#POV Din Djarin

[jomiddlemarch]

When two great forces oppose each other

“So, what is it you do here?” Din asked the man who identified himself as Ken. He was blond and fit, with a gaze that scanned, seeking only one goal, admitting nothing else, requiring nothing else.

“Beach. You?”

The question in response was most unexpected based on Din’s experience in this world. He’d spoken with several men, all carrying the same name as if it were a title, Mandalorian instead of Din. They were polite but not welcoming to someone who refused to show his face, suspecting he might actually be the object of their collective affection concealed within. 

“Weapons.”

This drabble was inspired/prompted by my 18 yo son who proposed the exchange between Ken and Mando, including its brevity.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 17}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is not a remorseful man. Everything he's done, he's done for a reason. But he finds himself in an internal struggle as he tears through the galaxy for traces of you.

Word Count: 10.3k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical fighting, use of narcotics, use of drugs, reader gets drugged, reader gets kidnapped, reader gets tied up, kidnapping, controlling parent, toxic parent / child relationship, toxic parent / child dynamic, din has a lot of feelings, din reflects on his time spent with reader, death, minor character death, infectious thoughts, negative feelings, feelings of inadequacy, issues with intimacy, religious guilt, feelings of religious obligation, religious contemplation, so much guilt for our tin man, violence, derogative language, insinuations of sexual favors, a few instances of shouting, din loses his hold on reality (1) time, references to past instances of self-harm, references to past instances of suicidal ideations, let me know if i missed anything please!

A/N: an all din pov chapter, baby! who's ready for ten thousand words on how this man feels? this was a fun different way to approach the story and i rather liked it even if i am afraid to post it. there are so many different interpretations of din that are all so great, and while this is my personal one for the character in my fic, i'm still worried about how it'll be received

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Mother, please.” You begged, voice absolutely wrecked. Desperation settled in your gut, making you dizzy and nauseous. The illness of it was debilitating even through the hum of drugs waning in your system. Sobs were wracking your body, exploding from your ribcage in painful bursts. You struggled against the cuffs on your wrists, the cuffs around your ankles, rotating them in hopes of finding weakness but they were strong. But they were made of beskar, strong and programmed to shock you should you jostle them too much. Using the culture of the very people who had meant salvation now for damnation. She had made sure they would hold you this time.

She just sat there, watching you from the chair by the door. Long hair pulled up into a knot atop her head, blue tunic and black trousers flowing and clean. Her hands clasped in front of her, resting her chin against them as her eyes took in the slump of your form across the small room. You were on the ground, legs numb from the hard, unforgiving stone underneath you. Boots removed and down to nothing but your simple clothing. She had taken the pendant from you, the one Din had gifted you in the wake of your confession to losing the one from Akiz. It glinted over her own chest, visible where she allowed it to drape over the front of her collar.

“Please. I don’t want to be here. I want to go back to the ship. I want to go home.”

“Oh no, my darling, you won’t be going anywhere near that disgusting ship again. That Mandalorian has caused enough damage, stealing you away after taking your fob. I still had to pay the Guild fee for your bounty. Credits you know we didn’t have in the first place.” She paused, her hands clasped together, elbows on her knees, and she leaned forward to rest her hand atop them. A wicked smile overtook her as she eyed you across the room.

“Luckily, I found someone who was willing to cover the cost and offer to take you as their wife. They’ve put a lot of energy and credits into helping locate you. They will be here in two days’ time to collect you.”

She looked almost mournful at the idea of you leaving so soon after reuniting. Of sharing you with another after claiming to do everything she had ever done to you out of protection.

“But he swore to protect you from any threats, from the Mandalorians that seem to be obsessed with owning you, harnessing your power to help them crawl from the cracks of the universe they ran to hide in when their planet was destroyed. This man, he’s from a very important royal line that is deeply rooted in the New Republic.”

“The New Republic is a joke, they can’t even keep their own soldiers happy, let alone protect anyone.”

“Hush now, darling.” She got up and the black tin she kept in her pocket flashed in her hand. You began thrashing even more so, tears cascading down your cheeks as she approached you. The click of the tin opening sent you back to every other time you had heard that sound in your life, eyes going wide and your breath left you as if you had been hit square in the chest. “The time will fly by with this dose and then we’ll be off to our new home.”

He’d been searching the city for days.

Despite the thrumming of pain through his head, his vision blurring, and the helmet resting too heavy on the now soft, new skin that was his injury. Tender fingers carefully spraying bacta and skin itching as the tissue tried to heal with its aid. He wished for your smaller hands to be the one caring for him, but he was alone. Alone with a fussing child that was beginning to use his powers to get his feelings across since he was still learning how to talk and use his little voice.

Not taking any time to rest, instincts telling him something was wrong, that something had happened. You wouldn’t just run off, even with what had occurred. At least…not for this long. He hoped. He…hoped.

Stalking through the various casinos and cantina’s, searching for any traces of you to be found. Even in the hectic atmospheres of the racetracks and brothels, of seedier bars and establishments you may have ducked into or been taken to by the force of whoever had stolen you away. Snatched you from whatever you had sought out to calm yourself.

He sat in front of the tracking fob given to him when he first took the job to return you to your mother for hours. Set it atop the control panels in the cockpit, helmet removed and head in his hands as he contemplated turning the device back on. He had scoured the hotels and seedier hostels with it in his grip, to no avail.

It was as if you had simply vanished.

Your smiles and laughter, soft sighs and teasing quips a figment of his imagination.

Made up in the loneliness that accompanied the type of life he led. Missions, jobs, hunting, tracking, trading in criminals and runaways for next to nothing, refueling the ship and hitting the ground running again, taking to the air and space again. And again, and again. He didn’t realize how tired and monotonous it had all become, despite the thrill of his skills proofing to be elite time and time again. He didn’t realize how much he had been missing out on until you threw it all off track. Deliver the goods and credits to the covert, ensure they were safe and protected, collect another job, hunt, track, kill, injure, collect. Broke the routine he had been so accustomed to with an utterance of his dying language.  Rolling off your tongue with precision.

It had been striking. You had been striking and he had torn you down in a way he never wanted to, unintentionally with a fumbling lack of words. It was maddening, to search for days to find no trace of you anywhere.

There was no indication you ever existed aside from those left behind on his ship. The mug of caf sweetened with sugar and powdered milk at the table, the pack of your cigarras you always insisted on smoking outside while it was docked, the crate with your tools and materials used to make armor, the neat and organized labels you had applied to everything within the panels. The room he had set up for you….though you often split your time between his own and the hammock still hung up in the hold space.

He had left it all untouched, too afraid to erase the pieces of evidence that you were real. That you had been aboard his ship. That you had been trying to connect with him and he stumbled over his words so badly he made you feel unwanted on such a level that made you run.

Like the acts between you two had just been him seeking out pleasure with no real intent other than that behind them. The thought that you must’ve felt like he was just like every other person who had ever used you made his stomach turn and bile burn in his throat. Only his ploys had been steeped in honey and saccharine promises. He had frozen, the words he wanted to whisper to you lost in the panic of the moment, of wanting exactly what you were asking for. It had all been so overwhelming. It had been so real, felt so real, and it had been a jarring realization.

That he had wanted to remove his helmet and give into your request.

Despite the Creed he swore his life to. Despite the commitment he had made to you that would allow for him to do so in time.

But now it was too little too late.

After the third day, he was beginning to think you weren’t merely taking some time to yourself…

Maybe he was foolish to think he hadn’t messed up so monumentally that you had found a way off world and run even further from him. But he knew you weren’t the type of person to do that. To him, to ad’ika.

Burc’ya. Friend.

Ner kar’ta. My heart.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum. I love you.

Vencuyot riduur. Future husband.

You wouldn’t have run from him to that degree, loyal and devoted. Loving and caring, kind hearted at the very core of who you were. Even despite the tragedies and ill-natured things you had been subjected to in your life. Good. Too good, for someone like him.

He was beginning to think something had happened.

But without the aid of your communication, vambraces still set atop the makeshift table along with your main bag and armor, he had no way of knowing for sure. Just the niggling feeling in his gut that was burrowing deeper by the second.

He sent a transmission to Karga, asking if there was any news of your arrest before deeming the planet a lost cause and raising the ramp. He took the Crest up up up and into the air, helmet scouring the shrinking planet all the while, feeling an ache in his heart that he didn’t think he would ever get used to.

He had to push through, he had to focus. You needed someone to help you, wherever you had gone or been taken. You needed him to find you. He needed to find you.

Ad’ika had been in a constant flux from eerily silent to wailing as loud as his little lungs would allow, wide eyes brimming with tears the longer you were gone. Din had taken to wrapping the child up in the cloak he had bought you, securing it with the metallic flower latches and laying him down in the cot alongside him. Never sleeping, only laying down intermittently to pass the time. Rest evading him as his mind began to think of the things that could’ve happened to you.

Tatooine was his first stop, no response from Karga when he docked and secured the ship in Pelli’s hangar. Much to his disappointment, the travel through hyperspace hadn’t been too long, so a response was wishful thinking on his part. Spurred on by the endless possibilities of what happened consuming him.

He was silent as he handed her the credits from your bag, loathing that he needed to use them as he lacked his own. Even now, gone from him and hurt, you were still offering him help. Providing for him the way he should be for you, the way that he wanted to. The reality of having asked you to travel with him weighing heavily on his mind. Once ad’ika is settled with those who could train him, Din would need to take up working with the Guild full time again to provide for the covert. A life steeped in danger and endless threats, a life you already had far too much experience with. Perhaps…perhaps he could secure a tract of land somewhere, a place to return to after jobs. A nice cabin surrounded by trees and an endless supply of anything you may need. Or perhaps a shop front on Nevarro, for you to sell you wares. He would take extra jobs to provide that for you, work his hands to the bone and until he could barely move for how exhausted he was.

Because you deserved it. You deserved to be happy and he was beginning to think that may not be with him. Not if he was constantly away or you were left on the ship for days, weeks, months at a time while he tracked down his quarries. Constantly traveling through space and left to handle the ship alone.

Would…would you even want that type of life?

Wouldn’t it be another type of imprisonment, no reward but a tired and aching man in the bed beside you only a handful of nights? Half of him given to you, half devoted to his Creed.

I’d rather be dead than be someone’s captive again. Even if it’s as one to you, jatne vod.

Thoughts consuming him, there was no argument from him as he left ad’ika with her to look through the city.

The lack of your figure emerging from the ship didn’t prompt any questions from her, though he could sense them on the tip of her tongue and the front of her mind.

He set out, looking for the woman who you made friends with the last time he had landed the Crest on the sandy planet.

He found her, in the middle of a scuffle in the marketplace over a stolen loaf of bread. A child whose stomach was caved in and bruises over their arms visible when the sleeves of their tunic rose up. The vendor wanted the child to be taken in, punished for the attempted theft. But he could see how conflicted Sioban was with following that heated demand.

Diffusing the situation, seeing the form he had first encountered you in mirrored in the small child, he stepped forward and offered a handful of credits to the vendor.

“To cover the bread for the child, two loaves and that chunk of cured meat.”

“Sir, this has nothing to do with you. You don’t need to put yourself out for that ungrateful litte-“

“Take it.” Din’s head throbbed, exhausted and anxious, just trying to do something good. Something you would do. They were your credits, and he wanted to do this. At the fixed stare of his visor, the vendor released the child from her tight grip, nearly throwing the small frame to the ground as she did. Roughly, she gathered the loaf that had started the whole ordeal, a second one, and the wrapped meat. Holding it out for him to take.

Sioban ushered everyone who had stopped in their tracks to go about their business. Once the small crowd cleared and attention was diverted, Din turned to the child and crouched down.

“Here, for you.” He kept his voice a hush, not wanting the modulator to manipulate his voice into a threatening or menacing tone it tended to do, taking the emotion from his words more often than not.

“T-thank you, sir.”

“Now go and stay out of trouble.”

An enthusiastic nod and they were running off, disappearing down the street.

“Well, well, well. Mando is a softie afterall.” Sioban’s voice lightly teased. “Where’s Sarad and the baby? Or is this a solo trip this time around?”

“I would like to speak with you, if you have the time.”

“Something happened.” The woman’s features hardened, a slant to her brow as her eyes looked him over before settling on the visor. She didn’t look or feel like a threat, something proven further by your willingness to share a table with the woman. But Din was fighting his instincts, the ones telling him to chase chase chase, even with no actual leads as to where you had gone. And this woman might hold some clues or at least be able to offer Din a higher chance if he had someone on the ground of the planet you had run to once already.

“Yes.”

The conversation with Sioban hadn’t yielded any answers. If anything, it solidified that Din had absolutely no idea what to do. With no other leads, he fell back on his tracking tactics, searching for your last place of known residence.

Once back to the ship, he silently takes ad’ika from Pelli. Not responding to the looks or faint questioning he knew was on the woman’s mind. A nod, a formal shaking of the woman’s hand and he was guiding the Crest back into the air to comb over the planet as best he could. You had said you thought you were here when he took you from that compound, a home you had hidden away on this world after running from your mother years ago.

It took him nearly a week’s worth of days of flying low to the land before he caught sight of a structure.

Mind working overdrive as he strained his eyes through the visor with aided mechanics for any sign of life amid the vast stretch of the desert landscape. Sectors outlined and crossed out when they didn’t yield anything. Errant skeletons of a bantha, the Jawa’s traveling across the land, and Tusken settlements the only markers of time passing and the ship moving moderately along.

And then, suddenly.

There were two tall spires beside a moderate looking abode. Moisture farming equipment, the same you had told him about replacing shortly before your capture. Was all he had to go off of, a small conversation that you hadn’t expanded on in your time with him.

The structure was like most far out into the desert, mostly underground with a rounded and smooth stone roof, a door with a protected entrance to prevent sand from building up right up against it. It was modest, big enough for one person to have plenty of room. Abandoned, by his guess, the stone of the building chipped in places from sand and the spare storm weathering it down.

It had to be yours, it had to be, please let it be yours were his thoughts as he broke the lock still activated, ensuring the structure was protected even out in the middle of nowhere. Mos Eisley was an entire day’s travel away. Even more so in any other direction to another of the planets handful of moderate settlements. A good place to hide. Visibility on your side. A lonely place to hide.

I’ve always loved the forest.

The memory how your tired and injured features had lit up at the sight of Sorgan visible through the glass of the cockpit, the breathy gasp that had fallen from your lips sprung to his mind. You had been so calm, despite the precarious circumstances, stealing away moments to brush your bare fingers along the leaves reaching out from low branches.

You must’ve been miserable here. The land so dry and empty, the closest mountain ridges barely visible on the horizon. Even those were spotty with tangled roots that held little to no greenery. Sentencing yourself to the wasteland to live out your life in fear and comfortability, hoping the environment you weren’t fond of would throw those searching for you off your trail.

Glancing behind him, Din watched as ad’ika slowly made his way down the ramp. Little sounds falling from his lips as he took in the sight of his guardian in front of a new place he didn’t recognize. Raising his hands as he got to the bottom of it, Din retreated to it and lifted up the small child, holding him tight in the crook of his elbow as he descended down the few steps and through the open door.

It was dark inside, no lights on or power source even charged, no doubt. But definitely abandoned. Sparingly decorated, though he could feel that it was once your space. The kitchen equipped with a fancy caf maker, ample kitchen wares, potted plants and herbs that had long died and dried in the sunlight coming in through the windows. There was an impressively organized wall of shelving right above a desk in the large main room, presumably where you would work on crafting armor. The only way to support yourself in such an environment. Most likely making trips into town in order to sell or trade.

There were three interior doors at the back of the structure. A heavy duty one off to the side of the kitchen. That one contained a greenhouse set up, or as close to one as you could imitate underground and on so hot a planet. There was a large panel of controls beside the door on the inside, telling Din of the way you controlled the pressure and moisture of the room One to a storage room, more evidence of your time spent here. Full of large bins and crates, evidence of grains and dried food. Of the pieces of armor you lovingly and intricately crafted.

One to a fresher, the last to what was once your bedroom.

Underneath the bed is where he found it, with the aid of his helmet. The massive rug that took up most of the bedroom floor hiding it in plain sight. The trap door exposed when he moved the bed and folded the rug up.

It wasn’t secured with anything that he could see, even with the aid of his helmet. It looked just like score marks dug into the stone ground. And he recalled the way you could effortlessly wield the Force, the power you shared with the child. Perhaps you hadn’t wanted a way for anyone else to access what lay hidden beneath, using it to manipulate the hideaway you felt you needed even this deep in the desert alone. Forever paranoid and fearful of being tracked down and found out.

Sighing, Din tried to think of a way to break the barrier, knowing he needed to search the entire home.

“Ad’ika,” He called, turning to see the child had situated himself on the couch in the main room. Eyes wide as he toyed with a broken collar. He wondered if it had belonged to a creature you had cared for, run away or long since passed now. “Ad’ika, can you help me?”

Leaning down to pick up the occupied child, Din pointed a gloved finger to the marks in the stone ground.

“Ad’ika, see these lines?” A gurgle of acknowledgement, the tilting of his head. “There’s a door here, that leads underground. Mesh’la put it there, do you think you can open it?”

Din set him down in front of it, crouching down to hold his hand out in front of them both and mimic the way you would twist your hand in concentration to harness your powers.

“Just like Mesh’la, like how you take the handle from the lever in the control room?”

Wide eyes looked up at him, curiosity in them at the man’s words.

If this didn’t work…he could always resort to using the charges fastened to his belt. Force a way through the entrance, but he didn’t want to damage the space or the room below.

But the crackling of stone was sharp as it sounded in the air. The child’s small face scrunched up in concentration, his eyes clenched shut as he harnessed his powers. Quiet grunts falling from his mouth as he struggled to move the stone.

But it was working. It was opening, the telltale sounds of stone grinding on stone as the thick slab that acted as an entrance was pried open.

“Good job, ad’ika! It’s working!” He couldn’t contain the pride in his voice nor the rapid beating of his heart. Positive that any answers he was in search of would dwell below. He moved forward to help lift the heavy slab, shoving it along the floor and revealing a dark space into the lower level of the house.

Turning on the flashlight of his helmet, Din descended into the bowels of your hideaway. Dust enveloped him as he waved at ad’ika to stay put on the higher level until he cleared the space.

It was a large room, the same size as the whole top floor of the structure. Though it was only two rooms, a living room and a bedroom with a second fresher. The living room held floor to ceiling bookcases, filled to the brim with physical books. A holo net in front of the couch, signs that you spent just as much time down here as you did in the rest of the structure if not more.  He hated the realization that you felt the need to hide away even this far out in the desert, this far out in the galaxy. Forever paranoid and holding the fear that you would be tracked down. And he had been a part of that fear, he had been one of the many who had sought you out.

The crate in the bedroom caught his eye, beckoning him forward. Not only because of the hefty locks sealing it shut but because there was energy around it that made the tips of his fingers tingle. Much like his blood when he felt your body pressed up to his own, the sacrament of your trust in him personified.

Walking toward it, the small baby curls of his recently trimmed hair prickled on the back of his neck.

Snapping the thick locks, he kneeled on the ground in front of it and slowly lifted the lid.

His breath left him as the visor set into a midnight blue, almost black Mandalorian helmet peered back up at him. It was in pristine condition, as if it had merely been taken off for the man who he suspected wore it to partake in a quick meal and not the reality that it had been stored here for who knows how many years untouched. He hadn’t asked if you had kept it, after the man’s death, but he was felt the question bubble on his tongue more than once. But the answer was sitting obvious and blaring right in front of him.

Lifting it revealed the very same pendant he had gifted to you, attached to a thinly crafted beskar chain.

