #crosshair bad batch #books and reading #bookish #book characters #romance books #fantasy books #booktok #bookstagram #book stuff #star wars #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #sad quotes #sad thoughts #shower thoughts #depressing quotes #im sad again #the bad batch

[draculasfavoritewife]

No Word For Hero

Summary: You love him and the way he will always be your protector, but sometimes facing the truth is the most terrifying thing of all.

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Warnings: Nightmares and discussions of death. The one-two punch of angst and fluffiness all in one. This one is a fair bit more somber than my other Mando stuff.

Another trope I will never ever get tired of -- the "having a nightmare while sleeping with your partner" routine! 🥳 Gets me in my feels every time, particularly with a character like Din who (to me at least) canonically also has frequent nightmares. I first drafted this one a couple summers ago as a result of all my feelings after that big moment in "The Marshal", as I'm sure will be obvious.

*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end

It's coming, exploding up from beneath the billowing sands, looming over everyone, titanic, monstrous, ravenous....

...He turns to you, ever so briefly, tilts his head in that meaningful look you know all too well...that damn look that means he's going to play hero again.

Damn his altruism.

When is he going to stop?

You already know that answer, too. It lurks forever in the back of your mind, awake or asleep, always whispering there, a constant venom ever deepening its grasp around your heart until one day the cold reality finally breaks it.

He'll stop when he finally doesn't come back to you.

When he's at last granted the warrior's death you know he desires.

Only then.

You can't even scream as he disappears down the dragon's throat, too frozen with horror to make a sound....

You bolt upright, gasping for breath, damp hair clinging to your face and tears running down, their salty tang sharp on your lips.

Stupid nightmares.

"Go away," you mutter, rubbing harshly at your eyes. "Just stop."

The cot is small, realistically much too small for two adults, and your distress is painfully evident to the man sharing it with you, whose arm has just been violently dislodged from its place around your torso.

"Bad dream?"

He sounds tired. He hardly ever sleeps through a full night at the best of times, and even then it's rarely a deep sleep.

If the old saying "sleep with one eye open" were actually true, Din would be its personification.

You curse your overactive mind a second time, for disturbing his precious few moments of rest along with your own.

"I'm fine." You don't lie back down, instead pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms tightly around them. Normally you find his quarters chilly, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins makes the room suddenly feel close and stuffy.

He shifts against you in the dark, no doubt to study your posture. "You don't sound fine."

You sigh. "I will be. You should try and get some sleep, Din."

You hear him lean back into the wall, a long exhale betraying stiffness somewhere in his muscles.

You've offered him the side of the bed that's not right up against the wall, but to your surprise he actually likes to be pressed closely between your body and the solidness of metal at his back.

You suspect it gives him a sense of security in a life that holds so little for him.

"I'm sorry I woke you," you add before he can speak again.

"You didn't." His revelation is cool and distant, as if his lack of rest means nothing to him. "I haven't slept at all tonight."

You turn to stare at him in dismay, only to be met with the void of deep darkness. "Why didn't you --"

"What? Wake you up to tell you I can't sleep?" Somehow you know he's shaking his head at you. "That fixes nothing, Cyar'ika. My sleep was disturbed since long before we met." His voice softens as he reaches for you, his large, comfortingly familiar hand stroking down your side. "But when I have you in my arms, listening to your breathing, I can at least find some peace. And that is often enough."

You let out another shuddering breath and gaze out into the dim compartment, the images from your nightmare replaying over and over behind your eyes like a holovid stuck on loop.

"I think I need some air," you murmur.

"Take my shirt, then." You're grateful he doesn't try to stop you; he knows you were taking care of yourself for a long time before you two struck up your partnership. He trusts you to look out for danger.

"Vor'e, Cyare." You slide from the bed, his fingers trailing away from your hip as you break from his gentle touch. He watches as you blindly take his shirt from the pile of clothes left on the floor and pull it over your head, pausing only to grab a vibroblade before exiting his quarters.

"I'll come back," you promise softly.

And the words sting deep down as they leave your lips, knowing that one day, one of you might not be able to keep that promise.

The night is cool and clear on this planet, and the breeze smells like living growth from the thick woods nearby. It's a far cry from the dust and smoke of so many of the worlds you've stayed on before, and soon you start to calm down, heartbeat returning to normal and perspiration drying at the wind's light touch. Everything is peaceful around you, the night birds calling and water flowing somewhere behind the trees.

