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i-was-bored-so-this-happened · 1 year

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Second Star Chapter Eleven: The Freezer

Fandom: The Mandalorian Wordcount: 4.6k Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Okan and the child are left on the ship while Mando tracks down a bounty to raise funds for ship repairs

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The Razor Crest sits at the base of a family of mountains. Quiet, peaceful, echoey. They landed four days ago due to a combination of the ship needing repairs and an available bounty in the system. The bounty had been tracked to this moon, Estra 3-2. Okan hasn’t been permitted to step outside the ship, so she spends time with the child in the galley packing and preserving the vegetables the Sorgan people had given them. On the fourth day, Mando’s lifting the panelling of the cockpit to check the wiring. Buried to his waist in the wall, he can feel the vibrations of Okan’s footsteps before the door slides open to let her in. The little noises that accompany the child everywhere don’t follow, so Mando guesses he must still be asleep.

“You know, it’s the second time you tried to leave us behind,” Okan’s still holding a grudge about the Sorgan thing. The Nevarro thing, too, “the second time in six months.”

“The second time in six months I’ve come back,” he wheels himself out from the gap in the wall to stare up at Okan’s face, “You were only meant to be on my ship for three weeks. Are you going to make yourself useful?”

“I’m the cook and the nanny.” Okan points out. In response, Mando holds up a tool Okan can’t name. She thinks for a moment, and then wanders towards the door. She hits a particular panel with the side of her hand and a square of the ceiling above her snaps open, dropping a rope ladder.

“How the fuck do you know about that?”

“I was smuggled to Arvala-7 in a Razor Crest, I told you that. No one but the pilot knew I was there.” She had told him this. He had forgotten. It hadn’t seemed important. She wasn’t supposed to stay. No, he wasn’t supposed to go back for her, for either of them. But he did. So now he’s the one stuck with them. And she’s right. Again. “You could always teach me how to fix.”

“You can weld. Here.” Mando taps at a loose section of metal and pulls himself all the way out of the hole in the wall so Okan can crouch, take off her gloves and pinch the seams of the smaller panels together.

“Fly?” She asks, still squatting while she inspects her work.

“No.” Flat and firm as concrete slabs. Okan twists to look at him.

“And yet you make me do target practice.”

“You’re a terrible shot.” He states.

“I don’t like blasters.” Turning back to her work, Okan presses a thumb to the line of the overlapping panels.

“I know.” Mando replies. She’s gotten him into the habit of vocally replying rather than sticking with his usual nods, because she isn’t always watching him like others do. She’s not afraid like others are.

“I don’t mind the part when you tell me to punch you, though.” Okan admits, standing up to push her gloves back on.

“I know that too. Once you fixed your form those punches started to hurt.”

“My form didn’t need fixing, it just wasn’t the same as yours.” Okan shakes out her arms, rolling a shoulder to relieve the prickling sensation sitting in the blade and smiling at Mando to indicate friendly fire. He can’t always tell.

A gurgle sounds from down below, then a questioning, keening sound. The baby’s awake. Both of the adults turn to the hole in the floor, Okan dropping through first and Mando climbing down after. She goes to the cubby, to lift the baby from the hammock Mando had tied so that either one of them could nap with the child if need be. He’s sniffly, burrowing into Okan’s chest when she lifts him.

“He’s had a bad dream again.” She settles on the edge of the cubby and rocks, rubbing the top of his head with a single knuckle.

“What can we do about that?” Mando asks. He’s cracked open a crate in search of something, but he glances up to look at them.

“Not much. He can’t tell us what he sees.” A rapid beeping cracks through the air like a whip. Okan whispers words of comfort to the child. Mando kicks his carbonite freezer. The beeping stops. “What’s wrong with it? It’s been doing that all week.”

“Too expensive to fix myself. I need a mechanic. To get a mechanic, I need this job.” Mando explains, knocking the machine one more time for good measure. The freezer clangs and the baby tenses. Okan hops down onto the floor.

“Okay, sprout, how does breakfast and a bath sound, hm? Nice, warm?” Okan shifts the child to her other side, carefully detaching his claws so he can reattach to her other sleeve, and pats Mando’s shoulder when she passes so he knows where she is.

“I’m heading out after the repairs. I’ll engage ground safety patrols when I leave and set up a siphon from the lake when I get back,” That last part is compassion. He’s telling Okan that she can use up all the water left in the tank over the course of the day. Unrationed water is a gift. “I’ll be back before dark.”

“May the stars guide your path, Mando.” Okan nods, drawing a line across her forehead then her chest with two fingers. She mimics the same movement at his back.

“What are you doing?” He asks this without turning, wondering why Okan’s lurking behind him.

“A prayer to keep you safe. The forehead to keep the mind alert, and the chest to keep the heart beating.” Okan answers. Quiet sits in the air for a moment before the helmet dips and he acquiesces,

“Thank you.”

***

The child doesn’t fall back into sleep, and the sniffles don’t quite subside, but he turns to look out at the corridor instead of keeping his eyes shut against Okan’s shirt. The galley is their first stop. The child doesn’t make any request to be put down, so Okan cracks a few of the eggs Mando had found yesterday into a bowl one-handed. Two of the green yolks bleed, but the other stays intact until she breaks it with her whisk. Leftover meat-based rations go into the bowl next, some shakes of a few different seasonings before the mixture pours into a pan. The child likes to watch the eggs bubble, and as the cooking omelette changes colour his squeaks and sniffs begin to fade.

His minder likes to talk even now, softly explaining her process as though he could easily replicate it. He has learned so many new words from her, names for food. Some words she doesn’t know the Basic for and uses Nokanish or Huttese, which he doesn’t understand, but he likes her voice anyway. The child releases Okan when the eggs are cooked, his half cut into pieces and laid on the plate that has become his, a plate with taller sides to prevent food from falling to the floor. He lets her put him down on the table with his breakfast, and she makes a point of staying in his eyeline while she slices fruit and continues to talk. She sits with him and eats her own eggs when she’s done, letting the child sit and babble as long as he wants to until he seems to be getting bored. Then she collects him and the bowl of fruit and waltzes towards the fresher with him, stopping at her room to collect fresh clothes. A tub had been provided for the child in Sorgan that they had taken with them, and Okan leaves the child’s robe in the spare sink to remind her to wash it before she sits the child in the tub. He’s still hesitant about water, so Okan uses a cup to fill the tub slowly so he can adjust to it. She takes breaks from filling the tub to give him some fruit.

“Good job, ha’be, you’re doing good. Bubbles are good, right? Bubbles are fun.” Okan keeps up her narration even now, as she pulls the tub slowly into the water shower space, smiling and babbling to the child all the while, especially while she widens the distance between herself and the child as she moves towards one of the showers. She turns the shower directly in front of him on gradually, to allow the child to adjust to the sound and sensation. “It’s like the rain again, see? Like the rain on Sorgan. Here.” Okan picks up the bowl of fruit and places it in the tub, knowing it will float, before she retreats to another showerhead at the other end of the room to begin her own rather delayed morning routine. She rolls up her clothes and leaves them in the sink with the child’s, but deliberately leaves her cloak and gloves at the border between the shower space and the rest of the room.

The child forgets his nightmare, splashing puddles onto the floor while he gnaws on his apple and Okan sings above the pattering sound of the water shower. The soap holds the fresh scents of pine and morning dew that surrounded the Sorgan farm. She’s taking the opportunity, the gift of water, to wash her hair. Rationed water hasn’t allowed her to do this for a while. If she stays much longer she might have to cut it, and it’s looking like she’ll be around for a while. She could get scissors out of the medbay, but these are plans for another day. For now she has to concern herself with some calm, quiet activity to entertain the child today.

With a hiss, the fresher door opens. Pure panic rushes through Okan’s veins, the water around her evaporating into a cloud of steam, her skin drying in a moment.

“Dank farrik, Mando, I told you we’d be in here,” the shower squeaks she terminates the water flow so quickly. Keeping close to the wall, she scoots towards her cloak and the fresh clothes lying on top of it, “Makaria s’e halla barshtok.” Curses trip off her tongue as she wriggles into her underclothes.

“When did Mando pick up a little spark?” That’s not his voice. “Argricola, sarkat.” The voice lilts using her language, and Okan recoils from the pet name. She hasn’t heard that word since she was a child and it scares her as much now as it did then. “Come out, come out, spark.”

Her hair hangs in wet, cold ropes, sections drying as it comes in contact with her skin. Scrabbling over the cloak she finds the tunic she’d set out, trying to calm the neon yellow the skin of her arms have turned. Steam rolls over her and towards the other end of the room, towards the child, hiding him. This measure is unconsciously done on Okan’s part, she’s trying to make out the intruder. She sees him when she stands. A zabrak, with the signature crown of horns circling the bald head.

“I apologise, I don’t know any Zabraki.” He has no weapons, as far as she can see, but his bare legs, orange-skinned, are braced for a fight. “What do you want?” Parts of his body are encrusted with a grey substance, it flakes off his hands when he flexes his fingers and falls from his face when he speaks,

“I want off this piece of shit ship. Can’t even run a freezer on this old wreck.” Freezer. Freezer. He’s a bounty. The carbonite freezer has finally given up the ghost. Whatever had been keeping the blocks frozen has failed. Okan hadn’t spent much time with the carbonite, it was the coldest part of the ship, but she’d asked Mando about it before, of course she had. What had he answered, though, that was the question, that’s what she needs to remember. What was the zabrak in for? He steps forward. Okan steps back. In tandem they move, keeping the same distance between them as when they started. The child hasn’t made a sound, enveloped in steam.

“You are a quiet one, eh? You weren’t quiet a minute ago, singing that little song, how did it go?” Croakily, he hums a few words of the song Okan had been practising, a prayer to the god Eva. “Who were you talking to, spark? ‘Cause the mando’s not here, is he? We can’t find him anywhere-” We, “-but if we can’t find him, you’ll do. You might even be a nice present to leave him, remind him what he’s done to our loved ones.” Okan’s back hits the wall of the shower room and water soaks through her shirt, drying in the next second. Yellow light shines through the skin of her limbs, little but fear making itself known. She can see the door, left open behind the criminal, but he knows that she can see this, “You’re not getting past us, sarkat,” a thin, ribbony flame ignites from the pointer finger of Okan’s right hand, “You don’t like that, alright. But you’re going to have to cooperate.”

“I don’t think I do.” Okan counters. She has control. She has to tell herself this twice before she can actually act. This room is full of warmth. She has control. The zabrak finds himself being propelled backwards by naught but hot air. A wall of it, pushing against his chest at the command of Okan’s outstretched hand until he’s been forced out of the fresher. Okan keeps her attention on the mass of hot air keeping the zabrak in place as she shoves her gloves between her teeth, wraps her arms in her cloak and pulls the child out of his tub. The cloud of steam swirls around them as she advances towards the zabrak. He’s wrestling against the entrapments of the wind that surrounds him, cursing in such a way that Okan covers the child’s ears with her cloak while she forces the zabrak into her room. Lurching forward, she melts the locking mechanism on the inside of the room and ducks out to slam the door shut before she releases him. The zabrak’s fists slam against the thick metal of the door, but Okan hopes that without the necessary buttons to open the it, he can’t get out.

Us. How many people were in the freezer? Four. Five? Mando had been picking up black-market-bounties for a few weeks to make up his funds for repairs, snatching them up from under other hunters’ noses in some cases. The zabrak…the zabrak was wanted for the death of two twi’leks. A pair of duros had jumped bail after deliberately botching hyperdrive repairs, plus the weequay who had been their security detail. A human who had robbed some antique or other from another human who had set every non-guild hunter in the galaxy on the first human. That makes five. Once upon a time Okan could have handled five criminals, with the right weaponry, but all she has is herself. She knows the code to Mando’s gun locker but he’s right, she’s a terrible shot and is more likely to blow a hole in the ship than in a bounty. Besides, if she opened it that would give the bounties access to weapons and then she’d really be fucked. Had Mando sealed the door to the cockpit before he left?

Water drips onto the metal flooring from the child’s bare feet. Okan jostles him and puts on a smile,

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. You were really really brave in there, you did a good job,” Okan nips back into the fresher for his clean clothes and takes a few minutes pause to dry and change him, then to construct a sling out of her cloak to keep him on her back, safe and away from the heat, “I need you to keep being brave, okay? There are some people on the ship that shouldn’t be here, and Mando’s not here so we have to deal with them. I just. Just need to remember where he keeps his cuffs.”

***

In the medbay, she discovers. Of course. Where most of his hunting tools live. The medbay does at least give her another idea along with access to cuffs and the emergency vibroblades he keeps with the scalpels. There are vials of sedative in a cabinet that can be fitted into surgical needles. Okan grabs a handful and slips them into the bandolier she’d found a while back and collected from the fresher, better suited to healing supplies than bolt cases. Before she moves any deeper into the ship she goes back to her room to apprehend the zabrak so he won’t cause her problems later. Then she returns to the corridor and listens.

A rustling, in the galley. Humanoid sounds of shuffling feet and a low voice. Someone is in her kitchen. Okan moves slowly over the metal panelling of the floor, her bare feet aiding in her attempt, her arms braced in front of her and her fists yellow-hot and ready. The baby coos, and she does her best to communicate that she needs him to be quiet before she rounds the corner that will bring the galley into sight. She unties the sling and sets him down on the floor, still wrapped in the cloak.

A human is in her kitchen. He’s wearing headphones, the music in them so loud that Okan can hear it from the doorway. The carbonite must have affected his hearing. Or perhaps he was partially deaf to begin with. He’s wearing leather, the needle’s not going to get through that. He’s digging through the drawers she’d spent so long stocking, hips twitching and a foot tapping to the music. He hasn’t heard her. Many humanoid males have the same off-switch. Okan aims a swift kick between his legs and he falls to his knees, giving her the opportunity to grab his head and wrench his head back, exposing his neck for the needle. The headphones clatter to the ground, filling the air with jizz music. Unfortunately, he isn’t going to make it that easy. The human lurches backwards, knocking Okan to the ground. The one thought that rockets through her mind just before her skull hits the floor and her gloves are knocked from between her teeth is that she’s grateful she’d left the child at the door. The human manages to twist himself and set his weight on Okan’s hips. Hands go to her wrists, to try and restrain them, but the fingers poking out of his gloves scratch back when they start to blister, pulling tracks down Okan’s arms as he swears. His next move is to brace a leather-encased arm against her throat, but to put any real pressure on it he has to shift his weight forward, giving Okan the mobility of her legs back, allowing her to push and roll him over onto his back. He’s not a heavy man and he’s not expecting it, and between that and the pain still sitting between his legs, Okan’s manoeuvre works.

She doesn’t waste a second fishing another syringe out of her belt and plunging the needle into his neck. Okan covers his mouth and pinches his nose to encourage unconsciousness, despite the shakes that go through his body at the sensation of burning. Once his eyes fall shut Okan sits back, shifting off his body and onto the floor. Breathing hard to keep her head from spinning, she rolls the man onto his stomach and cuffs him.

“Hi, baby,” the child is still watching from the door, “Hi, it’s okay,” she lifts a hand to her head, checking every few square inches in a spiral, “No blood, see? Concussion at worst. I’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. We’ll put him away and go get the others.” Okan stands up slowly, shoves the gloves into a pocket of the tunic, reconstructs the sling and drags the human back to her room. When she sets out along the corridor again she takes the same care as before, to prevent any beings in the hull from hearing her. When she reaches the hole in the floor, she doesn’t take the precaution of checking if there’s anybody there. She just drops down. The child giggles - jumping is one of his favourite things to do - as Okan’s knees bend to soften her landing and reduce the feeling that her brain is hitting her skull. The weequay is down here. Well-built, with rough reptilian skin and white hair that sprouts from the back of her head. She’s found a blaster Mando must have left lying around. If Okan’s told him once she’s told him a thousand times not to leave weapons lying around, it’s only a matter of time before the child picks something up and shoots them. The weequay is quick, raising the blaster as soon as she realises Okan is not one of her accomplices.

“Hands up. Up!” the voice is rougher than Okan’s own. She makes no objection to obeying, lifting balled fists above her head. “Open! Let me see your palms!” Okan does as she’s told. The blaster explodes before the first bolt leaves the barrel. The weequay roars, spreading her arms. Anxious calls come from above. From the cockpit. The duros. If they haven’t figured out the Razor Crest yet it won’t take much time, not if they know how to rewire hyperdrives. Okan’s got to get them out of the cockpit before that happens. So she yells too. The weequay pulls a knife from her thick, armoured vest. Kriff, doesn’t Mando search his bounties? “What is this, bring your kid to work day?” It comes out as a sneer, and the yellow tint of Okan’s skin takes on an orange tone. She snaps a vibroblade open at the same moment as her other hand becomes encased in flame.

“You touch him, you burn.” Okan warns. The weequay laughs, deep and rasping. The laugh is cut short when a bolt of flame the length of a finger buries itself in the palm of the hand the weequay holds the knife in. Consequently, the blade clatters to the floor and the weequay roars again, in pain more than anger. The concerned jabbering of the duros grows louder, and Okan hears the cockpit door open and the ladder clatter as they come to the weequay’s rescue. Their security, tough as boots with skin just as thick, recuperates in half the time the human had, and a blow lands hard on Okan’s jaw before she can see it coming, a second fist sinking into her stomach. Her head spinning, Okan waves her hands around without much of a goal, but with a knife in one hand and a ball of fire in the other she manages to do some damage that the weequay needs several moments to recover from. The two separate, the child whining at Okan’s back at all the sudden movement, and Okan stumbles. The weequay won’t be down for long, and the duros are advancing quickly. Another fingerful of flame flies to the weequay to try and dissuade her recovery, but the two duros are two too many people to keep an eye on. They charge as one, arms raised holding the tools Mando had been using that morning.

And then they freeze. Midstep, one of them midair. The child squeaks. The weequay bellows. Okan turns without looking, the vibroblade held up to protect her head. She manages to catch hold of the weequay with her flaming hand and uses the other being’s momentum to throw her to the ground. Extinguishing the flame and letting go of the blade, Okan drops to cuff the weequay before she can try to get up, using up another syringe without a second thought. When the weequay goes limp, Okan’s focus goes back to the duros, still hanging in the air. Behind her, there’s a tiny, quiet grunt. The baby. Okan shoves her gloves on and moves the sling so she can see him, worried he’s been injured. However, the child has his own focus. His face is screwed up in concentration, a single clawed hand stretched out, out towards the duros. He’s helping. He’s holding them, the way he holds his porridge. The way he must have held the Mudhorn. Okan acts quickly, unsure of how strong his abilities are. The baby manages to hold them until they’re both cuffed and about to fall into unconsciousness.

“Well done, sprout.”

***

“Okan? Okan?” Mando, back before dark, like he’d promised. He’s dumped the bounty in the hull. The carbonite freezer has finally conked out. It’s empty. Worse than that, there’s blood on the floor and no sign of his passengers. “Okan?!” It’s not until he clambers up the ladder that he gets a response.

“End of the corridor. Unharmed.” She hasn’t turned the lights on, so he hits the switch on his way. She is at the end of the corridor, sitting against her bedroom door with the sleeping child in her arms, but she is not unharmed. A bruise has begun to bloom on her jaw, deep scratches form train tracks down her arms. She still hasn’t located a pair of trousers, and though she’s wearing her gloves the skin of her legs pulses a soft yellow from toe to calf. “Ah, not entirely. Single concussion.” She points to her head with her free hand. Mando crouches in front of her to better see her face. “Freezer’s broken.”

“I know.”

“Bounties are in there,” Okan knocks at her own bedroom door, “I sedated them and melted the lock so they couldn’t get out.”

“Sedated them?”

“He helped, it’s why he’s so tired.”

“And you were worried about me leaving you behind on Sorgan.”

“You came back.” Okan cracks a smile at this. Repeats herself.

“You’re concussed.”

“I made a tea, I’ll be fine. Did you get the…the guy?” She nods after Mando does and then passes the baby to Mando so she can get to her feet. He snuffles, threatening to wake up, but then gives one of his world-weary sighs and relaxes again. The adults stand together, Okan taking the mug of tea that had been sitting on the floor with her.

“I’ll send out a comm.”

“For what?”

“Make this moon the drop-off point for the bounties, because the pilot’s seat is not your bed.”

“That was one time.”

“Twice,” Mando corrects as they meander along the corridor, “How long will they sleep?”

“The human won’t wake up until tomorrow. I don’t know about the others.”

“We have more?” Mando asks. Okan nods. They settle into their respective seats in the cockpit. Messages are sent to clients in minutes, while Okan gathers the blankets that sit within arm’s reach to build her usual nest. Mando brings up his galactic maps once all his clients have been contacted. “We’re going to Tatooine.”

“Tatooine?”

“Tatooine. It’s close and the mechanics are good. Will anyone recognise you in Mos Eisley?”

“No, no I lived out by Mos Pelgo. Old mining town in the Dune Sea.” Okan answers, pulling her feet up onto the chair. The helmet twists to look at her,

“Okan, get some sleep.”

“My cabin’s taken.”

“Cubby. I’ve got the kid, I’ll take first watch.” Okan can count on one hand the amount of times she’s heard this specific tone. Empathy that he’s allowing her to perceive. She agrees and drops the blankets down to the hull so she can rebuild her nest in the cubby. When she’s halfway down the ladder she hears Mando clear his throat and pushes herself up to peek into the cockpit again. “You did good today, Okan. I’m sorry you…had to deal with it. But you did good.”

#second star #star wars #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian oc #okan the unknown #rae's ocs #baby yoda #grogu #mando #original character #rae's writing

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nicad13 · 1 year

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Crossroads: Chapter 12

The Theft

Summary: An old enemy shows up earlier than expected, with dire consequences for Rayne and Yadier.

Din goes to war.

Notes: Canon-compliant through Season 1, alt version of Season 2. Posting some old fic before the sequel, which will hopefully be complete by the end of Season 3. Start now so you're ready! AO3 link in the Source at the bottom.

Excellent sketches by @catstanbulite

Tags/Warnings: torture, kidnapping, sexual situations, messy execution, wump, hurt/comfort, negotiating sex after trauma

Rating: Mature

We are ready for the siege We are armed up to the teeth… How many times do you want to die? How many ways do you want to die?

Silversun Pickups, The Royal We

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They took another day on Takodana to plan their next course of action, re-supply, and, truth be told, enjoy the scenery.

They had found a small open meadow in the forest, filled with wildflowers and warm sunlight. Rayne and Din discussed strategy as they watched Yadier waddle around in the grass, bending over each flower he came to, bringing his nose to it, and breathing in with a deep inhale to give it a good whiff. Every now and then he got a nose full of pollen and let loose with a tiny but powerful sneeze which managed to unlock a chuckle from Din.

For his part, the Mandalorian was still unused to natural environments with such beauty. Sorgan had seemed unreal in its green tranquility. Alas, that peace had been transient, made impossible by the price on their heads. Methuselah had stunned him, with its forests and fireflies and lake and meteor showers. It left him feeling like all the splendor of the galaxy had been spent on that one planet, that there couldn’t possibly be any beauty left outside of it. But now they were here, on Takodana, watching their son sneeze his way through the wildflowers.

It was enough to make Din realize, with sudden understanding, that the galaxy wasn’t completely full of shitholes. He wondered, for a brief, idle moment, if the coordinates that Maz would give to them would lead to a place even half as nice.

He gave his head a short shake, as if to clear it. They had to deal with Gideon first. They had to eliminate him. They could only hope that Gideon was the end of the line, that it went no deeper than him, that no one was pulling his strings in the way he was pulling the Client’s on Nevarro.

“Baiting him is easy enough,” Rayne said. “We just find a strategic location and disable your fob scramblers. I can turn them off without destroying them in case we need to turn them back on again. Once they’re off, he’ll come running.”

“I’d like to have more muscle on our side,” Din said. “I’m pretty sure I can get Cara on-board. I’ll send her a message when we get back.”

Rayne nodded, recalling Cara from Din’s descriptions of his time on Sorgan and their previous battle against Gideon. “Is there anyone else? Any favors you can call in?”

Din considered. Karga still owed him, but he didn’t trust him. Not on this. He’d heard no news about the covert, though he was unsure if he could trust anyone who might remain, given… Paz. Given Death Watch. His connections to past coverts were so tenuous that they were near-useless. The nomadic clan-less foundling life of “no attachments” had served him well inasmuch as it protected him from loss, but it failed in spectacular fashion when it came to social capital. He had none. Aside from Rayne and Cara, he was on his own. In answer to Rayne’s question, he shook his head. “No. Are Reesha and Zavin in the position to help?”

Rayne shrugged, having already considered this option. “Reesha couldn’t find much intel on Gideon, which is… concerning. New Republic is stretched too thin to make any moves on an Outer-Rim remnant without more information. Unless we come forward with Yadier, but we don’t want to do that.”

Din gave his head a firm shake.

“They could probably make an X-wing disappear for us, but we’d have to go back to Coruscant to pick it up and there’s no good way to dock one of those to the Razor Crest, so the logistics on that might not be worth it.”

“Agreed.” Another pause for consideration. “Can you fly a TIE?”

“Yeah. We captured one during the war and it was twitchy as hell, but I can manage it. Got a plan?”

“Not yet. Just gathering options.”

“Hm. What should I know about Gideon?” Rayne asked.

Din took a deep breath. “He’ll make it personal. If he finds out who you are and gets away from us…” He paused, gut tightening. “Your niece… he could go after Hayes’s family…”

Rayne shook her head. “We were married on a star cruiser in the middle of a war. Those kinds of things weren’t legally binding until people could get planet-side at the end of it.” She took a breath, and Din understood the implication immediately. Hayes hadn’t made it that far. “There’s no record that leads from me to them. Or anyone else.”

The tightness in his gut loosened. “Good. His interest in Yadier likely has to do with his abilities. Might be best for you to not play the Force-sensitive card too obviously, if you can help it.”

“What do we do with Yadier?”

Din was silent for a few moments. When he finally answered, his voice was tinged with anxiety. “You want to use him against Gideon.”

“No, I don’t want to. But we might want to add him to the options. He’s more powerful than the rest of us combined. And I have a hunch that he wants to help.”

“What makes you think that?”

Rayne lowered her gaze. “I’ve been getting more… snippets from him lately. Flashes of understanding. He gets that you’ve protected him. He understands that on a very profound level. He also watched you almost die. He’d rather not see that again. He’s… eager to reciprocate the protection you’ve given him.”

“He’s a child,” Din growled. “He’s not obligated to do anything for me.”

“He’s a fifty-year-old child with enormous power who is beginning to understand the responsibilities that come with that power. It’s not a matter of obligation. It’s a matter of following the example you’ve set.”

Din sighed. How many people did his son watch him kill? He’d destroyed a droid within moments of finding the child. From that point forward it had been a never-ending stream of threats that died by his hand. Not that he’d had much of a choice in the matter. They lived in an unkind world. His son had already killed on his behalf, the memory of the Incinerator Trooper not forgotten. The idea that Yadier, his sweet little boy, wanted to continue in such participation was, on the one hand, horrifying. On the other, the darker, Death Watch Mandalorian hand that still had a firm grip on the workings of his mind, he felt proud. The possibility that his son wanted to be a warrior was assuring. Warriors survived. His son would survive.

“Okay,” Din said. “We’ll add him to the list of options.”

---

Cara –

Got a good lead on where to take the kid. Need help with Gideon first.

Found someone who does the Baby Thing. And the Kick Ass And Take Names Thing. Turns out they’re not mutually exclusive.

You in?

- Mando

---

Rayne tossed and turned that night. Din slipped the helmet back on so she could roll all the way over in the not-exactly-dark room if she wanted to. It set the alarm bells off in his head. Nightmares were common enough for her, but they were brief; a few moments of twitching and whimpers, and then she’d be done, with no apparent pattern of occurrence. She otherwise slept like a rock. The only other restless night she’d had was just before their escape from her planet, when he’d woken up to find her guarding the hatch of the Razor Crest with his rifle across her knees.

Things hadn’t gone so well the next day.

Trusting her instincts, he pulled her to him, and she tucked her head under his chin, once again avoiding the helmet as much as possible. “What’s up?” he asked, little more than a whisper through the modulator.

She took a deep breath. “Dunno.”

“What do you need?”

“Half a bottle of Spotchka.”

That wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, but he rolled with it. “We left it on the ship.”

She pressed her lips to the top of his sternum. “We need to revise our packing list.”

“Mm. Anything else?”

She brought an arm up around him, fingertips light along his spine, but made no further moves. “Just you.”

He tightened his hold on her. Eventually, she turned over and spooned back into him, remaining still for the rest of the night.

---

Mando,

Sure. I’m in.

Welcome back,

Cara

---

They loaded up the Razor Crest the next morning. Maz gave them coordinates on an unassuming scrap of paper. Rayne scrounged a small box to lock it into, then removed one of the panels in the hull of the cargo hold to hide it behind until they were ready for use.

Before Din could turn to board his ship, Maz stayed him for a moment with a hand to his wrist. “You have a long journey ahead of you, Mandalorian.”

He wasn’t much for vague platitudes, but he responded all the same. “Yes. Thank you for your guidance.”

“Expect to be challenged by those you seek. They will not be inflexible, but they may not be as forgiving of your ways as your Jedi.” She winked.

“I understand.” He gave her a final nod, boarded the Crest, flipped through the ignition sequence, and laid in a course for Nevarro as the engines fired up. Rayne and Yadier settled into the starboard jump-seat as he eased the ship off and into a forward vector, taking their time to break atmosphere to save fuel. Yadier gazed out the windscreen with rapt attention, always enjoying the view as it transitioned from blue sky to black space.

Din took a moment to lock in the coordinates for their first jump when an Imperial Vibre-class assault cruiser dropped out of hyperspace in front of them.

A small ship in the grand Imperial scale of things, but an Imperial ship none the less.

“Oh, shit.” Rayne’s voice betrayed a mix of horror and surprise.

“Dammit,” Din whispered to himself. He slammed the stick to port and pushed the thruster wide-open, but the ship did little more than shudder in response. Not yet. We’re not ready yet…

“Get us out of here,” Rayne urged.

“Can’t. Tractor beam’s got us already.”

“Ffffuuuuck,” Rayne gritted the word out between her teeth, forgetting that she was holding a baby. “They’re going to board us,” she realized.

“Yeah. If they were gonna vaporize us they’d have done it already.”

“Rayne Rollins,” Gideon’s voice hailed them over the com. “You thought your absence at your hangar would be overlooked. You were incorrect. You thought your overwhelming defeat of my troopers would be disregarded. You were incorrect. You thought the record of your success at Methuselah would escape notice. You were incorrect. You thought the deaths of Mayfeld and Xi’an would be ignored. You were incorrect. You think you can keep Din Djarin and the child safe. You are incorrect in that, as well.”

“Shit.” She pushed her hands through her hair, but at least the words were down to a whisper. “Shit shit shit…”

“As for you, Din Djarin, you left me for dead in my ship. I will return the sentiment. With interest. I will leave you to die on your ship. I will leave you to die alone. In the cold dark of space. You will choke your last breaths out knowing that I took everything from you. And when you are dead, I will return for your beskar. I will collect it from your body. I will remove your helmet, and I will see the dead face of Din Djarin before I leave him to rot.”

“We’re fucked. We’re completely fucked. Goddammit Din, I fucked this all up.”

It occurred to Din that Rayne hadn’t seen much in the way of actual first-hand combat with Imperial troops.

Rayne was panicking.

Even-keeled Rayne was panicking.

“Calm down. We have one card to play.”

“What’s that?”

“Gideon still might not know you’re Force-sensitive. He definitely doesn’t know you have any Jedi training.”

“How do you know?”

“He would’ve used your real name. If he knew you were raised at the Temple, he would have used the name you had there.”

“How does that help us?”

“Not sure yet.”

They looked up through the windscreen as the Imperial ship grew larger, dragging the Razor Crest towards an airlock. “Here,” Rayne handed Yadier to Din, then moved to the center of the console. “Can I…”

“Sure…” Din moved out of the way and watched as Rayne began entering commands into the comm unit, her hands a blur of motion, her initial panic replaced by sudden purpose. “What are-”

“Hang on.” She entered a few more lines of code, turned, then was off the flight deck, down the ladder, and into the hold, pulling one of her bots from its crate in the back.

Gamma. The one who had aided their prior escape.

Din was at Rayne’s side by the time she had the bot out and started booting it up.

“They’ll override the Crest’s ramp once they get a seal on the airlock,” she said, tapping at a datapad that was linked to Gamma’s processor. “Gideon wants me and Yadier. You’re more trouble than you’re worth. He’s gonna knock us out with gas grenades, take me and Yadi, leave you here, and disable the Crest’s life support.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Oh…” Rayne’s voice betrayed a tremor. “Let’s just say I have a horrible feeling about this.” She handed the datapad to Din. “I’ve set the Crest’s life support to purge the gas and restart two minutes after Gideon cuts it. You should wake up a minute or so after that. I tapped the Imp’s comms and set up a blind spot around the airlock. You’ll be able to get through it and come for us. Gamma has shields, weapons, and can bypass locks, so bring it with you.”

“Wait… since when does that thing have weapons?”

“Since three weeks ago.” We do not have time for you to be angry about this. She looked up into his visor, brought a hand to his chestplate, and curled her fingers around the top edge of it. “I won’t be able to get Yadi out. If you have to choose between him or me, you choose him. Do you understand?”

He wrapped his hand around hers. “It won’t come to that.”

She tugged on his armor. He wasn’t expecting it, and he came forward a step. “Do you. Understand.”

“Yeah.”

One last thought occurred to her. “Bring my lightsaber.”

“I will.”

A series of hollow clangs rang through the hull as the Imperial cruiser locked on.

Din slid the datapad into a slot on the shelf, then held his Jedi and his son to his chest, his back to the hatch, and in true Mandalorian fashion, shielded his family with his armor and his own body as the seal was breached and the grenades were forced through.

---

Moff Gideon was no fool.

He had seen the destruction Djarin left behind on the New Republic prison ship. He had seen the footage of Djarin managing to break out of his cell and round up the mercenaries who had betrayed him.

He remembered Djarin sending him to the ground in his own TIE fighter after he’d had the Mandalorian dead to rights.

The Mandalorian was far too resourceful for his tastes. Gideon would not risk having him aboard his own ship. As much as he wished a closer interrogation, as much as he wished to unhelm him while he was alive, to watch those large brown eyes from the childhood records grow round with terror as he brought the Darksaber to the Mandalorian’s throat, he knew better. He would not risk giving Djarin any opportunities. Better to keep him locked on his own turf and kill him from a distance. The pleasure of watching him die slowly would be retribution enough.

The child was his goal. He would not deviate from it.

The woman… Gideon had his suspicions. She was risky in her own right, but he surmised he had much to gain from her, as well.

* * *

Din woke up on the floor of the Razor Crest, on his back, alone, head pounding.

His hands yielded to reflex as they flew to his face. Finding the helmet in place, he took a breath, then pushed himself up to a sitting position.

His family.

The Imps had stolen his family.

Rage welled up from his chest and bloomed red in his mind.

Gideon wanted revenge? Too fucking bad.

Din was going to bring a war.

Pulling himself to his feet, he found the datapad tucked into the shelf along the hull. A series of windows displayed points within the cruiser showing movement of the troopers within, and a single window at the bottom, displaying a stationary image of his own body sprawled on the floor. His head snapped up, seeing the camera that had been installed above the hatch, a red light below the lens flashing.