The one you had said you intended to show him in order to garner his help, to let him know of your connection to his way of life. Lost in the scuffle of being taken off guard and whisked away, but it was here, awaiting your return. He wondered why you hadn’t worn it that day, the day that set your paths up to cross. With slow movements, he began to remove the cowl about his neck, laying it down beside him.

With a held breath, he reached for the pendant and fastened it around his neck, tucking it beneath his shirt and layers of protective ware fronted by his cuirass. The cowl going back in place.

Beside the helmet…beside it was a neatly arranged line of metal hilts similar to the one you carried with you at all times. Similar to the one you had tried to buy your freedom from him with when first meeting.

Similar but not identical.

There were four of them. Lightsabers, you had told him they were called. That he now knew were an integral part of the creed you had been trained in. But the fact remained that he didn’t know the why of how many you had in your possession.

You had said each person similar in skill and training crafted their own, each unique and personal to an individual much like the helmets and armor Mandalorian’s adorned. Carefully picking one up, tingling traveling further up his arms and settling down his back, he tilted it to see that it did indeed house a crystal like your own. Each one had a different hue.

He decided to stay in the place that you once called home that night, locking up the ship after checking to see if he had received word from Karga. But when there were transmissions waiting to be heard, he secured the ship. His head hurting and his mind overwhelmed at finding pieces of you, proof that you existed outside of his memories.

Settling into the bed, he knew it was a lost cause as he tried to feel close to you. Reality reminding him you hadn’t slept in either of the cots aboard the ship in nearly two weeks now, years for the bed he now lay atop, cover bunched underneath his arms as he curled on his side and regarded the journal you left behind in your haste to run. Ad’ika resting atop the pillow beside his own, wrapped in your cloak as if it was the softest blanket in the universe. The child trying to feel close to you as well, missing you and growing more concerned each day.

Sleep evaded him, your voice loud in his head, the way you had sounded so devoid of emotion when he had failed to communicate with you. Tipping into different memories, the most prominent of the events back on Nevarro.

It rang in his ears, over and over, layering itself until it was a buzz he couldn’t rid himself of.

Ner kar’ta.

The desperation in your voice, the tears in your eyes, the way your hands shook as they reached out for him, how gentle they were when they cradled his helmet. The soft press of your forehead to his chest, to his helmet, to his hands grasped in your own as he lay bloodied and injured, barely conscious and so tired. So ready for death after a life that had only allowed him a glimpse of you. To ensure you could escape and continue to live, to be safe.

You had told him, as well as you could, what you meant to him.

Had shown him, with trusting him to press his skin to yours, body tangled with his own. Nervous giggles sounding into the air and seizing his heart as he wanted for more of them. Of the breathy sighs and sounds that fell from your lips as you let him caress your skin, the soft give of your chest, the plush give of your thighs, the velvet smooth apex between them.

Trusted him with the most intimate parts of you, parts of human connection. Even in the face of all that you had endured.

And then you has whispered it, half asleep and safe underneath him.

I love you. Future husband.

And he shattered it. With a foolish blunder of words he hadn’t been able to reign in, to explain himself and his own desires in a more coherent way. That he wanted you just as you wanted him.

Jatne vod.

Contradicted with the emotion bleeding from your expressive eyes, the firm line of your lips as you closed your mouth, resigned to a notion that you gathered from his stupid, ill thought-out words. From his lack of words. The way your hands shook for an entirely different reason, the way you shrunk into yourself, away from him.

And then you had been gone.

And it hurt.

He left ad’ika in the room, fast asleep atop the pillows.

Removing his helmet and hanging his head in his hands, he settled on the couch. For the first time in a long time, the Mandalorian known for being so ruthless, for being so focused and emotionless behind his helmet, cried.  

“Mando, I’ve received word. But it is best relayed in person. I will be awaiting your arrival.”

Ad’ika was not having a good day, he didn’t want to leave the house he could feel your presence in. He had already wailed and shook his tiny fists as Din tried to pick up him. Causing the migraine addled man to lose his grip at the sharp pierce of his cries to his head. That had only resulted in the thump of ad’ika’s bottom on the stone floor and more crying.

Din already felt bad enough, but he felt like the worst guardian in the galaxy for dropping his foundling, for not being able to manage his own pain and discomfort to care for another’s. A pang of fear floods him, igniting his instincts in a way it rarely did. And he froze in his crouched position, having been about to scoop ad’ika up.

The child must’ve shared in his foreboding, a shriek sprouting from him and causing Din to cradle his head as best he could with the helmet, knees kissing the floor harshly as he fell to them.

Something was wrong. Low in his gut, unease bubbled and stuck to his insides.

He felt like he was going to be sick, his head throbbing, pain prickling from the healing scar at the back.

And then his body felt numb, like all sense of command was not his to control and his vision blacked out.

Nevarro loomed in the distance, approaching fast. The ship rattled at the harsh landing, Din’s steps hard and fast as he disembarked, the ramp closing behind him as he crossed the new archway that had been erected in the time he had been away. Months had gone by, one with you and one without. Having to spend another week resting in the place you once called home. He had fallen ill, though of what he didn’t have an answer. Only that his head felt like he had been electrocuted and his limbs had been hard to control. Adi’ka too, had been lethargic, crying out long into the night every time the suns had set and darkness took over the planet. The search for you stretching far too long, anxiety thrumming over his skin.

Karga was in the reconstructed city hall, reading over something laid out on the table when the door boomed open, revealing the determined figure of Din, a secretary behind him frantically trying to warn the man in charge of his arrival.

“Where?”

“Sir, please, you need to check in-“

“It’s alright, he’s got clearance.” With a nod the woman was closing the door behind her, knowing it was serious if all protocol was being ignored.

Din repeated his question, forgoing a formal greeting.

“Well, I wish these were better circumstances.” The man stood up, coming around the table and leaned against it, his arms crossed over his chest as he took in the still form of Din across the room. The wide eyes of the child peeking out from the bag at his hip, small hands allowing him to climb from within it and jump from the moderate height. He cooed, walking the distance to Karga and lifting his hands toward the man.

“I’m still trying to get intel on that. But I do know that it was her mother, who struck a deal with someone of the Guild. He…was here still when we took back the city. He had taken the transaction separate from the Guild, not wanting word of it to get back to me. To you.” He relayed the information as he bent down to pick up the small being.

“I’ve got him locked up, but he’s not speaking.”

“He will.”

“Mando-“

He was gone in a blink, stalking out the door and toward the prison cells kept on the lowest floor of the building.

The stone steps opened up to a line of cells on both sides of the long room, Din stopped in front of the only occupied one. Body buzzing with anger that the inhabitant had not only hunted you down and captured you but did so on the orders of someone who’s voice triggered you through a transmission. He couldn’t begin to imagine the visceral reaction you’d have upon seeing her for the first time in years, having entertained the thought of killing yourself in order to not have to deal with her again.

And he feared, heat catching in his throat as he felt the prickle of tears.

I’d rather be dead than be shackled for one more second of my life!

You…you wouldn’t, right? Now that you had him to return to, someone to rescue you from being stolen away from the life you had carved out for yourself. It had been so long since you had been taken, days, weeks, and entire month. And he still had no clue as to where you had been crated off to. It would be more days, more weeks, maybe another month before he could figure it out. Did you already seize an unknown opportunity, try to escape? Or had you given up, too loaded up with whatever drugs your mother and intended pumped into your system to make you compliant? Would you have taken the endless out of harming yourself, seeing it as the only option as he failed to come to your aid thus far?

Would you be able to sense the desperation and endless efforts he was putting forth to find you? That he was trying, despite the way he was still healing, despite the sense of dread that he would be too late?

Would you be able to sense his worry and fear over you having to deal with something you never wished for? A forced reunion with your mother, back in her clutches and control. A forced marriage to a man you didn’t know, the obligations that came along with that notion…the very same acts that had caused you to turn to self-harm in the past, the scars of which were displayed on the skin of your thighs, the same ones that he had run his fingers over not too long ago…

A man bound in cuffs was slumped against the floor, back leaning on the wall behind him. He appeared to be alive, though if his answers didn’t aid Din in his search for you he wouldn’t be for long. Giving into the urge to startle the unaware man, Din banged a fist on the bars of the cell. Jerking awake, the man’s eyes flew open and his chest heaved.

The second he recognized the armor, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“It was just a job, nothing personal, Mando.”

“Is that why you went out of your way to hide it from the Guild records?”

“You’re too self-righteous, knew you’d come after me for hunting the girl.”

The snapping of metal was loud, sickening as Din’s shoulders forced the control panel to bend and spark.

The whine of the door swinging open deafening as the man pressed himself back into the wall, trying to get up on his feet. But he was too slow, Din’s hands hauling the man up by the front of his jumpsuit and slamming him into the wall. A crack sounded as the back of the man’s head connected with the stone of the wall. A wail punched from his chest as he lost the air in his lungs.

“It’s too late, her mother married her off to some high lord. She’s probably already knocked up with his heir by now. Living a cush life in some nice palace far away from here.” He spoke unprompted by a direct question. Knowing that it was useless to try and lie to the Mandalorian.

The mere thought of someone touching you had anger swirling in his chest and stomach, igniting him in a dangerous way. You didn’t like people touching you, you didn’t like anyone who wasn’t him touching you in any way let alone intimately. His voice was low when he breathed out his next question, an edge to it that commanded the truth.

“Where?”

“Don’t know, I told her mother you were probably going to find out, track me down and kill me for the information. Don’t know why.” The man flipped the stray hairs flopping over his forehead away, teeth clenching as he recalled the way you had slammed him harshly into the side of the alley.  “The bitch has a pretty face, sure, but she was a handful. Took a lot to take her out, but once I did, she begged so sweet for me to let her go.”

“Drugging someone isn’t something to boast about, it’s a last-ditch effort for those who don’t have the skill for the job.” Din’s words were a guttural sound, echoing across the floor. Blood dripped from the man’s nose, a vambrace knocked into it the longer the man talked. He didn’t know anything, but that wouldn’t stop Din from beating what he could out of the man.

“So what? It took her down and that’s what mattered. I saw her take down those Storm Troopers that overran the city, there was no way I was going to be able to without the hint from her mother. You’ll find another body to warm your bed. No need to fret over-“

Din’s hand was around the man’s throat in a flash, knuckles popping with the force. An ugly gurgle deep in his chest, body desperate for air, but he would never take another breath again. Windpipe crushing under his palm, Din took some comfort in the final, choked sound the man made before his body went limp.

Before it could even crumple to the ground, Din was walking out of the room and going straight toward the stairs.  

“Mando, I sent communication to Cara, she’s-“

“I’ve got what I need.” Din was careful as he lifted the child from atop the desk where Karga had set him with a snack. Exchanging adoring coos with the tired little being. Making sure to offer the rest of the pack of dried fruit to the claws reaching out for it, a whine falling from his mouth at the idea of leaving it behind.

“Not so fast-“

“I don’t have time. I need to find her.” Din snapped, fists clenching and ad’ika ducking down into the bag at the boom of his voice. “She’s been sold like a slave by her mother.”

“I’m going with you,” Cara was firm in her decision, not wanting to take any chances of your distance becoming permanent. Of it leading to the demise of the person who you had begun to develop into that she had glimpsed.

“No, I have to handle this myself. I was the one who failed to protect her.” He moved to continue through the room, toward the door. But Cara was suddenly in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips a firm line.

“Mando, you’re gonna need help. And she’s important to me too.”

It was a quiet trek back to the entrance of the city, more ships having landed around his own. He was about to engage the ramp when two of the attending guards approached him. But they spoke with Cara at the sharp gaze of the visor on them. Another ship was offered for them to use, curtesy of the city and of Karga. Something a little smaller, a little faster, nondescript and wouldn’t give away the presence of an enraged and desperate Mandalorian searching for his partner.

When the argument for a different ship didn’t take, Karga approached through the archway.

Cara was hesitant to point out that the ship was as obvious as Din’s armor. A sign to tip off those keeping an eye out for threats. She had been quiet, sitting in the office with the magistrate and the child while the body of the now deceased Guild member who had hunted you down was taken care of. Waiting for Din to emerge from the containment level. But now she stood beside him, urging him to see the benefits to changing ships, just for the time being.

“Do we risk docking the ship in a hangar?”

“Yes, we lie about the model.” Din insisted, not wanting to leave the Crest behind.

“What if someone knows?”

“It’s an old ship, pre-Empire, no one will know.”

“They’ll run it through the system.” Karga spoke up, wanting to be a voice of reason for his friend determined to rush, to not take a beat and think things through. “Mando, you owe it to her to be as stealthy as possible. If they know you’re coming, once you track down where, they may hurt her. Take it out on her.”

Din closed his eyes, hand coming to the front of his helmet and over the visor. He didn’t want to part ways with his ship, even temporarily. It would mean he wasn’t surrounded by the things you left behind, the proof that you were real, had been with him, shared in a life with him even for a moment.

With his words more of a grunt than anything, he conceded, knowing the two beside him were just trying to help.

“What did you do Mando?” She asked quietly, the book from your crate in her hands and pages flipping as she looked through it. Hoping to find some light on how to connect with you. Din had gathered supplies from the Crest, things you may want once he managed to find you and rescue you.Your armor and more of your clothing, the first things he packed into your bag. An insistence for you to never leave the ship without the pauldrons again that he would plead with you until you conceded. People would be less likely to confront you with the tell-tale signet of a clan and the Mandalorian armor. But then again, he never planned to stray far from you outside of the ship. He knew you were capable, more than capable, but he…he wouldn’t be able to handle loosing you again if he was able to get you back.

When he got you back, he argued against the self-depreciating and negative thoughts that were attempting to consume him.

The ship was in hyperspace, a three-day trip ahead of them to make it to the mid rim coordinates of your home world. Neither had been there but knew of the inhabitants being an uneven mix of humans and a reptilian race. Oceans and sprawling fields of tall grass making up most of the environment. It was a moderately size planet, had seen bases for both the Resistance and the Empire in it’s time. Though the more recent had been the former. Most likely spurred on by your suspected return to what you knew in the wake of the Temple’s attack. An event in your life that you had yet to open up completely about, allowing him small glimpses before it became to much to talk about. But it was easy to connect the fall of Mandalore and the fall of your Temple being equally devastating, an attempt to take out entire cultures.

“I…I made a mistake.”

“…how big of a mistake?” Cara didn’t look up from the journal in her hands, not wanting to make the armored man feel cornered. Allowing him the privacy and space to turn away from the question should he want to, feel the need to.

“She fled the ship, to get some space. She must’ve been distracted, too worked up to keep her head up and on alert. It…I’m the reason she was taken.”

“Mando, you know that’s not true.” Cara tried to placate him, knowing he carried a lot of guilt over what had happened, whatever it had been to cause all of this. “She didn’t have her saber?”

“She does- did. She.. they drugged her. Like you said, it’s the only way to take her down.”

“Wait, this looks like Basic. They’re the only characters written differently…”

Din was hovering, making out the words on his own.

“Betrothed.”

He recalled the same words falling from your lips, the reason that prompted you to make an escape. You hadn’t wanted to be someone’s wife, someone’s property. The name was in Basic as well, something you didn’t want to forget lest they come after you themselves. A shadow of your past hovering over you and hidden in the back of your mind as you set out on your own, determined to hide yourself away to prevent anyone from having power over you. Of belonging to someone, anyone ever again.

And yet…you had so readily agreed in his commitment to you, knowing that was the only way Din would be able to share in your affections and wants. Mandalorian religion and culture strictly forbade the removal of one’s helmet unless it was with family, with a spouse, with children of the same clan. To do so outside of those conditions would result in the label of an apostate. Striped of their involvement in the lifestyle and Creed. It was a serious thing you should hold reservations about, with your past.

And while he hadn’t pushed the parameters of it….he had wanted to. For you, for himself, to share himself with you in the way that you had felt safe enough to voice. The realization that you had agreed to such an all-encompassing thing, being with him made him reflect. Why were you willing to do so with him, for him? He was just a bounty hunter, one who had actively sought you out and intended to turn you into the very person who had stolen you away. Sold you like an object to someone for their wants and needs, to fill a space in their life whichever way they commanded it. He had been of the same mind when first encountering you, seeking you out for a trade of currency.

Din was not a good man, though he tried to be for his people. But being a good man to his people, being the sole provider for his covert allowed him to be fast and loose with what it meant to be good in order to do so. What did it matter if the person whose puck he had was truly guilty of the accusations calling for their surrender if it allowed him to delivery credits and supplies to his people? What did it matter if the job warranted for the person he was tracking to be delivered dead or alive and he chose to kill them based on the simple notion of them running and it allowed him to bring a ration of meals to his people?

What had he ever done to deserve someone such as yourself willing to let down your walls and allow him entrance? He had been at internal war, whether or not to turn you in the second you spoke Mando’a to him, healed him, saved him from that second raging Mudhorn even when you had to reason to do so. You easily could’ve let the cut on his arm fester, let the rampaging creature take out his already spent form.

But…it wouldn’t have been easy, he knows now. How you cared for those around you: from friendly vendors to women you seemed to see yourself in, to children who are simply hungry and have no choice but to steal, to ad’ika in bounds and waves, to him. The constant swivel of your head while out in crowds and among people, sousing out threats and people who may be on the lookout for you. The swiftness with which you turn into a fighter when threatened and your freedom is at stake.

The thoughts swirled around and around in Din’s mind as the ship traveled toward your home world. The last known location of your mother and potentially holding clues as to who she struck a deal with. The now dead bounty hunter not having gotten a name, only concerned with the exchange of credits for your capture. No questions, no concerns. The quarry’s capture the only thing that mattered. The man had taken the job and completed it. Had died as a result of it.

Din had been like that too, not that long ago.

Could have easily been the one being imprisoned while someone who cared about a quarry sought answers and revenge. But he was the one realizing how fragile things where, had been since taking two fobs from Karga and altering the very meaning of his life.

Something about the wide, beseeching eyes of the child had activated his heart. Opened it up and made room for the small being to fit into. The uncertainty he had sensed from the child once its eyes had looked into his own, spurring a sense of concern from the armored man over its life well beyond the need to deliver it to the client healthy and alive.

“She asked for something, for a…kiss.”

“But…your helmet.” Cara weakly argued, knowing how strongly he adhered to his Creed. Not even removing it in the face of grave injury and offered aid. Not even removing it in the threat of death.

“I know,” His words were carried on a heavy sigh. He sat heavily in the seat beside her, the hull holding a small set up for longer travels. Ad’ika crawled from her lap and over the table, situating himself in Din’s arms, claws reaching for the helmet to try and sooth the man. “She- she called me ‘jatne vod’ before she fled from the ship.”

The cracking of his voice was not lost through the modulator.

“She must’ve felt so rejected, so unwanted. And I- I just stumbled over my words so badly she ran.”

“She knows you care about her, Din.”

The sound of his name from her lips, so different from when you spoke it, whispered it, breathed it, was too much for him.

“I really messed up, Cara.” He admitted with shaky words.

“We’ll fix it, I’ll help you fix it.”

K’ath was a beautiful planet. All endlessly sprawling ocean, sandy beaches, and small clustered villages.

Simple. Life here was simple. Crops being tended to, the oceans being fished in, no signs of the war other than an abandoned base on the edge of the largest cluster.

Din hadn’t ever wanted to enter the planet’s atmosphere, to step foot on the sandy land. It was a place that held painful memories for you, the crumbling of a life you had been hopeful to return to in the wake of losing everything that ever meant anything to you. A hopeful refuge after a life of hardships, but it had only provided you with more. The stripping of your freedom and the control over your own body.

