#Din and Cobb deserve soft things

[marisferasiop]

Y'all I am exhausted and disgusted with this fic but I know it's the imposter syndrome and the fact that I've been chipping away at it for a month that has me down.

Also I had a pretty fuckin' shitty day.

Final edits under way, hopefully posting this weekend.

[handspunyarns]

Day Fourteen point Five (Marathel).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C 

word count: 6K 

chapter summary: Marathel throws another mug, takes her first shower, and gets a little tipsy 

warnings:  violence to pottery, mention of stomach illness, allusion to sexual/physical abuse and rape, alcohol use, English cursing 

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

You Were Marked: Masterlist   

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Marathel started to wake up, but she was quite confused.  She felt very warm and very comfortable, curled upon her side as she was on a soft tick, under a soft blanket, but something was not right … or was something missing?  Her ear was covered, her feet were covered with the blanket securely tucked underneath (so they can’t see me, if they can’t see me then they can’t hurt me) but something was different.  She was wearing soft pants and a shirt, not her usual nightwear, but that wasn’t quite it.  Marathel shifted a bit but still couldn’t put her finger on what she was confused about, or why, so she flipped back the blanket so she could get up. 

“Oh, finally waking up then …?” 

Marathel shrieked and grabbed the closest thing to her, which happened to be a heavy mug that was easy for her splinted hands to hold as it was square-shaped — and identical to the one she had thrown at the droid yesterday — but she was unaware that her hands were now in new minimalist metal splints, had forgotten that her hands were in splints to begin with — and she launched the mug in the direction where the strange voice had come from.  Cobb ducked with a yelp, quickly sliding off the padded chair to the floor to escape the missile hurled at his head, and the mug exploded against the wall behind him.   

“Okay, no more mugs for you, lady!” bellowed Cobb as he jumped up, pointing a finger in Marathel’s direction.  “Dank ferrik!” he shouted at no one in particular as he stomped out of her room. 

Marathel was frozen, her arm still extended, and then she drew a quick breath in surprise, her hand going to her mouth.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry or laugh, and the only noise she could make was a squeaky snort through her nose.  After getting some control of herself, Marathel noticed for the first time that her hand was not in the wooden splint, but in a cunning and strange metal arrangement that allowed her to flex her fingers while still getting support for her full hand.  Marathel was also surprised to find that her hands did not hurt quite as much.  There was pain, yes, but the sort of pain that came with long healing, bones knitting together, tendons reattaching.  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, noticing that her knee seemed to be better as well.  She gingerly stood up, testing her weight, and decided that while it seemed better, she really needed to stay off it, so she sat back down. 

Fennec came in then, asking, “What the kriff is going on?” 

“I threw a mug at Cobb’s head.” 

“Yes, I heard.  Have you considered not throwing mugs at things that startle you?  It’s a good thing you don’t use a blaster.  I couldn’t begin to guess what you’ve thrown at Mando.” Fennec bent down and picked up some of the larger shards. 

“Just some rocks.  And a couple of eggs.”  Oh, and yourself, you stupid woman. 

“Eggs?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “He deserved it.” 

Fennec smiled.  “That, I do not doubt.” 

Marathel looked down at her hands in her lap.  “I’m sorry I keep breaking mugs.  And I’ll apologize to Cobb when I see him.” 

“Please, what’s a couple of mugs?  You should have seen some of the things that have happened in this damn palace.  Two mugs are small change in comparison.”  Fennec looked at Marathel, sitting primly with her hands in her lap.  She appeared to be making herself as small as possible.  “You know, not everything new is terrifying.” 

Easy for you to say, thought Marathel.  I can’t even manage to sleep on a raised bed.  She lifted her hands to eye level.  “I’m not scared of my new splints.  I like them.  They are very clever.” 

“They are.  They should allow you to do more things now.  Are you in pain?” 

Marathel shook her head.  “Not so much.  Not like before.” 

“Your bleeding has slowed significantly, too,” said Fennec.  Marathel turned back to look at the rumpled bed: the absorbent pad she slept on had a few light lines of blood, whereas before she would soak through the pad completely.   

“Does that mean it’s working?” 

“It looks that way.  How does that make you feel?” 

Marathel wasn’t sure, exactly, but she knew what Fennec wanted to hear.  “Hopeful.”  Perhaps I’ll eventually believe it. 

“I’m glad to hear it.  I brought you some new clothes.  I was thinking you might want to take a shower and wash your hair.” 

Marathel looked at Fennec, puzzled.  “Take a shower?  Like a rain shower?  There’s no rain.” 

Fennec blinked.  “No … I meant in the fresher,” she said, waving her hand towards the room where the vac tube was. Marathel still looked confused.  “I’ll show you.”  Fennec led Marathel to the fresher, opened the door, and then turned on the water.  “See?  A shower.  And in here …” Fennec popped open the storage bin within.  “Shampoo, soap, body moisturizer, facial moisturizer …” 

“Shampoo?” 

“Soap for your hair.” 

Marathel frowned.  “Why do I need a different soap for my hair?” 

Fennec laughed.  “Because your hair is different than your skin.  Just go with it, Marathel, enjoy it.”  Fennec set out fluffy towels and pointed out a small contraption called a hair dryer and opened a drawer that held combs and other toiletries.“By the way, you should probably close and lock the door while you’re in here.”  She left, and Marathel followed her advice and locked the door to her room so that she could have privacy.   

Undressing — amazed she could do so herself, with her new finger splints — she stepped under the spray and was immediately delighted.  It was like being under a warm waterfall, but without the occasional fish and branch landing on her head.  Marathel opened the tube that Fennec told her was soap for her hair, and the scent of sweet fruit filled her nose.  She rubbed a small amount through her hair, and she watched as dirt and dried blood left her hair and swirled away down the grate in the floor.  She used the shampoo again — a more generous amount this time — and then applied the soap with a cloth as gently as possible around her wounds.  The soap had a scent that she couldn’t place but reminded her of fresh grass.  Marathel laughed, wondering why people wanted to smell like fruit and plants, when eating fruit and walking on grass was more enjoyable. 

Marathel could have stayed under the water spray for hours, but she remembered that this was a dry place where the water was scarce, so she reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out.  She began to scrub her hair with one of the towels when her eye caught the large mirror that took up a big section of the wall.  Marathel had never seen a mirror so large before, and she’d been largely avoiding it since coming here.  She lowered the towel and assessed her reflection. 

The first thing she saw was the huge gash down the center of her face.  Marathel’s breath caught with the memory of the Bishop carving her face, the horrible words he said to her as he did so, and she closed her eyes tight to quiet her mind.   

Opening her eyes, Marathel looked at the line of little bottles and tubes Fennec had left her.  Moisturizers, that’s what she said.  The face one was allegedly different than the one for the body, for some reason, but   the bottles had pictures of fruit or plants on them, or a flower, or just colored squiggles, and not a picture of a face or body, so Marathel just picked out the one she liked best, which reminded her of the clean water from the rocky stream and the yellow cup-shaped flowers she liked so much.  She slathered this on her skin — which felt wonderful — everywhere she could reach, and then worried about how she was going to get the stuff out from under all the metal bits now wrapped around her fingers.  Carefully using the corner of the towel seemed to work. 

Marathel then turned her attention to her hair, which seemed to behave differently here than back on Unmanarall.  There, her hair hung straight and heavy, and only had to be tucked behind her ears or into a loose knot and it would stay there; here, her hair took on a mind of its own and was fluffy, wavy, crackling around her head even before using the hair dryer.  The hair dryer thing was loud and blew air hot as fire directly at her in an uncomfortable way.  The top was mostly dry anyway, so she combed the top part into sections and twisted it into a loose braid.  She found a little stretchy round band that secured the end.  Looking in the mirror again — ignoring the red wound down her forehead and nose — she liked what she saw: a pale face surrounded by tendrils of wavy silver hair that floated away from her face. 

Her eyes then skimmed down her bare body and she saw little to recommend it: doughy flesh of a color like fish skin, sagging breasts, a roll on her belly, and hips and thighs that jiggled when she walked.  Then there were the slashes, bite-marks, and bruises.  A small flare of rage ignited inside her.  Her flesh, plump and unfirm though it was, should be hers and hers alone.  Wasn’t that what Din said?  She hadn’t consented when the Dahls overpowered her with their mating impulses, he had told her.  He had made such a point of that when he begged her permission to touch her once the Dahls had finished their mating cycle. No man had ever asked permission from her, ever, not once in her life.  Take, that’s all they’ve ever done to me. 

Marathel shivered; she could not think about that right now.  Too much had happened today, and her mind was tired.  Marathel left the fresher room and went to the little pile of clothing Fennec had brought her.  There was a pair of dark pants, a light woven shirt in a deep purple, and a long vest as green as the summer grass.  She also found a soft brace for her knee and what appeared to be undergarments; they were like her shifts but in two parts.  They also seemed to be like compression garments, supportive.  The bottoms were easy enough, but the top garment was awkward to put on with its hooks and strange shoulder straps.  She assumed it was on correctly; she couldn’t think of a different way to wear it and was surprised to find that her breasts were lifted somehow by the garment, a new sensation for her.   She pulled on the compressive brace for her knee, and then the pants, which were very soft and very form-fitting.  The shirt fit well but felt low-cut to Marathel.  She looked down at herself at the unaccustomed amount of exposed skin above the neckline, considering the undergarment that lifted her bosom, and pulled on the vest, which gave her some modesty.  All she had for footwear were her soft slippers, so she put those on as well. The stone floors here were not kind to bare feet. 

There was a knock on her door.  Pulling on a veil over her hair and forehead, Marathel opened it slightly to see Cobb Vanth on the other side, holding another mug identical to the one she’d hurled at him.  Smiling hopefully, Cobb offered the mug and asked, “Truce?” 

Marathel chuckled and fully opened the door, taking the mug.  “I’m sorry I threw a mug at you.” 

“And I’m sorry I blew up at you, but, damn, woman, you’re dangerous.”  His eyes flicked downward and back up, making Marathel flush again.   “I do wish you wouldn’t cover your face and hair like that …  a face like yours shouldn’t be spoiled by a veil.”  He took a moment longer to gaze at her, and then belatedly said, “I’m also here to find out if you’re hungry.”  Marathel blinked, because it turned out she was hungry.  She nodded.  “Well, then, I get to accompany you.”  He turned and held out his elbow. 

Marathel frowned.  “What are you doing?” 

Cobb pulled a face at her, then sighed and took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm.  Marathel closed her door and let Cobb slowly escort her down the corridor.  Marathel shyly looked up at him and said, “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Too bad, Mar’, my ma raised a gentleman who treats a lady like a lady … whether she is one or not.” 

Marathel smiled blandly.  “I wouldn’t know how a lady should be treated.”   

She had meant it as a joke, some light-hearted statement to be thrown away and forgotten, but Cobb frowned down at her with a thoughtful look on his face, putting his other hand over hers on his arm. “Well, Marathel, I think that’s a damn shame.” Marathel couldn’t tell anymore if her face was flushing again or now just permanently flushed: this Cobb Vanth had a way of unnerving her. 

After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Would you please tell me … what is a marshall and a freetown?” 

“Well, as Marshall I’m the person in charge of law and order in Freetown, a little mining town out in the desert.  One of those places where you blink, and you miss it.” 

“Law and order?” 

He shrugged.  “I’m in charge of telling people doing wrong to cut it out.” 

“What happens when you’re not there?  Do people just … run roughshod everywhere?” 

Cobb grimaced.  “I kriffing hope not.”  He laughed.  “No, I have a deputy keeping tabs on things.  The town is fine; it’s mostly other people coming in from the outside that cause most of the problems.” 

“Why are you here, then?” 

“You’re holding on to it.”  She looked down at his metal arm.  “It’s a big modification that needs fine tuning.  It’s not quite right yet.” 

Marathel ran the fingertips of her other hand down Cobb’s cybermodded limb, making him wish he could feel it.  “I was so afraid that I would end up with something like this.” She frowned. “But then, I never knew such a thing could be done.  I now wonder why … some will do things like build a new arm, when others do things … like where I came from.”  

Cobb’s heart ached for her, a victim of a hellish place.  “I don’t know.  I wish people didn’t have to come from a planet like yours.” 

“I never knew there was a planet to come from. Not until Din told me where to see Nevarro.  I’m sure he thought …” Marathel looked around her.  “Where are we going?” 

“Din thought what now?” 

“No, I mean — we passed the kitchen long ago.” 

“Oh, no, we are heading to the far courtyard.  This way.” They passed through an archway and into a open outdoor area with many plants and succulents.  At the far end, under a pergola covered in flowered vines, were Boba and Fennec, seated at a table.  They were laughing while Boba poured something from a large flagon for Fennec.  “Finally here,” Cobb called to them. 

“Oh, good,” said Fennec.  “The kitchen went mad again; they keep forgetting that Jabba is still dead, and they don’t have to make as much food.” 

“Frith in heaven,” muttered Marathel upon seeing the table.  There was enough food on it to feed all the Hold’s children.  Cobb pulled out a chair for her, but Marathel looked at him blankly until he whispered to her to sit.  Boba filled a delicate glass from the flagon and called it spotchka, warning Marathel to sip it very slowly and in only tiny amounts.  “Oh!” said Marathel.  “Does this make you feel warm and fuzzy if you drink it too fast?” 

Fennec giggled; she was already a glass or two in.  “I take it you have something similar on your planet?” 

“Yes, dreamberries.  The fruit can be made into a drink, but I like it better as a cooked sauce.  We had some … that is, Din and I, on roasted gorujellys.”  Marathel looked down at her hands.  She remembered that was also the night Din had touched her most intimately, and she had slept in his arms; for the briefest of moments, they were each other’s and that was all that mattered. 

Cobb watched the high color creep back in on Marathel’s cheekbones.  Her face is so luminous; you can almost tell what she’s thinking.  Din had told him how he had come so close to kissing her that day, almost willing to expose his face to her, even before eating dreamberry sauce; if she’d asked him then if he’d take off his helmet, he would have gladly done so and never put it back on.  He’d been so overwhelmed when she allowed him to touch her that he declared his love for her — but in Mando’a (how chickenshit of you, Din) — and she’d said something in return in her own language, but neither of them had provided a translation for what they’d said.  Din was half-afraid that she’d rejected him (unlikely), or she had said something completely opposite to him (even more unlikely).  These two, Cobb thought.  They are going to dance around each other like dewbacks in rutting season.  He would have found it amusing if he wasn’t half-smitten with her himself.   

Marathel, meanwhile, had been struggling with utensils as she tried to eat.  Her fingers were still clumsy, and the metal fork was too heavy for her to hold.  After dropping it half-a-dozen times, she finally gave up and used the flat bread to scoop up the tender meat and grains off her plate.  She had been successful so far at getting food into her mouth and not on her lap, when Cobb said, “Marathel, tell me … how did you and Din meet again?”   

Boba and Fennec snickered, but Cobb knew that Marathel had a complete lack of guile and would simply answer truthfully.  Marathel looked at him, her hand still holding the meat and flat bread halfway to her mouth.  “I …” She put the food back on her plate and dropped her hands and eyes to her lap.  “I saw him coming towards my hut, and I didn’t know who he was.  I had never seen anyone like him before.”  All gleaming metal, as if he’d been created from the wall on the first floor of the Hold.  No face, just a head covered in metal.  The brown clothing underneath the metal, the heavy boots, the ragged grey cape.  There was no clothing of those colors in the Hold: only Captain red, Duke green, Bishop blue, and Hunter green.  Brown was for bedding.  Grey was for cleaning.  No such heavy boots, with straps and belts everywhere, covered with bits of metal. 

“What did you throw at him?” asked Fennec.  “Was it a rock or an egg? Or a frying pan?” 

Cobb scowled at Fennec, but a smile curled Marathel’s lip.  “A rock.  Actually, two rocks.  I missed on the first throw.” Marathel carefully clasped her glass of spotchka with both hands and took a sip.  “Oh my, that’s lovely.  Got him right on the helmet with the second one, though.” 

“So, when did you throw the eggs?” 

“Oh, that was a couple days later.” 

Cobb sighed.  “You’re jumping ahead, Fennec …” 

Marathel took another sip. “When he said that he was a bounty hunter, I had no idea what he meant.  He said he would put down his blaster if I put down my rocks.  I didn’t know what a blaster was, so I got a sharp stick instead.”  Fennec chortled.  Marathel went on with her story, describing her fear of the Bishop’s voice in the tracking fob, her fear that Mando would hurt the Dahls, and her initial fear of Grogu.   

“You cannot tell me you were frightened of that little child,” said Boba. 

“That little child is green and has giant ears!” retorted Fennec.  

Fennec and Boba began a colorful argument about what could or could not be terrifying to someone like Marathel, and Cobb finally just turned his chair to face her.  He crossed his ankle over his knee and draped his arm on her chair back.  Leaning in close to Marathel, he said, “You just don’t fit the, uh, usual profile of the type of bounty Mando tends to go after.” 

Marathel shrugged.  “I wouldn’t know.” 

“I think he was just as surprised by you as you were by him.  What bounty invites the hunter into her home?” 

Marathel sipped at her glass again; Cobb noticed that she had nearly drained the glass.  “I suppose one that doesn’t know the rules of a bounty hunter. One … that is sad.  And lonely.  And curious about a little green child with large ears that is fiercely protected by a large man of metal when he encounters creatures like the Dahls, or a woman throwing rocks.” 

“So, it was the child that you fell in love with first.” 

“Oh yes, Grogu was so charming immediately.  Children are easy to love.  I’ve cared for many, hoped I would have many of my own to raise and love.”  Cobb smiled behind his hand; a thimbleful of spotchka could set her tongue wagging.  He poured her another half-glass.  “But then, watching the Bounty Hunter feed Grogu, even just the act of moving a mug away from him because it wasn’t good for him to drink … that spoke to me in a way that’s … so hard to explain.” 

Marathel was leaning back in her chair, looking at the night sky above her, her face thoughtful, and for once, not afraid.  Boba and Fennec had stopped their mild bickering and were now listening, Fennec with her head against Boba’s shoulder.  Cobb slowly leaned forward, putting his hand on her knee.  “Give it a try,” he said quietly. 

“Men don’t … I’ve never known a man who cared about a child.  Men as I know them, a child is just … just a thing.  A product of fucking a Whyn.”  Cobb, Boba, and Fennec exchanged glances; they had not heard her say the word fucking before now.  Marathel seemed to not notice.  “Men care nothing for a child or woman except for what use they can get from them.”  Marathel sighed.  She looked down at her glass and looked confused as to why it was full again.  She took a long sip and went back to looking at the sky.  “The Bounty Hunter …  the gentleness he showed in his care of Grogu … I thought his name was Bounty Hunter and I thought his helmet was his face.  But, for the first time in my life, I saw a father.  And I wanted so much to know a man like that, because I didn’t know a father, not a sire, but a father, could exist.” 

They were all quiet for a while.  Marathel took another sip from her glass.  Cobb was gently stroking her knee, gazing at her with a knitted brow, but she didn’t seem to notice.  Frowning at the sky, Marathel asked, “Which one is Nevarro?” 

Boba looked up.  “You can’t see it from here.  Nevarro is too close to the horizon to be seen.” 

“Oh,” said Marathel quietly.  “I hope … I wonder if they … if Grogu is all right.” 

Boba said, “You could message them.  I think it’s late night there, but Mando doesn’t live by clocks.”  He held out a holopad in her direction.  “Here.” 

Marathel put her glass on the table and carefully took the proffered holopad, asking, “Message?” 

“Just tap it in, Cobb can show you how to send,” said Fennec. 