Gideon wanted to watch him die. Rayne had anticipated this, and he realized she’d managed to hack the comms equipment before it had even been put in place.

Good god, this woman.

He scanned through the pad again, searching. Vibres were small, only a hundred meters long and carried a max of sixty troopers, no hangar for a complement of TIE fighters, but it had a boatload of guns. They would have to disable those and the tractor beam to escape. Flipping through the screens, he finally found where Rayne and Yadier were being held. He let out a frustrated sigh – they were on opposite ends of the ship. Rayne was in what looked to be an interrogation cell and Yadier was in a lab.

Din ran the video footage back so he could track their progression through the ship and get the lay of the land. He got to the point where they were separated, and watched as Rayne had lunged against the troopers dragging her down the corridor when parting ways from their son. Three times she had thrown herself against her captors, still incapacitated. The trooper in the lead had turned, and three times, pistol-whipped her in the face with his blaster.

The footage was grainy, but still clear enough to show the splash of her blood on the white armor.

Din committed the splash pattern to memory. The trooper who bore it would receive a particularly creative death.

A loose plan formed in his mind. Despite Rayne’s demand to prioritize Yadier’s rescue, he would go for her first. Their son was under heavier guard and he would need her help to break him free. He would play this very differently from the prison ship. That had been minimally guarded, and he had deliberately prefaced his attack with the red flashing of the emergency lights to instill terror in his foes. He would require more stealth with a ship full of troopers, would need to keep them in the dark as to his escape for as long as possible.

In the dark… now there was an idea.

He keyed his vambrace to Rayne’s comm hack and made a few adjustments.

Time to gear up. He checked his sidearm blaster – good to go. He wouldn’t take his rifle; it would only get in the way for close-quarters fighting. Knife – good to go as well, nestled in its place in his boot. He went to the weapons locker, loaded his belt with charges, and switched out the flamethrower fuel cells for fresh ones.

He had not thought to re-stock on whistling birds when he last saw the Armorer, and the oversight pained him. His eye caught his jetpack, stowed at the bottom of the locker.

Mmmmaybe not this time.

He closed the locker and went to Rayne’s drawer, also keyed to both of their bio-signatures. He pulled it open, reached for her lightsaber, and stopped cold.

Xi’an’s knives.

For a brief instant, his mind fell back, back to his years on Ran’s crew, watching Xi’an sharpen her blades at the same table where he cleaned his rifle. Her offer to sharpen his knife. The memory of pulling it from his boot and sliding it across the table…

What the hell were Xi’an’s knives doing in there?

It took him a moment to recall, to recover from the stutter in his memory, to bring up the image of the way Rayne had plucked the first thrown blade out of the air without even realizing she was doing it. The interrogation that followed. The execution following that.

He wrapped his hand around the lightsaber and closed the drawer. They could talk about the knives later. Clipping the weapon to his belt, he grabbed the birikad, Yadier’s harness, off of a shelf and stuffed it between the small of his back and his belt, then went to the hatch.

Time to go to war.

---

Her face ached.

For what felt like a long time, that’s all Rayne was aware of.

Like someone had taken a pipe to her face and used it for batting practice.

After what felt like a long time, she became aware of why she felt like that.

Yadier…

She reached out with her mind, reached out for her son, and for the first time since Din had brought him into her life, she couldn’t reach him. She reached out for Din. His general state would be nearly impossible to gauge with the helmet on, but she could usually sense something of him even at a fair distance, but for now, there was nothing.

They were either both dead, or she was in a shielded room.

Overwhelming pain.

Sharp. Pointed. Electrical. Pulsing.

Every fiber of muscle in her body contracted and she froze in agony, too locked up to scream, too locked up to open her eyes, too locked up to conjure a conscious thought.

After what felt like a long time, the current running through her body finally ceased and she fell limp against the restraint across her chest.

“Good morning, Rayne Rollins.”

Gideon’s voice. The same voice from the news clips. The same voice from the hail.

“What brings you to my ship, today?”

“Your… fucking… tractor beam…” Rayne opened her eyes as much as she could, finding herself in an Imperial interrogation chair. It wasn’t so much a “chair” as it was an upright slab with restraints and stabby electrodes. She’d learned a little about them as a kid, been hooked up to one and received a mild shock, along with the rest of her classmates, the beginning of what would have been many lessons on how to resist the kind of thing she was apparently experiencing right now.

Yeah, that would’ve been handy.

“I will instruct you once on how this works,” Gideon said, somewhere out of her admittedly limited field of vision. “I will ask a question and you will answer it. If you do not provide a valid answer within five seconds, you will receive the punishment that I have just acquainted you with. Do you understand?”

She said nothing and closed her eyes.

The agony returned.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Her world went black.

---

The knife was a quiet way to kill. Stealthy.

The misconception that slicing the throat was the best way to kill someone with a short blade was a common one. In reality, that was quite noisy. Too much screaming and gurgling and thrashing until the blood finally ran out.

The best way, to kill a human anyway, was to stab them down through a kidney. The pain was paralyzing. Silencing. They just locked right up and down they went. The trick was to get the angle just right. Getting over the back of the pelvis and down through as much of the organ as you could. Stormtrooper armor did a little in terms of getting in the way, but it still left a seam in the back.

You just had to get them to bend over a little, and in you went.

The fifth body went stiff in Din’s grasp, and he lowered it to the deck. Nice and quiet.

It had been a while since he’d killed so many in one day.

But he hadn’t forgotten how.

Oh, no. Not at all.

This body at his feet. This blood on his gloves. This death he brought about. This was his life. What he had trained for. What he had dedicated his existence to.

In this moment, Din was nothing more than a machine of murder.

All else had dropped away.

He moved on to the next target, a trail of blood in his wake.

Unbeknownst to him, Rayn’s bot, Gamma, followed behind at a discrete distance, ready for when it would be needed.

---

“Let’s try this again. What were you doing on Djarin’s ship?”

Rayne opened her eyes just enough to see Gideon standing before her, just to her left. Four other troopers stood guard inside of the room. She thought maybe there were one or two others just outside the door, but wasn’t sure. The fuzziness of it gave her hope that this was just a shielded room and would explain her inability to reach her family. Gideon wasn’t taking any chances with her. “He needed an engineer.”

“You abandoned a successful business to become an engineer for a bounty hunter.”

“I was bored.” Her face still ached and talking hurt. She’d never been pistol-whipped before. She hoped never to experience it again.

“Tell me about the child.”

“Little. Green. Burps a lot.” Everything hurt. Except for the parts she couldn’t feel. Things from the knees down felt a little numb.

“Tell me about the child’s abilities.”

“Little. Green. Burps a lot.” Even listening to Gideon’s voice hurt.

The agony returned.

Rayne’s world went black again.

---

Oh. Oh, here we go.

The trooper who had struck Rayne in the face with his blaster now stood guard at a door around the corner, her blood still spattered on his armor.

This might be worth making some noise for.

Din strode around the corner, making no effort to mask his presence.

He wanted the trooper to see him coming.

“Hey! What the- You’re not supposed to be here!”

“Nope. I’m not.” Before the trooper could level his blaster, Din flicked his wrist and the whipcord shot out, wrapping itself around the trooper’s throat as Din snapped him back along the corridor. The trooper’s screams were choked off by the cord, but there was still a fair amount of clattering as Din threw him to the floor face-first and pinned him down. He jammed the fist-end of his vambrace up into the front of the trooper’s helmet. With no further prelude, he activated the flamethrower directly up through the seal, breaching it, keeping the writhing body pinned to the floor as the trooper’s initial bucks and twists faded, ignoring the smell of burnt flesh and hair and plastoid armor, ignoring the heat that crept along his knuckles as he kept his wrist wedged into the helmet.

The body stilled at about the same time Din’s flamethrower ran out of fuel. Good enough. He got up, turned the trooper over with his toe, pulled his knife from his boot, crouched back down, and parted the helmet from the body with the head still in it. When turning the bucket over didn’t release the contents, he slammed it to the floor, felt the thud of a skull freeing up from the flesh seared to the inside, then dumped it out onto the trooper’s chest, what was left of the charred face pointing up to the ceiling.

The message was clear.

Anyone who messed with the clan of Rollins-Djarin would burn.

---

“I’m curious, Rollins. How do you keep getting through the asteroid belt at Methuselah?” Gideon’s voice was all cool, calculated ice. He certainly endeavored to present an unflappable front, though Rayne sensed an underlying impatience.

She shrugged once more at his questions. “I’m a decent pilot.”

“Ah, yes. You are, after all, a Rebel veteran. All those sorties you flew.”

Rayne didn’t respond.

“All two of them.”

So the fuck what?

“How does someone who only flew two sorties over the course of a decades-long war get to be the kind of pilot who gets through that belt? With a ship the size of the Razor Crest?”

“Skill and luck.”

Pain, again. Dialed back now, dialed back so that she could not escape through unconsciousness, helpless but to endure it for its full length. Even when it was done, her head was still cloudy, her mind was still off-kilter, still unable to put everything together and figure out how to extricate herself from this.

Gideon let out a long breath that wasn’t quite a sigh. He reached into his pocket and brought out a small vid projector, turning it on to bring a two-dimensional image flickering up before her.

The image of Din lying motionless on the floor of the Razor Crest.

“Your captain is dead, now, Rollins.”

She betrayed nothing, meeting his gaze. “So… what, exactly? You win?” The words were slurring out of her now. Her face didn’t seem to work quite right.

Gideon’s brow furrowed just the smallest bit before smoothing back out again. “Think of it as more of a demonstration. I desire certain things. When I do not get them in a timely manner, the people who are the cause of that delay die. Din Djarin caused a delay in my acquisition of the child. He is now dead. I now desire to know where you intended to take the child. If you cause a delay in the acquisition of that knowledge, you will join Djarin in death on his ship.”

“Something tells me I’m going to wind up there anyway.”

“Do you also require a demonstration of my willingness to torture a baby?”

Okay, yeah, fuck that. Time to put the cards down on the table and play the one called Jedi. “Yeah, I’m not worth anything to you. You want to let me go.”

She pushed. Hard. As hard as she could manage with her brain half-scrambled and her body half-fried.

Gideon twitched an eyebrow. “And there we have it.”

Oh, shit.

“An amusing little trick, Rollins, but not one that will work on me. I may have only scratched the surface on who you are, but you just revealed what you are.” He reached out and traced his finger along the leather cord from around her neck to the casing it held. He wrapped his fingers around it and yanked it free to examine more closely, turning it over in his hands. “The Jedi and the Mandalorians were at each other’s throats for millennia. And here we have a Jedi wearing beskar at her throat.” He met Rayne’s eyes. “Only the engineer?”

She locked her eyes on his but remained silent.

He opened the casing and poured the lock of hair out into his palm. “Curious.” He met Rayne’s gaze once again, his expression concealed behind a mask of calm. “I wonder where else we will find Djarin’s DNA on you.”

Rayne’s jaw tightened, but she gave no further show of emotion.

Gideon replaced the lock of Din’s hair and closed the casing, then placed it on a nearby tray. “But first,” he said, picking up a syringe from the same tray, “we will collect your DNA and see what it has to tell us.”

That’s what he wants Yadier for. They’re pulling it from him right now if they haven’t gotten it already.

Physically helpless, she struck out against him with her mind, and he fumbled the syringe, dropping it to the floor. Inhibiting action in another was easier than initiating it, and she intended to inhibit as much as she possibly could.

She thought she saw rage flicker over Gideon’s face, just for a moment. “You cannot stall me forever. The inevitable will happen.”

“Yeah, we’ll see.”

He raised a fist to strike, but it paused in mid-air, hovering, refusing the commands of his brain to swing it forward.

Unable to strike her with his fist, he drilled into her with his eyes, a silent promise that he would get what he wanted, eventually, and the longer he had to wait, the worse it was going to be for her.

She stared back, trembling with the effort, breath coming in long draws, daring him to try it.

The lights went red.

The alarms sounded.

Gideon’s face twisted with rage.

Then the lights and alarms went out all together, and the room was black. Silent.

She couldn’t help herself. “Or maybe we won’t see, after all.”

Rayne!

She heard… felt Din’s voice in her head. He must be just outside the door and projecting with everything he had to get through whatever had blocked her before.

The door blasted open, sending shrapnel and fire through the cell. The troopers returned fire through the new opening, firing blindly in the dark, Rayne able to sense their panic at the realization that their HUDs and coms were no longer working. Din had apparently embellished her hacks into the system.

Good god, this man.

A single shot from the other side of the door struck the control panel for the interrogation chair and Rayne was released from the bindings. With nothing holding her up, she suddenly found herself unable to stand, clamoring for the edge of the chair to keep from hitting the floor. She sensed Din tossing her lightsaber in a moment later. Reaching with both her free hand and the Force, she caught and activated it, the yellow blade emitting just enough illumination to show Gideon escaping through another door.

Seeing something they could actually shoot at, the troopers focused their fire on the lightsaber, only for Rayne to deflect the shots right back at them. It gave Din the opening he needed and he stepped through, ending the troopers with a single shot to each of their heads.

Silence and darkness once again.

Rayne’s saber deactivated as it fell from her hand and she lost her grip on the chair. Din caught her before she could hit the floor. “Hey,” he managed between breaths. “Hey, I got you…”

“I… I can’t…”

“I know.” He got her arm over his shoulders, picked her saber up off the floor, and clipped it back to her belt where it belonged. “How bad?”

“Can’t feel my feet. Brain’s fuzzy. A little cooked from the chair.”

“Want a bacta-phrine shot?”

She swallowed, understanding the implications of his question. They had a lot of work ahead of them, and he needed her whole and present for it to all work. The bacta/epinephrine infusion would get her through it, but it came at a price. She swallowed again. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” He lowered her to the floor. She pulled her shirt up while he pulled the small canister off of his belt, shook it up, and moved to straddle her at the hips, pinning her down. She lay as still as she could while he felt for the right spot on her sternum with one hand and popped the cap off of the canister with the other thumb. “Ready?”

He watched her close her eyes from the infrared of his HUD. “Yeah.”

Din slammed the canister to her chest, sending the needle through her sternum, pumping the infusion directly to her heart.

She convulsed against him, once again in far too much pain to scream, and he held her down, keeping his butt planted at her hips, his left hand pressing down at the top of her chest, right hand keeping the canister in place as her fingers raked down his helmet with involuntary twitches.

She bucked into him for a few more moments until it finally abated and she fell back, relaxing, breaths evening out into long, even draws. Her eyes drew shut once more as she felt the pins-and-needles of feeling returning to her feet, her mind cleared, and her strength returned, the cooked-through feeling dissipating.

“You good?” he asked.

She took one more moment to consider. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

He pulled the canister free, making sure the needle came all the way with it, and moved off of her, allowing her to pull herself up and test all of her limbs. She walked back to the center of the room and retrieved the beskar casing, holding it up to draw his attention to it before putting it in her pocket. “Gideon figured out the family situation.”

Din blew out a sharp exhale of anger. The last thing he wanted was to hand the Imp even more information. He turned back toward the doorway, taking a quick peek out before stepping into the corridor. He was mildly surprised to see Gamma there waiting for them, but didn’t acknowledge it, going back the way he came. “What did he try to get from you?”

“Yadier’s abilities. Where we were headed with him. A blood sample.” She sensed him turn his head in her direction as she walked next to him. “I fucked up and played the Jedi card.”

Another angry exhale.

“The lightsaber would’ve tipped him off anyway.”

Din gave a conciliatory tip of his head.

“He stopped asking questions after that, said something about DNA, and picked up a syringe. That’s what he wants with Yadier. Force-sensitive DNA.”

“What does he want with that?”

“I think he wants Force-sensitivity for himself. Maybe for a higher-up too, but he radiated a certain… greed is the best thing I can call it. He’s already had some Force resistance training. I tried to Force him to let me go and he barely twitched. Guy’s a brick wall.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. They must have a blood sample from Yadi by now. We can’t let them keep it.”

“We don’t have time for espionage.”

“We have time to set charges. Please tell me you brought more charges.”

Of course. “I only brought enough to disable the guns and the tractor beam. We can’t blow this thing up with the Crest locked to it.”

“Gamma can take care of the guns and tractor beam.” Rayne stopped at a junction in the corridor. “We set the charges in the lab and on the reactor.”

“I didn’t bring enough to bring this thing down.”

“We blow the lab before we leave so they lose any material they’ve gained today and can’t transmit any analyses. We blow the reactor later, when we’re ready to take Gideon. It’ll disable the ship enough to get it within range.”

“Within range of what?”

Din saw Rayne smile in the infrared. “Me and Yadier.”

---

Hiding the charges on the reactor turned out to be easy enough – most of the troopers were guarding the lab. While Rayne and Din were busy with that, Gamma plugged into a port and disabled the guns and tractor beam behind a covert firewall. The crew would have no idea anything was wrong until it was too late.

They re-grouped and continued to the lab, passing bodies of fallen troopers along the way. The fact that they were met with no resistance worried them both. It could only mean that all of the forces were pulled back to resist the efforts of the parents to rescue their son. Rayne took note of one particular body strewn on the floor. While she couldn’t see all of the details, she could certainly smell many of them; burnt flesh, burnt hair, burnt plastoid. She sensed the shape of the helmet on the floor and the head… not where it should have been, but placed face-up instead, on the torso of the body.

She cast a mental glance at Din as he stepped over it like it was no different from his other victims scattered through the corridors. The ritualistic display was striking and disturbing at the same time, one more echo of the dark violence that resided in her Mandalorian. She decided to address it directly. “So what’s with that guy?”

“He put his blaster grip through your face three times.”

“Mm.” Fair enough.

They arrived at another junction a couple minutes later when Din held up a hand. “Lab’s around the corner.”

She pressed her back to the wall as he took a quick look around, confident that the troopers’ HUDs remained blind in the dark. Still, she closed her eyes to reach out. “I’m guessing ten troopers in front of the door. Another ten on either side in the adjoining hall down there.”

“I think you’re right. Any feel on Yadier?”

She took a breath. All she could get from their son was an empty blankness. No pain, but a dearth of consciousness far below that even of a deep sleep. “I think he’s sedated. He’s not in any pain, but he won’t be responsive when we get to him.”

Din nodded, familiar with that situation. “Hard to see through all the troopers, but I think there are two others in there with him.”

“Gideon. One other.”

Din had a pretty good guess as to who that was, as well.

“I have a plan.”

He looked down to his left at her, pressed back against the wall next to him, lightsaber in hand, deactivated but ready. All of the panic from earlier cleared away, breath steady, posture tense but prepared. All warrior. “Let’s hear it.”

She gave him the outline, based on old Jedi-Clone teamwork tactics.

“You full up?”

“Yeah,” she rolled her shoulders. “Little high, maybe. Ready to take advantage of it.”

“Okay.” He pushed off of the wall, fished the birikad out from the back of his belt, and strapped it on. He turned to face Rayne, taking a moment to look at her once more. Her gaze met his in the darkness, waiting. Ready. He nodded. “Go.”

Rayne stepped into the corridor and ignited her saber. The troopers responded with blaster fire and Din watched as she swung into action, the yellow blade nothing but a blur as she deflected all of the shots. He turned back to the bot behind him. “Ready?”

It chirped an affirmative.

“Let’s go.”

He drew his blaster, stepped in behind her, got the sense of her swinging pattern, and began to fire past her. She led with her hips and her shoulders, telegraphing her movements so he wouldn’t blast her arms off, and they’d managed to bring down all ten troopers by the time they got to the junction in front of the door. When they reached it, Din fired into the corridor to the left, Rayne deflected the shots from the corridor on the right, and Gamma scuttled up to the door, plugged into the port, and cranked away at the lock.

Din pumped round after round into the corridor as he listened to the heavy clanks of the lock as it gave way at a pace far too slow for his liking. “What’s taking so long?” His voice grated through the modulator.

“Class Seven lock,” Rayne shouted back as she deflected the bolts coming from the other end. “Those take a while.”

“Define a while.”

“Five more seconds. Get ready.”

True to her word, the door slid open five seconds later. Din ducked back for just long enough so Rayne could take a half turn and lift a hand to Force the troopers in Din’s hall to the floor. He charged the gap and into the lab, following his HUD to where his son was held.

The red emergency lights in the lab were operational and holding steady in their dim glow. Cabinets formed corridors that twisted left and right at irregular intervals. He stalked by tables lined with jars containing embryonic monsters suspended in formaldehyde, racks of sharply-pointed tools, shelves displaying skulls of humans, twi’leks, and wookies. Finally, he turned the last corner.

“You again.”

“Please don’t!” The same scientist from before, at Nevarro, the guy with the glasses, cowered away from him, huddling in the dim red light. Din turned to see his son, confined to a table once more, eyes closed and unresponsive, as Rayne said he would be.

He holstered his blaster. Once again, he disengaged the panel pinning his son’s body to the table, lifted him up, slid him into the birikad, and tightened the straps around him, keeping him snug to his chest. He turned to the scientist and, hands free, pulled his blaster. “Let me guess. Protecting him again?”

“Yes! He’s more valuable alive than dead!”

“To who?”

A blaster shot flashed from Din’s right and struck the scientist in the head, killing him.

Din spun and snapped off a shot of his own, angry for letting himself get distracted and flanked. He spotted the swirl of a black cloak and armor as it disappeared back around the corner. Pausing to set a charge to the underside of the table, he headed back the way he came.

Oh, he wanted Gideon. Wanted him badly. But Rayne and Gamma were covering him outside, and he wouldn’t let Gideon bait him away. Wouldn’t keep them waiting.

I have him. We’re coming out. He pushed his thoughts to her as hard as he could.

Ready.

He picked up speed as he neared the exit, and shouted when he reached it. “Go! Now!”

Rayne left her position and led the retreat, Din following, with Gamma covering their six. Din hit the button on his vambrace and the deck bucked under their feet as the lab exploded behind them. Back down the darkened corridors. As expected, the remaining troopers had flanked to block their retreat. Rayne cut through the blaster bolts, saber deflecting all of the shots. Some of them deflecting back into the troopers themselves, most heading into the bulkheads. But nothing got through her. Nothing so much as zinged past Din’s shoulders. Nothing got past Gamma, either, its shields holding up against the pursuing troopers.

Din and Yadier were safe in the bubble created by Rayne and her bot.

Finally, they rounded the last corner to the airlock. Rayne sprinted up the ramp, tilting her head as she did so, as if she was listening for something. “Ship’s clean!” she shouted. Din followed her up and she hit the button to close the hatch. He turned to see Gamma plant itself in the center of the corridor, shield spread wide, guns blazing into the troopers on the other side. “Go!” Rayne slapped him in the shoulder, pushing him toward the flight deck. “Gamma’s staying back to cover.”

“Right.” Din bolted up to the flight deck and fired up the engines as Rayne stayed at the hatch, just to make sure. Catching sight of the camera along the top edge, she jumped to grab it, smashed it on the floor, and stomped on it for good measure. By the time she made it up to Din’s side, they’d pushed clear of the airlock and were gaining speed away from the cruiser. “No tractor beam or canon fire yet…” Din said as he locked in their course. He took one last look behind him, at the Imperial cruiser, not quite believing that they’d escaped it on one piece. Then he pushed the Razor Crest to hyperspeed and they jumped away.

Once more, the stars streaked to white and the ripple of hyperspace enveloped them in safety.

He let out a breath, one hand around the tiny body of his son, feeling his heartbeat slow and steady.

Then he heard the thud of a body dropping to the floor behind him.

He turned to see Rayne out cold, the bacta-phrine infusion having run its course.

---

Her face ached.

But not as badly as it had before.

She felt something cool and wet against her skin on her face, dulling the pain. She felt the same cool wetness stuck against her ribs. She smelled something sharp and bitter in the air.

Bacta. She was covered in bacta patches.

She opened her eyes and was unsurprised to see the black T of a helmet visor staring back at her.

“Hey,” Din’s voice was soft as he brought an ungloved hand to the undamaged side of her face. “Welcome back.”

She closed her eyes and turned her face into his hand. “Yadier ok?”

“Yeah. He’s still sleeping it off. I found where they did a blood draw on him, but there’s nothing else.”

She nodded. “You ok?”

“Not a scratch.”

“Am I ok?”

He huffed out a laugh. “You had a pretty good black eye going by the time I got the patch on it. Didn’t look bad enough for your cheekbone to be broken. Some burns on your ribs from the interrogation chair. You’ve been out for three hours. Any chest pains at all?”

“No.”

“Good. Then I didn’t manage to give you a heart attack with the infusion.”

“Hooray…” she deadpanned. She opened her eyes and looked around, finding they were in their new accommodations up behind the galley. Din was stripped down to his helmet, T-shirt, and shorts, sitting cross-legged next to her on the mattress, the hand that wasn’t touching her face covered in a bandage. “Hey,” she said, reaching out to it. “You said not a scratch.”

“That’s a burn. Not a scratch.”

“Semantics.”

He shrugged.

“What happened?”

“Got carried away roasting the Stormtrooper.”

She did her best to keep her expression neutral, but was unsure of her success when he shrugged again.

“It’s fine.” He shifted position to stretch his legs out. “We’ll hit Nevarro in eighteen hours. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

He pushed himself to his feet. “Stay put. What can I get you?”

“One of those chocolate nut-bar things would hit the spot.”

He returned in short order with two bars in one hand and a water bottle in the other. She sat up with a confused look as he handed a bar to her, then made a twirling motion with his finger. “Turn around. Face the bulkhead.” She did as he instructed, heard him grunt as he returned to the mattress, felt the pressure of his back against hers, and then heard the seal disengage as he took the helmet off. She froze, sitting with her shock as Din sat behind her, unhelmed with the lights on, crunching his way through a ration bar.

He was a fast eater, getting it all down before she brought herself to even open hers, finally spurred to motion when he opened the water bottle and downed half of it. She took a bite, chewing slowly, surprised that her face didn’t hurt, and accepted the water bottle when he passed it back to her. He continued to sit there, his back to hers, seemingly content to sit and breathe without the helmet while she ate. She got a few more bites down before she found she could stand it no longer. “What does this mean?”

“It means I’m too tired to get up and eat on the flight deck and I trust you to not take advantage of the situation.” His tone was neutral. Not irritated, but not indulgent.

“That’s fair.” She put a few more bites down. Washed it down with some water. Maybe taking a little longer with it than she normally would have.

“I’m… also tired of eating by myself. Yadier’s a handful at mealtimes, but since he’s out of it at the moment…”

“Yeah. I understand.” She finished the bar, finished the water, then tilted her head back against his, listening to him breathe with the lights on.

“You did well today,” he said.

It was strange, hearing his unmodulated voice in the light. It nearly distracted her from answering him entirely. “Thanks. Sorry it took a while for me to pull it together.”

“First time that lightsaber see real action?”

“Yep.”

He took a deep breath, then let it all out. “Imagine what you could do with real training.”

She noticed the subtle change in the tone of his voice. “That a turn-on for you?”

“… Maybe.”

“I’ll get this bacta showered off and see what I can do about that.”

He slipped the helmet back on and helped her up.

---

They held each other in the dark.

They went through their most common motions, avoiding anything unexpected, hoping she would find comfort in the familiar, even if they took it a little slower than usual. Gave her a little more time to ease into it. As usual, desires were unspoken, but easily deciphered through the guidance of a hand, the shift of a hip, an approving sigh. When he thought she was ready, when her breath and trembling matched up with previous experience, he moved into position above her. Just when he was about to break with tradition and ask if she was ready, he noticed the change in her breaths from long and deep to short and shallow, noticed the pressure of her thighs against his, the barest hint of pushing away instead of the usual pulling in.

For all the dishonors Death Watch had committed against him and other foundlings, they had, at the very least, done an excellent job of training with regard to consent and physical intimacy.

Mandalorian bodies were living weapons in all situations except for one. Mandalorians. Did. Not. Rape. They did not assume what was wanted. They proceeded only when they knew for certain that they were welcome. Of all the horrifying things he had done, for all of the pain and suffering he knew he had caused, Din, like all Mandalorians, had sworn never to weaponize the one part of his anatomy that was regularly used as a weapon by pretty much every other kind of people outside of the creed.

Mandalorians were bounty hunters. Mercenaries. Soldiers. Often, they were murderers. But they were not rapists. The few Mandalorians who forgot that were summarily unhelmed, stripped of their armor, and executed.

And so, when Rayne pushed back, Din stopped. Immediately.

The only sound in the dark was their breath.

He brought his forehead to hers with a light touch, his weight planted on his elbows. “What do you need?” His voice was a whisper, tone soft.

He heard the sound of her swallow, then the parting of her lips as she sorted through her thoughts. “I need to hear you,” she whispered back. “I need to hear your voice. I need to know it’s you in the dark.”

He pressed his lips to the corner of her eye, then traced down to her jaw line. “It’s just me,” he murmured. Her response was immediate, relaxing into him, her breath evening back out. “It’s just me…” He continued, repeating the words when his mouth was not otherwise occupied, and soon enough, she pulled him in.

Unused to speaking so much, to say nothing of speaking at all while in the one situation where he was not a weapon, he soon lost control of the tone of his voice, embarrassed by the broken sound of it, but encouraged by Rayne’s response at the same time. He slipped further, “Shi ni…” a repetition of the same, followed by more wrecked Mando’a that she did not understand, words likely deemed by the Clones as inappropriate for Younglings to hear.

The sound of his voice in her ears, the feel of his flesh in hers, the motion of him all around her, was finally enough to let her forget, enough to lose herself in him, enough to pull him with her when she came undone all around him.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu

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moosehorn · 3 years

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All hail the Manda'lor

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thewayofthemandalorian · 3 years

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i wanted to tell you - oneshot

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Rating: M Summary: When Din finds himself back on Tatooine, he strikes a deal with you. As he works through his grief and his anxieties, he never expects that he’d fall in love — or that you’d feel the same way. Word count: 8,310 Notes: The title refers to a few things in this story. I kind of glossed over what happens once Jabba’s palace becomes Boba’s palace because I think The Book of Boba Fett will cover that a lot better than anything I could come up with. This also ended up being a lot more than I set out for it to be. Originally it was going to be just shy Din with a crush on the reader, but it turned into an exploration of what might happen after The Rescue. There’s grief and uncertainty and soft, sweet Din Djarin at the centre of it. Reblogs appreciated! Warnings: Grief/mourning, implied death, canon-typical violence, mutual pining, older man/younger woman (not a massive age difference, but still there), non-explicit sexual content.

masterlist (main) || masterlist (din djarin)

If one was to ask Din Djarin how it was he ended up back on Tatooine in the days following Grogu’s departure, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them. Only that he made it there.

It had been an unspoken thing with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand. Din had needed a lift to Moff Gideon’s lightcruiser, it only made sense that he would need a ride to wherever his next destination would be.

“Djarin?” asks Fett. Din looks at the other Mandalorian despondently, helmet still off. “Where is it that I’m taking you?” Din just shrugs.

Boba and Fennec exchange a glance, Fennec’s responding look a promise to fill in Boba at a later time. “Where’s the little one?” he continues. Fennec shakes her head subtly.

“A Jedi,” Din mutters. Fett raises a brow. “A Jedi took him. It’s where he’s supposed to be.” His eyes still glazed with unshed tears, his voice thick with emotion.

“Mando,” Cara says, placing a consoling hand on Din’s shoulder. “Din,” she corrects herself, “c’mon back to Nevarro. You can get your bounty on Gideon, regroup with Karga.”

It’s a good idea, Din can’t deny it. But there’s nothing for him on Nevarro. “Or maybe Sorgan? You can see if that nice, beautiful widow is still there?”

That is an equally good suggestion. But -

“No,” Din rasps. He shakes his head, repeating himself. “No.”

Cara sighs, not expecting resistance from Din. “Well, you can’t stay here. At least get your bounty from the New Republic. And then you can do whatever you like. Take a break, relax! After all that you’ve been through? You deserve it.”

So, Din goes to the New Republic, who is surprised and most grateful for this bounty. Moff Gideon says nothing the entire time, simply watches as the marshal counts out the credits for Din before placing them in a pouch; it’s more money than Din has ever seen in his life. More money than he knows what to do with.

There’s not much he knows what to do with in general these days. But, as Cara Dune asks again what he wants to do, he turns to Fett and Shand. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“Tatooine. I have unfinished business there, in Mos Eisley,” replies Fett. Din doesn’t know if he can face Peli again so soon after losing Grogu. But he likes the idea of laying low, at least for a little while.

“Can you drop me in Mos Pelgo?”

And so, after insisting that Boba and Fennec both get a cut of the bounty money (it took much insisting on Din’s part, saying that he wouldn’t have been able to get Moff Gideon without them and for looking out for the kid - he still wouldn’t say Grogu’s name), Din ended up in the place it seemed like he had only just left. Mos Pelgo.

The small mining village looks more prosperous than he had left it. With the krayt dragon no longer a threat to the villagers, they’ve been able to expand and grow, the possibility of being wiped out by a monster no longer a concern. The tenuous truce with the Tusken Raiders has also been a large help. Now the villagers can live in peace not having to worry about another needless conflict.

It’s only been a few months since he and Cobb Vanth and the villagers and the Tuskens had taken down the dragon, but everyone still recognizes Din when he steps off the Slave I when Boba and Fennec drop him off. He and Fett have become friends, so he promises to stay in touch with the other armoured man before he and Fennec make their way towards Jabba’s Palace on the Dune Sea. Cara had been called back to Nevarro to do the final paperwork on Moff Gideon’s arrest.

Leaving Din alone.

----

It isn’t long until he finds the cantina again. He needs a kriffing drink or something. He needs somewhere to sleep and somewhere to hide. Get his bearings. Maybe there’s an inn above the cantina like there is in Mos Eisley. Din can’t help but be doubtful of that as he mulls it over. He supposes it can’t hurt to ask. The Weequay bartender still stands behind the bar, same as last time. Recognition flashes across the barman’s face instantly. “Good day, sir!” he says excitedly, overcome to be seeing the hero of Mos Pelgo. Din wants to crawl into a hole.

Instead of doing just that, he greets the Weequay. “I’m looking for somewhere to stay. Is there an inn or home where I might be able to do that?” he asks.

The Weequay bites on his lip in contemplation. “The Marshal might know.”

Din nods. “And where can I find the Marshal?” he wants to know. But he doesn’t have to look far, because sure enough, Marshal Cobb Vanth steps into the cantina.

Vanth does a double take when he sees Din. He’s wearing the same red shirt and brown trousers, the red scarf to protect against the sand storms of Tatooine wrapped loosely around his neck. “Well, I didn’t ‘spect to see you around these parts again, partner,” greets the marshal. He looks around for Grogu, but comes up short. “Where’s the little guy?”

Din can only sigh. “Long story. Part of why I’m here.”

The two men sit. “What’s going on?” asks Cobb, taking a sip of the cerulean spotchka he’s ordered for himself.

Din avoids the question. “Town looks good. Better than the last time I was here.”

Vanth nods. “Thanks to you and the sand people. Where’s the little guy?” he asks again.

Looking down, Din ponders his words. “I was quested to bring him to one of his kind. A Jedi.”

The rest can go unsaid; it doesn’t take Cobb Vanth long to put two and two together. “And you found one.”

A rueful chuckle. “More like he found us,” replies Din, “and that’s not even the half of it.” He figures, what the hell? And begins to tell the story, albeit in a condensed way, everything that’s happened since the attack on the krayt dragon. He notes how Cobb blanches when he mentions Boba Fett. Clearly he’s aware of the fierce warrior.

