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ohnopoe · 3 years

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Ulyc | Din Djarin

Ship: Din Djarin x Reader Word Count: 5.6k+ hahaha oops Tagging: @23orso & @hawkerz12 Author’s Note: This is for the Mando’a Mandalorian Writing Challenge! My prompt was ‘Ulyc’ meaning careful or carefully. I’m so glad I finally got a fic finished for this fandom because damn do I have a lot that are sitting in my drafts unfinished, wow. Anyway, enjoy a slice of awkward fluff!

It wasn’t just hot, no, it had surpassed hot hours ago. The metal of the cargo hold practically sizzled whenever you accidentally brushed up against it, and you half expected to see steam wafting off the thin fabric you were using as a barrier against the heated steel. No, this was not hot as you had known it, this was sweltering.

Your usual flight wear had long since been abandoned, replaced by old threadbare shorts and a tee that was far from appropriate for anyone’s gaze. Hair stuck to you, that constant layer of sweat refusing to budge no matter how much water you consumed, nor how much you splashed desperately over yourself from the ‘fresher.

It was beginning to affect your mood too, making your responses short and concise, sharper than they might have been otherwise. There was no room left for your usual warmth and patience, it had been burnt away from you as time passed, searing the very nature of your being from you.

Of course you empathised when the child would coo unhappily at you, arms reaching up to you as if a hug would help his discomfort. It must be so much harder when you didn’t understand why the Razor Crest was suddenly akin to Hell’s Inferno.

You had tried to keep him cool, dousing him in water, a constant myriad of cooling focused on him as you suffered silently. But as the hours drew on each call of discomfort only played on your already frayed temper.

You could only hope, pray, beg the maker that this ceaseless torture would somehow end soon, that you would find somewhere safe to make repairs, that the damn hyperspace engine would come back from overheating when the temperature control had claimed it, and would allow you to travel once more at a normal pace.

Logically, you knew you could call up the ladder, could ask if you were nearing your destination, if it looked like this hell would end any time soon, but you thought better of it.

Din had been in just as much hell as you when he had trudged up the ladder, accepting your suggestion that you stay separate throughout the trip so he could remove not just the beskar that weighed him down, but the helmet that clung to his face too. You couldn’t disturb him now.

He had been so wary, so anxious to leave you alone in your suffering. His worry had shown in the small movements you had come to look for, had come to learn in a desperate attempt to understand your companion where usual tactics were lost. It showed in the way he dithered in his movements, shuffling on his feet, reaching out for you just like the child did, barely coming to his senses as his hand was nearing your cheek, ready to wipe away a bead of sweat that had made itself known. It was only when you pushed the canteen filled of cold water into his hand, only when you turned and began to rid yourself of any unnecessary clothing that he finally felt compelled to leave you.

If you sought him out now, if you called up into the cockpit you knew all his anxieties would come back, he would worry for you when he had to focus, and you were determined not to be a distraction. But that didn’t mean you weren’t worried. It had been hours now, hours since the temperature rapidly rocketed up, hours since he had taken that single canteen of water into the solitude of the cockpit. Surely he needed something else to drink, surely he needed a break.

Your thoughts were interrupted, however, when yet another sad coo echoed through the cabin. The child was desperate, wanting attention and comfort even though the touch he craved would only make the suffering all the worse. You had tried to explain it to him, tried to speak in soft words as you showed him slowly that the hugs he sought out would only increase both of your temperatures, would only make the horrid stickiness of sweat glean fruitfully. But he would hear nothing of it as his little arms reached out for you.

A sad smile, sympathetic, perhaps a touch irritated, played on your lips as you gave into his pathetic whimpering. It wouldn’t help in the long run, but you couldn’t let him suffer alone.

The child clung to you gratefully, a small heat-pack you did not need adding to your raised temperature. But he was calming down now, even though you knew damn well that he couldn’t be any more comfortable than you.

You had resorted to soaking fabrics in water from the ‘fresher, using them as cooling packs against the back of your neck, and wrapped around the child’s head, a desperate attempt to keep from overheating too much. But now, with the child tucking in against your chest, seeking out the comfort he knew so well, the cold liquid of his temporary bandana pressed tight against you too, adding the slightest relief against the hot blooded little being.

Perhaps this wasn’t too bad. And at least now he was beginning to settle, those large eyes faltering in an attempt to stay open, exhaustion finally starting to plague him. It had already been a long day, a bounty having caused more trouble than expected on a practically inhospitable planet, the seemingly easy task having stretched out for days, days of no sleep, of high emotions and tension. The last thing any of you had needed was the ship overheating on the way back to Nevarro, in fact it was quite the opposite of the peaceful evening flight you had hoped for.

You almost wished you could find that same peace, that same place of exhaustion the child was reaching quickly in your arms. Wouldn’t it be nice to simply sleep through the heat? To wake up safe and sound and cool? Even Nevarro, with its chaotic weather, lava spilling freely, would be more acceptable than this hellscape.

But the cooling effect of the wet fabric against his head was losing its power, and with the evening out of his breath, you simply knew you had to put him down to sleep. He’d be more comfortable in the long run, curled up in a thin blanket instead of seeping in the heat that radiated off of you.

The little hovering [pram] was completely out of the question, too small and condensed, with the blankets only helping cocoon the heat in. But then, the little hammock he knew so well was hardly any better. It was better aired, yes, but in order to keep him comfortable, and to keep him from potentially falling out, it too was layered in blankets.

When the hell did the Razor Crest get so many damn blankets everywhere?

You weren’t entirely certain what prompted you to do it, it wasn’t that you thought he’d be mad if he found out, if anything he’d be more logical about it than you were currently capable of being, but you still hesitated as you looked at the cot Din used for sleeping. It was harsh and coarse, but it had some give to it, allowing for enough comfort for the little one to remain asleep and able to spread out.

But even as you put the sleeping child down, your brow furrowed in discontent. It wasn’t that the fabric was itchy per se, but it certainly had grown old, any comfort it once held long washed out of it. The slightest give of the canvas below didn’t help either, it held no real support or care, and you were starting to understand how it was Din could sleep so easily in the pilot’s chair, or sitting upright on the ground… or just about anywhere really. Had he ever slept comfortably?

To be fair, your own sleeping arrangements were no better. Having refused to take the small solitude of his sleeping quarters, if you could even call them that, when he had offered, you had bunkered down on the floor, a nest of blankets and clothing that worked somehow as a bed whenever you got the chance to rest. It was easy to pick up, easy to push back into a bag and ignore during the day, and you weren’t even certain whether or not Din actually knew, or for that matter cared, where it was you lay your head at night.

You kept the shutter open, even the thought of how much worse it would have been with it shut in the small enclosed space making you cringe uncomfortably. This way he’d at least have some air, and you’d be able to keep an eye on his little sleeping figure as his entire being shifted with each easy breath he took, falling further into his dreamland.

For something so difficult, he was incredibly cute, especially when his little beady eyes were closed, his mouth pouted open with little snores escaping him. He looked content, almost happy in his sleep, and you could feel the irritation from earlier beginning to ebb away at the peaceful sight.

The sound of static shook you from your revery, causing you to turn suddenly in alarm. Only when the sound of a voice, not quite as distorted as usual, but still grating through your communicator, followed, did you begin to relax.

“I’m coming down,” the words were simple and straight to the point, and if his tone held a touch of nerves, you wouldn’t be the one to bring it up.

