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hannibals-favourite-meal · 1 month ago

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.⋆｡The Way｡⋆.

Din Djarin x plus size reader

You don’t know your place in the verse and he’s lost his way.

Warnings: smut, labelling this dub-con just because Din is a bit forceful, this has a lot of angst, mostly relating to awful self-image and hate towards one's own body, restraints, Din doesn’t know how to deal with emotions, possessive!Din, ownership kink, breeding kink, blindfolds, forced marriage (reader doesn’t fully understand what the vows mean but she accepts after), drinking, no foreplay, creampie, fluff WC: 5.3k Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The market was bustling in the late afternoon light. The child cooed over the many bright colours and shiny objects in the vendor’s stalls, little hands reaching out to touch every time you got close. Big brown eyes reflected the lights perfectly. You smoothed over the whips hairs on top of his head, making him smile and snuggle closer to your soft chest, content in being held in your thick arms.

“We should go soon. I don’t want to be here after dark.” The modulated voice easily identifiable in the chatter of the crowd. You tilted your head up slightly, the Mandalorian’s armour glittering the same way as his son’s eyes.

“Just need to pick up one more thing and then we can go.” You reassured but still hurried along, struggling to keep up with the taller man. He grunted, sounding annoyed but with a large hand placed on the small of your back, you knew he was just tired.

You took your time sorting through the fabrics on the cart, allowing the baby to feel some of them. You kept the softest fabrics in your hands, intending to make more clothes for him since he had quite the nasty habit of destroying them beyond repair. “What a beautiful family.” The vendor cooed, “I’ll even give you a discount so you can take care of that baby of yours.” You opened your mouth to protest but were quickly stopped by your companion.

“Thank you.” You felt your entire body flush as he stood closer, taking credits from his own store to pay for you. As he led you away, you spoke up.

“You didn’t have to pay for me, Mando. I do have my own money.” He didn’t respond at first, humming under his helmet.

“It’s my money cyar'ika, I spend it how I wish.”

Your heart pounded as you looked upon the powerful warrior, strong body towering over you, glowing in the light of the setting sun.

Silent tears fell as you kept your head down, listening as goodbyes were said. Your heart broke as you heard the Jedi begin to walk away, the boy you had grown to love as your own giving a small cry, calling out for his father. There was a whispered ‘I’m sorry’ from Mando, his voice clear without the modulator in his helmet.

You didn’t speak as you followed him back to the Crest, your heart broken, your arms empty without the little one in them. Mando climbed into the cockpit, slamming the door behind him. His rage and anguish filled the ship, only compounding your own sadness. You lifted up one of Grogu’s little tunics, the colour meant to emulate his father’s armour, that had been laid out on the table as you did laundry.

Sobs ripped through your chest as you clung to the small outfit, collapsing onto the metal floor, bending over yourself as if it would sooth the incredible ache settling in your chest.

——————

Mando hadn’t spoken to you in a week, taking all his meals in his bunk or the cockpit, grunting in acknowledgement when you told him of the dwindling supplies in the ship’s store. You were no better. That little boy had become your son over the months he had been in your care but now he was gone and you found yourself struggling with your purpose.

You were hired to take care of him when Mando was on a hunt, nothing more. You were just a live-in nanny for the boy, you knew Mando chose you because you weren’t a threat. You were big, sure, but soft, your hands absent of calluses. You weren’t a danger to him, never posing a threat even in those rare occasions where you became furious, usually when Mando had unnecessarily risked his life.

You mothered both of them, keeping them fed, making sure the ship and themselves were clean. And giving Grogu lessons that Mando would sometimes listen in on if they were traveling between worlds and he had nothing else to do. It was what you loved, caring for others. But now, there was no one to care for.

Mando could handle himself, and now that the child is gone, he could easily get rid of you, not having to worry about another mouth to feed, another person to protect. He could easily leave you on some planet somewhere just like when he found you.

It wasn’t like you had any other use. You weren’t even pretty to look at, let alone fuck, no matter how much you yearned. You had, regretfully, developed an overwhelming, devastating crush on the bounty hunter pretty much as soon as he hired you and that had turned into full blown, heart-stopping love.

Every moment you spent with him was torture but every moment without him was pure agony. But you knew he would never look at you, not when he had women like Omera. Small women with pleasant faces who could actually keep up with him. Not someone like you with a stomach flap and stretch marks and acne on your breasts. Not someone who could barely run and got winded after multiple trips up the ladder to the cockpit. You didn’t deserve him.

Your bags had been packed, all your things collected and carefully stored, you were just waiting for the day when the Crest would land on some stretch of planet and he would tell you to leave, maybe you would even get a thank you for your job, but you doubted it.

The ship vibrated beneath you as you sat on one of the many crates, a ball of yarn sitting between your folded legs as you used your fingers to crochet a little bantha. Making little toys for Grogu was a habit you still kept even without his presence. You already had a small box full of the little stuffed creatures in some kind of hope that Mando would bring them to him if ever he saw him again. Or maybe, you’d just sell them to get some credits when Mando kicked you out.

You hummed under your breath, being hyper aware of the volume of your own voice, not wanting to annoy the bounty hunter, even if he was locked in the cockpit. The soft yarn tangled around your arm as you put the finishing touches on the animal. Using the small pair of scissors from your sewing kit, you snipped off the extra yarn and winding the ball back up.

With a heavy sigh, you kissed the little head of the bantha before slipping to your bare feet, a shiver rolling up your spine from the cold metal, and wandered over to the small collection of things for Grogu. You carefully pulled the cover off and delicately laid the plushie on the top of the ever-growing pile, quickly shutting the lid before you could cry again.

“We’ll be landing soon.” Mando’s deep voice broke the silence of the hull, pulling you out of your self-deprecating spiral.

“Yeah, ok.” You muttered, keeping your head down as to not look at your boss, knowing that one glance at his berserker would send your mind reeling, wanting to beg him to let you stay but you just shuffled off to your make-shift room to gather your things.

The cockpit door slammed shut once more and the rumbling beneath your feet increased as the ship entered the atmosphere. You sighed and checked your things one more time, sitting on your cot and pulling on your boots, waiting for the next stage of your journey.

Your breath was caught in your throat but you forced yourself to take a deep inhale, filling your lungs completely as the Crest settled down, jostling you slightly. You steeled yourself for the doors to lower. When they did, a frighteningly cold wind whipped through you, almost knocking you off your feet.

In the distance, you could see the dark outlines of buildings against the horizon. It would be a long walk but perhaps it would give you time to think about what you were supposed to do next. With one last pleading look up to the shut cockpit door, you stepped off the ship and drifted off into the dusty plateau.

“You haven’t asked any questions about the armour.” You looked up from the collection of educational holo programs you had been organising and met the mandalorian’s steel gaze. There were times, you felt, where he could see directly through you, observing your every emotion and thought you tried desperately to keep locked away.

His favourite blaster was half disassembled on the table in front of him, something he only did when the kid was asleep for fear of the little womp-rat stealing pieces for his own amusement. He seemed to fill up the limited space of the ‘kitchen’ with his bulk yet you couldn’t bring yourself to fear his size when he had been so gentle towards you since the moment you were employed.

You cleared your throat and occupied yourself with the various videos before you answered the man. “I don’t think there’s anyone that doesn’t know at least something about a mandalorian’s armour, even if it was just an unfounded rumour they overheard once. Besides, it’s not really my business to ask questions about your wardrobe or lack thereof.” You giggled to yourself, just barely catching the huff of annoyance from him.

“Just because I wear this armour, doesn’t mean I don’t change my clothes beneath it cyar'ika.” You levelled him with a knowing look, one that was far more brave than you felt.

“I think you’re forgetting which one of us does the laundry here.” He grumbled something unintelligible, making you laugh as you turned back to your work, a comfortable silence settling between you. From the corner of your eye, you could see the bounty hunter shift in his seat, said armour glittering beneath the warm light of the Crest.

He grunted as he finally settled, his back against the wall, his thighs spread. You grinned in his direction, your chest warming with the domesticity of the moment. “You gonna tell me about it then? The creed?”

His head dipped towards you, his fingers still skillfully cleaning the barrel of the blaster. “Mask stays on, I fight, I build something new with a clan of my own.”

“Poetic. Seems like you have it all figured out.” The holopad beeped with an alert, pulling your attention away from him and just barely missing the sigh of disagreement that escaped him.

“Could I get a room for the night?” The inn-keeper gave you a look but complied anyway, snatching the small pile of credits you left on the counter.

“All the way down the hall, last door on the right.”

The walls of your room were bare save for the cracks in the brick and a singular window that seemed an afterthought to whoever built the inn. You sighed and threw your bag onto the bed, it wasn’t like you would be here for long. Surely there was another ship out there willing to take you on as an extra hand or at least give you a ride to somewhere that would. You’ve made due before, this time wouldn’t be any different.

You chose to ignore the ache in your chest at the thought.

Noise from the cantina next door drew you from your spiral of self-misery. You knew it was never going to last but for some stupid reason, you had hoped it would. Mando had never hesitated when it came to you, he didn’t underestimate your abilities nor your drive like so many others had done, maybe that was why you had stupidly let yourself believe that he actually liked you.

Maybe a drink would help. Or twelve.

The dense smoke that filled the cantina made your eyes water as soon as you stepped inside, burning your nostrils in a way that pulled your mind from the pit in your stomach for the first time in days. Even on a planet as desolate as this, the bar was crowded, bodies filling every available space as they clambered for drinks. You pressed through the throng, the allure of something that could burn a hole in your throat calling to you.

You didn’t care that it was probably made out back of the cantina in a distillery that hadn’t ever been cleaned, nor that if the mixture was wrong it could turn you blind. You just wanted to feel something other than the gaping void in your chest that the child and Mando had occupied.

A credit slammed onto the dusty counter earned you a glass of the fluorescent green liquid that would make you forget, for just a moment at least. The glass was drained in a second and then slammed back onto the bar, another credit joining it. The bartender didn’t even give you a look, all-too-used to the sight. You would think about consequences tomorrow, about how you would have to start over yet again, to be at the mercy of another employer who would most likely berate you, remind you over and over again of your worthlessness. Eventually, you would forget about the Mandalorian, tucking him away into the recesses of your mind for nights when you would succumb to your weakness and fantasise about what could have been.

The blaring music began to fade into the background as you lifted your third shot, intending for it to follow the first two but you suddenly stopped, the rim of the glass resting on the fullness of your bottom lip. The hairs on the back of your neck raised as you felt the crosshairs of a predator’s gaze settle on you. You looked out of the corner of your eye — No one else seemed to notice the target suddenly scrawled on your back.

As nonchalantly as you could, you lowered the glass back down, pushing it to your right, where it was snatched up by the patron next to you. You weren’t in any real danger, somewhere in your hind mind assured, but you had seen what Mando could do when he was pissed and you doubted your hasty departure had made him happy. Though, you were surprised he noticed this quickly, maybe he had wanted something from you before he left the Crest.

People stepped out of his way as the hulking mass of beskar walked towards you, crossing half the length of the room in only a couple steps. “Cyar'ika.” His nickname for you, which he had not uttered in what seemed like forever, almost stopped you, but you couldn’t waver now. A woman close to the door moved closer to her companion, opening up your escape.

You ran.

Dust kicked up under your boots, no doubt leaving a trail for him to follow, but you hoped that he would get the hint. He had to have known that your time aboard the Crest was done, his child was gone, there was no use left for you and you had to leave before he figured it out and kicked you off himself.

You slipped into the now abandoned inn, silent save for the sound of you trying to catch your breath. This is what you wanted.

In your spiral of self-induced misery, you didn’t hear the heavy footfalls of the bounty hunter until it was too late, maybe if you did, you could’ve gotten away before he reached your door. Just as you thrust the ancient key into the lock, a huge hand landed on your shoulder, the strong fingers gripping the bone tightly, almost enough to make you wince.

“Why did you go?” His modulated voice was cold like the armour he wore, unyielding as you blindly tried to reach for the handle.

“It was time for me to leave.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look back. You tried to pull away but he held you tighter.

“You want to leave me?” If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve swore he sounded sad. Your head tipped up to meet his gaze.

Without the filter of your wholly sober mind, your thoughts spilled from your lips. “We both know I’m just a burden to you. You’d be better off without me.”

“No.” He sternly replied.

“No? What do you mean ’no’?”

“I mean no.” The door opened with a slam that made the thin wall tremble and suddenly, you were shoved into the dusty room, trapped with a man who you gravely misunderstood. Mando appeared as stoic as ever, all while he shut the door behind him, the lock snapping into place once more.

“You won’t leave me too.” He snarled and you gasped but it was quickly cut off as Mando spun you around, pressing your soft body into the hard wall of the inn.

A massive gloved hand clamped down on your hip as the other was planted by your head, caging you in, unable to escape the huge mandalorian. “You’re mine.”

His chest heaved against your own, keeping you pinned in place as you struggled to breathe around the lump in your throat. He had never gotten this close to you before and it was entirely confusing. The cold metal of his chest plate pushed into your breasts making your nipples harden with the chill. Fear crawled up your spine quickly as his helmet tilted in the way it always did when he was observing a bounty.

“I fucking own you cyar'ika or did you forget about our contract already.” The leather of his gloves creaked as his grip tightened on your hip. You swallowed down a wince, unable to have a single thought other than how large he seemed like this. “You don’t get to leave.”

“Contract?”

Faster than your empty mind could comprehend, your employer’s hand flew to the belt that sat across his slim hips and pulled, drawing your gaze downwards. Though the plates on his thighs and the cup between them remained firmly on, from this close you could see the way his flight suit strained behind it. You forced your eyes back up to the dark line of his visor as he pulled something from one of the pockets on the belt before dropping it carelessly to the floor.

“Arms up.” He barked.

You balked, remaining frozen when you finally saw what was in his hands. A pair of cuffs.

“Up. Now.” Mando grabbed both your wrists in one massive paw and forced them above your head without so much as a peep of resistance from you. The cuffs closed around your wrists with a hiss that made his shoulders ease ever so slightly. His other hand remained on your hip, his thumb pressing into the bone like he was trying to ground himself.

“Mando what-“

“You were gone. I came down and you had taken off. I thought you were hurt or lost, but no, you were running away from me.” His head tipped down, scanning the length of your soft body that wasn’t pressed against him. “And now, you’re saying that I don’t want you, need you.” He kneaded the plush flesh of your hip as he stepped closer, now the whole length of him pushed against you, blocking your view until all you could see was him.

“You were wrong.” You tried to protest but he chose in that moment to press his leg between your own, forcing a whine from your lips before you could even think of smothering it.

“You belong to me.” The world flipped on its axis, knocking the wind from your lungs as the bounty hunter flipped you onto his hard shoulder. You almost expected him to throw open the door and carry you back to the Crest but the Mandalorian tossed you onto the bed in the center of the room, leaving you breathless and very confused.

“I-I can give you back the credits you gave me if that’s what you want.” He yanked at the fasteners on his forearms, letting the armour fall to the ground with a clatter. “Or something…” You trailed off as the beskar on his legs followed, somehow hoping that this was going in the direction you had wished for and it wasn’t some cruel joke he was playing to get back at you.

Mando scoffed beneath his helmet as the chest plate joined the rest of the set, leaving him standing over you in the dark grey flight suit you had seen dozens of times before, but never like this. The front was pulled tight by the heft of his cock pressing against the suit’s seam, a darker patch slowly growing where his bulk ended.

“You haven’t seen it have you?” With your wrists still bound, you were pliant to his touch. His hands pulled at the shirt you wore, examining it before he suddenly gripped it tight and ripped the fabric apart.

“Hey!” Fear raced through your veins as your body was exposed to the man you had fallen for, you knew he would turn away, find you so wholly disgusting and unattractive that he would leave you on this bed in an inn that could barely be called that on a planet you didn’t know, taking your heart with him when he did.

“Mesh'la.” His whisper crackled with the modulator in his helmet, but you heard it all the same.

“Please Mando, I’m sorry I left but we both know my usefulness ran out a long time ago. There’s nothing else of me that you want.” You tried to lower your arms over your stomach but he caught your wrists once more and forced them back over your head, keeping you exposed to him.

“I want all of you.” He tugged at the zipper of his suit with his free hand, slowly revealing his own lean body to you. Dark hair speckled his tanned chest, leading down to a soft stomach littered with scars that only added to his beauty. You knew he was strong, immensely so to get his job done, but seeing his strength laid out so plainly to you almost had you drooling. He ripped away the rest of your shirt without much more protest, tearing the fabric apart until all that remained was a thin strip in his hand. “This stays on.”