Not for the first time, your thoughts stray towards the impossibility of trying to stay somewhere like this place, to drop everything you know and carve out a life on a frontier planet somewhere. You and Din and Grogu, living modestly and secretly away from the prying eyes of the Imperials or the Jedi, pretending at normalcy....

There's the key word.

Pretending.

You've played many parts since you lost your buir so many years ago. Dancer in the clubs of the Core worlds, thief, animal wrangler, pilot, hired gun. You could adapt, you feel fairly certain. It's the skill that's most reliably kept you alive this long.

But Din....

He's so deeply entrenched in his upbringing. His honor, and the hunt, mean everything to him. Whatever else he tries to be, he will always be the Mandalorian first and foremost. The Way runs through his veins, thicker than blood, and the fierce heart of a warrior beats beneath the beskar.

It's why he will ultimately always make sacrifices to keep those under his protection safe.

It's who he is. His identity.

The reason that one day he might not emerge from the belly of the beast in triumph.

And you love him, exactly the way he is. You'd never ask him to change.

But Maker, sometimes the knowledge of what that means hurts deeper than any physical wound.

So you stand there at the edge of the woods and let the tears come, let the sobs wrack your body as you bury yourself deeper in his comforting shirt, praying that the day never comes that all you have left are memories and clothes that smell like him.

Eventually, your grief runs its course and you can breathe once again. The crunch of footsteps in the damp grass warrants a side glance, but as you thought, it's only your beroya, come to check on you, no doubt.

"You've been out here a long time," he remarks.

"Had a lot on my mind."

He encircles you in his arms from behind, chin resting in the dip of your shoulder. You're surprised that he didn't replace his helmet to come out here, but sunrise is still a long way off.

"I'm usually the one with the nightmares," he teases softly. "This one must have been rough. Want to talk?"

You find his hands at your waist, interlock your fingers with his.

"I lost someone. Someone very important to me."

Turning slightly so you can rest your cheek against his, you kiss the very edge of his lips. "It scares me, Din."

He's quiet for some time, and you try to imagine the expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispers. "I can't give you anything but my word that I will always try my hardest to come back to you. That is what fuels me, ner'kar'ta. The fire in my blood, the strength in my bones, is knowing that I need to make it back for you. But I realize that it is a double-edged blade. Because it also means I would give everything, to keep you safe in the end."

"I know, Din. I remember what my buir used to tell me, you know, how we have no word for 'hero' in our mother tongue, because to be Mando'ade is to risk all for the ones you love. I know I'm so selfish." You turn all the way around at last, hiding your face in his bare chest. "But I accept your vow. And it will have to be enough."

Collecting yourself and finally raising your haunted gaze to his, you manage a small smile. "But I will fight for you, Din Djarin. Death will find one hell of a struggle when it finally comes for you, I can promise you that."

"There's my girl." The fond grin in his voice is audible. "Now, will you come back to bed? It's getting lonesome in there."

You let him lead you back to the ship, and the sigh of the wind now seems to promise to whisk your fears away for the time being.

The door slides shut behind you, and you shiver, realizing all of a sudden just how cold you are. His shirt is a welcome barrier against the biting chill, and you wonder how he was able to get along without it outside.

"Cold?" he asks.

"Yes." You reach out for him, wordlessly begging for his warmth.

He sidesteps you and folds his arms across his chest. "Take it off," he demands, and indicates the shirt with a nod, husky voice brimming with humor and a shade of something hungrier. "Or I will."

You hug the worn fabric closer to your body and shake your head mutinously. "But it's the only thing keeping me warm!"

"So you've chosen the hard way." He crosses the small space in a couple of long strides and starts to tease the garment off of you, bit by agonizing bit. "And how dare you let a piece of clothing do a man's job."

"You're making me cold again," you complain as he pulls you into bed with him, the hunter retreating back to his lair to finish off his fortunate prey.

"Then honor dictates I repair the damage I've caused," he hums, and you surrender to the bliss of being completely enveloped in his embrace. Din has always run hot, ever since you started sleeping together, and his warmth and familiar weight are so much better than any sweet dream of yours could be.

In the here and now, he's still alive, and he's still yours.

There will be no more tears tonight.

"Better?" he growls into your throat.

You run your fingers through his thick curls, sighing at the way he always manages to banish all of your dark thoughts away. And maybe now there will even be time for him to get some sleep before morning as well.

"I am now."