It was simple enough to find your home, your mother’s home. Asking after the armorer, claiming he was in need of repairs. A Kath woman had been kind enough to try and use her broken Basic to tell them where he could find the store front, but that no one had been tended to it for some time now. That the woman who was known to run it could be approached at her personal residence. That she was kind and could be persuaded to help even though she’d long retired from working.

It was empty, signs of disuse obvious from the outside. Tall reeds of grass sprouting up at the foundation, the windows thick with grime. It was humble, despite the ways in which Din had seen you return from a shop front, a bag heavy with credits in your possession. A skill that you learned from your mother lending you a way to support yourself and indulge in all the things you had to go without for so long.

There was only one transmission on the communication radio set up in the corner that Cara had rushed to once the door had creaked open. Sand was collected in the corners, another sign that no one had occupied the residence for some time now.

“She’s on Maldovan.” Cara shuffled into the bedroom from the main one, aware that the man was focused on something she couldn’t see. He was as still as a statue, peering into the darkness of the doorway in front of him.

The visor allowing him to take in the room you had been held captive in. There was bedding on the ground, no frame for it to sit upon. A chair on the opposite side, close to the door. No windows, no other entrance or exit. A small room that was bathed in darkness lest someone bring a lantern into the room with them.

“I don’t know that planet.” Din admitted, shifting from where he was standing at the doorway of what had been the locked room hidden behind a large wardrobe to look over his shoulder at her. The shifting of it had popped a drawer open, revealing needles and syringes, vials that had been long emptied. All signs that this was truly the home you had been kept in.

“Is that-?”

“Where San was kept locked up, yeah.” He was surging forward, hands reaching for the chains secured to the walls above the bedding and he pulled. Using all the strength he had to rip them from where they were bolted, the wall cracking and splintering as he did so. The heavy chains fell to the floor with a clang, metal that sounded eerily familiar as it collapsed on itself. Kneeling down, Din reached for one of them, the cuff in his hand heavy and he sucked in a breath as he realized why such a simple contraption had been able to hold you: the chains were made of pure beskar.

Far too heavy for your drug addled body to fight against.

Programmed to shock you should you move too much, the sensors lining the inside of the cuffs telling him as much. With a shout he tore the second, lower set of chains from the wall, throwing them across the room in his rage.

The image of you shackled to the wall of this dark room, consumed with thoughts of ending your life kept him on his knees, forced his arms to support him as he crumpled to the ground completely. His modulator crackling with the heavy breaths.

Surging up, he activated bright flames to flow from his vambrace. Intent on tearing down the entire house to the last stud and beam. Cara was quick to retreat back outside, letting the man do what he felt was necessary. She stood behind him as he made his way outside, the structure entirely lit up and beginning to collapse in on itself.

Dark smoke whipped around in the breeze coming off of the nearby shoreline, doing nothing to quell the licking flames. Cara was doing her best to sooth an equally agitated child in the bad slung across her shoulders. Though she knew it would take time for them both to come back from seeing the evidence of your heavy past.

They watched as it turned from burning wood, the outer stone walls crumbling from the heat that had been trapped inside, to a pile of rubble and ash.

He knew it was against the Creed, that it was a sin to leave behind something of his people. But the beskar that had contained you glowed hot amongst the ash, left behind as he walked away from the plot of land and back to the ship.

“The holonet has little information on Maldovan. Citing that it’s a desert planet with white sands, crystalline oceans that bring in a lot of visitors.” Din announced as he exited the control room, the ship constructed of only that and one other room off the hold space. One level, but enough for them to be comfortable traveling. Cara had tried to get Din to retire to the room once they returned to the ship and left K’ath behind, but he had insisted he was fine. Though the door to the cockpit had been closed and locked for hours now, well into the trip since the ship had been jumped into hyperspace.

“And their walled city.” Cara added, as she brought up a hologram of the planet to life from her cuff. She had reached out to Karga, asking him for any aid he had to provide them on the place they were traveling to.

“Yes… and if her mother knows about you then it will be hard to make a plan. Your armor isn’t exactly common and I’m sure she’s told the royal guard to keep an eye out for you.”

“Haran.” He cursed, knowing Cara’s words were true.

Shit.

It was entirely possible, and he wouldn’t put it past the woman he personally knew nothing about, going off of the words of her that you had shared with him. But surely the only city on the planet wouldn’t go out of their way to screen the many tourists that sought out the picturesque world.

Time seemed to be moving slowly and far too fast all at the same time. Thoughts continued to consume Din, all the possibilities of what could occur, what had already occurred making him feel like he was a child once again who knew nothing of the world or how it worked. The ship’s system beeping before it shifted smoothly from traveling through hyperspace and back to sublight settings.

The planet in view was covered in vast expanses of white sand and bright blue. An ocean planet as much as a desert one. It was small, a moon to a larger planet visible in the sky even within the atmosphere as the ship descended. The only city was surrounded by a large wall, protection from the two outcroppings that looked to be a racetrack and the well-established tourist destination on either side.

Maldovan was known as a resort destination, an entire smaller sector off set from the main city. The sector looked to be abundant with hotels, spas, shopping, anything and everything to keep individuals occupied and a steady supply of credits flowing into the local economy.

Cara had suggested she be the one to guide the ship through the planet’s atmosphere, handle the communication with the intake group, and land the smaller ship into the hangar. She suggested he stay behind on the ship while she registered the ship, paying the station fee for several days. And when she returned, there was a frown on her face and a worried furrow to her brow.

The woman was frustrated, that much was obvious. Din merely watched her as she closed the ramp, turning to him and explaining what information she had gathered during the short interaction.

There were two glaringly obvious problems:

Everyone wore light, flowing coverings and outfits in order to gain access into the main part of the city.

And there were wanted posters depicting Din’s armored form.

previous chapter || next chapter

dividers: by the lovely @cafekitsune

taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls

[grogu-explains-it-all]

Happy Halloween, People!!

I collected my Halloween stories to share with you, plus also one that isn't really Halloween, but I kind of dress up as my dad... and I think that counts.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy my stories and have lots of yummy candies and things!

In Which, I Become An Expert Pumpkin Picker and I Am Confused With A Costume Accessory (Halloween Part 1)

In Which, I Get To Ride Seamus In The Halloween Parade and Oops I Let A Cat Out of A Bag, But Not A Real Cat or Bag (Halloween Part 2)

In Which, I Make a Jack O’Lantern and Go Trick or Treating, I Am Still Mistaken For A Prop But There’s Candy So… (Halloween Part 3)

In Which, I Go On A Walk And Hear A Ghost Story, That Has Nothing to Do with Jedis (drabble)

Bonus: The Sharpie (drabble)

If you have costumes or Jack's Lanterns or other things of me or my dad or my friends, I would love to see them!!

If you want, reblog this Halloweeny Masterlist with your pictures!!

[sugadolly]

𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂 𝒷𝑜𝓎

[auntie-venom]

Will of Fate

Chapter Eleven

Fandom: Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Story Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Characters: Din Djarin x Original Female Character

Summary: There hasn’t been an unidentified spacecraft in the stratosphere of Arkadia in over two decades, let alone three in one day. Those skilled or mad enough to venture into the Chaos unguided were few and far between. That means no one has ever made it to Arkadia who wasn’t intending to be here.

Until today.

or

Din Djarin finds an unmapped planet filled with beings who have the same powers as the Child, but know nothing of the force or the Jedi.

Chapter Summary: Eziriel and the Mandalorian kick off the hunt for the missing Imperial TIE pilot.

Word Count - 3,944

Chapter Warnings: None

Will of Fate Masterlist

Read on Ao3

A/N: This chapter is a little later than I intended. Real life tends to get busy when you want to get creative. I really appreciate everyone who is reading and letting me know that you like what I am doing. It is very encouraging. I hope you enjoy, any feedback is welcome!

Chapter Eleven

Eziriel is grumpily eating her breakfast. She got up at a ridiculous hour, long before the sun was meant to rise, to ride to the skyport and pack all the supplies she and the Mandalorian would need. She knew that he planned to leave in the morning after dropping his kid off with Nora and she wanted to make sure she had the skyship ready by then.

She had packed provisions into bags with the assumption that this task would take no longer than seven days. She honestly had no idea how long a bounty hunter took to catch a bounty, but if it took longer than seven days she would personally either grab something from a beacon station supply cache or take the few hours by skyship back to Helix to grab more supplies.

She had put away the drop-seats in the drop bay and packed the speeder bike into that area of the skyship. The ship was pretty small, but the Forest of Ga’ladora was very dense. She was sure she should be able to fly him close enough to the last known evidence point to drop him off with the bike to help his descent while she found a close place to land.

She did most of these tasks with a sense of smoldering rage. Amarian and her were discussing the lost Imperial TIE pilot on their way home from work the day before. After she voiced her concerns over her growing state of paranoia after returning to work and not knowing how to act amongst a potential betrayer, he admitted his frustration with the missing Imp and how he was irritated at the team of Enforcers’ lack of results. Eziriel thought they were just commiserating together over related woes until Amarian joked about hiring the Mandalorian to fix both of their problems; he could hunt down the TIE pilot and Eziriel would have to go with him due to her oath binding herself to his safety. Eziriel laughed, thinking there was no way Amarian would use her oath to the Mandalorian as a way to sneak her out of the office so quickly after being gone for weeks just so she can avoid the tension there.

But the bastard kriffing did it.

Eziriel knows an argument with the Mandalorian is coming. She did not discuss her coming with him on this trip and knows that there is going to be pushback from the man, and she completely understands. She does not want to be put in a dangerous situation. She is not someone who looks for risks to be heroic, she is the type of person to help come up with a plan and send people on their way with useful toys. So she knows she will have to sell her coming in a way that the Mandalorian is going to have to accept, and by the time she is finished with her labor, she thinks she's gotten her argument fully prepared.

It was an overall exhausting morning, but she took a moment of serenity, sitting at the edge of the launchpad and letting the rising sun warm her skin as she ate her breakfast in the quiet of the morning. Trying hard not to dwell on the impending argument from a stubborn man and about how much she enjoyed his presence interacting with her family last night.

After scheming with Amarian about the hunt and the supplies the Mandalorian needed to complete it successfully, they had a hearty dinner where Amarian offered the Mandalorian a table to eat in his locked study with the audio patched into the dining area. With how used to the disembodied voice of CHI the family was it was very easy to integrate the Mandalorian’s input into conversation. He did not speak much, but he asked more about the farming district where Nora grew up and how the agricultural council operated. This led to a boring discussion that Eziriel bailed out of in favor of making her niblings and the green child laugh with silly faces. It was a familiar type of evening that she missed while she was away trying to source the Cloak’s glitches. So she is extra annoyed she has to leave the familiarity of it so quickly because of Amarian using the Mandalorian.

By the time she is finished with her breakfast, Eziriel has built up the mental fortitude she knows she needs in order not to take out her frustrations upon another person. Taking one last moment to watch the late summer sunlight up Helix for the day, she stands up and goes to start running the preflight check on the small skyship.

════════════════════════════════════

“What are you doing here?” the Mandalorian’s voice asks out from the small cabin of the ship and she looks up from underneath the console to catch him placing a forearm onto the upper part of the door frame to lean in. “Don’t you have work?”

“Yep,” she says nonchalantly, hauling herself into the pilot seat and turning it to face him. She stares at him for a moment before continuing, “But I can review project updates during our flight.”

She watches his whole body still as he stares down at her and she feels a spike of worry come off him before he finally says in a stern voice, “No.”

“Yes,” she responds.

“You are not coming with me,” he demands.

“Hey Lori, I don’t want to come at all–”

“Great, problem solved,” he interrupts before grabbing her and pulling her out of the pilot seat.

“But I am sworn to your safety.” She explains, planting her heels into the ground and pulling herself out of his grip, knowing full and well that he isn't giving his full strength. She sits back down in the chair and gives him a scolding look. “We have gone over this.”

“What I do is too dangerous for some princess to ride along on,” he says in a frustrated tone. Leaning over into her space he plants his hands on the armrests, caging her into the seat. “This is dangerous and your silly superstitions have no place in it. Go home.”

Eziriel feels her facial features go heavy in anger at the condescending tone he is giving her and she has to take a breath before she lashes out. She’s used to being talked down to at work by her higher-ups or political snobs who want to use her for whatever skeezy plot they desire, but she expected more from those she considers friends. Yes, she has teased the Mandalorian, but has never patronized him like this before and it is insulting that he is doing it to her. She has been nothing but respectful to him and his more devout followings of his culture, just for him to throw hers in her face. There is a twinge of regret she feels from him that grows as she stares up at him in silence and she leans in close enough to him that her nose almost touches his helmet.

“The stakes of my honor are not superstition to me,” she states in a low threatening voice. “I thought a Mandalorian would understand that and would not insult it. Just as we do not insult how others' honor might be recognized in their culture,” she finishes with a flick to the side of his helmet to drive home her point and glares at him.

That small sliver of regret she feels in him cracks into remorse, but that initial spike of worry clouds his aura and she can understand where his harsh words came from. They stay there, him looking down at her still caging her in and her staring at the T in his helmet hoping she is meeting his eyeline. He finally drops his head forward and lets out a familiar sigh that Ezirial is starting to recognize as exasperated concession.

“I can tell that you are good at your job and my being there will be distracting enough to make it more dangerous for you, and ultimately go against my oath to your safety. That is why I feel I can keep you most safe by flying you to the locations you are needed and giving you backup from the safety of the skyship,” she explains her logic to him. “I have no intention of being on the ground with you hunting this person. My way of keeping you safe is to keep an open comm with you so I know if I need to give you transport, tech, or supply assistance.”

Eziriel gently raps her knuckles on his helmet, getting him to look up before continuing, “Come on, do you really think I am foolish enough to think a Mandalorian needs defensive protection? And that I would be the top choice for that position?” She makes a soft scoffing noise from her lips to show her feelings for that scenario.

“Having transport backup would be nice, so I don’t have to haul the bounty all the way back to where I initially parked the ship,” he admits to her and stands back up to his full height.

“I do seem to thrive as your personal chauffeur. Maybe I should consider a career change,” she quips while turning her attention to the console to start closing the loading ramp and begin her ignition checklist. “Plug in the coordinates that Amarian sent you into the navigation.”

“I am sorry I disrespected your beliefs,” he says softly, ignoring her command. He lowers himself into the copilot seat keeping his helmet on her and she can feel the remorse in both his words. “That was a cruel thing to do. Especially since I know you are just trying to help.”

“Thank you,” she answers just as softly, almost taken aback at his genuine, eloquent apology.

“But,” he starts and she inwardly cringes waiting for another argument. “If there comes a moment where you cross paths with the target, you must listen to me.”

Eziriel looks at how he is leaning in her direction from his jumpseat. He is tense and while his anxiety over her coming has lessened dramatically, he is still nervous. He cares, at least somewhat, about what happens to her.

“I will,” she agrees and smiles at him. “Didn’t know you cared so much Lori. I think you are starting to like me.”

“I just don’t want to create a political incident by getting the princess killed,” he says with a dry tone before turning to put in the coordinates, and for the first time since they met, Eziriel reads a lie off of the Mandalorian.

════════════════════════════════════

Since they were flying with a smaller planet-side ship within the troposphere they were looking at a four-hour trip to get to the crash site in Ga’ladora’s Canyon. The Mandalorian wanted to inspect the site itself to see if he could glean anything that the Enforcers missed.

The first hour was spent planning, starting with potential drop spots from the most recent planetary scans. The bottom of the canyon of the area they were going is too unstable with its rocky foundation for the weight of the ship, but there were a few options where Eziriel could lower into the canyon enough to drop the Mandalorian on the speeder bike so long as there haven’t been any recent collapses of one of the stone pillars that litter the canyon floor with debris.

After solidifying the drop plan, she then shows him some of the options for landing to set up a base camp near where he will land. The closest one, and the agreed upon one, is miles away in a small meadow in the woods that the Mandalorian will have to take one of the steep trails out of the canyon to reach.

She then gives him a small lecture accompanied by a slideshow on her datapad of any flora and fauna that reside in the Forest of Ga’ladora that were dangerous and what to do if he sees one. She doesn't have to see his face to know that he rolled his eyes several times at her presentation, but she does know that he is smart enough to take her warnings to heart.

For the rest of the trip, they sit in the small cabin as Eziriel works through her backlog of project updates from her DefTech team while the Mandalorian sits cross-armed with his helmet pointed at the front viewscreen while some percussion focused music thumps quietly over the comm system. She doesn’t know if he is dozing or just staring out the window but she cannot figure out how he remains so very still for such a long time. She is trying to figure out how long it has been since he last moved when his borrowed comm beeps at him and he slightly flinches. Ahh, dozing then, she thinks with a small grin as he looks at the comm and sighs with a shake of his head.

“Your brother is nearly as irritating as you,” he remarks. “‘Hope you like your pilot, she was desperate to fulfill her council-mandated community service.’” She snorts at Amarian’s message spoken with the dry unimpressed tone of the Mandalorian.

“I am still the reigning terror, I hope,” she says with a smile at him.

“For now,” he concedes and sits up a little straighter in his seat to check the ETA til the drop point. She checks it as well and sees they are about half an hour out and that CHI will be notifying her to take control from them shortly.

She stands up and makes her way out of the cabin and into the drop bay. She double-checks the bag she packed for the Mandalorian is strapped tightly to the speeder bike. She doesn’t want him to lose it on the way down or while he is traveling.

“What’s that?” his voice calls out from behind her making her jolt at his unexpected following.

“I packed some provisions for you. Medkit, survival kit, bedroll, and seven days' worth of food,” she lists as she climbs up to sit sideways on the speeder bike. “I just wanted to give you the option of not having to come back to base camp each night, but you will be missing out on actual bunks,” she says as she points to one of the retracted bunks on the side of the drop bay.

“I appreciate your preparedness,” he says. “But I don’t need much on a hunt.”

“Better to have and not need,” she says with a shrug and then holds her hand out to him. “Your vambrace, please”

He is hesitant but turns to lean his hip against the speeder resting one arm behind her and holding out his other arm to her which she gently takes to lay across her lap. Turning her visor on she inspects the vambrace silently and clicks it on to see the user interface he deals with.

“I could have done that for you,” he chastises.

“This doesn’t allow long-range reception or communication, does it?” She asks, knowing the answer at seeing the hardware through his visor.

“No, only proximity-based,” he says and she hums at him and she opens her HolOmni to pull up local holomaps and her dangerous flora and fauna presentation to begin the data transfer between the two.

“I could fix that for you. Make it so you never have to carry a separate comm again. It’s very freeing,” she offers resting her arm against his while they watch the data load. “I could also make your analog interface into a holo projection interface if you’d like. I’m still perfecting the tactility of the holoform, but it’s pretty solid if you aren’t too aggressive. Give it a feel.”

She angles her arm at him and he lifts his arm from her lap and drags his finger across her menu screen of the HolOmni. She looks up at him to make a joke only to realize how intimately close they are. His chest almost touches her arm and his arm rests behind her in a position that is inches away from an embrace. She feels her neck heat up at the observation and hopes he is too focused on interacting with her HolOmni to notice. When he finally draws his attention back to her face she tries to give him a normal smile but there is a small catch of breath that his vocabulator doesn’t pick up but Eziriel barely hears.

“I think that it might be too nice for me,” he says in a quiet voice before lowering his arm down to place it back in her lap, but this time his hand rests on her thigh rather than hanging off awkwardly.

“You are allowed to want nice things,” she says just as quietly and she feels one of his fingers twitch. She tries to compose what to say next when her HolOmni beeps that the file transfer is done. They don’t pay any attention to it and just stare at each other, gauging one another for a few moments before the posh voice of CHI rings through the ship’s comms.

“We are ten minutes from the drop zone, I suggest you relieve me from autopilot.” Eziriel jerks at his voice and the Mandalorian pulls away.