With more delicacy than you thought him capable of, Mando wrapped the fabric around your eyes, binding it behind your head, blinding you and then removing his touch from you entirely. “Mando, I don’t understand.” Your voice had grown weaker.

“You will.” He assured before another dull thud rang through the room. “I’ll make you understand just how badly I will always need you.” It took you a moment, disoriented from being blindfolded, but you suddenly realised that there was no modulation in his own voice.

“Mando?”

“Trust me mesh'la.” It was then that his touch returned, burning hot and trembling with desire that you had never felt before. He touched your body with reverence, the tips of his fingers tracing each mark and marr with a soft admiration. “You don’t know what you do to me. So gentle, so soft, so perfect.” Lips followed each careful brush of his fingers.

“I’m not-“ You choked on the protest, tears burned behind your covered eyes.

“I tried to stop myself. I cannot give you the life you deserve but I couldn’t let you go, not after- You are my greatest sin. And my saviour.” Your pants slid down your legs before the weight of the bounty hunter replaced them, your skin flush together, no barriers between you. “And I am never letting you go.”

You tensed in surprise as he pressed his cock against your pussy, letting the heat between you grow unbearable. “I’m not any of those things. I’m not enough.” He froze, though he didn’t pull away.

“You think I’m lying to you.” Anger seeped from his pores. “I don’t lie to you, cyar'ika. Ever. I know you can feel how hard you make me, I’m always like this around you.” His hips pulled back, the tip of his cock falling to notch at your entrance. Even barely pressed into you, you burned with the stretch.

“It’s too much.”

“You’ll take it.” And with that he blissfully, tortuously, began pushing into you. “You were meant to.” Your back lifted from the thin mattress, arching into him as you took more and more, the length of his cock almost never ending. Your hands curled into fists, your nails biting into the flesh of your palm.

Pain swirled with pleasure, muddying your mind more than any alcohol or spice ever could. Your jaw dropped open as he finally reached the hilt and stopped. “Remember to breathe.”

He drew back and then punched into you, forcing your body further up the bed. You didn’t even get a chance to draw in a breath before he did it again and then again and again until the frame beneath you shook with his power, threatening to collapse if you didn’t move with him.

You yanked your arms down, planting your hands on the solid muscle of his chest like you could steal the air from him in return but Mando grabbed the cuffs and pulled them back up over your head. “Breathe.” You gasped at the reminder, the pain suddenly morphing into blinding ecstasy.

“Please!” You begged, not knowing if you were pleading for mercy or for him to give you more. His lips descended on your neck, coarse hair scratching at the sensitive skin that only fed into the growing feeling in your stomach. His cock hit at something deep inside of you that set your nerves alight.

His body moved against yours perfectly, a dance of pleasure he somehow knew all the steps to already.

“I need you.” You lamented, the words flowing from you like a dam burst inside you. “I was so scared, I needed you and I couldn’t lose you too.” Tears wet the makeshift blindfold, making the fabric darker with each one that fell.

“I’m sorry, it was all my fault.” He kissed up your jaw with each word. “You were my responsibility and I failed you, both of you.”

“He was mine.” You cried, chasing his lips. You thrust your bound hands into his hair tugging on the thick curls until you could feel the tip of his nose brush yours. “Please, I need-“ He smashed his lips to yours but then quickly pulled away, his voice ringing through your ears once more.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”

“What’s it mean?” You slurred but instead of an answer, you received a snarl of frustration.

“Repeat it.” His hand pressed down on your stomach like he was trying to feel his cock pounding into you beneath the layer of fat but he only succeeded in adding more pressure to the already building mountain inside of you. You wailed, thrashing beneath him in some vain attempt to escape the pleasure he was inflicting on you but he didn’t relent for a second. He growled and threw one of your legs over his shoulder, forcing himself even deeper inside you.

“Repeat it.” He hit your g-spot with every thrust, brutally pushing you higher and higher.

“I can’t! I don’t understand!” You sobbed.

He groaned as you tightened around him, your pussy desperately trying to suck him in. “Repeat this; We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.”

“We are one when together.” The cuffs unlocked and your fingers tangled together with his. “We are one when parted.” Your legs wrapped around his waist. “We will share all.” One of his hands cupped the back of your head, pulling at the knot on the blindfold.

“We will raise warriors.” He repeated with you before he yanked off the fabric. The light blinded you for a moment before he became clear. A halo of warmth surrounded his head, illuminating the delicate, harsh features of his face, a face that had not been seen since he was a child.

“My riddur, my wife.” He cupped your full cheek, wiping away the tears that had been steadily leaking from your eyes. “Say your husband’s name when you cum. Let me feel it.”

Your hips rolled upwards, matching his gentler thrusts as you squeezed his hand. “My husband.” His smile punched a hole right through you, tying the knot in your stomach even tighter.

“Din.” He supplied with a moan against your lips. Your legs wound tighter around him, pulling him into you.

With one more deep roll of his hips, the thatch of hair at the base of his cock brushing your swollen clit, you fell, succumbing to mind-numbing pleasure as you howled his name over and over again. Din shuttered above you, desperately trying to keep up his pace to ride out your orgasm for all its worth.

“Kriff.” He gritted his teeth, his hips catching as his own end barrelled into him. Your thighs sealed him into you as he let out a growl. “I’ll make sure you remember you’re mine with my child in your belly.” Din pinned you to the bed with his hips as molten heat exploded within you, filling you with everything he had.

Your breaths mixed as you both finally came down from your highs, leaving you sore but pleased. There was so much left to ask, to say, the air was thick with it, but there was only one assurance you could utter to the man above you, in you.

“We will get him back, I promise.” You pressed your lips to his, the scruff of his facial hair poking your skin yet you reveled in the feeling, you may never feel it again. He sighed into the kiss as he slowly softened inside you.

“Do you remember that day in the market? That was the day I knew you were mine, my aliit, my clan.”

You smiled at him. “That’s the day I knew too. I never thought you’d feel the same.” He kissed you again, his lips unsure but eager against yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, keeping him close for just a few seconds longer.

“It’s time we go, find our son.” He pried himself from you and began to gather the discarded pieces of his armour as you attempted to recover from his attentions. The silence and occasional grunt of exertion as Din forced the cold metal back into place, eased your mind. He was here, he came for you with no hesitation and he proved that you were the one he wished to build something new with.

You threw your legs over the edge of the bed, shakily standing as he donned the last of his beskar. You reached for your pants but instead picked up the final piece of his armour. He swung his head around, far too much like Grogu used to when he had lost something, taking a hesitant step further from you in his search. You cleared your throat, immediately bringing his big brown eyes back to you as you lifted the helmet.

“You ripped my shirt.” You reminded him with a smirk, looking down at your bare chest.

With a sheepish look on his face, Din yanked off his cape and bundled you up in it, making sure you were completely covered before taking the helmet held lovingly in your hands. His smile was the last thing you saw on his face as he placed the helm back onto his head, once again becoming the Mandalorian. He swept you into his arms, keeping your body tight to his chest as he stepped into the hall.

“We will get him back.” He repeated, holding you closer.

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letstalkaboutshtufff · 9 months ago

Text

Night on the town

Mandalorian x reader

Pairing: Din Djarin Mandalorian x reader

Warning: mentions of alcohol and some 18+ themes. No minors please!

Summary: Reader doesn’t listen to Mandos warnings about staying on the ship, then wakes up with something new and a bit troubling…

****************************************************

“Don’t leave the ship” those four words had been echoing in your head all week.

For months you’d never really minded following your Mandalorians orders, most planets he landed on for bounties were backwater scugholes whose inhabitants were low level creeps and criminals. You were perfectly fine staying within the safe compounds of the ship normally…but this planet was different.

Ceralis 3 was known for its bustling city full of high quality clothing stalls, the tastiest food establishments, musical performances, and oh how you couldn’t stop thinking about the renowned city square that’s lit up like starlight when the suns go down and everyone gathers to dance. You’d seen so many brochures advertising Ceralis 3 as a top vacation spot. And now you were finally here… stuck on a ship.

“Must be nice..” you mumble head resting flat on your arms watching the suns set from behind the glass of the ships viewport. The twinkling lights in the distant mocking you as if to say “here we are shining so bright and you’re stuck in a dark smelly cockpit”.

Ok so maybe that’s an exaggeration.. but still you were minutes away from going crazy with boredom.

“Don’t leave the ship” he said from the bottom of the ramp like he always does before leaving for a bounty.

Bounty hunting usually doesn’t take a week though… ugh

You lean up on your arms watching the twinkling lights of the city getting brighter. What was everyone doing now? Drinking? Dancing? Having 1000x more fun than you were right now??

You glance at the small data pad that Din gave you. When he was finished with a bounty he usually sent a quick message through.

You checked it again for the millionth time.

No new messages…

What if you just went for a quick look… no

No you couldn’t do that, din would be angry if he found out.

If he found out…

If…

You check the data pad again. Every time he sent a message it usually took him a decent amount of time to get back to the ship, he’d usually stop for supplies and whatnot.

So you had time even if he messaged you while you were out…

But could you break his trust so easily-

*pop pop pop*

Bright strands of fiery light shot up from the skyline in the shapes of flowers.

Well he didn’t need to know everything…

You sprung up practically jumping down the ladder to your small closet.

You smirked pulling out the one nice “out for a night on the town outfit” you owned. A stark contrast to the usual travel outfits you donned.

You applied some light makeup, grabbed your satchel and were off the ship in record time.

You took note of the pathway, and kept the data pad close to your hip in case that all to familiar beep sounded and you needed to rush back..

You gasped nearing a well lit archway taller than anything you’d seen before.

Giddy with excitement you ran in and were immediately overtaken by a rush of… well everything.

The streets were lit bright with lanterns, full of laughing and singing people.

The smells were making your mouth water wondering what on earth could smell so heavenly, and the buildings.. oh the absolutely breathtaking carvings. You didn’t know what to do first!

So you did the first thing that you saw, you ate from several stalls, bought a bunch of jewelry and souvenirs that you absolutely didn’t need, watched a few performances, drank some juice being served on a tray that you didn’t realize had alcohol… and then made your way to the famous square.

Oh and what a sight it was… like someone had the most dazzling dream and brought it to life. Everyone was jumping and dancing to live musicians. You wondered briefly if your Mandalorian could dance. Probably not.. but maybe if you really asked nicely he would.. or if you just dragged him..

You wished he was here.. you usually weren’t separated that long so it’s been a little lonely.

You sighed watching the couples dance and hold each other warmly. Some kissing some just gazing into each others eyes…

Ok more than a little lonely..

Maybe you should head back..

You sipped on your juice walking back in the direction of the ship.

What lovely juice, so sweet and spicy at the same time..

Mmm juicy juice so lovely

Hmm you peeked at a stall in passing, maybe you should get him something? Yeah that’s right, he wouldn’t be mad at you for leaving if you got him a gift!

Maybe you’d get some more juice while you shopped and then maybe——-

************************************************

Ugh why is my head pounding so bad…

You wince sitting up in the cot holding your head with a hand.

You blink slowly regaining your senses, the previous nights memories ending in a blur. You didn’t even remember coming back to the ship…

Ugh you were so stupid, the “juice” was alcohol and you’d had so many of them..

You panicked a bit not seeing your satchel on the hook but then calmed seeing it on the floor.

With a sigh you reached in pulling out the data pad and pressing the button.

*new message*

Oh kriff..

*Heading back. Shouldn’t take more than half a day.*

Half a day… wait when did he send that!?

The sky was so bright outside how long had you been asleep?? You looked down seeing you were still dressed up from last night.

I better change before he gets-

You stumble a bit feeling your leg let out a painful throb.

Oh no was I stupid and injured myself last night?

Quickly you pull up your clothing expecting a bruise or a cut or something but instead what awaited you was infinitely worse.

“Oh maker what have I done…”

You vaguely remember wanting to get something for Din but why on earth did your drunken state think that was a good idea!?!?

Kriff what did I do!?!?

You wobble quickly to the mirror to get a better look at the new addition to your outer thigh.

An abstract outline of your mandalorians helmet with his name cursively written under it.

Oh now you remembered.. bits and pieces as you stumbled into a tattoo stall and scribbled on a paper demanding it be the bestest bestie best tattoo ever, you even remember the guy asking if you wanted to wait until you were sober but then you cried until he did it.

Kill me now…

Ugh Why why why!? How was I going to explain this to Din!?

As if the universe was punishing you even more you heard a familiar beeping and gasped feeling the vibrations of the ships ramp moving.

Of kriffing course he would arrive now!

You quickly pull your clothing down and try to look as nonchalant as you can watching as Din walks up the ramp into the hull.

His bounty blocked your view of him but he was fighting and throwing some curses but Din is quick to throw him in the carbonite freezer.

You gulp as he finally turns around to regard you.

“Welcome back..” you tried to sound like your normal self. Key word being tried.

Din stood still for a moment then his helmet slowly shifted from your face down to your body then up again.

Oh yeah my outfit and makeup…

“You look…nice” he said a bit confused.

Maybe you could spin this…

“Oh well I um wanted to um surprise you… I really missed you Din..”

You hoped your nervousness would be taken as you just being embarrassed to dress up for him.

He tilted his helmet a bit, his stance relaxing ever so slightly and he took a couple steps in your direction.

“Yeah?”

Oh how easy men could be sometimes…

“Yeah” you smiled stepping forward too and wrapping your arms around him. “You were gone a while this time..”

He pulled back a bit to see you but his strong arms were still held firm around you.

“Yeah the bounty was more work than I originally anticipated, sorry you had to be alone so long.”

“It’s alright..you’re back now that’s all that matters…” you smile up into his visor knowing his eyes are deeply peering into yours just as lovingly.

His hands slide a bit and he grips you a bit tighter “if I knew you were gonna dress up just for me, I would’ve forgotten all about the bounty and rushed here..”

“Mm I’ll have to remember that for next time…” you lean up tilting your head to the side to kiss the bare skin just under his helmet. He breathes in, deep and crackley through the modulator.

Your hands reach up about to lift his helmet off when suddenly his head moves to the side.

“Din?” You frown a bit following his gaze then when you do your eyes widen a bit at what you see.

A beautifully beaded tote bag overflowing with items leaned against the wall, a strand of pearls strewn across it along with a shimmery scarf and a bottle of “juice”. Oh Kriff just how drunk did you get last night!?!?

“What’s that?”

“Oh um just some old stuff I pulled out when I was trying stuff on for you..”

He pulled away and you knew you had messed up.

“Din..?”

He approached the bag and knelt down. He picked up the bottle with one hand.

“And you just happened to have an alcohol that’s only produced on this planet in your storage?” His voice had completely shifted from gentle and loving to interrogative typical pre meeting me Mando.

“Well…”

He abruptly stood up with a sigh.

“You left the ship” he stated with a huff.

You bite your lip looking away from the intense stare.

“…”

“What’s the one thing I told you never to do?” You could tell he was angry but was trying to hold it back.

“…go against your orders..”

“Go against my orders and what did you do?”

“I left the ship… I’m sorry but I was so bored and lonely and I just…” maker could you sound any more pathetic and whiny.

He let out a huff of annoyance, “you put yourself in danger because you were bored?”

“Din..”

“You don’t know this planet, and I have a million enemies, I don’t tell you to stay on the ship for the hell of it” he bit out getting more frustrated.

“I… I know… I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking..”

You heard a sigh again and hesitantly looked up. His shoulder relaxed a bit his tone a bit softer but still plenty stern. “I can’t go after bounties and worry about you too..”

Well now you felt like absolutely shit

“Oh Din I’m so sorry, of course you can’t, shouldn’t actually. It was dumb and stupid and reckless and I promise I won’t leave again. No matter how tempting it is..”

He stood for a moment deciding you were sincere in your words, he held out a single arm motioning for you to come closer again,

You do and hug him muttering another apology.

“So you didn’t dress up for me huh..?”

Oh..

You peek up from his chest finding his gaze on yours,

“Well… not exactly but my first thought when I looked in the mirror was how I wished you were by my side to see me… does that count?”

He lets out a scoff and lowers his hands “No”

You pout

“But I know how you can make it up to me”.

His hands are back on you stroking your thighs kneeding them softly when all the sudden you yelp.

He pulls away shocked “what’s wrong?”

“Oh uh nothing just got caught up in the moment…”

His head tilts and boy for someone with a helmet on his expressions were clear as day.

“Wanna run that by me again?”

“I had a cramp?” You lamely ask.

Seconds of silence pass before his hands are reaching for the tips of your dress.

“Ah wait no!”

You jump back not ready now or ever for him to see your latest mistake.

He freezes, now that’s something you’d never done before.

