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back in my mando era

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Last post of the year ofc needs to be my beloved father and son duo 💚 Happy New Year chat! 💚

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Saw this pic of Pedro and the fox plushie and I just had to draw Din and Grogu real quick 🥺

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Happy Father's Day to my fave dad and son duo ever. One drawing for each year I'm obsessed w these two. 2021-2024 and counting 😌

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In the Hands of Your Lover

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Main Masterlist | Din Djarin Masterlist

Author’s note: @goodwithcheese made this post about Din’s hands and I’ve been unable to stop thinking about it 🫠 Gif is by @pedgito 🤍

Summary: You recall the first time you saw and felt Din’s bare hands.

Word count: 360

Warnings: canon divergent (long live in the Razor Crest), established relationship, fluff, Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you, Cyar’ika = sweetheart, no use of y/n

You’ll never forget seeing Din’s bare hands for the first time. In hindsight, it was just his hands. But given how modest Mandalorians are, it was a momentous occasion.

You’ll never forget seeing his scars. You inspected every single one, asking about the story behind them. He asked you, “You really want to know?”

So you kissed the back of his hand and brought it to the side of your face, “I want to know everything about you, Din Djarin.”

He paused and said, “Anything for you, cyar’ika.”

He told you so many stories, ranging from when he was a child all the way until when the two of you met. You never saw such a passion in him before, talking about his childhood. And when he spoke of the Mandalorians who took him in, he spoke with great pride and reverence for them. You listened intently, letting him keep one hand on your cheek while you held the other. You rubbed the tension from his sore muscles, taking note of every freckle or signs of age on his hand. He practically melted into the bunk of the Crest, a softness coating his voice as he spoke.

You’ll never forget the feeling of Din’s skin against yours. His fingers so calloused from gripping his blasters, from restraining his bounties, from piloting the Razor Crest, traced patterns on your face. But his palms were soft, cupping your cheek so delicately. A man capable of such violence still has it in him to be so tender and loving. And you’re the only one who gets to see that side of him. It makes you feel special, knowing that you are the person who earned this level of trust with him.

You switched hands, taking the other between your fingers as you worked his stress away. He gripped your chin, directing you to look into his visor as he murmured a quiet thank you.

“Of course, Din,” you smiled, the warmth in your chest swirling around inside you.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum,” he whispered.

You whispered the phrase back to him, without asking him what it meant. Somehow you just always knew.

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Dividers: @saradika-graphics

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Binding | Part III

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (in three parts). Complete on A03.

Prev

Here's the LC Masterlist.

Summary: Can you and the Mandalorian heal from the events on Evalon? In a steamy cave heated with emotion, you'll try your best.

Word count: 7.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, it’s just fluff and smut here, I think. (Okay a lil angst too. Angsty fluff. Fluffy angst? Flangsty?), smut: oral sex (f!receiving), breath play, unprotected piv (be safe), sex in a natural body of water (fine in the story, probs avoid in real life), creampie, Din Neck Worship gets a warning not sorry about it though. If you look up self-indulgence in the dictionary – it’s just this whole chapter.

A/N: This story won't make much sense if you haven't read Lovers' Crest. Or even if you have, it may still be nonsense. I'm not sure. No matter what, thank you for reading!

--

He’d declined to hold his son again the whole way back to Navarro, despite the child fussing for it. It takes some doing to therefore get Grogu settled, but he is exhausted and lulls into a fitful sleep. 

You let yourself watch him for a beat – little nose twitching and upper lip curling in the relief of rest. He leans to your touch as you run a finger over the curve of an ear. The contented grunt reassures you that he is alright. 

Unlike the other presence in the cabin.

Turning from the slumbering child, your face is cast in shadow by the broad silhouette standing at the threshold of your shared bedroom. Din is peering in, motionless. A shard of yellow light from outside slants across the curve of his helm.

You look him over. Try to decipher the exact timbre of what’s radiating off him in this moment. In the time you’ve known him, you’ve come to see many, many emotions of varying intensity emanating from the armoured visage. But this one is new – and devastating. He’s carrying the entirety of the events of Evalon. A burden of overwhelming proportion.

Gods, you think. How will I fix this?

Just as you take a tentative step toward him, his shoulders quake and he slumps against the doorframe. You’re there in a heartbeat – right beside him. You clasp both hands over a cold pauldron, nose into the arch of steel where his cheek would be. 

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘Hey Din, we’re alright now. We’re—’

He gives you the lightest shove away and you fall back, arms dropping. Force down a sob.

‘S—’ he gasps on an exhale. Anguish in his tone. ‘Sorry, please just-- I can’t…’

You try, ‘We can get through this.’ Get a shake of the helmet and a strained sigh in response. 

‘I- I almost killed… you,’ he says. The dark T visor tips up to look over your shoulder. ‘I almost hurt my s—'

He’s raised a gloved palm as if you keep you back. Fat chance. You move to him again, pushing the barrier aside. He shies back.

‘Hey, hey,’ you say, reaching up to take hold of either side of the helm, draw it down to level a look straight at him. He stares. With a light lift, moving the beskar up just a fraction, you ask, ‘Can you?’

Whatever resistance there was seems to ebb a little as you keep staring at the visor. Another long, stilted exhale through the modulator before he gives up a shaky nod. He reaches to take hold of the helmet, replacing your hands – which slide to his wrists. He raises it and, as it clears his head and comes down, lets you take it. 

Tears pinch from his eyes. The angry red abrasion at his temple catches the light, spidery lines radiating out.

He holds your gaze at least. That’s something. 

But then it drops, slides down your face to land on your throat. You’ve no idea of the state of it, though it still throbs and it hurts to swallow. Which you do when an expression of pure desolation crosses his features. You’re losing him again.

‘I—’ you start, but are interrupted by an approaching Shnk, shnk, shnk. The sound of mechanised limbs walking to the entrance of the cabin. They ‘sch- veen’ to a stop and IG-11’s voice can be heard calling your name.

‘I have arrived at your request,’ he says. You’d sent a clandestine hail as the Crest broke atmo. ‘I am here to attend to the safety of the child.’

‘What?’ Din focuses back on you – his confusion a chance to move things along.

‘C’mon,’ you start to coax him toward the door, placing his helm with care on the bed. ‘Let’s um,’ you want to take him somewhere. ‘Let’s go to that little hot spring cave you found, hey?’ Grab up a med kit and a canister of hydration fluid. A light.

‘N—’ he’s trying. ‘I won’t leave—’

‘IG here will be a comm’s pulse away, and Grogu will be asleep for hours. He’s okay. He’ll be okay. But you aren’t. Please let me--’

He halts at the threshold of the cabin, a stone wall blocking the doorway. You bump into his back, and have to edge around to stand in front of him. IG waits, sights swivelling between you.

‘My muscles are aching,’ you say, with your best, most imploring expression. ‘I bet yours are too – we can relax and I’ll dress this, yeah?’ 

You brush the back of a finger over the injury by his eye. The motion seems to remind him it’s there and he crumbles, goes to putty in your palms. With a sigh of surrender, he nods. You take him by the arm, murmuring that Grogu will be fine, talking through the steps – I’m turning on security, I’ve got the monitor, IG will keep him safe. C’mon, you need this.

Coax, and corral and guide, until he acquiesces to your will and lets himself lean into your side as you head out to the spontaneous destination.

The cave is warm. The air potent with the smell of fresh water and minerals. 

You have him in a half recline, the pool you’ve sunk into together rises to lap at his pecs and upper arms. It swirls around your ribs where you straddle him. The small lantern sits propped on a nearby rock, casting a golden halo out across the underground spring. The contents of the med kit are laid out on the ledge by his shoulder and you reach for each item in turn.

The wound is not that deep. But you make a thorough show of the procedure. Giving him time to settle into the safe bubble you’re trying to create. He’s letting you work, dead quiet.

‘I don’t even think this will need dressing, you know,’ you murmur low. ‘It’ll heal in no time.’

Your words rouse him, and he lifts a hand – splashing out of the water to still your motions. His eyes track over you, scanning. He takes the cleanser you’d been dabbing to his temple. Sets it aside and twists around to pick up a fresh one, before lifting your forearm to scrutinise the abrasion there. 

You look at it in surprise. Hadn’t noticed it. It looks like a gravel rash, angry bruises smattered around it. He touches the gauze to it and you wince a tiny bit, hiss at the sudden burn. 

Din doesn’t look up, but he pauses there.

‘I did this to you,’ he says, voice soft and deep. His first words since leaving the cabin.