“Right,” she says. “Saddle up Lori, you’ve got a fall ahead of you.” She gives him a grin and hops down from the bike trying to bury that intimate tension that filled the space only moments earlier with their familiar banter.

“I think I can handle that,” he says while mounting the bike as she makes it to the cabin door.

“Hey,” she catches his attention and he looks up at her. “Let the Will of fate guide your way.” He gives her a nod and she slips into the small cabin to begin their complex descent into Ga’ladora’s Canyon.

════════════════════════════════════

Eziriel had just landed after the successful drop-off and was about to start setting up base camp in the area they both agreed upon when the Mandalorian comms in for the first time.

“Change of plans,” he states suddenly into her earpiece.

“Already? It’s been, like, fifteen minutes?” she complains.

“I have a trail and it goes the opposite direction of where you plan to set up camp. I figured you’d want to at least be in the same direction I’m headed,” he explains. “The second location option is in the direction I’m headed if you want to go set up there.”

“Will do,” she confirms. The second location was much further out, but to the south of the canyon next to a small river with just enough space for the small skyship to land. “Amarian said the storm washed away all their tracks, what did you find?”

“Imperial pilots have protocols if they crash. They are to find the closest civilization to make a rescue call. If they cannot find civilization they are to head to the highest point to set up an emergency transponder,” he explains. “However, they are supposed to make discreet marks to show where they are going so they can be tracked by a rescue unit. You wouldn’t notice the marks unless you were specifically looking for them.”

“And you are a smart hunter who knows their prey,” Eziriel says with a smile. She gets the ship back in the air and can’t help but be impressed with him as he explains what he found. A small mark on the lower part of a nearby stone pillar. From that mark alone he was able to determine the initial direction the TIE pilot was headed six days prior.

“A good bounty hunter knows the target’s tactics,” he states simply once he is finished giving her his explanation.

“I guess you weren’t exaggerating when you said you were the best,” she says cheekily.

“I don’t exaggerate,” he says.

“I know you don’t,” she reassures.

════════════════════════════════════

That first night the Mandalorian surprisingly came back to base camp when it was getting late. They had been staying in touch here and there with him giving her updates and her asking him bounty-hunting questions. When night became fully dark he showed up at camp. He claimed he was close enough that it made sense to rest where she was already set up and had a proximity alert, but the way he groaned in relief at laying on the bunk below her told her the real reason was simply comfort and she was glad she could give him that.

The second day he was out as soon as the sun rose, nodding in acknowledgment at Eziriel’s sleepy goodbye wave. She spends most of the day powering through the rest of her reports and pestering the Mandalorian with little jokes and quips just to hear him sigh, but she swears she can hear a smile in that sigh. He spends the day giving her updates and sometimes talking to her about his thought process in tracking the TIE pilot. He eventually found bootprints his HUD could follow and it made his job easier since there weren’t other humanoid tracks to taint the trail. He doesn’t come back to base camp that day and Eziriel is somewhat disappointed to be spending an evening alone.

On the third day, she spends her time working on a few of her own projects while lounging on a rock by the small river trying to soak in the sun’s warm rays. She ends up asking him random questions today during his updates and she finds out that he thinks having favorite things is pointless. But after nagging him she discovers he prefers savory food over sweet, rural areas over city, and nights in over nights out. Even though he claimed he doesn’t have favorite things he was quick to tell her of his preferred weapons and their ideal situation to be used when she asked, and she had to stifle the laugh his brief enthusiasm caused.

During that third day, he deduces that the TIE pilot is headed towards the mountain range south of them to try and set up the emergency transponder. They discuss finding a new spot for her to move to in the direction he is headed, but off the path that he thinks the Imperial is taking. There were three options in the dense woods and she is unsure if some of the choices are still viable after that storm he arrived in.

“I’ll just check them out tomorrow afternoon to see which one works. I can send you the exact coordinates when I land to your comm so you can manually punch it in your vambrace holomap,” she tells him over comms while she eats her evening ration. She gives him an exaggerated sigh before continuing, “Really Lori, let me upgrade your set-up so people can just drop information to you directly. Imagine, no more carrying a separate comm to sync to your kit.”

“It’s never been a problem before,” he says and follows it with a groan of relief that Eziriel assumes is from getting off the bike for the night.

“Streamlining that process could very well save a life,” she states. “You don’t know how much you might need something like that until it’s too late.”

She can practically hear his eyes roll over the comms, before he goes on a small monologue about how he is perfectly fine without her advanced technology and doesn’t need it to be the best at his job. She just listens to his voice lecture her and smiles softly to herself as the moons crest overhead in the night sky.

<<  Chapter Ten

Chapter Twelve >>

[ryehouses]

What is your favorite Boba POV you’ve written? (and can we read it too?)

hello hello! thanks for stopping by!

that's a hard question, lol. i'm not very good at picking favorites! this below is one of my top five, though ;)

set during chapter 16, "tingaanur," while din and boba are having their little wrestling match. cw for the usual stuff, including grown men wrestling, some blood and the quintessential mandalorian ability to both gain and sublimate feelings through emotionally-charged physical violence.

in which boba realizes that he wasn’t quite prepared for this, honestly.

Boba had half-expected Din to turn him down, when Boba’d offered Din a good fight instead of what it was that Din had really wanted. 

Din had come back from Mos Entha jumpy and upset, teeth bared like an anooba about to bite. Mos Entha, Boba’d gathered, hadn’t gone well, though from what Din had said he’d managed to keep Lady Valarian from killing him, which was an achievement. Valarian was a stubborn old gutkurr, set in her ways and suspicious of outsiders, and she had no reason to like Boba or anybody working for Boba. That was why Boba’d sent Kasyyk along after Din to help Din out, if he’d needed it, even though Din hadn’t been in Mos Entha on Boba’s business. 

Din had gone to Mos Entha to look for other Mandalorians. For his clan, he’d said. 

He didn’t find them. 

Din had come back to the palace wound up so tightly that Boba’d been half-worried that Din would crack in two down the middle, ripping himself apart. Din carried his tension tight, high in his shoulders, and looking at him standing there at the edge of Boba’s room – at the edge of the desert – had made Boba’s own shoulders ache in sympathy. 

It had been easy enough to pull Din away from the edge. Underneath all of the anooba growls and bristling beskar Din was obliging enough, at least with Boba. He trusted Boba enough now to listen to him, and so far he’d been willing to let Boba manage him. 

I didn’t know if he’d agree to fight or not, though. 

Honestly, Boba’d been hoping for a calmer night. His own day had been long – though not as long as Din’s, since Din had been all the way out in Mos Entha, on the other side of the Great Dune Sea – and his left knee’d been aching all day. Boba liked to blame the ache on the sarlacc, but the truth was that that knee had bothered Boba for twenty years, and it ached fiercely in the chill of a desert night. 

Boba set the ache aside. Din had finally asked for something that he wanted, which was a small miracle, considering how stubborn he was, and Boba intended to give it to him. So far getting Din Djarin to admit that he wanted or needed something had been a bit like trying to pull a rancor’s teeth while the rancor was still awake. Boba was determined to reward this particular bit of honesty. 

Din hadn’t asked for a fight, though. He’d asked Boba to hit him. Boba wasn’t sure that any of that would be on the table tonight, not with Din as tightly-wound as he was, but a little pain, a little distraction – Boba could give him that. 

A fight’d go over better than a flogging, I think. 

Din was clearly struggling with something. Boba liked to think that he knew Din pretty well, by now – Din’d fallen asleep on Boba often enough – and he could see the way that what had happened in Mos Entha was eating at Din. 

He said that he’d failed, Boba thought, straightening up and surveying his handiwork. He had painted an aza’gad ring on the floor in green armor paint. Boba was pretty sure that he’d gotten the size right. In his days with the Spotted Anooba, Boba’d drawn a fair few aza’gad rings, always willing to fight to prove his place. 

It was a good thing that Boba didn’t bother keeping much furniture around up here. The bed was on the other side of the pillar and Boba’s workspace was a bit beyond that. He had plenty of open floor space. He was half-tempted to go off in search of some kind of padding – Tuskens fought on sand, which was a bit more forgiving that the hard sandstone floor – but didn’t know where he’d find some at this hour of the night, and knew that if he went looking for a rug or six, Fennec would hear about it and laugh at Boba in the morning. 

I’ve got bacta, Boba thought. That ought to take care of any bruises. 

A few bruises might help Din, anyway. He was fighting something inside his head. When Boba had asked him what had happened in Mos Entha, Din had said that he’d failed. His clan had been in Mos Entha but they’d left in a hurry, and Din was worried that they were in trouble.  

Boba had tried to help Din figure out what to do, but some kind of frantic, furious energy still twitched through Din’s jaw. Words hadn’t been enough. A plan of attack, of how to go about locating his missing clan, hadn’t been enough. 

Maybe a few bruises will be, Boba thought. He hoped that it would be enough, anyway. Boba wanted to help Din out. To give him what he needed to sleep through the night, so Din'd be fresh and strong in the morning, clear-headed.

Happy.

Boba paused to examine that thought. The desire to give Din what he wanted – what he needed – wasn’t new, not really. Boba was too old to learn new things about himself; he’d known about this part of himself for a long time. 

He wanted to help Din out. Din’s bleak tone – his anger, his desperation – when he’d come back from Mos Entha had bothered Boba. The bleak look on Din’s face had cut Boba like a knife.  

Troubled, Boba left the circle of wet paint and went about the business of shedding his armor. Once he’d gotten all of that off and set aside, he peeled off his kute, too, and all of his draped Tusken robes. The robes themselves were light enough and easy to move in, but Boba didn’t want to give Din an extra handhold. Knowing Din, he’d probably try to strangle Boba with any loose fabric he could get his dangerous Mandalorian hands on. 

Boba settled for a loose pair of fabric pants, then padded back over to the aza’gad ring just in time to catch the turbolift as it chimed softly and opened, letting Din pad back out into Boba’s rooms. 

He looks steady enough, Boba thought, looking Din up and down again. Like Boba, Din’d shed his armor and his stiff flightsuit, opting for a similar set of loose fabric clothes. He looked softer like this, outside of his armor. Not gentle, exactly, because Din moved like a fighter no matter what he was wearing, but less like the edges of him would cut Boba to pieces if Boba didn’t move carefully. 

Din saw Boba as he came out of the turbolift, and Din paused. His eyes flickered over the room, took in the aza’gad ring, the night sky, Boba himself. His eyes lingered on a few of Boba’s scars. 

Boba half-smiled. He’d had so many scars for so long that he barely noticed them any more, but Boba knew that he looked rather like a lightning-scarred cedru tree. Sarlacc acid had left webbed scars across his shoulders, his head, the backs of his hands, and hard living out in the wider galaxy had left Boba with blaster scars, knife scars, burn scars, claw marks. 

Din caught Boba watching him back and flushed, the tips of his ears redding. He looked away. 

Boba smiled again, hoping to set Din more at ease. He didn’t mind Din looking. “The life of a bounty hunter, eh?” he said. 

Din had plenty of scars of his own. Boba’d been surprised to see them, the first time he had. Din had been wide-eyed then too, he remembered. Wary, but willing to listen. To learn. Din’s body was a patchwork of scars just like Boba’s was, even though Din had grown up with a clan and Boba hadn’t. 

Bounty hunting was hard and dangerous, though, and anyone who’d been in the business long enough collected scars. Boba would’ve thought that a proper clan would’ve taken better care of one of its warriors, like the little pods of clones had always tried to take care of each other on Kamino, but Boba didn’t know very much about Mandalorian clans, not really. 

“Could tell you about them some time, if you want,” Boba said, meaning his scars. He laid a hand over a long, wide patch of white-scarred skin just above his hip. Boba’d gotten it falling off a speeder on Nar Shaddaa; he’d hit the ground with enough force and speed to grate all of the skin off there, and the wound hadn’t healed cleanly. 

Din had a similar scar on one elbow, if Boba remembered right. 

“We could trade,” Boba offered. “I’m sure you’ve got a few stories of your own.” 

Din snorted, but some of his discomfort faded. “I do,” he admitted. He made no move to step closer. 

Still skittish, then, Boba thought. He sighed. “Well?” he prompted, aiming for gentle. “Ready?” 

Din hated to be coddled – or to even think that he was being coddled, regardless of Boba’s intentions – and a hardness crossed his face, a bit of the fierce bounty hunter, the beroya, coming into Din’s eyes. 

Halfway to glaring, Din tugged his shirt off artlessly and tossed it to the side, like Boba’d thrown a verd knife down at his feet in challenge instead of just asking him if he was ready to start the match or not.  

Boba suppressed a smile. Affection twitched through him. He was getting used to that; something about Din just made Boba fond of him, and the fondness was only deepening as Boa and Din got to know each other a little better.

No point in teasing him now, Boba thought. Over the last few weeks he’d found that it was fun to tease Din, but Boba’d rather fluster Din in the middle of the ring, when being flustered might get Din to trip or drop his guard. 

Unlikely, Boba thought. Djarin was good in the ring. The first time Boba’d coaxed Din to spar, Din’d fought like back-alley brawler from some dark underbelly on Coruscant or Corellia. It was good that they’d be wrestling on stone – Boba wouldn’t put it past Din to toss sand in Boba’s eyes, if he thought it’d give him an advantage. 

Still, Boba could hope. He deliberately smothered the curl of affection in his chest and said, instead of teasing, “You look better.” 

Din did. The first time Boba had seen him without his armor on, Din had been pale and stretched thin, lean as an anooba coming out of high summer, when food was scarce and the desert terrible and harsh. 

A few weeks of Ushib’s cooking had filled Din back out some. He looked every inch the fighter now, strong and steady on his feet. Boba’s blood began to hum, anticipation rising. 

This should be fun, he thought. 

“Ushib’s cooking’s done you some good, looks like. How’re you feeling?” Boba asked. He knew that Din was still tense. Djarin carried stress in the set of his jaw. His eyes were still pinched with worry. 

But Din just shrugged and looked Boba up and down, eyes skipping over most of Boba’s scars, no doubt looking for any obvious weaknesses that he could exploit in the ring. 

Boba approved, and shifted to make sure that he wasn’t favoring his old, sore knee where Din could see him do it. 

“Didn’t get into any trouble in Mos Entha?” Boba pressed, looking Din over for any sign of a new or especially-tender injury that Boba should avoid. Din still had a faint bruise across his side where A’Shek had walloped him in the desert – Boba’d met the business end of A’Shek’s gaderffii more than a few times, and was very familiar with how deep those bruises went – but Boba didn’t see anything that was red or raw or bleeding.  

“None that I had to fight my way out of,” Din said evasively. Boba snorted. 

“So you’ve got some energy to burn,” he said, trying to figure out how much effort he was going to have to put into the ring. He hadn’t wrestled or grappled with Din before, but their spar in the training room above the kitchens had been fast-paced and ferocious. Anticipation built. 

Din nodded in answer, his fingers flexing restlessly. Some of the frantic edge he’d had coming back in had finally faded, shifted over into sharp-eyed focus. Smooth muscle moved underneath a faded tattoo spanning one of Djarin’s shoulders. 

Boba let himself grin, the fight rising in him, moving his weight around to loosen his limbs. Din, just as ready to brawl as Boba, stepped carefully over the line of still-wet paint and inspected the makeshift aza’gad ring. Boba followed, the urge to tackle Din from behind – to sweep his legs out, and to follow him to the floor – burning brightly in his belly, but Boba wrestled it back. 

Rules first, he thought, and prompted Din with the same question. He rolled his shoulders out, determined to banish the tension that always built there after a day in heavy armor. 

I already said ‘no biting,’ Boba thought, watching Din. But I’m curious to see what else he came up with. 

As Boba watched him, Din’s eyes sharpened further. His gaze was clear and all of his attention was focused on Boba. Boba ignored the way that holding Din’s focus made him want to show off like a pylat bird, preening feathers to catch the light. 

“No maiming,” Din replied, repeating what Boba’d said earlier. “No serious injury, either. We both need to be in fighting shape.” 

Given that Fennec had caught wind of a small Hutt force creeping out in the sands yesterday, Din had the right idea. Boba inclined his head, though a wave of amusement – of affection, not the first Boba’d felt looking at Din Djarin, and probably not the last, either – swept through him. 

“That it?” Boba asked, keeping his tone light. No biting, no maiming, no serious injury. Most other fighters that Boba knew would be scrambling to add rules about going for the groin or the face, rules about pins or illegal holds. 

But not Din. 

Another wave of affection pushed its way through Boba’s chest. Djar’ika’s got some shereshoy, that’s for sure, he thought. 

Din shrugged. “Unless you thought of anything else?” 

Boba grinned, showing Din all of his teeth. 

Boba had thought of something else. It wasn’t a rule and he told Din as much, but Boba was learning more about Din every day, and he thought that Din would probably like this. That it’d give Din the challenge he was craving, that it would pull his mind away from Mos Entha and his missing clan, and fix his attention here instead. 

“I’ve got an idea,” Boba said. 

Din froze. Something – hunger, hope – flashed across his face and his dark eyes met Boba’s. Din didn’t look Boba in the eye all that often, too used to the barrier that his helmet gave him, but when he did the connection that snapped between Din and Boba was always alive, crackling like lightning in the summer sky. It crackled between them now. Din understood what Boba was offering him. 

Boba wasn’t used to being understood without effort, but he didn’t mind that Din could do it. It made things like this easier to manage. 

“I’m listening,” Din said, hoarsely. Boba’s grin broadened. 

Not many men were brave enough to stare Boba down when he smiled at them like this, the way he smiled when his bloodlust was rising, when the thrill of a good, hard fight was beginning to thunder in Boba’s blood. But Din was brave enough. He didn’t look away. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Boba said, watching Din carefully, “about what you wanted.” 

He knew that he didn’t have to clarify what he was talking about. The naked hunger that crossed Din’s face told Boba that Din hadn’t forgotten. 

“About… hitting me?” Din asked. His voice was softer outside of his helmet. 

“If you want me to,” said Boba easily, studying Din again. Din’s body was looser now, some of his tight, terrible tension bled out by just the promise of a good fight. As long as Din kept that tension at bay, Boba didn’t have too many reservations about the possibility of a session of some kind tonight. 

I’m not gonna flog him, Boba thought. Not like I did before. Even if the wrestling managed to wring Din out, that kind of intense session could still go bad. Din was so karking stubborn that he’d be able to take a bit of a beating, if he really wanted to, but a hard session – 

No. That’s off the table for tonight. 

“I was thinking,” Boba continued, enjoying the full force of Din’s attention. Din turned to Boba like a mala’ayy turned up towards the light of Tatooine’s three moons. Boba’d never been a vain man, not really – it was hard to be vain with a nose that had been broken as often as Boba’s had – but he liked the attention anyway, because he knew that Din was honest about it. 

“If you win,” Boba said, “you can decide what you want to happen next. If you want me to flog you after we’re done here, I can do that. Within reason,” he added, to make sure that Din knew there’d be a limit on anything that happened tonight. 

Din took a flogging well. Really well, if Boba were being honest. The thought of getting to watch Din take hit after hit, to watch him struggle to hold still, to hear those bitten-off sounds of pain again made a different, darker kind of heat rise in Boba’s blood. 

But Boba wasn’t going to hurt Din tonight. 

Not much, at least. 

“The same rules will apply,” he said. “Nothing serious, no matter how much you want it. I don’t think you’re up for it tonight.” Din flashed his teeth a little, pulling a face. He hated to feel like he was being coddled unless he’d been hurt first – after those first few sessions, Din had cuddled up to Boba like a tame tooka and had sleepily protested any time Boba’d shifted away. He had a skin-hunger to him, Din, but he wouldn’t let Boba touch him with gentleness unless Boba hurt him first. 