“Well then,” says Cobb once Din finishes his story. “It sounds like you got more money than the Maker. What’re you doin’ in a place like this?”

Beneath the helmet, Din licks his lips. “I don’t have a ship, I am apparently the rightful heir to a kingdom I don’t even want, my kid is gone —” He stops short, realizing that it’s the first time he’s referred to Grogu as his kid.

Why didn’t I refer to him that from the beginning? Din asks himself.

Clearing his throat after a moment, hoping the emotions that are still very raw don’t bleed into his voice, he continues. “I just need a place to stay and gather my bearings. And maybe find a ship. Is there an inn or somewhere I can stay?” Din asks.

Cobb Vanth understands. Not completely, but he can see why the Mandalorian needs his space. He thinks for a minute. “No inn really to speak of,” he admits ruefully. He puts his hands up in surrender. “It’s a small town. No real need for one. We ain’t exactly Mos Eisley.”

Din sighs. “It doesn’t have to be an inn. Just somewhere where I can… I don’t know, figure things out.”

Cobb snaps his fingers suddenly. “I know just the place. So long as you don’t mind a roommate.” He can practically see Din’s raised eyebrows through the helmet and raises his hands in surrender again. “It’s a big ol’ house and she needs help with upkeep. I think the two of you would be thick as thieves. If it don’t work out, you can yell at me later.” But the glint of Cobb’s eyes tells Din he doesn’t think he’ll be yelled at.

Din sighs again. “Who is she?” he asks in resignation.

Telling Din your name, Cobb dives into explaining who you are. “She’s kind and she’s fierce and she’s…” Cobb pauses, thinking for the right word. “Sad? No, not quite that. Lonely, maybe. Well, and a bit sad, too. Her folks were prisoners of the Empire. I watched the hope fade from her eyes as the years passed and they never came back.” Cobb paused, clearing the lump that had formed in his throat. Clearly you, or your parents meant something to the Marshal of Mos Pelgo. “Anyway,” Cobb continues, “she’s a fixer. She likes fixin’ things up. Maybe she can help you fix up a ship or something.”

Din nods. “Sure. That could work,” he agrees.

Cobb smiles at his friend. “Thought you’d say that. C’mon, I’ll bring you over.”

----

As it turns out, your father was Cobb Vanth’s best friend, Din discovers. A cascade of empathy waves over the Mandalorian at both your and Cobb’s loss.

Cobb brings Din to your house on the outskirts of Mos Pelgo; Cobb was right - it’s a big, old house, too much for one person. It had become yours when your parents didn’t come back. Your siblings, who moved to Mos Eisley, hadn’t wanted it.

Cobb knocks lightly on the front door. “Anyone home?” he calls redundantly; he saw your speeder parked at the back of the house, you were home.

The front door swings open after a moment. You give Cobb a hug as you greet him. Din wonders if the marshal feels at all responsible for you, given that you’re his best friend’s daughter.

You’re younger than Din is. Somewhere between five and ten years younger. It’s hard to tell, what with the harsh suns of Tatooine aging people faster than other places. But you’re beautiful. “Who’s this?” you ask Cobb, glancing over at Din. You’ve never seen anyone wear head-to-toe armour. He looks intimidating, but you think that you can take him if it comes down to it.

Cobb makes the introductions. “This is the man who helped with the krayt dragon a few months back…” You nod; you’d been out of town when that had happened, visiting your brother in Mos Eisley. Cobb goes to introduce Din, but he pauses, looking at Din. “I don’t think I know your name, partner.” He chuckles.

“Mando’s fine,” Din supplies. Too many people have seen his face in recent days, he’s not eager to share his identity with many people.

Instead of frowning like most people would upon such a generic introduction, you give a smile. Mando, it seems, is enough of an introduction for you. At least for the time being. You extend your hand. “So, you’re the one sharing this house with me?” you ask. Din nods.

“Looks that way. The marshal said if it doesn’t work out, we can yell at him,” he deadpans.

You smile more genuinely now. “That is if we haven’t killed each other first,” you say. Din stares before you clarify, “that was a joke.”

“Oh. Right. Funny.” Out of the corner of his eye, Din can see Cobb trying to keep a straight face. Your own expression is slightly nonplussed, but you’re fighting a smile as well as you nod. Din sighs to himself.

“On that note, I should head back to town,” Cobb says. “I’ll check back in a few days, make sure you haven’t killed each other.” Chuckling to himself as Din groans quietly.

It’s going to be great.

You and Din kind of look awkwardly at each other for a moment. “Do you want something to eat? My cooking isn't the best, but I can make you something if you’re hungry,” you offer, bouncing up and down on your feet.

“That’s very kind of you,” says Din, accepting your offer of food. He’s starving, not remembering the last time he had anything to eat that wasn’t a ration bar.

You lead him in through the door and Din can see why Cobb said you needed help. It’s a falling apart house. You hum to yourself as you make something to eat for the Mandalorian.

“So what’s the deal with the armour?” you ask. Din is so used to the question, he isn’t even surprised when you ask. He explains as best as he can, omitting that he has taken it off, quite recently. “So you can’t take it off at all?” you ask, once Din has explained it.

He pauses. “Well, no, that’s not true. I can take it off in front of members of my clan.”

Your eyebrow raises. “Clan?” you echo, genuinely curious.

“Family. Children, spouses. Parents,” explains Din.

“And how many people are in your clan?”

You notice his hesitation. Kriff, maybe you shouldn’t have asked. But then, the Mandalorian says, “I was part of a clan of two.”

Was?

You don’t ask and he doesn’t say anything more. Finally, you say, “Well, I can eat elsewhere if that makes you more comfortable.”

Din’s about to protest, it’s your house after all, he doesn’t want you to make amendments for him, but you’ve already set his plate down in front of him, taking your own plate to the sitting room that’s off the kitchen.

You must have been lying or very humble when you said that you aren’t much of a cook. Din can’t remember the last time he’s had something so delicious to eat. It’s perfectly seasoned, not too over-or-underdone. Din practically inhales it.

He makes sure to make enough noise at the sink so you know it’s okay to return to the kitchen. “Was it any good?”

The Mandalorian nods. “Yes, thank you.”

You smile at him again. “You’re welcome. Let me, um, show you where you can sleep.” You lead him up a squeaky, rickety staircase. There are a few sleeping rooms on the upper level. One is yours, the other is for him, the other two are neglected. “Here. I think it might be big enough. There’s a chest of drawers here for any clothing — do you have any other clothing or is that it?” He doesn’t reply. “Anyway, I figure when you go to sleep, you can put your armour in this closet if you like. Uh, ‘fresher is down the hall. Is the bed big enough?”

Din wants to laugh. “My last bed was a slab in a cramped sleeping compartment that was barely big enough to fit me. I had to put the kid in a —” He stops himself.

And you realize the was in his earlier explanation. “I was part of a clan of two.”

“Right,” you say quietly, suddenly beginning to understand. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Let me know if you need anything.” Leaving the Mandalorian to his thoughts.

----

A few days later, as promised, Cobb Vanth returns to see how things are going. You and Mando haven’t really spoken much since the first day. You’ve been giving Mando his space.

“How’re things going?” asks Cobb.

“Well, I’ve never had a quieter tenant in my life,” you start with a sigh.

Cobb nods. “He’s not one for chit-chat. Very to the point.”

“I noticed,” you reply, glancing into the house where Din is looking at what needs to be repaired. One of the few things he said to you on the second day was how he was going to help you with the house. You’d been surprised but grateful.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine,” says Cobb and you nod.

The Mandalorian and Vanth have a quick conversation that you don’t bother to attempt overhearing before Cobb asks if there’s anything that either you or Mando needs. You shake your head. “If there’s anything I think of, I’ll let you know.”

“Actually,” Mando pauses. Cobb turns back. “I’m in need of a ship. Do you know where I can possibly find one?”

The marshal pauses for a minute. “Nowhere in Mos Pelgo, that’s for certain. And then you got the Dune Sea, which… good luck there, brother,” he chuckles. “Probably your best bet is Mos Eisley.”

Din was afraid of that. As much as he likes Peli, he’s not sure if he’s ready to see her just yet. You must read his mind or see his discomfort that is radiating off him in waves. “Looks like we’re going to Mos Eisley,” you say.

Beneath the helmet, Din raises his eyebrows. “We?” he asks. You nod.

“We. You’re helping me with this hellhole of a house. Least I can do is help you with your ship.”

“Do you even know what to do to repair a ship?” It comes out more bluntly than Din intended. You just roll your eyes before he has a chance to apologize.

“‘Course I do. Look at where I live.” Then, on seeing Din’s hesitation, you add, “We’ll give it a couple of weeks. I want to make some headway on this kriffing thing,” jerking your head in the direction of the house.

He nods appreciatively and you nod in return. You don’t know why Din doesn’t want to go to Mos Eisley to find himself a ship right away, if this is only supposed to be a temporary thing. But you won’t pry. If he wants to talk about it, he’ll talk about it.

You offer Cobb dinner, but he waves you off, saying that it’s Sabacc night at the cantina and he needs to get back at Weequay for wiping the floor with him last time. “Son of a mudscuffer cheats, I’m sure of it,” he mutters darkly.

It’s just you and Mando for dinner again; despite his protests, you still won’t eat with him in the same room. He’s grateful as always. Wants to return the favour of cooking one night.

“How are you so good at this?” you ask, later that evening as Mando helps you with the stairs. He shrugs noncommittally. “Do you ever get warm under the helmet?” you ask.

Din considers a moment. “Sometimes. It has a cooling vent.”

“Huh,” you muse. It certainly isn’t boring with him, that much you can say. And you carry on, restructuring the stairs.

It’s like Cobb said, he’s not one for idle chit-chat if he can avoid it. You can’t help but wonder how much of that is him and his personality, and how much of it is a result of the life he’s lived. He’s stoic. Reserved. But there’s a kindness to him. A gentleness that can’t be denied. A loneliness, deep within him. You don’t know how you can tell, given that you can’t see his face. And you’re sure that he’s trying to shield that part of himself the way he shields his face from the world. But it radiates off him in waves. All you can do is be kind and patient with him, as so many have been kind and patient with you.

“So does the Weequay cheat?” asks Din suddenly as you hand him a tool.

A grin crawls onto your lips. “Hard to tell. I think it’s just Cobb being Cobb, but he does seem to win a lot. Like, it can’t all be down to luck and strategy.”

Din nods, considering, quiet for a moment. You think that’s the end of the conversation. But then— “I bet you he cheats.”

Your responding laugh, startled though it may be, sounds nice.

The two of you work in tandem for a few more hours, silence filled by his grunts and sighs and your on-and-off chitter-chat.

----

Before too long, the stairs are in safer condition, something that Din’s relieved about. He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself on them if it can be avoided.

As the weeks go by, you and Din get to know each other better. It’s still quiet, but it’s less stilted than it had once been. He’s kind and he’s patient and he just wants to do what’s right. But he still wants to hide. Not once have you seen his face.

You did, however, see a sliver of his wrist when he did the washing up after dinner one night last week. You’d come into the kitchen to get something to drink before going to bed as he was rinsing a plate off. The sight of a man decked head to toe in Mandalorian armour, cloak and all, doing the dishes, was an image that you wouldn’t soon forget. You didn’t know if you were allowed to see any part of him, even if it was a passing glimpse. His gloves were on the counter next to the sink. His fingers wipe the soap from the plate under the running water. It’s not something you’d thought of that often; you knew that he took the armour off in his own privacy, of course he did. But you thought that you would never see him without any of the armour, even if it was a small little glimpse of his hands. They’re big and strong-looking.

Of course they are, you chided yourself, he’s a Mandalorian, he’s strong.

Before your presence was made clear, you skittered away from the kitchen, not wanting to embarrass him. You could get your drink later.

“I was thinking about going to Mos Eisley sometime next week,” he says, pulling you from your thoughts. You glance up from your soup at him, leaning against the door jamb of the room you’re eating in.

Giving the soup a perfunctory stir, you clear your throat before speaking. “Yeah?” you start. He nods. “What day were you thinking? It’d probably be an overnight visit.” He shrugs.

“Whatever day works best for you. I was just thinking… We’ve gotten a pretty good dent in the repairs done. And I was thinking it would be good to have a ship. Even if we have to fix it up.” It’s the most you’ve ever heard from the man in a single sentence in the month and a half that he’s been here. “Uh, sure,” you say, ignoring the mysterious pang at the thought that he’s leaving at some point. “How about the beginning of the week? Then that way we can spend the week fixing it up if it needs fixing,” you suggest.

Mando nods and you go back to your soup as he heads back to the kitchen.

“Din,” you moan as he nuzzles his face into your neck, hitting that spot that makes you come undone deep inside.

You’re in his bed. Wrapped around him, wound so tightly, impossibly close, like you can’t get close enough to him. Your hands buried in his messy hair.

“You’re such a good girl, taking me so well. You always take me so well, mesh’la,” Din sputters into your neck, his own breathing ragged as you press kisses to wherever your lips will land.

“Din, I’m going to —”

Din wakes with a jolt. His heart is beating so fast, he’s sure it will burst free from his chest. The blanket is pooled around his legs, sweat beading at the back of his neck as he processes what had caused him to wake with such a start.

His skin is warm, like he’s spent time out in the Tatooine suns. It takes several minutes for his heartbeat to calm down. Rubbing a hand across his face, he forces himself to calm down. It was just a dream. He’s had dreams like that before, everyone has. It’s not a big deal.

It’s dark still. He’s not too sure what time it is. It’s late, that much he knows.

Perhaps inevitably, his thoughts stray to you.

You’re so kind. With a kindness that is genuine and rare in a galaxy like this. And you’re brave. And strong. The way your whole face lights up when you smile. He feels a warmth, thinking about your smile. Just in the cavity of his chest, but it spreads to the rest of his body. And you’re always thinking of him and considering his needs. He admires you, that much is for certain. There’s a kindredness between you and him and it’s only been seven weeks but he feels like he knows you, and —

“Oh, kriffing hell,” he mutters to himself.

Suddenly that dream makes a lot more sense.

----

You notice Din’s been acting a bit awkwardly the last couple of days. Or rather, more awkwardly than normal. Like he’s trying to keep his distance or something. You’re not too sure. Trying not to dwell on it, you focus on the task at hand: trying to find him a ship.

Today, you’re making the trek to Mos Eisley. With any luck, his friend will be able to find him one.

In all the time that you’ve known Mando, you haven’t learned very much about him. You’re sure he knows more about you than you know about him. You suppose there’s a reason for it. Whatever the reason, unless he’s bothered to tell you, is none of your concern.

You only have the one speeder so you’re forced to share. Mando offers to drive. “Need the practice,” he says. You just nod and climb on behind him, noticing how he tenses for a fraction of a second when you put your arms around his waist. Shaking your head, you wave the thought away. He’s just not used to anyone touching him, you reason.

The twin suns of Tatooine are just beginning to rise as you begin your journey. It’s a long way to Mos Eisley.

Nothing is said during the journey, not that anything would be heard over the engine of the speeder bike.

At midday, you’ve reached the Dune Sea. In the distance, you can see what was once Jabba’s palace as you stop for a break. You’ve been going for a number of hours and need to stretch your legs. “Where were you?” you ask around a bite of ration bar, “when the Empire fell?”

Mando pauses for a moment in contemplation. “That was six years ago,” he says, thinking. He was thirty when the Empire fell. “Just starting in the Guild of Bounty Hunters on Nevarro. I’d been bounty hunting for a while, but Karga had been wanting me to join the Guild for some time.”

You chew on your ration bar before taking a swig of water from the canteen, giving a hard swallow. For many, the end of the war had been a time of celebration. “Not for me,” you mutter to yourself.

Din doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know if you know that Cobb Vanth told him what happened to your parents. “It was bittersweet for me, too,” he says. You glance at him. “My parents were killed during the Clone Wars. I was raised by Mandalorians after that. I sometimes wonder what my life would have been like if that hadn’t happened.” He shifts so that he’s closer to you.

You smile wanly at him and just as you’re about to say something to him, or maybe he’s about to say something to you, a glint in the distance, growing ever closer catches your eye. “What—?” you point in the general direction for Mando to see. He pulls out a pair of binocs.

“Dank ferrik,” he mumbles. “It’s hunters.” He groaned inwardly, remembering the last time he’d encountered hunters in Tatooine.

If you put one mark on the child, there’s no place you will be able to hide from me.

“Do we have time to outrun them?” you ask, your hand flexing for the blaster at your hip. You never go anywhere without it. You already know the answer, though. There’s no outrunning hunters like this. Mando’s responding headshake is all the confirmation you need. It’s your turn to sigh.

It’s a minute, maybe two, before the hunters are in your territory, just as you’re putting your things back in your pack. It’s not an evenly-matched fight, four of them against two of you. But you’re with a Mandalorian, and that has to count for something. Not to mention your own fighting skills.

One of the hunters goes to reach for you and before Mando can react, too busy taking care of the leader, your elbow connects with his face, hard. So hard, in fact, you can hear the crunch of his nose breaking. Mando can only watch for a moment in awe before you grab for the blaster he hadn’t noticed, holstered at your hip. You make easy work of the bandit before starting to do something similar with the other one still standing. He makes a run for it.

Shooting after him with your blaster is useless at this range. Even Mando can’t reach him at that distance, skilled though he is with a blaster. The other three bandits lay lifeless on the sandy ground. As you watch the other hunter run, a sudden blaster bolt, fired from somewhere up above, hits him running. The bandit falls to the ground in a heap.

You and Mando exchange a glance before you go back to the speeder bike. “Are you okay?” you ask.

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you?” Worry laces his voice.

You nod, and then say, “Mmm-hmmm.” Still feeling his helmeted gaze on you. You turn back to look at him.

“Um, you, uh, you fight good,” Mando stutters.

A flummoxed grin makes its way onto your lips. “Uh. Thanks. You, too.”

What the hell was that? Din chides himself. You fight good?

“Who do you suppose our friend is?” you ask. “The one that took care of that last hunter?”

Mando shrugs. “Maker only knows.” As he says that, an armoured man on a jetpack similar to the one that Din has lands a few feet away from you.

“It was about time I fixed that jetpack. Nearly cost me my life a few years back,” says the man.

“Fett.” Mando sounds relieved.

Fett? As in Boba Fett?

“Wasn’t expecting to see you still on Tatooine. I thought you’d take up marshal Dune’s suggestion of going to Sorgan and finding that nice widow.”

Something in your chest pangs. Of course. That’s why he was getting a ship. But just as you’re waiting for Mando to confirm that —

“No,” he starts. “No. That life is not one for me.” You frown in confusion. If he’s not getting the ship to return to her, then why is he so anxious to get one?

Fett nods, understanding completely, before his attention turns to you. “And who’s this little one? That was quite the impressive fighting. You ever consider coming to work for me?”

You stammer out a response that you hope is logical. You see Mando shift slightly out of the corner of your eye. Fett just chuckles. And it’s then that you realize. Boba Fett isn’t wearing his helmet. He has similar armour to that of Din’s, though his green, yellow and red in colour compared to Din’s silver beskar. “Why…?” you start before deciding against asking that question.

“I am surprised to see you still here. And so close to Jabba’s palace,” says Mando.

“Not Jabba’s palace anymore, Djarin. C’mon. We’ve got much to catch up on.”

----

Din can’t sleep. He tells himself that it has everything to do with sleeping in a strange bed. Boba and Fennec had insisted that the two of you stay the night before heading onto Mos Eisley to find a ship for him.

He remembers when it was Jabba’s palace. It didn’t surprise him that Fett had taken over and began his own empire with Fennec at his side.

No, it has nothing to do with the strangeness of the bed and everything to do with you. He’s been so adamant about getting a ship and continuing on as a bounty hunter. But he can’t imagine a life without you.

He’s considered asking you to join him, but he can’t take you away from the one thing you have left of your family. If he had anything left of his parents, he wouldn’t want to be parted from it. Although it has only been close to two months, he doesn’t want to part ways with you. He finds himself wanting to be near you. And he doesn’t know what to do about that.

There’s a knock on the door suddenly and Din sits up. Grabbing his helmet, he opens the door to see Boba standing there.

“Djarin,” he greets. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” Though he can tell that Din hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep. “Come on. You need to talk.” His tone brooks no denial and Din has no choice but to follow his friend.

“What’s going on?” asks Fett as he pours two generous snorts of spotchka. Din just looks at him with his helmet. Fett waves it away. “I’ve already seen your face, mate.”

With a sigh, Din pulls off the helmet.

“You and I, mate, we’re different from other Mandos. We follow our own creeds,” Boba says sagely. And Din supposes that it’s right. “Has your friend ever seen your face?”

“No,” says Din, taking a sip of the spotchka in front of him. Fett doesn’t say anything, waiting for Din to continue. “I—I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.”

Boba Fett nods. “I gathered that. Then why are you hiding from her?”

Din shrugs. “Because I…” he inhales sharply, “... I think I’m destined for a life of solitude. I lost the kid. And I’m just… I don’t know,” he says, admitting these things for the first time.

“Does she know?” Boba doesn’t need to clarify.

Grogu. Mand’alor. The Creed.

He also doesn’t need to see Din shaking his head in response. He already knows the answer. “Djarin, I can see that she cares for you. I don’t know in what capacity, but she cares. Maybe it won’t be as bad as you seem to have it in your head.” The two men sat in silence for a minute. Then — “You really didn’t tell her that you're the rightful heir to Mandalore?” Din can’t help but smile ruefully as he shakes his head.

It isn’t long until Din retires back in his room. He feels a little better, his head clearer. He should probably tell you about the kid - Grogu, he forces himself. His Mandalorian creed and how he broke it. And maybe, just maybe, how he feels for you.

He does manage to get some sleep, because the next thing he knows, there’s a tap on the door. It isn’t Fett. He knows that knock. It’s you.

“Mando? Er— Djarin?” Din can’t help but chuckle. He’ll have to tell you his real name one of these days. “Um, we should probably get going.”

“All right, mesh’la. I’ll be right out.” And then he freezes. He hadn’t meant to call you beautiful out loud. You don’t say anything from the other side of the door, so you probably don’t know what mesh’la means, or you’ve already returned to your room.

Djarin is quiet this morning, you notice. Well, more quiet than normal. Pensive. As you say goodbye to Boba Fett, someone you’ve grown to really like over the past twelve hours, you notice him saying something quietly to Djarin. “Just consider it,” he mumbles quietly.

You take a turn driving the speeder bike. “It’s Din,” he says over the roar of the engine.

“What’s Din?” you ask.

“My name. Din Djarin.” You feel oddly honoured that he trusts you enough to share his name. It suits him, you think.

“Oh. Do you want me to call you that?” You feel rather than see Din shrug.

“Call me whatever you like, just don’t call me Din in public.” You can remember that. Respect it easily enough.

It’s another few hours until you make it to Mos Eisley. “Do you think you’ll go see your siblings?” asks Din. You shake your head, not really wanting to.

“Hopefully she’ll have something that’ll work,” Din says as you pull up to the hangar. “Peli’s kind of an odd character, but surprisingly resourceful.” That just about sums up most people on Tatooine these days.

“Oh! It’s you! Where’s the Razor Crest?” asks a woman with wild curly hair. This must be Peli Motto.

“Got destroyed by Moff Gideon,” Din says simply. You gawk at him for a second. How in the hell had he gotten himself involved with one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy?

“Oh, well, you win some you lose some,” says Peli. “Where’s the little one?”

This one is harder to answer. “Reunited with one of his kind,” Din says roughly.

“So why are you here?” She doesn’t mean it rudely, just curiously. You think you might like Peli Motto, but you’re not sure.

“I need a ship.” Peli scoffs before bursting into laughter.

“With your funds?” she says in between laughter, “good luck. It’s a miracle the last ship wasn’t running on fumes.”

Din sighs. You see why he waited to come here. “I recently came into a handsome amount of money. I can spare no expense.” Peli’s eyebrows raise again.

“Well, when you put it like that. Oh! Get out of the way!” she says at one of her pit droids. “Follow me,” she says, leading the two of you across the hangar. “I don’t have much, but I think I have what you’re looking for if you don’t mind doing a little maintenance and fine-tuning.” Din nods, having expected this.

“I think this one is the only one that would be worthwhile. It’s not new, but she’s got a lotta life still left in her.”

Din gives the ship a long once over. At one point he calls you over from where you stand watching to ask for your opinion. “What do you think?”

You take it in. “It’s nice,” you say eventually with a nod. “I think it’ll do.”

Din nods. “We’ll take it,” he says to Peli, pulling out his bag of credits. “How much do I owe you?” expecting her to haggle the cost. But to his surprise, she tells him the market value of the ship and knocks off a couple hundred credits.

The we hangs between you for the entire journey home.

Home, Din muses.

----

A few weeks go by. You and Din continue your maintenance of the house and the ship. The ship doesn’t really need too much maintenance. Din suspects that Peli was just angling to get more credits.

One of the first things that Din does once the ship is officially in working condition is take a small metal ball — a knob from a gear of some sort, you think — and strings it, hanging it above the console.

He’s kind and he’s attentive and he’s just so kriffing good. You know that you’re falling for him. Which is a mistake because he’s leaving. You don’t know why he hasn’t already, his ship is good for travel. But you don’t ask. You don’t want him to think you don’t want him around, when that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

Again, Din can’t sleep. He has a lot on his mind. Grogu, the darksaber and all that comes with it, his creed. You.

He finds himself getting up and putting his helmet on. He leaves his armour off, just going out in his under armour clothes.

Trying to be quiet on the stairs, he nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees you sitting in the semi-dark of the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep either?” you ask quietly.

“No,” he replies.

“C’mon. I got an idea.” Leaving him no choice but to follow you outside. You lead him to the back of the house. A small fire pit sits, ready to be used. It looks like it hasn’t been used in quite some time. “You don’t happen to have your flamethrower with you, do you?”

Din shakes his head, having left it upstairs. As he’s about to offer to go get it, you shake it off. “I got it,” you say, your tongue sticking out through your teeth. “That’s the nice thing about Tatooine sometimes, it’s so dry it doesn’t take much to get a fire started when you want to.” One more flick of your wrist and the rocks you have and a fire is started. “There we go.” You sit back on the blanket you brought out. Din sits next to you.

“You know,” you say, staring into the fire, “it’s still dark enough that if you wanted to take your helmet off, I wouldn’t be able to see you. Might help you relax a little. Having the warmth of the flame against your face instead of against all that beskar.”

It’s said in a way that makes Din know you mean no pressure. And you’re right, it is dark enough. You don’t expect him to take it off, but he does all the same, placing it down in the sand between you.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask tentatively, still looking ahead into the flames.

Din’s quiet for so long, you think he might not answer. But after a long few moments — “Did you know I had a kid? A foundling?” he asks. You nod, remembering him mentioning it a few months ago. “Yeah, his name was Grogu. That little ball I hung up in the cockpit? That was his favourite thing on the ship. I think it reminded him of me.” His voice is tight, even without the restriction of the helmet. “He was originally a bounty. I was supposed to take him to this client… who ended up working for Moff Gideon. But I couldn’t… couldn’t go through with it. He was just so vulnerable and just a child. A Jedi, but a child all the same. He was my kid. Not that I ever—” He sighs and considers himself for a few minutes. “Moff Gideon tracked us down a few times, which is how the Razor Crest got destroyed. Demolished, more like. Anyway…” and he tells you the whole story, of how he had the Mandalorian creed, something that he’s been questioning for a while; getting the darksaber and the title of Mand’alor. He talks and you listen. As you had talked and he had listened. “... and ever since then, I’ve been on Tatooine. And you know the rest,” he finishes.

It’s a long moment before you speak, collecting your thoughts. He hasn’t told you anything of how he feels for you. Now is not the time for that. “I’m glad that you told me. Thank you for telling me.”

Din nods in the darkness, you can only see the silhouette of his face. “You were right,” he says quietly after a minute or two. “The warmth of the flames is nice on my face.” You smile wanly.

“What colour are your eyes?” you ask suddenly. “You don’t have to answer that,” you tack on, “just curious.”

We just call him brown eyes.

“Brown.”

A companionable silence hangs over the two of you. Bravely, you reach out in the almost-darkness and grab his hand. It’s calloused and firm and it dwarfs yours, but it’s also soft and gentle. What these hands have done, you think.

You sit there, like that.

----

The next day, Din announces that he’s leaving soon and your heart breaks. “Oh. Um, okay. Yeah. All right,” you manage to stutter.

You walk out of the room, up the stairs and into your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you, leaving Din flummoxed and confused in the kitchen. He sighs. That didn’t go the way he thought it would. He thought you would be happy to have him out of his hair.

Then he remembers Boba’s words.

She cares for you, Djarin.

“Din Djarin, you idiot,” he mutters. Gathering his courage, he makes his way up the stairs.

Your door is shut. He knocks, three raps against the wood of the door. “What?” you reply, your voice thick with tears.

“Can I come in?”

You don’t say anything. “Please, cyar’ika,” he continues, calling you sweetheart for the first time out loud. “You didn’t let me finish.”

A moment of consideration and then your door swings open. Your eyes are tear-swollen and your face streaked with tears. “I’m sorry,” you manage to say. “I’m just— So used to having you around and I don’t want you to go.”

Din’s heart squeezes. Maybe he isn’t bound for a life of solitude after all. “I’m used to having you around, too. And that’s why I was wanting to ask you if you maybe wanted to join me.”

Sniffling, you raise your eyebrows, tears stopping in their tracks as you take in what he is saying. “Y-you want me to come with you? But what about all your plans?”

“What plans?” he returns, “my only plans involve travelling for the time being. Figuring out what to do with this thing,” he gestures to the darksaber clipped to his utility belt. “Besides, I’m, uh, quite used to being around you, too.”

You see through his nervousness, giving a watery laugh. “You’re used to me, huh?” you can’t help but tease.

“What I mean to say, uh, you’re quite, um, nice to be with. And — and I enjoy your company.” Your heart beat picks up as you realize what he’s trying to say. “I enjoy your company as well.”

Din’s own heart stutters. “I—But it’s more than that. You are quite kind and caring and I want to spend more time with you. I-if you’ll let me.”

Deciding to put him out of his misery, you lean up on your tiptoes and kiss him on the forehead of his helmet, your lips leaving a mark when you pull back, a shy but sweet smile on your face. “I’ll let you. I love you, too,” you say as Din presses his forehead against yours, holding you close.

“You missed,” Din says after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“You missed,” he repeats, pulling his helmet off. It’s the first time you’ve truly seen him. Deep brown eyes, a pronounced nose, lips in a slight pout. Stubble decorating the lower half of his face. He’s beautiful. And then he’s kissing you. And you’re kissing him. And everything is fine.

“But what about the house?” he murmurs against your neck as he’s hugging you close to him.

You card your fingers through his hair that’s so soft. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I never really liked this house to begin with. But it’s mine. And I think maybe we should keep it on as sort of a home base if we ever visit Tatooine. I can’t just drop my life entirely here.”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to,” says Din before kissing you again. You can get used to this man kissing.

“We’ll figure it out.”

----

Travelling with Din is unlike anything you’ve ever done before. Every destination is different. You never thought you’d see the galaxy before, but now you get to do so with the man you love.

It had taken very little convincing of Cobb Vanth when you had told him you were joining Din. He just raised his eyebrows at the use of Mando’s real name. He gave you a knowing look, wrapped you in a hug and made you promise to visit every now and again.

It’s been three months since you joined Din on his new ship. It’s apparently more roomy than his previous one. There’s still only one sleeping compartment, but it’s got more room. It’s nice to cuddle with him, wrapped up in his warmth.

And tonight there would be more than just cuddling.

It starts with kissing, as it always does. But you’re both more insistent this time.

“Din,” you whisper against his lips. “I—I want you.”

“Mesh’la, I’ve never felt this way with anyone.” And you feel the evidence of that against your stomach as Din presses kisses into your skin. Desperation takes over, but he’s gentle as he makes his way inside, relishing your groan in his ear. You’ve wanted this, wanted him, for so long, since you first met maybe.

“Din,” you mutter, “Din.”

“I’m here, cyare. I love you.” You’re caught within each other, wanting to be nowhere else as you reach the peak at the same time. “You take me so well, my love. My good girl.”

You slump against him, sweaty damp skin to skin. Din keeps you close, not wanting to be too far away as he mumbles into your ear as you drift off to sleep.

It’s like that most nights after that night.

Din tells you more about his past and you do the same. He tells you more about Grogu. About his time as a mercenary. Your heart breaks for him as you listen to his stories about his parents. About losing Grogu. In turn you tell him about your childhood. About your parents. How they were well-known Rebel supporters that vanished one day. You both still have quiet days of grief and sadness, but the blow is lessened by each other’s company and understanding.

You plan to make your way back to Tatooine to visit Cobb and Boba and Fennec sometime in the next few months. It’s nice not having a plan but not having to live the same day over and over again. Maybe one day, Din suggests, you will be able to meet Grogu.

“I’m glad I met you, Din Djarin.” The words are whispered as you fall asleep against him one night on the ship, worn out after a long day of exploring.

He’s given more thought to the idea of re-claiming Mandalore, something he’ll only do with your support. It’s something you both have to carefully consider.

“Hmm…” says Din lazily, pressing a kiss to the side of your face just below your ear. “I wanted to tell you that, too.”

The End.

-- taglist in reblog

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #pedro pascal #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader

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supernaturalgirl20 · 3 years

Text

Breeding kink

Pairings: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, breeding kink.

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

He’d been touching you a lot more lately, brushing his gloved hand against you when you were out in public, caressing you in the safety of his cot. You weren’t complaining but you don’t know what has brought all this on.

You were both back on Sorgan with Grogu, a mini holiday since Grogu finished his training. You were currently out with Omera and her daughter Willa, cooking super. Din standing off to the side and he couldn’t hep but be entranced by you. He’s been hard all day and the sight of you with children, caring for them, was putting ideas in his head.

You’d just put Grogu down for the night and we’re making your way into the fresher when a pair of hands pull you towards a hard chest.

“Hey!”

“I need you riddur.”

Your hand wandered down to his bulge, “so you do.”

You turn in his arms and kiss him passionately, he moves you backwards until your legs hit the cot, where he quickly removes what little clothing you had on. Laying you back on the bed he kisses his way up your body sending shivers through you. He stops at your mound and buries his face in your curls, licking and sucking until you come all over his mouth. He wastes no time, lining up and slowly pushing inside you. He pulls out and thrusts back in and you moan into the cramped little room arching your back.

“Meshl’a so tight…”

You wrap your legs behind him urging him to move faster, harder.

“Gonna fill you full of my seed, gonna fuck you until it takes root, wanna….wanna have a baby…”

“God yes, Din please…fuck a baby into me.”

It’s like you’ve set a match under him, as he begins to pound into you over and over, again and again.

“Gonna look so beautiful swollen with my babe..”

He massages one breast while sucking on the nipple of the other. You moan out in pleasure.

“Please Din wanna have your baby….wanna have all your babies…fill me up..”

He grunts as he thrusts into you once more before spilling his seed inside you. When he pulls out, he rolls over to grab something before you feel something cool inserted into your cunt.

“I hope you don’t mind, it’s a plug. Don’t wanna waste any.”