‘No, you d—’ you have to stop to clear your own voice, still raspy and strained. Now he glances up at you with abject pain. ‘You didn’t. You didn’t.’

‘I did,’ he insists. ‘I hurt you, here,’ he reaches up to stroke the skin by the strap of your singlet. You follow the gesture, see a multicoloured bruise. ‘And here,’ moving his touch beneath the water to trace along another fresh lesion on your thigh, blossoming out from the undershorts you’ve kept on. 

‘Superficial,’ you say. ‘I’ve had worse just from training and practice, you know that. They’ll heal. We will heal.’

The hand comes to your neck, fingers make a gentle path there. You still haven’t seen how it looks, but his eyes speak volumes. 

‘Here then?’ he says, asking you to defend this injury to him. ‘What about this?’

With an insistent shake of the head, and a ‘no, no,’ you move the hand so palm is pressed to cheek.

‘It wasn’t you,’ you say, pouring every ounce of persuasion you have into the words. ‘I was there, okay? I saw it. Every time you were a hair’s trigger from… from actually doing anything, you broke through and fought. I saw it.’

Drawing a thumb along his jaw, urging his chin up.

A mortal fear still plays on his features. He remains incredulous, stays holding tight to his guilt. 

A question occurs, and you ask it, ‘What was it like? When you were-- when- uh, I mean, what could you perceive?’

He looks a little confused by the turn in questioning, and his dark lashes drop low as he considers. It’s painful to watch. But a familiar posture emerges, a roll of the shoulders and a gathering of self, shrugging off the taciturn mask – preparing to open up to you. It’s a slight relief. 

‘It…’ he says. ‘It was like a… a thick sheet of glass was between me and my body. And I was trying to punch through it. It was foggy, hard to see-- what I was doing.’

Gods, you think. What that must have been like for him…

‘I remember glimpses of clarity,’ he continues. ‘You looking at me, terrified, holding your neck. You screaming my name, like that. You were so afraid, wh- what that must have been like for you? I can’t-- Then, uh, Grogu, freeing me. But I saw enough, I saw—’

‘Did you see the way you didn’t once use any of your weapons?’ you say, barrelling over him now. ‘The way you let me fight back? Or how about the fact you didn’t know which way your ship was? Would you ever not know the way back to your ship?’

He screws his eyes tight, sits up to press his forehead into yours. You push back, nose nudging into his. Breathing him in. Willing him to believe.

‘It wasn’t you. It was never going to happen. Hear me, Din Djarin? You were never going to hurt us.’ 

‘You were so scared—’

‘Of the tech, not you.’

‘I can’t—’

‘Please, if I’m going to be okay after this, I need you.’

That does the trick.

Over the lapping of the water, the echo of droplets all around, you hear the tiniest sob of acceptance. It wasn’t him. It’s followed by harsh puffs of hot air against your neck, where he buries it, arms reach around to clutch you tight. You need him.

Holding him around the shoulders, you feel them drop. Finally relaxing. Letting the wretched events you’d stumbled into slide to the side. That’s when your own guilt whirrs into motion – starts a melodic drone in your mind of your fault, your fault, this is all your fault.

‘I’m the one who should be weeping right now,’ you utter, pulling back. Imminent tears vibrating on your words. ‘Whole reason we were even there was coz of my mistakes.’

It snaps Din’s attention.

‘None of that was your fault, cyar’ika,’ he says, allowing you to ease from the embrace, but not letting go.

‘Wh-- of course it was,’ you say, fending off the urge to cry in earnest. ‘What do you mean? I- I…’

‘I’ll accept,’ he rumbles over you. An intensity in his gaze that seers across you. Heavy brows knitted together. ‘That tech… what it did, and what it made me do. I’ll accept that wasn’t entirely… I’ll accept that, okay? But you will not convince me that it wasn’t every one of my mistakes that led us there.’

You’ve lost the train of conversation. His mistakes? What is he talking about?

‘What are you talking about?’ you ask. ‘Your--? You haven’t… made any—’

‘Oh, yes I have,’ he says. He seems almost… angry? A fuming buzz just under the surface. ‘Many. How far back do you want to go?’

You can’t think of a single thing to say, so just stare – searching his face. 

He gives you a look like hm? A head tilt that you can’t help but be melted by. Something is swimming in his gaze, something profound, and you sense an immense emotion about to descend. Sure enough-- 

‘Back to when I realised I’d fallen in love with you, but didn’t tell you? Or to when I should’ve told you how Mandalorian custom works? And let you decide? Or how about to just to that day – what I put you through at that forge? Letting you go? Hm? My mistakes, love. Not yours.’

You’re reeling. This is- this is just--

‘Everything you did,’ he says, the anger dissolving into a well of melancholy. ‘In our time apart, everything you had to do – if I had.. if I’d just-- not been so afraid.’

The last word comes out a shuddered whisper and he takes a beat to draw a few centering breaths. You focus mainly on trying to take in a single inhale of air, mind swirling with the heady minerals and steam. 

A litany of feelings pass in this space you’re sharing. So much that has remained unspoken. While he considers his next words, you resolve to never let secrets be carried between you again. 

But when he goes on, your heart jumps into your – once again throbbing – throat.

‘I don’t hold any resentment that you… were with another, in that time,’ he says. You freeze in fear. Something thuds into place for you, why you had never brought it up, why you tried to just forget and move on. Because you regret it sure. But it happened. And you don’t want to know if he went and did the same. 

You’d rather never know – if, if he…

He senses it on you. Always reads you so easy. His features turn soft – tender and affectionate. A light dancing in his eyes.

‘Do not worry, cyar’ika,’ he says. He nudges a damp strand of hair off your forehead, draws the finger down your face, along your jaw, across collarbone, shoulder. Tracing a line of heat along your body until his bare hand is clutching one of yours under the water.

He holds them up, looks between them and your face.

‘From the moment I let you remove my glove, that first time… there was never going to be anyone else.’

He lets your joined hands drop with a soft ‘fwoosh’ back beneath the ripples.

‘I didn’t know I could let someone that close to me, and – I think it could only ever have been you.’

This confession is only just sinking into your bones, when he goes on.

‘There is something I should tell you,’ he says. Despite yourself, you still freak a little. Maybe something did happen, with someone else, and he just kept the armour on? Maybe- maybe he-- Gods, shut up, you chastise yourself. Don’t be daft.

This time Din doesn’t seem to be as attuned to your ridiculous spiralling. In fact, it seems as if he has drifted far away. A distant expression on his face.

‘I’m sorry for those things I said, before the mission,’ he says. ‘And you were right. You’ve shared so much of your past with me. It’s time I do the same.’

He lowers his head and you sit a little taller to caress him. Pull him close. Unsure what’s coming but feeling the air grow heavy with it.

‘I wasn’t always a Mandalorian,’ he says, whisper quiet but so close to you it shimmers in your veins. ‘I was… a foundling.’

Through whispers and utterances into your neck, against your shoulder, into your hair. He tells you about the world where he was born. About his village. His family. The attack. The cellar. About the Mandalorian who took him in arms and lifted him away from that life forever.

He tells you about the last time he saw his parents.

You listen with hands circling and stroking. With kisses to his uninjured temple. Grateful for the steam and the sweat on your bodies obscuring your tears, which flow free as you picture him. So young, ripped from the life he knew. Torn away in violence. So young.

He’s describing looking over the shoulder of his saviour, peering down at the ground shrinking away, when he stops. Lets a silent torrent of emotions pour into where he’s dropped his head onto your shoulder. Then a deep sigh of relief – of release.

He continues, in a timbre so achingly sad you have to bite down hard on a sob. 

‘I worry I can’t remember enough. It’s just that day now. The only clear memory of my, uh, my parents is that final day… just that last glimpse. Everything else is… fuzzy and… and I’m not sure if I’ve made memories to replace what I’ve lost and I don’t know if they’re—'

You interrupt him, sensing the distress returning.

‘You know I understand that pain,’ you say.

‘Yes,’ he rasps, drawing you back so you can see his face, so he can see you. ‘You do. And I think it’s why you’re the one. The way you carry it, inspires me. I think it’s part of what drew me to you. Part of why I let you in?’

He looks thoughtful.

‘Grogu as well, you know?’ he says. ‘He’s suppressed memories, from his past.’

You didn’t know that. ‘Really?’ you say.

‘Mmhm,’ Din looks sad again. ‘I’m afraid this experience will not be good for him.’

‘Hey,’ you say. ‘He’ll be alright. Whatever happened in his past, he didn’t have you. Us. Now he does.’