That was hardly the strangest thing about Din Djarin, but it was something that stuck to Boba like a burr underneath his armor, prickling and close. 

Din didn’t puff up like an offended loth-cat or protest, though. He grimaced, clearly disagreeing with Boba’s words, but he didn’t try to argue. Din didn’t say anything for a second, then five, then ten, moonlight filtering in across the room and dappling the aza’gad ring. 

Boba waited, pleased that Din was showing some patience. That was good. That meant that his head was a little clearer than it had been. 

“And if you win?” Din’s voice was strong, but still hoarse. Fierce desire shone in his eyes. 

Boba shrugged and got into a proper stance. “That’s for me to decide, isn’t it?” he said. 

Now I can tease him. Din and Boba were both in the ring now. Flustering Din now would give Boba an advantage, and he intended to press every advantage that he had. 

“If you’re so sure that you’ll lose, we can skip the formalities,” Boba added. 

Din huffed and rolled his eyes. He slid into a ready stance too, crouched forward on the balls of his feet, the muscles in his shoulders flexing, and watched Boba. 

He’s trying to figure me out, Boba thought, recognizing the sharp gleam in Din’s eyes. Din was a smart fighter. He was comparing the two of them, looking for weaknesses, trying to decide what to do. How to win. 

Din was taller than Boba and probably faster too, especially without his armor. Boba knew that he had Din beat if it came to a contest of raw strength, but Din was still a dangerous fighter, and pinning him was going to be a challenge. 

Boba shifted his weight again, excited now, the promise of a good fight singing in his veins. He was just about ready, and it looked like Din was ready too. Boba pulled in a deep, slow breath to steady himself. 

Alright, he thought, planning to go for Din’s right side, where his arm had been broken by that darktrooper and his grip would be the weakest. Ready – 

But Boba didn’t get to count them down and start the spar; before Boba could open his mouth and plan his first move, Din lunged, fast and hard, for Boba’s own right side. Boba swore, leaping sideways just in time to avoid getting tackled, and took a few steps back to put more room between himself and Din. 

It was a close call. Din’s hand brushed Boba’s side as he passed, the rough, calloused skin of Din’s fingertips grazing Boba’s ribs. Heat sparked at the touch. 

Boba dodged him, though, and Din overshot, though he recovered quickly and pivoted to follow Boba. His eyes flashed and he showed Boba a smile that was all teeth. Boba laughed. He liked that expression much more than the one Din had been wearing when Boba had come up here and found Din staring out over the desert. The ghul was gone. Din was ready for a fight. 

“I didn’t even say ‘go’ yet, you menace,” Boba said, still chuckling. Din had plenty of courage. Gett’se, the word was. Boba resolved to teach it to Din later. “Where’s your sportsmanship?” 

Din snorted, nose wrinkling like Boba’d called him something impolite. “I want to win,” he said. 

  A helpless sort of affection bloomed behind Boba’s ribs.

Mandalorians, he thought. Usually the word was a bitten-off curse, but it was harder for Boba to feel the same sort of hot disdain towards Din that he usually held on the rare occasions when Boba’d been forced to interact with Mandalorians. Any ideas that Boba might’ve had about Din being like the rest had evaporated on Tython. With Din, Mandalorian wasn’t a curse.  

“Fine,” said Boba, laying out the rest of the rules quickly before Din could jump him again. “First one pinned – and I mean really pinned – loses. You can tap out by hitting the floor three times or by calling ‘yield.’ Ya’sta. If you go out of the ring, you also lose. Got it?” 

“Got it,” said Din, and then he did lunge for Boba again, pressing his advantage shamelessly. This time he managed to catch Boba, grabbing Boba by the arm, but Boba’s stance was rooted and it wasn’t hard to shake Din off. This early in the match, Boba didn’t want to burn through all of his energy grappling when he could dodge or avoid an attack instead. Boba shook Din away and then backed up, aware of where the edge of the aza’gad circle was.

“What,” Din said, a challenge bright in his tone. “There’s no word in Mandalorian for ‘I give up?’” 

“Mando’a,” Boba said, correcting Din on instinct. Boba didn’t have much of the language, but he knew enough to know what it was called. Din mirrored Boba, backing off, shaking his hand out. 

That arm does bother him, Boba thought, narrowing his eyes. 

“And no,” Boba continued. He didn’t want to be a sitting bantha, so he started to move, pacing slowly around the inner edge of the aza’gad ring. “There’s ‘pel,’ which can mean ‘soft’ or ‘yielding,’ but that’s about it.” 

Mandalorians weren’t big on surrender. Even Boba knew that. 

Din mirrored Boba again, circling from the opposite side of the ring, his eyes glittering in the bright silver light. He looked nothing like he had just twenty minutes ago, when he’d been bleak and angry and anxious. Now Din was fierce and confident, his attention fixed on Boba, and anticipation thrummed hotly in Boba’s blood. 

Alright, Boba thought. He’s had the first two tries. Now it’s my turn. 

“You ever hear of Ubardian oil wrestling?” Boba asked. Ubardian oil wrestling was a fairly obscure sport, but Din knew some very obscure things. While he talked, Boba feinted, probing for weaknesses in Din’s defense. Din eeled gracefully away. 

“No,” Din said. 

Boba grinned. “Participants strip down to a ceremonial loincloth,” Boba explained. He flexed, rolling his shoulders to show off his strength, because he’d caught Djarin looking at him before. 

Din, perhaps predictably, flushed red. 

“And fighters are covered in Maridunish oil,” Boba continued. He’d only ever seen an Ubardian oil wrestling match once, as a much younger man traveling through the galaxy before he’d gotten comfortable and set in his ways on Tatooine. At the time Boba’d been more focused on his target, but he’d appreciated the way the wrestlers had moved nonetheless, the strength in their arms, their grace, the way their bodies had shone in the light. 

Din’s flush deepened, his eyes on the smooth muscles in Boba’s shoulders, his biceps, his broad chest. 

Got you, Boba thought, amused. Din wasn’t the only one who could cheat. He lunged again, just like Din had, but Din skipped back and bared his teeth. 

“I have seen a naked man before, Fett,” he growled. Din coiled up like a spit viper, ready to strike. 

“That blush you’ve got on could’ve fooled me,” Boba returned, mostly just to see that pretty flush coloring Din’s face deepen. When Din was embarrassed – which was often, Boba was finding – Din blushed down his throat, down his chest to his nipples. His ears went red. 

Another steady beat of affection went through Boba’s chest, tangling with the adrenaline still burning there. 

“You know how you win a bout of Ubardian oil wrestling?” Boba asked. He should probably stop teasing Din like this, but he liked seeing Din blush and the lives they lived were often hard and thankless, and Boba’d decided in the sarlacc’s belly, acid eating at his face and his hands, that if he was going to live, he was going to karking enjoy it, and do what made him happy. 

“I bet you’re going to tell me,” Din grouched, and then Boba realized that he’d left himself open just as Din rushed him a third time. Boba was able to avoid Din’s hands, but Din swept his foot out and yanked on Boba’s ankle and tried to overbalance him. 

It worked. 

“Kark,” Boba grunted, more out of surprise than pain, and fought to keep his footing. He managed it for just a moment, but then Djarin, shameless and fearless in equal measure, came at Boba again, and this time he dropped a shoulder and caught Boba in the chest. 

That blow did hurt. Boba went with it and fell backwards, Din coming down with him, and wheezed for breath when he hit the ground. Red and white light blurred at the edges of Boba’s vision. 

They grappled on the floor for a few frantic seconds, Din trying to pin Boba down, but Boba had seen Ubardian oil wrestling before, had cut his teeth on fights like this one, first in the Republic’s custody on RepJud and then later, when Boba’d been young enough and wild enough to think himself invincible and the clink he could win in the fighting pits had been worth the bruises and bloody noses. 

Boba wasn’t invincible and he knew that now, but he was smarter than he’d been back in those days, and he knew how to shake off a pin. 

Most of Din’s weight had fallen on top of Boba. Boba let out a breath and planted both of his feet against the floor, then shoved up with all of the strength that he could muster. 

Din was plenty strong, but he wasn’t quite as strong as Boba. Din yelped and pitched over, losing his grip. Boba shot back up to his feet, his sore knee protesting, and made to try and pin Din back, but Din managed to get an arm up to block any hold that Boba’d planned to put him in, and fought against Boba wordlessly for several long seconds. 

It’d been a long time since Boba had been able to fight like this. Tuskens as a rule weren’t fond of wrestling or grappling, and in the days before the sarlacc Boba had been too busy to head off-planet and find somebody he could tussle with. He hadn’t dared to indulge himself like this when Jabba had ruled.

But Jabba was dead in the sands and Boba was here, alive, pitting his strength against Din’s, and Boba’s whole body sang with it. 

If I can just pin him, Boba thought. Din put either a boot or a knee into Boba’s ribs, winning a hiss of pain. Boba couldn’t tell which it was, not like this, and Boba decided to put a stop to that before Din could try and kick him away again. He hooked a hand underneath one of Din’s knees and pulled, getting the limb out of his way. Din struggled to free himself, but he couldn’t break Boba’s grip. 

Got him, Boba thought. He looked down at Din and saw that Din’s pretty blush had faded. 

“So,” Boba said, missing it already, panting a little now, exertion burning in his arm, his chest. Din tried to wrench away again and nearly managed it. “About Ubardian oil wrestling.” 

Boba changed his grip. He leaned down over Din, close enough that Boba heard Din’s breath catch in his throat, that he saw the hunger in his eyes, sweet as summer rain even as Din bared his teeth and kept trying to pull himself free. Boba shifted his hand, moving from Din’s knee to his thigh, feeling the strength gathered there, the tension, and Din went still all at once. 

“You win a bout of Ubardian oil wrestling,” Boba said, watching Din swallow, his eyes wide, “by getting the best… grip on your opponent and forcing his belly towards the sky.” 

Din understood all at once, that pretty flush coming back, his mouth parting in surprise. Din stared at Boba for a split second, tense as a terecon, and then he surrendered, the fight going out of him all at once. 

This – the moment that Din stopped fighting so karking hard, that he gave in – was one of Boba’s favorites. He liked it almost as much as the fight itself, as much as he liked wielding the flogger while Din’s shoulders shook and flexed or the way Din liked to curl up against Boba afterwards. 

Din dropped his head back, showing Boba the long line of his throat, and Boba couldn’t help but lean closer. The urge to press his mouth to the pulse fluttering there – to nip at Din’s jaw, even though Boba’d been the one to say that there would be no biting tonight – surged in Boba’s belly.  

Then Din shifted again, and Boba too late realized that Din hadn’t actually said that he yielded. He’d only been playing at defeat, relaxing against Boba so that Boba dropped his guard, and Boba would’ve been impressed, almost, if he hadn’t seen Din rear his head back, the gleam of battle bright as a star in his eyes, and surge forward in a mirshmure’cya. 

Really, Boba shouldn’t have been surprised. Any Mandalorian worth their besk knew how to make good use of a headbutt, and Din’d had a thin, silvery scar between his eyes for as long as Boba’d known him. Boba should have seen the attack coming. 

As it was, he had a split second to jerk his head back, which he did, so Din didn’t break Boba’s nose. Instead he smashed his forehead as hard as he could against Boba’s chin. 

The world went white, for just a moment. Pain burst behind Boba’s eyes and he bit off a shout, catching his tongue in the process. Boba tasted blood. His ears rang and he lost his grip on Din, flinching back reflexively. 

Din Djarin, Boba thought, blinking white out of his eyes, blood running down his chin, has a hard karking head, doesn’t he? 

Din didn’t immediately try to rush Boba, though, so Boba shifted further back, balancing on his heels, and shook his head again to clear it. When his vision came back, he saw that Din had scrambled away, crouched down like a krayt in a canyon ready to strike. He was bleeding too, from a thin gash across his forehead, and blood trickled down the side of his face and gave Din a fearsome, wild look. 

Din’s eyes were wild too. He was looking at Boba and his eyes flashed in the dark, bright as beskar. A strange feeling had lodged itself behind Boba’s ribs, stuck in his chest like a knife. Boba wanted to bare his teeth right back. He wanted to lick the blood off of Din’s face. 

“Alright,” Boba said, wiping his chin. He could feel a bruise forming there already, hot and throbbing in time with Boba’s heart. “Fair enough,” he said, giving Din a little victory. Din’d earned it; it took gett’se to pull off a move like that, but Din hadn’t even hesitated. “I should’ve seen that one coming. Good hit.” 

Din smiled. Not one of the quick, half-certain little smiles he’d given Boba before, not one of the amused glances Boba’d sometimes caught Din giving him out of the corner of his eye, but a real, true smile, wide and happy and bright. 

Boba’s heart stumbled. He froze. That strange feeling in him shivered, and then like a night-blooming flower opened wide.

Oh, he thought, recognizing the strange feeling in his chest for what it was, no.

[grogusmum]

In the interest of shameless self-promotion self-love on these 4 Sundays in October, I will be reblogging my own spooky season fics... some are domestic halloweeny fluff, some are melancholy or witchy.

So, let's begin with my first Halloween fic, with Din Djarin and Grogu meeting an earthing (f!reader with not use of y/n)

I began writing this multi chapter fic in April, but when you are trying to set up an idyllic New England backdrop for Din and Grogu to experience Earth, it's got to be October.

It was joy to immerse myself in the crisp short days of autumn during the sweltering heat that was summer 2021, and readers agreed. While the cool air is here, I hope you find this as cozy as some hot mulled cider. (Moodboard by @writeforfandoms art by @justsmth2 and @literallydontlook

A Galaxy Far Far Away

I can't post this story without letting Grogu have his say, too.

Here is Grogu's pov of the two Halloween chapters in three parts (yep, he shares "bonus material")

In Which, I Become An Expert Pumpkin Picker and I Am Confused With A Costume Accessory

In Which, I Get To Ride Seamus In The Halloween Parade and Oops I Let A Cat Out of A Bag, But Not A Real Cat or Bag (Halloween Part 2)

In Which, I Make a Jack O’Lantern and Go Trick or Treating, I Am Still Mistaken For A Prop But There’s Candy So… (Halloween Part 3)

as told by Grogu Djarin

[ricosbrainrot]

writing dinluke fanfiction is a whole different experience cuz like it’s a constant battle between making din recite long ass paragraphs about luke and how “his eyes were as blue as the afternoon sky” and “he was as bright as the sun itself” or just making din say, “hi” and walk off

[galactic-star-bruiser]

Fear pt.1

Din Djarin x f!reader

both POVs

summary:

You walk into a cantina, searching for the bounty you were after, only to be taken up on an unexpected partnership

*Angst, fluff, flirting, a bit of an overconfident reader (lmao)

much love,

Rose xx

I walked into the cantina on Tatooine, scanning through the filthy crowd of criminals for any sign of the bounty I was after “...damn” I curse to myself, when I was suddenly cut off my a cold, modulated voice behind me. 

“Can I be of assistance” asks a man in full beskar armor. 

“I don’t think so...” I respond, moving to get out of his way. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. He had obviously heard you cursing to yourself.

I rolled my eyes, “fine. Have you seen this man”, I asked holding up a hologram with the face of a the crime lord I was after. 

The man’s helmeted gaze never left the hologram... he was genuinely trying to analyze it. I was taken aback by the fact that he was actually trying to help me.

“Yes”, the man responded flatly. 

“Yes... what?” I asked, looking for a bit more context to his answer. 

“Yes. I have seen this man.” The armored man said, his helmeted face now directly facing mine. I couldn’t help the chill it sent down my spine. 

“If you aid me in finding him... I’ll split the bounty with you... I assume you’re a bounty hunter as well” I said in a serious tone, indicating I would stay true to my word.

“Deal... but if you double cross me I will not hesitate to bring you in as bounty too....”

My breath hitched. Was he making a vague threat or did he actually know who I was? I decided to let it go... not eager to hear either possibility. 

As we walked out of the cantina the armor clad man let out a chuckle “I’ve never met any man so unafraid of working with a mandalorian...”

I stopped in my tracks, removing the helmet I wore in order to hide my identity when following a bounty... “I am no man.” I say flatly, letting my hair fall around my shoulders. 

If it weren’t for his helmet I would’ve sworn a look of shock crossed his face. He took a small step back as if to examine me better... “impressive”.

I rolled my eyes... “I better be impressive for my skilled combat rather than the fact that I’m a woman”

A low, modulated, chuckle came from the mandalorian’s mask, “of course”. 

We walked to the ship the mandalorian insisted we take... a razor crest

“Damn... I haven’t seen one of these bad boys in a long time” I say in an impressed tone, giving the ship a small love tap before walking inside.

the ship was neat and smelled of blaster fire and a clean, musky soap

“So...”, I speak up, unable to shake the feeling that the eyes behind the man’s mask followed even my slightest of movements. 

He ignored my attempt to start conversation, but I was persistent and refused to let him ignore me. 

“C’mon handsome, you’re stuck with me now” I said with a smirk. 

The mandalorian stiffened in the pilots seat, “don’t call me that.” He said flatly, and continued charting your course. 

“What... handsome?” I asked in a mocking tone, only to be ignored once again.

A few hours pass as we sit in complete silence, an awkward tension hanging in the air

“We’re here”, the Mandalorian said.

“So... he speaks” I teased... ignored again 

I follow the large man out onto the planet he brought me to...

“Wow... it’s great” I added sarcastically as I scanned the frozen wastelands of Hoth. This earned a chuckle from my stoic partner.

“We will have to start a two hour trek.... You prepared for that” He said with a slight mockery.

I simply started walking ahead of him.

“Wrong way, princess” 

Dank farrik I curse under my breath, trailing behind him.

we continued our silent trek and the few times that I tripped in the snow, the Mandalorian instinctively reached out and grabbed me... I could get used to that 

“So, if we are going to work together, what should I call you,” I asked in earnest.

“Mando is fine”

“No, I was asking for your name”

“... Mando is fine”

I was confused, but then I remembered how secretive his people could be... I let it slide.

His voice broke into my line of thought, “What should I call you”

“Y/N” I answered, “*nickname*, if you’d like. Though to get my last name you’ll have to torture it out of me first” I ended with a quick chuckle. I hadn’t given anyone my last name for as long as I could remember, I was...too traceable.

“Y/N”

“Mando”

“It’s settled then”, he replied in a way that signaled the conversation was over. 

////////////////

I looked down at the woman trudging next to me, trying my best not to kick snow up onto her as she was already sinking waist deep into it. 

I wanted to say something... anything, but there was something about her that made me nervous. Maybe it was the fact that she was too trusting, or because she was another bounty hunter littered with battle scars... or maybe it was the fact that she wasn’t afraid to flirt with me, even in jest.

It was moments like this that I was grateful to the creed and my loyalty to it... the helmet was nice when you act like a touch starved school boy at any slightly flirtatious comment from a pretty girl. 

[awholelottayeehaw]

On a Cold, Cold Night

Pre-Season 1 Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: brief severe broken bone and wound description, otherwise mostly fluff

Word Count: 4,735

Summary: On a planet with the looming threat of a blizzard rolling in, an abandoned cabin and quarry on the verge of death has Din making choices he thought he'd never have to make in his profession.

On a cold, cold night, the Mandalorian waded in thick snow, guided on his journey with just the sensors in his helmet and the full moon lingering above him in the night sky. The wind whipped at his armor, tugging at his cowl, and screamed at him to turn back. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

If it hadn’t been for the odd shape highlighted in the moonlight, Din would never have been able to spot the cabin amongst the backdrop of trees and snow, even with the sensors in his helmet.