You nodded in answer, your mind slow from the heated haze, before you cleared your throat in realisation that he obviously couldn’t see you. A few steps and a rush of material later, and you found the communicator you only used when he was away hunting a bounty under your discarded flight-wear.

“Ok,” you spoke into the small device, moving further into the cargo bay, nearing the ramp to give him as much space as possible. Only when you were on the other side of the hull did you bring it up to your lips once more, realising he would need more than that, and attempting to reassure the both of you as you added, “my eyes are shut, and covered.”

You dropped the communicator onto a nearby crate as soon as the words were out of your mouth. With your back facing the ladder, your eyes squeezed shut so tightly it was almost painful, and your palms covering them dramatically, to make sure he was aware they were covered, you waited.

Time passed slowly, and logically you knew it was most likely just your thoughts that made it feel that way. You had never been in the same room as the Mandalorian without his helmet, had never even considered it a possibility. Hell, had you assumed too much? What if he was only giving you the warning so that you would be decent? What if he had every intention of putting his helmet back on before coming down to face you, despite the discomfort it would bring.

There was no reason to think he would be comfortable enough around you that he would risk something so important, or trust your words. Sure, you had been travelling with him for some time now, had even fought by his side, if somewhat chaotically as you didn’t really know what you were doing. You trusted him with your life, and you liked to think he trusted you with his, but that didn’t mean he had to trust you with this.

A life is a life, it’s something sacred and precious and unlike anything else. You would protect him and the child, just as he would do the same for you. But at the end of the day, it was the same for any innocent soul, wasn’t it?

His beliefs, however, they were something different. Special and ingrained in his very being. They shone clear for the world to see, secret in their depths, but loud in their importance. Every sight of that helmet was a reminder, every time he would hold back or care for his weapons with more reverence than you had ever seen before, it only reconfirmed just how true that was.

This is the way.

It was repeated often enough that you had no problem accepting it. For him, it was simply a fact. And that included having his helmet on, being sheltered from the world, even the child he called his foundling.

No, expecting him to remove his helmet, even when you assured him you were doing what you could to help protect his creed, was impetuous at best.

The sound of his boots hitting the ground shook you from your fears, loud and distinct, intentional even. He wanted you to hear, wanted you to know he was down now, and the lack of an explanation only further proved your thoughts right. He had to be without the helmet.

You tried to shake the thought from your mind. It might have been overly presumptuous, but it was done now, and you’d just have to deal with any ramifications later, when you were together and no longer practically melting into the metal slates below.

Silence drew on.

Your eyes were closed tightly, and you could feel sweat running down your forehead, threatening to follow your creased up features and sting them through gaps you could not fathom. But you refused to relax, refused to smooth your stressed forehead, to calm the crunched up lines that were practically creating caverns for your sweat to run down. It didn’t matter if the salty wetness stung your eyes, didn’t matter if you were only causing more sweat to form, your eyes were going to remain dramatically closed, even behind your raised palms, even as you had your back turned to him.

He’d be done soon, you reckoned with yourself, mentally following a droplet of sweat as it desperately attempted to cool your sweltering forehead. There was no way he’d stay down here longer than necessary, no way he’d risk further exposure.

But then, why didn’t you hear any movement?

There was no rush of water to drench his cowl, no metallic clinking of the ‘fresher door that refused to move silently no matter how much oil you gave it. There was no sound at all.

Since the moment his boots had met the metal floor, all had been silent.

“Mando?” you called out into the darkness, worry playing on your tone. He had to still be there, you would have heard him leave, would have heard him move. Even in his quietest moments, when he would move so swiftly, so deftly, you had learnt to attune yourself to him. You might not hear his steps, but his cloak would sway and ruffle against itself, his armour would scratch against its straps… Even now, without the armour you were so used to, you were sure you’d hear something.

But the silence reigned on behind you, the Mandalorian stock still, barely hearing the way you turned the nickname into a question of its own.

He was transfixed. Without the interference of his visor he could see you, really see you, and that alone would have been enough to capture his attention. There were no displays of temperature, no shifting images or dulled colours, you were there before him, natural and pure. It would have stolen his breath at any moment, a sight he longed to keep in his mind forever.

But this wasn’t any other moment. Your baggy flight-wear was long gone, the layers you usually kept yourself covered in, protected by, had been discarded the moment he had moved up the ladder. Now he was faced with something new, something he could never have imagined, and something that was making a permanent home in his mind.

Your back was to him, but he could still see so much. Your legs peeking out of those old shorts seemed so much longer, so much more enticing away from their usual confines. Your t-shirt was stuck to your back, showing every dip and curve, giving a view of your body he had never come close to before. Sweat made your skin glean in the low lights of the cabin, enticing and captivating, and his mind was filled with images of your skin just as slick from sweat, but under such different circumstances; under him.

“Din?” his name came out soft, quiet, unsure. It was rare that you used the name aloud, only in moments of true fear or worry, moments you knew only he could hear you, or moments you worried even that weren’t possible.

The sound of his name, so worried, practically pleading, jolted him from his thoughts, and behind you a rush of fabric sounded, the stoic Mandalorian moving this way and that, turning from you as if he was desperately trying to remember why he had come down in the first place.

“I-” his voice was rough and restrained, the single syllable forced out of his dry throat as he looked down to the empty canteen in his hand. He cleared his throat, the sound reverberating through the silence without the filter of his modulator, deep and gravelly. If you hadn’t had your eyes closed before you knew they would have closed of their own volition at the raw sound. “I won’t be long.”

Was he reassuring you, or himself? He didn’t rightly know. But somehow he needed to say it, needed to confirm he would be back in the safety of the cockpit soon, away from the tantalising sight that had stolen his attention, away from the danger of you potentially turning around, of breaking his creed.

Your nod was almost robotic, reluctant in its jolted movement, and you could only hope he saw it because words were failing to form in your mind. So that’s what he sounded like without the modulator playing with his tone. It was oddly warm and comforting, softer than you might have expected; but then that was a reoccurring theme, contradicting with the tough Mandalorian you had expected when you had first boarded the ship.

You were right, you could hear his movements, even when they were softer than you had come to expect. His boots where mandatory, it was just downright dangerous to be on the ship without them, as you well knew, but aside from them, the sounds he made were different. There was no shifting of his cape, no grinding of beskar against itself, no fabric rustling as it gathered against his many layers. Everything seemed muted.

The focus you had put on his helmet, or lack there of, suddenly seemed so much smaller as you came to the startling realisation. He was probably no more dressed than you were, attempting to alleviate the heat and rid himself of his usual attire that would have had him sweltering.

With the sound of his canteen filling, water sloshing against the sides, your own throat felt suddenly dry. What did he look like? What was he wearing? He was always so covered, so protected, but now, in the sweltering heat, he was more bare than you had ever witnessed, and in a way, you still were no witness to it.

Would his skin be on display? Would his fingers be freed of the gloves he usually wore, the smallest, most tantalising and distracting display of skin free for the world to see if only they should look?

It was such a small area to focus on, especially when you knew his face, of all things, was uncovered too, but somehow there was a mystery there, brought to life over months of curiosity. You had seen the way the arm of his shirt would shift against his gloves, never quite showing any skin no matter what he did, and it was hypnotising. Somehow it had grown to something more than curiosity.