You shuffle closer again, cup his face. Draw thumbs along each cheekbone.

‘We’ll play a few rounds of capture the flag when he wakes,’ you say. ‘You’ll let him win. He’ll be okay.’

Maybe it’s the air thick with confessions. Maybe it’s just exhaustion now. But he accepts that without resistance. A loose nod of agreement.

‘Should we head back?’ he asks.

You reach over his shoulder and pick up a device, thumb the transmitter. ‘IG, any report?’

The droid answers in an instant. ‘Nil report, the child continues to sleep.’ You turn the screen to show the little cam’s view, pointed at Grogu. Though muted, it’s obvious he’s snoring loud. Din watches it for a moment, then – thank gods – lets a small smile grace his lips.

You put the monitor back down. ‘I think we can stand it here a little longer, don’t you?’ 

The smile is on you then, and it dances over your chest and into your belly. A coy spark jolts lower down. 

Not now, you tell your body. Now’s not the time.

Giving yourself a little shake, you find Din’s eyes. They’re contemplative. He has a question.

‘What is it?’ you say.

With a tip of the head, he asks, ‘Earlier, you said something like, I “let” you fight back. What did you mean?’

‘Oh, uh,’ you aren’t sure how to explain it. ‘Just that, I was fighting you, as you were-- just, don’t worry about that, but I was deflecting your blows and stuff. Seems like, if you were wholly you, I wouldn’t have been able to do that… So…’

Din gives you a sly look, brows arching ever so slightly.

‘You don’t think you could take me in a fair fight?’ he asks.

‘Wh- uh, no? Obviously?’ you say, somehow feeling silly under the weight of his gaze. It’s a measured appraisal he’s giving you, making you shiver. His lips tweak into the tiniest smirk, some conclusion settling on him.

‘I think you could,’ he says. ‘If you were really trying. And I think you’d win. Way you can be so resourceful, cunning, fast.’

With a snort, trying to hide how flattered you feel, ‘As if you aren’t all those things too and crazy strong,’ you counter. ‘You’d just have to pin me and it’d be over.’

‘If I could get a hold of you. Big if.’ He grips your thighs tight, with mirth in his voice, ‘Wouldn’t take much effort for you to find the gaps in my armour though.’

The insinuation is heavy, and it sends another thrill through you.

He doesn’t miss it this time, and the shift is instant – the hold on your legs turning amorous.

Large fingers glide up, dig under the hem of your shorts to find the crease at each hip. With a light tug, and a little yelp of surprise from you, he pulls your pelvis flush to his.

‘Um, D- Din?’

‘Mm?’ he hums, leaning up, eyes raking over you.

‘What’re you—'

‘Want you,’ he whispers in your ear.

‘Now? Are you sure? It’s been an emotional t—'

‘Please,’ he says. ‘Want to feel you.’

Well, if he wants it. Who are you to deny?

‘Okay…’ you say. Your body is way ahead of you, already thrumming like a taut string. ‘Kiss me?’

‘Please,’ he’s arching his neck and you tilt your head to seal lips together. 

It’s still and quiet as you revel in the softness shared between you. He pushes forwards to deepen the kiss. 

Before long, the only movement in the cave is your mouths making hungry paths to and fro, out and in. Heads angling and reaching for more. The only sounds are the ones you make together, bouncing off the walls and back to your ears. Loud and erotic. His tongue is hot and delicious, licking deep. Pulling back to let teeth make merry – to nip and seal and suck whatever is there.

Your shared breaths also grow into the space – short, harsh huffs of air made to sound like a fiery force brews within the cavern. His panting morphs into tiny grunts the longer it goes on, growing impatient and needy.

A rippling of water radiates out from where you're seated as he lifts his hands. Steaming from the spring, they cup your jaw, hold you still so he can make a feast with you. He drags bared teeth across your lower lip and it’s a hot spark that garners a desperate little whimper from your throat.

The contrast of his soft lips and coarse facial hair, traversing your cheek and jaw and the column of your neck, never fails to draw chesty whines out of you. So it’s not long before your voice joins the chorus of aching need as well. The crescendo concludes when a sudden, insistent suction of teeth and lips just below your ear draws a startled ‘Ah!’ out of you. 

He reacts by dropping his hold down again. The loud splash as he breaks surface tension to seek and grip your ass drowns everything else out as he shifts forward, pulls you in and lifts you. Rushes of mini waterfalls cascade from your bodies as he rises, you going with him, just enough so he can turn and deposit you to sit on the pool’s edge.

He doesn’t stop moving, stripping off your soaked singlet and little shorts – laying you down so your naked back presses into the warm rock. 

His bulky figure looms above, obscuring the light as he leans down to kiss you and kiss you. He mouths over to your ear and whispers, ‘okay? Comfortable?’ The husky rumble of his voice going straight down, landing in your cunt and sending ripples over all of you, just like the spring. At your nod and uttered, ‘yeah, s’good,’ he moves down, sinks below your field of view.

While he pauses at your chest to suck and tease your tight nipples, roll his tongue over your breasts, you reach up to grasp the edge of his cloak – laid out a ways from the water where armour and clothing rest. Curl the cloth into a tight fist. Just to have something to hold. Your other hand cards into his hair, moving down your body until you’re all but holding him in front of your leaking entrance. He slides a palm along the inside of a thigh, gliding over the droplets clinging there. 

With a sweet hum of content, he mirrors the motion on the other side of your sex – now aching, throbbing, pulsing.

He moves both hands back and forth, back and forth, massaging your legs and spreading them wider. Wider. Until your knees are nudging the rocky edge and your feet skim the pool’s surface.

The caress on your left thigh turns to just two fingers, traversing the curve, crossing the crease and making a reverent landing at your apex. He parts your labia and a probing pad swipes through your slit. The contrast of the clingy damp on your skin and the slick juices gathered there… It’s otherworldly. A chesty moan rips from you without warning, arching your back off the saturated rock.

‘Ready?’ he teases and you just ‘hnnnnn’ back at him.

It’s an ‘mmmmm’ of immense satisfaction that meets your pussy as he buries his face there and devours. Hungry lips make a meal of your pleasure. A precise tongue hits all your sweetest spots – creating even more for him to taste, lick up and swallow.

He takes his time moving back and forth through your folds – even deviates away to lave at the sensitive flesh on either side. Each time giving a grunt of approval as you tug him back to the source of imminent bliss. 

With his usual inhuman patience, he works at your core and waits for you to beg.

It doesn’t take long. 

‘Din, pl—’ 

He pushes forwards, nuzzles himself between your thighs. Those two fingers hold you open so he can get close enough to drive his tongue into you, lips and teeth parted wide, fucking your cunt with everything he has. The angle lets him in deeper than you’re used to; he takes full advantage – groaning with an animalistic intent as he makes deft curling motions through you over and over. 

It is so indescribably hot, and wet, and slippery. Warm all the way to your centre, it’s an inferno he is stoking in your lower belly. All your senses are funnelled to the heated tightness drawing down to your core, nearly ready to blow. 

Incoherent amid the ecstasy, you’d somehow forgotten he has another hand. So it is with an undignified shriek that you feel a thumb seek and circle your clit. 

It applies the exact pressure, to the exact right place – setting the bundle of nerves ablaze and you are lost in it.  

You can’t even hear yourself but it’s some kind of babbled string of, ‘Din I’m gonna c-- I'm gonna – Ah! Muh!’  

And it crashes over you. Rushes in, spreads over your entire body before ebbing into a dewy heaven.

Looking down at him, you gasp. Curls fall over his forehead, brush across the tops of his dark brows. They crown his long eyelashes, twitching and flexing along his waterline – where his eyes are closed as he drinks you down. He’s in his own world, taking in your pleasure as if it were at a font of eternal life.

It’s a sight so erotic that, as you watch and feel, another tidal climax washes over you.

When he pulls you back in and settles you over his lap once more, you feel he’s rock hard. At some point while working his mouth over you, he’d tugged his own shorts off and his cock twitches against your belly under the water. 

You’re staring down at it, tongue swiping a lip in hunger. So at first you don’t notice him grasp your wrist, lift it – and place it with a firm insistence at his neck.

Your attention snaps up to him. He’s drowning you with those dark, desperate eyes – an imploring look in them. But you shake your head.

‘Uh, n--’ you say. ‘No… Din. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not right now.’

‘Please?’ he says. ‘Just, please. I want to know…’

‘I really d--’ You try to pull your hand back, but he grips it there – pushes it higher. 