Vor'e = Thank you

Buir = Parent

Beroya = Bounty Hunter

Ner'kar'ta = My heart

Mando'ade = Child of Mandalore

#din djarin #x reader #the mandalorian #bounty hunter #romance #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #female reader #sentimental #favorite tropes #nightmare #comfort #star wars #self insert #a bit sad #bad dreams #soft din djarin #angst #hes so lovely #im not crying you are

[tailorvizsla]

Title: Eighty Thousand Credits Pairing(s): Din Djarin x f!Reader Wordcount: ~4700 Rating: NC-17, minors DNI please!!! Warnings: Smut, sex pollen, dub!con, unprotected sex, PIV sex, rough sex, outdoor sex, a touch of feels at the end Author’s Notes: Hi y’all it’s been a minute since I last wrote anything for Din! This fic has been in the works for almost two years? A huuuuge thank you to @shadesofshatteredblue, @hdlynn, @bitchin-beskar, and @catsnkooks for encouraging and fanning the flames of thirst and thottiness. I whoreheartedly appreciate all of you lovelies.

📚 My Masterlist 📚 

This hunt is different from the ones you and Din have gone on. 

Rather than looking for a person, the target is a plant. The locals call it the ‘marriage bloom’. Apparently, the fruit has some sort of medicinal value to the population, but no one has been able to find any for ages now. Now, the local farmers are looking for a way to grow that fruit without destroying the local ecosystem. 

The money offered is extraordinary, so Din had taken the job, thinking it an easy source of money. He had found a caldera tucked between two dangerous stretches of forest. After checking it out, the two of you agreed that this was the best place to check – locals rarely ventured into this area, kept at bay by the unstable weather patterns and carnivorous plains-panthers. Because of that, the caldera has remained virtually untouched. If there was a place where the fruit could flourish, it would be here.

The weather is quite nice right now, with a soft, cool breeze whipping in from the north. It brings with it the scent of the forest and the nearby river. If it wasn’t for the ominous clouds roiling to the east, you would have considered asking Din to stay here just a bit longer to stretch your legs and relax. It’s been a long time since you last spent a few minutes in sunlight.

Creeping forward, you examine the bushes growing around you, looking for the vibrant blue fruit. A thousand credits for each fruit, you tell yourself, as you wave a bug away from your helmet. In your peripheral vision, you see a flash of blue nestled in the vegetation. You go to examine it and let out a soft cry of delight.

“Din!” you call out. “Over here!”

As you bend over to pick up the fruit, you notice that the flowers appear to be bulging. Shrugging to yourself, you continue sifting through the fruit, taking only the ones that look to be ripe. You also keep the vague warnings in mind. There are odd side effects if the pollen is inhaled. No one had explained further, saying only that this fruit was why so many married way back in the day. Din comes to your patch of vegetation, and he lets out a noise of approval as he sinks down onto his knees beside you.

“One full basket,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Easiest money we’ll ever make.”

You nod in agreement. Last hunt had been…messy, to say the least. Both figuratively and literally. You’re pretty sure Din’s still picking organic matter out of the intake manifolds.

Taking out your knife, you take a single fruit, flower, and leaf from each plant, being mindful to not take too many. The urge to profit is tempting, but the farmers had been clear – they wanted just enough to plant their own. You note that Din grabs a handful of the berries and places them into another pouch.

“For us,” he says. “It might help us through lean times.”

You nod in response. It doesn’t hurt to research possible alternatives in case your Tribe runs out of medication. As the wind starts to grow stronger, you notice that the flowers are starting to open up. Your hand brushes up against the petals and it explodes, filling the air with a thick plume of golden-yellow pollen. You and Din recoil, but it’s too late. You can taste something green and bitter in the back of your throat as you inhale.

You fall back onto your backside, coughing as you drag yourself away from the hazy cloud of pollen hanging in the air. Din falls to the ground next to you, coughing just as violently. After a few moments of silence, you feel a peculiar burn in your lungs – a slow, sensuous heat that feels like your body is wrapped in a sensuous embrace.

As you lie there on the round, you can feel it spreading through your chest. When the warmth hits your heart, it surges through the rest of your body with each pulse of your heart. In vain, you try to still your thoughts, to calm yourself down. No matter what you do, you cannot focus on a single thought for more than a few seconds. You leap from thought to thought as your heart climbs into your throat.

“Din,” you croak out to him. “So-something’s w-wrong - “

“Ship,” he says back to you. “Med kit.”