Marathel turned the holopad over and over in her hands.  “I don’t understand.” 

Cobb scooted his chair closer.  “Here …” he said, turning the pad over the correct way, and bringing up the keyboard.  “There you go.”  He continued to hold it up for her. 

Marathel stared at the screen.  It was half-filled in tiny, illuminated squares, each one with an unintelligible squiggle inside.  “I don’t know how …” 

Boba frowned. “Did I leave it on Huttese instead of Aurebesh?” 

Marathel continued to stare at the screen.  “No, I …” 

A few moments passed, and then it finally clicked for Fennec.  “You can’t read or write, can you, Marathel?”   

Marathel’s head dropped, and her hands went immediately up her sleeves. “I don’t know what you mean.  I don’t know read or write. I don’t know those words,” Marathel stammered, and her throat felt thick and tight with tears and shame at yet another thing she had no knowledge of.  

“Those are letters on the screen,” said Fennec.  “They form the words we say, so we can communicate without talking.  Does that make sense?”  Marathel nodded, frowning.  “I know of other places where girls aren’t allowed to learn to read.”  Marathel looked up at Fennec.  While she was glad to learn that she was not alone in this fault of hers, it saddened her more that there were others on these planets she had just now learned about where people suffered as she did. Perhaps more. Fennec asked, “Did any of the girls at the Hold learn to read?” 

“I don’t think so.”  She dashed the few tears that had fallen with the side of her hand.   “Maybe the boys did in the Round Building.  We weren’t supposed to know what else they did in there.  There were some walls that had squiggles like those,” she said, pointing at the screen, “painted on them.  Girls didn’t learn in the Round Building.  We only went in there to clean, and to … be of service.”  Marathel fell silent. 

Cobb cleared his throat.  “Well, we can still send a message, anyway … here,” he said. 

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay  

“What did you say?” asked Marathel. 

“That you wanted to know if Grogu is okay.  Here, look …” Cobb put his finger on the screen under the sentence he had entered.  “These letters here, that spells Grogu, and those here, that spells Marathel.” 

“That’s my name?” 

Cobb reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny notepad and a stub of pencil he always carried with him.  “I’ll do you one better.”  As large as he could fit it, he wrote her name in Aurebesh, drawing a line under it so she knew which way was up.  He gave it to her, watching as she traced the letters with her finger, a small smile of wonder on her face. 

That’s my name.  That’s me.  Just this simple act of knowing her name existed in a somehow permanent fashion cheered her heart.  It made her feel … as if she were real, recognizable by others. Marathel looked at Cobb.  “Now what happens?” 

“We wait for Din to answer.  It may take a while.  He might not be near his holopad.”  Within a few moments, however, the holopad pinged with an incoming message.  “Or he will answer right away.” 

Marathel gasped with surprise.  From so far away, he can answer this quickly?  “What … what did he say?” 

Cobb smiled.  “He says that Grogu has an upset stomach.” 

“Grogu?  An upset stomach?” Marathel giggled into her hand.  “What happened to his stomach of beskar?” 

Cobb grinned.  “Let’s find out.”  He tapped in Marathel’s question.  Almost immediately the holopad pinged again.  Cobb chuckled.  “He says ‘compromised by fruit’.”  

Marathel leaned back in her chair, laughing now in earnest, pushing her veil off her face and head. Cobb suddenly felt jealous of Din, who obviously had her heart in the palm of his leather-clad hand.  “Oh, too much fruit goes right through a child!  He should know better.”  She chuckled again.  “Cachu o lwyc, ni asth’mabh.” 

Cobb smirked.  “I have no clue how to spell that, so I need a translation.” 

Marathel took her glass back off the table and drank the remaining spotchka, earning her a raised eyebrow from Fennec.  Marathel whispered loudly, “I said, ‘you’re shit out of luck, you son of a bitch’.”  She giggled. 

“Yeah, I’m not sending that.”  Cobb tapped out a message, and after a moment, there was a return message.   “I told him you wished him luck, and he says, ‘thank you’.”  Cobb handed the holopad back to Boba.  “And no more spotchka for you.”  Marathel burped daintily in response.  “You better eat some more, or you’ll be cursing my name tomorrow, and I don’t know the Mandalorian punishment for letting his lady get toasted.” 

Marathel’s smile faded.  No, I’m not his lady.  Not like that.    “I can’t hold the fork.  My hands don’t work right.” 

Cobb laughed and grabbed a plate of meat-wrapped castan nuts.  “Here,” he said, popping one into her mouth.   

Marathel hummed with delight.  “Mmm, tasty.” 

Cobb put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head back on his arm as he continued to feed her the nuts.  After some time, Fennec poked Boba in his thigh.  He looked down as she used the sign language of the Sand People to ask him: 

Should we be worried about this? 

Boba watched Cobb and Marathel for a while across the table.  Finally, he signed back: 

Let’s just write this off on the spotchka.  For now. 

Fennec nodded.  “Marathel …” Marathel looked over at her.  “If you’d like to learn to read, we can get you a holopad with some teaching primers.  A lot of people can’t read, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn.”  

Marathel thought about that for a moment, and then said, “I’d like that.”  Fennec smiled back at her.   

The Modifier approached, asking if Marathel was ready to repeat the series of injections.  Marathel looked at her glass, her brow furrowed with worry.  “No, a bit of spotchka isn’t going to affect the treatment.  It might even help, since you’re now … tranquilized a bit,” said the Modifier. 

Cobb gently took her hand, and whispered, “I’ll stay with you, if you want.”  Marathel nodded.  He stood up, assisted her to stand, and escorted her back to the palace, his hand gently placed on the small of her back. 

Boba noticed that the message prompt was still open on his holopad.  He tapped out: 

BF: The Modifier’s contact came through; treatment seems to be working  

Boba watched the return message dots blink for a while, as if Din was tapping out a long message. A short time later, a message pinged through: 

DD: good to hear 

Boba smirked.  That took a long time to come up with, Djarin.   Warmed by the spotchka, and now by themselves, Boba put his arm around Fennec’s shoulders.  She smiled and snuggled against him, and they watched the stars. 

The Modifier suggested that they do the injections in Marathel’s room, so that she could go to sleep comfortably after.  She left the men in the corridor while she changed back into the soft clothing she’d woken up in earlier and got into her bed.  As she let the men in, she carefully moved the mug Cobb had brought her as far out of reach as possible, which he found amusing.  The Modifier suggested she lay on her other side for the injections; he was concerned about damage to her skin.  Marathel complied, but now she had her back to Cobb. 

Cobb cleared his throat and said, “If you don’t object … I could sit on the bed next to you.” 

Marathel thought she might object; the idea made her stomach flutter, and it wasn’t just the spotchka making it do so.  She thought about it and decided that Cobb certainly meant no harm to her; he might be a bit too handsy with her, but he wasn’t about to harm her.  She agreed, and Cobb kicked off his boots and settled on the bed next to her — on top of the blankets — sitting up against the headboard as she lay on her side.  The Modifier administered the first injection, and Marathel felt the instant cold sensation, and then the nervous-twitchy feeling through her limbs as the injection coursed through her system.  She whimpered; Cobb sought out her hand and held it gently, his large thumb stroking the back of her hand.   

“Doing okay?” he asked. 

“It stings more this time.”  She drew in her breath with a hiss; it did sting much more, as if the spiky pebbles from before had transformed into long-spined sea urchins.  Marathel thought if she stared at her arm long enough, she would be able to see the spines distend and pierce through her flesh.   

Cobb was watching her face and grew concerned, as her breathing grew shallow and fast.  “Marathel?  Honey?  You still there?”  Marathel did not answer, and he could see she had broken out in a cold sweat.  The Modifier did not seem too concerned, but Cobb moved down on the bed, so he was lying on his side next to her, much like Din on her bed tick in her open-sided hut.   

He held both of her hands in his, and her eyes looked unfocused and confused.  “Bounty Hunter?” 

Cobb reached out and pushed a lock of hair off her face.  “No, honey, sorry, it’s just me.” 

Marathel took a deep breath.  “Sorry, I lost myself for a moment.”  She looked into his eyes.  “It’s better now.” 

Cobb smiled at her.  “Good.  Just keep breathing, hang in there.” 

Marathel smiled wanly.  The next two injections were given with little to no reaction at all from Marathel.  The Modifier, pleased by her lack of reaction, said, “You’ll probably feel like sleeping for the next couple of days, Marathel.  If you could leave your door unlocked, I’d like to check on you a few times while you rest.” 

Marathel nodded.  “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” she said, and Cobb laughed. 

The Modifier left, but Cobb remained where he was, gently stroking her knuckles with his thumbs.  “I’ll just stay until you’re fully asleep, Marathel, then I’ll leave you alone.”  Marathel, her eyes closed, nodded again.  “But you can always shout if you need something, right?  Just no mug-throwing, that’s all I ask.”  Marathel smiled slightly; she was already almost fully asleep.  He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek.  “That’s from Grogu,” he said.  Marathel did not respond, but carried on her soft breathing.  Before he could lose his nerve, Cobb leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth; he thought he detected the slightest of response from her lips kissing him back.  “That’s from the Bounty Hunter,” he whispered, telling himself it wasn’t a lie.  Cobb watched her sleep until his own eyelids grew heavy, and then he carefully climbed out of her bed.  He grabbed his boots, and gently pulled the blanket over her ear, as he’d seen her in her sleep earlier, and left her room. 

Next chapter ->

[intricatecakes]

✨ brown eyes✨

[ckerouac]

I miss the big rec posts of old, so… I’m gonna do one.  And I'm going to be real extra about it. I’ve read & reread a variety of things over the past few months that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed, and figured hey, y'all might enjoy them as well.  Is there a rhyme or reason?  Of course not.  Are they all new?  Hell no, that’s the joy of an archive.  I also realized like half of them are spooky season themed, so... *shrugs* viva la spooky season. 

Game of Thrones

Dornish Sand by Aviss - (E, 5K, Oberyn/Ellaria/Jamie/Brienne) 

Jamie & Brienne go to Dorne, and the four of them bone.  Why there aren’t more of these four together, I don’t know.  More fics should be about sexy folks worshiping Brienne and this definitely hits it.

Royal Flush by @astolat - (E, 85K, various)

Canon divergence - what if during the Battle of Blackwater Robb found his way into King’s Landing, rescued Sansa, and killed Joffrey?  Where does the game go from there?  That’s the premise and it really is best to ignore the tags and discover the story as it goes because it is deeply engrossing and this is the type of story where being surprised and watching the chess match unfold is part of the fun.

Justified

Bad Apple Blues by @laporcupina  - (NR, 7K, Gen)

A S1 day in the life of Raylan at work, including but not limited to a hostage situation where the whole team gets to show off what they’re good at.  From one of my favorite gen writers, no matter what fandom they’re writing in.

In the Heart of the Holler by scioscribe - (T, 4K, Gen)

The stories say there's a place in Harlan County that will grant your wish on Halloween night.  Raylan thinks Loretta should stay the hell away from it.  Another one to head into spooky season.  Because as someone who grew up in a rural area, some places are just creepy as fuck and this has the vibes.

Underground by @sholiofic - (T, 3K, Gen)

Another preview to spooky season (do I have a thing for Appalachian scares?  apparently) with Raylan, Tim, and Rachel chasing a fugitive into what feels like a haunted mine.  There are far too many things you can only see from the corner of your eye that far underground.

The Mandalorian/Star Wars

ain’t no road i like as well as the road that leads to you by getmean - (T, 3K, Din/Cobb)

Post-BOBF, Din, Cobb, and Grogu go relax on a planet that is moist and green and definitely not Tatooine.  It’s soft, it’s sweet, and good lord the three of them deserve a break.

Find His Way Back by @catchclaw - (M, 9K, Din/Cobb/Obi-Wan)

What if Din and Cobb met 10 years earlier, and they ran into Tatooine’s favorite hermit and had to hunker down for the night?  It’s exactly what you hope it is, and turned me on to a new trio.

Hold Fast by @staranon95 - (E, 21K, Din/Cobb)

Post-S2, Din returns to Tatooine looking for peace, but he’s haunted by the darksabre, both literally and figuratively.  Cobb’s not doing much better.  Some of the best haunted by your past AND actually haunted that I’ve read and perfect going into spooky season.

Lest You Be Shining by @brightmouth - (M, 10K, Din/Cobb)

Cobb Vanth falls in love in the crux of a new era and it only hurts a little bit. It’s the 1960s, Cobb is an engineer working for NASA and Din is an astronaut.  Y’all, the absolute vibes on this one.  

take my revolution by @saltsprite - (E, 34K, Din/Cobb)

Take Din, Mandalore, and the darksaber, and make it Revolutionary Girl Utena. My 90s anime fan self couldn’t resist.

A Waste of Water by @magess - (E, WIP, Din/Cobb)

Din’s come back to Tatooine, Cobb’s past has come back to haunt him.  This one is currently a WIP, but the world building is great, the original characters feel fleshed out, and new chapters drop once a week.  I look forward to it every week. 

MCU

Can’t Keep a Good Man Down by @roboticonography - (M, 10K, Steve/Peggy)

After the serum, Steve has to deal with a persistent side effect. In his pants.  Did I get in the mood after Jen’s excitement in She-Hulk over Cap fucking to go back to an old favorite of the genre?  Yes.  This is exactly what you want it to be.

Rhythm, Interrupted by @staranon95 - (T, 1K, Gen)

Marc tries to keep his presence as minimal as possible in Steven's life for his protection even if Khonshu doesn't understand why.  I have such a soft spot for Marc trying to care for Steven before Steven realizes what’s going on, and this scratches that itch beautifully.  It’s short, it’s soft, it's what I wanted.

Ted Lasso

bell, book, and candle by fakelight - (T, 5K, Gen)

“There is something strange,” Ted announces gravely, standing in front of the whiteboard. “In our neighborhood. Well, our treatment room. But, you know, our general vicinity.” In large letters above his head, Beard finishes writing WHO YOU GONNA CALL? AFC RICHMOND.  A silly way into spooky season, for a change lol

Our Flag Means Death

The Keeper by @r0b0tb0y - (E, 7K, Ed/Stede)

Edward Teach becomes a lighthouse keeper. Everything goes wrong.  Another one perfect as we move into spooky season because it’s cosmic horror meets sea shanties.  And one you don’t want to know too much going into because the discovery is part of the fun.  

Like the Sea Around the Shore by @the-cimmerians - (E, 51K, Ed/Stede)

Are you looking for a fic that could easily be the first few eps of S2?  This is that fic. Ed and Stede find their way back to each other, the crew of The Revenge finds a way to talk it through as a crew, and a goldmine of callbacks and anachronisms are sprinkled through like the most fun easter egg hunt.  I can’t articulate how much I love this fic from an author who never disappoints.

A Night at Blackbeard’s Bar and Grill by soft_october - (T, 6K, Ed/Stede)

Restaurant AU. The manager at the new restaurant Stede is trying to review is being kind of a dick. A certain member of the waitstaff, however, takes a bit of a liking to him.  It’s fun, it’s light, it’s a delight.

The Sandman

Things That Never Happened In History Class by darth_stitch - (T, 2K, Dream/Hob)

Prof Hob teaches History 101, other immortals from other media make an appearance, it’s fun, it’s light, it’s a delight.  And Hob still gets irritated over Shakespeare.

[theasexuwhalestuff]

Thoughts while watching The Book of Boba Fett Episode 7: In The Name of Honor

GROGU CHOSE HIS DAD!!!!! I mean, I knew he would, didn't trust Favreau and Filoni to actually let that be the case. But what-fucking-ever, Grogu said bye bitch to the Jedi.

Luke is that salty, huh? He sent an entire baby in an X-wing across the galaxy with R2-D2 of all creatures. Wtf, man. Get a fucking grip.

FINALLY MORE PELI MOTTO AND GROGU CONTENT!!!

Peli refusing to use Grogu's name is just the majority of this fandom.

Lmao love how R2 snarks everyone but Peli just goes STFU baby needs to eat.

Li'l gremlin is so happy eating those slugs!!

We're really gonna call Mos Pelgo fucking Freetown?? Come on.

At last we get Fennec, Din and Boba interacting, but ofc that only lasts three seconds. Would pay to watch an entire series dedicated to this trio goofing off, doing nothing and being besties. So much lost potential 😔

Fennec saying there's money to be made from the spice just made me wanna know abt her and her character and it's such a fucking SHAME that they gave us nothing. Not even crumbs. Yeah ok, she beat Cad Bane and kidnapped Omega. So? I just wanna know more abt her personality and her past and what shaped her you fuckers. She deserves her own fucking show.

Fennec really pulling all the weight around here and having to lend Boba a few brain cells from time to time so he doesn't get himself killed.

Santo. SANTO??? Boba's already pet-naming his almost murderer awww.

Fennec being an absolute badass and singlehandedly killing all the Aqualish.

That comment abt manners killed me. Her tone, omg. Badass mama.

Boba and Din actually talking. I was abt to throw hands cuz I thought Boba would be the last person to mock Din's creed. But then Din said yes, he does believe in that bantha fodder. And Boba just said good??? You alright mans.

Flying Mando Kings.

They just fight so well together omg.

Boba trying to shield Din and making sure he's ok 😭😭😭

Boba being soft af to "Santo" and offering him the same bacta tank he was ripped out from and almost slaughtered.

Grogu come save your dad. He's in trouble again.

Oh wait, what. Giant killer droids chasing Din. Omg is this man okay?? I hope it's not triggering him or something.

Peli fucking Motto in a droid-rickshaw YAASSS. They're spoiling us with all the Peli Motto content.

Mando seeing his baby and doing a triple take and Grogu just FLYING into daddy's arms 😭😭😭😭😭😭

Mando flinging himself to catch his baby.

Peli just casually spitting out a tooth.

Mando holding his baby!!! Just like before!!! Mando and Grogu again!!!!

Boba Fett riding the fucking baby rancor.

Din covering his face, preparing for death 😭😭😭

Grogu said no one hurts my dad, fucker.

Dadalorian is BACK!!!

Peli flirting w the majordomo; I am deceased.

Me when Cad Bane showed up again: This bitch won't lay off, huh?

They're shooting Boba's baby wtf.

Din's the only person in the room w a brain cell ofc they're scaring it. Its a baby. Just like the baby Din's holding.

He gave the control knob back to bebe!!

Grogu off to save Papa again. What would this man do w/o this baby?

Grogu wtff?? Go curl up w Papa not the rancor.

Boba actually lent his bacta tank.

Dad and baby shenanigans are back!!!!

They're resurrecting Cobb Vanth???? I mean I didn't get why he had to die, but why bring him back either? Does this mean he's gonna get his own spin-off show like Boba did? 🤔

What-fucking-ever. Who cares. Din's back with his baby, that's the most important thing in this galaxy.

[bellsyafterdark]

The post about Din nesting... Ik you haven't written his return yet but I like to imagine that his mates transfer his nest to their room, adding things to it (like blankets and pelts and donated items from Cobb and Krrsantan and even some things of Grogu's sent by Luke), trying to make it as soft and safe and secure as possible as a too late apology. They made it bigger because they're all secretly hoping to be invited inside, but they're too afraid to ask at first since nests are so intimate.

There are many difficult things that face Din in the choice about coming back. The question of whether or not his alphas are sincere, or how long their patience will endure before they change their minds, if Boba actually wants to see him, weigh so heavily on his mind that he doesn't even think about the nest he left behind until he sees it.

They've put aside a room for him. When they tell him, fear clutches his heart. They said things were going to be different but... not this. He doesn't want this. Does he?