You could wonder all day over what his face might look like, what colour his hair might be, or the depth of his gaze. But his wrists held possibility. You knew you would never know the beauty of his face, never hold the image of him in your gaze, but the same was not necessarily true of other parts of him.

Perhaps one day you would know the tone of his skin, whether his fingers were soft from the protection of gloves, or calloused from the never ending work he pursued. Perhaps you would feel his hand against your own.

It was a small dream, but one you could not seem to shake as time went past, and the curiosity of the man hidden by beskar only grew.

You didn’t know how long you stood there, wondering over what he might look like, over what he might feel like to touch now that he had removed so many layers of cloth, but the thoughts distracted you from his movements and the sounds he made. They distracted you from how quiet the hull had become as he once more lost himself to the silence.

The touch was feather light, dancing against your bared shoulder so carefully that you weren’t entirely convinced it was real. But still, it jolted you from your thoughts, bringing you back to reality with a sudden jump. He was still there, those relaxing sounds of him teetering about the hull gone, replaced by that same silence that had dawned when he first descended.

It had been light, gentle, eerily careful, and you couldn’t quite place what had happened. It felt too soft, too giving to be his hand or glove, almost plush against your skin. So quick to touch you, and so quick to leave, but it had your head spinning. It almost felt like a-

“I’m sorry,” the words danced against your skin, warm breath caressing where he had touched. You could feel the movement of his lips with the gentle statement, only confirming your hopes.

He was there, his lips had met your shoulder ever so lightly in the gentlest of kisses, and he was apologising?

Your silence hung heavy in the air, only making the heat all the more unbearable as tension steeped into it, but your mind was foggy and words were hard to grasp. How could he be sorry? It wasn’t his fault the cooling fans had ceased to work when you reentered space, no more was it his fault when the hyperdrive followed its path to destruction. He couldn’t have expected it any more than you could, and, in all honesty, if it lead you to this moment, to hear his voice unfiltered, to feel his lips caress your skin, it was more than worth it.

But that intoxicating warmth from his body behind yours, the heat that should have been uncomfortable was dissipating and suddenly a barrage of thoughts came crashing down in your mind. What if he wasn’t apologising about the heat, what if he wasn’t apologising for the torturously slow manner you were creeping towards Nevarro. What if he was apologising for ever so much as thinking of pressing his lips against your heated skin.

Your mouth hung open awkwardly, not able to grasp just what he was apologising for, and leaving too much silence as a lack of response. You could hear him now, gathering the now full canteen, readying to depart once more up the ladder and back to the solitary confinement and safety of the cockpit.

“Wait!” the word escaped you, sharp and far louder than you intended, startling the Mandalorian who was lost in his own thoughts.

The decision was made without conscious thought, in fact, you were as surprised as he to find yourself moving carefully towards him. Your eyes were still closed so tightly it was almost painful, and you could only hope you were going in the right direction as you gingerly took a step forwards.

His movements had stopped, and you took that as a sign that it was alright to continue as you quickly stepped forwards once, twice- your knee hit the corner of a crate. The pain was sharp, aggressive, and every instinct in you wanted to open your eyes, if only to glare at the offending item that had hindered your movement.

But a gentle hand was on your wrist, almost timid in the way he held you now, a silent reminder that he was there. It was enough to pull you from your thoughts, to keep your eyes closed tightly, despite the jeopardy it put you in around the sharp edged crates.

“Ulyc,” the word shouldn’t have sounded as beautiful as it did. It was ugly, coarse and harsh, but his tone was so warm and gentle, as if it had slipped out from him without a seconds thought as he began guiding you around the crate. “Careful,” this time the word was clear, for you, not him. It was subtle and soft, and somehow it matched that odd word perfectly, with just as much care and intent.

But you couldn’t put too much focus on what he had said, not when your senses were currently feeling so very overwhelmed. The heat had already done a number on you hours ago, but now there was so much more to distract you.

The sound of his voice, closer and clearer than it had ever been before almost brought a smile to your lips, and you desperately tried to etch the sound into your memory, to never let the softness of his tone leave you. But it wasn’t the sound of his voice that captured your attention this time, no, it was touch.

His touch.

His hand was still grasped around your wrist, allowing you to hold his wrist in return as he lead you around the sharp corner of the box, and you could feel him. Skin against skin, no gloves holding him back. You could feel the light callouses of his fingertips as they held you, sure but gentle, a guide without force. Warmth, subtler than that of the ship itself, radiating from his touch.

You almost stumbled again as his movements came to a stop before your own, and was that a laugh?

At any other time you might have pouted, crossing your arms before you in mock offence at his finding your stumbling so damned amusing. But his laughter was so rare a treat as it was, and now, without the shield of his helmet between you, without the raspy modulator shifting the tone, you could hear it, soft and sweet, akin to a hum, and you were smiling shyly before him.

“Are you alright?” the question was barely above a whisper, carefully controlled, but still lingering in the air with unwavering care. Oh, how that damned helmet stripped him of such emotion in his voice, how dare it deprive the world of such a gentle tone?

You nodded in reply, suddenly glad for the fact your cheeks were already heated from the overall temperature, and therefore could not give away the additional emotions you felt as his honeyed voice dripped over you.

With one hand still in his, and the other draped over your face in an attempt to cover both your eyes at once, you found yourself at something of a loss. Something would have to give, and while you desperately didn’t want to loss the feeling of his hand against yours, you knew that your other hand’s position was simply too important to adjust.

A slight frown on your features had his heart racing in fear, worried you were now coming to your senses, ready to give him the berating he deserved. His own lips mimicked yours unintentionally, slipping into a frown as his fears began to grow. But he refused to take his eyes off you, refused to lose the sight of you there before him, pure and free.

Your hand began to move against his wrist, and he was ready to drop it, refusing to acknowledge the disappointment already dwelling within him at the slight shift. But your hand did not fall from his, did not even leave his skin. Instead, it traced lightly against his arm, feather light, as light as his own touch had been, as you found your way to his shoulder.

The frown was lifting from both your features, a small smile playing on your lips, curiosity playing on his own as he watched in wonderment, trying to figure out what exactly you were doing. Broad shoulders, strong and stiff under your touch, the feel of his t-shirt gathering and falling under your touch, and then skin once more as you reached his neck.

You could feel his gulp against your hand, the same nerves that had his shoulders so tense now clenching his jaw as you took your time simply feeling him. If you had continued upwards, you might have felt the way his brow had furrowed in confusion and anticipation, might have felt the way his lips had opened in silent question.

But as your hand found his jaw, he found himself nestling into the touch without thought or intent. It felt natural, calming, and suddenly he could understand why it was the child was always craving your touch. If he had craved the feeling of your hand against his beforehand, it was nothing to how he felt now that he had experienced it. It was intoxicating, even in the stifling heat. Addictive and condemning all at once, and he couldn’t seem to control the way his cheek pressed into your hand, especially when he watched the smile on your lips only grow at the action.

You were leaning forwards, following the guidance of your hand, finding him in your temporary blindness through blissful touch, and it was magnificent.

Fears that he would push you away, that he would regret his actions too deeply for you to ever reassure him slowly crept away as he leant into your palm, as his hand that had held yours began to trace its way along your forearm, only to stop uncertainly at your shoulder. He didn’t push you away, didn’t pull you towards him either, he merely held on; letting you control whatever was happening here, and embracing it.

His breath was against your skin, warm and lilting, and before you knew it, it stopped altogether.