Summoning all your strength, you roll over onto your side. The ground under your hands and knees swims. As the two of you crawl back toward the ship, a foot at a time, Din gets ahead of you. He seems a lot less affected by whatever that pollen had done to the two of you. It feels like your armor is constricting your chest, preventing you from breathing. The cottony soft fabric of your undersuit feels like razorblades against your sensitive skin. With each breath, you can feel the lace on your brassiere pull and scrape against your skin.

Up ahead, you can see Din struggle to his feet. As you watch, you find yourself consumed by the thought of him. The way the dappled sunlight glints off his armor. The way his strong thighs quiver under the strain of holding his body up. His broad shoulders, heaving as he gasps for air. It sends a hot, sticky jolt straight to your pussy. You dig your teeth into the flesh of your lower lip to keep from moaning as he leans against the tree, revealing his perfect back to you -

Perfect for digging nails into - 

Shaking your head, you try to redirect your thoughts away from just how perfect he is. You stagger to your feet, and suddenly, things feel a lot…easier? Your momentum carries you forward to another tree, where you lean to rest. As you sink against it, your thighs press together, and you realize that your panties stick to you in an unpleasant way. Fuck, not now.

“Din, we need,” you stammer out. “Need to.”

Need help. But your lips won’t work. Your helmet suddenly feels claustrophobic, as if it has shrunk several sizes. You wriggle your fingers under the edge and lift, hoping to force some air into your lungs. You suck down some air, but you realize the mistake you’ve made when you see the clouds of pollen rising up off your armor. 

Fuck. 

It has to be the pollen. If a single sniff is making you this wet, you can’t imagine what prolonged exposure will do to you. You bite down on your inner cheek. That brief bit of pain gives you something to focus on. Something other than the throbbing heat between your legs.  Up ahead, you can see that Din is slipping further down his tree trunk. You stagger forward toward Din. He needs to be distracted, and so do you. Otherwise, you’re not making it back home.

“It’s the pollen,” you say as steadily as possible. “Need to…need to get to the ship.”

“Yeah,” he rasps out. “Agreed.”

You wrap one arm around him. Din lets out a little noise that you choose to interpret as pain. If you even think he’s moaning in pleasure…a hot shiver wracks through your entire body. Slowly, as you hold each other up, you stagger back to the ship. It’s only a few hundred meters away - you can see it through the underbrush.

“Almost there,” you whisper. “Almost.”

His arm slides down around your waist.

“I’m not gonna make it,” Din says bluntly. “Too far.”

“For eighty thousand credits, you’re going to make it,” you say bluntly, and he groans in response.

For eighty thousand credits, you’ll carry him all the way back to the Tribe. On foot.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t make it more than a couple of steps. He shoves himself away from you. Din grasps his helmet and pulls it off, throwing it aside. Exposing himself to even more pollen. Fuck. His helmet bounces uselessly off a log as he falls to his knees. As you see his messy, curly brown hair for the first time, it feels like everything around you has disappeared. There’s nothing here but you and the Mand’alor.

He stands up. Has he always been this tall? This muscular? You want to look away, to give him his privacy, but you can’t tear yourself away. You don’t realize your hands are moving until you’ve taken your helmet off. It’s a bad idea, but you cannot bring yourself to care. You drop it on the ground. Din freezes at the sound. Your heart skips a beat as he slowly turns to face you.

Your eyes sweep over his face hungrily, taking in his handsome visage. He has beautiful eyes, a strong nose, and plump lips. Beautiful, you think as you wet your lower lip. Your eyes snap up to his - they’re so dark. Dark with arousal and something else you can’t quite name. Your mouth goes dry at his unwavering stare, and you feel so, so small in front of him. Taking your helmet off had been such a bad idea. You take a half-step back.

It seems like your movement sets something off in him. He coils toward you, predator after his prey, as you feebly try to escape him. He matches each of your steps until your back slams into a tree. You stand there, paralyzed by something that isn’t quite fear and arousal, unable to do more than watch as he closes the distance between your bodies. 

“Din,” his name falls from your lips in a whisper. 

“The…the pollen,” he says hoarsely. “Can’t. Can’t fight it much longer.”

“What do we do?” your voice is unnaturally steady, even when the words lodge in your throat like molasses. His eyes drop to your lips as you moisten them again. “What…do you…what do you want, Din?”

Already, you can see the fine red mist climbing up his throat as he struggles to maintain control over himself. He looks away, taking a great shuddering breath.

“O-only one s-solution,” you offer softly. "But we don't have to..."

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he insists stubbornly, trying to back away.