You kiss him softly, “so your serious about this then, it wasn’t just a sex thing?”

He goes red and you smile at his cuteness.

“Hey I want to have a baby with you too. I love you Din.”

“I love you too. We will give it some time and then do it again.”

“You won’t hear me complain.”

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#pedro pascal #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin imagine

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beskar-cowboy · 3 years

Text

all is lost and nothing is sacred

(gif by @bestintheparsec obviously <3)

Part 3 of the Nowhere Girl Series

Summary: After returning the Child to the Jedi masters, Mando searches for purpose. Luckily, he runs into you again. (11.4k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: The Mandalorian x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, takes place after season 2, smut, dark!Mando, haunted!Mando, mentions of abuse, self-harm/suicide, possibly dub con idk????, canon typical violence, rough sex, mean sex, Mando threatens reader, hunter/prey dynamics, Mando is not super nice okay!, dirty talk, face fucking, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, degradation, one face slap, let me know if i missed anything!

Slave I is quiet as it takes off from Gideon’s light cruiser. No one speaks to the Mandalorian - what could they say?

We’re sorry you lost your son, but it's for the best.

We’re sorry you lost your creed, but it’s for the best.

We’re sorry you have nothing but an unwanted prize, an unwanted duty, but it’s for the best.

No, they couldn’t say that. So they say nothing and Mando says nothing back - brooding in suffocating silence - broken.

Mando just tells Boba to drop him off in Sorgan, he’ll find his own transportation after that - he’ll figure out how to get off the backwater planet himself, if he ever does.

Boba doesn’t object, he thinks to himself: Sorgan, what could possibly be there for a bounty hunter, for the new Mandalore?

But Boba doesn’t know about you.

They reach the planet in the late afternoon, on the cusp of evening as the sun goes golden. It reminds Mando of you, how you stood in the sun and glowed with your own radiance, giving the burning ball of gas and stardust a run for its money.

Everything reminds him of you, though.

Mando doesn’t say a word as he exits the ship, no final words to any of them. He lets the ship take off behind him, he wonders where they’re headed for a brief moment before the small krill village comes into view.

His eyes dart from one thing to the next - the calm, reflective blue of the lakes, the villagers harvesting, the children playing, you, you, you.

Where are you?

A woman looks up from her work in the water, Mando recognizes her face but she’s not you. It’s almost painful how much she isn’t, her face isn’t yours and Mando feels like he can’t breathe.

Omera.

“Hello.” She seems surprised but cheerful nonetheless. Mando nods at her.

“W-What are you doing here- I mean, welcome, but-” Mando would chuckle at how caught off guard she is but he knows he’s intimidating.

Bigger armour, beskar spear, jetpack, Darksaber. He knows he’s terrifying, he knows how broken he looks, like the helmet doesn’t fit right on his head anymore, like she and everyone else can see right through him.

Mando speaks your name and he sees the brief moment that Omera furrows her brows - confusion consuming her - before she straightens out her face again, concealing whatever it was she was just thinking. Fuck, he already knows.

He already knows you’re not here, she doesn’t even have to tell him.

Mando’s shoulders visibly sag, helmet looking around the village helplessly, like a lost loth cat.

You fucking- you fucking hunter, unstoppable force, you. Of course you didn’t listen to him.

Of course you didn’t fucking stay here like he pleaded you to, didn’t let your arm heal properly and now Mando’s suddenly picturing you dead in a ditch on some backwater planet due to infection with the life drained out of you, no color to your skin, dead where no one knows your name, your warmth. Dead.

“When?”

Omera stammers, maybe feigning confusion.

“When did she leave?” He demands.

“N-Not long after you. Maybe a week.”

Mando boils hot and putrid. He can feel his body vibrating, shaking with it. He clenches his fists aimlessly.

He could barely keep the kid in one place, could barely get him to sit still, to listen to him. How could he have expected you to listen to him - he didn’t really know you.

Despite- despite what he may have thought in private.

Voices unfamiliar echo in the helmet, pathetic, pathetic, die, failure, reverberate and bounce around like someone’s punched him in the head. Maybe he has a concussion from those Dark Troopers, when they tried to bash in his skull.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, coming back here. He’s embarrassed. He knows it’s pathetic, he knows.

Why would you have stayed here? He knew you wouldn’t, deep down he knew, he must have.

You couldn’t stay in Sorgan.

No matter how nice it was to spend your days by the water, surrounded by children and new friends, you didn’t belong there, you had more work to do and you couldn’t afford a vacation.

You don’t know if Mando actually expected you to listen to him, expected you to stay in one place for who knows how long, just waiting. But you couldn’t.

You have too much to do.

So you left when the week was up, just like you promised yourself.

You hopped on a transport near the cantina and found yourself on an unfamiliar planet with a familiar task - find the suppliers, then their supply, and reroute it to more deserving communities.

The first load you intercepted when you got back into the job, a heap of credits from some corrupt senator, was sent straight back to where you came from - Sorgan. You hope they don’t realize it was from you, you don’t see why they would but you just hope they don’t think you’re taking pity on them or anything. You just know they deserve the credits, as simple as that.

Maybe they could buy more droids to help with the harvesting, or nanny droids, or med droids, anything to help out.

You still smile when you think of Winta, Omera, all those kids. Even as you walk through disgusting cities, filled with vile men, you miss them. The memory of them keeps you warm.

Hopping from planet to planet is something you’re used to, something you’re familiar with. There was something unsettling about taking it easy in Sorgan. Maybe it would have been more durable had Mando and the kid stuck around but…

But they didn’t. So you can’t dwell on that too much.

You think about him. Not nearly as much as the first time you parted ways, no. You thought about him more.

You thought of the child as well. You thought of the both of them, you missed them more than you missed Sorgan, you missed them more than you missed swimming in Coruscant, more than you missed your parents, more than you missed anything.

Somehow, Mando had become the most familiar thing in your life, the only thing you felt like you knew and knew you right back. He fucked you over. You aren’t used to this, you can’t function like this.

You can’t stand up straight when your core has gone soft, you can’t fight and shoot when your arms are weak with the memory of him holding you.

Trying to forget about him was futile. It only made it worse - made the dreams, the nightmares, worse. Your body refused to let go of him, refused to forget the imprint he made on you, in you, like fucking memory foam.

People say time heals, maybe it does. As the months pass, as you find other people to take to bed, other senators, imperials, bounty hunters to kill, you grow apart from Mando. And you’re okay with that.

He was an accident, a bump in the road. You were never meant to meet him, to cross paths with a feared warrior like him.

He’s the type of person you run away from, and you did try to run. But he runs faster.

“Mando!” Karga greets as the feared bounty hunter, Mandalore, walks into the lonely cantina.

No one looks at him, they avert their eyes as he stalks towards the Guild leader.

The Mandalorian had become ruthless.

Warm or cold, he used to ask. Now there are no questions, he just takes.

Karga didn’t know how to react, what to say when Mando started bringing in all the bounties cold, taking the credits and demanding more work. It’s been going on for months now.

Karga knows he lost the child, knows he gave him up and became the unwilling ruler of his planet, knows he broke his creed. Karga knows the Mandalorian has nothing.

So Karga doesn’t say anything, no one says anything to Mando anymore, he’s too powerful. Ruthless.

Dead or alive, the pucks would read with unimaginable amounts of credits listed underneath. Mando always chose death, never even thinking about keeping them alive. It was a waste of breath, a waste of precious air on his ship. So he always chose death, it was more convenient.

He thinks you would have chosen death for these lowlife fucks as well. So he kills them and thinks of you.

Mando has been feeling… different. To say the least.

Wrong. He feels wrong.

Like something’s not right in his head anymore. Maybe he did get a concussion, maybe it didn’t heal properly. Maybe his skull cracked open when those Dark Troopers tried to kill him and something leaked onto his consciousness because the voices never stop.

They never stop, they’re never quiet and they’re mean, abusive. They make him ruthless, they make him kill. That’s what Mando tells himself.

Hunt. Hunt until you’re buried underground, Din. Hunt until you fucking die, until the soles of your feet are burning and your arms break in two. Kill them all, Din.

It never stops. The only thing that calms them is the killings. Their words turn sweet and kiss at his skin, kiss at his bruises and cuts and gashes and wounds.

Sometimes the voices sound like you even though he’s not sure what you even sound like anymore. It’s been months since he’s heard your real voice and he knows you never sounded so malicious, so evil.

But the voices purr like you did. They purr and they crawl up his spine like tentacles and pull him under until he’s drowning in you, remembering the sweet clutch of your perfect little pussy. They mimic you, a dizzying, inhuman copy of you that he barely recognizes. But it’s enough.

You’re s-so good, Mando - they’ll make you say, late at night when he needs you, needs something, anything to lose himself in. You’re so big, so strong- fuck you’re gonna make me cum.

He thinks about what it would be like to hear you say his name, the voices comply almost immediately.

So good, Din, you’re so- you’re so good at killing.

It’s so easy, with your voice. He’d do anything you want, and they know that. They use you, twist you, manipulate your voice till it's distorted and broken and fucked up and he cums all over himself before they’re yelling at him again. Yelling to kill.

Killing is the only thing that calms them.

So Mando keeps killing, and Karga keeps paying. Keeps giving him more pucks with nothing but nervous laughter, weary glances and little small talk. He used to indulge the bounty hunter in small talk, tried to make him comfortable, make him feel welcome. But the Mandalore will never be welcome. Not anywhere, not anymore.

You’ve been hearing whispers in the streets.

Whispers amongst the vendors, the junkies, the bounty and con men. Everyone was talking about it, it seemed; the whispers followed you from planet to planet. Talk of a new leader.

Whispers of a new Mandalore.

You don’t quite know what it means, what a Mandalore even is. But it makes you think of him.

You wonder if it’s him, if the Mando you once knew is now the ruler of the haunted planet.

It couldn’t be. That doesn’t sound like him, besides, he’s taking care of the child. So you push it to the back of your mind; an easy task here in Taris.

The air is smoggy, tainted yellow from years of pollution, destruction and decay. It’s hard to breathe here, and that makes it harder to think about him. You’re thankful for that.

You work on your speeder. Covered in grease and grime as you screw in another bolt, making sure it’s in place this time. You had gotten a new one after your last one was abandoned on Sriluur.

Stars, that must be over a year ago now. A year.

A year since you met- Nevermind. A year since nothing. A year since no one.

It doesn’t matter.

You wipe the sweat that threatens to bead down your forehead, no doubt smearing more oil on your face. Maybe you should clean up before you head to the cantina to find this week's Imps.

A hair tickles at the back of your neck and it makes you flinch. A distant clattering sound rings out through the alleyway, like someone’s watching you. Or was; there’s no one there when you turn around.

Yeah, you’ll just go clean up before you head out.

The whispers follow you on the street. They're making you paranoid, like they’re not the only thing following you. You’re jumpy, on edge. You’re never like this and you fucking hate it. Your hand hovers too close to your blaster and you’re making yourself nervous.

The catina is quiet, like you expected. The four men you had been tracking all over the city for the past week conglomerate together, just like you knew they would. There’s another lone patron at the counter, speaking with the bartender and that seems to be everyone. No one notices you as you creep through the shadows.

You take a seat further away from them, planning out your next move.

It’s always the same with you. You sit farther away, take your aim underneath the table, shooting one of them through the stomach, groin, chest - wherever you happen to hit.

Then the rest of them get up, heading for you, or running for the door.

You shoot first, always. Red flesh glows underneath the table as the man topples over, shot through the belly. He’ll bleed out, you’re familiar with this by now. You move on to the other men who are standing up to fight you. No runners today it seems.

You stand as well, approaching them and fighting quick. It’s always quick, they never last long, these men are easy.

You bash one of their heads against the bar counter, watching him crumble to the floor before you’re moving on to the next guy. Twirling around him, you twist his arm painfully behind his back before shooting him through the shoulder, through his heart and out the other side. Easy.

The last man runs. But you’re too fast. You reach for a dagger in your boot, launching it quickly at the getaway, nailing him perfectly in the back of the skull. He falls to the ground with a heavy deadweight.

Looking around the bar, the patron at the counter’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head but the bartender shakes his head, cleaning a glass. The cantina is eerily quiet again as you retrieve your dagger from the man’s skull, dark liquid spurting out of the new slit.

You bend down to your knees, fiddling through the deadman’s jacket looking for- got it.

Coordinates. A new shipment of medical drugs, just outside of town, the piece of paper reads. You should be able to reach it by nightfall if you make it to your speeder quick enough.

You hear footsteps behind you, you assume it's the bartender asking you to leave after that little show you just put on. You tuck the crumpled paper into the pocket of your own jacket and stand, coming to face-

It couldn’t be him. No.

This man, this Mandalorian is bigger, wider. He’s fucking menacing, standing only five feet away from you as your heart thumps wild with adrenaline, fresh kills and him.

He’s huge, terrifying like a silent monolith standing straighter than you’ve ever seen him stand. The beskar somehow fits him better now, or he fits it better, filled it out with rippling muscle and flesh

He looks like a proper mercenary with his beskar spear, jetpack and… and some sort of sword, saber maybe. It lays holstered by his side, long and dark. It’s scary. It’s been months since you’ve seen him, but-

It can’t be him.

It can’t be him but the way the helmet is trained on you is familiar, warm on the outside but cool in the center like a poorly thawed piece of meat.

You’re reminded of how you once knew him- or, once knew a Mandalorian like him. There’s something uncanny about the bounty hunter standing in front of you. It can’t be-

“Mando?”

The Mandalorian remains still and says nothing, reaching for something in his pocket. You flinch too easily, your hand so ready to fire on your blaster. It can’t be him, it can’t be him.

He holds out a puck to you, both watching as it illuminates blue with your new mugshot and your name written in red. You scoff.

“What? Is that supposed to be me?” You laugh, honestly finding it funny but nonetheless, you’re nervous.

Nervous because it’s been a while since a bounty hunter’s caught up to you, it’s been a while since you’ve had to take one down. Nervous because you can’t seem to grasp if it’s him or not.

Would he have really kept your puck this entire time? Even after it went dead all those months ago? Even after he found you in Nevarro? And spending two weeks in Sorgan together? When he left you and you left Sorgan? Fuck, is he mad?

Is he mad that you left and that’s why he’s come after you?

You can picture him, back in Sorgan, fuming - dead set on finding you after so sternly telling you to stay.

Whatever, you don’t care if he’s mad at you, why should you? He left first.

The Mandalorian pockets the puck back into his pants but when he looks back up - you’re gone.

You fucking run. You bolt out of the cantina, down the densely populated streets of Taris and towards your speeder. How is this happening? This is the exact same scenario you were in when you first met him on Sriluur. You can’t believe you’re running from the Mandalorian, again.

Is this a game to him? Is he pranking you or something? Does he think it’s funny to taunt you like this? A bounty who’s already on the run for her life?

You slow down your pace before you come to a stroll, looking around you, searching the crowd you’ve just ran through but you see nothing. No distantly familiar glimmering beskar, nothing.

Did you already lose him? No, he definitely has eyes on you somewhere, if it really is Mando, he never loses a bounty.

Calmly, you go back the way you came from, even if it’s the opposite direction of your speeder. You look for him now.

The streets are busy, the city is loud but it's quiet to you. You try to listen for the clank of his armour, the heavy weight to his steps, his quiet yet quick feet. But you hear nothing.

Nothing except those whispers again.

Mandalore. He’s here, he’s here. The Mandalore is here, he’s here, girl.

You spin around, trying to pin point who exactly is whispering so fucking loudly but its no one. No one’s there, no one is whispering to each other, no one is even speaking. Everyone whizzes past you, shoving you out of the way and you feel like you could drown all of a sudden.

He is here.

A hand wraps tightly around your wrist, hauling you out of the crowd and slamming you face first into a concrete wall. It scrapes at your cheek as both of your hands are pinned behind your back, large body pressing up against your backside.

You kick and squirm and try to buck the person off of you but it’s no use, they’re strong and already have you contorted painfully, both wrists secured in only one of their hands.

“Hey, fuck off-”

“Don’t make me break you again.” That voice. You’d know that voice anywhere.

That voice which reminds you of when he broke you - when Mando dislocated your arm a year ago now.

Mando.

You go soft in his hold, trying to turn around but he’s got you pinned between him and the wall, your cheek probably scraped up and bleeding at this point.

Cold metal secures around your wrists and you gasp as he closes the binders on you.

“Mando-”

He pulls you by the cuffs, hauling you off of the wall before he’s pushing you in front of him and down the alleyway.

“Walk.” He orders.

You look over your shoulder at him and you nearly lose your breath. It’s really him. You’d smile at him if you weren’t so fucking confused as to why he’s got you cuffed right now.

Mando shoves at you again and you stumble forward, so you decide to just go with it. Maybe he’ll talk eventually.

He manhandles you around the city, letting you walk aimlessly in a straight line, all sense of direction lost to you until he’s grabbing you by the elbow and steering you in another direction, shoving you forwards again.

Mando doesn’t speak to you. He doesn’t say anything, just shoves you forward and sideways until you get where you’re going. His ship.

But it’s not the Razor Crest. You don’t even realize it’s his ship until the ramp is lowering for both of you to enter.

This ship is… sleeker, smaller than the Crest was. But this one’s wider, more dangerous looking, sharp edges and all. Just like him.

It’s dark, pitch black, chrome and shiny obsidian, invisible in the dark of space, reflecting the lights from millions of stars. This ship is scary in it’s own way - it’s unfamiliar.

As you approach it, you realize it’s an Imperial ship - a gauntlet fighter - and your breath catches in your throat. Mando was always paranoid that the Empire hadn’t quite disappeared, that they still lurked in the shadows. Maybe he was right.

Either way, he seems to have accepted it - along with their money.

You walk up the ramp with him right behind you, still directing your movements. It makes sweat prickle at the back of your neck. You look for the little green baby, wondering where he’s hiding in the new ship.

“Where’s the kid?” You ask, trying not to sound as scared as you feel when you see no trace of a child.

No toys, no floating pod, nothing.

“Grogu.” What did he just call you?

“What-”

“His name, is Grogu.” He says slowly, like he’s trying to breathe in between each word.

Fuck, of course he had a name. You feel stupid as Mando rummages around with things in the small hull of the ship.

“R-Right, of course. Where is-”

“With his kind.” He speaks shortly, voice and words clipped, like each one is a knife in his back, twisting deeper and deeper the more he speaks about the Child.

You had only known the child for a few weeks but Mando’s confession makes your stomach drop. The kid- Grogu, is gone. You couldn’t have imagined Mando parting with the little rascal, even after a few weeks, he was so protective over him.

“Mando, I’m so sorry.” You turn to face him awkwardly, your arms still bound together painfully behind your back.

Mando neither looks at you or acknowledges what you said, as if you hadn’t said anything at all. You feel awkward around him now, you don’t know how to act when he’s being so cold. Minutes pass before he says anything.

“Where’s Winta?” He asks, almost mockingly.

You roll your eyes, you’d never thought you’d see the day when a Mandalorian was being petty.

“In Sorgan?” You’re not sure what sort of answer he was looking for but Mando hums something, as if considering your words.

“You gave up on her.” He states like it's the truth.

Mando still hasn’t looked at you. You’re fuming, blood rushing through your ears with adrenaline you can barely hear him. How dare he speak to you this way, after he left you there on that backwater skughole.

“She didn’t need me, Mando. She has a mother, a peaceful life in that village.” You spit at him, your words cutting through the air.

“So you abandon her? The community?”

“Hey, I didn’t abandon anyone-”

His hand finds your throat and he throws you against the wall of the ship, dangerously close to the carbon freezer. Your stomach drops.

Your hands dig painfully into the hard material of the ship, cuffs digging uncomfortably into your flesh and you cry out as he pushes against you harder, digging into you with his body made of steel.

Mando’s fingers find your pressure points and skim the flesh there, daring you to speak, daring to press in harder so darkness eclipses your vision. He’s dangerous like this, quietly seething, barely contained. What happened to him?

“You don’t know the things I’ve had to do,” He says, voice quivering with restraint, hand squeezing your windpipe and you gasp for air against his grip.

“Okayokay! I-I’m sorry.” You croak, voice gone hoarse already.

Mando scoffs, maybe he laughs at you, you can’t tell. You can barely hear anything but the pounding of your heart high in your throat and in your ears like you’ll pop.

“Stupid girl,” He grits, pressing you harder into the wall and you try to push him off but its no use, he’s gotten too strong.

He could break you like this, you think he might.

Something clicks in the back of your mind, something like instincts or anxiety or training but you knee him in the crotch, kicking his legs down and curving away from his helmet which crashes into the wall, where your head just was.

Mando crumbles and you back away from him, unsure of what you’re even doing - instigating a fight with a fucking Mandalorian.

Mandalore, the whispers are back and they tickle at your neck, the hairs near your ear. You shiver as Mando rises and turns to face you.

Mandalore.

He whips the saber from his holster and it glows black like a nightmare in the palm of his hand. You realize now that it’s his. He owns it. It looks important, you wonder why, or how, he got it.

“What are you doing?” He asks you, angry and stalking you in the tight haul of his ship, saber all too ready to kill. Maker, when did he get so terrifying?

When he lost his son, gained an empire.

“You can’t fight me, you can’t win.” You back away from him, coming yet again to another wall. This ship is smaller than the Crest, there’s nowhere for you to hide.

“I don’t, I don’t want to fight-”

“You know I'll hurt you.” He practically purrs and you whimper pathetically as he comes to stand in front of you, nearly - but not quite - pressing you into the wall again, vibrating sword dangerously close to your leg.

You’re panting, practically begging for it and you have no idea how he does this to you. Have you always been this easy? Maybe for him, maybe just for Mando.

He’s familiar in an odd way now, where you once knew him but not this version of him, not the version of him in front of you now but your body can’t make the distinction like your mind can.

Your mind screams danger, paints him red like a target, an enemy but your body still remembers the way he touched you, how soft he was in Sorgan, how slow he fucked you. This man in front of you would not fuck you slow - he’d take what he wanted - and you wouldn’t hate that.

You know he sees the way your chest heaves with lust laden breaths, your body going lax at the mere idea of him. Mando hums, holstering the saber and chest bumping yours as he comes to the grand realization.

“Is that it, ad’ika? You want me to break you? Again?” You can’t discern whether he’s threatening or promising you and your brain misses the foreign nickname before the words are tumbling from your lips.

“Yes.”

Mando hums again, hand coming up to your neck, cradling where your jaw meets your throat - squeezing and massaging your jugular and he watches how your eyes flutter so prettily.

“You’re addicted to me, aren’t you, stupid girl?” He squeezes slightly tighter and a moan, a cry slips through your lips quietly but it’s like fucking music to Mando’s ears.

You always make the prettiest sounds.

“Yes.” You admit again.

There’s no denying it, ever since you encountered the Mandalorian, you never forgot him. How he shines, how he walks, talks, fights, protects, fucks. You could never forget that, like he carved himself into your guts like an ulcer, making a permanent home inside of you, feel him whenever you move.

He’s infected you, you think. How else could you have become so weak for him, so powerless so quickly.

“Addicted to your Mandalore.” He growls around a chuckle and fuck-

It is him.

“You’re… you’re the-”

He tilts your head upwards so you meet his gaze from somewhere behind the pitch black of his visor.

“Yes.” He answers simpy.

The whispers, all the talk in the streets, the rumours, the tales, it was all about him. He's a-

A king. Mando is a king.

You stare up at him, fleshy mouth, perfect lips agape as you try to comprehend this. A king. A fucking king. You want to ask how, how this happened but you can’t process a thing, not when he’s looking at you like this.

Like he knows you, the voices whisper.

You’re too beautiful, Mando thinks. Too beautiful to be this stupid - to disobey him and leave Sorgan when he very specifically made it a point to tell you to stay. You make him angry sometimes, with your one track mind, needing to be good for something, someone.

“Why did you leave?” He asks, silently fuming as he tries to remain calm against the voices telling him to kill. But you see the way his chest heaves, feel how his hand twitches at your throat.

“I… I don’t know.”

“I told you to stay.” He almost sounds sad, if he wasn’t being so fucking threatening, puffing himself in intimdating like the mudhorn bull of his new signet.

“I know, Mando I’m-”

“You’re what? Sorry?” He scoffs and your heart sinks, plummets. He tilts the helmet at you, as if he were looking down at a child.

“Y-Yes.” Voice small, you quietly plead with him to believe you, eyes big and shiny as you look for his somewhere in the darkness.

He huffs again, condescending, amused.

“You’re only sorry you got caught.”

Mando’s hand smooths down your neck till it reaches your shoulder - he pushes you down to your knees till you’re kneeling before him like the king he’s now become. You nearly lose your balance with your hands still cuffed, your face leaning into his crotch where his cock strains against his pants.

How could you forget how big you make him, how hard.

“Go on, then. Tell me you’re sorry.” He rasps, hands fumbling down to his holster belt, clicking it open and letting fall at your knees with a loud clatter. You wince.

“I’m sorry.” Your mouth waters as he undoes his pants.

His movements are frantic, he breathes heavy as he reaches into his pants and grasps his cock, stroking himself a few times before he lets it slip out of his pants.

Gorgeous tanned skin, dark contrasting curls at the absolute base that run upwards like a dark stream until his armour shields it from your prying, selfish eyes. He’s thick, already so hard for you and your stomach lurches with anticipation.

You’re panting, you never thought you could need someone in your mouth this bad. “I’m sorry.” You repeat. You mean it, at least, you think you do.

“Again.”

Mando strokes his fat cock in front of your face and you can’t help but lean into him, the warmth radiating from his body pulling you in like the warm tide of the ocean - powerful, all consuming, all the while threatening to drown you.

You need to taste him, you’re desperate for it.

“I’m sor-mfph,”

He shoves his cock into your mouth - the entire length until he’s prodding at the back of your throat, making you gag on him.

Your eyes close in bliss and Mando leans into you, the weight of his heavy cock resting on your tongue and it sends you back until your head hits the wall.

One hand shooting out to steady himself against the wall, his other hand finds itself on your head, in your hair, gripping tight as he sets a pace, fucking himself into your molten, fleshy, pliant fucking perfect mouth.

“Fuck-” he groans, voice gone so low and baritone and raspy that you barely make out the word, it just comes out a garbled mess as he rolls his hips towards your face.

His cock reaches the depth of your throat with each thrust and you’re moaning around his length, your own thighs squeezing together to try and satiate the rapidly burning fire in your groin. You try and wiggle your tongue around him, you try to make it better for him but his hand in your hair tightens, gripping you and trying to hold you still.

“L-Let me do what I need to do, girl.” You moan around him, trying to nod your head but he groans in unison with you.

Your jaw aches already, he’s so fucking wide, so big and you realize now you’ve never had him like this before, never took him in your mouth, never saw him this upclose.

Cock shiny with your spit, working your mouth and tongue wide open so he can go as far in as he’ll fit - even then, you think he’s making himself fit. Your mouth fits just over half way before he’s poking into your throat and you gag on him a little, lubing him up with gobs of more spit.

You can feel him pulsing against your tongue, impossibly hard like he could cum any second but he gives you no indication that he’s close. If anything, you think he’s relentless, you can’t imagine the state you’ll be in when he’s done with you.

Mando is babbling above you, you can’t make anything out, you can’t understand him - you don’t even know if he’s speaking Basic. It sounds like another language, you try to pull away from him but you have nowhere to go, pinned between his relentless thrusts and the wall with your hands tied behind your back.

You look up at him through thick lashes, coated in fresh tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, cheeks hollowed yet they bulge with the size of him, just like your throat - perfect girl, you’ve always been a perfect girl, even when you don’t listen.

“Y-Your, your mouth is perfect, sweet girl - you’re alway so sweet to me, aren’t you?”

You whine your assent, desperately squeezing your thighs together at his praise, his sickeningly sweet praise that always manages to send you over the edge. Your mouth aches, your whole fucking face aches but you think you’d keep letting him fuck you- use you like this if it meant he’d say nice things to you. Again and again and again.

His helmet tilts at you as he leans back, watching the way his hips send his cock in and out of your throat, the slick, wet fucking messy drag of your cock-swollen lips againt the sensitive silky skin of his dick.

Mando watches himself fuck you, just like that, watches how you take him, all of him, like a champ with no complaints, completely satisfied with just keeping you like this. He wonders how long he could do this for, how long you’d let him fuck your mouth. Until you fell asleep? Until you got hungry? Until you beg him to fuck your pussy instead? Would you beg him to fuck your ass?

Until Mando notices the way your thighs squeeze and rub together - of course he notices. Poor girl. Poor little thing. She needs you.

Mando pulls himself from your mouth with a disgustingly wet squelch. You gasp for air, the desperate need for oxygen making you nearly choke on your own spit in the process. You nearly collapse against the wall behind you but Mando’s hauling you up with his hands underneath your armpits, leaning all of your weight on him as he expertly unclicks your cuffs.

As your hands go free, you collapse into him, face nearly tucked into the crook of his neck, where cowl meets helmet but you look up at him with cock-drunk, wet and shiny, big wide eyes. He can’t believe he’s fucked you dumb already. Perfect girl, he’s only just begun.

He coos at you, quiet and calm now. His demeanour has nearly done a 180 and it leaves you breathless, confused. Mando holds you so tightly, almost protectively to his body and you let yourself go limp against his iron frame, he holds you now against him and the wall.

One hand around your shoulders, cradling you, the other comes up to your face. He cups your cheek, running the pad of his leather thumb along your swollen bottom lip, admiring the flesh that blood courses through. You’re so alive. Alive with the need for him. His cock pulses at that.

Your eyes are fixated on the T of his visor - it doesn’t look as dark as it usually does - like if you squint hard enough you could see the contours of his face emerge from nothingness. But maybe he’s just fucked you delirious already.

You kiss at his thumb, not a thought in your head as you aimlessly search for the man behind the beskar.

“Bite.” He says, voice firm again. Without thought, your lips and teeth secure themselves on the seam of his glove, you know this all too well by now.

Mando pulls his hand free of his glove while you let it fall from your mouth and onto the floor. His hand follows suit, travelling down down down your body until he’s wedging himself between your pants and skin, then underneath your underwear and finding the pool of slick you’ve been uncomfortably nursing since he pinned you against a concrete wall in the city.

You’re fucking wet, soaked. You look up at him with fluttering, lust heavy eyes as he swirls the pads of two fingers along the seam of your sex, never parting your lips, just collecting whatevers seeped past them.

“Liked getting your mouth fucked?” Mando asks stupidly, his own brain beginning to short circuit. He can hardly believe you just let him do that to you, let alone that you enjoyed it, maybe wanted him even more. Regardless, you’re about to get more.

You nod your head, helpless to form a sentence as you lose yourself in his useless ministrations, where he ignores your clit or your hole, just playing with your glossy cyprine as you squirm against him, desperately grabbing onto his cowl for purchase.

“Y-Yeah- fuck.” You say quietly, voice gone all weak.

He spreads your lips, dragging his gun calloused fingers along the more inner parts of you and swirling around your fluttering opening, no doubt feeling the wave of arousal that seeps out of you again. Mando groans, his hold on you tightening.

Fierce warrior, look at yourself, it’s taken nothing more than his cock in your mouth to break you, erase your training, your instincts and mold you to his will. Such a good girl, the voices creep in the back of his head, echoing vile words about you.

The voices blend into his own, you swear you can almost hear the echo of multiple voices as he begins to tell you what a good girl you are, always been such a good girl for me you fucking hunter, dangerous girl with a bounty on her head. You always listen to me, only to me-

Mando lets two fingers creep into your cunt and your eyes flutter closed as you cry out for him. Finally - sweet fucking bliss as he splits you on his fingers. Mando’s having none of it.

His hand retracts itself from your pants almost as quickly as they entered. Mando taps your cheek, a light slap before he’s gripping your chin. “Eyes open.”

You nod your head with such vigor you fear whiplash.

You whine when his fingers don’t immediately find themselves back inside your suffering pussy. Instead, he leads you elsewhere on the new ship but you couldn’t dare look where you’re going, couldn’t dare take your eyes off of him.

It’s like he’s glowing. As he carries you across the hull you think he’s gotten stronger, to carry the weight of you like this. You temporarily remember back in Sorgan how he would make a sparse comment about his back every now and then, but this version of him is impossibly stronger it seems. You feel like he could break you in two - you feel like he could have done that before but now, now you fear he could do it with so much as just a look in your direction, with so much as a sigh in feigned exertion.

You squeak suddenly when doors open up with a hydraulic hiss, the doors sliding open to reveal his sleeping quarters. It’s bigger than his old cot on the Razor Crest, enough to fit two people but not much bigger than that.

It’s dark too, there’s light coming from somewhere, where exactly, you couldn’t say but he glows in the darkness, like it was made for him as it kisses and highlights the high points of his beskar, his wet cock, shiny with you. The darkness lets you see enough of him, like it knows you’re desperate for it, teasing you with little glances.

He drops you down onto the mattress and you scramble to sit up on your knees, desperate to see his every move.

“Take off your clothes.” He orders, standing at the foot of the bed and taking his cock back into his palm and stroking it as he waits for you to do as you’re told.

You don’t know when you became so compliant, so weak minded, so fucking desperate to be good for him but it’s hard to question or even think about what he’s asking of you when he stands there, filling out the beskar armour better than he ever has, thick length in hand and waiting for you to undress for him.

You kick your boots off, shimmy off your pants, underwear. Throw your shirt onto the floor by his feet and unclasp your bra. You make quick time of it, it’s impressive.

Mando lets go of his cock and undoes the intricate workings of his boots, then followed by the cuirass on his thighs. He’s undressing… You have half a mind to say anything- to stop him but your tongue is tied tight. You cannot speak, you cannot stop what is already in motion.

Next goes the vembrace and the one remaining glove, both tanned and scarred hands now bare to you and you want to kiss them all over. He unhooks both shoulder pieces and they fall to the floor noisily like the rest of his armour.

Last is his large breastplate; his chest puffs out as he unhooks it, biceps bulging underneath his long sleeve under guard and your mouth waters as he moves for you. The cowl falls around him like it was silk as the breastplate collapses underneath its own weight, joining the rest of beskar.

His neck is thick, beautiful, tanned like his hands and you can see it move with each breath, with each swallow.

He’s the Mandalore. He’s so big, huge, powerful. And yet he stands before you, hands reaching upwards for his helmet and you cower away, covering your own face with your hands, trying to preserve his creed yourself. But Mando grabs one of your wrists, yanking your hands away from your face.

Your eyes are screwed shut, Mando thinks it’s cute.

“I said, eyes open.” He commands again and you recline at his tone, moving higher up on his bed to put some space between the two of you.

And you do keep your eyes open - you don't think you could close them for the life of you. You can’t believe he trusts you enough with this, enough to show his face to you. It feels wrong, taboo, it feels… underwhelming, like it’s the wrong place, the wrong time.

Why now? Why after not seeing you for months, after becoming Mandalore, losing his son, hunting you down again after months and months on end of no contact with each other? He chooses now?

Mando stands at his full height at the edge of his bed, hands returning to the helmet and pulling it off before letting it crash to the ground, loudest of all.

Is it because he trusts you?

“This isn’t about you.” He states, as if reading your mind. Oh.

��O-OKay,” You stutter, unsure of what he means by that.

His bare hand finds its way to your ankle, thumb tracing circles around the bone as you stutter stupidly, mind racing.