Closer than you had ever been before, you paused, careful not to knock into him with your arm still pulled over your eyes, giving him every chance to pull away.

“Don’t you dare apologise,” your words were rushed, but determined, leaving no room for argument. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was an order, a clear statement that you simply were not accepting such a thing from the man you had come to care so deeply for.

But even with the determination of your words, you still hesitated to move, worried that it was you who were overstepping now.

What if it had simply been an action of no thought? What if he hadn’t apologised for the thought of upsetting you, but rather for ever kissing your bared shoulder in the first place? It was so damn hot, it was hard for you to think straight, what if the same was so for him, and his actions were born not of desire, but a simple lack of thought?

His hand shifted from your shoulder, thumb running over it once in an almost soothing manner, light and careful as were each of his movements in the odd sweltering abyss you found yourselves in. He lifted his touch from you, and you couldn’t help but gulp back the fears the shift brought. But before you could begin to overanalyse, to fear you had overstepped, his hand was back, finding a spot against your waist that felt too perfect. It was warm, his hand only further adding to how your top stuck to the curve of your waist, but you never wanted it to leave. It felt natural there, comforting, reassuring, and simply right.

His thumb moved uncertainly against you, an attempt at reassurance from a man who simply didn’t know how to be reassuring. It was awkward and jilted, but it was genuine, and the attempt had you smiling shyly.

The arm that covered your eyes shifted, your hand moving to cover them instead, to allow more space, and before you had even finished the movement, he was there, taking up the space with those lightning fast reflexes you had come to adore.

His lips found yours fast, so fast that it pulled the breath from you in a rush. It wasn’t sweet and chaste, nor lusty and skilled. There was nothing perfect or refined about it at all, in fact. But his lips were on yours, pulling a searing and fervent kiss from you, eager and awkward, unpracticed and desperate.

You couldn’t help but smile against his lips as you shifted slightly, allowing yourself to find a more comfortable position against him all while kissing back just as eagerly.

It was nothing like you had dreamed, neither romantic nor suave, but it was flooded with raw emotion, with relief and care and an absolute thrill of excitement, and you found yourself losing yourself to the sensation as he relaxed against you.

It wasn’t until you were truly desperate for air that you pulled apart, a goofy grin on your lips that was reflected on his own, unbeknownst to you.

“No apologies,” he agreed with a soft grin of his own as he took in your features leisurely. His forehead came down to press against yours tenderly, his eyes refusing to leave your features for even a second as he seared the blissfully happy sight of you into his memory.

And somehow, even with the heat of his body against yours, with his forehead drenched in sweat that had trapped your hand between you, the heat simply wasn’t as unbearable as it had once seemed, in fact, it barely registered at all.

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #star wars #My fic #mandoachallenge

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lilzebub · 3 years

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Vacations and Vows

Thanks @thegildedquill for the prompt for the Mando’a Challenge! Had a blast writing this one, obviously, since it almost hit 7k LOL. Mando x reader Summary: The Mandalorian meets a ruthless failed Jedi, who somehow manages to navigate the intricacies of the man beneath the beskar. He whisks her away on vacation to pose a very important question that’s been weighing heavy on him.

Prompt: Gett’se (nuts, or brave)

Word count: 6.9K

Warnings: Mandalorian typical violence, minor description of injuries, some season 1 spoilers.

Thanks @thegildedquill for the Mando’a Challenge! Summary: The Mandalorian meets a ruthless failed Jedi, who somehow navigates through the intricacies of the man beneath the beskar.

Prompt: “gett’se”, Mando’a word for ‘courage’, ‘nerve’ or ‘nuts’ (generic) Word count: 6.9K

Warnings: Mandalorian typical violence, light mentions of injuries, season 1 spoilers

“What’s wrong?” The deep voice from the captain’s chair jarred her from her thoughts: not only from the sudden, almost deafening onset of sound in the otherwise silent cockpit, but his sporadic initiation of conversation. She wasn’t entirely sure how long she’d been staring out into the black void of space that laid before the ship. Ten minutes? Maybe twenty? “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking, is all.” She relaxed back into the seat, fingers blindly trained on the edges of the domed crib beside her. A sharp intake of air. Was that a laugh? “Don’t hurt yourself.” She cocked her head towards him, incredulously. “What are you thinking about?” He continued, not turning his helmeted head. “Oh, you know. Just everything, I guess. We’ve been on the run for…How many years now?” Pressing the autopilot button, his chair swiveled to face her, expressionless as always. He slumped down, placing his elbows on his beskar clad legs. “Five years? Six?” The subtle tilt of his helmet told her that he hadn’t really considered it until she brought it up. He peered at her through his visor, suddenly glad that she was unable to see his eyes, trained on her petite form.

She was a far cry from the drunken brawler he had met all those years ago, and his lips, hidden behind beskar, tugged into a semblance of a smile at the vivid memory. The newly failed Jedi stood in a darkened back alley of Canto Bight, chest heaving after escaping from a mob of angry gamblers. Her gift with the Force allowed her to cheat her way through a game, winning her a substantial amount of money. Giddy, and moderately tipsy from the free drinks, she shoved credits into the pockets of her long, satin dress, fingers brushing against the lightsaber strapped to her leg. As the young woman navigated her way through the slimy underbelly of the city, blaster shots rang out: her keen senses knew it was only a couple of blocks away, and she stealthily navigated towards the sound. The moment she turned the corner, her heart lurched. Momentary flashes of silver were illuminated in the firefight, and she could see all of the shots were trained on one individual. “I always have to root for the underdog, don’t I,” she whispered under her breath, hiking the skirt of her dress up to remove her lightsaber. With a running start, and a drunken stumble, (Y/n) activated her lightsaber, illuminating the alley in a sunset gold hue, and sized up no less than 8 people nearly surrounding the figure. Slashing through the one that stood directly between her and the figure under attack, she turned, pressing her back towards the cold feeling of what she quickly recognized as beskar. “Who…” the voice called to her, before she quickly cut him off. “We can discuss formalities later, Mandalorian. For now, I’ve got you.” Another round of shots flew directly towards the pair, and she deflected them with ease with the saber. For a moment, the Mandalorian paused and watched the woman in the long dress, admiring the way she fought: she clearly had training, but there was a chaotic element, something unrefined, about the way she took out her enemies. Singlehandedly, the woman took out all but one of them, with the Mandalorian vaporizing the assailant in one swift motion. She sheathed her lightsaber, hiking up her now filthy dress to replace it in its holster. A cocky grin plastered her face, as she reached out towards him. “I’m (Y/n). I’d love to chat more, but seeing as how you’ve clearly made some enemies, we should probably get this show on the road. You got a ship?” The helmet tipped forward, a subtle nod of affirmation. The motion would be the only invitation the woman would receive from him. The Mandalorian turned mumbling quietly to himself about the woman’s apparent mental state, a deathwish, and she followed.

“Definitely closer to six.” The woman hummed, propping her feet on the side of his captain’s chair, wiggling her bare toes. “I’m getting a little….antsy.” “Antsy? About what?” His voice held no indication of what he was feeling. Fear, perhaps? The Mandalorian knew the day would probably come that his traveling companion would grow weary and branch off on her own, leaving him and the Child for good. He could never tell her how badly he wanted her to stay. She had become his best friend, his closest confidante, and a mother figure to the child. “You know….Like maybe we could make a stop for a couple of days. Like a vacation or something. Take the kid and visit Cara or something.” It wasn’t completely lost on her that he exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I don’t know, Din. I feel like I’ve been staring at the inside of this ship forever. I want to see a sunset, put my feet on solid ground.” She frowned when he didn’t immediately respond. The captain’s chair swiveled back to its original position. “Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin,” her whine drawled, awakening a slew of butterflies in his stomach. “I’ll see what I can do.” He answered succinctly.