Even that gap between your bodies leaves you with a keen sense of loss and you whine softly. His eyes snap up to your face. You don’t know how to tell him that you need his heat, his body against yours.

“Din, it’s okay,” you whisper to him. “Din, it’s okay.”

Your feelings of respect and affection for him are genuine. You are willing to give yourself to him to help save his life. Does he reciprocate? Does he want this with you?

He stares at you, face like stone, as he considers your words. You struggle to not squirm at the weight of his gaze – you’re so wet your trousers are sticking to your skin, all the way down to your knees. The two of you stare at each other for far too long, considering the next move to be made, the forest nearly silent, save for the sound of wind in the leaves. 

If this isn’t resolved soon, you are sure the medical side-effects will be lethal. And if the two of you do resolve it…there’s a real chance that your budding friendship won’t survive it. Would he be able to look at you the same if the two of you –

“Try to make it to the ship,” he rasps out. “Safer there…for us to…f…fuck.”

You nod in agreement and tear your eyes from his just as the wind shifts. 

Shimmering plumes of gold swirl through the dark leaves and settle lightly over every surface. As you look north, dread fills you as you realize you are downwind of at least two dozen clusters of flowers. Reflexively, you inhale deeply to try and hold your breath, but there’s no use. The fine yellow pollen has settled on your armor, in your hair, on your clothing. You can taste it - bitter and sweet and floral on your tongue. 

You inhale, and your entire body quivers.

“Din,” you whimper, and he moves.

He lets out a harsh expletive. Both leather-clad hands come to rest on the tree, one on either side of your shoulders, as Din leans in. The bag falls to the ground at your feet. His nose is almost touching yours, and you lose yourself in his dark eyes. Your pussy throbs and squeezes with each breath you take. He leans in and the world spins.

Din kisses you gently once, then he slants his mouth over yours. He forces his tongue into your mouth as you lace your arms around his neck, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your teeth clack against his as you grow more and more frantic for his touch. Din Djarin tastes divine. His teeth dig into your lower lip, and your entire body quivers from the exquisite pain. He kisses you again and again. You can hear the bark under his fingertips crumbling as he flexes his fingers.

You wonder if he’s trying to keep himself from touching you. To keep himself from guiding your pants down so he can fuck you properly. The thought of his cock inside you makes you moan. As you’re squirming, soundlessly begging for his touch, you squeeze your thighs together in a vain attempt to keep yourself from grinding up against his cuisse. That causes something to shift and snap in Din. He growls deep in his chest. Your pussy gushes as you start to grind against the hard metal between your thighs.

One hand clamps around the back of your neck for a bruising kiss as he pulls you toward him, tight and hard as an unyielding metal band as he takes control. The other falls to your waist as he pins you against his hard, tense body. Instead of resisting, you surrender to him, closing your eyes as his tongue maps the roof of your mouth. Relief fills you at the promise of satiating the agonizing need threatening to claw its way out of you.

There’s something dizzying about being so utterly helpless, unable to do anything but let your hunter do as he pleases with you. The hungry, desperate way he kisses you, as if your lips are the only thing keeping him alive. The way he grinds his codpiece into your belly, seeking friction to relieve his erection. Lifting your hands, you lace your fingers through his beautiful curls and tug. 

Din growls and you whine your frustration into his mouth. Your fevered thoughts take on a desperate tone - can’t he see that you need more than a kiss? Can’t he feel the way your body writhes and undulates in his hands? Can’t he feel the warmth of your arousal soaking through his trousers? 

“Please,” you beg softly. “Din, I need you…”

Din breaks away, his cheeks flushed vividly as he gasps for air. His eyes are wild, that sweet gentle part of him long gone. His black pupils are blown wide open, his arousal so intent it frightens you. Your armor suddenly feels too tight, constricting, so you begin to shed it. Din has no patience for that – he simply turns you around and shoves you forward.

You land hard on your hands and knees, yelping in protest.

“DIN!”

He ignores you as he kneels behind you. Two big hands wrap themselves around your hips and squeeze firmly, massaging your plump flesh as you struggle to unbuckle your belt. A thrill runs through you when you hear the zip of leather through his belt buckle. Finally, you get your pants down around your thighs. Din slips in the dry leaves littering the forest floor as he positions himself behind you. You brace yourself on all fours, arching your back as you feel the head of his cock brushing up against your fluttering, dripping hole. He thrusts sloppily, grunting in your ear, grinding up against your swollen clit. 