“You hurt yourself didn’t you?” He crosses his arms.

“I did not..”

“Then what are you hiding?”

“….”

He sighs again loudly “you have three seconds to show me before I do it myself.”

Kriff…

You hesitate not knowing what to do.

“One”

Ugh what now!?

“Two”

Maybe you could lock yourself in the fresher…

“Three”

You make a dash for the open door but make it all of two steps before strong arms pull you back.

“Really?” He huffs annoyed.

“Din wait!”

“Just relax what’s the worst it could be?”

No way you couldn’t show him, you catch him off guard by fighting his hold.

“Hey stop that”

“Enough!” His bark cuts through you like a knife and you freeze.

He spins you around, his hands locked onto your arms.

“Din...” you plead but he won’t budge.

He maneuvers your hands into one of his while his other reaches for your dress. You can’t help but try one more time to evade him and use the one move he taught you in self defense,

Of course because he’s who he is all it buys you is three seconds before he has you sprawled over his knees.

How ironic… if only he knew how you’d fantasized about this exact position.

“You really wanna make things hard don’t you?”

“Din please you don’t understand! Just leave me alone-“ and just like that the delicate freshly tattooed skin was exposed to the cool air of the ship and his searing gaze.

Then it was silent..

“I-I didn’t mean to I got drunk by accident and then wanted to get you a gift and for some crazy reason I thought a tattoo would be a good idea and…and…and-“ your nervous ramblings continued until you suck in a sharp breath feeling soft fingers caress the area just around the tender area.

“You did this…for me?”

“W-well yeah…”

You try to turn your head to see him but it’s impossible in your condition.

He silently caresses the area around it as if he…wait no way!?

“Do… do you like it?” You asked hesitantly.

He let out a breath.

“Can’t say I hate it…”

Oh my maker

“R-really?” You question an eyebrow raised.

“Mm” you flinch a bit feeling his fingers trace over the sore area.

He pulled you up so you were straddling him facing his visor.

“Sorry I left the ship…” you say after a few moments of silence.

“Swear you won’t do that again..”

“I promise..”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Yes” he said without hesitation.

“Really? After all the trouble I went through getting you your gift” you smirk a bit wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

His hands gripped your thighs squeezing softly, “Yes…” you smiled knowing by his voice he was all talk. You already had him in the palm of your hand.

“Want me to make it up to you?” You whisper near the side of his helmet.

He makes some sort of hum through the helmet and you take that as a yes, you push him back a bit so the distance between you is closed, your core pressed against him deliciously.

His hands travelled around squeezing and caressing in the ways only he knew how you liked. You’re about to lift his helmet up so you could finally kiss him when he pauses his movements.

Ugh not again

“What’s wrong?”

“You were drunk…?”

Ah Kriff, why did I have to let that part slip out.

“Y-yes but just a bit…”

He looks at you in a no nonsense way,

“Ok maybe more than a bit but it really wasn’t my fault, I didn’t know the drinks had alcohol..”

He sighs

Man if I had a credit for everytime I made this man sigh…

“I know I know, it was dumb and reckless and I won’t do it again, can we go back to what we were doing please? Remember the tattoo I got for you?”

I push his helmet towards my thigh.

He lets out a little laugh, “alright alright I get it”

His thumb strokes it again, “it suits you”

You let out a laugh, “I think it suits you more…didn’t realize you were that type of guy…but honestly it’s growing on me too, he did a good job didn’t he?” You peer down admiring the details. Not realizing Dins fingers had froze.

“He?”

“….”

Oh Kriff

************************************************

I’ve been on a huge Mandalorian kick lately and had this little idea. Hope you enjoyed! Also please excuse the lazy editing❤️

268 notes · View notes

cowboygenesis · 2 months ago

Text

8: good side | din djarin x reader

part 8 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 5.7k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: squeezing this in at 3am, hope y'all enjoy the rebirth of this fic and some new friends joining the roster!

The rain is much gentler this morning.

It drums against the roof of your small cottage like fingers tapping thoughtfully on a table, not thunderous like last week’s storm, but steady and promising of lush greenery come evening.

You stand by the rustic window with your arms crossed, watching the mist rise off the fertile earth, fields blurred into watercolor by the curtain of rain. Your fingers wrap tightly around ceramic, letting the warmth of it seep into your bones.

Din sits near the hearth, a half-cleaned rifle resting against his knee. You hear it clatter every so often, and when you turn to look, you’re met with the gorgeous sight of the Mandalorian’s broad back clad with nothing but an earthy shade of linen. His trap muscles flex and unflex with every tug of the rag, hypnotizing you with the gentle rhythm.

It’s come to your selfishly satisfied attention that, gradually, he had begun settling into the comforts of your home. First it was a pauldron, then a cuisse, and eventually he shed it all like a bear in summertime.

The spare pieces of beskar lie in the corner, nearly piled atop each other in a shiny stack. You spot Grogu curled up in a woven basket nearby, tiny snores barely audible above the pattering rain.

You turn slightly, gaze flicking toward Din. The silence has been comfortable, yet you know it’s been hours, and the void never did your overthinking any favors.

“Poiko’s back in town,” you announce softly, prepping your face with a smile.

Din doesn’t look up right away, but you see the way his shoulders shift with the sudden presence of your voice. You hope you didn’t startle him, though you doubt much did at this point.

“The merchant?” he questions smoothly.

“Head merchant,” you gently correct, turning toward the dining table and placing your half-finished mug with a soft thud. “You can make your trip to the capital, if you’re still after that.”

There’s a pause as he leans forward, flames licking up his helmet like a sunlit creature. His elbows press into his knees, visor tilted toward the ground as rain drums against the roof above, steady and soft like a lullaby you’d love to listen to forever.

“Yeah,” he finally says. “I’ll need to.”

Something briefly unsteady in his voice makes you glance back at him, tightening the shawl around your shoulders, the small tassels tickling your forearms. “Looking for something?”

His fingers flex slightly where they rest on his knees, and for a second, you think he might brush the question off entirely. You wouldn’t blame him.

“Just tying up a few loose ends,” he says, voice consciously neutral.

You narrow your eyes a little, not out of suspicion, but curiosity. The few months you’ve known Din weren’t nearly enough to actually know him, but you never saw that as a flaw. All either of you needed was some quiet company and a shared meal, and the rest could come later, if at all.

Still, his past sometimes tugged at your curiosity. Despite your earthly comforts, the open galaxy still found sneaky ways of tempting you back in, and Din’s mysterious past happened to be just one of those things.

“You mean... from before you got here?”

Din raises his helmet, his hands tightening around the rifle. “Something like that.”

The soft pattering and infrequent coos fill the space between you. You think of all the things he’s never told you: how he found Grogu, what he does when he’s not in town, why he carries enough armor to start a war —and you know better than to pry. But it still lingers on your tongue.

“Are you taking him with you?” you ask, trying to sound casual as you nod toward the tranquil crib.

Grogu’s tiny body shifts with a sleepy sigh, curled up like a stone tucked beneath moss, utterly unaware of the tension hanging in the air between the three of you.

Din keeps his gaze on the weapon in his lap, hands flexing slightly around the stock. You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the question weigh down on his shoulders as they dip. Something about your query broke his usually calm demeanor, and you couldn’t help but boil it down to your endless curiosity.

“Yeah,” he says after a pause, placing the rifle down before the fire.

You blink, slowly approaching the crib and smiling as soon as you catch the slight outline of Grogu’s large ears peeking from under his quilt. The small, intricately woven dandelion in the corner makes your heart swell. You had embroidered it during one of their stays, being meticulous with each individual leaf.

“Really?” you question, gently smoothing the feather-light fur on the baby’s head with your digits. “I figured you’d want to travel light.”

When no response comes, you glance toward the man. He’s still seated against the hearth, coiled into a tense bundle as he contemplates your words, silently.

“Let me guess,” you press gently, attempting to inject some levity into the situation. “You need him to find a properly fitted crib. I mean, have you seen this one? All scratched and worn—little guy deserves an upgrade.”

Din doesn’t rise to the joke, you realise that when he reaches for the pile of beskar in the corner.

“Oh! Or maybe he’s outgrown that old sack of his and—” you lean back slightly, eyes narrowing when you spot him dressing. He spares you a single, fleeting glance, through which your smile drops. “You’re… you’re serious.”

He grumbles something incoherent within his helmet, crouching against your loveseat. “I am.”

You study him for a long beat, watching in silence as he shifts his beautifully tanned hands back into the gauntlets. You frown, realising you took the moment of vulnerability for granted. A part of you worries it might be your last time seeing them like that.

“It’s not just a supply run, is it?”

You don’t look at him when you ask. You keep your eyes on Grogu’s basket, watching the rise and fall of his tiny chest, the way his ears twitch every now and then with some dream you’ll never know about. Din shifts slightly in his seat, weighing your question or just ignoring you altogether.

And you know much better than to push. You’ve learned that he doesn’t offer unless he chooses to, yet you can’t let him go without at least a slither of information.

Because something cold and gritty tugs at your heartstrings the moment he settles into his beskar again, making your lip quiver in the warmth of the hearth. You make a soft noise, like clearing your throat to get the pitiful phlegm out of fear’s way.

“Are you coming back?” you croak, quiet yet determined, and your voice carries through the din of rain like a desperate prayer, round near the edges as if you tried to plead but couldn’t muster the courage to.

He looks at you then. Not moving much, but enough that you feel the weight of his gaze. You hate how much your heart sinks at that silence between you. His helmet shifts between you and elsewhere entirely, reflecting shades of brown and green.

“I can’t leave him,” he says quietly, nodding toward Grogu. You don’t follow his gaze, yet something about the confession urges his child to coo happily from the safety of his crib. He must have awoken, feeling the palpable tension in the air of your home. You knew he was particularly attuned to that, and it’s something you had in common. Sometimes you pitied yourself for it, and the baby by proxy.

The Mandalorian shifted uncomfortably on the woven carpet, stiffly leaning his back against the plush loveseat. You watch as he slowly rises to his full height, hesitating for a moment before taking a few steps toward the crib. His gloved hand reaches for his kid, a three-fingered nub grabbing his knuckle with a squeal of delight. The baby babbles out, stringing words that nearly sound coherent.

And then Din turns toward you with a hum, as if broken through a shared revelation. If you weren’t impartial to fantasy, you’d think Grogu told him something vital.

“Or you.”

You blink. The room feels smaller all of a sudden, or maybe just warmer with the steady pumping of blood to your face.

“What?” you question quietly, non-accusatorily, hands fiddling the hem of your sleeves.

“I—” he stutters, and you’re quick to note the absolute miracle of the fact before he clears loudly his throat. “I can’t leave you.”

You squeeze your lips tight, holding back a wide, selfish grin when you catch Grogu reaching out toward you. The pumping spreads through your skull, ringing your ears and making your eyes widen with awe-struck glitter.

“You’ve been good to us,” Din elaborates suddenly, his voice losing that unusual edge and stiffening back to business. “It’d be irrational to move on now, just as the kid has gotten comfortable.”

Your hands clutch the backrest of a dining chair, exhaling your giddiness and replacing it with a sympathetic, nearly grateful smile.

“I’m glad you’re comfortable here, Din.” You nod, smoothing a flyaway.

His visor levels on you with an acknowledging nod, letting the sudden silence settle over you like a warm blanket. A gust of wind picks up outside, whistling through the trees and knocking fat pellets against your windows.

You sigh deeply, pushing the chair into the table and moving toward the kitchen. You feel Din’s eyes tracing your movements, helmet tilting when you stand on your tip-toes to withdraw a large wicker basket from the wall-mounted cupboard, settling it on the counter with a soft thud.

“What are you doing?” he questions as you withdraw a paper-wrapped hunk of cheese from your fridge, a small bunch of Shiir fruit, and a flour-dusted bread loaf.

“I’m packing sustenance,” you reply simply, tapping your cheek for a beat before finally deciding on loading the basket with a jar of preserves and a small knife to go with it. “For the road.”

The Mandalorian stays silent for a moment, letting you pack the rest of the basket in comfortable silence interrupted only by your quiet whistling. Once you secure the produce with a checkered cloth, you hum in satisfaction and turn toward the man with a smile.

“You don’t have to do that,” he comments stiffly, arms lax at his sides. He must have gotten closer while you were packing, because your ears finally manage to pick up the slow gust of his breath.

“I want to,” you say with a shrug, heaving the basket up and groaning slightly at its added weight when you drop it on the dining room table. “Besides, someone’s gotta make sure you eat something that isn’t freeze-dried.”

You think you catch the man’s shoulders bouncing with a chuckle, but the fantasy is quickly intercepted by a loud sigh carrying through his modulator.

“I’m saying you don’t have to go,” he stiffens his palm in the air through the explanation, lingering on every word like it’s hurting him to utter. “You shouldn’t.”

You poke the inside of your cheek at that, tracing a fingernail down a coiled length of hardened twine before it weaves with the rest of the basket.

“Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t know yet,” he replies promptly, and suddenly you realise that he’s not trying to scare you off. If anything, any doubt of your being a burden slowly trickles away the longer he takes to satisfy your curiosity. “There’s always a chance for something going wrong.”

“All the more reason for me to go,” you bite your lip, eyes wide with kindness and reassurance, when he rubs a glove up the length of his helmet. “Who’ll take care of your kid when you’re off catching criminals?”

The Mandalorian groans in exasperation, planting his fists on his hips. “It’s not a bounty this time. I—”

“So you are a bounty hunter!” you intercept, painting your investigative revelation with a wide grin that you’re certain Din isn’t mirroring. He stares at you in silence, stiff and stonelike save for the brief tensing of his fingers. It’s not like you minded, anyway. Bad people were capable of good, and it took but one glance for you to decide that Din was the very opposite of that. You knew his profession didn’t define him, but you’d reassure him another time.

You sigh, dropping your jolliness in favor of a serious-ish smile.

“I’ll stay out of your way,” you explain, softer this time. The man’s head tilts at that, shoulders dropping just an inch. You approach him slowly but certainly, matching the square of his shoulders with your own. “Promise.”

Another stretch of silence twists taut between you, and it’s only now you’ve realised the rain has come to a slow, quiet drum. You imagine the clouds passing overhead, disappearing down the horizon and giving way to light again.

Din sighs, his shoulders visibly heaving under the weight of his breath. “You’re so stubborn.”

You can’t help the smile that pops on your face at the tired but rarely tender words, squeezing your fists with excitement as your companion shakes his head.

“Does that mean I’ve convinced you?” you wiggle a brow humorously, but the man rejects it with a common flatness.

He stands then, straightening slowly with that quiet, intimidating ease that always makes the room feel smaller. Despite his hesitant mein, you know that deep down he’s already made his choice. You beam at that before he even gives you an outright answer.

“All right,” he finally succumbs, his body going lax like clockwork while yours tenses with a happy giggle. He watches you flatly, his gaze briefly flickering toward Grogu who has once again fallen into a deep slumber. “You’re the only other person he listens to, anyway.”

You feel your breath catch slightly, emitting with a barely audible hitch. Not because of the words themselves, but because of how easily he said them.

You smile faintly, boldly poking a finger against his chestplate and having your reflection smirk back at you. “Is that Mandalorian for I don’t trust anyone else to take care of my kid ?”

Din grunts, slowly pivoting toward the hearth again to collect his weapon while you make sure your basket is neatly tucked in.

“It’s Mandalorian for don’t let him eat worms again .”

You chuckle, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chill of rain against the windows.

୨ৎ

The rain has quietly settled into the remnants of a soft drizzle by the time you reach the outer limits of town. The dirt path to Poiko’s home winds through mossy lowlands and old stone walls, water dripping from broad leaves and shivering grass as you press through dampened earth.

Grogu coos softly against your chest, bundled in your makeshift baby sling that you insisted on using, leaving the floating crib abandoned as it floats by Din’s side. He walks just behind you, footfalls steady and quiet like a metal-clad ghost as you duck under a particularly broad shrub.

“Mando?” you ask in a mild croak, vocal cords cramped from walking in comfortable silence for so long.

“Hm?” he hums in acknowledgment, keeping his visor on the road ahead as it dips downhill. His hand flexes, keeping your provisions steady in one hand while the other grips his own pack. The sight of such a great, fearless mercenary donning a ribbon-tied basket makes your heart both jump and swell at the contrast.

You pucker your lips, angling your body backward as the decline becomes steep. The ground had yet to dry, so you place a palm over Grogu’s back in case you’re unfortunate enough to slip and land on your ass.

“Why don’t we just take the Crest?”