The sound of the docking ramp woke her from a peaceful slumber. Stumbling from her cot, she slipped on a loose, knee length dress and boots, scrambling to see where the Mandalorian had taken her. The hulking figure stood poised at the edge of the ramp, cradling the small bundle. “Navarro? This really your idea of a vacation?” She glided to his side. The child cooed at the sight of her, making grabby hands in her direction. Din slid the child into her arms, silently admiring the care with which she held him. She is the perfect dichotomy of deadly and nurturing, he thought to himself as he continued peering down at her out of the corner of his visor. “No, quick pit stop,” he placed his hand behind her elbow, guiding her off the ship, towards the center of the city. The small gesture of physical contact caused a flame in her cheeks, as she quickly adjusted the baby to sit on the swell of her hip. “CARA,” (Y/n) screeched, passing the child to Din to fully engulf her dear friend in a tight embrace. “It’s been so long!” Din joined the pair, and the child gurgled and cooed excitedly. Cara reached down and stroked the child’s long green ear. “Hello there, little one! What do you think about staying with Aunt Cara for a few days while your mom and dad go have some fun?” She peered pointedly at the Mandalorian, knowing full well that he was blushing under his helmet at the implication of their partnership. (Y/n) glanced quickly at Din, mouth fully agape, then back to Cara. “We couldn’t possibly inconvenience you like that!” she protested, “I mean, this guy is getting to be quite a handful, with his….thing. You know. *the Force*” she mouthed silently, knowing that Force users are generally unfavored, sought after by Imps. Cara found purchase under the child’s arms and pulled him gently away from (Y/n). “Look, if I can handle all the weird shit his mom does, I can handle whatever he can do. You two haven’t had any time to yourself in years now. Stay the night here tonight, we’ll catch up, and you can get an early start in the morning after a night of good sleep and a full belly!”

(Y/n) was one of the few women Cara knew that could drink her under the table. Cara narrowed her eyes as the woman giggled, leaning into the shoulder of the heavily armored man. Through heavy wheezing and laughter, she continued her story. “You should have seen the look on Din’s face when I sabered the guy clear through the chest right before the guy pulled the trigger on him. I have saved your ass SO many times.” Cara doubled over in laughter. “Really? ‘The look on his face’??” She tipped the flagon of alcohol towards her mouth, spewing a bit in her fit of laughter. “So you’re telling me you’ve seen his face?” (Y/n) bristled a bit at the comment. “Well, no, of course not. But I know what he’s thinking sometimes, I can feel it. So I can….imagine, I guess?” She peered up at him with big, glossy eyes. “Right, right. So is that part of the ‘Force’, or the fact that you two are clearly hopelessly in love with each other?” (Y/n) shot her gaze towards Cara, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion, mind reeling. Would that really be that far beyond the realm of possibility? She knew she would be lying if she tried to deny it, instead opting to lean forward, away from Din, and grab her drink off the table. Certainly, their relationship held a peculiar degree of intimacy: what some would consider a simple gesture, such as revealing their real name, was a huge step in her friendship with the Mandalorian. They sat in the hull of the ship in silence after acquiring a particularly difficult asset, the pair both bleeding from fresh injuries. Through heavy, altered breaths, he finally spoke. “You really don’t have to stick around. Bounty hunting is a dangerous business.” Thuds of beskar hitting the cold floor punctuated his sentences, as he peered over at the woman through his visor. She had hastily stripped out of her minimal armor, revealing a startling amount of bruised and bloodied flesh underneath, a large gaping wound staining red the pale flesh of her upper arm. The Mandalorian quickly averted his gaze down to his own wounds, barely visible through the cloth of his underclothes. “I’m not made of glass, Mando. I was one night away from becoming a Jedi Master…you know. Before I ran.” A hiss escaped her lips as she staunched the bleeding from a deep vibroblade cut. His curiosity was piqued. “Seems like a lot of effort to go through just to run off at the last second.” He slid a medkit across the floor over to her, as she busied herself with the next most severe wound. “Do you know anything about what it means to become a Jedi, Mando?” she asked, no hostility in her voice. “Hm. I imagine it’s similar to my Creed.” Bacta spray coated his split knuckles, his gloves discarded to his side. “Well. Because of my…skills…I was taken away from my family as a child. Told to surrender my entire past, my entire self. And for what? To come of age and be told I can never get married or have a family, can never pursue anything that would fulfill me. I couldn’t have anything. So the night before I swore my oath, I took my lightsaber and ran. I didn’t stop running for what felt like an eternity. Hopping from planet to planet, swindling, fighting, killing if I absolutely had to.” Her wounds tended to, she laid back on the cold floor of the Razor Crest. She exhaled. “Honestly, it’s for the best. I’m having too much fun now. And now, all of my choices are my own.” Turning her head to peer at him. “What about you? What’s your story?” “My uh…parents. Got killed. I became the Mandalorians’ foundling. They raised me, and I adopted their Creed as mine. I owe them everything. It’s why I kept the Child as my own.” Suddenly, she reached across the space between them, taking his bare hand in her own. He was taken aback at first: this marked the first non-violent physical contact he had had with anyone in a long time, especially skin to skin. It felt foreign, but something else. Pleasant. “Mando….I’m so sorry.” He laced his fingers through hers, earning a quiet gasp. “Din…Din Djarin.” His voice through the modulator was breathy, as if the words escaped from him on their own volition. She quickly rolled onto her side and pulled her hand away, much to his chagrin. More confidently, he spoke again. “I would like for you to call me Din.” In one swift motion, he reached towards her, initiating the contact again.

“Oh my gods, (Y/n), are you EMBARASSED?” Cara continued laughing, sloshing her drink. “Your eyebrows are about to disappear into your hairline.” She stumbled to her feet. “I’m going to go check on the baby.” She navigated through Cara’s small lodging towards the room that held the child’s crib.

“Really, Din? REALLY? You haven’t told her yet?” Cara leaned forward, chastising him. His helmet tilted slightly as he stretched his arms across the back length of the seat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cara.” “So you’re telling me. That you’ve been traveling together for five-“ “Six,” he interrupted. “SIX years, and you haven’t told her that you love her?” He cleared his throat beneath his helmet. “She is the bravest warrior I know. I show her that I appreciate her service every day. That’s why I’m taking her on a vacation. She fights beside me well, and cares for the child as if he’s her own.” Shifting his weight, he glanced down the hallway she had gone down. “Din Djarin, you are staring down that hallway waiting for her to come back. You love her.” “She left the Jedi order so she could have some sense of normalcy. Marriage. A family. I cannot give that to her.” He husked angrily. Cara paused, blinking at him for a moment. “But you already did. Do you think it’s normal for two people to gallivant around the galaxy together, raising an adopted child together? Honestly, when you told me you were coming to visit, Greef and I made a bet: he said you two would already be married by the time you got here. I said you would announce it when you arrived.” “It is not the Way,” he replied simply. “I happen to know that Mandalorians can get married. The Armorer loaned me some books on the Creed. Maybe you should go talk to her.” “She still here in Navarro?” His interest was piqued. “Yeah, maybe you should go see her before you guys head out.” She stood, stretching her arms above her head. “And on that note, I’m going to bed.”