‘I trust you,’ he whispers, husky and wanton. ‘Trust me?’

At that he drops his hold, both arms go to your waist. Your hand stays where he’s left it, but doesn’t move. You look at him for a long, long moment – watch a droplet of moisture leave a damp curl over his forehead, fall across his temple, down along his jaw and drop onto your arm. 

The sense of intimacy expands and clouds your senses the longer you sit there together. He waiting. You thinking.

Still unsure, but willing to test – you trace a featherlight finger across, over his Adam’s apple. A jolt of desire whips through you when you feel his cock bounce against you, an instant response to your action.

Okay… you think. Maybe.

You stroke two fingers under his jaw where, if you were to do this, you’d push in to compress and restrict his breath. His lips part in a little moan, eyes grow heavy as he tips his head back – holding onto your waist for dear life.

‘Please,’ he breathes again and you watch his throat contract and bob as he swallows. Shift a thumb down a thick straining tendon to the valley between his collar bones, feel the skin peaking there as he pants a little. 

‘Hey,’ you say, drawing his gaze back to you. ‘This isn’t about… like, it’s not punishment, right? If I do this for you… it’s about only… It’s all about…’

With the same insistent grip as before, he takes your free hand and places it against his chest. Trails your linked fingers down, over sternum, stomach, to wrap around his erection. Leaves you gripping him there to cup your face, staring right into you.

‘I know, mesh’la,’ he says, and you swear his voice has reached such a low rumble it echoes all around you. ‘I know. I trust you. I want to feel this with you.’ 

Okay, fuck. What else to say to that?

So you shuffle your knees a little to get settled, make sure you’re steady with full control over your respective holds. Thinking for a moment, you say, ‘Hold onto my waist again – if you want me to stop, let go.’

He shifts to obey, large warm hands landing on the sensitive skin around your middle.

And then you wrap your hand around his throat, find the sweet little pressure points… and squeeze.

It’s a stretch – his neck so broad your reaching fingers only just span wide enough. Only just get the feel right. He doesn’t seem to mind, his face instantly overcome with a beatific lust. Eyes rolling back and mouth falling open – a few short gasps of air cease on a strangled growl that rains over your body.

Gods, you think. Oh gods. You thought you’d seen him at his most beautiful. How wrong you’ve been.

You set up a pattern similar to what he had done for you. Easing back to let the blood rush in – watching his face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing in again when he seems ready for more.

The hand on his cock hasn’t moved yet, though you feel it pulsing. You’re waiting. Waiting for just the right moment to—

Just as you ease off and let him suck in a breath, an involuntary but forceful thrust of his hips makes you bounce upwards. Leg muscles growing tense and trembling under you. There it is.

You press in again and start to stroke his at-attention shaft in earnest. Patterned, rhythmic. Just how he likes it. His reaction almost takes you to the edge – a grip on your body so tight you might burst, a blistering whine splitting the air, head thrown back and body shuddering under you.

‘How does it feel?’ you murmur, letting him pull in air. ‘How does it feel, Din?’

‘F- feels,’ his lower lip quivers, nose scrunching in an enormous effort to tell you, ‘Feels, you feel… s- so divine-- gods, g- goddess. Uh!’

Without your volition, working on pure instinct, you shift forward to push your pelvis into the base of his cock and grind yourself onto him, upper hand squeezing harder, harder, him nodding into your hold, getting so so close until--

All at once, he stops you. Both your wrists are seized and hands yanked off him. Worried, panicked, you start to babble a string of ‘sorry, sorry, that was too much-- I knew we shouldn’t’ve, sorry sorry,’ but he shuts you right up with mouth on yours. Hot breath pours into you as he gasps and gasps. He’s desperate with it, almost clumsy, sucking and nipping at such a pace you can’t keep up. Just keep lips parted and let him have you.

When he pulls back, an intensity is radiating off every millimetre of him. A primal need.

He wraps your arms across his shoulders, then hands are on your ass and he’s lifting you again. 

This time he pitches forward. Steps into the pool and into deeper water. Walking until it’s up to your shoulders, pressing you against the wall.

‘More, love,’ he pleads. ‘Need more. Need you so--’

He’s never been so needy, never ceding such control to you. It’s setting your every nerve ending on fire. You keep hold of his shoulders long enough to tilt your hips to guide yourself onto him, until his cock finds your sex, slips through your folds and – Hss, ah, gods yes.  

With him halfway in, you pull him into another kiss right as you place a hand to his neck again. The feral moan he unleashes is almost drowned out by your cry of ecstasy. Because, the second you restrict his breath, he slams himself to the hilt and, without a single beat of blood through your veins, fucks you at a relentless pace. Forcing the air from your lungs and filling your head with a heady pleasure.

‘That’s it,’ you say, eyes locked on his. Those dark irises, unfocused and lost in bliss. Plush lips parted. The feel of his neck muscles – coursing, flexing with power under your hand. ‘That’s it, beautiful. All for you.’ He drives harder, shifts his grip just long enough to hike your knees higher, bends his own to find the angle to go deeper. 

The hard stone at your back leaves nowhere for you to go, allowing him to put just the right pressure on your clit with every piston of his hips. Your cunt sings with the desire running through you.

The resonance of the cave has it feeling like there are many of you – every strangled cry, every gasp, all the grunts and groans of desire from the two of you, echo around as if your joined bodies were endless.

All your senses are alight. It becomes too much. You have to let go, shifting your hand to bury it in his hair, as a nova explodes in your core – sending rings of sensation out to spark and flicker in your fingers and toes, the crown of your head. 

On a startled inhale, Din drops his head into your neck, shuddering with his own release. It feels like it goes on and on – one heavy buck of his hips after another. Guttural exhales turn to shaky sighs and, with one final, uhn, slam into you, he wraps arms around you and goes still.

Sinking a little deeper into the water as his legs go lax, his heavy lean and the hard wall are all that keeps the two of you up. He stays there as the space grows quiet and still again. You don’t want to move, don’t want to disturb whatever nirvana he’s resting in, but another slip down the wall has the water at your ears. 

You have to nudge him. 

‘Din?’

With a little shudder, and a groan of protest, he moves. But only to carry you – once again – back to where you had been seated. Holds you to him, until you’re back where all this began.

He’s settling, stroking hands over you and muttering, ‘so soft, so…’ when a question occurs to you. And you’re so desperate to know, you let it out.

‘Hey,’ you say, he responds with a soft ‘mm?’, continuing to lean back and fondle you. ‘Before, you said you’d realised you were in love with me, but didn’t tell me. When was that? Do you remember?’

He pauses his handsy ruminations to give you a lopsided grin; it makes your heart torque with lust and relief. With a flex of abs he sits back up, gets close to your ear, and whispers, ‘I remember, yeah, crystal clear. It was when you…’ His husky vocals ripple over your body as you listen, eyes roll back with it.

He finishes speaking by taking an earlobe between teeth and giving it a gentle suck. Then a long lick around the shell of your ear.

With a smile in his voice, he asks. ‘How about you?’

Returning the smile as he looks at you again, feeling so warm and fuzzy you might dissolve in this pool, you say, ‘Oh, you know, around the same time…’

That gets a surprised flutter of lashes; him blinking with a disbelief that confuses you.

‘Really?’ he asks, in all genuineness. 

‘Yes?’ you reply. ‘Of course?’

‘But y—’ But what? What is he getting at. ‘You hadn’t… seen my face, then,’ he says, the confusion morphing as you watch, into a kind of wonder.

‘There’s much more to you than this handsome mug,’ you say, fending off a sadness that creeps at the base of your skull. You’d been denying your feelings – back then. Running scared at the movement in your heart. But, in retrospect, any fool would have seen it.

‘And you know,’ you go on. ‘As it was happening. As I was falling for you,’ you don’t miss the shiver that runs over him at your words. ‘I truly believed I never would see your face. Sometimes I gotta pinch myself, you know?’

It’s almost too much, the look he gives you. Such a soft, reverent expression. You try with all your will to memorise it, to hold it in your heart forever.

‘Yeah, I know,’ he says. 

Not long later, the two of you step through the doorway of your home just as the child stirs, eyes slipping open and arms reaching for his father. Din reaches back.

–

The bustling hub is just as before. Delicious scents and alluring dishes everywhere there is to look.

Din strolls through the crowd. You at his side and the child in his arms. He’s enjoying Grogu’s happy burbles, a sticky sweet clutched in his paws – your idea, to keep him from Force-nicking any more food.