It’s not the first time you’ve had a hunter who couldn’t find your entrance, so you reach down between your thighs and guide him to your sweltering heat. Din braces himself as his fingers tighten painfully around your hips. He pushes in with one deep, devastating thrust. The noise that leaves you is guttural, somewhere between a sob of relief and a grunt of discomfort. 

His cock is nearly too much for you to take. He lets out a harsh noise as he finds the end of you, his body shivering. Then he slips halfway out and rolls his hips forward, seating himself deep inside you, your cunt protesting with an obscene, wet noise.

This changes everything between you and Din. From Mand’alor and loyal follower to…this. You aren’t sure what it is, or what it will become, but there’s no way you can walk away from this and still be the same. Not when you’ve had his desperate mouth against yours, or had his cock buried to the hilt inside you. Not when you’ve heard his needy, desperate moans. A shudder wracks your body, drawing him out of whatever thoughts he had been thinking.

He slips halfway out, giving your body a very brief moment of respite from his too-thick cock. Then you rock back against him in time with his thrusts. He seems hesitant, as if he is just as afraid of the future as you had been. Maybe he’s afraid of hurting you. You aren’t sure, and you don’t care. The next time he starts you pull out, you squeeze around him. 

His hand on your hip tightens painfully, to the point where you know there will be five pretty little bruises there in the morning. Din starts to move, pulling out halfway before sheathing himself completely, his flesh smacking wetly against yours.

Din reaches up and yanks your top open, sending buttons scattering through the dry leaves. Then he cups your tit and squeezes. Your moans and pleas run together into desperate whines. His cock barely leaves you before he’s filling you up again, driving away all coherent thought. You’re so full you can’t breathe. As you spiral closer and closer to the edge, your arms give out, and you settle on your elbows. Din keens and drives his cock in deeper another half-inch, making your eyes roll back in your head. 

If anyone walked by right now, you’d be horrified - you’re spread out in front of your Mand’alor as he ruts into you, both your helmets are off, and the evidence of your pleasure is dripping down your thighs. Biting down on your lower lip, you bury your face into your arms, breathing in the sweet, earthy smell of the forest. Din’s hand moves from your hip to your front. When his fingers brush up against your swollen, throbbing clit, a bolt of pure lightning shoots through you and your entire body stiffens in surprise. You suck in a breath and cry out sharply. The pleasure is intense - it’s almost too much, bordering on painful and prickly. Din traps your clit between his fingers as he strokes and your entire body shakes.

His name falls from your lips in a plea. Your breathing is erratic, spots swimming at the edges of your vision as your entire body tenses tight. You start to shake, tears pricking at your eyes, as you hover at the precipice. It’s too much - you’re not sure how much more your body can take - and with a final brush of his fingers, that pressure inside releases, like a dam bursting open and flooding your senses with pure pleasure. A feral noise escapes you as you finish, sweat dripping down your forehead as your cunt convulses around Din’s cock over and over again. He lets out a marvelous moan as he stutters to a halt. 

Din pulls you back into his lap. As your breathing and pulse slow back to normal, the heat dissipates, leaving you entirely aware of what had just transpired. Fuck. Din’s hands squeeze around your hips and  you know it’s time to move. Lifting your hips, you have to stifle a noise as his cock slides out with a wet noise. A warm, wet rush of cum follows. As you get to your feet, you take a peek back at Din. The crotch and thighs of his pants are drenched with your pleasure and his cum. 

You avert your eyes and pull up your pants. It almost feels disrespectful to see him in such a disheveled, dirtied way. You certainly had no right to any of it, your traitorous mind supplies. Blinking back tears of frustration, you grab random pieces of armor as you find them and stuff them into the bag with the flowers and fruit. When you’ve worked up your courage, you turn to look at Din once again. He’s holding his helmet in his hands, a frown furrowing his brow. As you start to speak, another gust of wind picks up, bringing with it more pollen. Din’s eyes widen as they meet yours.

Familiar heat settles in your belly. His cock - still wet and covered in creamy streaks of cum - twitches. Your insides protest with a dull ache. He pulls up his pants and tries to arrange himself more neatly.

“Ship,” you say. “We can talk later.”

He nods in agreement and the two of you run back toward the ship. Once inside, the two of you lean against the hull. Your breathing is erratic again. Once the two of you are safely isolated, you stagger to the captain’s quarters. The dull thuds of Din’s armor hitting the floor lets you know that Din is following. You are completely naked by the time Din makes it into the bedroom. The last of his clothing falls to the floor. This time, he hesitates. Sudden shyness fills you as you realize he’s watching you, his eyes roving from your eyes down to your toes. It almost feels like he is devouring you with his hungry gaze.