Din crept down the hallway towards the room with the crib, noting the door was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, he saw the child nestled against (Y/n), both fast asleep. Sighing heavily, he exited the building, in search of the Armorer.

The new covert wasn’t far from the old one. A handful of Mandalorians in their armor spread out in the comfortable common area, a handful of children toddling about. He couldn’t contain the swell of pride in his chest, seeing how the tribe was starting anew, with a fresh generation of foundlings. “Ah, Din. It’s been a long time.” A voice called from behind him. He turned, regarding her warmly. “How is the child? Where is the foundling?” “He’s with his moth-…Uh, with my traveling companion.” He barely caught himself. “Ah, a companion? The woman from the siege of Nevarro?” Her voice lilted in what could only be described as amusement, his near slip up wholly noticed. “Yes,” he replied in short. “A failed Jedi Master.” “A dar’jetti. Interesting. She understands the Force, then. Did you choose her companionship for her to teach the Foundling?” She busies herself with a gauntlet from the forge, not looking in his direction. His shoulders slumped, “She put her life on the line for me. She fiercely protected the child and I. More than once. First time on Canto Bight.” “How long ago was that?” Placing the gauntlet on the armory shelf, she turned, as if to urge the truth out of him. “Six years,” his voice was nearly a whisper. “So you have been traveling together for six years. Has she seen you without your helmet? Have you made her your riduur?” Tilting her helmet inquisitively. “You are raising a foundling together. It is a practical decision; we can extend the protection of the Covert to her. Aliit ori’shya tal’din.” He struggled for words, finally resigning to silently hooking his thumbs into his utility belt, shaking his head ‘no’. The Armorer walked over to him, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. “If you take her has your riduur it is still within the Resol’nare. To remove your helmet in front of your family...It is the Way. It is right, and just, a clan of three.” With that, he turned on his heels without a word, finding his way back to Cara’s homestead.

Din arguably never slept. Between the Child, piloting duties, and watching over (Y/n), he had learned to rely on as little rest as possible. It was no surprise when Cara rose that morning that the Mandalorian was comfortably reclining in the common space. “Morning, Mando! You find the Armorer?” she plopped down on a tufted cushion beside him. “Mhm” he answered flatly. A silence hung thick over the air, as if Cara was waiting for something more. “I’m taking her to Canto Bight. Called in a couple of favors.” She clapped her gloved hands together. “You’re taking her to the place you first met because you’re going to ask her to marry you. I KNEW it.” “Keep your voice down,” he husked. “I need you to take some of these credits from the last bounty, go with her to buy some clothing before we leave.” The creaking of a door startled the pair. (Y/n) dragged into the room, the Child toddling behind her. “Good morning, Cara, Din.” She stretched, and Din regarded her clothing. Her shoulder was exposed from the loose linen top she wore, her black jodhpurs torn and frayed from numerous falls. Since joining him, her style had become simple and practical, but all he could think about was the long dress she wore when they first met. “Um, good morning.” Din stood awkwardly. “Cara is going to take you shopping before we head out. Is that alright with you?” (Y/n) leaned down and picked up the Child, eyeing Din suspiciously. Glancing over at Cara who by now had a shit eating grin plastered across her face, she nodded slowly. “Sure, that sounds like it could be fun.” “I will take care of the baby until you two get back, cyar’ika.” The Mandalorian closed distance and collected the child from her. Before she could react, he leaned his helmet down, pressing it gently to her forehead. “I will see you soon.”

The two women meandered towards the market, (Y/n)’s face still flushed. “You know what that was, right?” Cara asked when they were out of earshot of her dwelling. “That was like, the equivalent of kissing by Mandalorian standard.” She dragged her hands down her face, “I KNOW what it was, Cara. I just don’t know WHY. What the HELL was that?! Was that MANDO’A? WHAT DOES CYAR’IKA MEAN?” He had only ever spoken to her in his native tongue once before, and the low growl of his words always sent a fire straight to the flesh of her neck and face.

Everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. They were cornered, bruised, and broken, under heavy fire from just beyond the cantina doors. A booming voice had just called the Mandalorian by his name, and the woman clutched her saber so tightly that the skin of her palms began to crack. Despite the debris from the ammunition and explosions digging into her knees from where she crouched behind the bar, his name being revealed to everyone wounded her somewhere deep behind her ribcage. Something sacred that he had gifted to her out of trust and mutual respect, shouted with indifference to the seemingly infinite number of troops as they pinned the group down.

The rag-tag group desperately clamored for some promise of an exit, a path to safety. The medical droid turned child protector had uncovered a small opening that could potentially lead the group to safety, but there wasn’t much time. Cara, Karga, and IG-11 crouched towards the small opening and began moving forward. (Y/n) scrambled towards the hole, turning to make sure Din was close behind, only to see him collapsed on the ground, unmoving. She scrambled over to him, tapping the side of his helmet. “Din! DIN? You have to get up, we have to go NOW.” As she slid her hand behind him to try to assist getting him up, she found that he was covered in something dark and slick. Blood, and lots of it, was seeping from a wound that was concealed by his helmet.

His breath came through the vocorder in slow pants. “(Y/n) I’m not going to make it. You take this, take the child, and get to safety.” He pressed a necklace with the emblem of a Mythosaur into her palm, then reached up to press his gloved hand to her cheek. “The covert. They’ll know…..know I sent you.”

Years of Jedi training had taught her about stoicism. It had taught her about loss, and death, but nothing had prepared her to say goodbye to the Mandalorian. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, as she violently shook her head in protest. “No, Din. I’m not leaving you. I will slaughter every Storm Trooper that comes through this door. I will slay Moff Gideon myself and watch the light leave his eyes. I swear this to you.” She looped the necklace around her neck, and slowly stood up, flicking her golden lightsaber and taking a fighting stance.

“Cuyir gar gett’se?!” The Mandalorian wheezed through his vocoder, struggling to catch his breath. “Don’t do this, the child needs you, you’re his mot-.” He stopped speaking abruptly, and she screamed for IG-11 to assist he Mandalorian.

Several Storm Troopers pressed their way inside, and the only thing she could focus on was holding them off for long enough for IG-11 to get Din to safety. As they fell one by one, a much larger Storm Trooper entered with a flamethrower and began spraying his flames towards her. Her palm pressed forward, as she used everything in the Force to keep the flames at bay. Her strength began to falter, as she peered down to her side. The child had waddled up beside her, and she quietly pleaded for him to get back. “Baby, please. Please, you’re going to get hurt. You’ve got to go back.” He raised his tiny three fingered hand and mirrored her position, and the flames began quickly receding. They soon engulfed the Trooper, and she clamored to scoop the now unconscious baby from the ground, running past IG-11 and the body of the Mandalorian. Cara chuckled to herself, “So now that it’s just the two of us, be honest. You’ve got it bad for him, don’t you?” “No shit, Cara. You can only be stuck with someone on a floating chunk of metal for so long before you start to think they look pretty appealing,” she rolled her eyes. “How long?” Cara guided her into a vendor stall, lined with dresses and garments. (Y/n) traced her fingers absentmindedly over the lush fabrics, deep in thought. “Uh, remember the story when he was getting jumped by the eight dudes in Canto Bight?” She picked up a long black dress with an open back. “….You mean the night you met? Are you insane?” Cara looked at her incredulously. “You’ve kept your shit together for six years, without even giving him a hint that you were feeling something?” Her skin flushed. “NO. I was just gonna say this dress is very similar to what I wore that night. GEEZ, Cara, I didn’t even know him yet.” Cara huffed in frustration. (Y/n) draped the dress over her arm, and placed her hand on Cara’s shoulder. “I can’t describe it. Let me just….show you, okay?”