The three of you are hanging around, waiting for the sale of the oddly acquired ship to go through. 

He can tell you’re excited. A buzz radiating off you, likely contemplating the new state-of-the-art climate system the Crest will be getting from the windfall. He’s glad too – no more busted heating mid-jump leaving you to shiver away in the hold. And the upgraded air filtration in the fresher won’t be so bad either.

You couldn’t wait to install it, you’d said. Din thinks the job will – as always – give you that inexorable sense of control, of will, of youness.

He’s looking forward to it too. To watching you work. Seeing that light in your eyes. A light he loves.

He shifts the child to one arm, so he can reach across and link your fingers together. He tugs you close, tilts down to whisper into your ear, ‘You doing okay?’ he asks.

He hasn’t stopped checking in since returning from the cave. And you seem to be indulging it, happy to reassure him as much as he needs. 

‘Yeah,’ you say, squeezing your digits in his. ‘God damn hungry though. No idea what to get, still.’

Just as you say it, his eyes track over a vendor’s display.

Hotplates sizzle with the critters laid out row upon row. Dozens are skewered and arranged on their backs, so that hard carapaces become crispy and sticky. Spindly legs poke up into the air, curving into the bodies growing soft with the cooking process. A huge guy stands over them, basting something over and over the crackling delicacies.

‘Plazir Bay Bugs!’ yells the cook. ‘Bugs! Get ‘em while hot! They won’t last!’

You blanch just as Din makes a hard pull on your arm to drag you in the opposite direction. Strides you both away from the insect kabobs as the touter’s voice fades into the hubbub.

A full block from the stall, he slows. 

‘Uh, yeah,’ you’re saying as he turns to you. ‘Never again.’

In total agreement, his visor scans the surrounds. 

‘How about…’ he trails off. Feeling haunted.

With a quirk of the lips and another squeeze of his hand, you point to a sign.

‘How about a soup of some kind?’

Grogu gives his consent with a hearty, ‘Wah!’ He’s run out of sugary distraction.

With a sigh, Din says, ‘Soup it is.’

[gingerlurk]

You either die Din Djarin's enemy, or you live long enough to see yourself become his friend.

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Wakey wakey

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AU where Din Djarin wasn’t raised by the Mandalorians, he grew up on Aq Vetina and got to enjoy the sun on his face every day (unless it was raining but I like to think he enjoyed that too)

(Alternate version, close-up and sketch below the cut)

[gingerlurk]

Here's another pastel drawing of Pedro Pascal as Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) without helmet🥹

Hope you like it🥰✨️

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more Mandalorian Fanart!

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Happy Pride Month 💕💜💙

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Din Djarin x text posts (1/?)

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Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

← Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you. I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

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I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

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[gingerlurk]

Binding | Part II

Din Djarin x f!Reader

A Lovers' Crest one-shot (in three parts). Complete on A03.

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Here's the LC Masterlist.

Summary: Lost and alone in a dark cave, you need to figure out what happened to the Mandalorian.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, characters in peril, mind control, evil droid, being restrained, canon-typical violence. Also, lots of action, characters in peril, lots of peril, sorry. Please let me know if there's more to add I am rusty.

A/N: This story won't make much sense if you haven't read Lovers' Crest. Or even if you have, it may still be nonsense. I'm not sure. I really put all the characters through it here. The next chapter is well cosy though, I promise.

--

With a pained gasp and a flailing of limbs, you break the surface of putrid water. 

Breathless and sputtering, you struggle to keep your head above the stinky pool you’d plummeted backwards into right after Din’s helmet had disappeared from view. You twist and thrash around for a bit before realising you’re unhurt, just treading water in total darkness. 

It still takes several deep breaths before there’s enough air in your lungs to call out.

‘Din?’ You shout, craning to look back up. Back to where you had fallen from. ‘Din? Grogu?’

No answer. You jab at the light strapped to your arm, it buzzes a few times before fizzling out to nothing. But it had flashed just enough for you to spot a bit of rock poking out of the water. Strike out in that direction, kicking until you can smack a hand onto it.

Feeling about, you find the rock is quite large. Haul yourself out of the wretched water and sit, elbows on knees and panting. You look up again.

‘Din?’ you call, pushing down panic. Nothing. ‘Grogu?’

At that, a beam of light appears up above. The faint nervous trills and grunts of the child echo down to where you’re perched. You’d estimate it to be a ten metre drop.

‘Grogu? Hey, kiddo? Are you okay? Where’s Din?’

The pod drifts out into the open air and descends to you. The kid is now chittering with insistence as he comes level with where you sit, blinding you with his lamp. You shield your eyes to see him and take in the wide-eyed worry.

‘Hey baby,’ you gesture him closer and dig into the side of his pod for your little field tool kit. ‘It’ll be okay. Sit tight.’ 

Tugging the device off your arm, you motion for him to direct the light so you can see your work. You’re focusing hard on practical steps. Rather than the primal dread crawling up your spine. Steps like ‘need light fixed’. And not, Where’s Din? Where is he? Where did he go? Where– No, need light fixed.

Step one. Fix light.

A bit of fiddling and it blinks back at full force. You huff an exhale and point it around you and the child, who’s still murmuring and anxious.

This rock is indeed a small island in the middle of a vast underground lake. It must be one of the spots where the aquifer breaches the rock layer. You direct the beam up the sheer cliff. Next practical step is ‘need back up there’.

‘Okay Grogu, bud,’ you lay what you hope is a reassuring hand on the child. ‘Think you can manage a miracle?’ He’s squeezing his eyes shut and focusing before you finish the sentence. You manage a half smile, ‘Nice.’

Closing your eyes too, you try to channel energy toward his efforts, feeling, as always, that vast and intimidating power that lives on your periphery. It stirs, begins to move. Within yourself it is a fuzzy and flickering thing. When you see it in Grogu, it’s like looking into a sun.

Next thing you know, you are weightless. The sharp rocks that were digging into your legs drop away as you begin to float. You fight vertigo and fear, trying not to grip Grogu too tight. He raises you and the pod, depositing your feet right back on the spot where that creature had smacked into you.

Shining a light around the carnage, you will yourself to contemplate the next task. Find out what happened to Din.

‘Alright bud,’ you say, still with a hand on Grogu, ‘can you show me?’

He ‘wahs’ a little before raising a claw to clasp one of your fingers. 

The vision sweeps across your mind’s eye. Din, on his knees, leaning over the edge to look down at you, raising a forearm to engage his whipcord. Behind him, a long, segmented mechanical... thing snakes across the ground. Toward him. It snaps a clamp over his ankles and drags him backwards. Back... that way... you turn and walk in the direction the vision showed.

Come to a dead end.

With shaking hands, you reach out to feel about the rocky wall. Nothing. It’s just a rocky wall.

‘Fuck.’

But Grogu saw him pulled this way, so there must be something. You decide to give this a go yourself, unwilling to ask more of the child. He’s already looking drained after the ambush of monster bugs and saving your ass. He needs his strength. And all of you are a long way yet from being out of danger.

Turning your inner eye to the energy dwelling within, you bid it to approach. It’s already uncoiled and slides into your senses. Changes the shape of the universe as you funnel the power of the Force down into understanding this cave wall.

And it becomes crystal clear. Not a wall. A hard light shield masking a weapons-grade bunker. A heavy door sealed shut via an… an access panel right… over there…

Trailing a hand along the illusion, gritty rock becomes smooth and glossy under your fingers. Opening your eyes to look, your lamplight shows you’re still just touching a natural feature. But the modular beeping and responsive hum under your palm indicates it’s a piece of tech.

Okay, now… How do I… On instinct, you press your whole hand flat to the panel – jump in surprise as it activates.

Well, that was easy.  

It cycles loud. You push Grogu’s pod and back away with it to take cover behind a large granite pillar – watch a surreal process of the barrier grinding open to reveal a dim light just beyond its threshold.

Those hideous bugs would have drowned out the noise of the door opening. And you were a touch too distracted by being hurled off a cliff in any case.

But whatever that snaking thing was, it dragged Din in there.

You force yourself to wait a good thirty seconds and, when nothing appears and no movement can be seen, edge out to approach with cautious steps. The child follows close behind, quiet – just the hum of his pod echoing behind you.

A narrow corridor opens into a true nightmare and you have to work to beat back a rising hysteria. A cavernous space made difficult to comprehend by the chaotic array of items, paraphernalia, and junk scattered around and piled high. You spy everything from broken pieces of armour through to what looks to be a speeder’s engine mount.

Bones too. A lot of them.