Din gives you a once-over, making your eyebrows crease with sudden worry. You hope you’re not coming off as ungrateful for letting you tag along on his mission with the absolute minimum of training and combat knowledge—not like you’ll need it, but still. It makes you feel like a burden on some level.

“It’s more hassle than it’s worth,” the man explains calmly, briefly eyeing his son. His ears twitch softly through a dreamful sleep, lulled by the warmth of your body. “A speeder is much more subtle and harder to track.”

You hum, trying your best to ignore the latter part of his answer. Part of you wants to believe Mando simply favored practicality and safety at all times despite the actual threat level, yet you couldn’t help but worry your lip between your teeth for a beat as your stomach sank just an inch.

“Right,” you nod quietly, your lips curling into a bittersweet smile as you try to insert some levity into the situation, “and parking is absolutely ridiculous in the city.”

He looks at you for a long moment, visor unreadable, yet his shoulders jolt briefly with something like a dry chuckle. You smile.

As you walk on, you pass by a moss-hugged, rundown shed darkened by years of rain and memory, its roof half-collapsed from the sheer force of the elements. You watch the overgrown path toward the doorway with mild curiosity, wondering if the shed had always been there.

“Can I ask you something else?”

The Mandalorian keeps walking, never turning his helmet, but still gracing you with a visible nod. “I have a feeling you’ll ask regardless of my permission.”

You flash your teeth just before he inches his visor toward you, sending him a wild, mischievous smile you wish you could see him return. Over the few months you’ve spent getting to know Din, you’ve learned to puzzle together his expression purely based on the way his body reacted, or the small sounds that left his modulator. A sigh meant a scowl, one shrug a frown, and two meant laughter. But a smile? You’d never know unless he spoke.

“What will you do once we reach the city?” you ask with more confidence than you’d warranted, your body jolting when you realise the weight of your question.

Din stiffens, his pace jittering for a beat before it picks up again. You frown at his poor reaction, cradling Grogu as you rush to catch up.

“You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to,” you elaborate softly, adjusting your shawl once it briefly slips off your hair, “but I promise I’ll be understanding. Whatever it is.”

He carries on through the soft drizzle, squeezing his gloved fists as you round a wooden signpost. Needless of a single glance, you know you’re getting close to your destination.

“It’s not just about me,” he speaks, voice low and rough through the dryness of the modulator. You blink, surprised at the admission, and glance over at him properly now. “It’s about the kid.”

Your gaze softens, instinctively cradling Grogu a little tighter against your breast.

“There’s an informant passing through Mon Kilim, on their way toward the Inner Rim.” Din explains carefully, nitpicking his every word and even their individual annunciation. You flatten your lips at the detailing. “It’s not guaranteed, but they might… know something I need.”

You open your mouth to ask more, but something about the way he holds himself back—even physically—makes you recoil, too. Your voice is low and hoarse when it finally comes.

“For him?” you question, gazing down at the grey tuft lying upon a canvas of green. Grogu snores softly against you, his eyes shut tight and making your heart ache at the purity of this very view. You think that if you were in Din’s position, you’d also move mountains just to see his little giggles. You wondered if his dad felt the same way.

The Mandalorian follows your eyes, his helmet tilting just slightly in your peripheral.

“For him.”

There’s an indescribable force pushing through his words, tugging at your nerves like thunder. For a second, it feels like the brewing electricity flickering through the air, making your breath hitch and ultimately stay silent. It’s all you need to know, and much more than you’d ever expect your companion to say.

Your boots squelch against the wet dirt, and stray patches of grass as you walk on, settling into the silence like clockwork. As the trees thin out, you catch sight of the familiar fork in the road, and beyond it, Poiko’s home perched on the outskirts of your town like a stubborn old tree root clinging to the hillside. The stone house leans slightly eastward from years of wind and rain, but its wooden beams are still strong, and the plumes of smoke curling from the chimney are a welcome sight as always.

You pick up your pace slightly, the shawl clinging damply to your shoulders, and grogu stirs with a soft coo in your arms. As you catch the soft, cascading waves rolling through the lake beyond, Din catches up to your side with a tilted helmet.

“You trust Poiko?” he asks lowly, yet you can’t help but linger on the slight underbelly of warning lacing the edges of his tone.

“With my life,” you say without hesitation, adjusting your hold on Grogu as you huff a loose strand of hair from your face.

Maybe it’s the way Poiko used to sneak you treats from his merchant stands when you had just arrived, or the countless times he saved you broken bits of machinery from his trips to the city without asking for a credit in return. Or maybe it’s simply because he chose to stay by your side when most others turned their back.

Din doesn’t respond immediately, but you sense his acceptance in the way his gait loosens a fraction.

The mist rolling off the lake carries the subtle scent of wet stone and pine as you close the distance, worn path crunching underfoot as you step onto the crooked walkway leading up to the house. A sputtering lantern swings above the front door, casting long, dappled shadows against the mossy stone like a beacon of hope amongst the grey.

You shift Grogu higher and lift your hand to knock. Before your knuckles can touch wood, the heavy door creaks open with a drawn-out groan, revealing a familiar figure as it bustles forward. Poiko, wrapped in a patchwork cloak stitched from dozens of mismatched fabrics, a wide grin splitting his broad, weathered face.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he rumbles, voice warm as fresh bread. His deep-set, gold-flecked eyes crinkle at the edges as he sweeps you into a firm, sturdy hug, urging a muffled laugh as you smush against his chest.

“Stars above, look at you!” Poiko pulls back just enough to take in the sight of you, his rough palms cupping your face for a moment before he catches sight of the green bundle in your arms.

“And what’s this?” His voice shifts immediately to a softer, cooing register, his large hands hovering awkwardly over the sash as if unsure whether to touch or just admire from afar. His eyes briefly shift toward Din, before looking you in the eye again.

“This,” you say, stepping back with a smile, “is Grogu. And…” you gesture toward Din, who stands a few paces behind you with one hand resting lightly near his belt, every inch the wary protector. “This is Mando. A friend, and this little guy’s dad.”

Poiko’s sharp eyes flicker over Din, lingering a beat longer than necessary on the armor and weapons. His expression turns politely guarded, though not exactly unfriendly. For now, you think.

“A Mandalorian,” he muses, scratching at his scruffy jaw. “Maker. You need the speeder, don’t you?”

You offer him an apologetic smile, clasping your hands against the mound of your sash. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Poiko huffs something between a laugh and a sigh, eyeing you down with cat-like irises. “Trouble follows you like a shadow, girl.”

Your eyebrows furrow with worry, but before you can try to beg your case, he turns, waving you both after him with a casual flick of his wrist. “Come on, come on. She’s out back.”

You offer Din a reassuring glance before trailing behind Poiko, Grogu nestling deeper into your arms as the wind picks up again, carrying the rich scent of wet earth straight into your nostrils. Din’s boots are steady behind you, his gaze sweeping the surrounding landscapes like he’s on the lookout for danger. You’d normally think him silly, yet knowing of his reserved nature and dangerous profession, you instead opt for careful.

The old boards of the back porch creak underfoot as Poiko leads you through. Beyond, the lake glimmers like a stretched mirror, flowing reeds lining the shore where a worn chair sits, propping up a makeshift fishing rod.

But your attention is already on the speeder. It sags into the ground like a patched-up beauty, rough but loved for years and years. Poiko gestures broadly toward it, showcasing his own pride with a palm over his heart.

“That’s the speeder?” Din voices lowly, surveying the battered vehicle parked under the lean-to. The rain slicks off its mismatched panels, some still bearing the faintest trace of an old insignia that had been sanded down to near oblivion.

The taller, lankier man crosses his thick arms, giving the mercenary a snort. His amber eyes gleam under his heavy brow, a faint smile curling the edges of his broad, leathery mouth. “You think there’s a hangar somewhere behind me? Of course that’s the speeder.”

Din approaches it warily, one gloved hand brushing along the frame. His head tilts as he notes the strange construction, making you bite your lip in slight insecurity.

“It doesn’t look Imperial.”

Poiko lets out another snort, this one almost fond as he approaches the speeder on the other side. His hand moves toward the windshield, smoothing along the top with a long finger.

“It was,” he explains smoothly, sending you a silent wink. “Before we got to work on it.”

Din follows Poiko’s line of sight, meeting you with the T of his visor. You suddenly feel hot, tugging at your shawl to let it fall over the nape of your neck and reveal your forehead to the soft, warm droplets of rain.

“She’s not much to look at, but she’s solid,” you shrug, giving the two men a kind smile. “And most importantly, she’s the only speeder this village owns.”

Din steps toward the front for inspection, his gloved hands running over the bodywork and tapping lightly on the sleek hood to test its frame. You watch him for a moment, noting the care of his movements as Poiko takes your side, leaning in to just barely match your height.

"He don’t talk much, does he?"

You suppress a grin, hiding it in the curve of your palm as you whisper back. "Not if he can help it."

Poiko chuckles under his breath, straightening back to his full height and shaking your shoulder playfully. His meaty fingers dig into the soft linen of your dress, familiar and warm when they squeeze. "Figures you'd end up finding someone even quieter than you."

You nudge him lightly with your elbow, trying to ignore the way your chest warms at the idea. “It’s not like that.”

Your friend opens his mouth, but before you can keep pestering you with remarks, Din returns to your side, giving a short, approving nod.

"It'll do."

You and Poiko nod in return as you walk forward, spotting your luggage and Grogu’s crib tucked into a small compartment behind the two leather seats. You figure Din must have loaded up while you were talking, meaning you could sit back and take a nap with the baby as soon as you hit the road.

Poiko eyes the Mandalorian for a beat before turning back to you with a sly, almost knowing smile. He withdraws something from the pocket of his overalls, hooking his finger into a small, silver ring.

“Care to do the honors?” he asks, jingling the ignition fob in his palm.

You blink at him in surprise, yet the smile painting your lips is palpable. “You know I don’t drive.”

He shrugs, a mischievous twinkle lighting up his weathered face. “Got the intuition for it, if you’d just trust yourself a little more.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but tuck his words away somewhere quiet and warm inside you. You knew he meant more by it, always seeing you just a little clearer than most until recently.

Din watches the exchange in silence, then steps forward to relieve Poiko of the keys. His glove's fingers brush briefly against yours as he passes you to get to the speeder, and for some reason, the small contact leaves your heart beating a little unevenly against Grogu’s little body. He lets out a soft coo against your chest, and you smile down at him, brushing your fingers gently over his ears.

Poiko leans against one of the porch beams, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches Din climb into the pilot seat. His gaze flicks back to you, more serious now as you settle into the passenger seat, sighing at the unexpected ergonomics of it.

“Take care of yourself, kid. Roads are rougher than they used to be,” he speaks, waving two fingers your way, and you return the gesture with a reassuring smile.

“Should be back by sundown tomorrow,” You nod, feeling a weight of excitement settle low in your stomach. “We’ll be careful.”

Poiko nods, pushing himself off the wooden beam and approaching you with a glint of slyness in his bright eyes. He leans against the speeder’s side, his elbow poking into the door as he lowers his face to your ear.

“And if that helmeted fella gives you any grief,” he adds in a stage whisper, with a sideways smirk, “you tell him he’ll answer to me.”

You snort, biting back a grin as you playfully slap at his arm. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

Din settles into the seat beside you with a low grunt. The old engine rattles to life with a familiar whine, coughing up a small cloud of smoke before smoothing into a steady purr.

Poiko stands at the edge of the path now, arms crossed over his wide chest, squinting against the misty rain as it drizzles over the four of you. He lifts a thick hand in farewell as you ease the speeder forward, tires splashing through puddles as you start down the muddy road.

You lean out the side slightly, waving back with a grin so wide it makes your cheeks ache.

“See you soon, Poiko!” you call over the hum of the engine.

Poiko only shakes his head and lifts his hand higher, his rough face softening with something like affection as he watches you go.

The speeder bumps along the rutted path, the countryside unfolding around you in rolling swaths of gray and green. Rain dapples the worn windshield, the wipers barely keeping up as you pick up speed, the mist curling like breath around the edges of the road and along the muddy trail, throwing up small sprays of rainwater from its worn repulsorlift pads. You lean back against the cracked seat, feeling the mist dampen your hair as the rain thins into a lazy drizzle.

Grogu snoozes quietly against your chest, tucked snugly in the folds of your shawl, his little hand curled into your tunic as you enjoy the flickering wind.

Din shifts beside you, glancing back over his shoulder at the shrinking figure of Poiko’s house. His armor clinks softly with the movement. When he twists forward again, you catch the low grumble from his modulator.

“He doesn’t like me,” he says.

You hide a grin behind your hand, casting him a sideways glance. “Poiko doesn’t like anyone,” you whisper back, voice warm with amusement.

Din’s helmet tilts slightly, surprisingly considering your words. “He likes you.”

You grin openly now, your eyes crinkling with mischief.

“That’s different. I fixed his broken repulsorlift once and never charged him for it,” you explain softly, leaning your head back to let the thinning droplets settle over your bare face. “He’s been trying to adopt me ever since.”

Din shifts again, the leather of his gloves creaking as he adjusts his grip on the controls. He glances once more toward the fading outline of Poiko’s home.

“He looks like he could break me in half,” he mutters.

“He probably could,” you reply in a mock-serious tone, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “So you better stay on his good side.”

Din huffs under his breath, almost a chuckle, and his helmet tilts as if he’s throwing you a look you wish you could see. “And how do I do that?”

You smile, brushing a thumb gently over Grogu’s soft ear and feeling your cheeks warm with a comfortable heat, even under the chill of the elements.

“Be nice to me.”

Din’s voice lowers almost teasingly, one arm shifting against the back of your headrest. You’re not sure why or how, but the small gesture makes you swoon.

“I am nice to you.”

You turn your head toward him, catching the faint glint of his visor through the misty air, and for a heartbeat, the world feels simple, with just the three of you in the soft gray rain as you admire your companion's wonderful, steely profile.

“Yeah," you murmur, voice thick with something you don't dare name. "You are."

The speeder rattles steadily beneath you, the worn old machine pushing onward through the misty countryside. Fields roll by, waterlogged and golden-green, trees dripping in the last threads of rain. Somewhere far off, a low river sings against the rocks.

You adjust Grogu carefully in your arms, smoothing a hand over his head before glancing back at Din, a mischievous twinkle returning to your eye.

“You know, if you smile really nicely, Poiko might even let you call him ‘dad.’”

Din presses a little more firmly on the throttle, the speeder lifting off the muddy ground, skimming just a breath above the earth.

“I’ll take my chances,” the man replies, voice stiff yet so full of life you’ve longed to discover, and now? You think you might have the chance to.

You match his gruff with a soul-filled laughter, letting it carry between you like bells in clean, damp air. And with the stutter of daylight, you set off toward Mon Kilim, leaving the cozy hearthlight of Poiko’s house flickering like a beacon behind you as your eyes slowly glaze over with sleep, the gentle elements lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

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doodle-pops · 5 months ago

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Just A Hug…And One Kiss

Námo x reader

Request: Hello! Could you please write a fic with Namo? Something sweet and fluffy, maybe reader drags him from work to a date night, with a romantic dinner and cuddles afterwards? Our lovely judge needs some love and affection. Thank you and have a beautiful day!

A/N: Thank you the request so I can write more Námo content, anon!

Warnings: none, fluff

Words: 1.5k

Synopsis: You convinced your overworking husband to let go for one evening and relax.

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You found yourself standing in the grand chamber where he often spent long hours contemplating and recording the fates of the dead. The space was vast and imposing, its stone walls carved with intricate patterns that glowed faintly with an otherworldly light. There, Námo sat at a large stone table, his dark hair flowing over his shoulders as he pored over yet another decision. His piercing green eyes were fixed on a glowing scroll before him, his sharp features illuminated by its soft light. He looked every bit the formidable Judge of the Dead, but to you, he was simply Námo—the one who had captured your heart.

“You’re working late again,” you said softly, breaking the heavy silence.

Námo’s head lifted slightly, his eyes meeting yours. He did not sigh, nor did he frown, but you could see the faintest flicker of weariness in his gaze. “There is much to be done,” he replied in his deep, measured voice. “It cannot wait.”

You stepped closer, the hem of your robes brushing against the smooth stone floor. “It can wait for one evening,” you insisted gently, placing a hand on the edge of the table. “You’ve been at this for days without pause. You need a break.”

Elegantly, he raised a brow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “The souls entrusted to me do not rest, nor do they delay in arriving. My duty is to—”

“Your duty,” you interrupted, though your tone was soft and teasing, “will be there tomorrow. Tonight, however, your duty is to me.”