This isn’t about trust. Mando just doesn’t care anymore, he stopped caring a long while ago: when Mayfeld saw his face and it felt… odd. Not good, but not bad either. When his son saw it, when Grogu touched his face. When the rest of the crew said nothing as he put on the now meaningless helmet, wielding the greatest weapon that belongs to his people.

It meant nothing, it always meant nothing, right?

Nothing of his is sacred, all is lost now. He has nothing to hide anymore, especially… especially not from you, he supposes.

“But-” the word slips out of your mouth before you can help it and Mando’s growling-

“Stop fucking talking.” He spits before he’s pulling your naked form down the bed by your ankle.

You squeak pathetically as he manhandles you, coming to lean over your body, covering you with his own and then- Maker, and then his lips are on yours.

Mando’s kissing you and your eyes are wide open as his tongue glides right through your lips, parted with desperate, honest shock.

Mando’s kissing you. He’s kissing you and you think you can see him like this and fuck, you can’t close your eyes as you kiss him back.

It’s dark, so dark that you might not actually be seeing him but you sort of can. You can see his face, of this you’re sure but it’s messy, scribbled with darkness and frantic movements. It’s so dark that your brain convinces you there’s a face there, his face, but maybe it’s another love-drunk illusion.

A beautiful illusion.

You see him. Pouty lips, swollen like your own, no doubt, thick moustache tickling your upper lip, a proud, large nose, deep eyes and messy eyebrows. He’s perfect. How could a human be so perfect and contained underneath all that beskar for thirty or whatever years. He’s so beautiful you could cry- maybe you are.

Sobbing into his wet mouth, that would be so pathetic.

Your tongue dances along his own and he groans into your mouth, like he’s frustrated, like he’s trying to strangle you with the wet muscle and you wonder if he’s ever kissed anyone before. You wonder if you’re the first.

“Take my shirt off.” He grumbles against your lips and you’re quick to comply.

You pull his shirt from his body and he lets you peel it away, throwing it across the room with the rest of your clothes.

Your hands fly along the wide expanse of his rippling back and you moan as he rolls his hips into yours, you forgot you were stark naked underneath him for a moment - his cock slips through your silky folds, coating himself in your slick and you helplessly arch into him as his chest becomes bare to you.

Skin against skin, you feel Mando for the first time as he keeps lewdly making out with you.

Your hands are unstoppable, grabbing, groping, scratching all along his body, you feel new bumps and old lines, you feel the geography of him and you yearn to see it in the daylight, with your own eyes instead of painting a mental image of him in your head with nothing but your other senses. It’s jagged and fucked up but it’s still new and him.

Mando’s head is elsewhere. One hand going down your body, he quickly jams two thick fingers inside your pussy without warning and you scream, you fucking yell at the intrusion, hips rutting away from him. Luckily, he’s got you dripping already so it doesn’t take much for your cunt to accept the thick digits.

“Fuck-” You rasp, voice hoarse and strained as he fucks you open aggressively on his fingers, his mouth trying to swallow down every pretty sound that escapes your lips.

You’re beautiful, already spread thin underneath him, chest and belly rolling with every desperate breath your body takes. You’re hot to the touch, you’re burning and he’s nothing but gasoline to an already volatile fire.

His fingers dig into you, they squirm around inside and find all the fleshy, rigged parts of you that have you panting, have you fucking wrecked.

It’s too much, he’s digging too deep, too hard and you feel a pressure forming in your belly as he scissors his fingers against something. His fingers curl upwards, hitting something hidden and you feel your stomach clench.

“Mando- wait, I-”

Mando shushes you, he’s quieting you with soft, disgusting praise of you can take it. I know you can, you’re a big girl.

Fuck. What is he doing to you? You’ve never felt pressure like this before. It keeps growing and growing and you think you’re going to-

He doesn’t stop. A sweat breaks out on his hairline, you can taste it in his kiss, on his salty warm flesh as he engulfs you. Your thighs shake like cracking tectonic plates and he keeps pushing, keeps fucking you and something gives-

Mando feels you pushing him out of your sweet cavern, hot, wet and gushing all over his hand and thighs - you fucking soak yourself with a rough, throat shattering cry. You arch into his body like you’ve been snapped in two, your hands and nails lodged into his back to find some sense of stability amongst the whirlwind of your orgasm that he’s ripped from your body, leaving you winded and broken.

You can feel it dripping from you, wet, unlike the sort of sticky gloss you’re used to. Did he just… did he just make you fucking squirt-

His mouth latches itself onto your wet, drippy cunt and you convulse, hips grinding against his face and his nose knocks against your clit, mouth enveloping the wettest, widest parts of you and you cry before you have time to process what the fuck just happened.

You try to push him away, try to close your knees around his head like your body can’t decide if you need more of him or anything but. But Mando doesn’t stop.

His mouth is perfect. It’s too much, it’s not enough, you can’t take it. You need more. You can’t think straight, what is he doing to you? To your body?

“T-Too much, please…” You whine, unsure of what you’re even saying, your voice feels not your own, you can't feel the way your brain processes the words, the way your vocal cords are supposed to vibrate with use. You’re numb.

You look down where his head is, a dark shadow of messy curls lost between your thighs and he can feel the way you clench as you both make eye contact. Dark, glowering eyes, they pierce you and you gasp. You swear there’s a glimmer, a silvery shine that leaves something unsaid.

Mando pulls away from you with a broad stripe of his tongue up the entire length of you. Your mouth drops open, hanging agape at how lewd it is.

His mouth is shiny, dripping with you, it coats his lips, mustache, chin and the stubble that grows there. Mando smirks at you. He’s fucking evil.

“Tastes so fucking good,” He growls, voice gone so low you whine again.

He lowers his head back down to your folds, nudging your clit purposefully this time with his nose. Your hips automatically cant upwards towards his face. He chuckles, you cry.

“I knew you’d be sweet.” And he goes back in.

Mando takes his time. He eats you lazily, luxuriously like how he fucked you on Sorgan so many months ago.

You’re not sure how long he’s been at it, time blends together in a mess of orgasm, cries, sobs, body shakes and more ograsms. You don’t know how many he’s managed to pull from you but you feel strung out, drunk off your pleasure as his tongue explores your sex at his own pace.

He’s made you squirt like three times - you’ve never done that before, never gushed like that. Not for yourself, not for anyone. You feel completely spent, sated as he holds your pleasure weak thighs open wide so he can devour you.

You don’t know how he hasn’t given up, gotten bored of licking into you but he hasn’t.

He’s selfish, greedy, taking what he wants and your whines, whimpers for him to stop are useless, futile. He doesn’t stop and all you can do is lay back and take it until he decides he’s done. It’s marvelous.

Eventually he does pull away, sucking his own fingers into his mouth lewdly and moaning at the taste of you on his tongue. You can breathe again, you’re granted air for a moment and you look up at him above you with pleasure struck eyes, all shiny and wet with thousands of tears.

“Such a pretty girl, look at you.” He marvels, hand caressing the side of your face and you instinctively lean into it, kissing his palm.

His cock slips through your folds, once, twice before he’s flipping you over onto your belly and gliding into you like it’s the easiest fucking thing in the world, like it’s nothing.

Your pussy squelches with it as he gives you each fat inch of his length and you whimper so quietly compared to how he had you screaming earlier.

You’re full with him and he keeps giving you more, keeps pushing in until he hits the deepest part of you, all the way in your womb - you have nothing left to keep from him anymore. He’s completely destroyed you, fucked you open on his fingers and taken what he wanted. You’ve given him everything. You wonder if he knows that.

Mando groans when he hits the walls of you, hips making contact with your ass and he watches the way your flesh jiggles, how you bounce with the velocity of him. He lowers himself until he’s parallel with you, body encapsulating your own, his chest warm on your back as his cock strokes downwards into you and you scream, burying your face into his pillow and you’re overwhelmed with him. He’s in all of your senses.

“You’re mine.” He growls against the shell of your ear, hips rolling in time with his wicked tongue, sending his cock drilling into you abusively.

Your pussy sucks him in noisily, wet and loud and juicy as he fucks you mean, hard like he’s trying to pound you into the mattress. No matter how many times he made you cum, made you gush all wet on him, you’re tight - fucking strangling his cock just like he remembers, like he needed.

“Perfect- tight little pussy,” He mumbles, babbling as he ruts into you with fervour.

You sob at his words, ass and body bouncing as you take his cock over and over again. Mando is relentless and you’re obsessed - you’re obsessed with him. Obsessed with the way he fucks you.

It was always good, the last two times, the only two times, have been more than good, it was enough to put anyone else to shame, enough to ruin you for anyone else, but this is different - this is everything. He’s everything.

“Mando- shit, y-you’re fucking big.”

He chuckles above you, hand groping your waist, feeling the way you mold to his touch, to his cock, he watches himself fuck you. The way his cock drags in and out, the way you swallow him, how your cunt parts, lets him in so desperately, how you paint him in your essence. He’s slicked up and shiny with it. How your ass sits there all pretty, tight little asshole fluttering in time with your cunt. Perfect girl.

Mando cracks his hand across the fleshiest parts of you, watching how your body responds to him, how you curl away from his touch but your pussy squeezes him so tight. You liked that. So he spanks you again, watching your hands twitch and fist at the pillows, watches you drool onto his sheets.

She’s perfect, a perfect little slut, perfect for us, the voices echo and Mando moans, dick twitching and chest curling inwards around your own back like you’re in some sort of disgusting, dirty dance together.

Mando flips you over and smothers you with his mouth. He tastes like you as he shoves his tongue deep in your mouth, desperate to own every part of you as his cock goes back to ruining your pussy. You’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

His lips travel down your body until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking, biting hard. He bites you so fucking hard, bites you all over as his lips travel across your chest, your collarbones, your neck, bittting nibblng, marking you in him. Mando leaves marks everywhere.

Fingers on your hips, on your ribs, backside, on your ass. You’re marked everywhere with him. Your hands fly into his hair and pull at the roots - ripping, pulling at him.

“Mine.” He repeats, spits at you like it’s a threat and you don’t care anymore.

You nod your head whispering yours, yours, yours, yours over and over again until you don’t know any other words, any phrases, your own name. You don’t know anything anymore, not like how you know him.

“Say my name, mesh’la, say my name all pretty the way you do.” Mando nearly pleads, lips brushing against your own.

“Mand-”

“No. M-My name. Say my name.” He corrects, hips slowing down and you whine, arms going around his back and clinging to him, begging him to keep fucking you.

“I- I don’t know your-”

“Yes, you do.”

Voices surround you, echoing somewhere amongst the darkness and you cling to Mando tighter, ankles locking around his ass and pushing his cock deeper into you. You both moan, voices cracking in unison.

“I don’t-”

Din. The voices whisper.

When he begins to hear them too, he keeps fucking you, picking up his pace and so do the voices. They chant in time with his thrusts, they chant his name like he’s a king.

He is a king.

“Listen.” He tells you, whispering against your face, lips ghosting the skin.

Din, Din, Din, Din, Din, Din…

You hear them. You can hear them say his name and your eyes go wide in the dark. Even Mando- Din, can see how they shine so big, like fucking moons caught in the eclipsing light of the sun.

“D-Din..” You test, weary. The name breaks around a moan and you feel tears spill from your eyes as he hoists one leg up on his shoulder and pushing the other into your breast, folding you in half.

You chant his name like it’s salvation and holy shit, he doesn't know how he did that but it breaks him and he thinks he’s crying a bit so he fucks you harder for it

“Din, fuck Din, that’s-”

His hand flies down to your throat, squeezing it tight and you choke on your words and he fucks you harder.

“That’s it, just- fuck that’s good, baby.” He tells you while choking you out.

Your face is shiny with tears, you’re wet and sticky all over. He did this to you, this is all his doing.

You’re so powerful, Din. Look how powerful you are.

He starts to speak in that language you don’t recognize again. He rambles and chokes you and his hips piston upwards and you can feel him poking around in your stomach, you can feel him in your throat. You’re done for.

“M’gonna cum-” You mumble, words barely intelligible from the hand around your throat and cock in your tummy.

“No,” He grunts, voice thick with exertion, with power. “Not yet.”

You whine, body going haywire like you’ve been electrocuted and you’re not sure you can hold it in when he fucks you like he’s possessed.

Din grows aggressive, his thrusts brutal and he pulls and yanks at your body, like he’s trying to drown you in an ocean of pleasure, sink you deep with him amongst the black sheets until you can’t breathe anymore.

His hand on your throat finally lets up and you gasp for air, pussy fluttering like your pretty lungs and Din growls, squeezing your face, your cheeks roughly with his hand before it comes down onto your cheek - slapping you.

It’s rough, violent like this and your pussy chokes him while the sweet sting in your cheek goes straight to your cunt. You manage a sort of strangled scream before your orgasm is torn from you, your fourth or fifth or sixth of the night, you can’t fucking remember anymore. It rips through you like a tree being torn from the earth - larger than life, brutal and messy.

Din breaks you down. You pulse and sob around him and you go limp on the bedsheets and he keeps fucking you as you soak his cock. Your knees are spread wide, thighs pressed against your chest and he keeps fucking you.

He’s lost control. He lost everything - he loved, got too comfortable and it made him weak and lost everything because of it. He lost control.

But he feels it again. Feels some semblance of control, familiarity when he’s drilling into your pussy like this. He feels control when you spasm and clench around him, crying his name like he’s your only salvation, your only hope. He is. He wants to be the only thing you need because you… he thinks you’re the only thing he needs. You and your sweet little pussy.

“Y-You’re never leaving, you’ll never run away again, won’t let you.”

You don’t know if you answer him, you mumble something, maybe just little noises that he continuously punches out of you but you can’t say no to him, you can’t fight him anymore.

“Fucking tie you up if I have to.”

You cry at that. He growls, something dark and possessive. “Know you’d like that- want that.”

You just wanna be used, be useless, told what to do. I know you, I know you, pretty girl.

And you go along with it, crying Yeah, yes Din- fuck. I don’t wanna be in control anymore.

You don’t care about it anymore, he’s too much, too much pain, too much pleasure and you don’t care. He has all of you.

He could have said anything, promised you anything, asked for anything and you’d agree. Din has you wrapped his finger - cock drunk and delirious on him, you’d give him anything he wants.

He knows that now.

“I know you’re tired, tired of everything.” You nod your head weakly, crying.

“Tired of running, tired of being in control.”

“Yes.” You whisper, voice caught on a moan and a hitch of your breath, his cock punching the oxygen out of you.

Din hums his assent. “Give up then.” He sneers, near evil and you moan, back arching into his chest even more, even though he’s got you all spread out underneath him, you still convulse.

“You’re just- just made for me, made for me to fuck. That’s all you are.”

You nod your head, brain going numb and blank and stupid except for yes Din, yes Din, fucking yes.

“Whenever I want, c-can do whatever I want to you and you’ll let me, won’t you, girl?”

Yes Din.

“So easy, you’re so easy, so easy for me. I know you wanna give up.”

He’s barely coherent, a babbling, mumbling mess of basic and that unknown language but you let him spew his filth, you let him fuck you into his mattress, into oblivion. You just fucking take it over and over again and all you know is him, Din, Mando, the Mandalorian, The Mandalore. He’s all you know now. He’s all you have. Maybe you’re all he has.

“Give up. Admit you need someone to take care of you.”

I do, Din. I need it.

“Admit it. Admit you need me.”

You cry. Tears spilling down your cheeks and you heave, broken from the inside out.

You claw at his back, scraping and scratching, trying to latch yourself onto him like a leech, trying to take something from him like he’s taken from you but you don’t know that you already have. You already broke him long ago.

“Din-”

“Tell me- fuck, just say it.” He moans your name, you clench around his length.

“Need- need you. Always…. Always needed you.”

“Then let go.” He moans your name, you clench around his length.

“M’cumming again-”

The Mandalore groans, burying his face in your sweat damp neck. You gush around him with a strangled cry like a dying animal. It's ugly and pained but it only fuels him, sends Din over the edge himself.

He fills you with his seed. He ruts it deep, deep inside of you, as deep as it’ll go and you can feel him plugging you full of it. You can feel it in your stomach, your throat. You taste it on your tongue.

It’s over, and you both lay there panting, regaining some form of consciousness. You’re slippery against each other and you cling to him like you’re still drowning. He clings back.

You were expecting otherwise from Mando, now Din - you welcome the change in his demeanour.

Din. You're still not used to that. You like it though, you like the way it sounds, you like how it makes sense.

It's quiet for the first time all night.

You’re not sure if you fall asleep, or if Din falls asleep, or if you even sleep at all. All you know is that it’s dark and his heart is beating into yours and his body is heavy and his curls are damp and you’re running your fingers through them.

You’ve never been so close to him. Never been allowed such a privilege. You feel calm for the first time in a long time, it's almost unsettling - especially knowing that your tracking fob is beeping somewhere in his long pocket, long forgotten.

Can't run away this time, pretty girl.

“Stay with me.” Din says so suddenly you nearly yelp, voice all quiet and raspy like he hasn’t spoken in hours. Maybe he hasn’t.

Your face, your entire body is wet with tears, sweat, cum. You don’t know what’s what anymore, you’re not sure you’re even breathing properly.

“Stay with me and we can take down the Empire together.”

He feels your heart beat harder against his at his proposition, it makes him hopeful, makes the voices swell. He hope you don't hear them.

You remain silent, not sure if he’s just giving you empty promises but it's not your fault he knows your weak spot, knows exactly how to tempt you.

So you say okay, Din.

“Stay with me and I’ll fuck you however you want- I’ll never stop fucking you just please,” his hands grip your body hard, pulling you into him.

Din buries his face in your breasts, mouth open and wet, he leaves a trail of spit and bite marks in his wake, “Please just stay this time.”

He’s desperate.

You’ve never heard his voice so small, so rough, so fucking spent like this and you wonder what happened to him after he left you. You wonder what happened to him after Sorgan.

“I will, Din. I’ll stay this time.” You say instead.

You’ll ask him another day.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #smut #reader insert #my writing #nowhere girl #haunted!din #mandalore!din #season 2 #dark!mando #haunted!mando #mandalore!mando

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bellsyafterdark · 2 years

Text

If I ever get around to the next installment in the ball and chain AU, which focuses on Paz and Din, and starts with a time jump way, way back when--

"As promised, five doses."

Five steel vials settled on the barrel beneath the small glare of the spotlight from the monger's ship port array. Coils of frost wafted up from the vials, attesting their freshness.

Din looked from the offer to the monger, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet. "You promised seven."

"You ordered, I promised only what I could get. You don't like it, take your chances with an actual clinic."

…

Din takes the deal begrudgingly after the monger makes a joke about re-populating the greatest race of warriors in the galaxy

Din is seen injecting himself with the fertility hormones aboard the Crest, wincing

Din enjoys a heated welcome home with Paz who is glad to see him, Din informs him he's going into heat and he'd like to spend it together; they do and it's the best few days of Din's adult life

Paz takes note of Din's cycle for future reference so he can make himself scarce

Din asks Paz what they would do if they started a new clan (if they got pregnant); Paz responds coldly as he's still grieving the miscarriage of his child with Ketsu with whom he's not bonded but is on a break

Din leaves for his mission to retrieve "the asset" heartsore he's still considered Paz's temporary refuge and secret, not a long-term prospect with whom Paz could start a family; but Din WANTS a family and he wants it with Paz with whom he's been quietly in love for some time

When Din learns his asset is a child, the very thing he wants, and he goes into shock that cripples his performance and decision-making for the rest of the mission; this child is so small and beautiful, but not one to keep

Returning to Nevarro and handing over the child, Din goes to Paz in distress but Paz is horrified and confrontational that Din traded in a child; later learning that he dealt with imperials and was paid in their blood money is the final straw; they brawl before the entire covert and Din leaves, heartbroken (unbeknownst to him, so is Paz), understanding any hope for them is now dead

When the covert saves him and the child in the bazaar, it ignites the tiniest flicker of hope, but then he goes on the run and doesn't see them for several years

On Sorgan, when Omera offers him the chance to take off the helmet, settle and have a family, he nearly breaks down; it's all he wants; they would be kind to each other, but the child won't be safe there, so the dream must wait once more

On Tatooine, Din meets Fennec who he has only heard about in professional notoriety and leaves her in the desert, believing her dead

On Tython, Din meets Boba and Fennec (clearly alive) and is so shaken when his child is taken, he accepts Boba's offer for distraction

Din has grown to care for his child more and more; by the time he hands Grogu over to Luke, he subconsciously considers Grogu his in everything but name and it absolutely destroys him

Din separately finds his way to Cobb who is one of the few people who knew and enjoyed Grogu, who will surely absolve him of his shame (he tries but not in the harsh ways Din is craving); Krrsantan arrives with a job offer and it's the memory of Boba's comfort that seals the deal

When Paz arrives following word of a silver Mandalorian in the court of another on Tatooine, Din is so far in his subspace and wilful disassociation from his reality, he doesn't initially recognise Paz

When they later talk, Din is pained and frustrated: he can't go home because things have changed but he'll be okay because, here, people don't treat him like a guilty secret; he's front and centre, even if he's not family; he's not going to make the mistake of trying ever again (the secret that he took hormones to help him fall pregnant with Paz comes out and Paz is shocked, he had no idea and it's a little bit suss, Din had not discussed it with him; it feels like karma he was unsuccessful); Din declares their time has passed

Worried and guilty and still very much in love with Din himself (Ketsu ultimately left him), Paz makes the choice to stay-- for now

#ball and chain au #pazbobadinfennec #paz keeps extending his stay until he decides to stay forever #yes ketsu is from rebels #yes paz took up with her initially bc he didn't think he could be with the actual bounty hunter he wanted but he did fall in love with her

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oliviajdjarin · 3 years

Text

Chapter 6: A Jedi

Warnings: traumaaaa, lots of anxiety, like lots of anxiety, the reader really hates herself in this one, minor minor violence, references to violence, mostly just anxiety and hate.

Author’s Note: This is where the series starts to pick up, so I executed it as best as I could! I also went a little off canon with this one, so I hope it makes sense with the story. Thank you for any support!

Your journey to Sorgan was pretty smooth… but Mando was tense.

You tried your best to reassure him multiple times that this was the best choice for the kid and that you could help him with any challenge thrown at him, but he would just respond with a sigh and a solemn nod. So, you decided not to push it.

He had done even riskier missions on his own, so he can handle this one.

Once you arrived, you walked into the common house and met a woman named Cara Dune.

She introduced herself to you and she seemed very friendly, but when Mando mentioned that she was an ex shock trooper for the Republic, that is when you tensed up.

You had done things in your past that you knew would offend her. Not even offend her, but provoke her to strangle you alive. The fact that she was from Alderaan made it obvious enough that the Empire had hurt her deeply.

The only way to protect yourself was to hide who you really were, and your heart sank.

You felt like you had finally broken away from that way of life. The hiding, the anxiety, the fear. You felt like you could be yourself with Mando and the kid and not have to worry about that anymore. But the galaxy was cruel like that.

After the brief introduction, Mando proceeded to outline the plan and everything that the man on the recording (who you later found out to go by the name Greef Karga) had said, and Cara looked far from impressed.

“I don’t know, I’ve been advised to lay low,” she said, “If anyone identifies me, I’ll rot in a cell for the rest of my life.”

That makes two of us, you think.

“I thought you were a veteran,” Mando mumbled.

“I’ve been a lot of things,” Cara replied. “If I so much as book a passage on a ship registered to the New Republic-”

“I have a ship,” Mando replied, “I can bring you there and back with a handsome reward. You can live free of worry.”

“I’m already free of worry,” she said, “and I’m not in the mood to play soldier anymore. Especially fighting a local warlord.”

“He’s not a local warlord,” Mando replied, “He’s Imperial.”

You could see how Cara visibly tensed up at the word “Imperial.” If you weren’t scared of her before, you sure as hell were now.

“I’m in,” she responded, and you smiled at her.

She grinned back to you and asked, “Where do you fit in in this plan?”

You looked at the child in your arms and said, “My job is to keep the child safe. So I will protect him until he is used as the bait, and I will adapt to where he goes from there.”

“She can defend herself plenty,” Mando says, and Cara nods at you.

“I believe you,” she says, and you give her another smile.

I really hope I don’t let her down, you think.

~~*~~

Within the next hour, the four of you had arrived back at the Razor Crest.

Mando started the ship on track to Nevarro while Cara took a look at the weapon arsenal.

You watched as her eyes scanned over the array of options, and you couldn’t help but feel deep sorrow for her.

Her life was torn apart by the Empire, and now she was getting thrown right back into a fight. The fact that she wasn’t even going to join the mission before Mando mentioned that the client was Imperial made you nervous. She was not a woman you wanted to mess with, so you hoped and prayed you would stay on her good side.

The kid had somehow managed to make it to the controls and grab hold of the throttle, which made the ship veer abruptly side to side.

You ran to the child and lifted him away from the throttle while Mando stabilized the ship.

“Are you sure one set of hands is enough to watch that little beast? Worst case scenario, we made need y/n to fight with us. Maybe an extra set of hands could help,” Cara said, trying to catch her breath from running all around the ship.

Mando looked back at you and you nodded.

“She’s right. I can watch the kid as long as you need, but if you guys need me in a fight I can’t keep him with me. He could get hurt.”

Mando nodded and sat back down in the pilot’s chair.

“Looks like we are making a pit stop,” he said.

~~*~~

The Razor Crest landed on the property of a man named Kuiil. Mando said that he had helped him greatly in the past and he trusted him, and if Mando trusted somebody, you did too.

He greeted you with open arms and was incredibly nice. He led the four of you inside his humble home, and you never realized how long it had been since you stayed in an actual home.

Kuiil studied the child in your arms and said, “it hasn’t grown much.”

“What is your name,” he asked you.

“I am y/n. It is nice to meet you Kuiil,” you said and he nodded reverently to you.

“What about this one? Does she have a name,” he said, gesturing to Cara.

“This is Cara. She was a shock trooper,” Mando said.

“You were a dropper,” Kuiil said, and Cara nodded.

“Did you serve,” she asked.

“On the other side, I’m afraid. But I’m proud to say that I paid out my clan’s debt, and now I serve no one but myself,” Kuiil said.

The other side, you think. Kuiil served the Empire? And Mando had worked with him before?

You couldn’t deny the fact that this got your hopes up. Mando… working with the enemy.

If only he knew, you thought.

All of a sudden, the door behind Kuiil opened, and an IG droid stepped inside with a tray in his hands.

Mando immediately sprang to his feet and pointed his blaster at the droid. Cara joined him, and you blocked the pram the child was in with your whole body.

“Would anyone care for some tea,” the droid asked, and your eyebrows knit in confusion.

Weren’t these droids normally hunters?

“Please, lower your blasters. He will not harm you,” Kuiil said, obviously trying to diffuse the situation.

Mando, however, didn’t seem to want to go that route.

He kept his blaster pointed directly at the droid’s head and said, “That thing is programmed to kill the baby.”

You straightened your back at his words, blocking as much of the pram as you could, until Kuiil shook his head and said, “Not anymore.”

He then explained how he found the droid at a battle site and brought it back to his workshop. He decided to repair it, and then spent many days teaching the droid everything from scratch. It developed a personality, Kuiil mentioned, and it’s experiences helped the personality become unique to the droid.

“Is it still a hunter,” Mando asked.

“No, but it will protect,” he said, and Mando finally lowered his blaster.

There was no way Mando was going to let that robot anywhere near the child.

~~*~~

Later that night, you and Cara were sitting in Kuiil’s house while Mando was outside speaking with him, no doubt trying to convince him to protect the child.

“So what’s your story,” Cara asked, taking a sip of tea.

“Oh.. well… Mando picked me up on Tattooine. I worked there as a mechanic for a woman named Peli. It was a good job, but I wanted to get off that planet. I had lived there for a long time, and I wanted to explore the galaxy for once. It sounds cheesy, but I’ve always wanted to do that at some point. Mando agreed to take me with him on his missions in exchange for the child’s safety,” you say, and Cara nods.

“Nice. You made a living for yourself, and were brave enough to walk away when you knew the time was right. Most people never leave their home planet,” she says, and you nod.

“Yeah… I tried my best,” you say, and you try not to let your eyes darken. You didn’t like talking about your past. All it did was stir up old memories that you had worked to push down for years. You hated your past, and you didn’t know how well you could hide it much longer. Especially when you were being questioned by someone like Cara.

“The Empire… hurt me a lot. So, I am excited to hurt it back,” you say, and a big grin shows on Cara’s face.

She takes another sip of her tea, and looks up to find Mando walking through the door.

“Any luck,” she says to him, and he shakes his head no.

“Kuiil said that the droid can protect the child, but I don’t trust it,” he says and Cara chuckles.

“Yeah.. I think we got that,” Cara says and you smile.

Mando goes to sit down next to Cara, so she scoots over a bit to make some room for him.

You heard something hit the floor, and you realize Cara had knocked over your bag on accident. You had brought it into Kuiil’s house because you used it to store snacks for the child.

You stored other things in there too, and under no circumstance was anyone allowed to see them.

That was going pretty well, until Cara knocked the entire thing over.

“Whoops. Sorry,” she says and goes to start putting the items back in.

Your body is frozen in place and you feel like your lungs are being squeezed. Your limbs have turned to putty, and you cannot take your eyes off her hands.

If she sees it, I and dead. I am so dead

“It’s- It’s ok Cara. I’ve got it,” you say and start to stand up.

“No no it’s ok, I can-” she says, before her eyes widen.

She picks up an item and starts raising it to eye level, and you are just about ready to vomit.

Your saber.

You feel like your entire body is crumbling before her and she can’t even tell. Your breathing has become almost erratic and the sweat on your forehead starts to drip down to your eyes.

This whole experience, this whole journey with Mando and the kid could be completely undone right now. Everything you have hidden, everything you’ve buried, and everything you hoped you left behind on sandy Tattooine is staring you right in the face.

And Cara is….smiling?

“No way,” she yells excitedly, before laughing and smiling at you.

“No wonder you were so secretive about your past! You’re a Jedi,” she says.

You take a glance at Mando, who is staring at the saber, looking confused as ever.

Ok, maybe this is good, you think to yourself, trying to relax.

I can pretend I was a Jedi. Sure. I have basically the same training as them.

But who were you kidding. You knew that wasn’t going to cut it.

“A Jedi?” Mando says, and Cara goes into a whole tangent about how amazing the Jedi were. How they fought the Empire till their dying breaths and defended the galaxy. They had been betrayed by their own clone groups, and most of them died in Order 66.

“But you didn’t!” she said and smiled at you.

You managed a smile back, but you had to have looked like a psycho. You were in so much physical and emotional pain from the amount of anxiety flowing through you. You had felt out of control before, but this was more dangerous than you knew.

You were such an idiot getting your hopes up. Thinking that a Mandalorian actually cared for someone like you. How could you have been so stupid.

“Even the colors of the sabers are legendary,” Cara said. “Aren’t they y/n?”

You nod back, but you know what’s coming.

Your truth was about to shine throughout the entire house, reflecting back at you like some sick joke. And you were screwed. You were so screwed.

“Well, let’s see it then,” Cara said and ignited the saber with both hands wrapped around the handle.

“Wait” you scream, but it was too late.

The tears hit your eyes before she even ignited the weapon.

The deep, burning red saber was ignited, and there was no going back.

It’s burning, fire like glow illuminated Cara’s face, and a sunset like tint was shining on Mando’s armor.

He always looked so beautiful when light would reflect off of him, but not like this.

The red from the saber was vibrant, but you had never seen a glow as red as the anger in Cara’s eyes.

She knew what this color meant, and your identity was revealed in all its glory.

A Sith

Tag list:

@leahkenobi @pinkninja200 @bookloverfilmoholic @farfromjustordinary

#din djarin #mando #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Note

Hi Josie! I have an idea for a request, if you're ok with it of course. Cooking in the Crest and our recent baby talk about Grogu has made me even SOFTER for the little guy. So what if reader meets Din and Grogu and she is instantly enamored with yodito and coos and dotes on him. Grogu really likes reader too and they become the bestest of pals. And Din is like hmm this could work in my favor 🤔because he needs someone to watch Grogu and he happens to really be attracted to her too. Not just in looks but she's so good with the baby, compassionate, attentive and she's bossy too hehe.

Please feel free to message me if you wanna talk about specifics/anything ❤️

Trust is a Luxury (Din Djarin x f!Reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 5.3k

Warnings: language, mentions of violence, mentions of weapons/guns, otherwise so much softness

A/N: I HAD THE TIME OF MY LIFE WITH THIS ONE! I’m so sorry for my off-schedule posting for a while, I’ve been thru some life chaos lately but I’m hoping to get back on it!

Din had never been to Sorgan. He didn’t know much about it either. He’d heard things here and there. Many people talked about it when referencing their beloved spotchka; it was the only planet that produced the popular beverage. Din had tried it once. He didn’t like it.

He didn’t expect to love the planet like he did. When he landed, even out in the boondocks, something about the planet called to him. The atmosphere was beautiful, birds singing and wind rustling his ratty cape.

The baby loved it too. The little shit was starting to grow on Din. He liked to snuggle, and he was almost like those puppies Din had on his home planet. The kid could be a pain, no doubt about it, but Din liked having a companion, and he had to admit that he found the baby pretty damn cute.

Night has fallen over the speeder’s wagon. The baby had fallen asleep on his own a few hours ago, but now has climbed into Din’s lap and snuggled in. He rests a hand on the baby’s head, softly scratching his big green ears. Light is just rising over the edge of the planet; according to what the men had told him earlier, they must be near the village.

Sleep floats around Din’s head like a fly one can’t quite swat. It comes and goes and finally, when the sun is finally risen, they come to a stop at the village. Din sets the kid to his side and sits up.

They’re swarmed by children, several of them ogling at the little green baby next to him. Din protectively puts a hand on the other side of the child, indicating for them to back off.

One bold child with large eyes looks up at the metal-covered man with a smile. “Is this your pet?” She asks him.

Din shakes his head. “He’s a baby.”

“Oo! Can we play with him?” She asks.

The kid looks up at Din with big eyes and excitement, nonverbally asking. Din nods. “Sure.”

All of the children surrounding the wagon squeal and the girl picks up the baby, carrying him off. Din thanks the men who drove the speeder. He hops off, the woman he’d met at the tavern following him, and nearly stops in his tracks when you approach him, wearing delicate Sorganian clothing with a rifle slung over your back.

“So you’re the mercenary,” you comment and fold your arms. “They did a good job. I was expecting something like a shitty soldier, but they brought me a Mandalorian.”

Din nods. “At your service.”

This makes your stony face crack into a soft smile. “Well, welcome. Thank you for agreeing to help us.”

Din is grateful for the helmet; he can’t stop staring at you. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You wear a blue dress made of burlap over a long gray tunic and black leggings. There’s a knit collar around your neck and the rifle strap is hand embroidered. It’s a delicate look, that of a farmer of the area, but feminine. The weapon on your back completes it. He can’t bring himself to tell you how much he didn’t want to take this job; your beauty makes it all worth it. “Of course.”

Another young girl with big eyes, your niece, runs up to you carrying the baby, and you actually gasp. “Oh my Maker, Winta, what is this?” You ask and take him from her arms.

“That’s… I’m in charge of him,” Din says awkwardly. “He’s a foundling in my care.”

“What species is he?” You ask in bewonderment, examining his little green face. “And where can I adopt one myself?”