He's doesn't know if it's because he freezes at the top of the stairs or there's something telling in his scent. Paz and Fennec stop and look back at him. The way to Boba's private quarters leads left. They had walked right to the short corridor of other doors that housed utility rooms and storage.

They were going to put him in storage? What was this?

Paz cups the side of his neck. Fennec takes his hand, squeezing in comfort. Din has kept his helmet on so he doesn't scent their own nervousness in the air.

"We wanted to give you your own space," Fennec says. "You deserve your own space."

In storage? Like a broom to be brought out when they have use of it? No, not a broom... like a toy. Din's heart plummets with betrayal, pulse so loud in his ears he almost doesn't hear what Fennec says next.

"... Somewhere you can feel safe but... close. Secure." She shrugs quickly. "If it's too small, we can get--"

"We found your nest," Paz interrupts.

Din feels all the blood drain from his face. No. They didn't. Please. They didn't.

"What?" What nest, he tries to lie but it chokes in his throat so it just comes out like hoarse disbelief.

"We had it all moved up here so you could be close to us." Fennec reaches for the control panel. "We added some--" Din flinches at the metal crank of a door sliding on rusted hinges as it opens. A warm light hums on. "Sorry, I'll get the droids to fix that. We-- we added some more things to your-- well, if you want them. We can take them back. If you don't. Whatever you want. This is your space now. You have-- make it however you want."

Fennec gestures inside. Din cannot lift his eyes from the floor. He is so ashamed. They were never supposed to see that... bare evidence of his desperate need to feel closer to them. In the tribe, an omega's mates would have brought everything he could have needed to help him build a nest, and even then it would have been sparser in reflection of their supplies and devotion to the collective, not like Din's stolen stockpile of scraps.

Mortification at the proof of his selfishness keeps him rooted to the spot, unable to look. He can't even run. He wishes the ground would turn to sand and devour him.

"Cyar'ika," Paz sighs and suddenly Din is enfolded against a blue-armoured chest, strong arms firm and grounding. "You're shaking." He is gently rocked back and forth. His body betrays a soundless, shudder of a sob and he hides his face in Paz's chest. Paz tucks him beneath his chin. "It's alright, shh."

Shame keeps Din's arms at his sides.

Fennec sounds crestfallen. "Baby. I'm so-- We can put it back, I just thought you m--"

"Let the man have a moment, for pity's sake," a familiar drawl interjects.

Din's eyes shoot open.

Boba.

He shoves back from Paz's chest, panic storming through him, and in his periphery the forest green of Boba's armour is ascending the stair not two steps behind him-- how did Din not hear him get so close--

No no nonono no no not yet

The shame swells with humiliation and raw hurt in his throat. With a sick flash, he's on his back at that table, Boba's teeth bared above him and his eyes burning with derision.

The storage room door hisses shut with less protest than it did opening. Din clambers to lock it behind him, trembling with relief when he finds the control. He doesn't stop to wonder if it's normal for converted storage rooms to lock from the inside, sagging heavily against the wall, tears burning down his face.

He doesn't look at the nest at his back. He can't.

"Din." Boba's voice makes him flinch back from the other side of the door. He sounds even and controlled, nothing like how Din feels. "Sweetheart. We need to talk."

[oonajaeadira]

The Mandalorian Tarot: Major Arcana

If you’re following me, you know this is a Mandalorian obsessive account. I love the man, I love the show, I write a Mando-fando that is all about pining and touch. I tend to go all in when I have an interest. 

Another one of my interests? Tarot. A friend challenged me to Mandalorify the major arcana. And because Jon and Dave know their stuff and are good with archetypes (which is all tarot really is), it was an easy fit.

YOU GOT MANDO IN MY TAROT. YOU GOT TAROT IN MY MANDO. TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER.

But. I can’t draw, so I’ve dreamed them in words and included the Rider-Waite-Smith deck illustrations that I would riff on if I could.

READY? LET’S PLAY.

(All tarot illustrations by Pamela Colman Smith. All Mandalorian images property of Star Wars/Disney.)

UPDATE! @heathenashtattoos​ has taken up where I cannot and is making these cards a reality! I will post them individually and come back to link them to this post as we go.

0 THE FOOL = THE MANDALORIAN / IT IS MADE! --->

The story of the tarot is the Fool’s journey, the arc of becoming. So it makes sense to me that Din would be the fool. Fits even better, since he has tremendous Fool energy in his himbo tendencies, just rushing forward into situations without a lot of planning--he’ll deal with it when he’s in it--ready to rely on others to show him the way or guide/help him to the next step.

If I could draw: Din on the cliff, with his jetpack on, meaning he has no fear of falling. Instead of the bindle-stick the Fool carries, he’d have his pulse rifle slung over his shoulder. Instead of the dog nipping at his heels, Grogu. And, of course, the landscape would be Tatooine/Navaro-esque.

~~~

1 THE MAGICIAN = LUKE SKYWALKER , IT IS MADE! --->

The Magician is someone who is still learning to bend the laws of magic/the Universe, but very adept with their tools. Since Luke is only a few years into his Jedi training at this time, he makes a pretty good Magician.

If I could draw: Luke in his blacks, holding up his lightsaber. The Jedi symbol would replace the infinity sign. 

***

2 THE HIGH PRIESTESS = AHSOKA TANO / IT IS MADE! -->

High Priestess is further along the path of her magic than Magician, and her knowledge is more intuitive, her skills more effortless. Where the Magician is still learning the balance of light and dark, the High Priestess knows the value and pitfalls of both. It was always going to be Ahsoka.

If I could draw: Ahsoka sitting cross-legged in meditation mode, but with eyes open and a knowing smile. Instead of two pillars, she holds her lightsabers up and parallel to each other.

***

3 THE EMPRESS = PELI MOTTO / IT IS MADE! -->

The Empress is the mother figure, the energy in the universe that provides all that is needed and embodies the energy of creation. I can see the argument for Omera being the Empress--mostly because she is a mom and she’s soft and a lot of people see the Empress as a soft female figure, I get it. (And if I were to do a minor arcana, girl would show up as one of the Queens for sure.) But in the end, I gave it to Peli because she’s a recurring character, more relevant in his story, and if Din is the Fool, Peli is more an Empress to him. She’s able to be the provider of his particular needs; services to his ship to get him up flying, contact and location information, and she’s always willing to care for Grogu whenever she gets the chance.

If I could draw: Peli sitting in the dock, against the R4 unit, holding aloft a spanner and surrounded by her pit droids.

***

4 THE EMPEROR = BOBA FETT / IT IS MADE! -->

The Emperor is all about authority. And all I gotta say about Boba is BIG DICK ENERGY.

If I could draw: Just put him on the Jabba throne and let him lounge like a badass.

~~~

5 THE HIEROPHANT = THE ARMORER / IT IS MADE! -->

The Hierophant is the keeper of traditions and a spiritual guide. As the leader of the covert and keeper of the Way, The Armorer fits.

If I could draw: The Armorer, framed by her forge, holding aloft her tools, with Mandalorian acolytes. Instead of the crossed keys at the bottom, let’s just have a mythosaur skull.

***

6 THE LOVERS = FROG LADY AND FROG HUSBAND

This should be obvious and I will fight anyone who says it isn’t the right thing to do. I will die for this.

If I could draw: I would actually depart from the Smith depiction and just draw them embracing or holding each other by the arms and staring into each others’ eyes. Some kind of glowing background? Maybe the egg tank?

***

7 THE CHARIOT = THE MUDHORN

Oh. You thought I was going to say the Razor Crest, didn’t you. Don’t worry, I have plans for our beloved craft, but it ain’t here. The Chariot can be a ride, yes, but it’s about victory. Sometimes it’s about the victory over your inner “beastly” natures. To travel to the next phase in the journey, the Fool must take on the beasts that drive the Chariot and claim dominance over them, and when he does, they will carry him to the next level. Since it’s the victory of the beastly mudhorn that brings Din to his bond with Grogu and becomes his signet, Mudhorn for the win.

If I could draw: Again, I’d probably play on Smith’s imagery, put the charging mudhorn in the middle, and replace the rams with Din on his knees brandishing the vibroblade and Grogu in his pram with his Force hand up.

***

8 STRENGTH = CARA DUNE

Don’t come at me about including Cara. I am glad Gina got shown the door and I lose no love on that bigot. But. Cara is not Gina and to cut her out is to cut out Jon and Dave’s creation and I won’t do it.  I actually love her a lot--she’s got her flaws, but she’s sassy and strong and solid, and I would happily accept a piggyback ride from her any day. She’s also a major player in Din’s story and deserves a spot in it. Strength comes after the Chariot--once you’ve conquered the beast within, you have confident dominion over it and it becomes a companion or a tool for your use. Cara is one with her toughness, she’s used it to do some good and bad shit in her past, and she continues to wield it effortlessly and fearlessly. She is absolutely this card.

If I could draw: I would put her maybe sitting on top of the downed ATST. I’d replace the infinity symbol over her head with the one on her cheek (Rebel Alliance).

~~~

9 THE HERMIT = KUIIL

The Hermit is a loner, yes, but in his solitude he looks within, learns from all he’s been through, and becomes wise. He holds aloft a light of wisdom and truth. This was always going to be Kuiil.

If I could drawn: Just our buddy, looking out over the Arvala-7 landscape, holding aloft an in-universe working lamp. No need to get fancy. He would want it to stay simple.

***

10  THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE = IMPERIAL SYMBOL AND STORM TROOPERS

The Wheel is fate. You win some, you lose some. Sometimes you’re on top, and sometimes the Wheel crushes you beneath it. You are helpless to its roll and where you’ll land. Storm Troopers are such a sad bunch. They are keepers of Imperial Law on the ground. On a good day, they capture a Rebel or hold off an attack. On a bad day, their Moff just blasts them to make an example.

If I could draw: The wheel would just be the Imperial symbol and there’d be Troopers on and under it. Maybe the one on top is just standing there, looking authoritative. The one underneath has been blasted. Some Wheels have two more figures--one on each side--and I’d add those too. The one on the down-going side would be falling, arms flailing, blaster shooting (if only sound were available, there’d be a Whilhelm scream), and the one on the up-going side would just be dangling by one arm, along for the ride.

***

11 JUSTICE = COBB VANTH

Well, it just feels right to make the Marshal into Justice. But it’s not just a literal translation of making sure the right thing gets done and the bad guys are punished. Justice is about wiping away emotion and making decisions with bare truth, looking at every side of the situation and understanding what is really there. And I think Cobb fits this well. He doesn’t want to give up his armor because of what it means for the protection of his people. But he’s willing to consider it, if there’s another way he can protect them. Emotionally, he doesn’t want to deal with the Tusken Raiders, but he does it because he can see it’s the best course of action. He flies into battle with the Krayt Dragon. He gives up his armor without a fight. He makes a fair trade and sees the balance in it because he walks away from the emotion and chooses the best course of action. Cobb Vanth for Justice, errybody.

If I could draw: Cobb in the Fett armor, but with the helmet at his feet. In one hand, a bottle of spotchka. In the other, the Tusken mushroom drinky thing; he’s holding them with equal balance.

***

12 THE HANGED MAN = MIGS MAYFELD

The Hanged Man is not just about a dude who’s hanging upside down. (If that was the case, I would have just gone with Gor Koresh and called it a day.) Hanged Man is about changing your perspective to see things in a new way so you can grow. Many times, this growth also requires sacrifice. Over the two episodes we see Mayfeld, we know he goes from Imperial sharp shooter, to traumatized deserter, to merc, prisoner, and exonerated friend. He’s seen some shit, given up a lot, and he’s willing to see how he can be a help to others and find redemption for himself.

If I could draw: Hear me out. Take the image of Mayfeld hanging upside down from the Crest hatch into the prison ship. Mirror that above with an image of him in his Imperial Ground Transport gear. Flip it all upside down so bad Mayfeld up top, good Mayfeld on bottom, images mirrored but inverted, hence “looking at things a new way and getting everything a little topsy-turvey.”

~~~

13 DEATH = MOFF GIDEON

Death is about transformation, so it’s not always the most sinister card. But Death does not discriminate. It comes for us all, constantly stalking, and it will strike you down to serve its needs. You need to face Death to get to your redemption. But really, Gideon is our big baddie here, so why the hell not.

If I could draw: I would forgo the Smith illustration and go for the Marseilles tradition on this one. Gideon and the Darksaber replaces Death and the scythe.

*** 

14 TEMPERANCE = IG-11

Temperance is the transformation that comes after Death. Once Death has chopped your physical being into pieces with his scythe, Temperance is there to take all your pieces and put them back together into something new and better. It’s also a card that asks you to re-evaluate your priorities and see if you can find better motivations than you previously had. IG’s death and reprogramming speak loudly to me on this.

If I could draw: IG pouring the tea.

***

15 THE DEVIL = THE CLIENT

Here’s another baddie card that’s all about your worst faults, about excess and giving into the stuff that will eventually kill your soul. The Client holds on hard to the Empire, doing whatever he’s ordered to do to be one of the top dogs. And in the end, it doesn’t matter. Gideon takes him down like he’s nothing.

If I could draw: The client, wearing his Empire bling, with chains around Doctor Pershing and a rough-looking Storm Trooper.

***

16 THE TOWER = THE RAZOR CREST

I don’t know about you, but Chapter 14 killed me. And not because the Dark Troopers flew away with Grogu. We all knew Din would never stop at getting him back. But when the Crest was destroyed, it was like someone punched me in the soft parts, and I made a lot of severely anguished noises. The Tower is the most tragic card in the tarot. It’s when forces beyond your control make a very big (and usually negative) impact in your life and everything changes. You are left to pick up the pieces and survive any way you can with the skills and resources you’ve been blessed with.

If I could draw: Just that moment of the ray hitting our beautiful Crest, just as it begins to break apart, maybe with Din, Boba, and Fennec watching in horror in the foreground.

~~~

17 THE STAR = GROGU

The Star is hope. It comes after the biggest tragedy in the deck to tell you that not all is lost. There is always something there to live for. C’mon, kids. In this series, there was only one choice.

If I could draw: Just Grogu. Maybe drinking his soup. Or maybe he’s levitating his metal ball overhead, reaching up to it with a smile on his face. *coos*

***

18 THE MOON = BO KATAN KRYZE

We all like Bo Katan, sure. But remember my Clone Wars/Rebels fiends, she was Death Watch, and they were terrorists. She sided with Maul to take over Mandalore. Sure, she’s come a long way and her path is a bit more honorable now, but she’s got an agenda, which makes her hard to trust. Since the Moon is about more feminine energies and has themes of illusion and deception--things look great in the moonlight, but maybe not as they really are--Bo Katan’s our girl.

If I could draw: Head and shoulders profile, double-imaged so you see her face, but her Nite Owl helmet superimposed in profile over it. Nite Owl signet on the bottom. Possibly flanked by her two Nite Owl cronies.

***

19 THE SUN = GREEF KARGA

Everything's sunny when Greef’s around! He’s the feel-good gramps that’s going to make any situation A-Ok! If you’ve got a problem, Greef can sort it out...or he knows someone who can! The sun is always gonna shine on you and take you back.

If I could draw: Just Greef smiling and being cheesy with the halo of the sun around him. 

***

20 JUDGEMENT = FENNEC SHAND

This card traditionally shows the resurrected rising from the grave, ready to be judged. Fennec’s got a lot to answer for in her life, but she is being given a second chance, and my number one girl crush is going to do new and wonderful badass things with it.

If I could draw: I’d either just show her opening her gut pocket to show her new works, all full of aura, with her looking down at it reverently. OR I might do a scene of her being rescued by Boba.

~~~

21 THE WORLD = THE HELMET

Din’s helmet is the world he lives in. But it’s also a symbol of The Way. The World represents completion, a wholeness of self and being, the end of the journey. And since Din is our Fool, his journey is an exploration of his morals and honor, what it means to walk the way of the Mandalore, and what the meaning of the helmet is for him. He may choose ultimately to keep it on and go all-in on Mandalorian-4-lyfe (Child of the Watch style), or he may understand that the helmet is just a symbol and the honor was in him all along; he can wear it or not wear it and it’s all the same.