His expression shifted slightly, the faintest hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, reaching out to grasp his shoulders and massage his tense muscles. You felt him stiffened slightly before relaxing under your touch as your fingers worked. “You work harder than anyone I know, but even the Judge of the Dead deserves an evening to himself now and then. Let me take care of you for a change.”

“I have responsibilities—”

“And I have plans,” you interrupted with a firm tone yet affectionate. “Plans that involve you, my dear husband, stepping away from all of this,”—you gestured at the desk piled high with documents—“and spending an evening with me.”

There was the barest hint of a smile threatening to break through his stoicism. “And what, may I ask, do these plans entail?”

You leaned down, placing your chin on his shoulders, and slid your hands down his arms. “Dinner,” you said softly, “a proper one. Followed by a quiet night together. No scrolls. No souls. Just us.”

For a moment, he said nothing, simply studying you with those piercing eyes of his. You could see the conflict there, the instinct to protest warring with the desire to give in to your request. Finally, he sighed—a sound that was more resigned than exasperated. “You’re persuasive.”

You grinned, straightening and holding out your hand to him. “Only because I love you. Now, come on. Don’t make me drag you out of this chair.”

With a quiet chuckle, Námo took your hand and allowed you to pull him to his feet. His tall, imposing frame towered over you, but the way he gazed at you—gentle, almost reverent—made you feel as though you held all the power in the world.

The dining room you had prepared was far removed from the austere grandeur of Mandos. It was warm and inviting, lit by the gentle glow of candles placed in elegant holders. A table stood in the centre of the room, adorned with a simple yet charming arrangement of flowers and a delicious spread of food that you had painstakingly prepared. The scents of roasted vegetables, freshly baked bread, and spiced wine filled the air, creating an atmosphere of comfort and intimacy.

Námo followed you into the room, his sharp features softening as he took in the sight. “You did all this for me?” he asked quietly with a touched of genuine surprise.

“Of course,” you replied, smiling as you guided him to a seat. “You deserve it.”

“I can’t imagine you cooking all this yourself,” he teased.

“Excuse me,” you retorted, feigning offence and lifting a hand to your chest. “I’ll have you know I spent hours on this. Blood, sweat, and tears, my love. Blood, sweat, and tears.”

“Is that so?” he replied, one dark brow arching. “I suppose I should commend your effort, then.”

“You should,” you said, nodding emphatically. “And if you’re not careful, I might make you do the dishes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and you could have sworn you saw the ghost of a smile. “I shudder to think of such punishment. The Great Doomsman washing dishes,” he humorous muttered. “How poetic. If my brother ever catches a whiff of me washing dishes, I will never know peace.”

He sat down, his movements as fluid and precise as ever, but you noticed the way his posture relaxed slightly as he settled into the chair. You took the seat opposite him, pouring wine into his goblet before filling your own. The two of you clinked glasses, the sound ringing softly through the room.

As the meal began, Námo allowed himself to enjoy the food, his usual restraint giving way to a more relaxed demeanour. You chatted easily, steering the conversation away from his work and instead focusing on lighter topics—the beauty of the stars that evening, a memory from your shared past, a funny story you had heard earlier in the week. And he listened intently, his lips curving into a faint smile at your words.

At one point, when you reached across the table to brush a crumb from his cheek, he caught your hand, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips. The simple gesture sent a shiver of warmth through you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“You spoil me,” he said with a tinged of rare vulnerability.

“Someone has to,” you teased. “And I’ll do it as often as I can.”

“I had forgotten how pleasant it is to simply...be,” he admitted after a while, his voice thoughtful. “To enjoy a meal without the weight of responsibility pressing down.”

“That’s why I wanted to do this for you,” you said softly. “You give so much of yourself to others, Námo. It’s only fair that someone gives back to you.”

His fingers instinctively tightened around yours, his touch warmer now after the meal. He looked at you with a desire that made your breath catch, his viridian eyes filled with a depth of emotion he rarely showed. “You are a gift,” he said quietly, his words carrying a weight that made your heart swell. “One I do not deserve, but one I am endlessly grateful for.”

You felt a heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could respond, Námo rose from his seat, holding out his hand to you. “Come,” he said. “Let us leave this table behind and simply enjoy each other’s company.”

As he led you out the dining room, you two of you ended up in a smaller sitting room, where a plush sofa and a warm hearth awaited. He sat down first, his long, dark robes flowing around him as he leaned back against the cushions. You joined him, curling up at his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

The fire crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The warmth of the flames and the steady rise and fall of Námo’s chest beneath your hand created a cocoon of comfort and peace. For a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in each other’s presence.

“I cannot remember the last time I felt so at ease,” he admitted eventually. His fingers traced idle patterns on your arm, his touch light and soothing. “You have a way of quieting even the most restless parts of my spirit.”

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “That’s what love does,” you replied. “It makes even the heaviest burdens feel lighter.”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the fire. Then he turned to you with an expression uncharacteristically open and vulnerable. “You remind me of the light before the first music,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Pure, untainted, and full of endless possibilities. When I’m with you, it feels as though I am standing in that light once more.”

“You and your rare, sweet words,” you chuckled as you reached up to run your finger along his jawline. “What would I do without them.”

His lips curved into a small, affectionate smile as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. In response, you tilted your head up, your lips brushing his in a kiss that was soft and tender. There was a fleeting moment when you sensed the final weight on his shoulders dissipating.

When you pulled back, his eyes were closed, casting a serene expression. “It seems I have received far more than I deserve tonight.”

You laughed softly, resting your head against his shoulder. “You deserve everything,” you said firmly. “And I’ll spend every day reminding you of that if I have to.”

“You have humbled me, my love,” he whispered. “I do not know what I did to deserve you, but I will spend every moment I have trying to be worthy of you.”

“You already are,” you reassured. “And you always will be.”

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#namo fluff #namo x reader #namo imagine #namo scenario #namo x you #namo x y/n #namo mandos #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion imagine #silmarillion fic #silmarillion fluff #middle earth x reader #middle earth imagine #middle earth fluff #middle earth fic #x reader insert #x reader fluff #silmarillion #doodlepops writings ✨

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edensrose · 7 months ago

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⊹ ۪ ࣪ ꒰ ( 𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒏'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 )﹕*poofs in smoke* did y'all miss me?? lemme leave you with a little namo thought because I'm still madly in love with this man ( I've sadly fallen out of love with manwë. . . sobs ) anywaaayy | cw: smut . fem reader . penetrative sex . rough sex . pussy smacking ꒱

namo who's so stoic and blank until he's got you under him. this vala very quickly reminds you just how stressful it is to be not only the overseer of mandos, the doomsman but also a judge. with sharp thrusts smacking against the back of your thighs as though it's your fault there's a recent influx of souls!

he barely gets a break and you can be rest assured than when he does it's gonna be spent having you bent over his desk. clinging to the wood - or his back - while he's pumping you full of his divine cum.

so what if your moans are singing through his halls? let all that roam his realm know you're being split open by your darling vala's cock. that your eyes are rolling back and drool's dropping because he's murmuring the most filthy of things to your ears.

“such a sweet, tight thing, are you not darling?” the deep voice that thunders doom is all but a croon in your ear as a pale hand buries into your hair. a swift yank is all it takes to induce your back into an arch. give him a better angle to fuck into that one spot that has your eyes looping back. oh what beautiful lines you draw down his back with your nails.

“suppose I neglect it far too much - hah - she's far too needy for me. . . listen to her.”

his cock leaves your walls empty but his hand comes in to curb the loneliness. with a spank to your weeping pussy. another rumble of a chuckle echoes through his dreary, dark chambers.

poor you for being such a good stress relief. . . can you blame him for throwing your leg over his shoulder with the smallest of grins and fucking back into you with the stamina of a god?

#˚◞❀˳ 𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔 '𝒏 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 ﹕ tolkien ꒱ ₊˚⊹#the silmarillion #silm smut #tolkien smut #the silmarillion x reader #namo mandos #smut #x reader #namo x reader #reader insert #valar #how do i tag fucking hell #tolkien #silmarillion smut

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backtothefanfiction · 1 year ago

Text

Brown Eyes | A Mandalorian Imagine

Summary- Turns out, there’s so much more at stake than just life or death if you get injured

Length- short

Warnings- mostly fluff, mentions of injury

A/N- this just popped into my head so I of course had to write it out for you guys before I can sleep.

You’ve been lucky. Real lucky. All this time spent travelling with him and the kid and you haven’t gotten injured once. Which is even more lucky when you think about what your travelling companion does for a living. Or at least that’s what you think to yourself as you now sit hold up in the hull of the ship, your hand holding tightly to the blaster wound at your side.

It was your own fault really. He had told you multiple times to not do wander off or let the kid roam around outside the ship when he was on missions like this- but did you listen… No of course not. It’s not like anything had happened the last 15 times you had let him stretch his legs and get some fresh air and Din had been none the wiser.

He had also told you before that people were looking for him and the kid, which was another reason to lie low, but you didn’t think the situation was a shoot on sight kind of deal. You had both just been enjoying the meadow Din had landed in and the nearby tree line when the first shot had burned its way through the side of a tree. Then came another- and another. You felt one of the blasts burn across your side, but you couldn’t stop, couldn’t acknowledge it. You just had to get out of there.

You had tried to shoot back, scooping the kid up in your arms and running for your life back to the razor crest. The moment you were through the doors you had closed the hatch and placed the kid safely in his cradle, closing the top for extra protection as blaster fire began to hit the side of the ship.

You had frantically began to press buttons to get it up in the air and away from them. As you just about cleared the tree line, the crest half protesting from your hasty take off, another beep, the beep of the coms, sent a new wave of adrenaline through your body.

“What’s happening? Why have-“

You don’t let him finish asking his questions. “They found us. They found the kid.” You quickly informed him. Although you were trying to block it out, you knew from the strained way you were talking he’d know you’d been hurt.

“Is he safe? Is the kid safe? Are you both safe?” He quickly asked through the com link.

“Yes.” You said quickly back, if not a bit breathily, as you fought to steady the ship in the air and move it away from the meadow and the wooded area, instead heading towards a mountain ridge, hoping it would provide some cover.

“I’m sending co-ordinates,” he said- and you could hear the beeping of him typing in the location to send to the crest through the com, “meet me there.”

“Okay.” You said, gritting your teeth against the pain in your side.

The adrenaline coursing through your body had been just enough to see you to the rendezvous point, a large cavern on the far side of the mountains. You just had enough focus to land the crest inside, shutting the engines back down, before climbing back down into the hull to check on the baby. When you opened the cradle, you weren’t surprised at all to find him sleeping in it, the stress of the situation exhausting him. Knowing he was safe though filled you with relief.

Finally safe, knowing Din was on his way, allowed you to finally relax. The only problem was, without the adrenaline coursing through you, you were becoming more and more aware of the pain in your side. You lifted your hand to cradle it protectively as you hobbled to a bench along the outer wall and sat yourself down.

You sneered as you took it in, all blood and charred skin. It made you light headed. And that’s where you were now, eyes closed, head tilted back, resting against the wall. Deep breathing your way through the pain trying to think of anything else to pass the time while you waited for Din to return. He’d know how to deal with this.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were being jostled awake, a frantic voice calling your name between curses. It felt like a fight to open your eyes. They were so dry and heavy.

“Come on baby, I need you to wake up. Stay with me now.”

You felt him prod at your side and you let out a small groan as your head lulled heavily to one side. You just wanted to go back to sleep. It didn’t hurt when you were asleep.

“Fuck.” He groaned, his voice ragged and desperate.

As you continued to fight to get your eyes open, your body seemingly working completely separately to your brain right now, you heard his heavy feet begin to charge around the small space searching for what- you did not know with your eyes closed.

You felt him return to you, his hand resting on your thigh and you assumed he was resting on his knees before you. Knowing this was something you definitely had to see to believe, you finally fought to open your eyes. But it was difficult, they kept trying to close again, your head rolling from side to side as you fought to stay conscious, fought to look at him on his knees before you.

You knew his fingers were fumbling with something and you sneered as his fingers jabbed at the wound again.

“Uuuhhh owwwww.” You complained.

“Fuck.” He said again. “I can’t fucking see shit.” He complained.

Your eyes grew heavy again and you more sensed him lean away from you than saw him, but the sudden hiss of compressed air coming from his helmet had them seemingly fly open and you watched him lift the helmet from his head.

“Din-“ you groaned, but he didn’t respond. You watched him as he reached again for the med pack, getting out a pair of scissors and cutting away at the fabric of your top around the wound. He then grabbed a bottle of clear liquid, wetting a pad with it, which he then wiped carefully around the wound. Your eyes squeezed tight and you hissed in pain.

“Hold still now baby, hold still, I’m nearly done.” He says. Your only thought though is when did he start calling you baby?

There’s a reprieve as his hands move away again and your breathing starts to come back into your control. There’s a rustling sound of a packet and you open your eyes again to watch through blurry eyes as he removed a bacta patch from its packaging. You close your eyes and rest your head back against the wall again as he carefully lines it up, before sticking it down over the top of the wound.

You must have fallen asleep again, because when you wake next, you’re lying down on a cot with bandages wrapped around your middle. As you shift, the blanket placed over you shifts, exposing your skin to the cold air. You surmise you are back in hyperspace.

You pull yourself from the bed groggily. Your side still feels tender but it’s nowhere near as bad as it was, the bacta patch clearly doing its job. You slowly begin to follow the sounds of the kid’s babbling up to the cockpit where he is sat resting on Din’s knee. He quickly goes quiet when he sees you.

Din turns himself in his chair to check what he already knows. He’s relieved to see how much better you’re looking already. There’s more colour to you skin and the fact you are moving around speaks volumes to your alertness and body’s responsiveness.

But when you lock eyes on him your brain can only think of one thing. “You took it off.” You say, your eyes blinking at the vague memory as you take in his once again helmeted form in front of you.

“Yes.” He says as if it is merely just a matter of fact.

“You have brown eyes.”

“Yes.” He says again bluntly, clearly not wanting to give these facts more attention than they need.

You frown. “You called me baby.”

He’s silent then. There’s a long pause between you both as he turns himself away from you. “You scared me.” He says as firmly as he can. “Don’t do that again.” He says more strongly, but it just makes you smile.

For the first time since you boarded his ship, it’s clear to you he is able to care for someone other than the kid. “I won’t tell any one.” You reassure him.

He’s quiet for a moment- and you worry he’s not going to say anything at all- when he finally says, “Good.”

A few seconds later you’re dropping out of hyperspace and it’s like the whole ordeal never happened in the first place.

#the mandolorian #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mandalorian imagine #pedro character imagines #pedro characters #Star Wars #reader insert fanfiction

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stardust-and-snickerdoodles · 11 months ago

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you're not in the dark; but far from the light pt. 2

part 1

fandom: The Mandalorian

pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

summary: After a bounty hunt gone wrong, Din must take care of your wounds and watch over your recovery. Things get dicey, buckle up! (Din's POV)

tags/warnings: angst, injury, blood, fevers, hallucinations, hurt/comfort

word count: 1977

Since your initial injury, Din has had an almost sixth sense that tells him when something is wrong. So when he wakes suddenly in the middle of the fourth night, his heart is already racing.

Before he's even up and out of bed, he hears you moving around restlessly. By the time he reaches you, you’re awake and shivering. The Mandalorian rests the back of his hand against your forehead. His stomach drops as he feels the burning heat radiating from you and the thin sheen of sweat on your brow. He lets out a curse as he retrieves the medpack.

Your normally clear and lucid voice is slurred as you call his name, and his heart breaks at the sound. He does his best to keep his own voice level as he explains your condition.

When he looks up at you again, you’ve already drifted back into sleep. Din peels back the blanket from your damp skin before pulling up the shirt to reveal your wound. He removes the dressings and swallows down the bile that threatens to make an appearance at the sight.

The stab wound is red and inflamed, leaking fluid from around his piss-poor suture job. Despite knowing there wasn’t much else he could do, Din kicks himself for not cleaning out the wound better. If he’d used more antiseptic, or if he’d gotten the blade out faster… it doesn’t matter now. What matters is getting the infection and your fever under control.

Din rustles through the medpack, hoping to find anything to help. He’s well stocked on the Crest, thankfully, due mostly to your overprotective nature (and perhaps your obsession with hoarding interesting supplies from every planet you visit). He manages to locate some ice packs that activate by air exposure, and quickly places them under your armpits, between your legs, and at the back of your neck. They won’t last long, but hopefully they can bring your temperature down quickly.

Din also finds some medicine that’s vaguely labeled as “fever.” For a moment he curses your lackluster organizational skills, because he’s not sure if these are supposed to induce fever or keep it down. He doesn’t want to take the chance though, and besides, there’s no way he could get you to swallow anything right now. He stuffs them back in the pack.