The Mandalorian chuckles, quietly enough that you don’t hear it. It’s a beautiful sight; you and the little green thing. “I don’t know much about him. I’m tasked with bringing him to his people, but I don’t know who they are.”

“Would you believe me if I said we’re his people and he has to stay?” You ask him teasingly, scratching his tiny green head. He leans into your touch, giggling.

The man must be amused under his mask. “You’re not green.”

“I could be hiding it,” you laugh and admire the three tiny green fingers wrapped around your thumb. “Does he have a name?”

Din shakes his head. “I don’t know if he does.”

Your eyes trail to the men who’d hired him and you straighten up, setting down the child. “Right. Why you’re here,” you quickly clear your throat and clarify. “We’ve been consistently under attack by raiders. Our sole income is our krill, and they stole our last harvest. We have nothing without our farms. They may come back, and we need you to defend us. Please,” you add, trying to be firm but giving in your last request.

The man looks at you. “Dune and I will scope them out over the next few days and come back with findings. What we can do.”

You nod and put a hand on Winta’s head, the little girl standing at your side with arms wrapped around your leg. “Thank you. What is your name?” You ask, stroking your niece’s soft hair.

“You can call me Mando,” Din informs you.

“That’s not your name,” you brush it off and look at him more intently. He swears you’re staring through the beskar and into his soul.

“Call me Mando,” he insists and picks up the child.

Sighing, you pat Winta’s back, nudging her to let go. “Well, I’ll show you to your quarters.”

The two- well, three with the baby- of you walk in silence to the hut, the beskar wall of a man walking behind you. Just knowing that the trained warrior is in the village makes you feel safer. You’ll surely sleep better tonight.

“Are you their leader?” Din asks finally as you approach the place he’ll be staying.

“Me?” You snort. “No, I’m no leader. I’m the diplomat, you might say; I’m the best with foreign people. Speak other languages too. More outgoing than the others around here. We don’t have a leader. We lead together.”

How idealistic, Din frowns beneath the helmet. It’s too innocent for his beliefs, yet it clearly works for your community. It’s beautiful and thriving other than the raiders. He’d think you’re naive, yet it’s true, from what he’d observed. You’re smart, outgoing, good with bargaining and a good leader. Maybe that’s why he’s so drawn to you. Too lost in his own thoughts, Din doesn’t respond.

A large wicker hut stands in front of you. You walk up the steps to the elevated building and enter the hut, the Mandalorian following you. “It’s not much,” you admit nervously. You’re unsure of his standards, what people usually give as payment.

Din sets down the baby and looks around. There’s a cradle, a comfortable bed, and plenty of amenities. It’s nice, really, nicer than he’d expected. “It’s what we need. Thank you,” he tells you and turns to face you, giving you a nod.

The green baby toddles to you and you lift him, at his grabby-hand request. He’s a cute little thing; you have to say you adore him. “I like your kid. I can watch him for a while, if you’d like to get settled.”

Mando can tell the baby likes you, from the way he nuzzles into your chest, toys with the rifle strap over the burlap- no, not burlap, something woven but softer. “Sure,” he nods, a tiny pang of jealousy in his heart from how much the kid clearly likes you.

Nodding, you give him a gentle smile. “You can tell me your real name, you know,” you offer, leaning in as if he’ll whisper to you the secret identity beneath all of the beskar.

Din shakes his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You don’t know much about Mandalorian culture, but you suppose it makes sense. Disappointed, you nod. “That’s alright. The child and I will be in the tallest hut preparing dinner. Does he have any dietary restrictions?” You ask, bouncing the baby.

In all honesty, Din has no clue. “Uh, no. He eats anything.”

“How about you?” You ask.

Din shakes his head. “Don’t worry about cooking for me.”

“Well, you’ll have to eat.”

“I can’t… eat with you all.”

“The helmet?” You ask, gesturing to your own head.

He nods. “Right. I have to eat alone.”

You frown at that. “Well, I’ll eat with you.”

“No, you don’t understand, I cannot-“

You cut him off right back. “I won’t look. I’ll face the other way. Hell, you can blindfold me. I just don’t want you eating alone,” you tell him with a stern nod. “That’s no way to be.”

Din almost fights back. Almost. But he can’t. He doesn’t want to. He wants to give in to you, wants to be bossed around for once instead of giving orders. He just gives a single nod.

“Wonderful. I’ll bring your tray when dinner is ready. You can settle in,” you tell him in a welcoming tone before exiting the hut and closing the curtain door behind you.

The baby adores you, and you adore him equally. You do your part in meal preparations while holding him on one hip, sneaking him bits of food that you figure are safe for humans, so must be safe for him. He coos and cuddles into your side, and he excitedly helps you stir a bowlful of condiments to be served with the food.

Everyone stops by the baby and coos, saying hello and feeding him a snack like he’s more of a pet than a baby. But you can tell he’s more sentient than he appears. He’s an intelligent little thing. Something about him connects with you.

As always, you help serve the dinner then scoop up two trays. “Follow me, okay?” You ask the little child, handing him a kid’s tray and leading him back to the hut.

The baby follows behind you with his head held high in pride, like a Terran duckling following its mother. You can’t help but laugh as you catch a peek of the reflection. You bring him to Winta’s hut and the child plops down on a pillow and eats his meal, shoving food in his mouth with his hands.

Entering Mando’s hut, you pull aside the curtain for the child and find the beskar-covered man… well, still covered in beskar. He’s reclined on his cot, but you can’t tell if he’s asleep. His face is covered, his body language gives nothing away.

Just as you’re about to wake the Mandalorian, he sits up, making you jump and recoil. “I-I thought you were asleep,” you admit to him and set his tray on the bed.

He shakes his head. “No. Thank you,” he says as he admires the food. He can’t lie; it looks better than anything he’s eaten in a terribly long time. There’s still steam from the food, and he looks up at you in confusion. “Meal time was an hour ago.”

“I kept it warm for you,” you shrug and sit cross-legged on the floor, tray on your lap. “It’s no good cold.”

It’s a small gesture but it makes Din’s heart flutter so hard he swears it could crack the beskar. “That’s very kind of you.”

You look at him and munch on a roll. You stare at him and he stares back. “So. You gonna blindfold me if we’re going to eat together?”

Din nods. “I think it’s the best choice.”

You sigh and turn your back to the man. “Go for it.”

Your willingness to do something most people would never allow surprises him. You must really trust him or really be crazy to allow a man, a renowned warrior and mercenary, to ask him to eat dinner together and willingly take away a key sense for his own comfort. It stuns him.

He takes a strip of fabric from a travel pack and kneels behind you. “I’m right here,” he says as a warning. He doesn’t want to startle you when he touches you. “I’m going to put it on now.”

You nod and it interferes slightly with the tying, but Din fixes it and knots it tightly at the back of your skull. He returns to the cot and looks around. It’s as secure as he can be in here. He removes his helmet.

The sound is odd but distinct enough that you know what it means. Continuing to munch on your bread roll, you open your eyes and find that it’s truly blacked out. It doesn’t matter anyway. You’d never look without his permission if it’s vital to him.

It sounds like he’s eating, and you sip your soup before daring to speak. “Is the food alright?”

Din pauses from the ravenous manner he shoves food in his mouth to look at you from behind. You’re still wearing classic Sorgan clothing, but without an outer layer you wore earlier. He looks at the pattern of the shirt, the careful detailing. It suits you, the careful and caring manner with which you seem to treat everything- even him. “Mando?” You ask.

“It’s… great,” he confirms through a mouthful of food. He swallows the hunk of meat and sighs. “It’s the best thing I’ve had in a very long time.”

His voice is so different without the modulator. You love it. It’s beautiful. God, could you be attracted to him? You were from the moment he walked in, strong and powerful, but now you recognize this is a man. A human. Not just a beskar shield. He’s someone. “You’ve just been living off canned and dried rations,” you brush it off with a chuckle.

“No, really.” His voice is earnest. You like hearing emotion from him. “I haven’t had anything this good since… I don’t know when.”

“Well, I’m glad,” you confirm and sip your soup, propping one hand behind you on the wooden floors.

It’s quiet again. Din’s painfully aware of how intimate this is for him. It’s not even intimate, really, but for a man of his Creed to remove his helmet and eat a meal together is something he’s never done. He likes it. He understands why friends gather in cantinas and do it, why lovers find intimate booths to talk over food.

You can’t see him, he knows that, and this is nothing more than friendly conversation, but it stokes an aching burn in Din’s chest for more. More humanity. To kiss you or hug you or maybe even fuck you, to feel every inch of your body and make you writhe, bare bodies against each other, experiencing the bliss that only the other can give.

Oh no. Din’s hidden his humanity for so many years for the sake of ease, convenience for his job, for the Way. This, as small as it is, is going to snowball if he doesn’t get the hell away from you. Why did he have to choose Sorgan? Couldn’t he have chosen any other planet that didn’t have the kindest, most beautiful, smartest, wittiest creature in the very galaxy?

“Since we’re alone,” you ask quietly after a long stretch of silence. “Can you tell me your name now?”

“I’m not allowed to,” Din admits after a moment of thinking.

He can see your body visibly slump. The excitement drains a little. He wants to see you perk up, wants to see the little tells that humans have when they’re exposed to each other that show their emotions and crack their poker faces. Right before you’re about to apologize for asking, Din blurts something. “I’m not supposed to, but it’s… it’s Din. That’s my name.”

You smile a little at that. Your tense body loosens. You tilt your head to the side, as if you’re daydreaming over the three letters. “Din. How beautiful. How human.”

Human. Too human. Din shoves the rest of his food down his throat as fast as he can and puts the helmet back on. “Thank you for doing this,” he says as he quickly unties your blindfold and tucks it in his pocket. “I should go get the kid. Get some rest.”

The hurry after the long silence is surprising, but you don’t push it. You nod and stand, taking his tray as well. “Thank you for eating with me,” you tell him with a warm smile as you stack the hand-carved wooden bowls on the tin trays. “As long as you’re staying here, you won’t eat alone.”

The words penetrate the beskar over his chest like nothing else can. Din gives a simple nod of thanks to hide the heat in his face and the heavy swallow that rolls through his throat.

You turn and leave and Din lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, shuddering and squeezing his fists together as tight as he can. Fuck fuck fuck. You’re going to make this whole being-a-mandalorian-like-he-has-been-his-whole-life thing difficult.

You grow to like Din even more. You didn’t think it was possible, but you do. Soon enough, you’re eating two out of three meals a day in his hut, blindfolded and facing away.

He shows it less, but he feels the same, maybe even more strongly about you. He gets to hide it, behind the metal that makes you fear he’s going to remain this stone cold forever.

But over meals, you make him laugh. He makes a dry joke that leaves you choking on your stew. He must be beautiful, you’ve concluded. A man like that must be.

Sometimes the baby eats with you, but it’s rare. Din doesn’t trust the child as much as he trusts you not to look. He rarely spends time with the village children, rarely any time outside of his hut at all. You sometimes see him at night though; that’s when he and the baby will sneak out to the baths. When no one else is awake- except you.

He sees you once. You folded your arms on the windowsill of the hut, staring out at the moons rising, only to see a reflection of moonlight. Din. He walks to the baths, fully in beskar, not noticing you. He figures everyone is asleep.

He turns and sees an open window. You inside it. He smiles beneath the helmet. Then he does something equally rare: Din waves at you. A small hand wave, mimicked by the tiny green child.

You live alone in your hut, so you hurry out to walk next to him, footsteps silent on the vegetated ground. “Hi,” you say with a smile, pulling your long robe around yourself tighter.

“You’re awake,” he nods at you.

“Clearly,” you chuckle. “Why do you only ever go to the baths at night?”

Din shrugs. The baby makes up hands at you, and you lift him from the sling on Don’s side. “Less chance of people. I don’t want to clog it up with the need to be alone.”

You nod, tucking the baby against your chest. “I suppose that makes sense. I can take care of this little thing. You go worry about cleaning up.”

Din stops and looks at you. “No, it’s late, you should be sleeping, and-“

“Din,” you insist, then slap a hand over your mouth before realizing you shouldn’t have said his name outside of your little meal breaks. “D-didn’t you say you wanted to be alone?” You try to cover your tracks with a word similar.

The man just looks at you through the visor. Maybe he isn’t even looking at you. You can’t tell, but you can feel his gaze. “It’s too much trouble for you,” he shakes his head.

“I love this kid, Mando,” you say slowly to make sure you’re saying the right word. “It would be my pleasure. I have a little something for him anyway. He’ll stay the night with me.”

If you were anyone else, Din wouldn’t trust this. He’d feel that it’s some kind of set up to steal the baby from him in a devious way for the bounty. But it’s you. Your smile, though sleepy and soft, is earnest. So he nods. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you nod and put a hand on his forearm, finding no beskar beneath it, just muscular yet soft flesh covered by fabric. “Goodnight, Mando.”

“Goodnight, cyar’ika,” he tells you and walks off to the bathhouses.

What an odd word. You don’t understand a lick of Mando’a. You wonder what it means. Friend? It must be something like friend, you figure, or compatriot. What else would he have called you? It was a short word, not long enough to carry too much meaning.

Taking the child back to your hut, you lie down and he nuzzles in happily to your side. Lying flat on your back, he climbs atop your chest and nuzzles in against your breasts, giving a tiny sigh when he’s comfortable and promptly passing out.

It’s beautiful. You love this little thing more than anything you’ve ever loved before. You slowly stroke his tiny back, enjoying the sensation of his little heart thumping against your own. It’s much softer, and quicker due to his small size. It’s wonderful. You kiss his little green head and fall asleep yourself.

In the morning, you and the child bring Din his breakfast, as you have recently. You push aside the curtain and the kid toddles in after. “Good morning,” you sing-song as you set down the tray on the chair next to his bed.

Din sits up, cracking his neck and looking at you. “He wasn’t too much of a nightmare, was he?” He says as he looks at the child. Then he pauses.

When you said you had something for the baby, you meant it. You’d noticed his wardrobe was certainly lacking and constrained to a few interchangeable potato sacks. To remedy that, you’ve sewn him a couple of new outfits. Today he picked his own, a light blue sweater, black leggings, a darker blue tunic, and a pair of tiny gray booties. “What is that?” Din asks.

You shrug happily and tug on the fluffy collar to the tunic, adjusting it so it doesn’t catch the drips of porridge he spoons rapidly into his face. “He needed more clothing. I had leftover fabric,” you bluff, “so I made him more. There are about three other outfits for him as well as pajamas.”

The Mandalorian man is stunned. He stares at the neat stitching, the tiny yet intricate stitching of the fluffy collar. “You made all this?”

“Of course,” you nod, smiling at the baby who smiles at you in return. “It didn’t take long,” you clarify before he can ask. “Just a week or two.”

You really never fail to amaze Din. He just looks at you, lost in your beautiful eyes, your kindness, the charity you radiate for seemingly anyone. Your beauty on the outside is matched inside, and it’s nearly too much for Din to bear. “Thank you,” he nods.

You give him a happy little nod and turn around, away from him, grabbing the blindfold and holding it out for him to tie.

He stops. “You… you don’t need the blindfold.”

“But I can’t see your face,” you ask in confusion, eyes already stuck shut.

“You can’t see my face if you’re turned away. Please, I… trust you. You don’t need the blindfold as long as you promise not to look.”

The sincerity makes your heart tingle. He’s a very cautious man in everything he does, yet he’s trusting you with this. “And you’re sure?”

“Very.”

Sighing, you open your eyes and look down at your tray. “Well, this will make eating much easier,” you chuckle.

The meal proceeds as it normally does. There are pauses when you’re both eating, comfortable silences, and chatter (primarily from you) when ideas come to mind. It’s a nice pattern. You’ve grown to look forward to meal time to get to know the man under the bulletproof suit better.

Din’s mouth opens in an o-shape to ask you something, and the words are nearly out when he hears a blaster fire outside. “Kriff,” he grunts and shoves on his helmet. He grabs his blaster from his belt and quickly moves out of the hut. “Stay inside!” He calls to the both of you.

There’s one more blaster fire, and you get to your feet and immediately disobey his orders to look outside, the baby in your arm.

Outside, Din and the other warrior woman are standing over a body. It’s not a villager, which makes you breathe a sigh of relief. Your eyes are wide with confusion when Din looks up and spots you.

“I told you to stay inside,” he calls.

“Well, the threat is clearly neutralized,” you shout back grumpily and proceed down the steps of the hut, walking to where Din and the woman stand. “What happened?”

The woman looks at the baby and speaks, her face stint as ever. “Bounty hunter. They’re not after me, and they’re not after Mando here…”

Din had told you the baby was worth quite a sum for a reason he didn’t quite understand. As he told you the story, you made a silent vow to protect the baby with your own life if needed. “The kid,” you barely whisper and scratch his head.

Din nods. “Come on. Inside; all of you.”

There are far too many thoughts in Din’s head. His mind is whirling with possibilities. What if it was actually a hunter for Dune like she originally suspected? What if someone in the village was wanted? There are too many options and it stresses him out.

The worst part of all was the fact that you clearly disobeyed him to go and look, which could have very well put you and the child in danger. That’s why he kriffing told you to stay inside, he thinks and clenches his fingers to restrain his anger.

Despite the anger, his brain forces him to realize where it came from. Love. A sense of protection and responsibility. What would he do without you? For the past few weeks, you’ve been his therapist, his confidant, his co-parent, his greatest distraction and greatest focus.

Din crushes the tracking fob beneath his boot as he ushers your small group into a meeting hut.

The three of you and the baby sit on the plush floor and you look to Din for instruction. “Well?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I think it must be for the kid; otherwise they would’ve gone for you with stronger tactics,” he says to the woman, making her snort.

You look at the baby and allow him to toddle into Din’s lap. The baby brings him a sense of security, a reminder that he may be in danger but he’s safe as of now. “So…. what about it? What do they want from him?”

Din scoffs. “They’re bounty hunters. They want him alive so they can experiment on him and do weird things that hurt him.”

You frown at that. “Sorry I don’t understand the complexities of bounty hunting.”

The woman scowls at both of you. “Enough of that. What does this mean for you and the kid, Mando?”

Reflections of light from cracks in the hut bounce off the walls from Din’s beskar helmet. “We’ll have to leave. No way around it.”

“What?” You exclaim, eyes going wide as you look at the man and the baby. “No, you can’t. You… you live here now, you and the baby.”

“This was never our home,” he insists and shakes his head. “I need some time to strategize and I’ll come back with a plan.” With that, Din stands and exits the hut, the baby in his arms. It lets in a cool breeze from outside; you can feel it inside and out.

Din’s strategizing takes too long. Several hours, in fact. You’re starting to wonder if he snuck out before you could say goodbye. To figure that out, you trek to his hut and wander inside.

“You can’t be leaving,” you insist and cross your arms.

“We have to,” he insists, looking up on you. “All it will do is bring danger here and make us easier to locate. If we keep moving, we’re harder to find. Last known locations are harder, anticipated location is even harder yet.”

You frown at him and sit on the cot across from him. “Din,” you say with a sad tone, looking where you believe his eyes to be.

“But there’s a small solution.”

“Anything,” you say hurriedly.

He glances at the baby, napping in his cradle, then back to you. “Come with us.”

“What?” You practically shriek, though you grow quieter as you remember the baby is asleep.

He nods. “The kid, he adores you. I need someone to take care of him while I go on my hunts. Come with us, care for him… live with us.”

“Din,” you say in exasperation. “This is my home. I can’t just leave it.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. Get on the ship with us, cyar’ika. You’ll get to see the entire galaxy. Food, room, all provided for.”

“I have those things here, Din,” you sigh.

He stands and walks to stand over you. “But you’ll have us. You’ll have the kid. You’ll have me.”

Him. The idea makes your breath catch in your throat and look down rather than up. Din catches your chin with a finger and lifts it to look at him. “You are the only person who knows my name. The only one I trust to be in my helmetless presence.”

Words are hard for Din, but this is his only chance. If he doesn’t do it now, he’ll never get it again. “You’re the most beautiful creature. So kind. Generous. Caring, resourceful, all of it.” He lets your chin go but it stays staring up at him. “Come with me. Be with me.”

If you were standing, you’d fall to the floor. Every joint in your body is gelatinous, threatening to collapse you into a viscous pool on this cot. Maker, you want to stay, but Maker, you can’t turn this down. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, taking your hand. “You have to be certain,” he tells you as he laces your fingers through his. “Absolutely certain.”

“Absolutely certain,” you nod in agreement. Standing, you’re not quite as tall as the intimidating man, but you throw your arms around him in a hug. The beskar makes it difficult, but you can both feel it.

Now it’s Din’s turn to melt. He wraps his arms around you too, squishing you against his chestplate. “I promise you’ll be safe and well-fed and comfortable.”

“You don’t have to promise me these things, Din,” you insist. “I trust you.”

“I trust you too,” he says with a stern nod.

You realize that for Din, that’s probably the closest he’s ever gotten to saying I love you. Love is a luxury he can’t afford. Trust is a luxury too, and he’s spent ages without it. He’s never trusted anyone like he’s trusted you, and he’s never felt a love like yours and the love he has for you.

You bury your face in Din’s neck, into the soft, warm spot between his helmet and shoulder plate. There’s skin there, warm and smelling of soap and sweat and metal. You nuzzle your nose against it, squeezing him tight. When you break away, you grin. “So. When are we leaving?”

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#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din and grogu #grogu and din #baby yoda #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian headcanons #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

Text

Death and an Angel part 5

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: A call with one of your bosses threatens to split you and Din apart.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,075

Warnings: Reader experiences a panic attack, use of a swear word, angst, reference to most recent Mandalorian episode so I guess it’s kind of spoiler-ish, hurt/comfort and more angst

Author Note: All the love to everyone who follows along with this series! I joined AO3 recently so all these parts will be on there as well at LittleMissPascal. I’m actually really nervous about the response to this particular segment so...be gentle, please ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 4 and Part 6

Photo Inspiration:

“Cupid 1-1-7, am I hearing you correctly? You said there was an explosion?”

You scrub a hand over your face, biting back a sigh lest the comlink picks it up. “Not a literal one, sir. I’m still not sure what happened, just that when my client touched a potential match’s hand there was this...invisible blast of energy or something.”

The silence on the other end is enough to make you want to slam your head against the wall of the Razor Crest. You’d called headquarters as soon as you and Din had returned to his ship, figuring if anyone had a clue as to what the hell had happened it’d be one of your superiors.

After twenty minutes of explaining your predicament not once, but three times, you’re beginning to realize you were evidently mistaken.

“Remind me again, Cupid 1-1-7, what name was it you referred to this immortal client of yours as?” Over the comlink, your boss’ voice sounds as if he’s gargling jagged rocks, deep and throaty. You can imagine the narrowed-eyed look he’d be giving you in person and you’re grateful you’re not currently having this conversation over a holoprojector.

“I didn’t.”

Your eyes drift to the ladder leading up to the cockpit where Din is located. Something inside of you is insistent you keep Din’s identity hidden from your superiors. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, certainly not with any of your former clients. Part of you thinks of the sensation as possessiveness, but what have you to be possessive of? You have no claim to him, nothing tying you to one another.

“Interesting,” your boss says, dry as the Dune Sea.

“My client is high-profile, sir. He asked me to remain discreet and I intend to uphold his request.” You clutch the comlink against your chest, taking deep breaths to keep yourself calm as you wait to hear if he believed your lie or not.

“This...incident you’ve described, it does bring to mind an event in history with similar details.” There is a shuffling sound that echoes over the device, resembling papers being picked up and flipped through. He hums, a long drawn out note that makes your skin crawl. “Yep, here’s the report right here, referencing an outburst erupting as a result of the physical contact between a potential pair.”

You wait for more information, drumming your fingers against a nearby crate.

“Unfortunately, you are not of rank to hear the specifics.”

“But—”

“I must say though, the Moff will be most interested in this development,” he continues, ignoring your protest as if you hadn’t opened your mouth at all.

Heart lodging in your throat at the mention of the head seraph, you manage to choke out, “I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Hess.”

“That’s sir to you, Cupid 1-1-7.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Forgive me, sir.” You’re two seconds from babbling yourself off a cliff and you can’t find the off switch for your mouth. “It’s just. Moff Gideon is so busy, as I’m sure you know, and I would hate to bother him with this case when I have everything under control—”

“Except that you clearly don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made this call.”

His words hit you like a punch, silencing you.

“The Moff will hear about this, as well as your breaking protocol by concealing information from your superior when directly asked. No doubt he will be as displeased about your behavior as I am.”

Your eyes fall shut as you listen, slumping against the ship’s wall and sliding down onto the cold floor. You feel disconnected from the situation, as if he’s discussing someone else’s fate instead of your own.

“In the meantime,” his voice drones on, adding more weight to the pressure on your chest. “I will permit you forty-eight hours to complete your assignment before I officially relegate it to another Cupid. You will also be ordered to take a reassessment test of your basic understanding of standard Cupid regulations.”

You squeeze your eyes together tighter, feeling like you’re about to throw up. Each breath you take feels pointless, as if there is no longer any oxygen in the air, but you have enough pride left to keep you from having a breakdown with your boss still on the line.

“Do you understand the terms in which I’ve stated to you, Cupid 1-1-7?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amor vincit omnia.” The parting mantra sounds almost sinister coming from his mouth.

“Amor vincit omnia,” you echo, forcing your voice to remain steady.

The comlink clicks off. The floodgates open not a second later.

You press your palms against your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the sobs that wrack your body so they don’t disrupt the silence of the cargo hold. The tears streaming down your face refuse to be stifled though, burning your eyes as they fall. Your head pounds in rhythm with your heartbeat, a frantic drumming counting down the seconds until you either scream or pass out. Or both.

It’s an ugly, hysterical kind of crying that can’t be stopped once started, not even when you hear movement from the ladder right before Din slides down it, boots thudding loudly against the floor.

And then it seems like Din is right there in front of you without ever having moved, unnaturally fast and stealthy, gloved fingers resting on your shoulders. He’s taken off his helmet, brown eyes full of such concern it only makes you cry harder seeing them, further increasing his worry.

“Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he murmurs, a note of franticness in his voice as he looks you over for injuries, finding none except for the few scratches along your arms you’d received earlier when you landed in the dirt.

You shake your head when he tries to move your hands away from your face, emitting a choked hiccup that threatens to crack your already-bruised rib cage with its intensity.

“Angel, you’ve got to breathe, okay?” Din says, soft and soothing. You blink through your watery vision, finding his gaze again, and he offers you a small, reassuring smile. “In and out. Just like this.” He inhales a purposefully deep breath, then slowly releases it without once breaking eye contact.

You try to copy him, but your nose is stuffed with snot and your lungs hitch with another round of sobs, ruining your attempt.

“Can I…?” Din again reaches for one of your hands, this time hovering without attempting direct contact, waiting for your consent.

Trembling, it feels like a monumental task to remove your hand from where it’s glued to the top of your other one still covering your mouth. Din grabs onto your wrist and brings your hand to his chest plate, pressing it against the cool beskar.

“Together, okay? In and out.”

He continues his litany of encouragement, patient and calm, and gradually your heaving sobs begin to lose their power, enabling you to reclaim control of your lungs. Catching your breath, you begin to wipe away the lingering tears with the hand not still held gently in Din’s grip.

“Sorry,” you sniff, embarrassed. The beginning ache of a migraine starts to form in the back of your head, worsening when you try to move too quickly, and you bite back a wince.

His grip on your wrist tightens in admonishment. “There’s no need to be,” he says, but your ears detect his thinly restrained anger. “Who were you speaking to?”

“He’s one of my superiors. Valin Hess,” you answer, biting your lip.

“I should have him wiped clean from the galaxy for making you cry,” Din hisses, a snarl on his face and eyes darkening with rage.

Face to face with anyone else, you would have felt terrified being so close to such open hostility. But this is how Din expresses his overprotective nature, making himself a more dangerous threat than the enemy, and for that reason, you could never be scared of him.

“Din, listen to me,” you say, curling your hand in his grasp until he yields to your movements and allows you to intertwine your fingers with his gloved ones. “What happened on Sorgan when you touched Omera’s hand, Hess said it wasn’t the first time something like that has happened. He wouldn’t give me the details though because I’m not high enough rank.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware Cupids had any kind of ranking system.”

“It’s based on how long you’ve existed. I’ve only been a Cupid for fifty years now, barely made any kind of lasting imprint on the galaxy.”

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, shooting you a stern look. “You’ve made a bigger impact than you could ever know.”

Struck momentarily speechless, you can only watch as he moves to sit on the floor beside you, clasped hands settling between his thigh and yours. The pauldron on his shoulder presses against the upper half of your arm and you tilt your head until your temple rests against it.

“That’s not what made you upset,” Din says.

You don’t need to shake your head, confirming the truth he already knows, but you do anyway, comforted by the cold metal rubbing across your forehead.

“What did he tell you, angel?”

You know by how he squeezes your hand that he genuinely wants to hear what happened. You know he must hear it from you because no one else can break the news. And you know you cannot lie to him because Hess’ intervening affects him even more than it does yourself. Still, in spite of knowing all of this, the words don’t come out any easier.

“I have only two days to figure out who your soulmate is before he reassigns you another Cupid.”

Din goes abruptly stiff. “What.”

“Because of the explosion and then also because I broke protocol by refusing to say you were my client, Hess believes I’m not handling things well and should be replaced by someone better.”

If you hadn’t known Din was immortal, you would think he died with how still he remains at your side. Leaning back with increasing worry, you see him staring forward across the cargo hold, granting you only a glimpse of the side of his face.

He...Oh, Maker.

He looks kriffing pissed.

“Din—”

“How...” he cuts himself off, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw. “How could they ever think there is anyone better than you?”

For the job, you tell yourself, not allowing your hopes to rise. He means there isn’t anyone better for the job.

“I’m just a Cupid,” you tell him weakly, shrugging a shoulder. “I—”

“Stop talking poorly about yourself,” he snaps, the closest he’s ever come to yelling at you, turning to meet your gaze with fire burning in his eyes. You swallow thickly, his intensity making you feel like cornered prey.

When he speaks again, his baritone voice has become a low murmur, each word carefully chosen and bleeding sincerity. “Everything you said about knowing who your soulmate is—I want to experience all of it with you. Only you. You’re it for me, angel.”

You freeze, unable to believe what you’re hearing, train of thought coming to a screeching halt. For the second time during this conversation, you’ve lost your voice, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

“You’re it for me,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s pleading for you to believe him. “So tell your bosses to go fuck themselves. You’re the only Cupid I could ever want by my side.”

The reference of your designation is like dumping a bucket of ice water over your head, shocking your entire system. You wrench yourself away from him, stumbling onto your feet.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you say as you start to pace around the room, hearing the hysterical edge in your own voice.

He stands up, expression warring between confusion and irritation. “I know you feel something too. Why do you keep pulling away from me?”

“Because we can’t be together, Din,” you answer, blinking back the unbidden tears starting to form again. “I’m not your soulmate. It isn’t possible!”

“Angel.” He catches your elbow when you pass by him, forcing you to face him. His voice is brittle when he speaks, already expecting your answer to shatter his wounded heart. “Why can’t you be with me?”

“Because I’ve already met my soulmate. And he wasn’t you.”

Tag List: @leilei-draws, @theocatkov, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph, @stardust-and-starlight, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor, @remmyswritings, @gallowsjoker, @rhiannon-russo, @randomness501, @eleine-t1d, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene, @softly-sad, @maytheglitter, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk

#din x you #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #Din Djarin #the mandalorian #my writing #death and an angel #my fic #soulmate au #Pedro Pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader

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joel-millerr · 3 years

Text

Pushing Each Others Limits

Chapter Four of We Are One When Together (formerly A Mandalorian and a Smuggler

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10k

Summary: You and the Child share an intimate moment. Mando continues to boss you around, and this time you’ve had enough, choosing to defy him because you’re a brat.

Warnings: oral sex (man receiving), drinking, doing sexual stuff under the influence, dom/sub mentions, angst, slight gambling, a little bit of fluff with the Child, mentions of death/mourning

A/N: also I did a little bit of research on sabacc and then realized it’s a lot more intricate than I thought so watch me make shit up about the game ahahaha

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“And why can’t I come with you?”

Mando’s sigh is heavily distorted by the vocoder, and the eye slit in the helmet continues to study you. Hands resting on his hips, he hovers over your body, scolding you like a child. “Because I said so.”

Chuffing out a scoff, your eyes roll dramatically as you press him again, forcing to crane your neck in order to maintain your gaze, “That’s such bullshit, Mando.”

“Too fucking bad.”

Fists white knuckling at your sides, your eyebrows are pulled together tightly, feeling the childlike anger bubbling inside of you. Deep down, you know Mando’s right. It’s becoming increasingly riskier for you to keep roaming the streets, but being stuck in the hangar with Peli is the last thing you want to be doing. You’d much rather be out, no matter how dangerous it might be.

“I am more than capable of handling my own, thank you for very much.” You warn before stomping your way over to the door to the hangar, but before you can even get close enough to the door, your body is yanked backwards, a large hand gripping your arm and whipping you to face the Mandalorian.

“Can you just listen for once?” He growls, broad chest looming over your smaller figure. Your throat goes dry instantly—this being the first time in two days that he’s been this close to you.

Neither of you have spoken about what happened on your first night here, and since then Mando’s been keeping his distance. Once again, he’s keeping you at bay, forcing you to guess what the hell is going on under that bucket of a helmet he wears.

Having a knack for reading people, it’s always been impossible to hide things from you because you were continuously capable of finding out the truth based on body language or facial expressions. Given the fact that Mando’s face is covered by kriffing beskar, you have no way of trying to get a read on him. It’s just a blank space, and no matter how hard your eyes focus on the slightest movement of his body or tilt of his head, you’re stuck guessing what he could be thinking.

So in truth, you’re a little resentful, and hurt. What happened in that alley was more than just a spur of the moment type of thing. You felt it—it had been building up since you both met, and since then the tension had become so disgustingly thick that it was bound to take you both over, but now? It’s like you’re back to square one. Actually no, it’s like he’s purposely ignoring you, as if he doesn’t want anything to do with you, but has no choice since you’re essentially stuck with him.

But despite this gnawing feeling that you’ve worn out your welcome, you’d still rather spend the day with him than with Peli. At least with Mando, the chances of him making small talk are low; an outburst between you and the owner of the hangar is much more likely.

And now you’re stuck in a stare down with Mando. Visor watching you, you stare back in defiance with one eyebrow raised, and your jaw angled. He probably thinks the longer he keeps his gaze on you that you’ll eventually give in to what he wants, but you’re not that submissive. You rarely give into intimidation, and quite honestly, there’s a part of you that enjoys seeing him get this worked up. Wanting to know just how far you can push your luck, you take one step closer until you’re merely inches away from cool chrome durasteel. Your body is burning up, heartrate rising and rising until it’s thumping against your ribcage, and you swear you can see his chest puff out slightly.

The hand on your arm releases and balls up as his side. Quick breaths emit from the vocoder, and you bite down on your lip to stop the smile from creeping up on your lips. It shouldn’t bring you this much satisfaction seeing him get agitated, but your ego is flourishing right now.

Pushing your limits even further, you lean into his body ever so slowly, and whisper breathlessly into the side of his helmet, “Please let me come with you.”

Mando’s shoulders stiffen and his chest heaves, the cuirass brushing against your breasts. You start to think he might be considering letting you come with him, given your shameless efforts seducing him to your will. He stays quiet for far too long, and the air is starting to get thicker, your ability to breathe is becoming too difficult.