If I could draw: The World usually depicts a circle or sphere of some kind, the symbol of perfect completion. The helmet is close enough, so it takes up the center. Traditionally, there are four symbols in the corners that give more meaning to The World, and I would replace them with The Razor Crest, Grogu, the Mudhorn Signet, and the pulse rifle or blaster. These represent his home, his foundling, his clan, and his religion, all of which make up more of the whole; what it means to him to be Mandalorian.

~~~~~~~~~~

Challenge accepted and faced. 

Adira dops her witchy mic….

[generallynerdy]

Uncalled they come to me, and told, they still won’t leave me (Din Djarin/Soulmate!Reader)

Spoilers for Chapter 9 (S2E1) of the Mandalorian

Summary: After the ambitious Toro Calican turns on you, his hired mechanic, in hopes of winning favour with the Guild, the mysterious Mandalorian saves your life. Now that you owe him a life debt, he’s stuck with you until you can save him back. It’s not so bad, having a free mechanic and babysitter for the kid, but things take a turn for the worse when both of you realise you might be catching feelings. For someone that might not even be your Soulmate.

Requested by Anon: Hello! How’re you doing? May I please request a Din x reader soulmate au? The one where you don’t see color until you touch your soulmate? It would be very difficult for Din to find his soulmate and I’ve always wanted to see how it played out. If not that’s ok! Thank you and have a wonderful day ❤️

Key: (Y/N) - your name, (h/c) - hair colour, (e/c) - eye colour Translations: vode - siblings, Ret’urcye mhi - goodbye (literally: may we meet again), mirshmure’cya - brain-kiss (Basic term, is Keldabe kiss. This is the soft one as opposed to the literal headbutt term) Asked to be tagged in this disaster: @pearlll09 Word Count: remember when i said this would be 4k? Yeah. It’s 6,478 words. What. The. Fuck.

Author’s Note: this is way longer than I intended it to be but I think u deserve it since u were the only one who saw my post begging for mando requests and actually sent one hksjlfdkj tysm!! I’m so happy I got to write a Soulmate AU for him tbh. Btw, I have it in my head that Yodito would’ve given him the ability to see green, as a familial Soulmate bond, but it wouldn’t work for this if your eyes are green so I just left it out. (Also wtf is up with the Cobb/Din shit, Cobb is clearly in a dedicated relationship with the bartender Weequay. I named them Sala :D) The title is from The Teller of Tales by Gabriela Mistral.

Read On AO3

*

“Do you wear those gloves all the time?”

The Mando gives you a look—one that you can’t read, obviously, but you get the idea that it’s drier than the desert you’re in.

Calican snorts, but you shoot him a glare and he shuts up. You’re only here because he’s paying well for your mechanical skills, enough that his request of an extra hand on his first bounty seemed reasonable. Finding out that he’s hunting Fennec Shand was...less than pleasing, but now that the Mando is onboard, you’re not quite so worried about the outcome. They’re supposed to be fearsome warriors, after all. And he was smart enough to figure out how to wait out Shand, which is what the three of you have been doing for hours.

“I’m just saying,” you continue, “between the armour and the gloves, it must be damn near impossible to find your Soulmate.”

He shrugs. Sort of. It’s kind of hard to tell, to be honest.

“Haven’t you heard the stories?” Calican asks, flopping back onto the sand. “Mandalorians don’t have Soulmates. They start seeing colour after their first battle; war is their only destiny.”

You roll your eyes. They’re folk tales, really, and ridiculous ones at that. Every sentient has at least one Soulmate, romantic, platonic, familial, or otherwise, and there’s no reason for Mandalorians to be any different. Still, the stories make their rounds. There are specific ones, too, like the one about the Mandalorian Jedi who made the Darksaber; he was said to see colour when he lit his weapon for the first time. Fett, too, was said to have seen a new colour with every clone that was decanted—which is mildly ridiculous.

“Maybe the Mandalorians of old,” Mando comments with a scoff. “Not many of us see battle these days.”

“Well, if you’re looking for it, I know a krayt dragon a few hundred klicks away,” you suggest lightly.

He snorts. “No thanks. I’ll take the assassin.”

“Speaking of,” you said, “you guys know I’m just a mechanic, right?”

There’s a pause. Calican nods, but the Mando is still.

“What?” he asks, displeasure in his voice.

“I mean, I’m pretty good with a blaster, but I’m gonna be useless against Fennec Shand.”

Mando whirls on Calican. “You paid a mechanic to be your back-up? Are you insane?”

He shrugs. “(Y/N) has a mean right hook.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Mando huffs. He looks over at you and you can almost feel him glaring through the visor. “Are you crazy?”

“I’m broke,” you scoff. “Same thing. Oh, hey, do you need repairs on that hunk of junk you pilot? I’ll be more thorough than that lady at the hangar.”

He hesitates. “We’ll see.”

You grin. That’s not a no.

*

“You’re a prick, did I mention that?” you hiss over your shoulder.

Calican shoves the blaster into your side. “Shut up and keep walking.”

The Mandalorian stands on the other side of the hangar, waiting for Calican to make his move. Seriously, this day could not be going any worse. After killing Shand, Toro Calican, certified dumbass, decided that kidnapping you and the Mandalorian’s—pet? Child?—passenger was the best way to go. Whatever the little weird thing that’s in your arms is, it’s pretty cute, and you’d rather he shoot you than the baby holding tightly onto your shirt. In fact, he probably will, because the kid is his ticket into the Guild��you’re just dead weight.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now. Huh, partner?” Calican asks the Mando. “Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.”

The Mandalorian puts his hands behind his head. Next to you, Calican pushes Peli forward and instructs her to cuff him. With a huff, she moves behind the Mandalorian with the intent to follow orders.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando,” Calican begins. You consider sighing. This sounds like the start of a villain monologue. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”

In a burst of light, the Mandalorian sets off a flash grenade.

You yelp and tuck the little thing into your arms before tucking yourself over into a roll down the ramp of the ship. You fall into the sand just in front of the Mandalorian, who’s moved to fire a shot at Calican, sending him flying off the other side, smouldering.

Breathing heavily, you sit up, the child still in your arms.

“Are you okay? Is the child?”

You look up. The Mandalorian has his gloved hand held out, offering to help you up. Hesitantly, you take it and pull yourself off the ground.

“We’re both okay—I think,” you say hesitantly, holding the baby out to him. “Is he—?”

“Dead,” the Mando confirms, taking the child from you.

You frown. “Good riddance. Thank you,” you tell him hesitantly, though your tone is genuine.

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

He distracts himself by checking on the child, who coos up at him contentedly. You smile a little at the interaction, but put yourself back into focus.

“It’s not nothing,” you say firmly. “I owe you a life debt.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Where I come from, if someone saves your life, you owe it to them. Until I can save your life, I owe you,” you explain.

“That’s—you don’t need to do that,” he says quickly.

You cross your arms. “It’s like your Way. It’s my culture, my honour on the line. You’re stuck with me, Mando.”

“What? No. Can’t you...pay me, or something?”

“I’m broke, remember?”

“You saved the child’s life, doesn’t that count?”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I rolled with him. You did the work, so, no, it doesn’t count, even though he’s your…” You hesitate, remembering the word. “...foundling.”

“You know, you’re kind of getting the better end of the deal here,” Peli pipes up, directing the thought at the Mandalorian. “A free mechanic, babysitter, and an extra blaster? That’s a bargain.”

“Uh...pre-warning, I don’t know much about child care,” you warn immediately.

He snorts. “Neither do I.” After a moment, he sighs deeply. “Fine. But we’re going to work on those blaster skills before you become a liability.”

“Fair enough.”

*

Sticking with the Mandalorian is probably the worst decision of your life.

Almost immediately after Tatooine, in need of more funds, he drags you into trouble with another group of bounty hunters and the New Republic, of all groups.

“Who is this?” someone asks, her voice sing-song as she enters the Mandalorian’s ship.

You don’t bother turning around, continuing your repairs on a hull panel. “The mechanic. Don’t touch anything.”

“You have a personal mechanic?”

A few people enter the ship, making you finally turn around. The first speaker is a Twi’lek woman and the second a Human, who squints disdainfully. From behind him, Mando pushes past their little crew—including a protocol droid and a massive Devaronian—to approach you, deciding to stand next to you rather than them, which brings you immense pleasure for some reason.

“No. (Y/N) owes me a life debt and, apparently, credits don’t cut it,” he explains shortly, sounding frustrated and exhausted.

You nudge him companionably—it’s an argument you’ve had a few times, the paying of your debt. He doesn’t want to be free of you, per se, but he doesn’t want you to be in his debt. Having that kind of power or hold over you makes him uncomfortable, you can tell, as every time it comes up he gets twitchy.

“Kinky,” the Twi’lek snickers.

You grimace. That would explain why Mando sounds like he wants to die. “Fun group. What’s the job?”

“One of theirs got caught. We’re getting him out,” he says. “And we’re using our ship.”

Our ship. Maybe it’s a slip of the tongue or maybe he’s making it clear that you’re with him, but either way, it brings a smirk to your face. The Twi’lek looks disgusted.

“Well, at least my hard work won’t be going to waste,” you huff.

“Mando,” the Twi’lek interrupts, “you haven’t introduced us.”

You can feel him rolling his eyes. “(Y/N), meet Mayfeld, Burg, Xi’an. Mayfeld is running point, the droid is flying, and the target is a New Republic transport ship.”

“Ugh. You guys better be good; I’m not getting arrested.”

“Mayfeld’s former Imperial,” Mando says before any of them can answer.

You scoff. “A stormtrooper? My shitty blaster skills would be better than his.”

“I wasn’t a stormtrooper,” Mayfeld spits, annoyed enough that he must’ve said it once already. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

All but the droid stay, scattered around the hull. Mando follows soon after the jump to hyperspace, having hovered over the droid while it set their course. He stops Burg from getting into the weapons cache right after he hops down the ladder and the two look like they want to kill each other.

“Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” the Devaronian grunts.

Mayfeld huffs. “Well, apparently, they’re the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say.”

“Then why are they all dead?”

They all laugh at that—Xi’an with a particularly nasal one, which is irritating beyond belief. You frown deeply, but try not to show how pissed their laughter makes you. That sort of shit isn’t to be made fun of; a dying race. It’s all too familiar these days, what with the death of Alderaan and the crater on Scarif.

When you come back into focus, Xi’an is talking in low tones.

“See, I know who you really are,” she says to the Mando.

You roll your eyes. Unlikely.

(Something in your brain goes: I do, which is stupid. You don’t know who he is, under that helmet, sure, but you’ve seen a lot of him through his actions. He’s reckless, terrifying, and a badass, but he’s also patient and...kind, in his own way. The way he treats the child is like nothing you’ve seen in another bounty hunter. It’s gentle, caring. The kid has really grown on him, you think. And the way he treats you is just straight up polite, even though you’re practically his servant in terms of a life debt. Still, he treats you like a person and doesn’t ask you to do unreasonable favours just because he saved your life. He doesn’t hold it over your head.)

And then they start goading him about the helmet.

Burg actually goes for it, which Mando beats him back for. You jump forward, but just as you do, the door to the sleeping cot flies open, revealing the child.

Instead, you rush to the child, pulling him into your arms.

“What is that?” Mayfeld asks, approaching.

“Back off,” you hiss.

He looks between you and Mando. “Wait, did you two make that?” When you scoff, he frowns. “What is it, like a pet or somethin’?”

“Yeah. Something like that,” Mando says quickly.

Xi’an frowns. “Didn’t take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft.”

You snort. Soft. That isn’t a word you’d use to describe him, ever. You haven’t seen very much action since Tatooine, but you saw enough there.

Mayfeld reaches for the child and, without hesitation, you lift your blaster. The way he’s looking at the little guy makes you uneasy.

“Fuck off,” you warn instantly.

“Aw, c’mon, I just wanna hold him,” he teases.

Over the comms, the droid’s voice echoes. “Dropping out of hyperspace. Now.”

The entire ship shudders and shakes, sending everyone flying off their feet. You happen to ram into beskar, your face slamming into the metal, which makes you yelp. The baby wails in your arms as gravity makes to tug you away again. Before it can, Mando grabs your arms and holds you in place against him until the ship is steady once more.

“You okay?” he asks, helping you to your feet—again, you think miserably.

“Ugh, no,” you groan, putting a hand on the left side of your face. “That’s gonna bruise.”

Mando takes the child from you. “Sorry. We’ll deal with it after.”

You wave him off. “I’ve had worse. You worry about the job, I’ll watch the kid,” you say, taking the child back. You can’t help but smile when he coos happily.

“Right,” Mando mutters. For a moment, he watches you both, considering.

“Mando!” calls Mayfeld. “Let’s go!”

Before he goes, he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Be careful. I have a bad feeling about this.” You nod, which seems to appease him, and watch him leave.

Petting the child’s floppy ears, you wonder if he meant that to be as comforting as it was.

*

I should’ve known, Din thinks when Qin walks out of that cell.

I definitely should’ve known, he decides, returning to the Razor Crest to find a sparking droid corpse and a shaking child in your arms.

He tosses the cuffed Twi’lek to the side and rushes to yours, stepping over Zero’s limp form. You look relatively unfazed, for someone who’s just ripped a droid’s head off with their bare hands, but the child is rather distressed. The kid squeaks at the sight of Din and, much to his surprise, lifts your hand to show him.

It’s bleeding.

“What did you do?” Din questions, crossing the hull for his medical kit.

“I...may have tried to punch the droid,” you admit hesitantly. “It didn’t work.”

He scoffs, returning to kneel in front of you with bacta patches in his hands. “No karking shit.”

Your face falls as he reaches for your hand, pulling it toward him so he can patch it up. “It was gonna hurt the kid.”

“You did good,” he murmurs. “Stupid, but good.”

It never occurred to him that you might save the child again. You’re here out of necessity, after all, because you owe him, because your honour depends on paying that debt. The child is just another being in the vicinity, but you still saved him. Again. You’re either very stupid or very kind and he can’t decide which one is more concerning.

“Maybe you should teach me a bit of hand to hand, too,” you suggest warmly, wincing at the bacta’s sting.

Din makes a noise that’s sort of a laugh. “I’ll add it to the list.”

He moves to put bacta on the bruise his beskar gave you—He feels ridiculously guilty for that; here you are, paying off a life debt to him, and he still manages to hurt you—but with a hand, you stop him.

“Don’t waste it,” you say immediately. “I’ve had worse bruises, seriously.”

He frowns. “It’s not a waste.” Before you can protest, he puts the patch on top of the bruise.

You huff. “You’re a worrier, aren’t you, Mando?”

“Apparently,” he replies dryly. He hadn’t realised it, either.

“Will you stop flirting and get us out of here!?” Qin shouts from the other side of the hull. “The New Republic will be on our asses!”

You roll your eyes. “I hate to say it, but he has a point. Where are the others?”

“Dealt with,” he says simply. “It was a double-cross.”

“Well, I figured,” you shoot back with a knowing look. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The drop is easy enough, especially since Din knows that New Republic signal is beeping steadily from Qin’s pocket. He escapes quickly, dipping back into the Razor Crest, where you wait at the top of the ramp, the child hanging onto your boot.

“Let’s go,” he declares, the ramp shutting behind him as he enters.

“Already?” you question with a raised eyebrow. “There are a few repairs I could make out of hyperspace that might be useful.”

He waves you toward the cockpit. “Later. We need to leave.”

“Oookay.” You frown but do as he says, plucking the child from off your foot. “C’mon, little guy,” you mutter to him.

Din waves away all your questions as he starts the take-off. Finally, when the Razor Crest is a safe distance away from the space station and X-Wings appear out of hyperspace, he glances back at you.

“Holy shit!” you cry as they open fire. You look back at him with a slack jaw, which makes him smile underneath the helmet. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, but it’s enough of an answer.

“You’re a maniac, Mando,” you laugh, watching the scene through the transparisteel.

Din thinks over it, staring at you for a long moment. There’s light in your eyes—maybe it’s the reflection of the explosion, but it’s captivating.

“Din,” he says.

You look over. “Hm?”

He clears his throat, trying to shove aside nerves. “My name. It’s Din.”

“Oh. Oh,” you repeat, eyes wide. Then, you smile, more genuine than he’s ever seen from you, he thinks. “You’re crazy, Din. You know that, right?”

He laughs—and that’s the first time you’ve heard a proper one from him. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

*

When Din drops a pair of gloves in front of you, you laugh.

“You’re telling me the gloves are out of convenience?” you ask him disbelievingly.

“The more skin you cover, the less likely you are to get cut up by a vibroblade,” he replies dryly. “Put them on.”

You raise your hands in surrender and take them, slipping them over your fingers. “Surprisingly comfy.”

It occurs to you that this is...sort of a big deal. You’ve kept your hands bare for as long as you can remember, mostly because you’re a romantic and finding your Soulmate has been at the forefront of your mind for a long time. But now, you think, it’s not such a big deal. You have a debt to pay and, besides that, you’re pretty happy with how things are now.

Life isn’t exactly nice with Din and the kid, so to say, but you’re content. You love the child and he adores you. The Razor Crest feels more like home than any planet ever has. And Din is...well, he’s something. Being around him is mildly addicting and whenever he’s gone, something feels incomplete.

“Better?” you ask, lifting your gloved hands.

“Much,” he says. Then, he holds out his own hand. “C’mon, up.”

You take the hand without thought, but before you know it, he’s swinging you around and shoving you to the ground.

“Ow!” you cry. “What the hell, Din?”

He huffs. “Lesson 1: Never take anything for granted.”

“Rude.” You hit his arm meaningfully, but he just rolls his eyes; just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean you can’t tell it’s happening.

“You’ll thank me someday.”

“But not today.”

“Nope. Today, you’re gonna hate my guts.”

*

He’s dying.

It feels unreal, what with everything you’ve watched him survive so far. A newbie bounty hunter, a group of pissed off bounty hunters, lots of bounty hunters, and the New Republic but a group of stormtroopers is what gets him?

Moff Gideon is what really gets him, though. The bastard that helped destroy his people is going to destroy Din Djarin. Hearing him speak Din’s name makes you nauseous, furious, even. He gave you that name in confidence, trusted it to you, the only one of his handful of friends to even use it, and Gideon decides to declare it to Nevaroo in its entirety. It makes your blood boil, enough that you get out of the initial firefight mostly unscathed.

But Din doesn’t. And now he’s dying in your arms and you feel like you failed.

“Go with them,” he tells you, all croaky and half-assed.

“No. No, I’m not leaving you here,” you declare, carefully leaning him against the rubble.

Flames flicker all around the room and the child is crying. It’s not loud or consistent, but it’s enough to break your heart.

“You have to go,” Din says again. “You’ll die.”

You laugh ruefully. “That’s kind of the point. A life debt means I save your life or I die trying.”

A pause.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” he hisses through the pain.

“Afraid not, dumbass. You’re stuck with me, remember?”

He grasps your arm, his hands still gloved. If you’re going to die here, maybe you should ask him to take off the gloves. A part of you has wondered…

“C’mon, tell me it’s transferable—some ‘dying wish’ shit like that.”

You nod, though the action sinks uncomfortably into your chest. Leaving him here...that doesn’t sit well with you. But if he asks, then you’ll do it. “Yeah, you name it, but it’d better be a big one, something equivalent.”

The breath he lets out is one of relief. “Take care of the kid. Go find his people and return him to them. Protect him.”

“With my dying breath,” you swear, the words holding an air of ceremony.

Din grasps your arm tighter and pulls you down, your forehead meeting his helmet. You’re not sure what it means, but it must mean something because he mutters words in his own language, which you’ve never heard him do before.

“Ret’urcye mhi.”

May we meet again.

Din does what little he can in saying goodbye to you, as deeply as that cuts. You’ve grown on him, a little too much maybe, and it kills him to think that you’ll be without him now. You still can’t hit a headshot, he realises, suddenly worried for how you’ll fare.

And so he gives you what he can: a Keldabe kiss and a goodbye, instead of the action he wants to take. He wants to take off his gloves and see if he can figure out the colour of your eyes. On the other hand, though, he doesn’t want to leave you with that, of all things, to leave you seeing the red of his blood and the blue-tinged orange of the flames before any other colours.

You take the child in your arms and, with one last glance at Din, leave the room for the covert’s tunnels underground.

The child whimpers up at you.

You look down, sniffling, and pet his ears gently. “I know, little one. I’m so sorry.” You place a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Cara appears, tugging on your wrist. “C’mon,” she says gently. “We need to get out of here.”

It occurs to you, as the three of you and Greef move on, that Cara might help you with the child. For Din, obviously. She’s a good person and, frankly, she and Din seem pretty friendly. The second she saw you, she’d offered her bare hand and bemoaned the fact that her vision was still black and white, much to your amusement. It was all in good fun, but Din had looked a little uncomfortable, for reasons you didn’t know.