Din rustles through the other contents one more time, pulling out more supplies to change your dressing. He sets the medpack on the floor before going about cleaning up the wound as best he can.

You’re still shivering, and Din’s doing his best to be gentle. He carefully wipes away all the fluid and gives the whole thing a big douse with antiseptic before wrapping it back up with clean gauze. It’s a questionable job at best, but it’s the most he can do for now.

The Mandalorian settles cross-legged onto the floor to watch over you. He tries not to let his worries get the best of him. You’ll pull through this; you have to. Din doesn’t know what he’ll do if you don’t.

You bring an air of lightness and peace to the Crest. The idea of that being gone, of Din being on his own again… he doesn’t even want to entertain that.

So he keeps a watchful eye on you, through the night and well into the morning. You wake only for brief moments so Din can get you to drink some water, but even your sleep is restless as the fever and infection ravage your body. Each time you let a soft moan or move about, Din’s heartrate skyrockets. He has to reassure himself that you’re still here, still fighting.

Around midday, as Din is removing the now-warm ice packs, he notices your moans have turned into soft cries. The change is worrying, and it almost sounds like you’re in pain even while you’re asleep.

Din thinks it will settle eventually, but a few minutes later your cries have only grown louder and you’re beginning to roll around on the cot. The Mandalorian worries that you’ll tear your stitches by moving so much.

Din murmurs your name, resting a gentle hand on your cheek. “Wake up.”

Your eyes flutter open, but they’re glazed over and unfocused. Din can tell you’re not all there, but at least you’re semi-conscious.

“I’m awake,” your voice is quiet and hoarse. Without warning, you raise your hand and begin to wave it around your face. “Leave me ‘lone. Wan’ sleep.”

Din’s brow furrows with worry. The fever must be higher than he thought if you’re so disoriented. He’s not sure what you’re doing with your hand, but it almost looks like you’re trying to keep something away from your face. “Cyar’ika,” he murmurs, “you’re dreaming. You’re safe. I’m here.”

You don’t seem to register his voice. Instead, you bring your other hand up to your face as well. After a few moments, you start to scratch at the skin on your face weakly, and your nails leave raised red welts. Din doesn’t want you to hurt yourself further, so he gently pries your hands away and keeps a light grip around your wrists. He whispers soothing words to you as you mumble something about bees.

“I have you,” he reassures. “I have you. Rest now.”

Eventually you stop struggling against his hold and your eyes fall shut again. Once he’s sure that you won’t continue scratching, Din releases your wrists and examines the new marks on your face. They’re all surface level, and for once the Mandalorian is thankful that the fever has made you so weak. A bit of bacta spray and these will heal in no time.

Din takes care of the scratches with ease before placing fresh ice packs on you. He’s slightly worried that the fever doesn’t seem to be diminishing at all, despite the fact that it’s been almost 12 hours. In fact, when he rests a hand against your forehead, it seems you’ve grown even warmer.

He tries not to let worry get the best of him and instead keeps himself busy with changing your dressings again and placing a cool washcloth on your forehead. He settles back onto the floor, ever watchful and on guard.

Sometime before sunset, you begin mumbling in your sleep. For a moment Din thinks you’re awake again, but your eyes are closed and your breathing is still slow and even. Din shushes you gently, placing a hand on your forearm to reassure you of his presence. He isn’t even sure how cognizant you are, but he’d rather provide comfort anyway than let you think you’re alone.

Finally, Din is able to make out what you’re saying. You’re speaking broken Mando’a, just a few words and phrases that he’s been teaching you in your spare time.

“Gedet’ye…” your voice is soft and Din’s heart breaks just a little. “Me’bana…?”

“Shh,” Din replies, “Udesii; ni’m olar, mesh’la.”

His words seem to calm you because you go silent once more.

You remain asleep for the rest of the night, apart from one moment when you try to remove the washcloth. Still, Din stays at your side, checking your temperature with a hand to your forehead every hour. He almost feels confident that the fever will break soon.

Unfortunately it seems that this is wishful thinking because in the morning, before Din has even placed his hand on your head, he can already feel the heat coming off of you in waves. It’s the warmest you’ve been, and your clothes are drenched in sweat. The Mandalorian berates himself for not getting you into something cooler, for not noticing that your fever had skyrocketed sooner.

He quickly retrieves a change of clothes for you, a tank top and a pair of shorts, as well as another cool washcloth. A small part of him feels guilty for undressing you, but this is no time for modesty. Besides, you’ve seen each other in more revealing ways than this before.

Once he’s removed your sweat-soaked clothing, he glides the cool washcloth over your bare skin with great care. His movements are gentle and slow. Once he’s finished, he carefully sits you up to get you into the new clothes before placing even more ice packs on your shivering form. Through it all, your eyes remain closed and Din tries not to feel so scared at your lack of response.

Din feels incredibly useless as the hours pass and your fever shows no sign of reducing. He replaces the ice packs every hour like clockwork and sponges down your skin with a washcloth, but still you remain unconscious and burning. At this point, the Mandalorian worries about you cooking your brain and briefly considers taking you to see a doctor, but he doesn’t want to risk entering hyperspace with you so unstable. Not to mention piloting the ship would mean he would have to leave your side, and he doesn’t think he can handle that now.

After a few hours, he attempts to rouse you to get you to drink some water. He gently lifts you into a sitting position, one arm secure around your waist to keep you upright. Your eyes flutter open but fall closed almost immediately.

“Come on, cyar’ika,” Din insists. “Wake up.”

“Cold,” you mutter, and your voice is almost unrecognizable.

“I know, I know,” Din’s own voice breaks. “But I need you to have some water for me.” He thinks he sees you nod, and brings a cup with a straw up to your lips. “Drink,” he commands gently. You take a few sips before coughing most of it out. The water dribbles down your chin and Din uses the corner of a blanket to gently wipe it off. “Jate,” he praises. “One more time.” You manage to swallow a few sips before your eyes fall shut again.

Din rests you back down on the cot, rearranging the ice packs around you once more before taking up his now-familiar place on the floor. At this point, his own restlessness is getting the best of him. His limbs feel heavy and cumbersome, even without the beskar armor. Still, he is used to sleepless nights. He cannot rest until you’re well again.

The rest of the second day and night passes by slowly, with Din almost obsessively checking on you every hour. He feels a sliver of relief when he notes your breathing deepen and your shivering lessen. A hand to your forehead confirms that your temperature has gone down slightly.

The third morning while changing your dressings, Din notes that the inflammation around the wound has lessened and there’s no longer fluid seeping from the stitches. Just for good measure though, he covers the whole thing in bacta spray before rewrapping it.

You rest what seems to be peacefully for the entire day, waking to drink a small amount of water before falling back asleep. Your temperature continues to decrease and the tension very slowly leaves Din’s body.

It's impossible to describe the relief that washes over the Mandalorian when you finally wake the next day, eyes no longer glassy and skin no longer burning. It’s like there’s been an elephant sitting on his chest the past three days and now he can finally breathe again.

You’re still weak and forgetful, but it's a major improvement. Din doesn’t hesitate to oblige when you ask him to lay with you. Feeling your warm skin against his chest, hearing your breathing even out as you fall asleep again, it's the closest thing to comfort he's had in a long time. His hold on you tightens just a bit as he recalls how worried he was for you. But now that's over, and he can work on getting you back on your feet. As long as you don't throw any more surprises at him.

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theidiotwhowritesthings · 2 years ago

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A Fresh Start [24]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: [18+ only] controlled training combat, self defense lessons, smut (we're finally here, folks), oral female receiving

Word Count: 6,444

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: so sorry this took nine thousand years. i probably have more announcements here but i'm bone tired so let's get on with it lolol also lowkey i did not edit this one to the degree in which i should have i am so sorry]

#24: RIGHT BETWEEN YOUR THIGHS

"i'm not sure what this is between us, but i am sure that i don't want it to stop, whatever it is." -j.a. redmerski

What does one wear on a date where combat was the plan? It wasn’t a question you thought you’d ever be asking yourself, yet here you were. After staring at your options for another beat, you grabbed something you’d be able to move in. The more athletic clothing you owned weren’t really the cutest, but your goal with them was focused on utility. You could always save the cute outfit for your part of the date tonight. The idea of impressing Din by being competent on his date and then pretty on yours was appealing to you.

Din was dropping Grogu off with Peli until tomorrow morning. With every second he was gone, you found yourself more nervous. Being with Din was always so easy. That was part of the reason why you fell for him so fast. Having him as a cemented part of your day was natural. So, it made no sense that you would be nervous at all, but it seemed the butterflies in your belly didn’t give a damn about logic.

You wandered back out into the main room of the house and let your eyes glance over the decor you had already set up. The second Din had left the house you had tossed up the decorations. In preparation for tonight, you had food prepped in the fridge for dinner and you had hung string lights all over the kitchen and living room. A blanket was laid out on the floor with a few pillows just for comfort. It was a simple set up and initially it had excited you, but in the time it took for you to get dressed for your combat date your anxiety had grown. What if it were too simple? What if you didn’t know Din as well as you thought you did?

Before you could second guess yourself any further, you hurried out of the house. Din had told you to meet him at the tarmac which caught you off guard. You assumed this would be taking place at least on world. It made you curious as to what he had planned exactly. On your way to the tarmac, you returned the greetings to those who waved to you. A few even tried to stop you to ask about something medical and you had to politely point them toward the clinic where they’d find Aayla. Any other day and you’d linger to help, but you had a Mandalorian waiting for you.

You had only stepped a few feet onto the tarmac when a hand was suddenly in yours and dragging you through rows of parked ships. “Din?” You questioned the shiny, beskar covered man. “Hi to you too, honey.”

“I’ve had three different people try and stop me to ask about one problem or another.” Din grunted.

“Aw,” You chuckled, “I had people try to stop me for medical advice! Look at us. Staples of the community.”

“Today, they need to make do without two staples.”

It had been a surprise when Din pulled you onto the little starship, but you were completely caught off guard when said ship broke through the atmosphere of a small, green world. You gazed out through the glass at the greenery that formed the large jungle you now flew over. He said he was taking you to a nearby, abandoned and uninhabited moon.

“Din…” You breathed in shock. Maker, this no named moon was gorgeous.

“You said you missed seeing the color green.” Din replied simply. Your eyes snapped to him in awe. It had been a toss away comment made quite some time ago. Growing up on Naboo, you had raised with forests and bodies of water. Then you bounced from Coruscant to Tatooine to Nevarro where the ground was non-existent or dry.

Din steered the ship toward a clearing in the jungle that sat on the edge of a cliff side where you had a view of the never ending trees. It was just shades of green and blue as far as your eyes could see. As soon as the ship was safely parked, you leapt out of your seat and rushed down the now lowering ramp.

The air was cool and humid. You took in a deep breath and marveled at how the smell of earth and vegetation filled your lungs. Din’s heavy steps came up behind you, and you glanced over your shoulder to give him a broad grin. You were beaming in the reflection of his visor.

“So, this is okay?” He asked with an almost nervous tinge to his voice.

“Okay?” You laughed. “Din, this is…” You shook your head and threw your arms around his neck. Din didn’t hesitate to wrap his own arms around your midsection and hold you close. “Thank you for this.”

“You may want to hold off on thanking me.” Din chuckled in your ear. “We haven’t even gotten to the rest of the date.”

You pulled back with a smirk and held a finger up at him. “I think you mean ‘courting session’.” Din let out a soft laugh before letting his hands fall from your side. You watched curiously as he began to unlatch portions of his armor. Your eyes widened and you glanced around outside the ship as if there would suddenly be a crowd where there hadn’t been one before. “What’re you doing?”

“We’re going to spar.” Din replied simply. “I want to make sure you can defend yourself.”

“And you need to strip down… why?”

Din huffed, “I’m not stripping down. I’m just removing my beskar.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You crossed your arms with a quirk of your eyebrow, “Who says you’re not the one who is gonna get hurt here?” Din laughed while pulling off his chest piece. The laugh was accurate. There was no way in hell you were going to even land a hit on him unless he wanted you to, but you feigned shock and disbelief. “Wow. How smug of you, Mandalorian.”

Din tilted his helmet at you in a ‘really?’ manner while pulling his cloak off. It left him in just his dark brown flight suit and you shouldn’t have found the plain outfit as attractive as you did. You continued to stand there and stare with a smile as he pulled off his gloves and kicked off his boots. Din set his hands on his hips, and you motioned toward his clothes. “Feel free to keep going. I won’t mind.”

“Alright, enough.” Din chuckled and set his hands on your shoulder. He turned you around and lightly pushed you out of the ship. You laughed under your breath and once you stood where he wanted in the field by the ship, he let his hands drag down to your hips. You expected him to spin you to face him, but instead he just took a step closer. You sucked in a sharp breath through your nose at the feel of his chest against your back. In a softer voice, he leaned his head closer to the side of yours. “How much self-defense do you know?”

“Oh, you know, the basics.” You mumbled with a little shrug. If you had to quantify the self defense you knew it would probably add up to less than the basics. Suddenly, before you could even blink, Din’s right arm wrapped around your neck in a choke hold. Your eyes widened and your hands lifted to grip the crook of his elbow to try and pull him away. “Dank farrik!”

Din flexed his arm enough for you to feel it but it wasn’t cutting off your air flow. You felt nervous for a whole other reason. His helmet was pressed against the side of your face in this hold, and he was so close that you could hear the slight static hum of his modulator. “Escape me, ner kar’ta.” You swallowed nervously and tried uselessly to tug Din’s arm away from your throat. He chuckled and you tried to kick his legs but even when you did make contact he didn’t budge. “You can do better than that.”

You thrashed your shoulders with a grunt, but he locked his grip. Din lifted you up so your toes only barely brushed the ground and began to drag you backwards. You yelped in surprise and rapidly tapped against his arm⏤ the universal sign for giving in.

Din set you back down and loosened his arm to hold you by the arms, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I am.” You replied. “I just didn’t see myself getting out of that anytime soon.”

He chuckled and slipped his arm back where it had been. Din nudged you and your hands went back to the crook of his elbow. “Step one foot forward.” You stepped out with your left foot. “And use your other foot to slip to the side and turn around. You wanna⏤”

Without waiting for the rest of his sentence, you tried to slip to his right side, but the second you tried to turn you found his hold around your neck tighter as he pinned you to his side. Din let out a soft laugh, and you beat on his back a bit to try and pull out.

“You slipped out the wrong way.” Din said.

“I noticed, thanks.” You muttered.

Din loosened his hold enough that you could straighten back up. “Try the other way.” You did the same thing, but this time you spun toward the left. Now, you were facing Din’s chest with his arm resting on the back of your neck and shoulders. “Good. Now push me away.” With all your strength, you shoved against Din’s midsection and you stumbled apart. “Very good, ner kar’ta. Again.”

He made you do it a few more times with his arm tighter each pass, and it got easier and more smooth every time you did it. You did it one more time, grinning triumphantly when you pushed him away, but this time Din lunged to grab you. His leg hit the back of yours and you went sprawling back. A cry of surprise left your lips and you braced for the blow of hitting the ground. However, at last minute Din caught you and carefully laid you against the grass the two of you were practicing on.

You opened your mouth to complain, but found your voice missing. Din was straddling you with his knees pressed to the ground on either side of your hip. He held himself up so he was carrying his weight on his knees and not crushing you. The sight of Din towering over you like this made you ache with need. He was right there. You could drag your hands up his thick thighs and to his belt with such ease. If this was affecting him the same way it was you, he didn't show it.

The sound of overhead thunder from distant storm clouds made Din look up as he searched for the source. Seeing your opportunity, you sat up and threw yourself forward to push Din backwards. Caught off guard, he fell back and you threw yourself on top of him. “Ha! I⏤” You didn't register what Din did, his movements were a quick blur of color, and suddenly you were on your back again, “Hey!”

Din grabbed your wrists to pin on the ground by your head. Rather than straddling you, this time he was situated between your legs. Oh, Maker. This was worse in the best kind of way. Din tilted his head, “That was cheating.”

“Whoops?” You gave him a sheepish smile. Din shifted so his weight was pinning your arms down rather than resting on the back of his calves. You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You know, I thought combat meant I was gonna get to punch and kick you more.”

“Should I be worried about how eager you are to punch me?”

You laughed, “Really though.”

“The chances of you being in an actual fist fight is lower than you being placed in a hold.”

“I mean, I’m planning to avoid both of those options.”