He had been relying on tips and hushed whispers to find his latest bounty, and if it hadn’t been for the continuous cold, Din may have even enjoyed this hunt. But snow whipped at his beskar as he trudged through thigh-high snow, its icy hands no match for the brute strength harbored underneath all the metal and padding.

Din stopped and scanned his surroundings, but no heat signature could be picked up from the white hills and trees that tower over him. A perfect place to hide out and snipe if one had the skill to, but as far as he could tell, he was alone. And he wasn’t sure what to make of that just yet.

He continued forward, the snow straining his already tired muscles. As the cabin grew nearer, the tracking fob on his belt began to blink faster and faster, its annoying beeping a comforting sound of relief, knowing that this job will soon be over.

But as he grew closer, he couldn’t help but feel as though something was… off. The cabin itself was old and decaying, a structure that has undoubtedly housed generations far before Din was ever born. No light peeked through broken windows and no sound nor movement could be detected with the naked eye.

Din paused again and amped up the sensitivity of his heat sensor mode and eyed the cabin. It was faint, and he nearly missed it, but he found a trace of a heat signature unmoving within the structure’s walls. He waited, so still, he could’ve been mistaken for a tree. But the body his helmet picked up didn’t move for the five minutes he observed.

Something was definitely wrong.

This bounty was supposed to be a considerable threat, from what Din recalled of his puck and the information Karga gave him. Another runaway wanted by their father, a deadly stray who had taken out plenty of bounty hunters before Karga practically begged Din to take the job. It was a pity the father wanted his kid alive, the job would’ve been so much easier if he could’ve dragged a dead body back between the snow and cold.

The criminal in question hadn’t come with a photo, nor gender, just their age and some basic information that was enough for Din to go off of. They had planet hopped for the past year before disappearing, and his search led him to the very cabin he now stood before.

Din hesitated, but the blinking light and sound of the fob were adamant that his quarry was indeed inside. He let out a sigh, trying to peer in through the darkness of the cabin before caving and trying the door.

To his surprise, it opened rather easily. He waited for the inevitable, the sound of a blaster going off, the blinding flash, the pressure as the plasma bounced off his armor and destroying whatever is unfortunately in its path. Instead, he was met with a deafening silence and contrasted darkness caused by the moonlight pouring through the window.

Din took a step and the wooden floors creaked and gave a little underneath his weight. He waited, but still was only met with silence and darkness. He closed the door behind him and blended into the shadows, eyes flicking over whatever was exposed by the light of the moon.

He could faintly make out furniture within the one-room home. A table with two chairs appeared to be pushed up against one wall next to a window where the moon can be seen through the ice-tinted glass. The circular rug laid at his feet took up most of the living space, disheveled and faded with time and love.

The rest was too dark to see, and he immediately tapped his helmet for his night vision feature. The cabin really was modest, but his eyes were immediately drawn to a figure lying in the cabin’s only double bed.

He could see the scratch marks his quarry had made pushing the bed closer to what Din can now see is a fireplace. Darkened wood and soot have stained the firebox, but the last fire it held had snuffed out a long time ago.

Despite being inside and no longer assaulted by the cold, brutal winds; Din could still feel just how chilled the cabin was regardless. The air lightly whistled through the cracks and broken pieces of the windows that should have been boarded up long before the storm ever touched down.

For once, Din felt a tad out of his element. He was used to violence, fighting, a struggle, begging, or bribery. Not silence, not darkness, and not a barely warm but still alive body laying on a bed as if they were a gift from the maker Himself for Din to easily snag and be on his way. Din considered calling out to his target, to ensure it was even them, but his voice got stuck in his throat. And the now fully lit up fob on his belt told him his hunch was correct, regardless of the silence and lack of facial features to identify the quarry.

After hesitating, Din finally found the nerve to quietly make his way over to the body on the bed.

His target was hidden underneath layers of musky, old, moth-eaten blankets. The top of their head poked out from underneath, but everything else was tucked away from sight. With more caution than he was used to, Din slowly peeled the blankets back and gently nudged the body from facing opposite him to laying on their back.

Din flinched. He knew his quarry’s age, but he was still surprised to find that the child he was after was a grown woman a lot older than he was made to believe, and also at how fragile she looked. She barely had the energy to shiver from the lack of warmth, limbs stiff as if in rigor mortis.

The girl was ashen, lips a grayish-blue, and her clothes were stiff as if glued to her from the cold. Din sucked in air, looking her over, wondering if she was even worth the credits to bring back. It had taken him, a healthy human male, hours to trek through the snow to find her from the nearest village. In this state, would she even make the trip alive?

Would she even survive overall?

Fists clenching and unclenching as he overlooked the girl, he monitored how shallow her breathing was. Din sighed and knew he was damned if he did and damned if he didn’t. Out of caution, he took a photo of the girl just in case his next actions resulted in failure.

He tucked the quarry back into her blankets and sifted through the room until he found tools, rusted, but still in rather good shape. The sparseness of the cabin was infuriating, and he ended up needing to break the table down to use the flat parts to board up the windows.

He swore the whole time he was outside, fighting with the brutal winds and the cold to nail each piece of wood until he couldn’t see the glass anymore. It meant the cabin was even darker when he returned, but he doubted his sleeping companion cared all that much at the moment.

Din grabbed the remaining pieces of the table and snapped them into smaller fragments, each leg was broken in threes and placed them in the fireplace. Adding some dried unused paper he found in a chest near the bed, he used his flame thrower to ignite the kindling and the fire in the hearth roared to life, strong and resilliant. Din allowed himself to breathe and enjoy the warmth the fire brought as he kneeled in front of it.

The cabin, although still cold, was much more comfortable than when he first arrived. Din had turned his fob off and placed it in his pack and unhooked his cape to dry off on a hat rack nailed into the wall.

Din glanced over at the girl, but not much has changed. Once he felt warm enough himself, he stood and checked on the girl. Her breathing was less shallow and the sensors in his helmet told him she was starting to grow warmer, but it may be a day or two before he can get her to a healthy enough state to drag her back to the Crest where he can treat her properly before throwing her into carbonite.

With nothing to do other than wait, Din dragged a chair close to the quarry’s bed and sat, arms crossed, gazing into the fire.

The cold jolted him out of a sleep he didn’t remember falling into, his body slightly trembling. Din wasn’t sure how long he had been out for, but it must have been for a few hours. His body trembled and Din squinted into the cabin, confused, until he realized the fire had started to die out.

Din swore under his breath and took the poker next to the fireplace and stabbed at the kindling. The fire breathed to life before it weakened, threatening to snuff out again. Din frantically tore through the cabin and picked up any books and loose paper he could use as kindling.

The fire accepted Din’s offerings happily, jumping back to life as it washed the room in hues of oranges. Din sighed, shoulders tense, eyeing the fire as if he didn’t trust the thing to keep going. Outside, the wind rattled his makeshift blinds, and the cabin groaned under the pressure of a storm he hadn't known was coming when he had come to fetch the quarry.

With the panic of the fire now gone, a new panic crept up on Din. He quickly stands and tugs the blanket back to look over his girl and sucked air through his teeth, seeing just how worse off she looked.

Just like the fire, sometime in the hours of his sleep, she had changed positions, her front facing the fire as if trying to get warm. But unlike how he found her before, the quarry’s glazed eyes were open and gazing at him from beneath hooded lids, barely lucid.

The quarry licked her chapped lips in vain, the small smile pulled at the cracks in her lips, causing the crevices to start to bleed. But the cold made the blood move more like tar than life’s vital liquid, and Din couldn’t help but flinch at the sight.

“I should’ve known death would come for me in the form of a Mandalorian.”

She weakly lifted a shaky arm as if to reach out to him, but the limb immediately fell limp and her eyes rolled back into her skull. Din swore and ripped off his gloves, forcing her to look at him but her eyes remained shut.

“Hey, girl, I need you to stay awake. Can you hear me?”

He swore when he realized how icy her skin felt under his fingers. She felt like a marble statue, and for the first time since he took this bounty, Din began to seriously panic.

Din pushed down the blankets once more to really take the girl in. It couldn’t be just the cold making her this weak this fast. Din honestly was angry at himself for not realizing that the arm she hadn’t used, the one that she had cradled close to her body since he first found her, was broken. Even through the makeshift bandage job, Din could tell the way she tried to set it hadn’t been good enough and most likely had been done in haste between the storm approaching and perhaps a hunt gone wrong.

Din emptied out his own pack, found his med kit, and immediately arranged a bacta needle and the tools he needed to properly set the bone. He gently peeled the fabric from her arm and hissed at the wound that awaited him.

The skin was rotting around the opened juncture of the wound, and he could see a small flash of white where her bone was. Luckily for her, it was a clean break, but unluckily for her, she may lose the arm if his medical skills and the bacta don’t cut it.

Din rummaged through the small kitchen’s cabinets, pleased to find some canned foods and dried meats that could hold them over for at least a week, and took out a big pot and plopped it in the sink. He used his flamethrower on the spout and prayed to whatever god was out there that it would warm the pipes enough to get some water for him to clean the wound before giving the girl proper medical care. He sighed with his whole body when the pipe managed to spit out enough water for him to put in the pot and for him to clean a piece of cloth and his hands before freezing over again.

Bringing the pot over, he waited until the water was still warm enough to be pleasing, but not enough to scald. Din held his breath and gently apologized as he quickly re-set her arm properly, and she flinched hard enough for Din to need to hold her down so as to not re-injure herself.

After setting the arm in a make-shift splint made up of remaining wood and cloth from his cowl, he took the other now clean cloth and dabbed it into the water and gently patted it around the wound. The woman jolted and let out a long, hollow moan that made Din’s skin erupt in goosebumps that weren’t from the cold.

“I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but it’ll be over soon. I promise.”

He’s not entirely sure why he’s trying to soothe her, Din doubts she could even hear him, but it made him feel less…useless as he cleaned the wound the best he could and redressed it with bandages from his med kit. He considered the catalyzer, but between the cold and any infection, he feared that would be the last shock her body needed to completely give out.

Din pulled away and watched her shiver, tears streaking down her face. He tucked the blankets back around her with care, bare fingers brushing hair out of her face with a gentleness Din didn’t even know he was capable of having. The girl was beautiful in her own right, and perhaps in other life, he would have pursued her for different reasons. 

Between keeping the fire going, ignoring the wind's howls, and the adrenaline still buzzing in his ears; Din couldn’t get back to sleep even if he wanted to. He sighed and got up, stretching, feeling his back pop. He put his items away and began to clean up the mess he made in a panic. Din paused when he came to the spilled contents of what appeared to be his quarry’s bag. He wasn’t sure how he missed it in his haste to keep the cabin shut tight, warm, and clean, but it now splayed itself in front of him as if beckoning for him to open it.

Aside from enough credits to last another six months, a toiletry bag, a med kit with expired medicines, an old-fashioned camera, and a handful of clothes; Din couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. But while shoving the items that spilled out back into the bag, he felt something bulky partly sticking out from inside of the bag’s walls.

Din brushed his fingers along the outline until he found the opening of a secret pouch. He dipped his fingers into the secret compartment and pulled out a small but thick book. The traditional material nearly threw Din off in and of itself, but when he flipped it open, he was even more shocked to find it wasn’t a book: it was a combination photo album and journal.

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to read the entries or even look at the photos, but Din felt a pull that he couldn’t quite shake, even if he felt slightly wrong for peeping into someone’s clearly private catalog. Why would a wanted criminal take the time and energy to capture photos, print them, glue them into a book, and write within its columns? Why couldn’t a data pad suffice? He knew the risk a digital journal could have, but it still felt like so much effort to make a physical book that he knew it wasn't about this being made out of safety, but rather love and passion.

The book’s binding and paper told Din it was handmade, and very well loved. He flipped through random pages, eyes moving over pictures of painted skies and clear oceans and lush forests. Some photos were selfies of the quarry, handheld, others looked like the photo had been perched on a rock or taken by a local of the area. There were a few photos here and there of what looked to be local lovers you might've picked up on your travels, and he tried not to stare too long at any selfies of you kissing a stranger or a point of view shot of them holding your hand from behind. He didn't know why jealousy briefly flashed in his heart, but it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. 

Din settled back into his chair, unable to look away. The quarry wrote of each of the places she visited with such love and devotion, and each passage was written in letter format, always starting with “Dear Dad,” and ending with her name and hearts drawn around her signature.

Brow furrowed, Din flipped the book back to the first page and really took a look at the photos within the first few pages. The photos were older, more bent and wrinkled, and featured a much younger version of the woman fighting death in the bed mere feet away. Sometimes she was alone, other times she posed with a woman much older than her, other times it was with an older man, a few times all three of them.

The quarry didn’t exactly look like the older couple, but there was love there. The way the man looked at the woman with such deep affection it made Din’s heart ache, remembering the way his own father looked at his mother before the war. The woman was beautiful, with laugh lines and wild hair tied up with a rag. Who were these people?

Din stared at the photo of the man in the photo, finger absently running over the image. The man in the photo and the man who hired him to bring his daughter home were two very different men. In coloring, in age, in kindness.

The man who hired him didn’t have an ounce of the love and gentleness in his face and words that Din could feel that the man in the photo had for his partner and daughter, regardless if the quarry was his by blood or not. Din couldn’t deny the love only a father could give to his child. The love didn't speak, but rather screamed at him from every photo as he turned each page and saw the quarry’s backstory come to life.

A pained groan had Din snapping the book shut with the same guilt and sheepishness of a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar would have. He blinked over at his quarry and stood abruptly, dropping her journal. When had she started to shake so violently?

Din was at her side in a split second and found himself holding her good hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. Her eyes were half open and glazed, blankly searching the ceiling as if trying to find an answer to unspoken questions within the wooden beams.

Her hands were icy to the touch, brow damp with sweat, clothes and hair clinging to her head and figure and shaking uncontrollably. Din swore and didn’t think twice to unclasp his armor and slipped off his boots. He slid into the bed and immediately held her to him, his larger frame enfulfing her in his embrace.

The quarry unconsciously clung to him, shaking so violently it made Din’s teeth clink together in his own mouth. But he held strong, rubbing soothing circles into her back and pulling the pile of blankets tighter around them, ensuring her back was to the fire.

After what felt like hours, the quarry slowly stopped shaking and settled into his arms. Din glanced down at her to find her face was relaxed, although flushed, and still damp with sweat. Her breathing mellowed and, for the first time since he found her, she looked to be at ease.

Din gave her a few hours, dozing with her in his arms, and rubbed her back absent mindedly with one hand. When he finally found the will to move, he pulled away from her and checked on her wounds, pleased to find the break and gash were healing nicely thanks to modern medicine.

For the next three days, when Din wasn’t holding her to him in bed and either reciting stories from his childhood or humming to her, he changed her bandages and washed the sweat from her face. When she was lucid enough, he fed her whatever he could find in the cabin, and when she had the energy, he helped her relieve herself in the cabin’s tiny bathroom before tucking her back into bed where she’d promptly pass out.

In those three days, when Din wasn’t taking care of her, he found himself drawn back to her photo album journal, flipping from one page to the next until he felt like he had memorized every detail there was to absorb.

And in those three days, Din knew he had to make a hard decision. One that would either lead a girl back to a jailer (or worse), or one where he would have to risk finding his way back to the guild with barely enough fuel and food but not enough credits to feed himself or refuel when he gets there. He loathed to think he’d have to borrow money from the covert’s savings, or deal with Karga’s smug smile knowing he had a Mandalorian in his debt.

On the fourth day, the storm let up and Din could see the sun shining through the cracks of the boarded-up windows. He glanced at the quarry and knew she was well enough by now. He could drag her through the remaining snow back to the Crest without the worry of infection or frostbite, and he could be in hyperspace by noon the next day.

All he had to do was move.

You weren’t sure how long you had been out for, but your body felt like it had been hit by a heard of banthas. Your muscles strained with the slightest movement and you couldn’t stop the pained moan from leaving your lips even if you wanted to.

When you found the energy to open your eyes, you had to squint to make out the cabin thanks to the sun shining through the cracks of the cabin. When had you boarded up the windows? It had been on your list of things to do before the storm hit, yet you had no memory of getting the chore done.

With another groan you slowly sat up, your body feeling tense yet weak at the same time. A fire burned as weakly as you felt in the fireplace, keeping the extreme cold out while still keeping the cabin on the chilly side, and you had to wonder yet again when you had found the time to make the fire in the first place.

Memories of days before came crashing down on you, causing you to squeeze your eyes shut at the intense headache that threatened to split your brain apart so suddenly.

You remembered going out to gather wood. A deer had startled you and you had tripped on a branch and tumbled down a steep hill, breaking your arm. Your arm!

You pulled your sleeve up to find the arm had been lovingly bandaged at some point, the bone back in its rightful place. Outside of a dull ache, you weren’t in any pain. You poked at the bandage and hissed, but your actions didn’t cause blood to leak to the surface and stain the bandaging. You didn’t remember dressing this, either.

You remember dragging yourself back to the cabin, hours later after getting yourself lost between the cold, the adrenaline rush, and the pain from the break. You remember desperately trying to get warm after being out in the snow for hours, finding your way back into bed after collecting every blanket the cabin had…

A Mandalorian.

You remembered the ghostly image of a Mandalorian standing above you, and your brain convinced you that it was the personification of Death coming to guide you home after so long. You remember gentle hands and kind whispers, vaguely, like a faded childhood memory. There, but not quite.

You glanced around the cabin to find that you were alone. You swung your feet over the edge of the bed and listened, waiting. But no one was inside the cabin with you, or outside, perhaps no one for miles as you had originally planned. Had the Mandalorian been a fever dream? You glanced back down at your makeshift cast and knew that you couldn’t have hallucinated him, there’s enough evidence to tell you that much for certain.

A beep caught your attention and on the nearby dresser was a fob and a small holo-pad you had never seen before. You weakly rose to your feet and stumbled over to the dresser, leaned your good arm against it, and squinted down at the devices.

The tracking fob was either dead or just not picking up on your DNA, and tapping it made the screen light up but your bounty headshot didn’t come up. You glanced down at the round holo-pad communicator, the piece of technology small enough to fit in your hand and had clearly seen better days.

The holo-pad blinked with a message from a com link you didn’t recognize. Your fingers lingered over the button to receive the message, shaking with hesitance. Before you could lose your nerve, you tapped the button and pulled your arm back as if it were being pursued by a wild animal.

You gasped and sucked in air, eyes zoning in on the image in the hologram. Anxious eyes scan the document, wondering if your tired eyes misread what was in front of you, if maybe you’re hallucinating the whole thing.

But there in front of you was a picture of yourself, much younger, grinning back at you. It had been a time when things were simpler and when your adopted parents were still alive and well. Before…before…

Your name was printed in bold letters, and right under it: DECEASED; followed by a half-assed obituary you knew had been from your owner. It lacked significant details about your life but put on enough of a show for those reading it who didn’t know you or your situation to believe the man who wrote it truly cared.

It was strange, seeing your own eulogy, gazing into eyes that were once yours so long ago. You thought of the ghost of the Mandalorian that had been there clearly to collect your bounty but had a change of heart. Did he figure out who his employer was? Did your well-being make him change his mind?

You had a million questions racing through your head as fast as your heartbeat within your chest. But amidst those buzzing questions, one statement made its presence known that made your knees weak and shoulders sag with relief, eyes tearing up:

You’re finally free.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

This was the first fanfic I've written in probably 10 years. Honestly, the Mando fandom alone has some of the most beautiful writers I've ever come across and it genuinely inspired me to come out of retirement. I had a falling out with a friend in a fandom I was once in over a decade ago and it was too painful to write. But now that I've healed and moved on and found love and inspiration in the Mando fandom and reignited my love for Star Wars in general, I'm ready to jump back into it.