“(Y/N),” Cara says quietly, calling your attention back.

You shake yourself from your thoughts. “Sorry.”

She smiles sadly. “It’s okay. Just keep up.”

The small group turns a few corners before footsteps sound from behind. You immediately place the child in the bag hanging from Cara’s shoulder and draw your blaster, watching her and Greef do the same.

From the distant hall, two figures approach: IG-11 and—

“Din!” you half-cry, half-breathe out. Holstering your blaster, you meet them halfway to take more of Din’s weight from IG. “How—?”

“No living thing can see me without my helmet. IG isn’t alive,” Din says dryly.

You laugh, a partly manic sound. “Thank kark. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

The noise he makes is both amused and resigned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Where’s the—?”

“He’s with Cara,” you say, finishing the thought before even he can, in his groggy state.

It’s safe to say that when the Armourer gives him his sigil, Din almost considers correcting the Clan of two to a Clan of three. He doesn’t, reminding himself that you’re here because of a debt and nothing else, but the thought is there.

*

The months after Nevarro are more peaceful than the first week of your time with Din. 

You finally get to pull a proper sleeping space together for yourself. Well, it’s a hammock in the hull, but it’s better than the seats in the cockpit. The child gets his own hammock, too, though it’s in the cot space with Din. He loves it, so much so that he squeals when he sees it. That’s your proudest moment, for sure.

Most days, you tend to forget that you still owe a life debt. To be honest, it just feels like the three of you are normal. Din takes bounties, you take short mechanic jobs on different planets, and the two of you trade off on child-duty. It’s pretty regular, more than what your life used to be, anyway.

Din is still training you in hand-to-hand and blasters, of course. You’re getting better with the latter, but the first is difficult. On the way to Tatooine, where there’s supposedly another Mandalorian, he decides to have another training session.

“Fists higher, do it again.”

Huffing, you wipe your wrist across your sweaty forehead. It’s easy enough to obey the order—the first part, anyway. Getting into his guard is difficult, though.

One hit, two blocks—there. You slip under his guard and make an abrupt drop to the ground, sweeping his legs out under him with a fierce movement. He goes down in a tumble of beskar, joining you on the floor. As soon as he’s down, you flip over and straddle his hips, an arm over his neck in false threat.

He barks out a laugh. “Much better.”

“I’m not entirely hopeless!” you declare joyfully before bursting into snickers.

Leaning down, you thunk your forehead against his helmet. The gesture is fond, you’ve learned, something shared between close companions—or at least you think. Din told you that it’s called a mirshmure’cya in Mando’a, that it doesn’t have an equivalent word in Basic.

(Which is technically true. Literally, it means brain-kiss, but the outsider term for it is Keldabe kiss. It can be used for close companions—vode in arms, family—but it’s also used for romantic partners, so he’s mildly horrified at the idea of explaining its cultural significance to you and having to face his feelings for someone that may or may not be his Soulmate. He hasn’t gotten up the courage to ask if he can check. Or try to do it discreetly.)

A distant beeping starts up, coming from the cockpit. It’s the approach warning, which means the training session is over.

“I’ll get the kid,” you say, climbing off Din and offering a hand.

He takes it without hesitation, dragging himself up and making a beeline for the cockpit.

Tatooine is about what you remember. That is, it’s dry, sandy, and the worst planet you’ve ever been on. Stepping out of the ship and into the hangar makes you smile, though, at the not-so-distant memory of Din saving your life. It hasn’t been that long, but it feels like it’s been years.

“Oh, hey!” says Peli, after greeting the child—which is fair, he’s adorable. “You’re still with him! Haven’t repaid that debt yet, huh?”

Your face falls. “Uh, no, not really.”

On the way to Mos Pelgo, your thoughts linger on the life debt. One of these days, you’re going to save Din’s life—then where will you be? Will he want you to leave? What will you do if you have to leave? Your old life was nowhere near as interesting as this, nor did you have anyone close to what Din and the child are to you.

The dreary grey slopes of sand only make it easier to think of the worst possible outcomes. Now you remember why you hated Tatooine so much.

You don’t even realise the speeder is approaching the small town until Din taps your arm, which is wrapped around his waist. Jumping at the touch, you loosen your grip sheepishly and glance at the child, who looks like he’s enjoying himself immensely.

After the speeder comes to a stop, you take the kid while Din enters the cantina.

When you enter yourself, you find that he’s about to shoot someone, while the Weequay behind the bar looks rather distressed.

“Perfect timing, as always,” Din remarks without a glance.

You raise your free hand. “You’re the bad luck charm, I’m just here for the ride,” you retort teasingly.

“You brought a kid to a gunfight?” his opponent asks, raising an eyebrow.

Finally, you glance over at him and see why Din looks ready to kill him. He’s in Mandalorian armour but his helmet is off—clearly, he’s not Mandalorian. “You’re wearing beskar and you’re not a Mandalorian, buddy. I think you’re in more trouble than the kid is.”

“He is,” Din gets out, a twinge of viciousness in his voice.

Before they can even reach for their blasters, though, the ground starts to shake.

You grab onto the doorway for support, eyes wide as you grip the child. Din and the Mandalorian poser move toward the door, joining you and staring out at the street outside.

The entire planet feels like it rumbles and chaos reigns outside.

Something is moving the sand—coming toward the town.

“Holy fuck,” you whisper as it goes by, shifting the sand like it’s an ocean rather than earth. It flies out of the ground, sharp teeth the only thing you see as it consumes a bantha whole.

When it’s gone, the poser huffs. “Maybe we can work something out.” He turns to you, offering a hand, which is covered by fingerless gloves. “Cobb Vanth. I’m the Marshal here.”

You take it hesitantly, glad that things are still black and white when you make contact. “(Y/N).”

He notices your hesitation and chuckles. “The Weequay in there is Sala, my Soulmate. I’ll see if they can’t whip up something for the kid; I’m sure he’s starving.”

“Very,” you say, just before he goes to leave.

When it’s just you and Din, you look over at your companion. “Krayt dragon, huh?”

“Yep,” he sighs, already sounding tired.

You laugh. “I know I said I could bring you to one when we met, but I was totally kidding.”

He looks over at you and you can feel the low-level glare behind the visor, but it only makes you snicker. “I hate you.”

“You’re so full of shit,” you retort immediately.

*

You finally get to repay your debt.

It’s not what you’re thinking about when you shove Din out of the way of the krayt’s projectile venom, but it’s repaid nonetheless.

Din doesn’t think of it immediately, either, as he’s rather more concerned with the fact that you’re sent flying across the desert into a pile of debris and sharp rocks.

“(Y/N)!”

Before he can run to you, Cobb grabs his arm. “The dragon!”

To be honest, killing the dragon feels like a bonus when he pulls himself together and figures out a plan. When the great beast explodes, the Tuskens and the villagers cheer, but Din races back to the place he saw you last. He pushes aside the remains of one of those massive weapons they built to find you, laying on the ground. For a moment, panic clutches his heart, but then you groan.

“Am I dead?” you ask.

Din lets out a breath, hardly managing it, as he kneels next to you. “Dumbass.”

“Because it feels like I’m dead.”

“Dumbass,” he repeats, ripping your shirt away to find a deep cut in your side, just above your hip. “Of all the ways to pay your debt—”

You sit up, wincing. “Oh,” you say, as if you hadn’t realised it, “I guess I did that, too.”

Din’s heart is still beating a million klicks a second at how close you were to being dead, but for a second, it flips, realising that you hadn’t saved him just to pay the debt. And then, as he’s helping you off the ground and bringing you toward the others, who have bacta patches ready, his heart sinks.

Your debt is paid. You don’t have any reason to stay with him and the kid. As soon as you get back to the city, he’s going to have to watch you leave.

Shit. He didn’t think this through.

Meanwhile, you’re on the same train of thought. Does he really think you saved him for the debt? Does he want you gone that bad? It makes sense. You’re a pain in the ass, with all the training you need. But...well, you thought he might’ve—

“I’ve changed my mind,” you declare.

Din, terrified, attempts to sound neutral. “About?”

“The worst job we’ve ever taken. This is definitely it,” you huff as he helps you down onto a smoother boulder, taking patches from a Tusken.

He goes to use them, but you raise a hand.

“If you even think about getting near my wound with those nasty gloves, I’m going to skin you,” you threaten.

Frankly, Din is too shaken to even laugh. The silence lays there, stilted, as he removes his gloves and sits somewhat behind you, on another close stone. You’ve taken yours off, too, seeing as one is ripped all the way through.

He’s careful with the bacta patch and his bare hands, making sure not to touch your skin.

Now, of all moments, would be the worst time to find out that you really don’t have a reason to stay.

While he works, he thinks, briefly, that he should say something. “(Y/N),” he starts to say. “I—”

But that happens to be the moment he’s putting the bacta patch on. You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, wincing. Your hand flies out, reaching for something to ground you. Of course, because something out there has it out for you, you grab his hand, forgetting that his gloves are, for once in his life, not there.

You realise, ridiculously, that his hand is warm.

And then the world around you explodes into colour.

The faded yellow of the surrounding desert is overwhelming with how it burns into your eyes alongside the brilliant blue of the sky. The surrounding Tuskens are in browns and greys, simple things, but so, so beautiful to your new sight. You breathe out, a shaky action.

Behind you, Din comes to see the same, but his gaze is stuck on the back of your head—the (h/c) of your hair and how the light catches in it, despite it being a complete mess.

You barely have the breath to gasp, but you do, whirling around to face him.

His beskar is beyond what you’d pictured: a shining, sparkling silver that could stand out on a star. No wonder rooms fall silent at the sight of him.

Din has the same thought about your eyes. On death’s door, all he’d wanted was to know what colour they are and now he knows, but it feels so useless now. He doesn’t even know what to call them. Sure, (e/c) would work, however weakly. You are...something else. You always have been, but now it’s like he can see it, the beauty of who you are so plainly painted into your features.

Din doesn’t even have the time to be afraid of your reaction before the words are slipping out. “I don’t want you to go.”

You just stare at him for a long moment, words processing.

It...kind of freaks him out.

He jumps when you fling yourself at him, arms wrapped around his shoulders in the tightest hug he’s ever gotten. Immediately, he responds, clutching the back of your shirt like it’ll save his life.

“Thank the Force,” you breathe out, just beside where his ear is under the helmet. “I don’t wanna leave.”

Din lets out a breath of relief and tugs you closer so you’re practically sitting on his lap. It can’t be comfortable, but you don’t seem to mind. When you do finally pull away, it’s to press your forehead against his helmet. It sends a swell of affection through him again, your constant Keldabe kisses. He taught you something important to his culture, to him, and here you are, using it without thought.

“Is it too late to tell you that this is the Mandalorian equivalent of a kiss?” he murmurs, more than a little embarrassed.

You laugh softly, arms reaching to rest around his neck. “And I thought you were so cool.”

“I just blew up a krayt dragon,” he argues.

“Oh, you’re plenty badass, Din,” you tease back, “just...not smooth.”

He huffs. “I’m gonna kick your ass next training session.”

A grin comes over your face and, for a second, he can’t comprehend why that would make you smile—until he realises that he just promised a next time. You’d genuinely believed he wanted you gone and Din thought you wanted to leave, but neither of you were right. 

A whine from below catches both your attention.

The child reaches up from the ground, making grabby hands.

You laugh, a noise Din echoes quietly, and pluck him from the ground, holding him in your careful hands. “Hey, buddy. Feeling left out?”

He squeaks a confirmation, his little hands—green hands, you realise, deeply amused—reaching for Din’s helmet. Once he has a comfortable hand, he bashes his head against the helmet.

Din yelps, not out of pain, but concern, grabbing for the kid, who wobbles dizzily.

“Oh, shit—” Din says.

“Woah, woah,” you get out between wheezing laughs. “Don’t do that! His head is much harder than yours.”

The kid makes a weak huff and curls against Din’s chest stubbornly.

“I think that was an attempted kiss,” you suggest to Din.

Underneath his helmet, he grins. Petting the child’s head with a gentle finger, he looks back up at you. “It was cute.”

“Very,” you agree.

Without prompting, Din reaches for your hand again, a little hesitant. You take his gladly, running your thumb across his knuckles, which makes him shiver.

“Clan of three,” he whispers.

You lift your gaze. “Hm?”

“The Armourer, she said, ‘Clan of two’ when she gave me my sigil,” he explains. “I wanted to correct her then.”

The smile on your face is beyond words. “Clan of three has a ring to it. You’re stuck with me for good now, Din Djarin.”

He snorts and raises your hand to his helmet, touching it briefly to the metal in lieu of kissing it.

Tatooine might be the worst place in the universe, Din thinks that it doesn’t matter so much where he is. Sitting here, with you and the kid, he thinks that this might be home.

*

River’s Tags: @hahaboop & @mystoragehatesme

Masterlist

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Dincobb Week Day 2 - Hurt/Comfort (SFW)

Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!

For today I have two pieces, an SFW and an NSFW - the NSFW is scheduled to post an hour after this one. The SFW is the first of the three linked stories - the other two are SFW and NSFW for a finale (but the SFWs can stand alone if you prefer not to read the NSFW one).

Hurt/Comfort - Sunburn and Grief

“Oh, partner,” Cobb says with rueful sympathy. “Look at the state of you.”

Din doesn’t know how his face looks, but from the hot, tight feeling of the skin he guesses it’s much like what he can see of his arms, shoulders, chest — burned crimson. Even his eyelids feel burned, and puffy to boot. He’s feeling pretty angry with himself. Just because he’d been enjoying the newfound warmth of the sun on his face was no reason to decide to take his shirt off and feel it all over the top of his body. It was a dumb impulse and the fact it had felt blissfully good, so much so that after he lay down to bask on the patch of sand behind Cobb’s house that he jokingly calls the garden, he fell fast asleep, did not excuse it. This is his natural punishment, he guesses, for getting into a “nothing matters any more so I’ll do whatever I feel like” state of mind, exacerbated by day-drinking. He’s not sure if the splitting headache is because of the sunburn or more of a hangover symptom. Either way, he knows he deserves it — and he doesn’t deserve how gentle Cobb is being with him, guiding him into the cool shade of the house with a hand carefully on his unburned back.

“You don’t have to look after me,” Din says. “I deserve this.”

“You’re under my roof, so yes I do,” says Cobb. “We take hospitality seriously out here. Sit down.” He guides him into a chair by his kitchen table and looks him over again. “You’re already blistering, you poor dummy. Well, first things first, you’re dehydrated.” He brings him a tall glass of water. “Slow sips, now. You gulp it down and you’re liable to throw up. I once found that out the hard way.”

Din doesn’t want to be fussed over but he still has enough of a wish to survive that he takes the glass gratefully. He takes a first sip to wet his mouth and throat, then another that he tries to hold in his mouth for as long as he can before swallowing. Cobb’s left the room; he thinks he can hear him in the bathroom, opening and shutting the cabinets. It’s so hard to think clearly; his head aches and he’s still not really sober. He can’t think what he should be doing. Is this sunstroke? What are you supposed to do for sunstroke again? He doesn’t think he’s ever been sunburned before, maybe it always feels this awful and he just wouldn’t know. Not really a Mandalorian problem. And he’s not really a Mandalorian now, so it’s become his problem. He drinks the rest of the water, probably too fast, but if he throws up he probably deserves that too.

Cobb comes back with a handful of washcloths and a big jar of something pale yellow and waxy-looking. “Let’s get you cooled down,” he says, and goes about efficiently filling a big bowl with water, throwing in some ice from the freezer, soaking the cloths and laying them spread out on Din’s chest and arms. They feel shockingly cold at first and he flinches, but almost immediately they seem to grow warm from the heat of his skin. Cobb’s humming softly as he does it, a constant soothing sound. “Head back,” he says, and lays a wet cloth over Din’s face, then leaves again and comes back with something that he sets on the table beside him. There’s a click and a whirr and a fan is blowing across his body, helping to chill the wet cloths again. Cobb keeps re-dipping and replacing them. Quiet minutes pass. The coolness is so merciful. Din opens his mouth a bit and sucks some water from the cloth over his face. His lips really hurt, but it’s still comforting somehow. He remembers how Grogu was hellbent on sucking soapy water out of the washcloth whenever he gave him a bath, and the memory stabs him under the ribs. Why does he have to remember stuff like that? Stuff that was annoying and a little gross and worried him at the time, but that he’d now give an arm or a leg to have back in his life?

“Okay,” says Cobb, peeling the wet cloth back from his face, “I want you to drink some more water. I put some rehydration salts in this glass, so it may taste a little funny, but you need the electrolytes or whatever.” Din accepts the glass and drinks, obediently; he’s starting to feel very slightly better physically. “And I bet you have the mother of a headache, so take these too.” He gives him a couple of white capsules to swallow.

“Thanks,” Din says, his voice even more subdued than normal. Cobb is watching him with his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. He looks concerned, which makes Din feel guilty, but also irritable because Cobb doesn’t have to concern himself. Yes, Din asked if he could stay here, but he could always have said no, he can always ask him to leave if he becomes a burden. He should leave, it was so selfish to come here just because he was miserable and didn’t want to be around anyone else. He doesn’t know where else to go, though. He can probably go and find Boba. He would give him a job. He should probably have stuck with him anyway, but he felt like he’d imposed on him a lot already. Or followed Bo-Katan and tried to sort out all the Darksaber political nonsense. Not come here just because he wanted to see Cobb. Because he missed him and wished he could have spent longer with him in the first place. And all he’s done since he got here is act like a depressed asshole. And for reasons unknown Cobb is putting up with it. Yes, he’s a good, kind person, and maybe he feels like he still owes Din for his help over and above giving him the armour, but he still shouldn’t put up with it. Maybe he won’t for much longer. Whatever good opinion Din bought back then must be eroding fast. And that thought stabs at him, too.

“Okay,” says Cobb, taking the washcloths off Din’s left arm, closer to him, resting on the wooden arm of the chair. “This is good for sunburn, windburn, you name it. The all-purpose old-fashioned Tatooine skin balm.” He takes the lid off the jar, scoops out a generous amount on his fingertips, and begins smoothing it onto the burned skin on the back of Din’s left hand. It looks waxy, but it’s so soft that it melts into his skin almost immediately. “Mind you, you’re bound to peel, as crispy as you are, but this’ll soothe the pain and help your skin recover.”

Din’s cracked lips tremble, and if he wasn’t dehydrated he’s pretty sure there would be tears in his eyes. Cobb’s hands are so gentle. Being touched on the sunburn hurts, too, but it’s the gentleness that makes him want to cry. Cobb quietly, patiently, continues up Din’s arm to the shoulder, then moves his chair to do the same on the other side. He’s humming all the while, an old Tatooine folk song, Din thinks. Or for all he knows, last summer’s big pop hit, it’s not like he keeps up with these things.

“Sure do have a lot of scars,” Cobb remarks as he reaches the top of Din’s arm. “Looks like some of these wounds were cauterised.”

“I can’t exactly give myself stitches,” mumbles Din.

“Life’s been like that, huh?” Cobb says sympathetically. “Been there. Things are better now.” His voice softens further. “Things do get better, if you give it time and don’t lose heart. Turn your chair towards me, I gotta get your front.”

When he removes one of the washcloths from Din’s chest, Din takes it from him and drapes it over his face again. Being covered is such a relief, even if he has no right to it now. It’s particularly a relief because Cobb’s hand stroking his belly and chest with soothing balm is… embarrassing. His face would be red even if it wasn’t burned. He’s not used to this kind of physical intimacy with… anyone really. The fact that it’s still somewhat painful to be touched and his head still aches is keeping him from enjoying it in any unseemly way, but he wishes he’d laid down to bask on his front. He could just have a burnt back then. Much less… confronting to have your back touched. Cobb’s hand is stroking his neck now; he’s even burned under his chin, which feels ridiculous.

“Okay,” says Cobb, “I need to see your face again.” He takes the washcloth and Din lifts his head again, but keeps his eyes closed. Cobb begins by smoothing a dab of balm over each puffy upper lid. Now he thinks about it, he must look pretty hideous, not just red but swollen. It’s not the sort of thing he’s used to thinking about, or caring about, but it does bother him a little to have Cobb see him look like this. Gentle but firm fingertips spread balm over his forehead, down his nose, across his cheeks, down to his chin. He must have absorbed enough water by now from the two glasses he drank; tears are sneaking from the corners of his eyes and stinging his skin painfully. He feels Cobb’s thumb brushing balm across his chapped lips, the last place on his face, and thinks that will be the end of it, but then he feels hands cupping the sides of his head, thumbs stroking his temples. “Look at me, Din,” Cobb says quietly.