With an arm up to keep Grogu back a ways, you continue to cast around, searching the place for any sign of--

Your sweep halts and blood freezes in your veins. A sight that is familiar and frightening all at once.

The angular chrome catches the beam of your torch. High arches you would know by touch glimmer in the low light. The dark T-visor stares, reflecting your wide-eyed horror. 

But there’s no reaction to your gasp of shock. None at all. The Mandalorian’s helmet doesn’t move an inch. 

Because it’s not Din.

It sits alone, still and silent, on a small mountain of discarded tech. 

No life in there.

You take a trembling step toward it.

‘Now, now—'

A reverberating drone peels across the silence. 

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of stealing from me, would you?’ 

Nothing about the voice makes sense save for the language you recognise. It’s ungodly. The sound of it grates on your ears like a corrosion – words being pushed through mechanical parts. It’s coming from all around you, disembodied and loud. 

‘Because that wouldn’t make you a very worthy guest, now would it?’

Unable to place its source, you take another step – fingers desperate to make contact with the beskar piece.

‘Ah, ah, ah!’ clicks the noise in a mocking admonishment. 

Another step, just a few more before you can lay hands on--

‘Wow,’ comes the staccato. ‘So rude. I think I need to have my new toy deal with you.’

From a darkened passage on the other side of the space, a new sound emerges. This one you know. Know it as well as you know the helmet just beyond arm’s reach. It sends a cascade of gooseflesh over you.

The clinking, steady footfalls of Din Djarin grow louder until he emerges from the darkness. There’s not even a shred of relief felt on seeing him. Something is badly wrong. 

He’s not in there. Not at home. A blank, glassy-eyed expression tracks the room and peels over you and Grogu like you’re just features of the bunker wall.

And, somehow even worse, he walks right by the pile of junk on which his helm rests, no inkling there at all that it’s his sacred property. He comes to a stop in front of you. In the dim light, you can make out a blinking chip-like array at his left temple. Angry red lines radiate out from the attachment. The eye there is bloodshot and weeping.

It’s horrifying.

‘Grogu,’ you whisper, sights fixed on your vacant partner. ‘Go.’

The baby whines at the instruction and you wave toward the way out. 

‘Go, go! Get Gaius. Get--’

He hasn’t moved yet when the grisly robotic voice clicks an indifferent, ‘Kill them, if you please.’ Din moves into motion so swift you shout in alarm. 

His arm is up and bringing a savage swing down toward Grogu’s head that you only just manage to intercept, twisting into his elbow and throwing your whole weight into diverting the blow. It’s what it takes, his raw strength such that you have to body his entire limb just to counter.

It happens twice more, him swinging with vambraced arms as you lurch and throw yourself between him and the child. Grogu seems to be frozen in fear, staring up at his father with a trembling disbelief. 

‘Grogu!’ you try again, caging Din’s wrist with both forearms to direct it into open air, rather than the hovering pod. ‘Go! ’

He still doesn’t move, paralysed. 

Just as you drive a desperate shoulder into the possessed man’s fist, you twist flush to Din’s chest, lean into his cuirass and use the purchase to lift a foot and kick the baby’s pod away.

It does the job – Grogu whirrs out of reach and flops back with a grunt. But before you can move, a huge arm locks across your throat. It compresses your airway with a discompassionate ease.

Blind terror rips a strangled scream from you before losing breath. Gods it hurts. An instant burning. You claw and wheeze. Drown in the horror that this is how it ends, so sudden and so random. It crawls in your heart and you sob. Not Din... please not by him... It’s sapping strength as oxygen becomes an unknown to you. Arms drop and flail at the armour-clad tower behind you.

Futile. This is it.

But the muscles holding you firm ease. Just a little. Just enough so can you gasp air and drop weight to your knees to get free of the chokehold. You make a half-roll and leap to your feet to look back at him, hands to your throbbing – but open – throat.

He’s frozen, stock still. And you see it. You see him. His eyes are alight with horror, with fear and panic. Dark irises track over you, stare at where you grip your neck. He starts to spasm and shudder, like something is fighting to burst out of him. He whimpers your name and then—

‘Run,’ he gasps. A plea through shredded vocal chords, ‘Run!’ 

His eyes go blank again as you pivot on the spot, set your sights on Grogu’s pod that is now – mercifully – racing away, and bolt. Through ringing ears, you hear the voice crackle in delight, ‘Oh she’s fun! Secure the female alive. Kill the small thing.’

You can’t handle this alone. You don’t know what to do. Din groans and snarls behind you, in a war with himself and the alien tech trying to hold him in thrall. He fights it long enough for you to get a decent lead, then he’s chasing you down. Thundering boots send hammers of black dread to beat against your spine.

As you run, you manage to make three observations. One, he hasn’t used any of his own equipped weapons yet. Two, his attacks were clumsy – nothing like his usual precise and practiced brutality. Three, he’s gaining on you.

This last observation comes as you breach the cave opening into the white hot light of the surface. Your feet kick up dust that cakes on the soaked fabric of your pants. It swirls in the billowing tempest wrought by the Mandalorian closing the distance between you.

Time slows.

The first thing that happens is a hand landing hard on your shoulder. The other reaches to hug your ribs firm. You’re pulled into him and forced forward at the same time, held in an embrace of violent control. The ground rushes up to meet you. Like a ragdoll, you’re twisted side-on to slam into it, so hard the momentum of your legs carry on in a disorienting cartwheel over yourself. 

You’re winded so full-bodily you can only go limp, try to brace your arms but it’s no use. 

Shoved over, face and torso into the dirt, you’re helpless as he throws his full weight on top of you. Just trying to catch your breath – everything burning, throat, lungs, limbs. There’s nothing you can do against being straddled by him as his grip shifts on your body.

He takes your upper arms and – with a vicious yank – the ground tips away as you’re hauled up into a vicelike hold, pulled flush to hard beskar chest yet again. 

Sagging in his merciless restraint, there’s just enough mental will left to observe that Grogu is nowhere to be seen. The barren terrain around you is quiet.

He got away… at least he got away…

Your captor comes to the same conclusion with a grunt of frustration.

He turns in a full circle, evidently unclear where to go in the hunt for his assigned target.

Huh, you think. He doesn’t know which way his ship is? That’s interesting.

After twisting and turning about, jerking you to and fro, he stops – seems locked by indecision, unable to fulfil one of the directives issued by that voice back in the cave.

‘You may as well just take me back,’ you say, sounding raspy – feeling the effort burn your throat. ‘You won’t find him.’

Wind and dust float around the two of you as he remains still, incapable of choosing a path forward. You’re craning your neck, pressing it into his shoulder to look up at him, when you see the chip at his temple blink a harsh blue light. 

Orders coming in?

Your guess is confirmed when – with another frustrated snarl – he begins to move.

Back toward the opening of the cave.

You let yourself feel some kind of relief that Grogu has escaped – mostly so you don’t slip into hysterical terror.

He drags you into the dark and, as you struggle and plead to no avail, back into the hoard of horrors. 

‘Chain her,’ the alien speech greets you, and you’re pulled to a wall dripping with cables and restraints. Arms are tugged behind your back for loops to be coiled around and around, secured – tight – until you’re bound against the solid surface.

The whole time Din does this – winding chains with clumsy hands – you’re murmuring to him, trying to get through. Din? Din – you’re in there, I know you’re in there. C’mon, Din. It’s me, it’s me. Din!

But you get nothing, and your arms are locked behind you so tightly, you begin to worry about circulation. Then he steps back. Goes still.

You have no idea what to do. Bide for time?

It’s all you have.

‘So,’ you start, speaking into the void. Have to clear your throat a few times, wincing. ‘What are you? One of those kid-enslaving droids?’

A long pause like it's considering whether or not to engage. 

‘Technically…’ it grates. ‘I’m supposed to be. Up there.’

Another pause. Then talkativeness seems to win out.

‘But it’s just been so boring since the change,’ it reverberates and grinds. ‘I’m not even needed, really. Here is much more fun. Do you know how many like you I’ve rustled out of these caves?’

You could take a guess, looking at the huge amount of pillaged equipment and torn clothing piled and scattered about.

‘They just. Keep. Coming!’ it crumbles on. ‘And they. Never. Leave!’

Nauseated, weary, you let slip a morose conclusion, ‘You’re a monster,’ you say.

‘Hah! Yep.’

‘Why do you do this?’ you ask. Not really wanting to know, but trying to keep it talking – afraid of what comes next.

‘It’s fun. Watch this,’ it says. ‘Go stand over there.’