Just when you start to think you’re in control of the situation, he presses into you and your forced to take a step back to keep yourself from falling backwards. His broad chest encompasses you once again, demonstrating that any control you had was just him manipulating you into thinking that. “No.” He commands, the syllable ripping through the modulator, and just like that, the argument ends. Not bothering to wait for your rebuttal, he saunters passed you, and disappears through the door of the hangar.

You want to scream; you want to rip your hair out like an immature kid who didn’t get what they wanted, but you stand there dumbfounded. What happened? Were you so naïve as to think that you had any kind of control over the situation? Was he just letting you believe that you have any chance in deciding what the outcome of the argument would be?

Hearing another door swoosh open, your head turns towards the sound to see Peli exiting her office and heading in direction of the ship. Her reaction to seeing you still here is a mix of disappointment and annoyance. You see her roll her eyes and curse under her breath, and even though you can’t make out what she said, you know it wasn’t anything kind.

She saunters over to Crest to begin any last-minute tweaks that it might need, her back facing you. Ideally, today would be the day to squash your quarrel with her, since you’re both stuck with each other for the rest of the day, and having to tip-toe around each other just because neither of you refuse to be the first to bring up what happened all those years ago just seems juvenile.

Taking a deep, almost lung burning breath in an effort to release all the anger concerning Mando, you push down any pride you have and make a beeline towards Peli. You know she can hear your feet hitting the ground as you approach her, and you observe her posture change—she tries to disappear further into the Crest, pretending to be so busy that she could completely ignore you, but you’re too determined to squash your issues to give up now.

“Can I help with anything?” You ask just as get closer to her. Peli’s back stays glued to you, she doesn’t even bother looking in your direction before answering. “No.”

Biting down on your jaw and fighting the urge to roll your own eyes, your lips press into a thin line before prodding her again. “Peli, I don’t want any trouble. I can helpful.”

This seems to get her attention because her back stiffens, head turning slightly in your direction before her words come out like venom. “Even if I wanted help, the last person I’d ask it from is you.”

Her words cause you to recoil, only now realizing just how much resentment and bitterness for you lies deep inside her. The guilt that follows causes your fingers to twitch at your sides, chew the inside of your cheek and stand there awkwardly, not wanting to walk away but also not having anything to ease the anxiety in the air. The only thing you can think of is to try to make conversation about the ship. Taking a few steps back and leaning your shoulder against the side of the Crest, you begin to speak gently, “When Mando and I were on Sorgan, I had noticed the beginning’s a fuel leak, but I wasn’t able to fix it since I didn’t have any handy equipment on me.”

An obnoxious sneer is released from Peli as she begins to march around the Crest, checking off her to-do list on the datapad in her hands. “I don’t see how you would have been able to do that even if you did have the proper tools.”

“I’m a very capable mechanic, Peli.” You snap back, trailing behind her. Growing up surrounded by ships has given you an extensive knowledge into how a ship runs—the intricate mechanics involved in keeping a ship in good condition. Therefore, you knew what you were talking about. If anyone could go toe-to-toe with you when it came to repairing anything, it was Peli.

Finally pulling her eyes away from the tablet in her hands to look at you, she mumbles, “Don’t you mean a smuggler?” through gritted teeth, practically spitting the words at you.

Your weight shifts to one side, a hand placed firmly on your hip and clamping hard on your jaw to keep yourself from impulsively saying something you might regret later, you take your time trying to find the right words to respond with. “Look, you’re stuck with me all day, because somebody didn’t want to draw more attention to themselves, so we’re going to have to learn to deal with each other just for today. I know I can be civil, but can you?”

Peli throws her arms up, shrugging theatrically before going back to take notes on her datapad. “Just as long as you stay out of my way, I got no problems.”

Realizing there may never be a time to squash your quarrels with her, you retreat inside the Crest for some time alone. Climbing up the ladder to the cockpit, you settle down in one of the passenger chairs. The Child fusses in his pram, and sleepy eyes peer up at you, that gentle, childlike expression seems to make all your troubles disappear in an instant. Your head cocks to the side, admiring and gazing upon this little green creature.

His tiny arms reach out for you and you lean over to pick him up in your arms. He sits on your lap, a petite hand stretching out to touch your face. Your neck leans forward, closing the space between you and the Child. Three fingers caress your cheek, and just as that happens, a rush of emotions overwhelm you. It’s a familiar feeling—like when you reunite with an old friend after years of going your separate ways. All those years apart means nothing because now you’ve found each other. That kind of love—a rare kind of connection, usually found only in soulmates or family. You’ve only ever experienced it as familial—your parents were your soulmates. They meant everything you, and from this little baby in your lap, you feel it in him too. His giant eyes look into you, as if he’s letting you in on a secret—one he’s never felt before and is unable to express to others. It hits the same spot inside of you. That yearning for familial love and acceptance—devoid of judgement, just pure, kind adoration that’s been buried deep inside of you. Flashes of the Mandalorian flood into your mind, coming in quick bursts that almost make your head spin.

A large mammal with a giant horn on its snout. A mudhorn.

A female brunette.

She’s my friend! Cara is my friend!

A room engulfed in flames.

Let me have a warrior’s death…This is the way.

Sadness, love, a consciousness to protect—it’s all consuming. This is a bond between father and child, you now realize. The intensity in which the Child cares for Mando, it’s not only remarkable but heartwarming. In five years, you haven’t even come close to the kind of bond they clearly share, and it’s something you didn’t know you ached for. Actually, you probably knew on some level you craved this kind of undying love but were forced to reject and push down deep inside you.

The touch on your cheek suddenly disappears, and the Child falls backwards, just in time for you to catch his back with your other hand to keep him from falling out of your lap. Whatever he’s just shown you had taken all the force he had in his little body, because his eyes flutter shut, and almost instantly falling asleep in your arms. You don’t know how to show him that you now understand their relationship, but you wonder if on some level, he already knows. There’s clearly something that binds you and him together, something for whatever reason you’re unable to explain, but you somewhat subconsciously know this is the first time the Child has allowed anyone to know this. Gently placing him in his crib and shutting the pram, you slouch back in your seat and wonder if the Mandalorian knows just how much he means to this little gremlin.

Grogu.

Somehow you’ve fallen asleep. You don’t remember even closing your eyes but when they bat open, dusk has fallen on Mos Eisley. Looking over to your left haphazardly, the lack of a green baby in the pram shoots panic up and down your spine, causing you to jump to your feet immediately. Your eyesight is still hazy, but your feet are working on autopilot, searching frantically for him in the cockpit. When you see no obvious sign of him, you dash for the ladder. Taking the rungs two at a time, you all but fly down to the hull still hyped up on adrenaline, praying to the Maker that you did not lose Mando’s kid.

Once you reach the hull of the ship, you hear Peli’s voice and a series of noises from her pit droids. Descending down the side ramp, you see them gathered around a table, playing some kind of gambling game; probably sabacc. The little one is perched up on a seat at the table, ogling what the others are doing but not actually taking part in the festivities. Panic begins to subside, and a deep sigh of relief comes from you, your hand clutching your chest.

Noticing your presence, the Child coos and Peli looks up at you for a second before turning her attention back to the game in front of her. “I heard the kid fussing and when I came to check on him, you were asleep so I figured I’d take him so he doesn’t wake you up.”

“Oh, well thank you,” You didn’t know Peli was capable of being that kind, and it warms you to see such a different side to her.

Continuing to stand there awkwardly for a few seconds trying to decide what you should do next, your jaw stiffens, feeling like you’re intruding on their game. Pivoting slowly, you’re about to make for the ship again when Peli calls you over. “You still good at the game?”

Clearing your throat, you take a step towards her before responding, hands twiddling in front of you. “Uh, yeah I used to play all the time with my crew.”

She lets out a chuff of air, no doubt at the fact you said ‘crew’ as if to make fun of you, but you choose to ignore her obvious jest.

“Take a seat,” She says and then points to a chair off to the side of the hangar. You walk over to fetch it and lug it over to the table, choosing to sit down next to the Child. He peers up at you briefly before turning his big black eyes down to the game in front of you both.

“You’ll come in on the next round,” She informs you.

“Okay.”

“So,” Peli begins as she observes the cards in her hand. “How did you end up with Mando?”

Your hand rubs the nape of your neck absentmindedly, the other holding the cards in your hand. Your eyes are glued to the cards, but your mind focuses on something entirely different. “He had my tracking fob.”

“And he didn’t turn you in?” She says in surprise.

“Well he did, but turns out it was actually the Empire who had the hit on me so…” You answer.

“Why didn’t he just let the Imps have at you?” Curiosity is at the forefront of her voice, but there’s a hint of a sneer in the way she asks you—like she’s shocked he chose not to let the Empire do whatever they wanted to do to you.

“I don’t know,” You answer honestly, unsure of the reason yourself. He’s never actually told you why he didn’t just let the Imps take you, and you’ve been meaning to ask. It just never seemed like there was a right time to bring it up.

“Hmmm,” Peli hums.

It really was something that you wanted to know. Foolishly, you could say it was because you had developed a mutual respect for each other since your capture, but realistically, it probably came down to the fact that he hated the Empire, and didn’t want them to get what they wanted. If the latter were true, it would be hard to disguise the disappointment that would so clearly be plastered on your face whenever he’d choose to tell you. That’s part of the reason why you haven’t asked him yet. Often times, not knowing the truth has saved you from a lot of pain. This was just another one of those times. Never mind the fact that you also don’t know why you two almost fucked in an alley a couple nights ago. Just add that to the list of truths you didn’t want to know.

“Hey,” Peli’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “It’s your turn. You drawing, staying or swapping?”

Looking down at the cards in your hand and mentally adding them all up, you stand at 22. That’s almost a guaranteed win unless someone else at the table has a better hand than you do—which you doubt. It’s harder to tell what a droid’s hand might be given the fact that they…don’t have the ability to express anything facially and therefore have the best poker face in the galaxy, but you’ve been keeping count of the cards left in the deck, and you’re almost positive that you have the best hand at the table. Even Peli is starting to look nervous—her leg bounces off the ground, and you catch her furrowing her eyebrows. You have this win in the bag.

“All right, we ready to call it?” Peli asks the table. Her three droids mumble incoherently, and her eyes shift to you for a second to hear your answer. Your head dips forward in accordance and Peli offers a slight nod in approval. “Okay, you womp rats. Let’s do this.”

The droid immediately to her right shows his hand—19. Perfect, you’re one step closer to victory.

“Ha, close but not close enough!” Peli exclaims.

The next pit droid shows their hand—21. Okay, that’s a little too close to your number but it’s not good enough to beat you. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the shit-eating grin that’s slowly sneaking up on your face. Forcing your lips into a thin line, your body threatens to jump up and down in celebration.

The droid to your left shows their cards and once again, its hand isn’t as good as yours. They stand at -20 and now you’re all but shooting out of your seat with excitement.

Peli catches your attention by saying your name. You crane your neck to face her. “Your turn, smuggler.”

You can’t help but roll her eyes at her. It’s not that she’s wrong, but surely she could have thought of something more clever than that. Mouth curling up in a toothy smile, you—almost arrogantly, throw your cards on the table. “BOOM! 22, read ‘em and weep suckers!” The droids beep disappointedly, their little fists slamming down on the table, causing the cards and the miscellaneous pool in the middle to tumble around.

“Take it easy there, Spice-y…” Peli warns, her eyebrows dancing as she looks at you with her own shit-eating smile. Your face contorts in confusion as she slowly places her cards face up on the table.

“SON OF A BITCH!” You yell when you see her score.

Kriffing -23.

“‘Read ‘em and weep suckers’,” She mocks, letting out an obnoxiously loud laugh and wrapping her arms around the rewards in the middle. To be fair, it was all her parts anyway and you have no credits, so you didn’t actually lose anything—except your pride. The kid to your right laughs, his little arms waving up in down, totally unable to control his joy.

“How did—?”

“Kid, I’ve been playing this since before you were born. You don’t think I have some kind of strategy?”

“This is supposed to be a game based on luck,” Emphasizing the word luck because how in the Maker did she manage to win? You counted every card; you were so sure that you had this game in the bag.

“Guess I’m just lucky then.”

Rolling your eyes into the next galaxy and using your fists to push them off your knees to rise to your feet, you only notice then how dark it’s gotten since you woke up from your nap in the cockpit. Mando should be back by now. Eyes drifting off to the door of the hangar, he should be back any second, right? That sudden realization makes you cringe—you shouldn’t be ‘hoping’ for anything from him. You’re just…friends? Acquaintances? Making a mental note to add that to the list of things you’ll probably never know, you sigh to yourself.

“I’m gonna head out for a bit. The kid’s fine with you, right?” You ask Peli, keeping your eyes peeled to the hangar door.

“Didn’t Mando tell you to stay here?”

This time your neck cranes towards her direction, raising an eyebrow at her. “When have I ever done what someone’s told me to do?” You begin to say as your feet make for the door.

A rush of exhilaration and thrill hit you once the door closes behind you. Technically, you’re not doing anything wrong. Mando said you couldn’t go with him—he said nothing about you going off on your own, and besides the city is almost in complete darkness by now so the chances of anyone even paying any attention to you is pretty low. Even more so, you know this place like the back of your hand, and in the event that someone does identify you, it would be all too easy to zigzag your way through the streets and find your way back to the hangar without anything catching up to you. And since it’s your last night here, why shouldn’t you take one last walk around the town? After all, this was your home for many, many years so why wouldn’t you want to take one last nostalgic walk through your past? Especially if you’re trying to have the closure you didn’t allow yourself to have the last time you left Tatooine.

Not having a specific destination in mind, you let your feet guide you aimlessly through the city. Flashes of your youth appear in your mind, and you can see your younger self walking through these exact streets; sometimes with your parents, sometimes with Tye, sometimes just by yourself. As you watch yourself navigate through the roads, laughing and smiling with loved ones, you’re reminded of all the pain that’s happened to you since. Everyone you’ve ever loved is gone—dead or presumed dead. Every single person who’s brought happiness in your life, anyone who’s ever cared for you…gone.

It was right at this moment that you realize, you never had the time to mourn Tye’s death. There wasn’t time for you to process it—to accept it and move on. Instead, you had just forgotten all about it because there were too many other things to focus on, but now as you stroll through the city, the same city you and him would spend 90% of your time in, the realization that he’s gone pierces through you like dozens of vibroblades stabbing you in every corner of your body. An ache you didn’t know was stirring up inside you comes right to the surface, feeling empty and fucking alone once again.

He was your best friend.

He was the only family you had left. Tye was flawed, there’s no denying that, but he was with you right until the very last second. He tried to save your life—more times than you can count. Tye died trying to save your life and this is how you repay him? By fantasizing about the man who basically killed him? It shouldn’t be like this; you shouldn’t be with Mando. He took away the only family you had, and you’re out here wondering how mad he’ll be when he finds out you left the hangar when he told you to stay put?

But… Mando saved your life. He could have let the Imps carry you off but, he didn’t. He came back to rescue you. He told you to stay in the hangar for your own safety. Stars, he’s even out looking for some kind of lead as to why the Empire wants you.

It’s just too much. There are too many things you don’t know, too many conflicting emotions inside you, you’re unable to sift through them all and come to a logical conclusion. As you got older, it became easy to compartmentalize your feelings—locking some away and never allowing yourself the luxury of experiencing those again and for a while, it worked, but now everything’s changed. A Mandalorian came rushing into your life and has changed everything about the way you’ve been living. Nothing about you is the same anymore. The control you had is no longer there, slipping through your fingers like when rain slithers off leaves. Each drop of stability, and restriction is slipping out of your reach and there’s absolutely nothing you can do to stop it.

You’re not sure when you started heading for the cantina, but you come to your senses just as your figure slides through the door. At the top of the stairs, the cantina is overwhelmed with people from all walks of life. Now that nightfall has stumbled on the city, all cantinas will look like this one—visitors, and locals alike all crammed together, dancing, drinking and gambling. Deciding against your better judgement to find a quiet place to sit alone and drink your thoughts away, you opt to sit at the bar. To make matters even more daring, you sit at the bar with your back to the entrance of the cantina. While others might not even think twice to do that, to you it’s stirring and terrifying all at the same time.

“What can I get ya?” The droid asks, his voice box distorting from how loud he actually has to speak in order for you to hear him.

“Just give me strongest thing you got,” You shout back, making a mental note to find a way to pay them back later.

“Rough day?” A gruff voice prompts.

Straining your neck to your right, a rather good-looking man back stares back at you, elbows resting on the counter. The cantina might be dimly lit, but you can make out some of his features. Floppy, black hair tickles the tops of his eyebrows, making his blue eyes stand out against the dark contrast. A tidy beard cascades across his cheeks and jawline, and for the first time in a while, you see a smile that doesn’t immediately trigger your fight or flight response.

“Uh, yeah,” You reply as the bartender hands you a cup full of a deep red liquid. Not taking a second to think about it, you grab the cup and throw the drink back, the alcohol hitting your tastebuds makes your body shiver involuntarily, but as it makes its way down your throat, the liquid warms your insides, relaxing the tautness in your shoulders. You motion to the bartender for another drink and the kind stranger giggles.

“Must have been a hell of a rough day,”

“Any day on Tatooine is a rough day.” You jest as the droid refills your cup.

“I wouldn’t know. It’s my first time here.”

You nearly choke on your drink, completely taken aback by the statement. “Why the hell are you here, then?”

The man’s head cocks to one side, and eyebrow raising in confusion, but that smile is still plastered on his face. He really does have a kind smile.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be imposing.” You correct, worried you might have offended him in some way.

“Not at all,” He shrugs. “I had to make a delivery here. I’m heading out at first light.”

“Oh?”

“What about you? What brings you here?”

Despite the alcohol lowering your defenses, you always know to keep your answers short and vague, so as to not draw attention to yourself. “Oh I’m just passing through.”

The brunette lets out a loud laugh, an infectious one that makes you laugh in return. He shakes his head, causing his disheveled hair to brush against his brow bone. The longer you look at him, the more you can feel arousal stirring up in your stomach. He really is attractive, in an easy, non-intimidating way.

Stars, this isn’t why you wanted to go out.

“How vague of you,” He quips.

“Gotta keep them on their toes, right?”

“That I have to agree with.”

Taking the cup in your hand and holding it up in front of you, he proposes a toast. “To keeping them on their toes”. The stranger holds up his own cup and knocks it against yours, albeit a little too aggressively because some of the liquid in your cup flies out of the mug and spills onto your tunic.

“Fuck, Maker I’m so sorry—” He starts to say but your hand comes up to stop him.

“It’s fine,” You assure him. “It’s not my finest shirt anyway.”

“At least let me pay for your drinks. It’s the least I can do since I may have completely ruined your shirt.”

Nodding your head, he calls the droid over and gestures for two more drinks.

Three drinks later, and the alcohol is definitely getting to you, now. More so than it did back on Sorgan, given that you’ve had just a fraction of whatever this red stuff is compared to an entire bottle of spotchka. Whatever this droid gave you was some powerful stuff. You’re not completely inebriated, but you’re definitely more relaxed than you were before, the warmth of the alcohol travelling through your system and making you a lot more comfortable and laid-back. To make matter worse, the alcohol has unfortunately made this strange man a lot more attractive and the thought of him touching you is making your cunt ache.

“Look, maybe I’m misreading things, but would you want to head back to my ship?”

It’s a bad idea—like, a really bad idea. You’ve known this man for maybe half an hour and you’re definitely not in the right state of mind to be accepting his offer. Actually, the fact that you’re drunk isn’t the problem. The real problem is that you’re being hunted by the fucking Empire and you have no idea if this guy is trying to find a way to lure you to his ship or if he really is just a kind traveler. Regardless, you shouldn’t say yes.

You really fucking shouldn’t.

Because you haven’t said anything, he begins to backtrack. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I take it back.”

Before your brain can control the words spewing out of your mouth, your ears hear you say, “No, you didn’t offend me at all.” Placing a hand over his on the counter and squeezing it in reassurance, the touch sends sparks up your arm and sends it straight to the apex of your thighs. You’re definitely in the wrong state of mind right now, but you’ve gone too far to pull back now and honestly, if Mando won’t fuck you, you’ll just have to find someone else who will. “Lead the way.”

Swallowing the rest of your drink in one big guuuulp, your buddy of the night throws some credits down on the counter and thanks the bartender for the drinks and all but jumps to his feet. He links his hand with yours and begins escorting you out of the cantina.

The cool air feels amazing against your red-hot cheeks, your heart thumping in your chest full of danger, excitement, and arousal. This reminds you of your smuggling days. After a job, still feeling the aftershocks of your dicey run, you’d find someone worth your while and let them fuck you senseless in your ship. It makes you feel like you again. This is what you do—this is the routine you’ve created for yourself. This is familiar.

Giggling like a bunch of teenagers, neither of you are able to hide your eagerness. Not even after a couple blocks walk away from the cantina, he’s pushing you against the nearest wall of a quiet street, trapping you with his body. His breath reeks of alcohol, but in that sweet way that’s even more intoxicating. Your lips part, eyes staring at his own plush lips just a few inches away from you. This wouldn’t be possible with Mando. You could never look at his face; look at his lips and crush them with yours, or feel his tongue brush against yours. No, this will have to do.

A gentle hand comes up and holds your chin in place. He’s not as tall as Mando either, you barely have to strain your neck to look up at him, but this will have to do. Bringing his face close to yours, you think he’s about to kiss you, but his lips pass yours and comes right to your ear.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers, his hot breath touching your even hotter skin. His voice sends shivers down your spine—not the way Mando’s voice does but this will have to do.

Your hands come flying up to grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling him back just so you’re inches away from each other’s face again. It would barely take any effort to close the gap and feel his lips against yours. Closing your eyes, you wait for him to make the first move. Despite you two knowing absolutely nothing about the other, he seems to catch on to your body language quickly, because the next thing you know, he’s crushing his lips on yours.

It’s not elegant or gentle, it’s needy and desperate. His teeth clash against yours, causing you both to pull away momentarily to chuckle before dipping back to each other’s mouths—more elegantly this time.

His mouth tastes like alcohol, it fills your nostrils and tastebuds with such aggression, it’s almost attacking them. Pressing his body further into yours, you could feel the outline of his hard cock brushing your thigh, forcing out a moan through your lips. In return, he forces his tongue through your open mouth, flicking your bottom lip and meeting yours. The hand on your cheek disappears, then both of them travel down your neck, grabbing your breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze before trailing down your abdomen and settling on your waist, wrapping them around you tightly in an effort to pull you closer to him.

Your mind tries to focus on this moment, on the man touching and kissing you, but you’re unable to shake the feeling you’re being watched. Pulling away from him, your back goes rigid at the sight of the Mandalorian just a few feet away from you two. The stranger from the cantina turns his head and nearly jumps back at the sight.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian growls, his vocoder scratching dangerously low, making your whole body shiver in fear.

“Uh—I—uh—we were—uh—” You manage to choke out, entire physique trembling from head to toe.

His helmet turns to face the stranger you were just making out with and he all but snarls when addressing him. “I suggest you leave.”

Turning to you, his eyes wide shot in absolutely terror, you can assume this is the first time he’s ever seen a Mandalorian, let alone a seething Mandalorian. “Are y-you gon-n-na be okay?” He stutters.

“She’ll be fine.” Mando answers for you.

Unable to get rid of the lump in your throat, you offer him a nod and within seconds, the brunette is gone. You’re left alone with Mando, in a horribly lit street in Mos Eisley—just like you were a couple days ago.

“I told you to stay at the hangar.” He spits out from what you assume is gritted teeth. The helmet gives no insight as to what Mando’s expression could be but somehow the visor burning into you right now is the most frightening and the most arousing thing you can imagine.

“I just wanted some fresh air.”

“The hangar is an open space. It’s full of fresh air.”

Noticing his hands clenched into fists at his sides and his back as stiff as a board, your little stunt has infuriated him more than you thought it would, and for some sick reason, that turns you on even more.

“Let’s go. Now.” He orders, body whipping around so fast his cape makes a loud whoosh noise as it whisks behind him.

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the mental exhaustion from the day, but you’re pretty fucking tired of being bossed around by him. Despite being somewhat intoxicated and feeling your body sway, you straighten out your shoulders, cross your arms against your chest and muster as much strength as you can and say, “No.”

Mando stops in his tracks, the tip of his helmet turning ever so slowly until his head can’t turn any more. “What did you say?”

“I said no.”

Before you can fully understand what’s happening, Mando rushes towards you. At first you want to recoil from his sudden movement, but you plant yourself further into the ground, continuing to hold yourself in your stance.

“You don’t scare me.” Whether or not you’re trying to convince him or yourself that, it’s unclear, but the fact that Mando doesn’t pull away indicates that he clearly doesn’t believe you.

“I don’t?” He asks coyly as he cocks his head to the side, knowing damn well what he’s doing.

Moving into your body at a dangerously slow rate, your body mimics his as you feel yourself gradually leaning back. You’re losing balance, and if you don’t find some way to steady yourself, you’ll end up falling back on your bum. Thinking quickly, your left leg flies behind you, enabling you to get your footing in the sand and keep from falling backwards.

“Why does your body language tell me otherwise?” He’s downright taunting you right now. Mando gets off seeing you struggle under his authority.

“Because you’re pushing yourself into me!” You shriek.

“I don’t see you fighting back.”

It’s at this moment you realize, no matter how many men you meet in cantinas, no matter how many of them you spend the night with or even a moment with, no matter how drunk you get yourself in order to enjoy these one night stands, none of that will ever matter because it’ll never compare to how Mando makes you feel. No one in this kriffing galaxy will ever get your heart racing and your blood pounding like he does. No one will be able to drive you fucking crazy the way he does.

The stranger at the bar might have been able to get you wet and aching to be touched—probably not even wanting to be touched by him though. However, it’s nothing compared to the burning pit of desire that’s pooling inside you in Mando’s presence. He’s only touched you once but it wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. You want him, you fucking need him more than you would ever admit.

From the way you see it, you have two options to choose from. You can either yield to Mando’s dominance and follow him back to the Crest, feeling guilty and sorry for yourself or you can challenge him back, establish your own independence and see how far you can defy him. Given that you can be a pretty big fucking brat, you opt for the latter.

Pushing yourself forward while using your left leg and lowering your arms to your sides for extra balance, your breasts graze against his beskar cuirass while your legs shift to stand shoulder-width apart. Having to crane your neck upwards to look straight into the T of his visor, it’s somewhat uncomfortable but you’re trying to prove a point right now, so you’ll deal with the stress on your neck until the point’s been made clear.

Your chest is heaving, heartrate unbelievable fast as you stand so fucking close to each other, neither of you wanting to break the almost suffocating suspense by speaking. No, right now you’re both locked in a fight for dominance, wondering who will be the one to either pull away or close the tiny gap between your bodies. It might be the alcohol, but you’re feeling rather audacious, and you want to continue pushing him, push him passed his limits until he becomes the feral animal you know is clawing inside of him. The adrenaline rush you had kissing that kind stranger from the bar is fucking nothing compared to this. This is making your veins ignite with fire, burning through your entire core and not even the breeze can cut the heat radiating off your skin.

“Stop,” Mando says breathlessly, sounding more like a plea than an order.

“I don’t see you fighting back,” You repeat, drawling out every word so he knows you’re mocking him. The tables have flipped, you’re the one holding the power and it’s fucking invigorating. Having a Mandalorian practically beg you is sending sparks of arousal right to your throbbing cunt, resisting the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pain building up in the apex of your legs.

“You wouldn’t want to see me fight back.” Fuck, this is getting too much.

The baritone of his voice scratches low in the vocoder, sending shocks straight to your belly, while also suggesting he’s pulling back from fully allowing himself to do whatever his body hungers for. But you’re not, in fact you’re just getting started because now you know you’re affecting him, and the liquor in your bloodstream is making you a lot bolder than you normally would be.

“I don’t think you could fight back.” Obviously a lie, you know damn well he can fight back but you’re incessant need to toy with him, to continue to mock him until he absolutely loses his fucking mind is too inviting, you can’t stop yourself.

“Maker, I said stop.” Mando growls, drawing closer towards you to the point you’re leaning back again, invading your space so deliciously. Your sense of smell is engulfed with the aroma of metal and his musk, you’re practically drunk on him alone. Knowing you’ll need to choose your next words wisely; you opt for the ones you know will force him over the edge. Swallowing the gigantic lump in your throat, your gaze deepening into the eye slit of his visor, you speak low and as cunning as you can giving the current circumstance.

“Make me.”

In a swift movement, Mando’s gloved hands come up and grip your biceps, not hard enough to hurt but definitely strong enough for you to understand who’s actually in charge. He holds you tightly as he all but pushes you against the closest wall, the duracrete digging into your shoulder blades. Pressing into you, the beskar holding you in place, you feel the bulge in his pants grinding against your lower stomach. Your pussy is disgustingly wet, panties drenched as they stick to you.

Head pushed against the wall behind you, it’s difficult to properly look into the black slit of his helmet, but you try your hardest to maintain eye contact with him, to show him you’re not backing down without a proper fight…or whatever else might occur. His own chest is heaving, armour flush against your torso, locking you in this intimate moment. Wanting to touch him, one of your hands draws up from your side slowly, not entirely sure where exactly to place it. Flicking your tongue along your lower lip, and using the liquid courage that’s a mix of liquor and arousal, you push your palm between your bodies and grab hold of the growing erection in his pants. The noise that Mando makes is guttural, one of his hands letting go of your bicep to punch into the wall behind you.

“Fuck,” He moans, the helmet coming passed your head to press into the duracrete structure. The very end of the helmet scratches the crook of your neck, and you lean into it, feeling the beskar bring coolness to your hot cheek. Your hand continues to grope him, gently rubbing against his pants causing friction and feeling his cock twitch in your palm.

“We h-have to get back to t-t-the ship,” Mando pleads, still rough and low as he seems to be getting angrier with himself because he’s unable to pull away, and his body moves closer into yours, pushing you hard against the rough surface behind you while his beskar is flush on your chest, making it hard to breathe and difficult for you to continue teasing him. Quick, short breaths are coming consistently through the vocoder, your pussy gushing hearing his sweet groans.

Your right hand fumbles its way to his belt, both hands now frantically trying to undo the zipper of his pants. The helmet dips down, resting it on your shoulder as he watches one of your hands disappear into his trousers, and play with the waistband, toying with him. The scorching heat between your thighs is becoming too much, your cunt throbbing uncontrollably, begging to alleviate some of the tension but right now, this is about Mando. This is for Mando.

When you feel confident enough that he’s fully under your control, your hand pushes through the waistband and cups his erection. Mando curses under his breath, grinding himself against your hold in a feeble attempt to please himself. Maker, his cock is big—you don’t even have to look at it to feel it’s the biggest one you’ve ever felt. If you thought you were turned on before, this new information sends ripples through your entire body, your mouth watering, desperately wanting to taste him. With the little room you have to move, you begin lowering yourself down to the ground, and drop to your knees. The sand cuts into your pants, it’s somewhat uncomfortable, but you push through the discomfort because you’re about to put his cock in your mouth and drive him fucking crazy.

The street is barely lit, which unfortunately means you can barely see what’s in front of you, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing right now matters other than making him feel as good as he made you feel a couple nights ago. You want to show him what he’s been missing, what he’s been denying himself. Lowering his trousers just enough to spring his cock free, it bounces just inches from your lips. Heat continuously building in your belly, you adjust your hand to hold him at the base, and admire him. Your head bobs forward, tongue coming out to lick the precome forming at the tip of his length. A big hand comes down firmly on your shoulder, steadying himself as he continues to curse into the helmet.

“F-fuck, that feels good.”

Letting out a deep breath through your nostrils to calm your nerves and swallowing the lump in your throat, your jaw slacks as much as it can and you take him in your mouth, surrounding him with your warmth. Mando nearly convulses on the spot, feeling his hips buck, pushing more of himself into your mouth. Stars, you’ve never had a dick this big in your mouth and you’re worried you might not be able to take all of him, but you push through it, inching himself more and more passed your lips until you feel him reach the back of your throat. Your body shakes, fighting your gag reflex as he sits there on your tongue, hands bracing themselves on his hips, so you have more control.

“Look at you, taking my whole cock in your mouth. S-such a good girl.”

Mando’s praises practically make you swoon, and once you feel relaxed enough, you ease him out of your mouth and begin bobbing your head up and down the length of his girth, obscene and filthy sounds echoing through the street. You develop a rhythm, bobbing your neck down his cock a few times and then taking him as far as he’ll go, now no longer worried about gagging as you basically fucking choke on him. Tears are forming in the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, you can’t fucking stop because the whimpers coming from Mando are enough to push you over the edge. He grits out admirations like a prayer, the grip on your shoulder so tight it almost hurts, but you’re too entranced at the moment to give a shit about the bruise that’s no doubt forming on your skin.

His cock continues to slide in and out between your lips, feeling every curve, every vein, every fucking inch of him down to the pubic hair that tickles your nose when he rests fully inside your mouth. The tension in your pussy is excruciating, needing some kind of friction to alleviate some of the pressure, so one of the hands on his hips disappear and flies into your own pants, passed your undies, starting to rub tight circles around your clit. The immediate touch down your pants causes you to moan, sending vibrations along the Mandalorian’s length between your lips.

“Stars, you’re so good at this. How do you make it feel so fucking good?” He whispers breathlessly, now fully fucking himself into your mouth. Tears stream down your face at a consistent rate, but everything feels too good to stop. It’s overstimulating, it’s overwhelming but in the best fucking way possible. You on your knees, while Mando grinds his hips more aggressively into you. Feeling your own orgasm slowly building, you wrap your lips around Mando tighter, hallowing your cheeks as you draw him in at a quicker pace.

“Shit, you’re g-gonna ma-ake me c-c-ome,”

Rather than say something, you bob your head even faster, spit dribbling down your lips as you continue to take his cock deep in your mouth, swallowing a mixture of saliva and precome and groaning loudly. Mando recites a series of curses and praises as you feel his body tensing while he gets closer to his own orgasm. The fingers on your clit become erratic, no longer having the same rhythm because you’re too focused on getting Mando to come in your mouth to focus on pleasuring yourself properly.

“Oh—shit, fuck, fuck yes, j-just like t-that. You want me to c-c-come in your pr-r-retty little mouth?” He taunts, chest heaving unlike you’ve ever seen before. The power trip you’re on right now is amazing, and Maker you want him to see you as he comes. Through hooded lids, you peer up at him, the faint shape of his helmet beaming off the moons of Tatooine. You don’t see his eyes but it doesn’t matter, you know he’s looking down at you in awe. It’s a struggle to continue to please him while trying to maintain eye contact with him but you refuse to peel your eyes away from the visor. You want him to see you with your mouth full of his come, you want him to see you suck every bit of his seed out of him, and watch you swallow it like a champ.

Mando’s cock twitches in your mouth and stiffens for a moment, and then he’s coming, really fucking hard and for a second you wonder if you’ll even be able to swallow all of it. As he comes, you hollow your cheeks even more, sucking every last drop of his seed and swallowing it, and then your own orgasm creeps up on you and then smashes into you. It fucking rips you apart from the inside out, white-hot pleasure exploding from every nerve ending, and you cry out with his cock still in your mouth, causing some of his come to trickle down from the corners of your lips.