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes. He isn’t prepared for what he sees in Cobb’s eyes, the tenderness and affection but also the trouble and fear.

“Don’t hurt yourself like this again,” Cobb says. “Please.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Din says, although his voice comes out weird, choked and husky.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Trust me,” he says with a little grim smile, “if I wanted to hurt myself I know a lot more efficient ways to do it.”

“But —”

“If I wanted to hurt myself I could just go out back and eat my blaster. Quick and easy. Roll down the dune and let the wind cover me up.”

“Please don’t talk like that,” Cobb says urgently. “Don’t be so flip like you don’t matter.”

“I — I don’t matter,” Din says. “I don’t matter any more. I — I’m nothing any more,” and then the dam breaks and he’s crying. It hurts, it hurts to stretch the burned skin of his face, it hurts where the tears cut through the balm, but it hurts worst inside his chest, around his heart.

“Oh, no,” says Cobb, and pulls him forward, pulls Din’s head to his shoulder, hugs him close, and Din feels his hands stroke his back, his unburned back where thank heavens, he can feel some real comfort from the touch. He still can’t stop crying. It’s a raw, ugly sound that tears his throat, a stupid, inarticulate a-hur-hur-hur. “No, darlin’, no,” Cobb’s telling him, “you’re so wrong, you matter so much to me, you are everything to me. You don’t know how happy I was to see you. To see your face! Or how broken up to see you so miserable. I wish I knew what to do for you, what to say.”

Din still can’t stop crying, but if he’s ever able to do so, he’ll want to tell Cobb that he’s doing and saying it now.

[mandoalorian]

my time to shine- may i request a cobb vanth x reader 👀👀 maybe a enemies to lovers question mark trope-

for example maybe when din meets cobb, the reader is just like ohmyfuckhessohot but also fuck him for being so cocky i want him underneath me once i pin his arrogant ass down- and like 👀 maybe yk what that happens, and the reader can feel his bulg- 🏃‍♀️💨💨💨 i have nothing but horny thots for middle-aged men in my peabrain- s'ok if you don't do this- just horny thots

By The Fire (Cobb Vanth x Female Reader) SMUT

hiya bae!!! im so sorry this request took SO long to get out but i hope you enjoy it none the less xx

if you have a request feel free to submit it via my ask inbox!

Rating: 18+

Word count: 2k

Warnings: SMUT; close to female receiving oral but not all the way, cock warming, spanking, riding, unprotected (use protection!)

So he was different, and you couldn't figure out how you were supposed to feel about him. If the Maker had just granted you a second alone with Din, you would have spoken to the Mandalorian about him. Din was always good at weighing people up from first glance. You, on the other hand, had always been called 'naïve' and 'gullible'. You tried working on yourself; you really did- and you believed you were improving. But when you met the marshal of Mos Pelgo; he threw you completely of course. You couldn't do anything under his watch. You failed to perform the most basic of the tasks… you couldn't hotwire the speeder bike you had claimed, nor could you manoeuvre the squirming child into his high chair. And it didn't go unnoticed.

Din grabbed your arm and took you to one side. "What is the matter with you?" his question was harsh, and came out as more of a statement. You felt yourself fluster, defensively folding your arms across your chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about." you scoffed and rolled your eyes. Under his beskar helmet, Din was not amused. He narrowed his dark eyes and pressed his lips into a fine line.

"Ever since he joined us, you've been acting off." Din said matter of factly. You felt your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

"Oh," you shrugged nonchalantly. "You mean the Marshal?"

"Yes. The Marshal." Din spat. "Cobb Vanth is an elite. He is smart. He knows what he's doing. And he owes me one. He's going to help us get off this sand-rock of a planet, and then you can finally forget about him. Because that's what it is, isn't it? He's on your mind and it's distracting you."

Maker, he was good. He could read you like a book. Everything Din had said was true, no matter the level of denial that you were in. You stood there, comprehending his words, and after a few prolonged beats of silence, you took a deep breath.

"No." you shakily exhaled, gritting your teeth and pursing your lips together into a pout.

You cursed yourself. You were a bad liar. The worst Din had ever met… and Din had encountered plenty of scoundrels in his adventures across the galaxy. Din didn't answer you. He didn't need to. He knew you well enough to understand what exactly was going on in that little mind of yours. There was no use playing innocent with him.

The Marshal’s eyes were burning into your back. You hated it. You hated him. You hated the way he spoke to you. He over-explained everything, like you were too young and innocent to understand. He was so cocky and so arrogant. You tried your best to devise an efficient way to get off Tatooine, with his help, but he just kept shutting you down. You couldn't understand it. He wouldn't listen to you, and it irked you so much.

You hated the smirk that graced his lips and that sultry gaze he shot you from across the cantina as he sipped on his spotchka. You hated the way it made you feel. You hated the burning sensation that erupted in the pit of your stomach and the way you'd have to press your thighs together in order to suppress the need for some kind of sexual release. Never in your life had you met a man who could do so much to you, without doing much at all.

"I'm going to travel to the sand dunes, and I'm taking the child. Hopefully I can find some jawas who will trade parts with me. Then we can get started on the Crest's repairs and get off this planet." Din informed you. "I need you to wait here with the Marshal, make sure he doesn't do anything suspicious while I'm gone."

"I thought you said you trusted him," you knotted your eyebrows together. "That he 'owed you one'."

"He does owe me one. I just don't know if he's a man of his word." Din sighed before spinning around on his heel and walking towards the speeder bike with the child. Pft, a man of his word. That scoundrel? Not a chance.

Nights on Tatooine were warm and humid, as you had found out. The Marshal, who you had learned was named Cobb Vanth, had told you to collect sandwood from the outskirts of Mos Pelgo and bring them back to his hut. You did so, begrudgingly following his instruction, and watched him make a fire.

There was something so erotic about the way his biceps flexed as he quickly rubbed each piece of wood together, trying to ignite a flame. Beads of sweat laced his hairline as he concentrated, occasionally squinting to see if his attempts had made a spark. It didn't take long before Cobb created a roaring campfire. It was nice, amber embers floating through the air as you perched yourself on a log. Cobb discarded his armour and sat opposite you.

The atmosphere was nice and…. sensual. The only thing was, neither you or Cobb hate uttered a word to each other since you came back with the sandwood. It would've been awkward if there wasn't the undeniable sexual tension in the air. You were the first to speak.

"I don't know if I trust you." you said, immediately regretting the words after they departed your lips. There was a beat of silence.

"Smart." Cobb smirked, and you felt yourself swell up with more fury. His voice was so rich. You hated it. You hated it.

"You hardly think I am smart when you've refused to listen to me all day." You tsked, shuffling closer to the fire and warming yourself up. "My plan wasn't flawed. If you had just listened to me, me and the Mandalorian could've been off this wretched hive hours ago."

Cobb nodded his head slowly. "You're probably right."

"So what's your deal?" you groaned, tossing your hair back and closing your eyes.

What a sight. Cobb admired your stretched out form, his eyes boring into the skin of your chest and up the length of your neck. You had ditched your cloak, leaving it to just crumple by your feet. You were glowing. Cobb was sure you were the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen enter Mos Pelgo; and he wanted to prove that to you in some way or another. When you opened your eyes, Cobb was on his knees, in-between your legs.

He looked up at you, his eyes completely lust blown and he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. He looked primal. He needed you. "Wasn't listening to your stupid plan because I didn't want you to leave so early." Cobb admitted, his voice gruff and hoarse.

He wanted more. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he had been trying to weigh you up as well. What was your deal? Were you courting the Mandalorian? Surely not. There was no denying the tension between you two. The cod piece of his armour had hid the erection you had given him all day. He shamefully had to relieve himself in the restroom of the cantina. He just couldn't get enough of the way your lips twisted around the fruit you sucked on, and the way your eyelashes framed your doe-like eyes.

He placed a big hand on the inside of your thigh, where your skin was as soft as cream, and pushed your tunic up, exposing your panties. You stiffened up under his rough touch. This was exactly what you wanted. There were no signs of Din or the child. It was just you and Cobb Vanth. He shuffled closer to you and began to plant sloppy kisses along your thighs. You hummed in delight as his greying stubble tickled your skin and you felt him smirk against your body. That damned smirk.

You ran your fingers through his locks of hair, occasionally tugging. His groans under your touch vibrated through your core and left your panties ruined from arousal. His lips nudged against your clit, only the thin material of your underwear gating his tongue from your cunt. You craved him so desperately. You needed him inside you. But he was teasing.

"You've been calling the shots all day." You whimpered as he licked a stripe down your pussy. You went to pull your panties off but his large hands stopped you.

"I always call the shots." he growled in your ear sending shivers down your spine.

"Not tonight." You smiled, tugging on his hair and pulling his head away from your core. You stood up, taking extra care not to stumble and fall into the fire, and dragged him to his feet. You pushed him onto the log where you had been sitting and sat on his lap, wrapping your legs around his waist and straddling him.

And oh Maker, he was hard. You could feel his entire length throb and press against his stomach as you grinded your hips, slow at first. Achingly slow. Cobb lowered his hands to your waist and pulled you closer to his chest, desperate for you to increase your speed. "More." he gasped, nuzzling his head into your neck and biting down into your skin.

Your grip on him tightened. You wanted to go slow; and tease him for as long as possible. He deserved it. You wanted to edge him until he was crying out your name, begging you to let him cum. But you needed a release too. Fuck, you needed him. You placed your hands on his shoulders and hovered over his lap. "Pants off." you commanded, to which he happily obliged.

Within seconds, the Marshal had pulled his pants off. You spat into the palm of your hand, saliva dripping amongst your fingers and grabbed his length, rubbing it as you slowly sank on top of him.

He was big. He was so big. His cock throbbed inside you. It stretched out your walls and you could feel every vein. You held yourself on top of him for a few moments as you adjusted to his length. Cobb dipped his hand down and began to circle your clit a few times, earning a few delicious moans.

It wasn't long until you were balls deep into him. His cock was amazing. As you began to ride him, you realised it curved in just the right place, and with every thrust, he hit your sweet spot. You knew you wouldn't last long. "Fuck, so good," Cobb grunted as you bounced on top of him. "Such a pretty girl."

"Don't wanna leave," you gasped. "Wanna feel your cock fill me up every day. Wanna feel you cum inside of me. Please."

"Keep doing that." The Marshal urged, his hands pressing into the small of your back. "I'm close."

"Want you to fill me up, make a mess of me." You were practically screaming, tears pricking your eyes as he began to buck his hips upwards, his thrusts meeting yours.

"Yeah? Such a good girl for me, aren't you?" Cobb cooed and you let out a little squeal as he spanked your bare ass- the sound echoing through the desolate village.

He drove you straight to your climax, your cunt clenching around him, tight like a vice, which sent him to his own orgasm. His load shot up inside of you, sending bolts of pleasure into your body. He pressed his forehead against your chest as your rhythm became more slow and sloppy until eventually he softened inside of you. Reluctantly, he pulled out, and you whimpered at the lost feelling of him.

"Next time you find yourself on Mos Pelgo, I'll be the one calling the shots." he growled, biting down on your ear lobe.

Permanent taglist (let me know if you would like to be added!):  @supernaturalgirl666 @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic

[captainkappa]

Fanfic:: Falling

Besides, leaving means going back to an empty ship. Leaving means counting down the days until he saw Grogu again. Leaving means counting down until he could come with a good enough excuse to come back to Tatooine.

Din doesn’t want to leave. Not just yet.

AO3 Link

Do you remember this post I wrote about Din Cobb going to see Space Cherry Blossoms? Well I wrote a whole fic about it! It’s pure fluff and pining, I hope you enjoy!

And a huge thanks to @staranon95 for betaing!

-=-=-=-=-=-

“Do you want to go for a ride?”

Din hasn’t meant to offer it. He knows that opening that gate would open others, but in the shade of Din’s new ship the  Mudhorn , Cobb leaning against his speeder to say good-bye, it slips out. During the job this time, Cobb had finally put into words Din had suspected, that he’d had never been off Tatooine, which isn’t that surprising when you consider the culture of Tatooine is scraping by for your next meal.

Cobb freezes for a moment. “You sure? You don’t have someplace to be?”

“No, I can spare a few.”

He’s not wrong. He’s not on contract from the guild, he probably has a couple of days before Bo-Katan contacts him again for the saber, his calendar is blissfully free. Besides, leaving means going back to an empty ship. Leaving means counting down the days until he saw Grogu again. Leaving means counting down until he could come with a good enough excuse to come back to Tatooine.

Din doesn’t want to leave. Not just yet.

The smile that Cobb has threatens to blind him. “Alright, lemme comm the town, tell them I’ll be back a little later.”

Cobb steps away and Din takes this as his chance to take a breath. He’s doing this, he’s just going to bring Cobb up to see a brand new planet then back to Tatooine before Mos Pelgo can miss him.

That’s it.

He lowers the ramp and packs up the supplies he got while on planet. It’s busy work that he can use to distract himself from thinking about how Cobb fought today, ruthless in the face of the slaver camp they came across, how the new durasteel armor hugs him in all the right places. Taking inventory should prevent his thoughts from drifting to how Cobb tilts his head back to laugh, the way he smiles when he gets an idea, and how he held out his hand to help Din up after the fight was over.

That is, until a thought pops into his head. Not only a thought, a planet, a planet he thinks he might want to show Cobb, someone who’s only used to the sand plains of Tatooine. He none so gently kicks the final crate into the hold before going to the cockpit. He plugs the coordinates in, just to see how the hyperspace lanes look.  

He blinks at the screen showing them optimal for a quick trip. No traffic, no anomalies sending them off course. It’s the perfect storm for space travel.

He glances at Cobb, still talking with Jo or Issa-Or. He turns back and pulls out a busted datapad and checks one more thing about the planet in mind.

He was right; it’s peak season.

He leans back in his chair, allowing himself to be selfish and look at Cobb. Is this the Force? He’s had conversations with his son’s teachers since he got his frequency and he still doesn’t understand it entirely, but is this what the Force is? Pulling him to this conclusion that it’d be a crime to pass on the opportunity?

His thought process is interrupted by Cobb’s light steps up the ramp. His eyes wander the whole breadth of the ship, drinking it all in, before finally landing on him. His gaze is so bright, Din has to fight the urge to fidget.

“Alright, so what’s the plan, partner? Quick trip up and down?

“Actually, if you have time,” he starts, sounding more confident than he feels, “there’s a planet not too far away we could visit.”

Cobb tears his gaze away from the hull to look at him, eyes full of restrained emotion.

“Really?”

Din swallows, not knowing why his throat feels so dry. “Yeah. There’s a hyperspace lane freed up. Two hours there and back.”

“That easy?” And Cobb clamps his lips shut and Din can see where he’s coming from. The freedom of space is enticing. He’d be lying if there hadn’t been a day or two in his youth when he just wanted to forgo a bounty to just explore.

He nods, giving Cobb the time to consider.

“Two hours?” he parrots and Din nods again. Cobb considers this for only a moment before saying, “Ah, what the hell, once in a lifetime opportunity, right?”

“Alright.” Din hopes Cobb can’t tell how hard he’s smiling as he starts up the ship.

The ship rumbles beneath his feet, a familiar sensation. Cobb, on the other hand, jumps five feet out of his seat when the ship around them starts to move.

“Sorry,” Din says before Cobb can get a word in edgewise. Should’ve thought of that. “I’m gonna have us start climbing now, okay?”

Cobb manages a nod. Din pulls up on the controls and the ship is airborne. He lets the control tower know they’re leaving before pushing the ship to accelerate to break the atmosphere. He keeps turning his head to face Cobb, whose eyes are plastered to the viewport.

This time he warns Cobb what he’s doing, trying to remember how it felt the first time he entered hyperspace.

“It might… feel weird,” he explains as he plugs in the hyperspace coordinates.

Cobb snorts. “Very descriptive, partner, thank you kindly for the warning.”

Din huffs out a laugh before pulling the lever back, watching as the familiar blues of hyperspace fill the cockpit window. There’s a sudden gasp from his left and he turns to look at Cobb, to make sure he’s okay.

He hasn’t been expecting tears. Silent, quiet tears falling down Cobb’s cheeks. It makes Din’s throat close up with want. What he wants, he’s not sure. Want to bring Cobb with him? Cobb wouldn’t want that with his roots already set down in Tatooine; the politics of Mandalore wouldn’t appeal to him.

Or at least, that’s what Din tells himself, avoiding any consideration of the opposite because what if it wasn’t that Cobb wouldn’t leave Tatooine, but that he wouldn’t leave  with Din .

Din has had too much heartbreak for one lifetime. He doesn’t think he could handle much more.

He tells Cobb he’s free to wander the ship, but Cobb just nods, eyes transfixed. Din settles in himself. He’ll leave the cockpit if Cobb asks, but he really hopes he doesn’t.

-=-

As predicted, the flight is short and soon they are out of hyperspace. From space, the planet is a motley of colors, but Din angles for the dot of pink that grows larger and larger as they enter the atmosphere. Cobb’s eyes never leave the viewport as the planet widens before their eyes, details coming into focus. First, its coastlines, then mountains that disappear with the curve of the planet, then the natural borders of biomes, then thick forests of multicolored trees, until they arrive at the patch Din had thought of.

They touch down on a flat patch of earth, no official landing strip for miles. Din flicks the last switch before turning to Cobb. His eyes haven’t left the window, hands in fists in his lap.

“Cobb?”

Cobb jumps, turning to his voice.

“Are you ready?”

Cobb blinks. “We can head on the planet? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Din says, standing up. “There’s no major space port here, mostly uninhabited on this side. We’re not breaking any laws.”

The other man chuckles. “Not worked about law breakin’.”

“Then c’mon. There’s more to see.”

He nods and falls in step with Din, wide eyes never leaving the tops of the trees. Din allows himself a moment to look as well. The trees stand at least another person taller than both of them, branches full of fluffy bright pink blooms. Even with the branches looking as full as they are, there’s a thick carpet of pink under their feet, decompressing with every step.

Cobb finally breaks his silent awe. “Are they…always this color?”

Din shakes his head. “The flowers fall and grow back a different color for each season. Last time I was here they were blue.”

Cobb breaks away from their twinned steps to walk up closer to one of the trees. Din watches as he feels the bark between his fingers, reaches up to feel the silky textures of the petals and Din’s heart seizes with what could be; traveling together and visiting planets Cobb could never conceive of. Din wants to hand the galaxy to Cobb and ask where he wants to go, because if there is one person who deserves a little reverence and adventure, it’s Cobb, who cares so much for the people around him but so little for himself.

“Wait for me,” Din says, as he nearly loses sight of the man.

“We just landed on an alien planet, and you want me to wait?”

“Don’t want to lose track of you. I could easily mistake you for a tree.”

Cobb snorts, pushing on one of his pauldrons before breaking away, keeping a closer distance this time.

A breeze blows through and shakes the branches, loose petals are thrown into the air, twisting and twirling in the air, but Din only has eyes for Cobb. Cobb, with eyes wide, head tilted up to try and take it all in. Gentle pink petals catch in gray hair and that red scarf and Din can barely breathe for a second.

“It’s beautiful,” Cobb says, his gaze to the sky.

“Yeah,” Din says, eyes never leaving Cobb.

Cobb’s eyes sweep the valley before stopping on him.

He stifles a laugh. “I think you have some petals in your…”

Din looks down and sees the petals have caught in the junctures of his armor.

“Here, lemme help you.”

Din looks up and Cobb is suddenly much closer, fingers brushing in the spaces between armor, where the flight suit suddenly feels as thin as silk for all it keeps out the heat of Cobb’s fingers.

“There we go,” Cobb says with one last brush of his fingers.

“You too.” Pink dots Cobb’s salt and pepper hair. Before Cobb can move and before Din can properly think his actions through, he’s bringing gloved hands up to Cobb to gently brush the petals away. He’s thought of this before, but without the gloves on, hands lingering in the gray strands, wanting to know if they’re as soft as they lookl, or are there grains of sand lost between them?

Cobb’s eyes close for a moment and Din takes the second to drink him all in, at the freckle under his eye, the way his hair has shifted in the breeze. It’s only for a second before he’s looking into familiar hazel again.