It all came at once as a flood: everything was suddenly warm, like the heat of the sun on a perfect day, or the way spotchka burned just a little on the way down. It was a small, smoldering pile of cinders, giving way to an unquenchable blaze. The feeling of being surrounded by cool, blue water, and a fearless feeling of sinking all the way to the bottom of the sea. The undeniable sensation of falling from some high distance, unsure of when you’ll reach the bottom.

Cara’s eyes opened. “Damn, (Y/n) could you warn me before putting me through the ringer? I didn’t know that was a thing you could do.” (Y/n) turned towards the dark dress, and shrugged her shoulders. “This is the one.” She gestured to this shopkeep, shoving a handful of credits into their hands. “Let’s get out of here. I need a vacation.”

The Razor Crest docked in Canto Bight, and (Y/n) could barely contain her excitement, a stark contrast to the man behind the beskar. “if you would like to get dressed, I’m going to run an errand. Will you be ready in half an hour?”

(Y/n) peered at herself in the small mirror as she dabbed a deep rouge color to her lips. The dress glided behind her as she strode towards the weapons cabinet and pulled out her lightsaber, still in pristine condition. The high slit of the dress allowed her easy access to strap the weapon to her leg. The loud hissing of the ramp to the Razor Crest alerted her to Din’s arrival, and she stood expectantly awaiting the moment he got to lay eyes on her.

The man in the shiny beskar paused in front of her, his helmet tilting downward to take her all in. “You look….” He paused, seemingly choking, noticing the Mythosaur necklace he had given her during the siege situated on her chest. “Really nice, (Y/n).”

She smirked, enjoying how flustered he seemed to be. “You look pretty nice yourself, Din. Did you shine your beskar up just for me?” He quickly nodded.

“I uh….wanted to look as nice as I could for this. Are you ready to depart?” He gestured towards a speeder at the bottom of the ramp. “I got a speeder with a sidecar so you wouldn’t have to…um….straddle it in a dress.” She broke into a giggle, which swelled into a belly laugh.

“That’s surprisingly thoughtful of you. I really can’t believe you pulled all this together for me. Thank you so much.” “Don’t thank me until you see the rest. There’s a lot more to see tonight.” He held out his arm, chivalrously as they walked towards the speeder. “Do you trust me?” She thought for a moment. “Well, that depends. Are you making this nice for me so it’s an easy let down? You’re dumping me back off here or something?”

He scoffed. “No, never. I’m not sure what I would do without you.” The sincerity in his voice caused her to falter a bit. He regained his stoic composure quickly. “Keep your eyes closed, I’ll tell you when to open them.” The speeder ride felt painfully long, and a bit disorienting. She had absolutely no concept of space, nor any idea where he might be taking her. The whirring of the speeder engine slowed to a halt, and she could vaguely make out the sounds of waves crashing somewhere nearby. The Mandalorian disembarked, and strode around to gently lift her from her seat.

“Okay, you can open your eyes now.” His voice through the vocorder gravelly beside her ear.

The woman wasn’t prepared for what sight was in front of her. A large dock surrounded by blue ocean stretched out before them, leading towards a large yacht. The sky was beginning to display a twinge of orange and pink, reflecting off of the gently rolling waves. (Y/n) looked over at the Mandalorian, speechless for the first time since they had met. “Din, this is really too much. It must have cost a fortune in credits to get this boat. And if I recall correctly, you HATE the water.”

He shook his head. “I had a few favors to call in from some associates here. This is yours to enjoy while we’re here.” She jumped up and down gleefully, and began running towards the boat. It never ceased to amaze him her ability to run in high heeled shoes.

The pair embarked on the yacht, and she watched puzzled as Din entered coordinates into the GPS system. The boat began moving towards some undisclosed location, and she ran towards the front of the boat. She perched herself against the railing, staring down as the waves passed quickly as the boat sped along. Innumerable fish passed by, many species she had never seen before. Din stood back and watched her, arms crossed, an immense amount of hidden enjoyment spreading across his features. The young woman quickly turned back towards him. “So where are we even heading? I saw you input some coordinates.” She kicked off her shoes to the side unceremoniously, enjoying the freedom to move about.

“I know a spot.” He answered plainly.

“Hmmmm, a place where you dump the bodies?” She chided, eyeing him suspiciously.

“No. Just a place I thought you might like to see. I don’t imagine you got to enjoy many spots in Canto Bight during your time here.” She thought for a moment.

“You’re right. Most of the time I was just ducking out in alleyways. I think I only even got to see the coastline twice during the time I was here. And never like this.” The setting sun caused her to squint her eyes a bit as she peered out, and the Mandalorian took that time to really take her in: she was truly beautiful, all pointed features and sharp angles. He very seldom had the luxury to see her this way, without lines of worry across her forehead, or thinking deeply about how they were going to capture the next quarry. She consistently held a brave face for him and the child, so much that it was often easy to forget that she was a living being. For a moment he tried to imagine her other life, one where she was a hardened Jedi master: fierce and unrelenting, but also quiet and solitary. He thought, that life would have never suited her, she was like a wildfire, wild and unquenchable. Her smile when she held the child, or the attitude she so quickly gave the Mandalorian when he agitated her. No, she felt far too much to be confined by the life of a Jedi. She looked back over to him, smiling.

“You know, sometimes I actually can feel what you’re thinking. You try to keep your thoughts quiet, but sometimes you’re so loud in there.” She shook her head, almost embarrassed. “You’re right, though. That was never the life for me. I’m a little bit too erratic for the discipline they expected from me.” He moved towards her, placing his hand tentatively on her shoulder.

“There’s nothing shameful about that. You’re impulsive at times, wild even. But you know, sometimes I’m not sure this is the life I want to live either.” She gazed at his hand for a moment, before turning her attention to the T shaped visor, confused at his confession. He continued, “There are many days when I think maybe it’s time to take off the armor, to give all of this up. Maybe settle down with the kid somewhere and try to have some normalcy.”

“Din, where is this coming from? The Creed is your entire life….” The boat sputtered to a halt, and he gently guided her to turn back around: all that could be seen around them was a beautiful sunset undisturbed and untouched by the Canto Bight skyline. Her mouth hung open in shock. “Din, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Every planet I’ve seen, in all my travels. Nothing this beautiful.”

“Neither have I.” He spoke softly, and she smiled back towards him. She immediately noticed his visor didn’t face the sunset, he was looking down at her. “(Y/n), I want you to do something for me.” He clasped both her hands in his, shocking her at his blatant display of affection.

“After you put all of this together for me? I’ll do literally anything you ask of me.” She winked at him.

He slowly lifted her hands to the edge of the beskar helmet on his head, exhaling shakily. Her fingers traced the cool metal that shielded his face from the world, as he let go of her hands. She felt herself starting to tremble at the immense amount of trust her placed in her, allowing her to touch his helmet. His hands now found purchase at her waist, another action so intimate she felt her heart swell.