“Beautiful,” Din rasped. 

He closes his eyes and his lips move in what seems to be a silent prayer. Before you can speak, Din pounces, and a squeal escapes you. Din throws you down onto the bed, and as you settle on the mattress, he parts your thighs with one hand.

“Look at this gorgeous little pussy,” Din says, grasping his cock. He traces your soaked lips with the head, circling around your entrance. “Been wishin’...that I could kiss you…touch these tits…cum in this pussy. Make you mine…Have always wanted to make you mine…So perfect…”

His words make you inhale sharply. Does he mean what he’s saying, or is it the pollen? You push the thought aside - now is not the time for that train of thought. Din slurs his words, sounding very much like he’s drunk on something as he praises you. 

“I would have shot someone for you to look at me,” Din breathes, “For you to smile at me…can’t get enough of you…don’t think I ever will get enough of you…”

Din groans as he starts to slide in, spreading you around him in that familiar, arching way that sends lighting straight up your spine. You’re still sore and swollen from what had transpired outside, but you need him. Din changes his angle and sinks in easily, his entrance eased by the cum still left inside you. Din’s beautiful eyes close as he sighs with pleasure when his pubic bone meets your clit. 

You moan and mewl as he fucks into you, but it’s not like how it was outside. Outside was raw and primal. It was nothing more than two people fucking to alleviate the symptoms of pollen poisoning. But here…in the warmth of your bed…you feel more protected and cherished than you feel hunted and taken. His lips trace over your skin, each kiss like a brand, marking you in a way that his teeth never could.

“So fucking beautiful,” he pants. “Can’t…can’t stop myself…need you, mesh’la. Need all of you…”

His breath fans against you, making your skin break out in goosebumps at the intimacy of being so close to your Mand’alor. To be the one who has the privilege of having his cock buried so deep inside them. To be the one with his weight across their body, his muscles flexing and bunching between their thighs. You’re the one lucky enough to have his sweat puddling on their belly, and his cum clinging to their inner walls. A fine shudder travels through your body as you dig your heels into his ass. 

Running your fingers along his skin, you feel sweat dotting his back. Here and there, the texture of his skin changes, and you catalog the location of each scar. If there’s a repeat of today in the future…you want to kiss each one and thank the gods for granting him safety and for giving him these beautiful marks to prove his bravery.

You can feel the callouses on his hands as he skims his palms over the bumps and curves and planes of your body. He’s fucking you, but he’s not taking you, even though you had certainly enjoyed being taken before. This is different, and you wonder if the pollen only encouraged the passion that was already there between the two of you. As Din’s breathing grows heavier, and the tingling grows stronger, you dig your nails into Din’s back. He moans again, grinding his pubic bone against your clit in that way that makes you whimper and your eyes roll back.

Din kisses your lips, and then he bites gently. His tongue laps against the tingling bite marks, soothing away the pain. You wriggle a hand between your sweaty bodies and start stroking your clit. His breathing is erratic - he’s getting close, and so are you. The tingling becomes a fiery inferno, building higher and higher with each delicious stroke of his cock against your inner walls. Din rests his hands on the mattress, one on either side of your head, surging forward and hitting that spot that makes your toes curl against his lower back. Finally, the friction is too much for you to bear, and your back arches, welcoming him in deeper as you find completion.

The fiery inferno turns into a warm, sensuous heat that fills every molecule in your body. You stroke Din’s back and shoulders as he finishes, filling you with spurt after spurt of warm, wet cum. You clench tight around him, relishing the liquid heat inside. For a few moments, Din rests atop you, his weight on his forearms, his cock plugging his cum inside you. You stroke his back lazily, blowing one of his curls out of your face, as he drops his face onto your shoulder. He smells salty and sweaty, but it’s not unpleasant. He smells like himself and leather, and blaster residue. Maybe there’s a touch of pollen there, but you’re sure your nose is so saturated with it that you can’t smell it anymore.

As the sweat starts to cool, Din pulls out, and sits back on his heels for a moment, brushing his hair out of his eyes. You don’t hesitate to look at him, to properly take him in as you see his naked body for the first time. His hair is a mess, his curls tangled and wild. His torso is dotted with sweat. His flaccid cock is covered in creamy streaks and his dark pubes are saturated with cum and your slick. His scarred chest is heaving and flushed red. He’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen in your life, you think to yourself, as he collapses onto the bed next to you. The heat leaves your body again, but instead of cold filling you, you’re left pleasantly sore and sticky.