And Din realizes just how close they’ve gotten.

“C’mon,” Din says, clearing his throat when his voice comes out rougher than he anticipates, “One thing I want to show you.”

Cobb’s face breaks into a familiar grin. “Something else? Mando, I’m startin’ to feel spoiled.”

You deserve it.

Din takes a step back, nodding, before gesturing to follow him. He leads them through the seemingly endless forest, guided by muscle memory of the last time a bounty brought him here and his HUD showing how the terrain changes.

It’s a short walk from where Din remembers it, the lake where he finally caught that bounty. The water is covered in petals so that it nearly blends in with the ground. Din pauses just before the ground turns to mud. He turns to explain the circumstances of finding the place, when he realizes Cobb is still walking forward.

“Wait!” Din throws out a hand to grab him by the elbow pulling him back. Cobb is immediately on alert, thinking there’s something dangerous. Instead of explaining, Din pulls a rock from the ground and throws it into the lake in front of them. The impact sends the petals on the surface rocking in the waves, revealing the dirty green water they had been covering.

Cobb blinks, staring at the ripples.

“Maker,” he whispers. “I ain’t never seen that much water, let alone covered like that.”

Din nods. Silence descends like the falling flowers as he lets Cobb explore the area, throw more stones into the lake, and watch how the petals shift on the lake.

Suddenly Din is reminded of something his buir taught him, back before the covert had relocated to Nevarro, when they were on a grassy planet with what felt like a million lakes.

He looks down at the shoreline and it doesn’t take long to find what he’s looking for.

“Cobb!” His head snaps up, rock slipping from his fingers to crash near his feet. Din bites back the smile on his face as he says, “Watch this.”

He crouches down, curls his finger around the flat rock in his hand, and lets it go. It skips twice on the water before disappearing. Cobb crows in delight at the first skip, eyes glued to its movements.

“What kind of Mando training lets you do that?”

“That’s not Mandalorian training,” Din says, helmet already tilted to find another rock. “Besides, that was shit. I can get nine skips on a good day.”

“Bantha shit,” Cobb says and Din looks up and sees a smile that looks like a challenge.

“Well, with the flowers in the way-”

“No, no, no backpedaling now,” he points a determined finger in Din’s direction. “You promised me nine skips, I want to see it.”

“Alright,” he says, stooping down to really start looking for the perfect rock. He pulls off his gloves in the process, sticking them in his belt.

He stands up with a couple of decently flat rocks. He weighs the first in his hand, before dipping low and letting it fly. It gets five skips before slipping underneath the surface. Cobb lets out a low whistle.

“Here,” he says, handing a stone to the other man. “Try it.”

Cobb hesitates only for a moment before taking the stone, fingers brushing. Din coaches him through the movements, shaping his fingers around the stone, showing him how to get the right angle by crouching down low.

Cobb’s eyes never leave his hands, but his first throw sinks like a rock. Din gets a good six skips.

“Try again,” Din says, already handing Cobb a new rock before he can let loose the expletive he knows is behind his tongue.

The sun is low in the sky, casting a warm red light over them by the time Cobb can skip the stone more than once and Din can get a stone to skim the water ten times before going under. The look Cobb gave him when he finally got a stone to skip once is one Din knows he’ll remember for a while.

The walk back is quiet, both men exhausted after a long day. Was it just this morning that he and Cobb flushed out a group of slavers? Can a day feel so long and yet so short?

What if he has more days like this?

He shakes his head as the ramp to the ship lowers. They’re friends, that’s all. He’s not about to mess up a good thing, one of the rare good things he’s managed to hold onto since giving up Grogu.

He’s about to step up when he feels a hand on his arm. He stops and turns to face Cobb, who looks so earnest in the light of the setting sun, it hurts.

“Din, thank you.”

“It’s no-”

“No, really. Thank you, for all of this. I never… I used to dream about leaving Tatooine as a younger man, but I-I could never think of anything like this.”

Din nods, because if he tries to clear his now dry throat, tries to string two words together, he’s going to regret it. He’s going to say something like “stay with me” or “can I go home with you” conversations that will end in disaster.

Or at least, that’s what Din tells himself as he watches Cobb walk into the ship. Din lets out a steady breath before following.

Take off goes smoother this time, Cobb being more prepared for the feelings and sounds. This time, Cobb breaks his gaze from space to ask about the ship, how it functions and its name.

Space travel has never felt so fast. It feels like the next minute he’s bringing the ship down onto the familiar yellow sands of Tatooine.

The ramp of the  Mudhorn  lowers, a small puff of sand kicks up. Neither man moves.

“Well, until next time, Marshal.”

“Of course, don’t be a stranger. And thank you, again.”

But still, neither one of them moves. Din’s about to ask if something’s wrong when Cobb steps close.

“Please don’t tell me I’m reading this wrong.”

Before Din can ask, Cobb reaches for his hand, bringing it up to his mouth so fast it looks more like he’s punching himself with Din’s fist rather than kissing his knuckles. Cobb pulls back just as quickly, back ramrod straight as he takes Din in.

“Don’t feel obligated-”

“I’m not-Maker, you are dense sometimes, aren’t ya?” Din’s about to contest that but Cobb keeps going. “I’ve damn near been in love with ya since you flew out of that dragon’s mouth! Your visits make my month and I… I wouldn’t be opposed if they weren’t always for business.”

“Cobb-”

He makes to pull back. “If I misread the situation, then my apologies, but-”

Din squeezes tight on his hand. “You didn’t.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, I… I don’t show just everyone planets full of flowers.”

Cobb breaks into a grin. “Well next time you take me out on a date, let me know it’s a date so I can get dressed up.”

Next time . Din likes the sound of that.

“It’s a date.”

[leiainhoth]

Work summary: For so long, Din fought the reality of giving the child up, giving him to the jetii and moving on. He had prepared for it, packed a bag and left it all behind, so his son could have the life he deserved. All until he didn't have to. Or the one where Luke rescues Grogu on Tython, and Din rescues Luke in return.

Chapter summary: Din, Luke and Cobb Vanth enter Mos Espa in search of the Marshal 

... 

Din, Luke and Vanth walked into Mos Espa side by side.

Despite the heat of the day, Din couldn't help the cold chill that crept up his spine as they approached the outskirts. There was something he couldn't put his finger on, something or someone who didn't belong there.

He looked over at Luke, standing tall and proud in the trousers and tunic he had worn under his flight suit. His  jetii'kad  hung on his belt, not quite as a threat, but who would've suspected him otherwise? His hair was loose and bright in the wind, long against the nape of his neck. His face was relaxed but alert, the long line of his throat hidden behind the high collar of his tunic. Din felt the stain of his blush, the warmth flooding his belly as he thought back to before, that night, this morning, the lolling weight of his  jetii  in his arms before he carried him to bed.

Din couldn't put into words the swelling weight of perfect happiness with Luke so close to him. He had wanted so desperately to sink into this with him, to let himself be still. But it was late, and his  jetii  needed his sleep. Surely, he'd be more comfortable in his tent, not covered in sand and laying on the ground. Din took a moment, many moments, to just look. To run a finger up Luke's jaw, to trace the line of his eyebrows, the softness of his hair. He let himself be still with Luke, to take in all that he was, all that they could be together if they wanted to. The child was asleep, tucked into Luke's shoulder, and something in Din's heart spilled forth with the sight. His son, his  ad'ika , the second member of his clan of two so comfortable with this new man in their lives. Grogu's little hand was tucked into Luke's, heads close together as if they were dreaming the same dreams.

The blankets around Luke were tangled around Din as well, and Din fell back against his elbow, relishing the feeling of Luke's legs between his own, breath shared in the space between them… it would be selfish to stay. Luke needed his rest; he'd be more comfortable on his own, tangled in his own sheets and tucked into his own bedroll; safe, warm, protected. Din wanted that for Luke; he wanted that and more and all the things he couldn't admit to even himself…everything warm and soft and safe was with Luke now.

Slowly, regretfully, Din reached his hands beneath his  jetii  and knelt down, raising his helm just above his lips, and as if it was a secret, a prized gift, Din leant down and brushed his lips against Luke's jaw.

He was soft, and even in sleep, responsive to Din's touch. Something warm and bright brushed up against Din's consciousness… Din wanted his  jetii  to know, wanted him to understand…that even if Din never said it, never admitted it…

It was there, all the same. Growing, expanding, swelling with time. This feeling wasn't leaving. The memory of his lips against the scruff of Luke's jaw would stay with him forever.

Din had shut his eyes tightly, clenching his hands as he bent on one knee and lifted his  jetii  into his arms. Luke held tightly to Grogu, and Din held tightly to Luke, marvelling at the sight of Luke's body tucked so closely to Din's chest. Din lowered his chin, nuzzling Luke's neck as they walked…wishing beyond his austerity, his creed, his  word  that this would be enough for him. Knowing that he couldn't give himself to another without marriage, without a vow, without express permission. This love wasn't fit for the daylit hours, and something in Din's heart spilled forth with the thought… the very  idea  of a marriage bond with Luke awakened something he thought had long since died. To be bound to someone like him…to love him, to let his  jetii  see his face as part of his clan,  kriff,  he wanted that more than he had words to say.

He walked carefully, moving around the blankets and loose stones, climbing the rise of the embankment. Luke's head was soft against the crook of his throat, his breath euphoric against Din's skin. What would it be like, for Luke to see him? For them to see one another in the light of day, bound together forever?

What would it be to no longer be alone... for Luke to stay with him always?

Din hesitated at the edge of the embankment, their two tents sitting like sentinels on the rise. What would it be like to wake up next to Luke? To watch as his eyes blinked open, as his body stretched in the early hours of the day? What would it be to allow himself to be happy? To be still? To take what had been offered with two hands, to hold tight and not let go? What would it be to bring his jetii into his bed?

Din hesitated longer than what was honourable, considering dangerous thoughts such as these. Luke was a man grown, a  jetii,  and despite the swell of love, of affection, he couldn't bear the thought of Luke's discomfort. He deserved all that he had, all that he could give.

It was with mixed feelings that Din lay his  jetii  down on his bedroll, but other, far more gentle and warm intentions that he lay blanket after blanket on top of him, behind, around. He deserved to be comfortable; Tatooine was so cold at night. He'd give his  jetii'ad  all that he had for him to be safe and happy forever.

He looked so peaceful, so comfortable, bundled in blankets and lying beneath him that it took everything in Din to leave, to tie the ties and walk away. He pulled the baby from Luke's shoulder, the child squirmed in his arms, unhappy to be out in the cold. But Din took him into his tent and bundled Grogu close, pulling his eyes closed and the blanket tight with a broad smile on his lips.

The morning had been easier, and Din had hesitated for many moments between the fire and Luke's tent, two bowls of oatmeal in hand and the child in his arms. He wasn't sure, things seemed so much more complicated in the light. He was glad he had shown restraint; would he have regretted it had he done what he had wanted if he took Luke in his arms and slept by his side? Would Luke?

Vanth had given him a push, both verbally and physically, in his  jetii's  direction before he gave himself leave to move.

And he was grateful for it.

Removing his helm had been easy, easier with Luke's rush of breath as he set his  buy'ce  in the grasses. He wondered what his  jetii  was thinking as he spoke, as they sat together and ate breakfast side by side. Was he anxious? Nervous? Surely waves of this and more flowed from him like mist, but he was happy, too. A shock of bright light flowed through their bond as Din rested his hand on Luke's, as they sat together in the sunlight with the baby on his lap.

Din shook his head, the pleasant memories distracting him from the present. He tried to look away, to close his mind to the bright onslaught of their bond and focus on the matter at hand. No matter how much he didn't want to.

Vanth had explained his relationship to the Marshal of Mos Espa on the path here. They had met on a scouting mission some ten standard ago, on the outskirts of town. He thought he was alone, heading in the direction of Mos Eisley for supplies, and she had helped to make a favourable bargain with the Jawas in exchange for information. Tatooine was still occupied by the Empire, and she had heard whispers of the burgeoning rebellion and wanted information on their whereabouts.

"I told her that last I had heard, the Alliance was stationed on Dantooine," Vanth had told them with a sigh. "I heard it off a pilot deep into his cups in the cantina in Mos Espa, years prior. I wasn't sure if it was true, but it was the best that I had. She had a brother there, she told me; he'd been missing for years. He'd been recruited, and she wanted to find him.

"She told me that she was Mos Espa's leader when we got into town, and we parted ways. I haven't heard hide or tail of her since."

"What about the supply runs?"

"She's a busy woman," Vanth said with a sigh. "I know she's still around, but peace is best maintained with distance. We make our trades and go on our way. I wasn't planning on attending this last supply run, but here we are,"

Din rested a hand over the child's head. He knew that Grogu was uneasy; his mind was swimming with thoughts and images and feelings. And when Din concentrated, he could feel how afraid he was. Din let his mind settle, putting his own fears to one side as he focused on the bond with his son, letting it fill him, overwhelm him. He pressed a hand to his little body and sent him waves of love, of protection, of assurance that no matter what happened, he wasn't going to be alone again. They had Luke now, Vanth now. It wasn't just him anymore. If anything happened…

Nothing will happen,  he thought with a desperate sort of conviction, a prayer to the  Manda  in the hopes that the old gods would hear.  All will remain just as it is, I promise.

The baby gurgled contentedly, and Din slipped away from their bond. His mind felt strangely empty without it, without Grogu's bright flashes of colour dotting his thoughts.

As they passed the outskirts, Vanth had flipped the first moisture farmer they came across a few credits, handing her the reins of their bantha's and parking the speeder bike next to a vaporator. They wouldn't need them, not where they were going. If the outcome of their meeting with the Marshal was favourable, they could continue to Mos Eisley first thing in the morning. If not, a speedy getaway would be impossible without transport.

The air was still, and the growing sounds of Mos Espa rang in his ears. From a distance, the city was a maze of tunnels and serpentine streets. The buildings were close to one another, low to the ground with domed roofs, the same pale stone and baked clay of Mos Eisley and Mos Pelgo. But as they approached, the city felt tight and close, an overwhelming cacophony of smells and noise. From their stalls, merchants shouted out their wares, crockery, clothing, spices. Droids from the Empire and the New Republic moved throughout the crowds, and the smell of roasting bantha meat filled the air. Smoke hung low in the busy market, and more than one thin and ragged young person sat beneath tents with bits of scrap in their hands, resigned to clean and trade what they had found.

Luke had told Din that Mos Espa had once been a slave port, that his father and grandmother had been traded there for credits years ago. A bitter taste flooded his mouth as they walked past; many were hardened from work, but they were young, faces and bodies stretched in burgeoning youth. They had the look of starvation about them, and Din pinched his eyes closed and forced himself to move on.

Luke wasn't sure if the slave trade still existed, he hadn't been to Mos Espa in almost a decade, and even Leia had little information on the subject. His voice was tight as he spoke, his own views on the subject painfully obvious. Slavery had been born from neglect and Imperial ambitions; Tatooine was isolated, a dustbowl in the Outer Rim, never fully controlled by the Republic or the Empire. But now, the war was over; and Din hoped with everything in him that slavery had died with it.

As they moved further into the city, Din felt the familiar and uncomfortable prickle of many eyes following them. They had agreed that anonymity was a fever dream with Din's armour alone, but he was unwilling to part with it. He was a Mandalorian, his  beskar'gam  was his honour and pride, and he'd wear it to fulfill his creed. Din knew that it was drawing unwanted attention; more than one curious eye followed them as they walked, more than one pair of heads ducking together as he passed. How often did Mandalorians make berth in a backwater town like this?

If there are any left,  a cynical part of Din's mind reminded him.  If, not should. He hadn't seen one of his kinsmen since the covert had been exposed, since he parted ways with the alor in the forge on Nevarro.

But the eyes, Din hated the attention, the awareness to his presence that his beskar brought. He'd grown used to it over the years, but after so long in the desert, it unnerved him.

Din flipped through the settings on his HUD, observing those around him. The locals were indistinguishable from others, their clothing and mannerisms synchronous with those around them. But Din couldn't ignore it; both his jetii and the child were uneasy, their minds unsettled and on high alert. Could there be Imperial sympathizers here? Disgraced officers and Stormtroopers? The familiar glint of white armour was absent, but that meant little to nothing in a place like this. If the Empire was hunting the child, they could be hidden in plain sight if they knew that he was here, striking only when it was too late.

Din lowered his hand to his blaster, pushing the child's birikad further behind him until he was hidden by Din's cape. The child needed to be protected, no matter what. He would not lose the baby today.

During his time on Tatooine as a young man, he had spent most of his time with the Tuskens, living nomadically beyond the great Dune Sea. He had spent time in Mos Eisley, but Mos Espa was unfamiliar to him. Its corners and side streets seemed to hide threats around every turn. Every person they passed was guilty before proven otherwise; every doorway and alley hid a danger that Din feared before it became apparent. It felt like paranoia, but this feeling…Din couldn't dismiss it. He relied on both Luke and Vanth's history with the town and its inhabitants to find her. And he trusted them; he did. More, perhaps, that he should, but he did anyway. They had fought by his side, protected the child, watched his six as he watched theirs. They were his friends, his  vode,  despite their distance from the Mandalorian creed. He'd trust them with his life, with his son's life.

The Marshal had to be warned now that Fett had returned. But for all they knew, the town could already be under Fett's occupation. Mos Espa had had a bustling slave trade under the Hutt's, and Din dreaded its more than likely resurgence. But what could they do? They couldn't help everyone; they couldn't fix every problem, even if Fett hadn't made it this far from his palace, if he was the king of the syndicate as Luke had said, it was only a matter of time. Be it spice or dancers or black-market arms, syndicates needed supplies; and other than Mos Eisley, Mos Espa was a likely port of call. Din kept his thoughts to himself, knowing full well that Luke and Vanth were uneasy, so Din stayed quiet and let he and the child be led into the town.

Din felt the brush of Luke's mind against his, the hesitation, something dancing on a knife's edge of fearful trepidation. Din looked over, meeting his  jetii's  eye. Something was off; something wasn't quite right. Din watched carefully, grateful that the child was in his  birikad , behind his cape. Hopefully out of sight. He could feel the weight of his  beskar  spear and pulse rifle and knew without a shadow of a doubt that should something come, he'd be prepared.

Do you feel it too?  Luke thought, his blue eyes meeting Din's.  I don't like this.

Din's heart thumped rapidly beneath his armour. Their timely escape from Tython was a reminder that the child's hunters were never far behind, never entirely out of scope. Din shuddered to think of why they wanted him, why they hunted him. Why this Moff cared for his son enough to kill to retrieve him.

He struggled to keep his breath steady. He hadn't kept the child's hunters from Luke, but he hadn't spoken about them, either. Luke knew that the Empire was after the baby, knew without words that they would find them eventually. Even in a town like Mos Espa, people were always watching and listening, informants and sympathizers littered the galaxy, and Tatooine was no exception.

But he wasn't alone. He had Vanth, Luke. Both capable warriors, both willing to fight and die by his side. He could feel the baby squirming in his  birikad, and Din tried to calm his mind, lest the child grow agitated at Din's restlessness. Since the child had first reached to Din through his powers on the Crest months ago, Din had relished in the closeness. The feeling of  togetherness, him and the baby as a pair, a duo, a family. The child had unlocked something in him, spilled forth some hidden truth he could've gone his whole life without knowing. From the first glimpses of another in his thoughts, in his emotions, and coming from a  baby, Din's baby. He and the child were entwined now, too tight to ever break apart. But as Din dove deeper in the child's discomfort, he felt it; the anxiety was in him, also. The child looked up at Din with his big eyes, and Din tried to reassure him, confident in the knowledge that he was failing.

Continued 

[harrylee94]

The Tournament - Chapter 15

You can find this on AO3!

Summary: “I’m a stable hand. I look after horses. I-I have three sets of clothes, and I live in a tiny room near to the horses. I’m not… I’m not…”