That blue light emits from Din’s temple again and he responds in an instant, turning away from you and walking to a random point in the room. It blinks off again when he stops moving.

Huh, you think again. Interesting.

‘But it wears off, yeah?’ you say. ‘He’ll be able to break out eventually, has done it once already – right Din?’ You look over to him. Get nothing in response. Direct your attention back to empty air. ‘So what then?’

‘Oh, no no no,’ it belches. ‘Nooo this is a modified device of my making. Once that pesky little breakdown starts it’ll ffzzzzz,’ it makes a horrible sound like a wet blender on turbo, ‘Scramble ‘em up real good.’

You swallow acid, feel the horror swell hot within you. Wrench on the bindings so hard your muscles scream. 

‘Fuck you,’ you spit. It bursts out – you’re trying to convert fear into anger. Trying to muster something to get you and Din out of this. ‘Fucking, fuck, I am going to fuck. You. Up--’

‘Hah!’ it cranks. ‘My, my, I’ve had some feisty ones in my time but you – you take the crown.’

You brace a foot on the wall and try to—ugh, it’s too tight—try to twist side-on to get some slack in the chains. Fuck, owww, it has more effect on your shoulder joints than anything else. Pins and needles fizz in your hands.

‘And now,’ says the droid, projecting a low menace that vibrates the air. ‘Now it’s your turn.’

You freeze. No.

No, no, no no no no!

Your renewed struggles echo loud, bouncing around the place along with your cries of distress.

‘Go over there, pick it up,’ it intones. 

Din’s movement summons your attention, pausing your desperate efforts. He strides to a wide bench littered with debris and tools, with weapons and circuitry – ignores it all to pick up a singular object. 

A twin to the one clamped to his temple. 

‘Put it on her,’ comes the command from all around.

Din turns with the thing in hand. He takes steps toward you.

‘No,’ shaking your head. ‘Don’t, don’t.’

As he gets closer, you can see little tendril-like appendages unfurl from a blinking body pinched between his fingers – they sway in the air, seeking flesh to latch onto. 

Recoiling, you shrink against the wall. Try with all your might to get away from it.

‘Din, Din!’ you’re shouting, on the verge of screaming. ‘Fight it! Fight it, please.’

Muscles shriek in protest and your hands feel like they are going to explode, but you just thrash harder, mind blank with terror. He holds the thing out in front of him as he walks. Your head jerks back, smacks into the hard wall and your vision swims. 

Groggy, disoriented, you sag in defeat and muster everything left into one final plea. A final beseeching of his name.

‘Din!’ It’s a cry of pure fear.

His steps halt. Almost within arm’s reach of you, he stops like an invisible wall has blocked his path. He lurches like half of him wants to carry forward but the other keeps him locked in place. The device in his hand continues to sway and seek, but it’s not getting any closer.

Working to calm yourself. Not sure what to do or say, lost and fretting over the thing blinking by his eye, you just ramble, ‘It’s me, it’s me. Please. It’s me, and I need you.’

Maybe- maybe if you can get him to free you, you can get that thing off before it kills him.

‘Please, I need you t—'

Din convulses. He shudders all over. 

Hot dread washes over you as he takes another small step forward. No, gods, please!

But a grunt of pure grit coming from deep down bursts forth and he staggers back.

He twists from you in a clumsy pivot, almost falls to his knees but stays upright to lunge away. With an arcing arm, he hurls the device to the other side of the space. It hits a wall and clatters into a pile of litter.

A half a second to feel relief when--

‘Ugh,’ the droid hacks. Oh no, fuck, in the last few moments of panic – you’d actually forgotten about it. You stare at Din in desperation. Tears spring in your eyes. ‘Never had one go so quick,’ it goes on. ‘How annoying. Oh well, say goodbye to your--'

‘Now Grogu!’ Gaius’ voice. 

From the shadows, the kid is a blur through the air. He leaps a massive distance across the bunker to land on Din’s twitching shoulder. Clamps a clawed little hand to the atrocity latched to his father’s head. With a pained ‘hhhhheh’, he channels his Force energy. You feel it flutter and writhe in your consciousness – a duel unfolding between it and the horror tech. 

Din lets loose a torn scream – face a rictus of agony. But Grogu doesn’t let up. His energy growing and expanding, radiating in waves around the room. You watch, transfixed, beset with fear and hope.

The binding gives a violent whir and, at a final shout of pain from the towering figure, it detaches – the tendril-like appendages lifting from the skin of the temple. It wriggles in Grogu’s grasp like a caught insect.

The Mandalorian jolts and stumbles back a few steps. The child tumbles off his shoulder and into his arms, dropping the device. It clatters to the ground, where a huge boot is rising to slam down onto it. Din cradles his son as he grinds his heel before kicking the crushed object away and falling to his knees with a pained heave of breath. He takes a moment to tilt his head back in surrender, and relief.

Over the speaker, the voice that had been commanding this entire horrorshow clacks a sudden string of static.

‘Wait!’ it shrieks. ‘Wait, wait, wait, what are you—Who? No, no you, you can’t, you can’t. S-stop. Stop!’ It devolves into a kind of nonsense circuitry as the sound of metal crunching and mechanical joints being ripped apart echoes off the cave walls. With a final, khirrrrr… the place is quiet again.

From the direction that a possessed Din had first marched out of the dark, Gaius shuffles. Eyes glassy, expression blank. For a fearful second, you worry they’ve been put into binding too, but there’s nothing at their temple. Face clear, but in shock.

They’re holding the head of a droid in one hand and a phase driver in the other – look between the two items for a moment before jamming the tool into one of its eye sockets and giving it an angry twist. They drop the lot and slump against the wall. 

‘My whole life,’ they gasp. ‘Been wanting to do that to one of those things.’

You’re taking that in when hands are on you. You jump with fright. But it’s Din. He’s put Grogu down and is by your side, releasing the chains on your arms. That dexterous precision is back, you can feel seeking fingers moving over your limbs, checking and testing for injury at the same time as he releases the locks. You try to make eye contact, but he won’t look at you.

The second your arms are free, while rubbing blood back into them, you dash to the junk pile to retrieve the helmet, stride back to him.

‘Din?’ you ask, searching his face, needing to confirm he’s still in there. ‘Hey, please look at me.’

His eyes shift to yours. 

Seeing what you need to see, you give a sigh of relief and lift the helmet to gently lower it over his head. A desolate expression settles on his features, gaze dropping to stare into nothing as the helm goes back in place. You run each hand along the sharp arches on either side, look straight into the visor.

‘It’s alright,’ you say. ‘We’re alright.’

No response.

But you can’t linger in front on him. Have to trust that he is gathering himself behind the safety of the beskar. 

You cross the cavern to where the droid’s head had rolled to a clanking stop. Pick it up and tug the driver out to peer inside it. Tilting it to and fro for a minute, you close one eye, hold it close – spot just what you were looking for. Sticking the tool in a pocket, you keep hold of the head and pace to where Din had hurled the grotesque little device. The one that had been intended for you. Shove down fear to lift it with ginger fingers, observing the thing’s chip for a moment.

‘Thought so,’ you say. 

‘What’re you—’ Gaius starts, straightening up and getting closer. But you just move past them, on a warpath of your own now. 

Heading into the dark, it’s only a few steps before a circular control room opens up. Banks of panels and stacks of camera screens line the space. You scan them. See footage of the tunnels you’d come through, the cliff edge where you’d fought the bugs, and the cavern – where you are pained to see that Din hasn’t moved an inch, though Grogu is at his feet, looking up.

The headless part of your tormenter remains in place, sitting in the middle of the surveillance set-up, plugged into multiple ports with various coupling appendages branching out from its chassis. 

You move toward it, intent on your plan. Gaius has followed and gives a cry of alarm as you plant the thing’s head back onto its body, yank the phase driver out and start to affix the neck with angry little twists.

‘Wh-!’ they exclaim in horror. ‘What’re you d—’

‘Don’t worry,’ you say, not looking up. ‘You’ve fried its mobility array. It can’t move. But…’ with a violent stab of the hand tool into the top of the unit, you drag the whole back half of the cranium down.

‘It’s still networked this way,’ you go on. ‘With the system, and these things.’ You lift the binding monstrosity. Gaius recoils at it, watches with naked disgust as you hold it in the light of the monitor screens. 

There’s a little port on the wide desk that houses the device perfectly. When you drop it onto the glowing surface and slap a button, an exploded diagram of the chip is projected in a holo floating in front of you. You point. The component is clear as day.