“I want—I want you to take it off.” His voice was uneven and gentle, as though he couldn’t believe the words had slipped out to her so easily.

“Din, NO,” she quickly removed her hands and tried to pull herself from his grasp. “Your Creed. I can’t see you without it. Why the kriff would you want to give that up now, after all this time?” His grasp on her waist didn’t falter, instead pulling her in closer to him. She slapped her hands on his cuirass, agitated. “I won’t let you throw away your entire life for me.”

“I don’t have to ‘throw away’ anything for you, cya’rika. All these years you’ve traveled with me…You’ve followed me to the ends of the earth to protect the child…OUR child. You have never betrayed my trust, despite your absolute ruthless nature. I want to give this to you.”

Tears began welling up in her eyes. “You can’t, Din. As much as I wish I could say yes, we can’t. I know what it means to throw away everything you worked for, but I made that choice. Your Creed is everything to you.”

“I don’t have to give up my Creed to show you my face…” He spoke barely above a whisper. “We’re a clan of three. Aliit ori’shya tal’din: Family is more than blood.” He echoed the phrase the Armorer had told him.

“I’m familiar with Mandalorian customs, Din: You can remove your helmet in front of your child.” She grew increasingly more agitated and anxious.

“Or…my riduur.” She shifted her weight nervously.

“Din, I’m familiar with customs, not the language. I don’t even know what that means.”

His hands moved to grasp hers again, placing them on his helmet with more conviction. “Wife. It means, my wife.” “Are you….are you asking me to…?” He nodded. “You’re not just messing with me right now?” He shook his head in response, and she began a combination of laughing and crying all at the same time.

“So will you do it?” He whispered softly, and she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she lifted the helmet. A quiet hiss echoed around them, as the sun began to dip just beyond the horizon. Din took the helmet from her, and placed it to the side. “Open your eyes, (Y/n).”

She slowly opened her eyes to the man before her. The rays from the finally setting sun settled upon his golden tan skin, framed by loose brown curls. Her hands shot up to her mouth in shock. “Din, you’re…..hot? Like, I knew you had swagger, but you’re….you’re a vision.” He looked at her shyly, and began to laugh. “Stars, and your smile? I can’t believe you never told me how beautiful you were underneath that tin can.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist, and leaned towards her so dangerously close that their lips were almost touching. “I mean, I figured all this time you thought I looked like the child.” She reached up to touch his face with nothing but reverence and adoration.

“You could have been a Mon Calamari under there and I would love you…” She paused, her cheeks flushed with her confession. His gloved hand cupped the side of her face, and she leaned into him, never breaking eye contact. “I love you, (Y/n).” She released his face and threw her arms around his still armor-clad shoulders, pressing into a tentative kiss.

“I will marry you, Din. Under one condition.” She murmured, lips still hovering close to his.

“Anything you want, cyar’ika.”

“You gotta start teaching me Mando’a.” She felt his chest move, as laughter began bubbling up from deep within him. “Hey, it’s not funny! You keep slipping in words and phrases and I’ve been in the dark this whole time!”

He brushed his lips against her forehead. “Okay, anything you want to know.”

“When we were on Nevarro, and you were….um…dying. You said something. What was it?” He pulled back and thought about it for a moment.

“I’m pretty sure I told you that you were nuts.” Her fist connected with his shoulder. “OW, what was that for?”

“All this time, I’ve been sitting here, thinking that you were professing your love with your dying breath. And you were just telling me that I was CRAZY?”

He gently thumbed over the necklace he had given her. “In a way, I was. Gar cuyir gett’se. You’re the bravest, most fearless, insane woman I have ever met. Cyar’ika, my beloved.”

The pair had spent their travel time back to Nevarro, with Din patiently teaching her phrases of Mando’a, particularly phrases for their wedding vows. They had made the decision to have the ceremony performed on Nevarro, with the child, Cara, Greef Karga and the Armorer present, even though Mandalorian weddings were a simple exchanging of words. As they approached the docking bay, (Y/n) seemed to vibrate with excitement. The hatch opened, and the pair could see Cara laughing with the baby settled on her hip, and Greef Karga gesticulating animatedly.

(Y/n) practically skipped off towards the group, Din following slowly behind. He was still tentative; he didn’t know what to expect with their news. As (Y/n) approached, the baby wiggled and writhed away from Cara, and she plopped him down watching him waddle over and clasp onto (Y/n)’s leg.

Cara eyed the pair carefully, cutting between the two of them. “Something’s different, isn’t it? You’ve got an awful lot of spring in your step to just have some vacation afterglow.” (Y/n) turned, smiling at the Mandalorian.

He nervously cleared his throat, and moved to stand by her side, dwarfing her in his height. “I have asked (Y/n) to be my riduur.”

She proudly bounced on the heels of her feet. “Wife. That means wife, everyone. He’s been teaching me Mando’a on the trip back.” Everyone gaped at the pair, the baby cooing and sputtering excitedly. “What’s everyone staring at?” For a brief moment, seemingly suspended in time, everyone was too shocked to speak. Greef Karga broke the silence by stepping forward and clapping the Mandalorian on his pauldron covered shoulder.

“I knew you had it in you, Mando. I’m glad you’re keeping her around. She’s always been crazy enough to get things done.” He shot a quick wink over to the woman, who beamed up at the expressionless helmet.

“She certainly is, which is why she wants to go ahead and do it today.” As if the baby knew what Mando was saying, he began cooing and gurgling excitedly. He reached down and stroked the child’s slightly furry head. “We would like all of you to attend as our witnesses. Mandalorian wedding vows are a simple exchanging of words, but we would like for all of you to be a part of it.”

Later in the day, as the blazing sun hung above the city, the group found themselves in the Mandalorian covert. The Armorer greeted the group warmly and led them to a common space with comfortable seating. Din and (Y/n) stood before them, hand in hand, as they began to recite the vows he had taught her on the flight back to Nevarro.

“Mhi solus tome. Mhi solus dhar’tome. Mhi me’dinui an. Mhi ba’juri verde.” Din clasped his gloves hands on her cheeks, pulling her towards him. Gently, he pressed the forehead of his helmet to her, and she beamed back at him.

“So that’s it? You’re married now?” Karga slapped his hands to his knees. The Armorer nodded.

“Yes. Mandalorian custom dictates a simple exchange of words as a binding marital contact. This is the Way.”

(Y/n) strode towards Cara, collecting the baby. “Well that’s it little guy, I guess I’m officially your mom now.”

The Armorer nodded her head in agreement. “A clan of three. Go forth and raise warriors.” (Y/n) chuckled.

“I think warrior, singular, is about all we can handle right now. I think our little clan is finally complete.” She gazed at his visor adoringly. “Now, we better get back to work. I blew a bunch of our credits at the casino on Canto Bight. Karga, got any pucks for us?” The group stared at her incredulously, as Din wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

“I told ner cyar’ika no using the Force to cheat. We didn’t need their security ruining her vacation.” She shrugged under his weight.

Karga grumbled. “Nuttiest bounty hunters in the entire Guild. I swear, they were made for each other.”

The baby cooed happily between them, and (Y/n) felt her chest swell with pride. After all those solitary years, the brutal Jedi training, she finally felt as though she had the entire galaxy within her reach. The things she so outrageously dreamed of, prematurely stolen from her in her youth, restored by a fifty something year old child, and a man clad in armor as impenetrable as his heart: a family all her own. A clan of three.

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