Din wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you under the thin sheet with him. Neither of you speak as you give into the siren-sweet call of rest. Tomorrow will be a new day, and the two of you can deal with things then. He’s not the best with words, so he lets his actions speak. His hand falls to your belly, while he adjusts the other arm to act as your pillow. He pulls the blanket up around you and kisses your shoulder. You know then that Din cares about you, and that gives you hope for whatever tomorrow’s discussions bring. 

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #smut #romance #tailor writes #star wars #star wars: the mandalorian #sex pollen #dub con

[ladyzirkonia]

Some realtalk now.

So please tell me what is the reason everybody started hating lovestories in Star Wars? Enlighten me, I don't get it! Everybody on this plattform is shipping and writing fanfictions like hell... and oh boy we love it all! But if it's gonna get Canon everybody *it fells like everybody* screams like nooo we don't need another stupid love interest/Romance/relationship whatever. Yeah sure because we are blessed with so much good lovestories in this fandom.

I think it would be a pretty bold step from Disney doing that and I appreciate it. Because love and relationships are a pretty big part of life for most of the people. I just need some really good developed romance/relationship again, I'm here for it.

So shoutout were are my people who want to get fully into this with me? Please be my guest!

#ships #star wars #relationship #we love some good romance #the mandalorian #bad batch #tech x phee #din x bo #bo katan kryze #din djarin #bad batch tech #phee genoa

[regainingparadise]

Is it even Mandalorian romance if they haven't tried to knife each other at least once?

I've been thinking about the people I ship Din Djarin with, and realized that there's an inverse relationship between how much I ship a given couple, and how chill they are together.

Don't get me wrong, I'll happily ship Din with almost everyone, but the ones I get super into? Gimme some good angry fights.

(this says more about me than it does about any of these ships, and this is also 100% not a knock on any of the ships listed or not listed here. It's just me doing some pointless meta about my own tendencies)

In order:

Paz. I love him. They apparently fight all the goddam time. You cannot tell me there is not history there. It makes the times they're on the same side all the more impactful (and adorably awkward).

(I also ship Paz with Axe for the same reason)

2. Migs Mayfeld. Migs is just such a snarky shit, they have every reason to hate each other (/Migs has every reason to assume Din is gonna kill him). They've got the whole fun double-crossing history, and in many ways they're opposites and foils, but ultimately Migs respects and understands Din, and Mando is willing to trust him

3. Cobb Vanth: I mean, their first real interaction is "take it off or I will," so no surprise here. Vanth is very clearly 110% into Din, and they get over the violence phase of their relationship way faster than Din does with either Paz or Migs.

4. Boba Fett. They don't really have a murder phase of their relationship. We get a li'l tension and then they're besties. I ship it, but I'm not as into the ship, 'cause like, how can I ship Mandalorians if I haven't seen them fight each other?

5. Luke Skywalker. I love this ship because it's just...so logical, what with the coparenting. It's a ship in a slightly different category because it lends itself so much to the domestic/parent narrative. But if I'm reading Din/Luke fics, I like a nice (un)healthy dose of tension and possibly violence while they get to know each other

6. Omera. I love Omera/Din as a "what could have been if his life was very very different" ship--especially given that she apparently has some violence in her past that she's now escaped and found peace from.

#The Mandalorian #Absolutely pointless meta #Just me overanalyzing my own thoughts #Mandalorian Romance=Stabbing #Din Djarin #Pazdin #Dinfeld #Cobb Vanth/Din Djarin #Bobadin #Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker #Din/Omera #Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla #Din Djarin/Migs Mayfeld #Din x Paz

[shadowpuppetteer]

Bonus Panel:

Inspired to make this comic after I saw this post by @eggdrawsthingshings

#fancomic #fan comic #fan art #digital art #mandalorian #the mandalorian #funny #humor #comedy #din djarin #din #tired disaster dad #boba fett #star wars #romance

[larkoneironaut]

Part of Din's POV banner for my Mandalorian fic 🖤 Gonna post the whole thing when my fic is finished because it contains the title of the fic 🫶🏽

#My art #Din djarin #The mandalorian #Mando #The mandalorian fanfic #Din djarin romance fic #Star wars #The cape is a metaphor ✨ #I love him so much #He's so in love with my girl Elikai #Like pathetically I'd die for you in love