“I like that plan, but it’ll help me sleep at night knowing you at least know how to free yourself.” Din replied with a low chuckle. His hands lifted off your wrists to place a light hold on your throat. Your chin tilted up, making room for his large hands, and your reflection in his visor showed you that you were not hiding how badly you wanted him. Din didn’t apply any more pressure than the light hold he already had on you, but he did lower his face closer to yours, “You think you can focus and get out of this hold before we get rained out?”

You squirmed under him, hips shifting against his, and you felt his body stiffen. A slow smile crossed your face as you moved your hips more deliberately this time. Din let out a soft grunt, and you chuckled, “Guess that depends. You think you can teach me how without getting distracted?”

“Wayii, ner kar’ta.” Din murmured. He lifted a hand off your neck to grab your right hand and set it on the wrist of the hand still pretending to choke you. “Hold here and…” Din set your other hand on his left shoulder. “With this hold, you’re gonna pivot out from under me and put me in an arm bar.”

“Um, sure.” You said skeptically.

Din nodded to your left leg, “Put that foot against my hip so you can lift your other. You need it across my shoulder blades.” You tried to do as he said and it forced your hips up from the ground in a position that felt unnatural. “Good, good. Now that foot on my hip? Lift it and throw it over my head so both your legs are resting on my same shoulder.” With a grunt you did just that and it left the arm you had been holding trapped between your arms. Naturally, the hand that was on his shoulder fell to hold his wrist and you pushed your hip back down to the ground and it forced Din onto his back as you straightened your body. “Good, that’s⏤ah!” He tapped the thigh laying on his throat. “Good.”

You let go of him, but the moment you did he was on top of you once more. You cried out, startled, but Din had his hands at your throats. “Again. Faster.”

He squeezed just enough to get you moving. You followed his instructions, trying to remember each step, and you successfully got him into another arm bar. You let go of his arm so you weren’t accidentally hurting him, but you kept your legs where they were. One rested over his neck, right under his helmet, and the other on his lower chest. His arm bent so he could rest his hand on your thigh and he gave it a playful squeeze.

Din began to laugh and the sound was so relaxed, so boyish, that it brought a warm smile to your face. You sat up, leaning back on your hands, and stared down at him. His entire body was relaxed as he lazily dragged his hand back and forth on your thigh.

“This position can’t possibly be comfortable.” You teased.

Din’s helmet turned to look back at you. “Ner kar’ta, I could spend the rest of my life right here.” He squeezed your thigh again and chuckled. “Right between your thighs.” Your face grew warm at his words and Din rubbed your leg. “You’re doing so good. Making me proud.”

You bit down on your bottom lip and watched as a drop of water plinked against Din’s helmet. Then there was a second, then a third, and then you and Din were in a downpour. You pulled your legs off him and the two of you scrambled off the ground and back to the cover of the ship.

“Just… Just give it a minute or two.” Din stood at the edge of the cover so he could peer up at the now dark sky. “It’ll pass.” The clouds had rolled in quick and sudden, but they lingered. A full ten minutes passed and Din stood in his frustrated dad pose at the end of the ramp. You wandered down to stand beside him. He sighed, “I'm so sorry. If I had known it was going to rain I would’ve taken us somewhere else.”

“Din, this place is perfect.”

“It’s storming.”

“Yeah, but,” You set your hand on his arm, “We’re together.” Din turned his head to glance at you. “That’s all that matters.” The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt. You held your hand out to feel the rain against your skin. A thought occurred to you. “When’s the last time you felt the rain on your face?”

Din shrugged, “I fell into the Living Waters.”

“That’s called drowning,” You shook your head, “And it doesn’t count.”

“I took a shower last night.”

“Still not the same.”

He shrugged in response.

You squeezed his arm, “Well, this moon is uninhabited according to you. I can sit in the ship with the ramp up, and give you a second.” He tilted his head in what you assumed was confusion. “Everyone deserves to feel the rain on their face. Just to⏤ to feel alive, and we’re not getting any rain storms in Nevarro anytime soon.”

Din nodded once. You turned to walk back into the ship, but his hand slipped into yours. He squeezed your hand and pulled you out into the rain. You flinched at the first few drops, the cold water startling even knowing it was coming, and on instinct you lifted your head up so the rain splattered across your face. Din’s hand left yours but it was quick to find your skin once more. He cupped your jawline and you tore your gaze from the sky to his visor. His thumb dragged against your cheekbone.

“Close your eyes.” Din whispered.

Without hesitation, you let your eyes fall shut. Din’s hand fell away from your face. You heard the hiss of his helmet followed by the soft thud of heavy beskar landing on soft grass. More than anything in the worlds, you wished you could watch him experience this. Din let out a quiet sigh, close to a soft moan, and your lips twitched up into a smile. A pair of hands cupped your face and your own hands rose to rest on top of his. Din was close⏤ his body radiated heat. The tip of his thumb traced your bottom lip.

“Gar're bid mesh'la.” Din murmured and he was close enough that you felt his warm breath fan across your mouth. “So beautiful, ner kar’ta.” Warm lips slotted against yours and you breathed Din in. As always, Din kissed you with every part of who he was⏤ every single time was its own unique experience. His hands roamed down your body, never leaving contact, until they found your hips. Din’s lips broke from yours but continued to brush against yours as he sucked in a breath, “I… You’re so important to me.” The hands on your hips slipped up and under your shirt. His touch hot against your cold, damp skin. “Everything, ner kar’ta.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck to pull his lips back against yours. The kiss was bruising. A desperate tangle of teeth and tongue in a attempt to get closer⏤ as if he wasn’t already pinning the two of you chest to chest with his strong arms. The kiss began to simmer in desperation, but the passion remained. Even when it seemed slow as you caught your breath, he continued to lightly press his lips against yours in soft, chaste kisses. As if he couldn’t stand being apart.

“Din…” You murmured softly. Thunder rumbled overhead. The power of the sound competed with the pounding of your heart. Din nipped at your lower lip before dragging the tip of his tongue against the spot. You let out a soft sigh, and he pulled your lower lips between his own. His hands had slipped out of your shirt so they could instead cup your face and tilt your face at the ideal angle to allow him to continue his onslaught. He dragged his lips across your cheek until they pressed against the skin right under your ear. An involuntary shiver rocketed down your spine and you trembled enough that Din must have felt it.

“I need to get you out of the rain before you catch a cold.” Din mumbled against your skin.

You sighed and when he tried to pull back you trapped him by wrapping your arms around his torso, “That’s an old wives’ tale. Being in the rain doesn’t make you sick.”

“Fine, doc. I need to get you out of the rain before we get struck by lightning.”

“If you want I can make up some statistics about lightning strikes.”

Din chuckled, his chest rumbling with the sound, and you felt him kneel down. You stayed in place until the cool metal of his helmet pressed against your forehead. At the reassuring touch, you let your eyes flutter open. In his visor’s reflection, you saw what a mess you were. Soaked to the bone with swollen lips. You groaned, “Maker, I look like a drowned porg.”

“A very cute, drowned porg.”

You shoved at his chest with a laugh and Din chuckled and began to drag you back toward the ship. The two of you left puddles in the ship and you helped Din get his armor back on. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable with how wet his flight suit was, but he’d be parking in a populated area of Nevarro and couldn’t go without it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more.” Din said as you sat down in the co-pilot seat.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Don’t you dare apologize for the best first ‘courting session’ ever.”

Din let out a soft laugh and brought the ship up into the air. His hand reached over to rest on your thigh⏤ fingers curling into your skin as his thumb rubbed back and forth. You leaned back in your seat and despite the gorgeous scenery right outside the window, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his form.

There was never a lull in the conversation with Din. Talking to him always came naturally. It made you silly for ever being nervous about your portion of the date in the first place. After getting back to Nevarro, the two of you had gone back home and when Din saw the decor you babbled through an anxious explanation of your plans. He had been delighted at the sound of it. It took no time for the two of you to clean up after the courting session episode. Din traded his armor for a t-shirt and sweatpants, and you had tosses aside the wet work out clothes to put on a simple dress that made you feel cute with buttons down the torso.

Din hovered over you while you made food and helped despite you telling him he didn’t need to. Then, the two of you just enjoyed one another’s company. Back to back, eating dinner, and basking in the glow of the string lights you had hung up.

“This really is so incredible. Thank you.” Din said.

You set aside your bowl with a chuckle, “You don’t have to thank me for that, Din.”

“No, I do. I know this isn’t…” Din paused and there was a tension in his voice you couldn’t quite place. He sighed, “This isn’t typical. I’m sorry I can’t take you to a restaurant in town and sit across from you for a normal meal.”

“Din, you don’t have to apologize for that.”

“But⏤”

“I don’t care about any of that.” You shook your head. “I’d have every single meal, for the rest of my life, hidden away or in private as long as it meant I got to have them with you. That’s all that matters.”

You felt him begin to turn and immediately shut your eyes with a mumble that he was safe. Din’s fingers found the side of your face and you allowed your body to follow his movements as he pulled you to face him. His lips were on yours again with no preamble or hesitation. It only lasted a brief moment, pure and chaste, before he separated to lean his forehead against yours.

“You’re too good to me.” Din’s voice sounded hoarse as his hand traced the side of your face. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve to be cared about⏤ you deserve to be…” The word ‘loved’ sat on the ip of your tongue, and you only barely caught it in your mouth before it tumbled out. You were confident of how you felt, and you were highly suspicious that Din was on the same page as you, but it was still terrifying to consider saying it out loud. “You deserve this and more, honey.”

“Have I told you how much I enjoy hearing you call me honey?” Din leaned back in and began to pepper kisses across your lower face.

“It’s come up a time or two.” You teased in response. He ghosted up your jawline, his breath hot on your skin, until they wrapped around your earlobe⏤ teeth nipping at it lightly. You couldn’t hold back a soft moan. “Maker, Din.” You felt his chuckle as he wrapped a hand around the back of your neck. Din carefully tilted your chin up and to the side so he could finish his line of kiss down your neck. “Keep this up and I’m… I’m not gonna want to get up, and I have dessert in the fridge for us.”

Din shook his head and dragged his nose up against the column of your neck to find your ear once more, “I have dessert right here, ner kar’ta.” His words, in that deep, honeyed voice, sent shivers down your spine. Want pooled in your belly as you melted into his hands. “Do you trust me?”

“Always.” You murmured. Din pulled away from you and you groaned at the loss. “Wait, no,” Din laughed at your whine and the sound was distant, “Come back.”

“Be patient!”

You heard his approach and felt him as he settled in front of you again. Din was wrapping something around your eyes and tied it behind your head. “That feel, alright?” You nodded in response and adjusted the blindfold to sit comfortably on your face. “Just want you to relax and not worry about accidentally opening your eyes or not. This okay?”

“Only if you start touching me again.” You grinned and tilted your chin up a hair.

“Oh, mesh’la,” Din was quick to cup your face once more and he pushed you back to settle on the blanket softly, “I’m more than happy to.” You had never been happier in your choice of clothing than now with Din unbuttoning the front of your dress. One large hand cupped your breast while the other stayed wrapped around the back of your neck. Din let out a breathless whisper of Mando’a before adding in Basic, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shook your head, “I swear to the Maker if you stop I’ll kick your ass.” Din chuckled and shifted so he could rest between your thighs. You accommodated him by letting your legs fall open to rest on either side of his hips. “I know how to do that now since you taught me.”

“Teaching you how to get out of two holds is a little different from kicking ass.” Din replied amused. His hand left your breast and you felt the tips of his fingers brush against the scar along your collarbone. You stiffened slightly⏤ more out of self consciousness rather than discomfort or fear. Din leaned down until his lips pressed against the skin there. “Do you know how beautiful you are, ner kar’ta? Absolutely gorgeous.” You buried your hand in his soft hair, letting out a sigh, and Din kissed your scar twice more before letting his lips taste the skin of your chest. “Breathtaking.”

His mouth found the curve of upper breast. Din was careful as he pulled your bra down and when the cold air met your now bare nipples you gasped. More breathless Mando’a filled the air and only ended when Din’s lips wrapped around your right nipple as his hand held the underside of your other so his thumb could trace lazy circles around that nipple. Din’s tongue circled your sensitive skin and you groaned⏤ hand tightening in his hair.

The Mandalorian was new to using his mouth, but just like with kissing he was quick to pick it up and passionate about exploring with his tongue. All of his movements were focused and completed with the discipline of a bounty hunter. Even in a situation that was new to him, he used his body with confidence by dedicating to the action. Din’s mouth spent ample time tasting the skin of both your breasts, sucking and licking, and your entire being felt like it was on fire. Every inch of you craved his touch, you were drunk on him and were left a squirming mess under his strong hands. Pinned to the ground under his broad body and blind to everything but the sound, feel, and smell of him.

“Maker.” You gasped and tugged on his hair. “You’re killing me, honey. It’s…” He let his teeth lightly graze your overly sensitive nipple and your back arched in an attempt to follow his mouth as he pulled up. “Fuck. It’s so much. Too much.”

Din squeezed the breast his mouth wasn’t on and then crawled up just enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, “Sorry.” He hummed and you could hear the smile he was wearing. “Just can’t help myself.” Suddenly, you felt Din’s hand brush against the outside of your leg. It trailed back and forth from your knee to where the edge of your dress laid. You were already an absolute mess but having his warm touch against your thigh was making the need for him a hundred times worse. “Can I taste you, ner mesh’la kar’ta?”

You sucked in a sharp breath nervously. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip briefly. It had been a little while since you had anyone go down on you, and with the way you felt about Din you wanted things to be perfect. The thought of Din not enjoying himself or just feeling obligated haunted your mind and the anxiety dulled the pleasure. “You know you don’t have to do that, right? It’s not⏤”

“Have to?” Din’s fingers squeezed into the meat of your thigh and your hips involuntarily rolled up marginally to find a source of friction to ease the ache in your core. “There is literally nothing I could want more. I cannot even begin to describe how often I’ve thought of this moment right here.” You gave a small, weak nod. He squeezed your thigh once more. “Wanna hear you say it, ner kar’ta.”

“Yes, Din. Want that⏤ want you now.” Your desire beat out any anxiety you may have felt.

Din crawled down until he could press a kiss to the inside of your knee. His strong arm wrapped around your thigh, settling on his left shoulder, and you found comfort in that hold. You let out a relaxed breath. Din was safe. There was no reason to feel any anxiety in the arms of this man. With that, the anxiety began to ebb away and with every kiss Din laid on the inside of your thigh gradually traveling up the ache worsened.

The edge of your dress was pushed up with his left hand and it splayed across your abdomen. “This is my first time doing this with my mouth, mesh’la. Tell me if I’m hurting you.” Goosebumps formed across your skin at the cool air that now washed over you, but the weight of his hand seemed to burn straight through you. Din’s mouth pressed against your clothed heat. He kissed through your sinfully soaked underwear.

“Din,” You gasped, your hand refinding his hair, “Fuck. Din.”

His right hand slipped under the side of your underwear to tug them down your thigh. Din kept your right leg on his left shoulder, unmoving, and he hummed, “Knee to your chest, mesh’la.” You did as he asked and he used the movement to slip your left leg out of your underwear. The second you were uncovered, Din groaned, “Good girl.”

He buried his face into your wet folds in desperation. What Din lacked in precision he made up for with eagerness. He mumbled words of Mando’a straight into your pussy between licking long stripes through your lips. Din worked in broad strokes of his tongue, and every few seconds his nose would find your clit. It’d either brush too lightly for you to fully enjoy or press firmly against it and send jolting strikes of pleasure straight up your spine.

“Din, Din.” You moaned and he pressed in deeper, his tongue circling your hole. He hadn’t come up for air in a bit and you wondered how he managed to keep this up. Regardless, it was driving you wild. “Baby, please.” Din lifted his head and the sound of him panting was unbelievably attractive to you. “Shit, Din.”

“You alright?”

“Yes. Maker, yes, but…” You groaned. “I know you’re probably not meaning to do this, but you’re teasing me and it’s got me right on the edge.” Din shifted, you heard him chuckle, and before you could try to explain to him what you meant specifically when it came to his mouth, his thumb dragged through your folds up and straight to your clit. He circled it with insane precision and your mouth fell open in a silent cry as the arousal pooling in your lower belly grew and the ache almost sent you over the edge. “Maker! Din!”

Din pulled his thumb away and you were breathless. He placed a chaste kiss to your thigh where he could reach, “I’m not that unfamiliar with it, ner kar’ta. I told you I've used my hands.”

“Gotcha. So you were teasing me on purpose?” You scoffed and Din chuckled. You tugged on his hair and his breathy laugh grew louder. You grinned and shook your head. “You ass.”