‘What am I looking at?’ they ask.

‘Data stream,’ you say, shift your direction to a similar looking shape inside the droid. ‘Connected to this. That’s how it could make commands by just saying shit.’

Technically, it didn’t need to say anything at all – could just transmit orders in an instant – but this fucker liked to showboat apparently.

‘Incredible,’ Gaius stares at you with awe. You turn away, land eyes back on the screen that is recording the cavern. See that Din is no longer where you left him. It’s a brief spark of panic when you can’t locate him on the monitor, but it drops when you hear footsteps approaching. He emerges into the room a moment later, the child on his heels.

He looks around, but doesn’t speak. 

‘Just in time,’ you say. ‘I’m gonna fry all the droids. Shut ‘em down.’

‘You- you can do that?’ Gaius asks. ‘You’re going to do that?’

You just shrug.

It’s a few more steps. Jamming the phase driver into the droid’s screw plate, you wedge it tight so it destabilises the override.  

Then you step to a keyboard and begin punching in a program you’d created during the trip to this cursed planet.

‘Will it hurt it?’ they ask.

‘Uh, yeah,’ you say, finishing up the last few lines of code. ‘In a manner of speaking.’

‘Good.’ Gaius and Din are a chorus, spitting the word out in unison.

With a final adjustment, you set the program running. The droid’s coupler arms begin to twirl and tool in the inputs. It’s an awful sound, like it's protesting with all its will against carrying out the commands you’d dumped into it. But it’s helpless and – as you all watch – red alerts begin to blink on, a few, then a few more, then more, then the whole bank is alight.

The room pulses a deep bloody colour and you fiddle with dials under the monitors. They cut to various feeds inside the factory and you get to view in glorious fuzzy resolution droids all over the place begin to spasm and drop. 

‘Look,’ you say, pointing to a stream showing a set up similar to the one you stand in. Another insect-like droid – your original target, up on the factory’s command floor – whirrs in confusion. All of its alarms are chiming as well and, after a moment, the screen whites out as sparks and flames consume it.

You flick a few levers and the red alarms wink out, the room fades back into a mute grey. It’s silent for a long beat, until Gaius speaks up.

‘Now what?’ they ask, sounding a bit dazed.

In answer, you spin the dials again, find a feed of some kind of production line – where kids are stumbling backwards, dropping tools, leaning into each other. Touching disbelieving fingers to the sides of their heads. Looking all around.

‘Gaius,’ you say, stepping close. ‘The binding won’t work without the droids. The kids are free. Your sister’s free. We just need to find her.’

They stare at you, eyes filling with tears, before pulling you into a tight hug. You let them, looking over a shoulder at the Mandalorian, who’s still and watchful.

‘I can’t believe you did all this.’ Gentle sobs into your ear.

You lift shoulders and drop them again, ease out of the embrace after a moment.

It had always been the plan.

From the very moment you’d learned this tech existed, you’d been hellbent on destroying it. Rescue the sister, but end all this as well.

You’d needed to improvise, sure. But it had always been the plan. It’s why you took the job.

At what cost though, you’ll need to figure out later.

You move in front of Din, take his hands in yours and look into the centre of his T visor again.

‘C’mon,’ you say. The dark visage is on you, and you imagine a pained expression behind it – teeth clenched and eyes swimming with remorse and anxiety. ‘Let’s finish this.’

He squeezes your hands tight. 

‘We’ll finish this,’ you continue, letting go and readying a weapon. ‘And then we can go home.’

He nods, draws a blaster, and follows you without hesitation.

There were no contingencies. No back-ups. No failsafes. The hubris of this tyrannical regime was such that all you needed to do was walk to the front gates and open them up.

So you get to stand and watch as crowds of children, youth, young ones, stagger out of the gaping maw of the facility, rubbing at their eyes and peering around. Get to watch a similar cohort of adults gathering at the threshold, moving into a kind of organised thrum to corral the children in and start to sort out who’s who. 

Blankets appear, trays of food and hydration, little field med stations are whipped up in short order.

It’s so organised, it seems premeditated. Like something had been planned this whole time. Like they’d never really given up and, taking this boon, were ready to move and bring these kids into a safe haven.

You watch from a distance, and feel warm.

They also seem ready – as you observe a rank of the adults quietly emerge from the crowd, armed and in formation – to take the fight to the faceless cohort responsible for all the suffering they’d endured. 

You see Din move toward the group, making motions to the gigantic building at your back and activating his vambrace to show the holo map of the facility. Pointing and gesturing to indicate the best approach.

Taking action, it’s where he finds comfort.

Cracking knuckles and adjusting each wrist bracer, you wait until it’s time to fall in and aid their endeavour. Because yes, you are going to finish this. Fully. The scramble you’d left running in the system to wipe all data related to binding was the penultimate step.

This last thing, taking down those who created it, is the least you could do.

Then you can leave this place and never look back.

Gaius appears at your side, a girl on their hip with arms wrapped all together. Her temple’s already been patched up and she chews away on a sweetbar. You try to make eye contact with her, give a wave. But she’s shy, and turns away, burying her face against her older sibling’s neck.

‘Gods,’ Gaius mutters. ‘You’ve gotten heavy.’

They give you a lopsided smile, which you force yourself to return. 

‘Still can’t believe you did all this,’ they say. ‘You… are a miracle. And I’m sorry that-- I got there as fast as I could…’

You kick a stone to skitter along the dust. ‘We even now?’ you say, give up a sardonic brow.

‘Hah,’ with a long exhale and a disbelieving shake of the head. ‘I will never not be in your debt. But, we probably won’t be crossing paths again, will we?’

You nod, look out across the landscape.

‘Hell,’ they continue. ‘Running into you at that hub probably used up all the luck in the galaxy.’

A beat more of contemplation. The squad is moving toward you, Mandalorian in the lead. You shift your stance.

‘Tell you what,’ Gaius says. ‘My ship is still at that hub. Bay lease is good for another couple months. You can have it. Sell it. I um, don’t think I’ll be needin’ it anymore.’

You’re speechless, raise a hand on reflex to accept the keycode they tug from a pocket and drop into your palm.

‘Okay…’ you say, too stunned to argue. The irony of it almost making you laugh. Or scream. But you give yourself and shake and ask, ‘You gonna stay here for good?’

‘Think so. Lot needs doin’, but,’ they smile. ‘I’m ready to work.’

Din has come flush to you now, and you turn with him. Ready to follow. But you look back for a moment, a thought occurring.

‘You know,’ you say. ‘That droid down in the caves and the one up on the command floor are toast; but the hardware’d still be good on the rest. You folks could reprogram them? Get their help?’

‘Mm,’ they respond, ‘maybe.’

‘Okay,’ you say, satisfied to have planted the seed, letting it go. ‘Take care, Gaius.’

With a final nod, they hoist the kid up a little higher and move off, toward the bustling reunion efforts.

Later, back on the Razor Crest with streaks of hyperspace flying past, you tilt the controls to standby, flick off all the diagnostic dials, and stand from the pilot chair. Din has already unbuckled and ducked out of the cockpit, the waves of brooding energy flowing off the beskar telling you to give him space. 

So you sit down on the floor and engage Grogu in a game of Force catch, the little silver ball whizzing back and forth between you. 

Though you’re both quiet, pensive. Shared thoughts drift on the air, united in a preoccupation with the third member of the crew, somewhere deeper in the hull. More than once, Grogu glances to the door with a little ‘ doo’, but there’s no movement beyond.

You chew on thoughts of how you’ll help Din process what happened. How you’ll apologise for putting him through all that. Try to frame it in your mind for when you are back home on Navarro.  

Praying he’ll be okay.

The kid gives a diminutive little yawn. Fatigue pricks at the sides of your mind too. Raising Grogu back up into his pod, he starts to nod off. You leave him there to doze and curl up in the flight chair the Mandalorian had vacated. Let your eyes drift shut and hope there’s no nightmares awaiting you.  

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Planet scale says what? No sorry, yes. It’s just one gigantic factory. What’s your point? And did I spiral on the morality of killing droids? Also yes.

Thank youuuuu for reading x

[gingerlurk]

@pscentral event 27: scenery the mandalorian

[gingerlurk]

when there’s only one episode 💀

The instant gratification gremlin in me cannot handle this. So naturally I had to draw this meme to fill the void.

Ngl tho this is Din internally throughout the seasons cuz this man literally CANT CATCH A BREAK AND MAYBE TAKE A NAP FOR ONCE.

Check out more of my art over on Instagram! ✨