“You are. You are, and you always have been, worthy. Even when you first came here you were worth it. My mother would have given this to you in a second if you’d asked. You are kind and strong and honourable, and you do deserve this.”

“It’s still… It’s a lot to accept all at once. I was shovelling shit this morning; pardon the language, my Prince.”

“I don’t mind. And it’s Din, remember?”

Notes: I cannot WAIT for you to read this!

TW for FLUFF!!!

Chapter 14

——————————————————————

“It’s so much.” - Din

Din watched as Cobb seemed to struggle, bringing his hand to his stubbled face and covering his mouth as he looked unseeing out into the armoury. He was still, his free hand curling and uncurling, and eventually shook his head.

“The clothes, the armour, the sword,” he said quietly, taking a deep breath. “It’s so much.”

Din looked at him, really looked at him, at how his shoulders had climbed higher and his breathing was a little hitched, and gave Saruk a signal to wait outside the room. They gave him a silent nod and left, shutting the door quietly behind them, leaving the two men alone.

“Cobb,” he said, stepping closer, “I know you’re not used to all of this, and I wish I could make it easier for you, but you deserve this.”

“Why?” Cobb asked, looking at him with great confusion. “I’m a stable hand. I look after horses. I-I have three sets of clothes, and I live in a tiny room near to the horses. I’m not… I’m not…”

Din reached out for him, taking hold of his upper arms to look into his moist eyes. “You are,” he said. “You are, and you always have been, worthy. Even when you first came here you were worth it. My mother would have given this to you in a second if you’d asked.” He swallowed, blinking back his own tears at the thought of her. “You are kind and strong and honourable, and you do deserve this.”

Cobb swallowed, and touched Din’s elbows with his fingertips. “It’s still… It’s a lot to accept all at once,” he said. “I was shovelling shit this morning; pardon the language, my Prince.”

“I don’t mind. And it’s Din, remember?”

Cobb’s eyes flickered between his, and he nodded. “Din.”

He gave the knight’s muscles a soft squeeze and pulled away a little. “Don’t be afraid to ask for help. You said that it’s a lot; let me help you make it less overwhelming.”

His Protector nodded again, his touches becoming a firm grip on Din’s elbows as he looked away from him to the rest of the room. “I need to get a weapon to protect you,” he said. “I don’t know what else to use other than a sword.”

“Then we’ll start with that, and then move on to the next thing,” Din said with a smile. “You were using a bastard sword, correct?” Cobb hummed the affirmative. “We have a few spares. Let’s choose one and then move on.”

Cobb nodded, looking a little less like he was on the verge of running out of the castle and never coming back, and slowly released his grip on Din’s arms. Din did the same in return, but as he moved to step away again, Cobb’s hand shot out to grab his wrist, though it was quickly released as the knight jolted back with wide eyes.

“I’m sorry!” he said. “I didn’t…! I just-”

Din took his hand, and Cobb’s voice stuttered into silence as he stared at it.

“I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to trust me,” Din said, even as his heart threatened to drown out his thoughts. “It wouldn’t be a very good partnership if it only went one way.”

Cobb released a long breath and curled his fingers around Din’s, not looking away from them until they were firmly in place, like he wasn’t believing what he was seeing.

“For support,” he said, though it sounded a little like he hoped it was something more. That might have been Din imagining things though, so he couldn’t say for certain.

“Okay,” Din agreed, and he let Cobb lead him around the armoury, pointing out the different swords he thought Cobb would be interested in, all the while they were connected by that one point. His palm became sweaty from the constant heat, but he refused to let go until Cobb was ready.

“This one,” the knight said eventually, holding out one of the simpler bastard swords and releasing Din’s hand to test the balance and heft of it before quirking his lips into one of those smiles Din had missed. “Yeah, this one’ll do nicely.”

“Good,” Din said, already missing his grip but wiping his hand off on a handkerchief before Cobb could see. “Get it on your belt then and we can move on to the next thing.”

“What’s the next thing?” Cobb asked as he found the leather strap and pulled it tight about his middle, tying the end of it in a knot to make it extra secure and then sliding the sword home into its sheath. The way he held himself, with his hand resting on the hilt to keep the sword more comfortably balanced against his hip, made him look dangerous. Din couldn’t wait to give him the sword he’d commissioned; then Cobb would look positively lethal. And if the knight remembered what gifting of weapons meant in their culture...

Din coughed and looked away. “Your new room.”

“My what?”

Din grinned and headed back to the door, waiting for Cobb to follow before opening it and stepping out into the corridor. “There are a number of things you need to know about being the Protector that the general public don’t tend to know about. This one you probably do know, since you technically live in the castle, but the Protector has a room that connects to the Witch King’s, so that they might better protect them.”

“I’d… forgotten about that,” Cobb said as they continued on, heading towards the stairs up into the main living quarters. “But what about-?”

“I shall be in a chamber nearby,” Saruk answered preemptively. “I shall remain until I have passed all my knowledge to you, and then I shall retire to a keep that Mand’alor the Beloved set aside for me.”

“... You might be here for some time,” Cobb said after the solemn silence that had filled the space. “I know I have a lot to learn.”

“Then you are already in a better position than most,” Saruk said, and Din could hear the smile in their voice. “Teaching those who are willing to learn is significantly easier than teaching those who are not.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Cobb said, and almost walked too far when Din came to a stop outside of a door only a few meters away from his own.

“That is the door to my chambers,” he said, pointing to it, then pulled a key from his pocket and held it out. “This one is yours.”

Cobb looked between him, the door and the key for several long moments, undoubtedly trying to get his head around the fact that this was real, that Din was giving it to him because he knew he deserved it before accepting the key with shaking fingers.

“Mine?” he asked as he held it up to look at it.

“Yours.”

Cobb hummed, then put the key in the lock.

Stepping into the Protector’s room, Din watched as the knight moved slowly, as though he didn’t belong there. He looked at the double bed -- simple in design but made of softer stuff than he was used to -- and ran his fingers over the bare desk. He looked at the armour stands and weapons rack that were equally bare, opened the empty wardrobe and drawers, and admired the small seating area that was set next to the cold fire, along with the worn carpet below. There was also a screen, plain in design, that hid away the wash stand and privy, along with an empty tub for any baths he might want in the future.

He stopped, however, not in front of any of these, but beside a door in the right hand side of the room, running his fingers over the door handle that had been worn smooth over time. There were no locks on this door, only a hinge that was dutifully oiled so that the opening of it would be silent.

“Would you like to see?”

“... I think I would.”

Din moved over to his side and curled their hands together again over the handle -- simply to help him through this next step and no other reason, of course -- and pushed the door open. It repealed a short walkway, one only as long as the door was wide, the end of which was covered by the back of a tapestry, and Din led Cobb through and out into his chambers.

His room was more lavish than Cobb’s, with more than just that one tapestry depicting Witch Kings of old on the walls and carpets covering the stone of the floor. His bed was larger and with posters in each corner to hold up a curtain that would help keep out the night’s chill, his wardrobe was also significantly bigger and already filled as were most of the armour stands and the weapon rack. There were papers on his desk and even a few that had spilled onto the floor, and a screen blocking off his own corner.

However, instead of a seating area, there was a reasonably sized table set for two in front of an already crackling fire, several covered dishes set about it and jugs of ale ready to be consumed. Din caught Cobb frowning at it and so he pulled him forwards, reluctantly releasing his hand to pull out the chair at one end.

Cobb hesitated, but then sat down in the offered seat, allowing Din to tuck it in behind him before he headed around the table to his own chair. He heard the adjoining door close, and knew that Saruk would stand guard.

“It’s been a long day, and I’m sure you’re hungry,” he said by way of explanation, “but we still have much to talk about, so I thought a private meal would be appropriate.”

Cobb’s shoulders relaxed and he nodded, only reaching for one of the lids when Din did to reveal the steaming stew inside. His eyes lit up, and all Din could do was stare at the joy in his face.

“Tiingilar?” Cobb asked, and this time it was Din’s turn to nod wordlessly. “It’s my favourite.”

“Then please,” Din said, voice wobbling as he waved for him to serve himself, which the man did with enthusiasm. He himself was slower to serve, more interested in watching Cobb, but the face of pleasure he made after his first bite was enough to make a man’s throat go dry. He reached for the ale and poured himself a goblet; if this was how the meal was going to go, then he was going to need it.

“So,” Cobb said after they’d both eaten in a relatively comfortable silence for a few minutes, “what was it that you needed to talk to me about?”

Din frowned, looking down at the table as he finished his mouthful. “What do you know about the magic held in the Witch King’s line?”

“Not much,” Cobb admitted with an easy shrug. “I know the stories, about Mand’alor the Great using it to redirect a river, or Mand’alor the Wise using it to control a storm to help end a drought, but nothing other than that.”

Din nodded. “It can be used for things like that, but those were the needs of the people that needed to be met,” he explained. “It’s a power that can’t be used lightly, and if it feels that you are abusing that power, then you will lose it, and it will find another.”

Cobb nodded slowly. “Is that what happened with the Kryze family?”

“From the way my buire explained it to me, yes,” Din replied. “I couldn’t tell you what the Kryze family say occurred, but I’ve no interest in asking Bo-Katan something so personal.”

Cobb snorted and grinned. “Don’t want to go making my job harder than it has to be.”

“No, we don’t,” he agreed with a smile. “Now, the magic of the Witch King passes on to the next descendant of the line when the previous one dies, so I now have that magic. I had a piece of it before, but it had never been close to… this. I’m sure you heard about what happened at the welcoming feast?”

Cobb’s eyes darkened. “I did.”

“The reason I was able to protect myself was because of my magic; it screamed a warning at me and I was able to react,” he continued. “However, when you make the oath of the Protector, this magic will reach out to you.”

The knight blinked at him in surprise. “To me?”

Din nodded. “Saruk hasn’t been able to act as they have in the past in terms of my protection because she is not my Protector. She is not connected to my magic the way she had been to my buir’s, and so that extra sense that they’ve grown used to is gone. They’ve described it as… a constant nudge in my direction, and when the Witch King is in Danger, it’s more of a shove.” He frowned. “I know there’s more to it, but they wouldn’t say more than that.”

Cobb met his eyes with a slow nod. “So, when you said we’d be closer than brothers…”

“Exactly.”

“And the sword?”

Din didn’t say anything. He hadn’t expected the conversation to head down this road, hadn’t expected it to be brought up today at all, but he hoped…

“I know that in Mandalorian culture, the gifting of a weapon is more than just a gift,” Cobb continued quietly.

“It is.”

He watched Cobb’s adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“Is it for me?”

He took a deep breath, praying he wasn’t overstepping. “If you want it to be.”

Cobb’s eyes lowered, and for a moment Din thought he had gone too far, that he’d read those shared looks wrong, that he’d made everything so much harder and awkward for him now-

But then the knight pushed back his chair and he walked around the table to kneel at his side.

“I want that.”

Din beamed at him as his heart soared, and he reached out, hand caressing Cobb’s cheek as he had longed to do before, breath stuttering in his throat as his Protector leaned into his touch and kissed his palm. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Cobb said softly. “You’ve given me everything.”

Din leaned down to press their brows together, and when their lips touched for the first time, it was as though nothing else in the world mattered.

——————————————————————

*screaming* IT HAPPENED!!!!

Mando'a Translations:

Tiingilar -- a hearty and traditional Mandalorian stew made with a multicoloured blend of meat, various vegetables, and a potent mix of spices

Buire (buir) -- Parents (mother/father/parent)

Chapter 16

[intricatecakes]

✨cobbton candy man✨

[dinmadness]

Request (from ao3): After saving The Child and leaving him the safe care of the Jedi. Mando and Migs continue to travel together. Din is incredibly depressed about having to leave his son behind and Migs doesn't know how to help. Migs thankfully remember the name of a a man Mando once told him about, an old lover on Tatooine, Cobb Vanth. Can Mando's two boyfriends manage to get him out of his depressed state?

Pairing: Migs Mayfeld/Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth

Tags: slight cursing, three fella cuddling, Sad Din Djarin, hints at depression.

I hope you enjoy!

You can also read it here along with all of the prompts I have written.

Fic under the cut!

Migs is starting to worry about his partner. It’s been one week since Din watched that Jedi douchebag walk away with his kid. Migs doesn’t take kindly to pretty boys who separate families. The ex-imperial officer is not as oblivious to what these, so-called peacekeepers, actually do.

It isn’t Mayfelds place to say what is right or wrong in this situation. Din knew what he had to do and he kept his promise to the child. Mayfeld can’t remember the last time he’s felt so sick to his stomach, watching the pure devastation overtake the Mandalorians face. Once the doors closed Din bent down and placed his helmet back on. The physical representation of building a wall around himself. He turned to the rest of the group and had Fennec radio for Fett. When the others tried to comfort him he turned the other way, a crisp “I’m fine.” is his only response. Once Fett shows up, Din request that he takes him to Nevarro, he wants to find a new ship.

Now, Mayfeld and Din have long said their goodbyes and are now traveling through the black abyss of space. The ship has been quiet. Din has barely said two words to Mayfeld since they’ve left Nevarro. Mayfeld understands, and he’s not selfish enough to think he deserves to be spoken too. He is, however, selfless enough to know that it isn’t healthy for the Mandalorian. He’s not eating and occasionally Mayfeld can hear soft cries coming from his sleeping bunk. His whole persona has shifted into something broken. It’s gut wrenching.

He’s got to think of something to help ease the pain. Mayfeld stews on it for a little while and finally remembers Din talking about someone he left on Tatooine. A Marshall of a small sandy village, Cobb Vanth.

Once Din retired to his bunk, Mayfeld sends a transmission to Vanth explaining the situation and prays that the other will get the message and help.

—

It takes a day for the Marshall to get back but when he does he plays it well. No sooner than Din sat in the pilot seat a hologram plays, it’s Vanth. Migs watches as his helmet tilts to the side slightly as the other talks, explaining that he is having some issues with raiders and he needs the Mandalorians help. Din nods and charts the course.

—

They ended up being close to Tatooine so it only took a few hours to get there in hyperdrive. Once they were on the planet Din borrowed some land speeders and they headed out. Migs only asked vague question so he didn’t give away the plan. The Mandalorian answered briefly.

Once they made it to the small town, Din heads straight to a cantina, no doubt where they will find the Marshall. Mayfeld scans the beige interior of the cantina and searches until he finds Din coming to a stop in front of a tall, skinny man. The complete opposite of the Mandalorian.

“Hey Mando, good to see you again.” Vanth said standing to greet Din. Mayfeld watches his hunched shoulders fall as the taller one places a hand on the bend of his neck, this thumb ghosting under his helmet.

After a moment, Din finally speaks and his voice is dry from being unused. “The raiders?” He asks. Vanth looks past Dins head and into the eyes of Mayfeld before he looks back the Mandalorian.

“Let’s just catch up,” he motions towards the door.

“Introduce me to your friend here.” Din turns to look at Mayfeld.

“‘M not really-“

Vanth cut him off, turning him toward the door and urging him out into the hot sun. The pair followed the Marshall into a small home just past the cantina. Inside was simple, the basic needs of man. A large soft looking bed, a small kitchen and dining and a fresher.

“When did the raiders start attacking?” Din asks as he sits down at the small two seater dining table. His whole demeanor bleeds tired.

Vanth looks at Migs again and they both nod at each other. The Marshall turns back to Din. “There are actually no raiders. I needed a reason to get you here.” He goes to squat in front of the Mandalorian.

“You’re friend here is worried about you,” he jerks a thumb in Mayfelds direction before he continues. “He told me what happened.”

Din looks at Mayfeld and if he could see his face he knows it’s full of hurt that Mayfeld would go behind his back. Mayfeld flushes pink with embarrassment and shame.

“I am fine.” He bites as he stands abruptly. Vanth has to grab the table leg to keep his balance. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

He makes like he is asking the pair but he doesn’t look at either of them at any point.

“It isn’t like the one thing- the only thing -that I have ever truly cared about, I just gave up.” His whole stance shifts as he back away from the dining table. Mayfeld and Vanth stand on edge. “As if, every fucking day I don’t remind myself that it was my mission from the start. That I knew what I was doing-“ his voice breaks and Mayfeld knows what that means.

“Hey, Mando, you know you can’t beat yourself up.” Migs takes a step closer, he wants to reach out but he’s afraid. “You’ll see the little guy again.”

Din looks to Mayfeld. “What if I don’t?” He backs away further until he meets the bed and he sits heavily. He rips his helmet off without care and digs his the gloves heel of his palms into his eyes. Sobs overtake him and he cries harder than he has in a long time. All the emotions he has been withholding in the week since their separation spills out of him like a storm, tearing away at the structure.

Mayfeld watches as Vanth walks over and unclips his chest and shoulder plates and stacks them on the table along with his helmet. He goes back and places a kiss on his bent head before he pushes him back so he is laying down further up on the bed, Din giving no resistance. The Marshall crawls into the bed with him, wrapping the distraught man into his arms as he cries silently, Vanth cards his fingers through his dark waves.

Mayfeld feels like he is intruding so he goes to leave but he is stopped by a soft voice. He looks back and Vanth is waving him over, holding his hand out. Mayfeld takes his hand and slots himself behind the Mandalorian and wraps his arms around his waist and up, placing his hand over Dins heart.

They lay like that until Din finally sleeps. The other two eventually fall asleep also. It isn’t a cure for the heavy sadness but when Din wakes in the morning surrounded by two people that love him, he knows he will get through this until he can be reunited with his son.

[preempire-a]

💕 I mean c'mon you seen this coming

► FROM SHIPPING CALL

i really did. i don’t deserve the enthusiasm and the beautiful tagged posts and just the general love and care that you pour into all our ships, but thank you for being so enthusiastic since the beginning of our ridiculous writing career together

BUT you know!! i’m down for shipping just about anything with you!! i feel like we talked about this previously but like literally. i am so easy. and writing with you is easy! we have like a bajillion ships between us but i’ll use this ask to focus on what we have so far w/ din, right. so

dincobb?? fuckin KILLS me how they find so much meaning in the little things, like sitting together or touching hands or leaning against each other and ;dksfjgl IT’S REALLY SWEET and really wholesome. i love the thing we’ve got so far with din promising to come back every time... got those big My Heart Will Go On vibes going, ykwim?? like no matter where din goes, at least he has ~home. also the innocence of cobb like “i like getting dirty :-)” because they keep getting in fights........ thank u

dinxan is cute so far as well; i haven’t written so much for those threads yet because i’m awful, but i like the dynamic of din having a childhood best friend a lot! it lets me tap into the headcanons i have of his time with the mandalorians in concordia, but it also gives me the ability to write him having a safe space without having to go through 923749284239 years of hell. it’s nice that xan knows how to calm him down. also i’m very very into the image of din in bloodstained armour + xander in his clean one, standing in his carnage... din djarin has NOT received closure for multiple things and it feels like xan can ground him in ways others can’t

dinboba makes me laugh. oh god. it’s gonna KEEP making me laugh i think if we continue on in the way that we’re going, but who knows what direction their relationship’s gonna take in show (if they end up on the opposite sides at any point, welp, that’s what canon divergence is for)............. the “boba calls him daddy” joke lives in my head rent-free i don’t think you understand what has happened to my brain after that

dinlang makes me scream into a pillow because that is the HIGHEST FORM OF WISH FULFILLMENT FOR ME AND I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU PICKED HIM UP????? and i dont even know where i want it to go yet but i feel like a lot of it is gonna be din realising he’s morosexual AKJDSFJL;AJ;SGKJ;SALGK LIKE ok so there’s whirlwind romance shit and then there’s just. familiarity. and i think the weird way that these two saw eye to eye in the ONE EPISODE WE GOT OF THEM is just-- a precursor to some kind of understanding of the motions of the world they can both share? BONUS POINTS IF DIN SOMEHOW TEACHES HIM THE VALUE OF BONDS BEYOND MONEY... that makes me soft...

looking at it we have such an eclectic mix of ships... can you believe i’m only playing one muse in all of these. incredible. shipping w/ blujay awakens facets APPARENTLY