I have a few spicy ideas and a few spicy/sweet chapter story ideas as well. I'm hoping once things even out at work I can create a writing schedule for future works whether it's a one-shot or chapter story to have something to look forward to outside of my career goals and advancements. It really means a lot you read this and I hope to see you again on my journey back into writing! ❤️ I may create a tumblr for my fics, still deciding, I don't quite understand Tumblr cause I'm #old but I'm willing to give it a try if it means making friends in the fandom and sharing my work!

Also, this was my first time using this site in a decade, and lemme tell you I am so proud of myself for figuring out how to tag and create bookmarks and even the page breaks. If you have any advice on how to best navigate this site as a writer, please do let me know I'd love to hear it!

[hinderr]

For writing asks: 🤷‍♀️

OMG HI ELL :D :D :D

🤷‍♀️ favourite pov i wrote this year

i havent finished the chapter yet but burcyan's pov for SURE. when I finally get around to dropping that nurture chapter you guys will SEE what I mean they're are EVERYHINGGGG ugh. other than that, probably grogu pov <- he's my little boy............!!! coming in third place would beee either Wren Farvo's pov in nature or Gideon2's pov in spitting image :]

[the-kittylorian-writes]

"Starship Down"

Type: One-shot

Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera

Rating: General Audiences

Summary:

It was a dark and stormy night (uh-oh), and Din and Grogu find themselves crash-landing on familiar yet unfamiliar territory. Grogu pulls a stunt which lends his dad a hand in a most unexpected way.

(Written for Mandomera Week 2022, fourth prompt: “Rescue”)

Read here or support on AO3 (with Author's Notes)

"Starship Down"

The new ship had its advantages. Din had modified it himself and knew what he’d wanted in a smaller, handier, and much sleeker starfighter. 

And it also had its disadvantages.

“All right, kid, do me a favor and give me a seatbelt check,” Din called out to Grogu in a clenched voice. The child peered out from his bubble canopy right behind his father; Grogu cooed in affirmation. 

Din’s visor turned to his son and quickly back to the ship’s controls in relief. “Good. Now hang on. Looks like it’s gonna be a rough landing in this storm.”

“BAAHH!” said Grogu, and he hung on tightly to the built-in seatbelt, customized for a very much organic baby where an inorganic astromech should’ve been plugged in.

Din tempered the ardent desire to unleash a torrent of swear words. He knew he’d be expecting some bad weather on Sorgan by the time they entered its orbit, but little did he know that this backwater planet had weather gauging systems so antiquated, the N-1 starfighter’s more advanced system didn’t merge too well with picking up the data. 

He and Grogu weren’t facing a simple storm.

It was a maelstrom of proportions he thought he’d never encounter in an otherwise uneventful planet like Sorgan, skughole though it may be.

Din sighed and fought his frustrations with a thought which warmed his insides. Correction: a beloved skughole. It was an idea he and his son shared, during the few times he would bring Sorgan up—and only because he’d wanted to remind Grogu of his sleep cycles. The child had been very diligent with his sleep hours and waking times on Sorgan, Din wished that the child had kept it all throughout their journeys since they’ve left the planet.

However—Din had simply wanted another opportunity for the word Sorgan to play on his lips. It reminded him of so many wonderful things, things he thought he’d never have again.

That eagerness, much to Din’s dismay, had led him to miscalculate their departure and arrival times by an unfortunate fraction. So now, he was leading his “new” starfighter and his son into an extremely thick and soupy fog, coupled by unpredictable winds which rendered the starfighter off-balance for a second or two as Din tried to engage the landing sequence.

The keyword was tried.

He was close to finishing the sequence when suddenly, much to Din’s annoyance and shock, he heard something ominously and loudly creak—then disengage from underneath the ship. 

The winds had picked up speeds so dizzyingly that part of the landing gear may have been loosed and beaten apart. The strain of Din’s control over the ship and the gear being forced to cooperate amidst the burgeoning cyclones battled each other—and the gear gave way, and not with how Din anticipated it.

They were being thrown off-course.

“Dank farrik,” Din finally mumbled. That sounded like the stabilizers—if not a more significant steering component. He felt like stringing in some dark humor into their predicament, so he called to Grogu once more: “Well, kid, looks like we’ll have to start saying our prayers and hoping we wing this pretty much literally.”

Breaking into Sorgan’s atmosphere felt like being tossed in a tin can strapped to a wheel that wouldn’t stop. In addition, Din was experiencing zero visibility—if fog could be thicker than tar, this was it. They escaped the harrowing gales of the skies only to be met with the oiliest-looking fog closer to the ground.

Wherever the ground was.

Din wondered if he was still thinking straight, what with the warning lights and beeps of the craft approaching debris and other objects in their way, all erupting at once; Grogu was gurgling in the backseat bubble, and Din’s mind was too focused on getting them both to Sorgan’s earth safely to bother about prayers.

Oh well…

At least they both won’t be dying alone—

The starfighter’s anterior had hit something, and with such precarious tension without actually crashing, and a huge, muffled BAMMMM!!!! enveloped them from all sides. 

Before Din knew what was happening, his body, slung tightly in the security of the seatbelt, jackknifed forward as quickly as his back hit the seat, stealing the breath from his lungs. He grunted, and immediately checked on Grogu.

The child’s eyes were huge with fascination, but more importantly, he seemed unhurt.

The “crash” took them much by surprise, and now that they had come to a full stop, without knowing exactly where they were and what transpired, a silence reigned in the cockpit. Only the whistling winds above their heads and the pattering of hard, sporadic rain hitting the transparisteel canopy broke the strange calm.

“Are you okay?” Din asked of his son, after shortly processing their dilemma. 

“Patu,” Grogu replied, sounding brightly unaffected. Din sighed. If he had nerves of steel, Grogu had nerves of beskar.

“Damn this rain,” Din groused. Despite his helmet’s optics, he could barely make out their surroundings from where the starfighter had managed to land. He decided to do it the hard—and only—way for now.

“Sit tight in there, kid,” Din admonished as he cautiously slid the cockpit's canopy open; he braced himself for a barrage of raindrops to bounce off his armor like boulders. “It’ll take me a moment to get a sitrep and—“

Another creak and a hungry mechanical groan filled the air.

And this time, it didn’t exactly come from within the starfighter.

It came from all around them…

And then, as Din was finally able to gather most of his bearings, the N-1 began to sink into the ground.

The ship was sinking at an exponentially alarming rate that Din at once clicked Grogu’s bubble canopy open.

“We gotta evacuate stat, kid!” Din cried out, and without further ado and with a fantastic leap, Grogu was in Din’s arms.  

Din felt a rush of icy electricity in his veins when he felt the ship’s floor disappear from beneath his feet. The starfighter was further swallowed into an unknown, earthy mouth, simultaneously as Din had activated his vambrace’s grappling hook which thankfully latched onto a gargantuan tree trunk.

With an adrenaline-saturated grunt, Din swung himself and Grogu to hopefully more solid ground, and by the time his boots hit a sturdier surface, he’d looked back to discover that the N-1 had nearly fully sunken under a hideous bog, like quicksand in the marshlands. 

The ship protested with a final, metallic groan until all that visibly remained was a single wing sticking out, its spire helplessly jutting into the air like a stiff insect’s limb. 

The Mandalorian and the child sat on shore, not quite believing their fate, and thought that all was lost until the rain started to mercifully subside. 

By the time Din had risen to his feet with Grogu secure and relatively peaceful in his hold, the rain had stopped. In fact, the weather had improved considerably as if the horrors of a few minutes ago had never existed. 

A stunned silence passed between father and child until Din willed with all his might to shrug off this temporary setback.

“Well, looks like we’re gonna find help—and,” Din sighed, one he did with the most abandon yet—“we’re walking.”

He’d left his jetpack in the N-1.

Besides, soaring in the Rising Phoenix through this godsforsaken inaccurate weather report was yet another gamble Din refused to take, what with a kid in his care.

“Dank farrik,” Din muttered again. Grogu cooed and snuggled closer to his father in attempts to convince the man into a better mood.

***

“Let’s see…” 

“Baah, baaahhh!”

“No, I’m sure we’ve gone this way before.”

“Baaaahhhh…”

“And I suppose you know where we are?” 

There was a jest of a challenge in Din’s voice. He had been tapping at his vambrace’s built-in compass for what could a full hour by his estimations. The chrono seemed to have stopped working as well. Globules of tacky mud had momentarily ruined most of the gear on his person.

What a series of unfortunate events.

Din could barely feel his feet and hands, and probably the rest of his body as well. The temperatures suddenly dropped until he was close to freezing, and he’d unhooked his soiled, but otherwise very warm cape to wrap around Grogu. While he was inconvenienced with an uncharacteristic awry sense of direction, the child was chiding his father underneath his cozy duraweave cocoon.

Each step he made propelled forth a disgusting, sloshing sound. 

“Patu,” Grogu commented. He squealed matter-of-factly. He patted his father’s arm.

“Like I said kid,” Din insisted. “We’ve been on this path before…”

Din was very much engulfed in this conversation/argument he was having with his son, in all pretense that he comprehended Grogu’s intonations with ease if only to get his mind off unsavory thoughts. This distraction comforted him—

So much so that Din hadn’t noticed until now the pinpoint lights of glowing lanterns approaching them unhurriedly. 

Din halted in his tracks, uncertain if he should face these incoming strangers head-on. He’d hitchhiked in more industrialized planets before, but he couldn’t think of a time when he’d done so on a backwater world in the outskirts of nowhere.

“Oh, what the hell,” Din grumbled, and flinging all to chance, he extended an arm with a thumb up, the universal signal for a necessary free ride. “And you know what to do should things don’t work out the way we want,” Din added, and Grogu gave a mewl of reassurance.

The lanterns appeared to be emanating from a very slow-moving hover-wagon, and Din was about to pronounce whatever greeting he could muster when—

“M-Mando?” stuttered a familiar voice.

Grogu patted his father’s arm again from under the cape’s folds. Din couldn’t believe their luck. He recognized that voice.

“Stoke?” Din answered; his night vision optics finally adjusted in contrasting lantern-light and darkness.

True enough, Stoke’s face came into clear view, and the man himself work an incredulous expression. “Oh—stars! Mando!! Look at that! See, see??” Stoke incessantly elbowed his companion beside him, and Din correctly guessed when Caben’s face came into view as well. “I told you it was the Mandalorian! I mean—he’d landed a bit off from where he did before…”

“All right, all right, you made your point!” Caben whined in irritation. “We know this entire thing turns into an insufferable bog during typhoon season!”

For all it was worth, Din rather missed the bickering of this inseparable pair.

Din had allowed the two to settle for a bit before he cocked his helmeted head and cleared his throat. The two Sorgan gentlemen turned to him in full regard. 

Din didn’t beat around the bush. “How did you know that it was me? I’m in a new ship…”

The two men exchanged dubious looks a trickle apart, then they proclaimed in unison: “Omera.”

Din stiffened at the mention of the name. A million somersaults had their way in his head—he wasn’t sure he heard right. To make matters worse, Grogu was now pinching his arm with his tiny claws in elation.

“How—how did she know?”

Caben nodded once, hiding excitement. “Winta.”

Din was just about to implode, hearing all these sweet names but not getting a direct answer. 

Grogu was wriggling in his father’s hold. Din’s eyebrow twitched from underneath the visor. He looked down at the child.

“I don’t suppose this is your doing?” Din hissed at his son in amusement, only loud enough for the boy to pick up.

The child smiled a toothy smile and cooed happily.

“First, the magic hand thing? Now you have this magic—oh, I don’t know—mind thing?”

Grogu seemed ecstatic that his father was getting it. Somehow.

Din felt suspicion bloom in his belly. Were the kids linked in a way where Winta can receive distress calls borne out of sorcerer magic from his little green womp rat?

Din figured that the children had always found ways to understand each other. He’d theorized that it was easier if one was just a youngster, impressionable to the galaxy at large. In passing, Din wondered if that was the same sorcerer magic which had sent the massive yet juvenile rancor to slumber back on Mos Espa. Boba had told Din that the rancor “was just a baby.” The other man’s eyes had shimmered fondly over the huge infant beast.

An infant in its tantrum had torn an entire city apart.

Din sighed yet again and faced the Sorganite pair. “Thank you for coming to our aid. We just need a ride to your village, if that’s no trouble.”

Stoke poured out an enthusiastic stream of words. “Oh, well, we could, but she’s on her way. In fact, she’ll be here in a jiffy.” Din swallowed hard. “Who’ll be here in a jiffy?”

Caben was scratching the back of his head. “Omera,” the man solely repeated, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Din was cleanly about to utter his own stream of words, but befuddlement got the best of him. Soon and sure enough, he heard her voice and his limbs grew cold but not from the post-typhoon chill.

“Mando?”

That was music to his ears, only drowned out by the deafening sound of his own confounded heartbeat.

“Oh—bless the Maker! It is you!” Omera’s sweet voice like honey cream dripped down Din’s auditory sensors. This was very welcome stimuli and with some embarrassment, he shivered a little.

Din found his voice. “I don’t understand…” he began.

Omera leapt from the other hover-wagon. Din was unable to contain how impressed he was, for the young widow seemed to have come prepared—the hovercraft was one built to haul heavy objects across distances. Its magnetic hook nearly as huge as a fully grown rancor’s mouth tailed from a huge coil of industrial-strength grappling cord. 

The young widow’s face beamed with an ethereal light. She was breathless when she spoke to him again. “Oh—me neither! But Winta was persistent, and—and…” Omera’s beautiful face was almost too much to bear. There was evident awe glimmering in her almond-dark eyes and Din knew he was… staring. It didn’t help at all when what she said next sent a hot thrill down his spine. “I knew in my heart that it was you.”

“I—I—“

What on the four moons of Coruscant was going on?

Omera’s hand fluttered timorously over his muddied breastplate. Din let her touch him—in fact, he wished she would, and he knew that he was still staring. He was pathetically like a teenage boy again, infatuated for the first time, just like that moment when he initially beheld her striking beauty when he’d decided to help rid their village of Klatooinian raiders.

To save everyone an overly long explanation which didn’t seem to exist yet, Omera had changed the subject. “Where’s our sweet, little green baby?”

She pronounced those words with a serene playfulness which Din realized he’d missed so much.

And did she say… our little green baby…?

“Patu!!!” greeted Grogu, like a flower in bloom when, just as playfully, he’d emerge from the bundle of muddied cape and without warning—at least for Din, as Omera seemed to have anticipated it—the child had flung himself into Omera’s waiting embrace.

“I’m so glad you’re safe, my darling!” Omera cooed, and she kissed his wrinkled forehead, which Grogu enjoyed immensely. He gave an appreciative trill and drew a soft, verdant hand down the side of Omera’s face.

Din swallowed hard once more. Until then, Grogu had only done that loving gesture to him.

He decided that what he felt about it wasn’t jealousy.

Instead, it was a sense of fellow-feeling that a small child would treat them both with equal affection, and that thought sent his head reeling.

Caben and Stoke had adoring looks on their faces as they started making “baby noises” towards Grogu, and for a moment, Din felt like a bystander of his own life in a stage play that he didn’t know was running for an unseen audience.

Omera was the first to snap out of it.

“Where are my manners?” Her grin was wide that her dimples blossomed in full force, and Din barely noticed that the young widow had deposited Grogu back into his arms. “I’ve the equipment now, so we can go fetch your starship!”

Whatever it was, Din felt that the only way he could preserve his sanity was to play along. Maybe this is how the Force worked in mysterious ways, as the saying went.

“Um—this way.”

*** Everyone save Stoke who was manning the equipment wagon—and Grogu, of course, settled within the comfort of the hover-wagon’s front seat—was limbs-deep in bog water and mud.

Din was refreshed by this display of teamwork and to his own relief, as he had been taught not to rebuff help when offered, not when he knew that he was fully capable of repaying such acts of selflessness. But Sorgan—Sorgan had always been something else.

He was the only one strong enough and tall enough to reach low into the bog without wallowing in neck-deep, and hook the magnet onto the N-1’s mechanism which allowed the starfighter to be towed. “She’s all yours!” Din called out to Stoke, and the man nodded.

“Everyone—clear the area!” Din instructed; Caben crawled out of the bog at once, but Omera, weighed down by her skirts took more time with her attempts. She giggled, and Din was too far entranced that he hardly felt his dogged steps make their way towards her—and then he was offering his arm, but in mud waist-deep on where they both stood, Din realized a solitary arm was useless.

She would have to bodily cling to him as they clambered their way out of the bog.

“I won’t bite,” Din teased, swearing to himself that he’d let loose something probably suggestive. Omera hardly cared for any malice in the words he’d unleashed out of a sudden spike of manly hormones, feeling the warmth of a feminine body drape over him. 

If his breaths registered heavily on the modulator, Din didn’t wish to know, which would surely further his embarrassment. “Hold on tight,” he cautioned.

He was oozing with bravado. He quite hated it, but he couldn’t help himself. He was an eighteen-year-old again showing off to impress and gain adulation. He reactivated the grappling hook from his vambrace so that both of them were hauled back to the security of solid ground. He loved the girlish squeal Omera made when they sailed over the rest of the bog and onto shore. She was giggling again, the warmth of her cheek aglow from this tiny adventure landing upon the side of his helmet.

Omera seemed properly impressed, all right!

Instinctively, he held her closer. He shut his eyes, marveling at the sound of her laughter—fresh like a stream in spring, and pure like crystal.

Din was about to extricate himself from Omera’s embrace out of politeness, suddenly feeling modest. He didn’t want her to believe that he was taking advantage of every waking moment he found just to hold her.

However, when he turned his visor to where she stood still in his arms, he was met with her dark eyes like jewels on sandstone. Oh—Omera knew what she was doing to him. There was no other explanation when she whispered to him, so very close that her nose almost touched the part of the helmet where his own nose should be. 

“Thank you for returning to us,” she said softly, “even if it’s just for a little while.”

Din bit back an urge to cry out in surprise when the N-1 starfighter reappeared from the murky depths in a loud and magnificent tug-of-war between itself and the tow-hovercraft. A gigantic splash of muddy bogwater circled the area, drenching everyone—and when it was over, with not a single face looking like a fish bobbing in a lake, Grogu squealed sharply in utter delight, as if pronouncing the success of an important mission.

Din could hear Caben and Stoke squabbling in the background, about how Stoke didn’t at least give a heads-up before pulling the lever so everyone else could run for cover, and Stoke bawling out a counter-argument… and then there was Grogu’s joyful coos, content over the whole affair even as the night deepened, and the skies were swept of calamity and chaos. The clouds were parting, and the mud was caking on their clothes and unspeakable crevices.

Din could feel his pounding heart. He could feel Omera’s warm hand over the beskar on his cheek.

He could do it now. He’d already shamelessly broken the Creed, and he’d let so much time pass between the Armorer’s words of redemptive measures to restore him into the Covert and this sole moment, when he’d simply wanted to find tranquility again with his son in the cradle of Sorgan.

He’d do it now.

While Caben and Stoke still busily outdid each other in their reasoning which seemed to unearth old grudges in good humor, Din stole this chance.

Slowly, ever so slowly—and he could read the puzzlement in Omera’s open expression—he guided her hands over the sides of his helmet.

Omera’s eyes were frantically searching for his own—for any sign of that he was indeed permitting her this action which he had stalled her from doing so a long time ago.

“Please,” Din lured her in with the voice he knew she loved listening to. It’s about time he let her know that he knew of his effect on her, too. “It would be an honor.”

Omera laughed an airy, capricious laugh. “Are you sure? I’ll count to three—“

Din chuckled. “Just go ahead and do it,” he coaxed her fondly, good-naturedly.