Once he’s finally done coming, his hand leaves your shoulder to tuck himself back in his pants before hooking both hands under your shoulders to lift you up to eye level. Your breathing is erratic, and your knees burn from the friction of the sand rubbing against the material of your pants. Head lulling back to lean along the wall behind you, your eyes flutter open, completely exhausted. Using one of his fingers, Mando wipes the come dripping down your lips and before he can do anything else, using the very limited strength you have, your hand clasps down on his wrist, taking it into your mouth and sucking whatever seed is on his finger, tasting him and leather in your mouth.

“Stars…” Mando remarks in absolute admiration. The corners of your lips curl into a sheepish smile, the weight of the fatigue fully taking you over. Your head dips in front of you, and rests on Mando’s chest, the instant cooling relief of beskar on your forehead.

“We have to get back to the ship.” He repeats, his baritone gentle but still low and raspy.

“Mmm…” You mumble back, unable to find the words.

“You’ll have to walk back, is that okay? The Crest isn’t far away.”

Head lifting up enough to nod, Mando takes a step back so you can get your bearings. The alcohol and the post-orgasm high make you woozy, but you force yourself to be somewhat conscious, blinking rapidly and rolling your shoulders back in an effort to show him you’ll be all right enough to head back to the hangar. “Lead the way, sir.”

A drawn-out breath emits from the helmet, and he tilts his head to the side like he wants to push you up against the wall once again but ultimately decides not to and turns on his heel to make way for the ship. Your feet are working slower than your brain, because it takes a couple of seconds for them to register that you want to walk. At first they buckle, probably because you’ve been on your knees for the last however many minutes, but eventually you’re able to trail behind him wearily as you both walk in silence to the hangar. Unlike you, there’s absolutely no hint that Mando just got his dick sucked in public. You on the other hand, are slouching when you walk, feeling the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs from your orgasm becoming more and more awful the longer you move.

When the hangar door comes into view, there’simmediate relief that swoons you. You want to rest, want to relax as there’s a slight headache now prodding at you—definitely a result from the night’s events. Peli sits around a makeshift fire, her droids also gathered around, no green baby in sight.

“Ah he found you!” She exclaims, gesticulating in your direction before rising to her feet to join you and Mando. “The little one’s inside the ship, by the way.”

“Thank you, Peli.”

“Anytime, Mando. You know I like having you and the kid around.” She admits, a genuine smile appearing on her face. She looks over at you and it’s impossible to hide the shock smeared on her expression.

“Kriff, what the hell happened to you?”

“Sorry?” You ask, brows pulling tightly together.

“You look like hell, that’s what.” She says, quite unfiltered.

Your eyes peer down at the ground, fingers interlacing together, not being able to come up with a good, fake reason as to why you look like a mess. Her gaze jumps between you and Mando, and you think she’s mentally putting the image together in her brain before Mando speaks.

“We should get going. Don’t want to stay longer than we need to.”

This snaps Peli out of her thoughts, nodding as she agrees with the Mandalorian.

“Sure thing. Uh, travel safe you three.”

Mando’s helmet dips forward, before heading up the side ramp of the ship. You stand there for a few more seconds, wanting to give Peli a proper good-bye, but not knowing how to go about that. Your arm comes up behind you to rub the back of your neck, jaw slacking and opening your mouth to say something—to say what, you’re still unsure of.

“Well, I have to admit, it was nice seeing you again kid.” She says sincerely, and for the seconds time today, you see a glimpse of warmth and tenderness in her you’ve never seen before. She isn’t this cold-hearted, confrontational woman you had conjured up in your mind. She’s gentle in her own way. Kind. Sympathetic. It warms you and also saddens you. This is a side of her you could have seen all these years ago, had you allowed yourself and her the opportunity. Instead, you had this pre-conceived idea of who she was, and didn’t allow either of you to have a different perspective of each other. It’s only now that you may never see each other again that you realize how alike you two are.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you too, Peli.”

“Take care of each other,” She leans over and places a gentle hand on your forearm. Looking down to where her hand touches you, you feel a surge of emotions. Not just your own, but hers as well. Regret. Pain. Resolve. Hope. All of these subconscious emotions filling you up, making your head spin.

Turning your body, you head up the ramp to the ship’s hull. Peeping over to the fresher, you really should sanisteam, but the fatigue is too intense. You really just want to sleep in that shitty chair in the cockpit and deal with all your responsibilities when you wake up.

Taking to the ladder is a bit of struggle. You have no strength left, and but are forced to conjure some up just to make it to the top. When you see the floor at the top, you grab onto it and hoist yourself to the top, landing on your knees. For a moment, you actually consider just crawling over to the chair, but that seems a little…excessive, therefore you force yourself to your feet and drag them along the ground as you finally reach the chair. Collapsing into it immediately, this chair has never felt more comfortable in your life and the moan you let out once you feel yourself relaxing in it is downright obscene, but you don’t care. Instantly regretting every time you’ve complained about this chair, because right now it’s your saving grace. You’ll never leave this clump of leather; you swear it to the Maker.

“Where’re we headed, now?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as you ask Mando who sits in the pilot’s chair, flicking switches and hearing the Crest’s thrusters come to life.

“Corvus.”

“Mmm? What’s on Corvus?”

“A Jedi.”

A Jedi? You’ve never had the opportunity of meeting a Jedi, but you’ve heard stories—good and bad ones. How they’re to blame for starting the Clone Wars. How they destroyed the Empire and freed the galaxy from tyranny.

You want to ask why you’re heading to meet a Jedi, but you succumb to sleep before you can ask him, the taste of the Mandalorian still lingering on your tongue.

taglist: @1800-fight-me, @tillytheslytherin, @ayamenimthiriel 💞💞

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #mando x reader #mando x you #reader insert #fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction #we are one when together #fics

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zapsalis-d · 3 years

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Bombshell: Chapter Eleven — Separated

bombshell’s masterlist || main masterlist

Summary: The time to leave Tatooine has arrived, and soon you'll be heading to your new home on Sorgan. Unfortunately, not everything goes as planned.

Word Count: 6.5k

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"So, we're ready to leave?"

"Yep."

"I'm... nervous."

"I know. You shouldn't be."

"What if they don't like me on Sorgan?"

"They have no reason not to like you, Cyar'ika."

"But what if they think I'm some... spoiled princess—"

"They're not gonna think that. Trust me, they'll immediately welcome you."

With a sigh, you glanced down towards the sleeping baby boy wrapped in brown blankets and clutched close to your body. These past few nights haven't exactly been easy with him — waking up in the middle of the night, crying, hungry, reluctant to return to sleep... The usual. He's a baby, what did you expect? But you'd gone through so much to give this infant a chance to live that you didn't mind it at all. At least, as the droids stated, he was premature, but healthy.

Still, those painful memories remained unpleasantly glued to your mind — accepting the fact that it was much too late for your unborn child, the way you needed to watch as the droids took the baby away from you, completely still and unmoving, not even whimpering the slightest bit. You thought that was it. That you hadn't managed to save him. That you'd failed. But, then you heard that feeble cry in the distance, the nurse droids returned the newborn to you, Din reentered the room, and you realized... everything might just be fine.

And now you were beginning your journey to your new home — Sorgan. By what you'd heard, that serene backwater planet would be the perfect world for you to raise your baby alongside Din.

Finally, you lifted your gaze and nodded curtly at your Mandalorian. "Alright, let's go."

The necessary five rotations had already passed by, long and burdensome in this intense heat of Tatooine. You were delighted to finally leave this planet. The nights, although a bit cooler, were still unbearably hot. The temperature dropped but not quite enough for you to feel comfortable. Luckily, that was all over. Soon enough, you'd be heading to Sorgan with your Mandalorian and your five-day-old boy to enjoy the life you both deserved to live. The mere thought of it thrilled you to the point that you absolutely couldn't wait to land on the green planet. A whole new life right besides your brand-new family. With Din, with the Child, with the baby you'd risked plenty so he could survive.

Though the fear that the people on Sorgan wouldn't accept you still clung strictly to your chest, and admittedly weighed you down a bit. You were an ex-princess, used to all kinds of fancy, expensive belongings and excessive attention everywhere you traveled to. Sorgan likely wouldn't be capable of providing you with the showy outfits and jewelry and makeup, or luxurious palaces Rainoh had for you. But you didn't mind this at all. If anything, this was an upgrade from all that. Now it wouldn't be necessary for you to wear uncomfortable dresses 24/7, or need to comply with your duties and responsibilities as princess. You just hoped the villagers wouldn't mind you either.

And so, now you and your Mandalorian were leaving the grimy medical station you'd remained at these recent rotations. Ninkri and the Child were already prepared for take-off back at the Razor Crest, awaiting your arrivals so you could finally depart from Tatooine. And—

Oh, Maker.

Just as you stepped outside the medical station, you hurried back inside, urgently gripping onto Din's arm and pulling him back into the clinic. The door shut closed behind you with a thunderous slam, shutting out any light or noise from outside and concealing you from the view of those all-too-familiar men outside. The unexpected sound alarmed a couple nearby droids who merely tilted their heads with puzzlement before returning to their designated duties.

"Wha— what's wrong?"

Your gaze met with Din's T-visor as be stared down at you, tilting his helmet with evident concern and confusion. Those men outside, though... you recognized them full well. Their figures covered from shoulders to feet in pure white armor, and the large black blasters held securely in their grasps only indicated they were guards from Rainoh, obviously searching for nothing other than you and your Mandalorian. They must be boiling under the Tatooine heat if they're still wearing those beige fur coats over their body.

You visibly gulped, grip tightening on Din's arm with obvious unease and apprehension. "I saw Rainoinian guards outside... They must be scouting the town for us."

It did make complete sense why they were sent here, actually. Stormtroopers were definitely not welcomed here, so of course the Empire and the queen would send over some guards to probe around Mos Eisley for any signs of you or Din. How they managed to locate you was currently unknown, and you'd probably never discover how. A random bystander could've alerted them of your temporarily residing here on Tatooine, effectively leading them here. You never would've imagined you'd be avoiding the people who'd protected and defended you since you were a little girl, but here you were — scared stiff and terrified to the core.

You released a shaky breath. Then, "Din, if we're caught here... we're done for. They outnumber us. They can take the baby, and..."

The thought of what the queen could do once she figured out you'd birthed your son was unfathomable, and you preferred not to dwell too much on that.

"We can still escape without them noticing. We just need to get to the Crest." His black visor trailed along the clinic as his mind raced to provide a tangible solution. Then, he placed a gloved hand on the small of your back and urged you forward. "Let's look around for another exit."

You followed suite by his side, all the way through several empty corridors, occasionally passing by a droid or two. The building was pretty compact, so locating the additional exit in the very back of the clinic was straightforward and easy. Apparently, this alternative exit was intended for emergencies only. Well, this may not be an emergency for these droids, but this was one hell of an emergency for you guys. Who knows what the hell the queen might do to your baby once she found out you'd given birth earlier than expected. Nothing good, no doubt. And you needed to make certain nothing would occur to this new baby, or else you wouldn't be capable of living with yourself afterwards.

What you needed to do was fight — fight like you had done back when you were captured on the light-cruiser days ago. Be willing to sacrifice absolutely anything for this baby. If you needed to die in order to safeguard and protect what you'd grown to love so quickly, then so be it. They could send as many soldiers, troopers, guards, whatever they wanted. But as long as your baby was safe, you'd ultimately be satisfied.

Din released his hold on you to open the door and discreetly peek outside for a split second. No sign of any guards around. He gently grabbed your arm, beckoning you to follow closely behind him. Your arms wrapped securely around your baby, a hand on the back of his head to keep him close, and also an attempt to somewhat distract you from all this. You both hastened through the streets of Mos Eisley with intense urgency, though altogether trying not to seem too suspicious to random bystanders strolling along the streets as well.

Your eyes darted everywhere in search of anything suspiciously similar to a Rainoinian guard — any glint of white or spec of beige fur was quickly averted as you hurriedly traveled towards the hangar's direction. Adrenaline pumped wildly in your veins, your heart accelerating to the point that it felt like it could explode, breaths growing even heavier with each passing second. You were terrified. So awfully terrified of being captured and having no clue what the queen could possibly do to your newborn.

The familiar entrance to the landing bay was just up ahead, and—

Kriffing guards again.

Din pulled you back, tugging you into a nearby alleyway. A filthy, grimy alley littered with people looming about, people who made you... skeptical. Their attentions were glued on you two — the Mandalorian in shiny, valuable beskar armor and the ex-princess attiring an old, worn-out azure dress carrying a sleeping infant in her arms. You had a bad feeling about all this. Insecurity and unease crept into the back of your mind, overwhelming your every thought and action.

The hangar was soon to be surrounded by guards, undoubtedly searching for you, Din, the... oh.

"Din," you whispered urgently, gulping again out of pure nervousness. "The Child's in there, in the Crest! They'll easily find him."

"I know, I know..." His voice modulator crackled with an audible frustrated sigh, a gloved hand instinctively sliding down to his holster. He radiated the exact fidgetiness as you, unquestionably concerned about what could occur in the near future if these guards managed to spot you. They knew the Razor Crest was here, and they recognized the gunship with no doubt. With how many times Din had landed on Rainoh in the past to visit you, it wouldn't surprise you whether everyone on the planet could identify the ship.

"What the hell are we supposed to do? They're gonna get the Child, and once they do, they'll probably wait for us—" you paused unexpectedly when the sound of heavy footsteps filled your ears. Your head snapped outside the alley you resided in, catching sight of a couple additional guards heading towards the Razor Crest as well. Immediately, you averted your gazes, the both of you taking slow and hesitant steps deeper inside the dark alleyway so maybe, the Rainoinians wouldn't detect you. "Din, I don't know..."

His fingers reached out for one of your hands, leading it away from the baby and placing two unidentifiable objects in your hand. Your eyes flickered dow, catching sight of the blaster in your hand and a small sack of what was presumably credits inside. "What are you doing?"

"You need to go. Stay hidden through the alleys, and use the blaster if needed. Find transportation and get the hell off this planet."

"No, no—" you stepped closer, urgency visibly in your stance and expression, as if that would prevent him from leaving. You would've grabbed his hand but with the baby in one arm, a blaster and a bag in the other, you simply couldn't. "Don't leave, please."

"The only way we'll get out of this is if we fight, and I'm not bringing you into the middle of a battle, even less with the baby. Go—" he urged, placing a palm on the newborn you carried in a way to say goodbye, for now. "I need to get the Child before they do. You get to Sorgan, and I'll catch up with you soon after, alright?"

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes and threatened to drip down. The idea absolutely petrified you to the bone. "But... but what if something happens?"

"That's why I gave you the blaster. Protect yourself if they find you."

"No, I mean what if something happens to you?"

The quiver in your voice as you spoke those final words were perfectly audible to both your ears. He sighed, long and unwillingly, before placing a hand behind your neck, and pulling you closer to him until your foreheads made contact. The smooth coldness of his beskar helm was somewhat comforting but not quite enough to ease you from all these troubles and worries. Your eyes instantly shut closed, allowing the fresh tears to fall freely from your eyes as you immersed yourself in what could possibly be the very last moment you had with your Mandalorian. It was quick, and in a split second, he swiftly drew back, knowing full well that you needed to get out of here immediately.

"I'll be fine. Cyar'ika, go. Go before they find you."

He stepped back. But you wouldn't budge. You couldn't leave him. You needed him by your side. He was your only source of comfort. You couldn't bear the thought of being separated from him again. Not now, not when you'd recently had your baby, when you needed him the most. You couldn't let go of the person you'd been ripped away from too many times to count.

"Stay with me." Your eyes matched your pleading voice. The fingers grasping your blaster trembled with immense fear you couldn't seem to set aside. "Please."

"There!"

Behind Din, out in the open of the streets, a guard spotted you and was already beginning to approach the both of you rapidly. The blood completely drained from your face. Din encouraged you to leave one final time, desperate to get you and his baby out of this situation. "I need to go— You need to go. Go, now!"

With that, you forced your feet to react, spinning around and hastily rushing into the intimidating alleyway you wished to escape from as soon as possible. The sounds of blaster fire striking impenetrable beskar alarmed you, and the sounds of fighting and punches being thrown didn't help either. You couldn't steal a glance back, though. Because, if you did, you knew you wouldn't be able to leave. You'd be overwhelmed by the desire to remain right by Din's side, and then guards would catch up with you.

You couldn't even pay the slightest attention to the sketchy people lingering around, their eyes trained on nobody other than you as you hurried through along with the baby clutched even closer to your chest. Din could hold them back for a short period of time, but they exceed his numbers by far. It'll only be a matter of time before they locate you again.

Damn it. These troubles and burdens would continue weighing down on you. You're unable to escape them, they'll keep chasing you until there's nothing left for you to fight for. Until you're broken down, incapable of rising up and taking action. Until they've taken away everything and everybody you loved, they won't stop. The only objective that's important to the queen was have you as the heir to the throne, and that was the last thing you wanted right now. What you wanted was to collapse on this filthy ground and simply cry. Because, just when you believed you could live freely with Din, this happened. And now you're separated from your lover again. Maybe you simply didn't deserve such a delicacy, that it was never meant for you to be... happy.

You should've stayed on Rainoh. That would've saved you and Din and your baby plenty of hardships and suffering.

Bang!

A red streak zipped inches past your face.

What the kriffing hells?! Don't they know you're carrying a newborn in your arms right now?

Oh, that's right. They don't.

They were right behind you, approaching rapidly, their quick footsteps alarming you, compelling you to pick up your speed. There had to be at least two or three of them chasing you. The bullets headed continued your direction, accompanied by a loud blast each time they pulled the trigger. Each time they fired, they missed by a few inches, and the red streaks of light collided with a nearby wall. You weren't certain whether they would actually shoot you if they had the chance, or if they were avoiding you purposely. Either way, the queen definitely wouldn't be satisfied if the guards returned with your dead body, because then what was the point to all this?

You rounded a corner, through a separate back alley infested with disgusting whomp rats scurrying around. Then, turning another corner, you concealed yourself behind a random stack of seemingly empty crates. With your back propped up against the alleyway's wall, you slid down to a crouch and settled yourself on the ground. Your chest heaved with ragged, uneven breaths as you struggled to regain your breath again. Damn it, you'd birthed your child recently — the last thing you needed right now was to run around like crazy.

You glanced down to check on your baby, who was, surprisingly enough, still fast asleep, despite all the commotion and the bumpiness that followed as you desperately sought safety. You released a long sigh before peering around the lip of a crate in search of any sign or clue of the guards. They hadn't seen you turn this corner, so at least they might not discover you. Might.

The sounds of heavy boots crunching on the dirt beneath them filled your ears. They were nearby, dangerously close. The grip on your blaster tightened as you clicked the safety off as silently as you could. A tense silence conquered the ambience. You waited with intense anticipation as your anxiety and apprehension drastically increased with each passing second.

A whimper.

Kriff. No, no, no, no, not right now...

The baby in your arms started moving around, his little eyes beginning to open up just as his mouth opened to release a wail. "Shhh," you attempted to sooth him back to sleep, but with no avail. No cradling or rocking would lull him back into his slumber. He's probably hungry or something, but you couldn't feed him here of all places—

He cried, loud and clear, and undoubtedly alerting the guards of your presence.

Two of them appeared.

Out of pure hopelessness, you fired your blaster aimlessly — missed twice, struck one guard straight in the chest. The ear-splitting sounds of blasting reverberated noisily throughout the dark alleys, effectively startling your baby and leading him to release a longer cry. But you couldn't do anything about that now. Your main focus was to rid of these guards and get the hell off this planet before more managed to locate you. As that guard collapsed lifelessly to the ground, the other took a menacing step forward. Once again, you threateningly pointed the barrel towards the guard and pulled the trigger. But nothing emerged from it — no bullet, no streak of light, no resounding sound.

Desperately, you pressured the trigger again, willing it to kriffing work already...

Nothing.

The ammo was depleted. Of course, the thought to refill his blaster these recent rotations hadn't even crossed Din's mind. Neither of you had expected to indulge in a fight anytime soon because you were both so wrapped up in the delight of having your baby healthy and alive. Still, you couldn't help but realize that you should've known to be prepared for absolutely anything. Until you were on that backwater planet Din promised, you weren't completely secure anywhere. Even less here on Tatooine.

Out of pure distress, you flung the object towards the guard's direction. It collided with a thud against the spotless armor plating his chest, before it collapsed to the ground, barely having an effect on him.

Now you're screwed.

You couldn't simply stand and run now. That would risk the guard shooting you on the spot, so it was much too late for that. Your only other option was stay put. You watched through your terror-filled eyes as the barrel of his malevolent blaster aimed straight for your head. Squeezing your eyes sealed closed, you allowed your tears to flow liberally down your cheeks while clutching the squirming, crying baby closer to your chest in a protective manner, unwilling to release your hold on him and hell-bent on safeguarding this innocent newborn. You inhaled that precious baby scent one final time, and accepted the fact that this were your last few minutes with him.

Blasted Corellian hells... why did this have to happen? You hadn't even decided on a name for him yet. And here you were — about to meet your Maker in a matter of seconds, leaving your son without a mother. At least it'd be a quick and painless death. Your only hope would be that Din would somehow obtain him back, but you weren't even certain whether the chance for him to do so would present itself.

The wails of your infant echoed through the otherwise silent alley. Just get it over with, was what you wanted to tell the guard. You waited. Waited for your inevitable demise for what seemed like an eternity.

Then, "Get up."

The phrase caught you off-guard. Hesitantly, you peeked through your lids and perceived the guard standing right in front of you, his blaster lowered and hands by his sides. The sight nearly caused you to sigh with immense alleviation, but you knew that something far worse was bound to follow after this. Immediately, you quietly comply to his orders, scared for your own life. Once you lifted yourself up, you could examine the guard's appearance — black hair, blue eyes, tanned skin. You swore you noticed a flash of... sympathy in those stone-cold features of his, though you weren't quite sure. Whatever that emotion was swiftly vanished entirely, before he urged you forward with an abrupt push of his hand.

He was going to return you to Rainoh, back to the person you wished to never see again. The mere thought of meeting up with the queen again repulsed you. But you needed to remain strong for your baby. Whatever was going to occur in the near future would never separate you from your newborn, and you were going to make certain of that.

Surprisingly enough, the guard led you to the hangar bay in which the Razor Crest resided. As you entered, you noticed three individual guards spread around the landing bay. One was keeping two familiar women in cuffs and under surveillance — Peli and Ninkri. The other was thoroughly inspecting the ship, likely for any signs of the Child or you. And the third was making his way towards you. "Princess," he acknowledged you with a nod. You didn't respond, only taking a step back only for the guard still gripping onto your arm to push you forward. "We will take you back to Rainoh, as the queen desires, but we must obtain the Child before we return. Where is it?"

His voice dripped with command and authority, indicating he was probably in higher ranks than the rest. You couldn't find the courage and strength to reply. Truthfully, you had no clue where he could be. Last time you checked, he was here in the Crest with Ninkri and waiting for you to return to head to Sorgan. At least this signified that Din had managed to grab ahold of the Child in time, before the Rainoians could. That was an immense weight lifted off your chest.

An unbearable tense silence enveloped the ambience. Then, "Take the baby. Cuff her."

The order was directed to the guard who'd brought you in.

Strangely enough, the black-haired guard wouldn't budge.

You peered over your shoulder, catching sight of those blue hues trained on the baby in your arms, who couldn't seem to calm down and stop his insistent wailing.

There was that flash of sympathy in his eyes again. Second thoughts. Yes, because how could he rip a delicate, defenseless five-day-old newborn away from his mother?

He couldn't.

And it happened in a rapid, abrupt flash.

You're pulled back behind your new ally in a protective manner just as blasts and threatening red streaks of light erupted. You're whirling around, back turned against all that commotion and holding your crying baby nearer to you. If one of the bullets reached you, at least this'll save his life.

Bodies thudded to the floor. Everything went silent. You weren't quite sure whether you wanted to turn around and face the aftermath of this shootout. But you did, you had to if you were going to escape this planet.

Slowly, you took hesitant steps to spin around. Your sight met with the backside of the guard who'd protected you, then the three guards he'd managed to kill off, and... Ninkri's lifeless form on the dusty floor. They'd... killed her. Killed her because she was a traitor to them, because they recognized what agony this would bring you. Your breath hitched in your throat, but you couldn't dwell on this any longer. You needed to take action, and quick. Ninkri will be remembered and never forgotten, you would make certain of that.

Your ally turned to face you, his expression filled with urgency. "Princess, I can't explain how sorry I am for all this— y-you need to leave before reinforcements arrive. I'll hold them back for you."

Your lips curled up in a grateful grin, before curtly nodding. "What's your name?"

"Myn... my name's Myn."

"Myn, thank you." Your gaze turned to Peli who had stepped forward. Even though she survived this, you couldn't help but feel terrible for bringing her into this abhorrent situation. "Get my friend out of her cuffs, please? Peli, where's the Child?"

"Mando came over straight before these guys paid me a visit and took the kid" she responded while Myn released the cuffs binding her wrists together. "I believe he's left to find you."

"Okay..." you released a frustrated breath, rocking your baby up and down in an attempt to calm him with no avail. "Peli, get out of here and get someplace safe temporarily. At least until they're gone, alright?"

The mechanic responded with a nod. She understood the seriousness of these circumstances so she immediately opted to leave, though before she turned she added, "Take care of the whomp rat for me! And remember, if it ever buds or divides or something, I'm willing to pay for its offspring!"

Her quip provided you with the strength to chuckle, even in your frustration. You watched as she rushed out the hangar's exit. Then, you turned to Myn. "I need to find the Mandalorian, did you see where he went?"

"No, listen, the best thing you can do right now is get off this planet. Once the queen heard you were in town, she sent a whole squadron of at least twenty of us. If you go searching for him, you'll likely get caught again."

"No— you don't understand, I need him with me—"

Rapid, approaching footsteps were heard outside the hangar.

"The— they're here, go!"

Blasted hells. You had no other option than to dash inside the Crest, lock up the ramp, set the unsatisfied baby in the makeshift hammock the Child normally slept in, and hastily climb the ladder to pilot the ship. But when you took your seat in the pilot's chair, you froze and were incapable of even starting up the ship.

You needed to get the hell out of here, off of Tatooine. Travel to Sorgan, like Din said. He'll catch up with you.

No matter how many times you repeated those words in your head, you couldn't seem to take action. You couldn't leave... not without making certain Din and the Child were alright. You couldn't imagine a life without that headstrong Mandalorian and his little green foundling, no matter how safe and far away you were from the queen's grasps.

Something was banging against the ship, trying to break in.

They're here.

The sounds of ear-splitting blasts filled your ears.

The ship vibrated violently with each attempt the guards made at penetrating the walls.

The muffled cries of your baby became louder.

Your chest constricted as if forbidding, metal bands were tightening them and preventing you from breathing properly. Anxiety and intense apprehension overwhelmed your emotions, causing tears to prick the edges of your eyes, and the blood completely draining from your face. You couldn't move, couldn't take action, not without having your cyare by your side. But you needed to. Or else you're risking your life, as well as placing your own baby's life on the line — the baby you swore to protect and sacrifice anything for him.

As you reached to power the Razor Crest on, you tried to ignore the violent trembles of your fingers. The engines beneath you revved powerfully, the two main thrusters lighting up with a whitish-blue light. All you needed to do was guide the ship out of the landing bay, exit Tatooine's atmosphere and send the ship into hyperspace.

But then you'd leave Din.

And if you didn't move from this spot, the guards would break in, take your vulnerable baby from the compartment.

You get to Sorgan, and I'll catch up with you soon after, alright?

You had to do this. No matter how much pain this'll put you through. It's for the best of your baby. Din said he'd find you again... right?

With an abrupt pull of the levers, you brought the ship up and out of the hangar. Dust clouds billowed up and restricted the guards' sight below. You could only hope that indulging in a dogfight wouldn't be necessary, because you weren't exactly the best at piloting. You'd learned the basics but that was it. No fancy or crazy tricks, nothing. You were completely vulnerable up here.

As the ship rapidly increases in altitude, you're forced to watch as the land and city below gradually became smaller and smaller.

Din's... gone.

What's even worse was you had no clue whether he were still alive, or if he'd been captured, or if he was still searching for you, or— or...

What if that was the last you'd see of him? What if you'd never see him again in your entire life?

What if the baby had to grown without his father?

And Ninkri...

She hadn't expected to die today, nobody had thought these events would occur. She'd died for you — she had betrayed Rainoh, the queen, the guards, just so she could see you and Din back together again. Hell, she's been disobeying the queen's orders since the very beginning when she helped you and Din sneak around the palace. And now she'd dead.

There's an awful pit in your stomach you couldn't rid of, and—

An alarm blared. Red lights flashed on the control panel.

Something's wrong.

There's a terrible turbulence, and a screen on the control panel indicated one of the ramps had been opened—

The ramp? The— the baby!

After a split second, the ramp shut closed. The alarm blaring thunderously in your ears ceased. The blinking red lights vanished.

There's shuffling downstairs, but you have no idea who, exactly, entered. And you're anxious to discover who had broken in, because you swore you had locked the ship so nobody could come inside.

But you couldn't head down. Not with the ship still needing your attention.

Only when the baby's insistent crying stopped did you take action.

Your heart plummeted down to your feet, eyes widened with fear that somebody had harmed your baby, a certain rage welling up deep in your chest. You needed to protect your baby, now. And so you set the ship on auto-pilot, feeling as the throttled beneath your fingers went completely stiff as the ship led itself up and out of Tatooine. Then you hastily hopped off the ladder, just about ready to attack anyone, to fight—

Din.

The sight of his beskar-clad figure, the jetpack attached to his back, the wide-awake newborn cradled gently in his arms as he stared up into his father's brown hues, caused a giant wave of alleviation to wash over you entirely. It was as if an immense weight had been lifted from your chest, finally allowing you to breath liberally and think properly.

The little bugger just wanted his dad the whole time. Only then had he stopped crying.

You couldn't help the laugh that escape your lips. Din's warm gaze met with you, and you couldn't hold yourself back when you raced towards them and enveloped them in an embrace, keeping in mind the baby between you two. One of Din's arms wrapped snugly around your waist and drew you in closer, his head lowering to place a chaste kiss on the top of your head. "I'm sorry for leaving you, Cyar'ika..." he whispered. You shook your head in response, about to open your mouth to answer when something tugged at your leg.

Your gaze dropped down, meeting with the small green Child who stood right besides Din's helmet on the floor, raising his grabby claws up towards you. You immediately brought him into your arms and smiled, genuinely. He flashed his baby teeth at you, mimicking your own wide grin and giggling with delight. Then, you pulled in closer to Din, placing your head on the side of his cuirass before closing your eyes shut and immersing yourself in the joy and relief of being back together and no longer separated.

Oh. It's... it's gonna be okay, isn't it?

You're safe. Din's safe. Your children are safe.

Your little family's gonna be just fine.

* * *

Sorgan — probably the best decision you'd ever taken. How could you not enjoy this peaceful world? Especially after having gone through so much.

Everything about that planet was just pure beauty. The towering mountains, favorable climate, gorgeous landscapes, serene environment, and tranquil village was simply... perfect. It was perfect for your new life with your new family. No constant snowing or awful blizzards, no need to dress fancily, no need to fulfill your former duties any longer.

You couldn't ask for anything more. It was everything you'd ever wanted, and more.

The trepidation that the people there wouldn't accept you was quickly set aside once you'd arrived those few weeks back. The villagers welcomed you like their own family, and made sure that you and your new family were soon accommodated in a nice, suitable hut and provided with all the necessities you needed. It was definitely a change from Rainoh. A change you didn't mind at all. Weeks into your new life on Sorgan, you were already used to this simplicity of life. It was pure bliss to you. Now you could live tranquilly alongside Din and your baby together, with absolutely nothing to worry about. The queen couldn't so much as touch your baby here. Nobody would be capable of locating you.

But there was still one last objective before Din could remain with you on Sorgan, forever — take the Child to a Jedi.

It was a difficult decision. But it was what needed to be done. Over the weeks, you found yourself thinking of that little green womprat as one of your own offspring. He even grew to care for your baby. You recognized since the very beginning that Din would need to travel off-planet in search of the Jedi. But you'd been separated from each other so many times that it actually became quite... traumatic, you had to admit. Each time you wondered whether you would have a chance to so much as see him again. It was evident that you and Din, despite how much you'd prefer them to stay, would need to release the Child, one day.

Well, that day was today.

Both you and your Mandalorian were settled on your shared cot in the corner of your cozy hut, your baby wide-awake in his arms. His helmet had been removed minutes ago, for one final goodbye before he ultimately left to continue the quest he'd undertook by Creed.

"I promise this will be the last time I leave you. After I finish this quest... you won't have to say goodbye anymore." Those brown eyes were filled with nothing other then love for you as he stared into your own hues, before pulling you in closer for a quick but pleasant kiss. A pleasant sigh escaped your lips as you practically melted into him, then reluctantly drawing back from each other. You lifted your hand to gently cup his face, feeling the familiar stubble against your palm and fingers as you gaze into those chocolate hues you'd grown enamored with since first sight.

"It's alright, Din. I understand."

His gaze dropped towards the baby in his hands, the ghost of a smile on his lips. You could tell this whole mission was difficult for him — having to leave you again, only to have to leave the Child with a Jedi as well. But it was what was necessary, and was for the best of the Child. "I'll miss you Kun'ika. I'll be back soon." He leaned in, placing a kiss on the smiling baby's forehead. The baby giggled as the prickled of Din's growing beard and mustache tickled his softer, sensitive skin. Every passing day, your baby was beginning to appear plenty more like his father. Except for one feature — his eyes. Nope, he didn't have Din's eyes. He had yours.

"Take care of your buir for me, okay?" Din finally added.

And after Din had placed the helmet back over his head, you both exit the hut alongside each other. Then, you brought the Child who was waiting patiently outside into your welcoming arms. He was excited for this, you could tell by the thrilled glimmer in those big black eyes. You couldn't help the tears pricking the corners of your eyes, knowing this might possibly be the final time you'll have a chance to see this little green bean. Lifting a hand, you stroked one of those long ears before managing a brave smile for him. "Now you take care of your buir for me, alright? He can get himself in trouble really easily."

He giggled in response, as if understanding your words and flashed his baby teeth at you.

Your gaze directed itself towards Din, and you both exchanged your babies from your hands. The Child with Din, your baby with you. Din pulled you in to touch foreheads — a quick and final Keldabe kiss before he needed to depart from Sorgan. A crackle in his modulator indicated his unwilling sigh to leave you again. Then, "I'll see you again, soon. I promise I won't be too long."

You beamed at him, assuring him you'd be alright. "I know. I'll be waiting here for you." After pulling away, you offered him one last phrase: "I love you, Din."

You knew he was smiling underneath that black visor of his, and staring back at you with immense affection for you and your baby. "I love you, Cyar'ika."

Only then had he turned around, and you watched rather sadly as they tread towards the Razor Crest's direction. The familiar villagers crowding around, waving and shouting their own goodbyes towards the Child and the Mandalorian as they stepped inside the gunship a distance away from your hut.

Sure, he's leaving again... but at least now, you're confident with this. He'll return soon. This wasn't like before, when you weren't even certain whether you'd ever see him again. Now, he'll come back to Sorgan, and ultimately, you'll live a long, pleasing, fulfilling life alongside the new light of your lives: Kuna Djarin.

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