And Omera did. 

Din drank in each and every sparkle in her gaze and twitch upon the lines of her lovely face, when she finally shed him off the relic of a past he was still unwilling to revisit.

“Mando,” she started to speak, her voice reverently adoring.

“Din,” Din said, finally revealing to her his name. “Just call me ‘Din.’”

When Omera suppressed her smile, her dimples buried themselves deeper, and Din was certainly staring again.

“Din,” Omera repeated. Her voice was like a will-o’-the-wisp to his senses.  “I’m so happy you’ve come back.”

Din could completely make the priority of the hour looking over his starship, figuring out which part blew up and malfunctioned and find ways to fix it, estimate the cost of repairs—yet all those practicalities had washed away like the monsoons over the marshes that seasonally flooded Sorgan.

At this moment, Din knew that the priority—was Omera. 

He’d never felt this fortunate before over a previously unlucky streak. Never in his life would he have believed that crashing onto a planet (and coming out of it unscathed), and rescued by the most unlikely people—the most unlikely person, to boot—in extraordinary circumstances was a blessing in disguise.

He leaned down to whisper into her ear his own gentle, rapturous reply: “I’m so happy to be back, too.”

*****

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {a reunion}

the words are flowing and the vibes of today are on the mend. there's more din pov in the next chapter before we jump back into san's as there's some things we need to see throgh his eyes to create the ~ tension

taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls @tuquoquebrute

[pentechnics]

OLAT Drabbles - Safe

Ch. 2 - Messages

Series Masterlist

Summary: Din's POV of chapter 2 in its entirety

Notes: This one was so fun to write! I honestly can't recall who requested this one, no such ask exists in my inbox. Maybe it was just me again and I forgot lol! (please tell me if it was you, it's very possible that tumblr just ate the ask because it was from so long ago sdfghjk) Regardless, I really hope you all enjoy seeing this chapter from his point of view. I am so excited to keep writing these -- so much more fun from his side of the story is to come! Please let me know what you thought, and if you enjoyed this please consider reblogging it!

Thank you all so much! ❤️

~~~~

Din parked his speeder bike in the lot and proceeded to help Grogu out of his seat. 

“You ready for another day, kid?” 

“Yeah!” Grogu cheered as Din knelt down and helped him slip on his backpack. 

“You know what to do if something happens, right?”

“Yes, Papa-”

“You have them call me right away. No matter what, I’ll come right over. And in the meantime, you use the moves I taught you.” 

“I will, Papa, I will! Now come on!” 

Grogu stomped in place before grabbing Din’s hand and yanking. Din heaved a sigh before walking Grogu over to the courtyard. 

You were already stationed at the gate with a bright smile on your face, giving a wave as they approached. There was a slight stiffness to your frame. Perhaps you were still intimidated by him. 

Din bent down to give Grogu a few parting words before watching him eagerly waddle towards you. Your shoulders relaxed at the sight, your expression calmer when you looked back up. You gave Din a nod before leading Grogu through the gate. 

Din stayed rooted in his spot, watching the two of you until you disappeared into the building. 

Anxiety bubbled in his gut, much like it did every time Grogu left his line of sight. You’d promised him Grogu’s safety, but a person’s word could only do so much under a real threat.  

Endless scenarios plagued his mind. This planet was still new territory that he had yet to learn. Its sanctuary reputation helped, but worry still weaved through the cracks. 

With a final glance in the direction of your classroom, Din turned and headed back to his speeder bike. 

~~~~

After fixing up the particularly banged-up engine of a small cargo ship, Din stepped out of the workshop and tugged out a small data pad. 

He tried to recall Fennec’s instructions as he tapped along the screen, trying to reach the contacts. When your name, followed by the identifying ‘Grogu’s teacher’ beside it popped up, he pressed on it and began to type. 

How is Grogu

Just as he was going to put it away, he glanced back at it. If the roles were reversed, he’d be freaked out to receive a random message like this. He thought about what form of explanation to offer before typing once more. 

I was told I could reach you at this address

He couldn’t stop checking the pad, even as he continued his work day. Two mere minutes would go by, and he’d be putting down his tools to pull it out and see if you’d responded. 

A little part of his heart sank whenever the screen came up blank. 

He kept himself from checking for a more solid five minutes as he tried to figure out the various parts of a droid, when a small ping sounded through the air. 

He dropped the materials back on the counter with a ceremonious clang and dug out the data pad once more. 

He’s doing great! He seems really happy today. Everyone’s having naptime right now.

Din let out a sigh, the weight of his nerves easing out of his muscles. Grogu was okay, and he was resting. He tapped the little response box and began typing. 

That’s goof- delete- good.

Why the little letters were so small, Din didn’t understand. He poised to continue typing, thinking through what else to say. 

“Hey, Mando!” 

Din looked up to see his boss beckoning him over. With a sigh, he put the data pad away and made his way across the workshop. 

“Roko needs a hand with the hyperdrive on the Gunship,” the Togruta said, walking him over to an outdoor work station. Din nodded and headed towards where his coworker was waving. 

“Thanks a lot, man,” Roko said with a grin while he and Din climbed into the cockpit of the X4 Gunship. “I’ve been tinkering with this thing for an hour but still can’t get it to work.” 

“Let’s see,” Din leaned underneath the control panel to examine the wiring. 

He asked Roko to bring a few tools, then had him watch while Din repositioned a few wires and connected others. 

“This right here should do the trick,” he said as he clipped and secured one last wire. “Give it a shot now.” 

Roko stood and fired up the ship. The controls sprung to life, the durasteel shaking with the engine’s purr. Din got up and checked the status reports.

“It’s up!” Roko said, “You did it!” 

Din gave a tilt of his head in lieu of a response. 

“That was a huge help. You just let me know if I can ever return the favor, ‘kay?” 

Din nodded and climbed out of the ship. He glanced back as he walked away, Roko’s bubbly tone still ringing in his head. Was everyone here like that? So far that seemed to be the case. 

He tucked the thought away and pulled out his data pad on the way back to his workstation, resuming the thought train of what message to send you.

His pace slowed while he stared at the feed. He didn’t quite have any other questions for you, but something didn’t feel right about leaving the conversation like that. You were taking care of his child, and according to Fennec’s friend you were also to help him through any potential troubles, both physical and mental. 

No matter how stressed it made him to leave Grogu each morning, Din definitely couldn’t do all that on his own.  

He sat at his station and typed out a short, 

Thank you. 

~~~~

Din couldn’t wait to get out of the repair shop and see his boy again. 

Once the time came he all but ran out to his speeder bike and jetted off towards the school. He parked in his usual spot and made his way to the courtyard, situating himself in the middle, where he could see all the other families waiting for their children. 

The perfect vantage point if anyone were to try something funny. 

Moments later you were walking out with the class on your heels and bending down to give them little farewell gestures. Din watched as group after group left the courtyard, the line dwindling down until Grogu was the last one standing. 

The sight of him alone made Din feel whole again. He grinned and let himself deflate, shifting his weight onto his hip. 

Grogu gave your hand a little tap before coming towards Din, a smile painting his features. 

“Hey, how was your day, kid?” 

“It was good!” Grogu said with a little hop. Din knelt down to his level. 

“Everything go okay?” 

“Uh-huh,” Grogu nodded, voice quiet. “Miss is very nice.”

“Good, that’s good.” 

Din stood and reached out his hands in a silent question, to which Grogu nodded. But just as he lifted Grogu into his arms, the little bundle’s brow furrowed. 

“Papa,” he said, “can we go back? I wanna say something to Miss.” 

Din tilted his head, confusion entering his mind. As much as he wanted to know what Grogu had to say, he wasn’t sure how to ask. He nodded and set Grogu back down. 

“Sure, pal. Let’s go.” 

The two of them walked through the courtyard and into the gate, passing a few other classrooms before getting to your open door. 

Din poked his head in and found you peering down at something on your desk, brow scrunched in concentration. He took a breath before gently knocking on the door. When your head shot up, he repressed a chuckle.  

“Sorry,” Din said, stepping into the room with Grogu beside him. “He wanted to come back in and tell you something.” 

“That’s perfectly fine,” you said with a smile, making your way over to them and kneeling down. 

“What can I do for you, bud?”

Grogu gave Din’s fingers a little squeeze. Din ran his thumb over them in response. 

“Thank you, Miss,” came his little voice. “... I feel safe here.” 

Din’s gaze shot down to him. Those were some of the last words he expected Grogu to say.

Grogu’s trust was not easy to gain. Not since his capture by Moff Gideon. Din’s throat suddenly felt dry as he considered what would compel Grogu to tell you such powerful words. And then there was the question of you – would you understand how big this was for him? 

The expression on your face was assuring that you were at least somewhat aware. Your grin split your cheeks into two, your eyes glossing over as you responded. 

What happened next was what really had Din’s mind twisting. 

Grogu held out his tiny arms to you, asking for an embrace. Din couldn’t help being shocked; now that Grogu had grown a little bit and gained more autonomy over who touched him, it wasn’t as easy for him to be comfortable with new people. 

Yet here he was, asking you for a hug. After just a few days. 

When your gaze lifted up to Din, he almost forgot to answer the question in your expression. 

The elation in your smile, the desire to fulfill Grogu’s request in your eyes, it was overwhelming. He took a deep breath before taking a step back and giving a quick nod. 

Damn, if anything else were to happen, he’d need to sit down. 

The two of you giggled in your embrace, your smile getting impossibly brighter. 

“Thank you for coming back to tell me that, Grogu. It made me very happy.” 

Grogu’s ears perked up just before he turned to face Din, his own grin taking up the majority of his expression. 

“And thank you for bringing him,” your voice made Din’s gaze snap back as you stood up once more. “I’d love to walk you both out to the gate, if that’s okay?” 

Din nodded and took Grogu’s hand. 

The two of them matched your pace; Din glanced down every now and then to see Grogu look between him and you, as if this were the happiest moment of his life. 

Din couldn’t help watching you. Every now and then you shot Grogu a smile, your stature confident yet relaxed. 

It was amazing. How had Grogu become so comfortable around you so quickly? So okay with being that candid about his feelings, so willing to let his guard down in your presence? Aside from the family, Grogu hadn’t done that with anyone since he began speaking. 

When you saw them off from your spot at the gate after confirming the next check-in, all those questions and more still bounced around in Din’s mind. He hardly registered the walk through the courtyard, not until he stopped to look back at you. 

Who were you? 

~~~~

“To begin, I’ve been noticing that Grogu’s really been getting along with the other students,” you started. 

Din drummed his fingers on your desk as you spoke, absorbing every detail of Grogu’s days since starting. His increased activity was relieving to hear; Din couldn’t help worrying that being away from peers his own age for so long would hinder his ability to make friends. 

“It’s a really good sign that he’s taken to being social with his classmates. He’s still a bit shy at times, but that’s to be expected given that it’s only his first week.” 

Din nodded as he recalled Grogu telling him about some of those classmates. ‘Li and Chia are really nice,’ he’d said, ‘And Jack always shares his candy with me.’ 

Din could only hope that those connections would stick. 

“One thing did come up the other day during naptime-”

Red alerts began to ring in Din’s head. His head snapped up to you, fingers falling still. Your face held its composure, a hand coming out in front of you. 

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” you said, voice purposefully calm. “And we worked through it just fine.”

“What. Happened.” 

He couldn’t help the menacing tone of the question. He’d told Grogu to have you call him if anything serious happened; what kept him from doing that? A million possible scenarios ran laps around Din’s consciousness, his muscles growing tingly from the anxiety. 

“It was just a bad dream,” you said, “He came up to me and I sat with him and talked to him until he fell asleep again.”

A bad dream. 

Grogu had a bad dream. Din sighed and sat back in his chair, hoping with all his might that it wasn’t that dream. 

“Did he say what it was about?” he asked, unable to stop the crack in his voice. 

You shook your head. 

Damn it. 

“I don’t typically ask them because it can sometimes make them feel worse. From what I’ve seen the children usually talk about it on their own if that’s something they want.”

Din deflated as his thoughts began to run. It made sense, and you were right; a flashback of Grogu telling him about the Moff Gideon nightmare, through sobs and hysterics, after having had it three times and not saying a word, crept up and made his heart clench in pain. 

When he raised his head once more to continue the conversation, the look on your face made him freeze.

You were gazing at your notes, a certain kind of apprehension painting your features. Were you hiding something from him? 

You looked up with a start before nodding. 

Good – Din still had it. 

“He did give me a hint, though.” you started, glancing down once more before meeting his gaze. “When I told him that nothing could hurt him here and that he was safe with me, he asked me if anyone would be able to come take him away.” 

Kriff. 

Din’s chest clenched again, though now more so in anger, as he gripped the edge of your desk. 

“I told him I’d never let that happen, and I never make a promise to a child that I don’t intend to keep.” 

Your expression was confident. Secure. Genuine. Right alongside your words. 

Din sighed and slumped against the chair. He’d always been there whenever Grogu woke up from this dream. Always. He’d sit with Grogu and do whatever it took to calm him down before helping him fall asleep again. He couldn’t imagine how Grogu must’ve felt having that dream here. 

Especially since it had been so long since the last time it happened. Back when they were initially reunited, that nightmare occurred somewhat frequently, but decreased over time. Din scolded himself for letting his guard down. 

“Not that again,” he grunted, his free hand clenching into a fist on his thigh. 

Oop- did he just say that out loud?

His brow shot up with his head; you were looking at him with such concern in your eyes. It was jarring, but confirmed that he had. He let out a sigh and leaned onto your desk. 

“He’s had that dream before. It’s been… a while since the last time it happened. I guess I thought he wouldn’t need to worry about it anymore.”

He still couldn’t believe he wasn’t there. How did Grogu manage it, waking up from that dream, completely surrounded by strangers? And if that had happened while Grogu was here, why hadn’t anyone called Din?

But then another memory resurfaced; Grogu had asked to come back in here, and he’d said those words to you… 

You. 

You were there when he woke up. 

“Was that the same day I brought him back in after school? When he said he felt safe?” 

“Yes, it was,” you said with a nod. 

“Well, how about that... “ 

Din leaned back once more and took in the image of you. 

From what he’d experienced so far, you were kind, caring, and honest. You really seemed to care about the children. Even with the day of the nightmare aside, Grogu had nothing but good things to say about you. Din was beginning to understand why. 

You shivered the slightest bit as he stared, and he was glad the helmet was hiding the little smirk on his face. You cleared your throat. 

“I don’t take that for granted, by the way. Him telling me he feels safe means a lot to me. And I promise you, I’ll do all I can to make sure he continues to feel that way.” 

“I assume that’s another promise you fully intend to keep?” he asked, tilting his head. 

You nodded, brows rising up, as if you were trying hard to convince him of your sincerity. Din resisted the urge to chuckle, and gave a nod instead. He could only hope you were a woman of your word. 

Din’s eyes scanned the room around you. Various drawings hung about, different scribble patterns depicting a visual language only children seemed to know how to speak.

Luckily for Din, he’d learned Grogu’s dialect well. Well enough to spot it right away. 

The picture caught him off guard at first; he hadn’t expected that Grogu would include the Razor Crest. It had been so long, after all. 

In his peripheral, he saw you follow his gaze and smile. 

“Ah yes, he drew that during art time the other day – the same day as the dream, in fact.” 

Din couldn’t hold back a little chuckle at the thought. The mental image of Grogu furiously scribbling away, draining the life force from his utensil of choice to create every little figure was so clear. 

Sure, Grogu drew all the time at home. But it was rare that all four of them were in the same picture together. And with the Crest? Fett and Fennec hadn’t ever ridden in it. 

“Would you like to take it home?” 

Your gleeful voice pulled Din back into the moment. 

Take it home? He could do that? He could have it there and look at it whenever he wanted, just like all of Grogu’s other drawings? He tried to withhold his excitement at the notion, instead sitting up a bit in his chair. 

“... Would that be okay?” 

Your smile grew wider as you nodded and rose from your desk to take it down. 

That’s when Din noticed just how short you were. 

You were straining to reach the corners of the drawing, getting on your tiptoes to stretch your arms as far as they could go. It was almost painful to watch. 

Din rose and poised himself to help you take down the last corner, his arms coming up to reach over you just as you dislodged it with one last hop. 

You almost bumped into his cuirass as you turned, and he froze at the sudden proximity. An apology crept up his throat as you took a step back, almost bumping into the wall, but died out before his lips could form the words. 

You stared up at him, doe-like eyes that shimmered underneath your lashes, pupils slightly dilated. 

It was strange; your presence usually seemed so large, so confident and powerful. There was still a spark from you in this moment, but it felt different. It was as if you were a burning star, casting a colorful flame that threatened to consume him if he got any closer.

But there was something about it – about that look in your eyes – that made him want to risk it all and feel that burn.  

You straightened up and held the picture out in your hands. Din glanced at it, clearing his throat and trying to recover his composure before reaching out for it. 

The slightest pressure against the tips of his gloves was his only indication of your hands’ presence. He slowly met your gaze again, relishing in seeing the shine of your eyes up close. There was a slight nervousness to your gaze – not a fearful sort, but something else, which blended with that fire and had Din’s heart skipping a beat. 

He’d seen plenty of galactic wonders in his time, but you were the first one he encountered outside a spacecraft. 

Wow, he thought. Beautiful. 

His breaths grew slightly more shallow as he willed his mouth to say something. Anything.

“... Thank you,” he finally rasped. 

“You’re welcome.” 

The words were so quiet and light, like a soft cloud. Yet your eyes were still so loud, staring into his visor as if you could see right through it. 

Din swore he’d confess anything to you right then if you asked.  

He took the picture and stepped back, drawing in a deep breath and examining it up close before returning his attention to you.

You waved him back to the desk and finished your list of updates. He took mental note of each one, the buzz of the drawing and of your little shared moment still reverberating in his head. 

After the meeting concluded, you walked him out to the gate. Din looked down at the drawing in his hand; Grogu had used a myriad of colors to depict each of them. He and Din were at the forefront holding hands, while Fett and Fennec were just behind them. Fennec had a large smile scribbled onto her face; Din bit down a grin. They’ll be thrilled to see this, he thought. 

“I bet Grogu will be happy to see that picture at home.”

Din gave you a nod, now imagining the smile on Grogu’s little face. 

When the two of you reached the gate, you held out your hand for him to shake. 

“Until next time, then?” 

“Until next time,” he echoed, clutching your hand in his.

He was surprised at the strength of your grip; your handshake was solid, firm. He liked it. 

The phantom of your hand remained wrapped around his as he walked away. He clenched it into a brief fist, as if he were grasping an actual hand. 

Memories of the meeting played through his mind on the way home: the conversation about the dream, the detailed descriptions of Grogu’s improvements, the strange sensations that clouded his mind when he got too close to you. Every little move you made stuck out to him in some way, like there was something to learn about you from each one. 

And after what he’d seen from you, Din’s curiosity refused to leave any stone unturned.  

****

[auntie-venom]

Will of Fate Masterlist

Story Rating: Explicit

Characters: Din Djarin x Original Female Character

Summary: There hasn’t been an unidentified spacecraft in the stratosphere of Arkadia in over two decades, let alone three in one day. Those skilled or mad enough to venture into the Chaos unguided were few and far between. That means no one has ever made it to Arkadia who wasn’t intending to be here.

Until today.

or

Din Djarin finds an unmapped planet filled with beings who have the same powers as the Child, but know nothing of the force or the Jedi.

Read on Ao3

Author Masterlist

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

[zoofitness]

New ficlet alert - what I imagine happens at the end of s3ep5

When you leave, will my heart leave with you?

DinBo|1.5k|hurt/comfort, angst with a (happy?) ending

archiveofourown.org/works/46258597