“How about I make it up to you?” Din’s lips were back on you and this time he wasn’t just broadly tasting you. His precision had turned deadly and it was devastating how fast he drove you right back to that edge. “Taste so fucking sweet, mesh’la.” His tongue circled your clit before he began to apply enough suction that stars filled your vision. Your body began to tense as you spiraled into your quickly approaching orgasm. Din hummed and spoke against your clit, teeth and tongue brushing against it as the vibrations of his words buzzed against you, “Gonna come, ner kar’ta? Fall apart for me. Let me devour you.”

His lips wrapped around your clit again and the onslaught of his mouth had your orgasm washing over you. You let out a loud cry, his name garbled on your tongue, and as you came down from your high it felt like you were falling into a soft cloud. It was only then that you realized Din hadn’t stopped for a second. The slurping sound of him devouring you was downright filthy and you moaned again.

“Just like I said before, ner kar’ta.” Din dragged his wet lips up to kiss your abdomen in any random spot he could reach. “Could spend eternity between these gorgeous legs.”

You sat up on one elbow and blindly reached out to grab the collar of his shirt. “My turn, honey.” You gave his shirt a few tugs. “Want to taste you too.”

“Who said I was done here?” Din teased. He crawled up your body, still between your legs, and his hips pressed against yours firmly. You felt his hard cock straining against his sweatpants and he let it grind against your messy pussy. You reached down for the waistband of his sweatpants and Din’s hand rested by your neck to hold himself up while his other caressed the column of your neck and along your jaw. “I’m not done eating dessert.”

Your lips curled into a broad smile as you recognized the similar position you were in to what had been going on earlier today. Quickly, your right hand grabbed his left, the one holding him up, and before you could second guess yourself you let your legs kick up just like in the courting session until you were able to push him off you into an arm bar. This was the exact position he had been in last time, but this time you were unable to see him. Still, you felt your legs across his chest as you held his arm between your thighs.

For a beat it was silent, and you were worried you had upset him in some way, but then he began to laugh. Without the modulator of his helmet, the sound was clear and downright musical. You’d trade your soul if it meant getting to see the way his face looked right now. You wanted to see his smile, wanted to see the lines that formed on his face when he laughed like this.

“Maker, you’re so perfect, ner kar’ta.” Din breathed as his free hand came up to caress your legs. “I can’t begin to… You’re… I…” He let out one more laugh. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

“What does that mean?” You didn’t recognize those words.

“I’ll tell you one day. I promise.”

You chuckled, “Bold of you to deny someone who has you in an arm bar right now, honey.”

The hand you were holding between your legs suddenly tightened around your wrist and he pulled you toward him while pushing your legs off of him. With a yelp of surprise, he had you flipped so your arms and head were laying on his chest while your legs were sprawled out behind you. Din grasped the side of your face to pull you to his lips. His hand raked through your hair lovingly, and you sighed against his kiss. Din swallowed the sound of your content.

You felt so warm and comfortable against Din, and as if you hadn’t been aware of it before, it was startling how much you loved Din Djarin.

mando'a translations:

ner kar'ta: my heart Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum: I will know you forever Wayii: Good grief Gar're bid mesh'la: You're so beautiful mesh'la: beautiful

taglist (closed):

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#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #a fresh start #din djarin #reader insert #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars #din djarin smut

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kyberblade · 2 years ago

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I Can Help With That (Din x Reader) - A Back To You Drabble

A/N: This is part of my Phantom 1k Celebration. It’s a combination of three requests, which can be found here, here, and here. It takes place after Part 19 of Back To You, sometime after they get Grogu back in TBoBF, and is the closest thing to smut I’ve really written. (Thanks a lot, you know who you are.) It’s really actually just spice and domestic intimacy more than anything with an implied fade to black, but…. So I’m just gonna drop this here and run. 😬 Have a nice day! (There will be a few more, less spicy, here.)

I do not own Star Wars or it’s characters. Sadly. But I carry them in my heart. Does that count for something? My soul says yes.

Summary: After a messy bounty leaves your clan of three staying overnight in a dingy room on Daiyu, feelings come bubbling up that have been otherwise too scared to see the light of day.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, Grogu being the cutest thing you ever did see, and Din is once again a warning in and of himself in this one. Swearing. Space swearing. Arguing? Spoilers? (But if you’re here, you know how this works.) Lots of angst. Tears. Brief mention of injury. Reader is having a Tough Time™️ mentally, but it’s discussed and processed. As mentioned above, some spice and alluded to Fun Times. (They are in the shower together, per the request, so nudity? But it’s not discussed? Not really?) Helmetless Din. What? Who said that?

Word count: 4,913

Thank you to @fordo-kixed-rex for reading this over a bazillion times and not strangling me when I stressed over five words not being exactly what I wanted.

(Tagging @grippingbeskar and @darkroastjoel, these are yours.)

Xxx

It hadn’t taken long for you to find out that Din enjoyed lingering touches.

He always found an excuse for his hand to be on your lower back, guiding you through crowded markets, wooded planets; curling around your waist and holding you tight to his side to keep you warm when the temperature dropped lower.

His fingers found their practiced patterns quickly, tracing laps around your upper arm, your hip. Racing up and down your forearm until goosebumps rose along every surface he’d dared to trace.

He wasn’t satisfied until you’d shudder from the lightest touches, groan into his cowl as his fingers kneaded into a sore muscle in your neck, or your breath would hitch as his hand closed around your own.

Though the Crest was small, he made it smaller still, crowding into your space whenever he deemed you had too much of it.

Whenever you worked on a panel, digging through wires, you’d feel him hovering just behind you, a breath away from sealing his chest along your spine.

If you laid on the floor to work in the cramped space under the console, a mess of wires hanging in your face, you’d sense his presence looming near your feet, the toes of his boots resting against the heels of your own.

Sometimes when you’d tucked the kid in at night, watching his eyes droop more and more slowly as you gently rocked his hammock back and forth, humming a soft tune, you’d feel the temperature of the hull rise as his shadow crossed over you soundlessly, cutting out the little light the Crest had to offer. A smirk would twist its way up your face as you felt him hovering nearer.

Tonight was one of those nights.

So it was no surprise when he let out a hum of amusement as you turned into his chest after closing the door to the cot and a sleeping Grogu.

You both played the game, still, like this wasn’t the easiest thing either of you had ever fallen into. Still tiptoeing around the other as if nothing had been said, no secrets had been shared, no Creeds broken. That last thought sobered you up every time it crossed your mind, making your breath catch in your chest.

Pushing away thoughts of Creeds and Mandalore, you grinned up at him, resting your chin against his chest plate to keep your gaze steady.

“What’s this?” He mumbled as your arms circled around his back, disengaging his jet pack.

“Love and affection.” The pack swung your arm down, pulling an oomph out of you. Setting it down to the side with a thump, you smirked up at him, circling your arms back around his waist slowly, chin once again perched on his beskar. “Deal with it.”

“Mesh’la, you don’t want to do that….” He groaned, melting into your embrace, but also trying to lean back at the same time.

You hummed, face scrunched in mock displeasure. “You should know by now you shouldn’t tell me what to do. It doesn’t work….”

Din snorted. “No, mesh’la, I mean….” He extricated himself from your grip, delicately pushing your arms away as he pulled the rest of his body back with a small twisting maneuver. “I need to shower. That last bounty wasn’t a, er….” He hesitated, his voice going tight. “A clean kill.”

Narrowing your brows at him, you lifted your eyes to study him from head to toe, finding no trace of anything on his beskar. “You don’t look dirty.” Closing the distance once again with a single step forward, you lifted his arms up to peer under them as if that would reveal the dirt and grime in question, bending forward slightly to get a better look. Next was his cape. You tilted to the side dramatically to see underneath.

He snapped it out of your hands, spinning out of your hold and took several steps away before turning to face you again. “You wouldn’t see anything. The blood is bioluminescent. You’d need to kick on the-”

“Oh! The special work lights, yeah.” You were already moving toward the ladder up to the cockpit. “They are in my tool box, I’ll go get the-”

“No!” You stopped at his abrupt protest, one hand on a ladder rung by your head, one foot already about to push up a rung, but it slipped off with a soft thunk when you turned to look at him with raised brows. “No,” he offered again, this time softer. “You’re not gonna want to do that.” His voice lowered. “Trust me.”

You hesitated. Despite him trying to keep away, you took a step closer, brows knit together in confusion. “Why?”

He shifted his weight from side to side, voice tight in apprehension. “‘Cause now it’s on you, too.”

Holding your arms out to the sides, slowly, you looked down at your body that looked the same as it did five minutes ago, only now, it felt like you were caked in filth. Looking back up into his visor, you ignored his hands held up to try and placate you, voice raising with each word. “You could have warned me!”

“I tried!” Din almost whined, exasperated, taking a step back to maintain the distance he had tried to create. “I really did,” he added softly.

Eyes fluttering shut, you took a deep breath before letting it out through your nose. Your voice had lowered back to something closer to normal when you spoke again; hands gesturing smally, still out at your sides as you did. “Let’s just go to the room and get a shower. You go first, leave your armor outside the fresher door and I’ll clean it while you’re in there-”

“We don’t need to go all the way back to the room. I can use the sink here on the ship-” Din stopped short when your eyes flew open, landing on him with a hard stare. He sighed, the sound resigned. “Let’s get going, then. It’s at least half a mile to get there….”

You nodded, small smirk working its way up one side of your face. “Thank you.” After you began to gather a few things, you mused to him proudly, “Aren’t you glad I convinced you to get a room?” He grunted, making you scoff softly and roll your eyes before turning back to the satchel you were packing. “I mean, it’s not every day we’re on….�� Your hand froze midway into the bag, the other clutching the strap of it tightly. Keeping your eyes on the bag, you didn’t dare to lift them back up as you studied its weave hoping it held your answers.

With a sigh, you lifted your head and shut your eyes briefly before cutting your gaze Din’s way, making sure to narrow your eyes preemptively.

He slowly swiveled his visor up to level you with a look. “You don’t even know where we are?” His tone was incredulous. One hip popped out to the side, his head tilting to the side as he stared at you.

“I know,” you defended, inclining your chin to peer down your nose at him before turning your attention back to the bag.

Arms crossed over his chest, he stood up straight, keeping the glare of his visor squarely on you. “You should. You picked it out.”

Making your way over to the bunk, satchel across your chest, you jumped in to correct him. “No, technically the bounty did.” You hesitated. “I only picked the puck. Which was all you. You said I was lucky or something. So this is technically on you.”

Tossing his head with a groan, Din turned away from you, grabbing the essentials while you grabbed the kid.

“Daiyu!”

Din spun around to see the kid blinking bleary eyes up at you as you looked down at him apologetically, one finger held up beside your head for emphasis.

Lifting your eyes back up to meet the T of Din’s visor, you shrugged one shoulder sheepishly, mumbling. “Daiyu, I remembered.”

Xxx

Once you got into the room, the kid had promptly fallen back asleep, allowing you to seal him safely away in his floating cradle for the night.

Turning to face Din, hands on your hips, you watched him set the bags of supplies down on a small table in the corner. “Want any help taking the armor off?”

“No, I’ll manage,” he spoke softly, not looking up at you once. His gaze stayed down toward the table, his visor angled toward the smooth surface. With a quiet groan, he walked to the other side of the room and began removing the armor piece by piece. It collected against the wall beside the fresher door in a small pile, a soft thunk with each new piece as the tower of beskar grew.

You watched in silence from across the room, sorting mindlessly through the bag of rations. He moved so stiffly once he began to set the armor down, his movements stilted and slow, like every breath was an effort. Din twisted to the side, puffing up his chest to try and keep it from you, but you noticed. The quarry must have gotten him somehow. The closer you looked, the more you saw; he had a slight hitch in his step and favored his left side more than his right, bracing on the door frame as he passed through to start the water in the shower.

Since he’d removed his helmet for Grogu and you’d seen his face, he’d been a lot less careful about taking it off in front of you. He still kept it on most of the time, it was after all what he was used to, and you didn’t mind that at all. But the few times he removed it, like right now, you found your eyes straying away from his face, unable to look without an obvious invitation. It still felt like something forbidden.

That’s why when his bare forehead pressed against yours, it caught you off guard and made you jump.

He chuckled. “Sorry.” In nothing but his flight suit, sleeves pushed up his forearms, he crowded into your space like he always did, bringing his right hand up to cup your cheek. His left arm wound around your waist to pull you tight, as his breath fanned across your face.

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” he agreed, words overlapping your own eagerly as he shook his head against yours, his nose brushing against your own. The smile pulling up the side of his face was contagious, and it tugged up your cheek under the soft ministrations of his thumb.

You expected him to back you into a wall like he usually did, but the two of you stood quietly in the middle of the room, simply being. It was nice to have a moment to just breathe.

Your arms made their way up to wrap around his neck, nearly all the way around when he hissed, sucking air in through his teeth as he flinched away from you. Cradling both cheeks in your hands, you held his face firmly as your eyes scanned over every part of him you could see for any obvious injury.

“Din? What is it? What hurts?”

His eyes stayed downcast, almost in shame, his chin tucked down toward his chest.

“Din?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled. You’d grown used to his unmodulated voice recently, but you weren’t used to this tone. Dejected. Broken. Subdued.

You simply blinked a few times, scanning his face for any sign of what was wrong, besides the obvious, while he leaned to his left just slightly, enough that you noticed. “Din…. What?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.” He cleared his throat, bringing his hands up to thread his fingers through yours and lift them off his face. He gave you a gentle squeeze before he let go. His movements were soft and kind, but left no room for question.

Eyes never pulling up from the floor, Din rubbed the back of his neck in something that looked like nerves, then turned toward the fresher, disappearing behind the door as it hissed shut behind him.

Xxx

You waited a few minutes before you followed him, the soft drone of running water filling the room with a constant hum. Leaving your vambraces with his pile of armor by the fresher door, you smiled softly as you surveyed the large pile of beskar. We’ll clean them in the morning.

After you made sure the room was secure, the kid tucked away in his cradle fast asleep, you stripped down the rest of the way, before wrapping yourself in a towel provided by the room. The fresher door opened with a wave of your hand, a wall of steam curling out like you’d relieved some sort of exhaust pressure.

Walking silently into the room like Din had taught you, you closed the door behind you with a wave of your hand, the unseen force causing the steam to swirl in fascinating tendrils in the process.

Your Mandalorian was tucked away in the shower, his back to you, oblivious to your presence as you watched him, studying him from head to toe with more than just your eyes to make sure he was okay. You reached out through the Force to try and read him, something he always made so easy for you, he was an open book, but right now, he was closed off.

Furrowing your brow, you set your towel off to the side and walked closer toward the shower stall.

Din was leaning on his hands against the wall, his silhouette behind the glass dividing the shower from the rest of the room obscured from the steam already billowing around the edges.

His breathing looked labored, every breath an effort as he stood deep in thought.

He obviously hadn’t wanted you to see him like this. Battered, probably bruised. You knew it all amounted to one thing in his eyes. He felt broken.

Stepping under the spray, you blinked twice as stray droplets hit your lashes.

Din was so distracted he still didn’t even know you were here, leaning forward against the opposite wall of the shower, hands braced against the cool wall, head hung low between rounded shoulders.

Reaching out slowly, you lightly traced your fingertips up his left side, pausing when he went stiff. “It’s just me,” you muttered quietly, your right hand coming up to race against your left along his ribs.

Spreading your fingers out so your whole hand could dance along his skin, gliding along with the water droplets cascading down his sides, you pressed more firmly into him, stepping closer.

In the dim light of the shower stall you could see bruises blooming along his rib cage, contrasting brilliantly under your fingertips and against his warm skin tone.

“These are new.” Keeping your voice quiet, you let your eyes find the rest without your hands having to trace their paths.

He only grunted in acknowledgment.

“I can help with that, you know.”

“No,” he said instantly. After shifting his weight back and forth for a moment, he turned his head just slightly to look at you over his shoulder before looking back forward, and lowered his voice. “No.” Din shook his head for emphasis, his fingers flexing against the wall.

Resting your chin against his spine, careful to avoid the bruises, you wrapped your arms around to rest on his chest, bending over to drape yourself over him like a blanket. “How come?”

“That always tires you out so much.” His hands flexed again. “Plus….”

After waiting for him to go on, you pushed gently. “Yeah?”

“Plus…. When you do too much of that stuff…. Sometimes it…. Changes you….”

“How so?”

He took a deep breath, pushing off the wall to stand up straighter, unable to straighten all the way as one of the bruises pulled his spine forward slightly. You kept your arms around him, your body pressed tightly to his as you felt his heartbeat pick up under your palm.

Closing your eyes, you reached out through the Force, offering him some of your light to mend his darkness, the battered and broken skin along his sides mending back to a warm shade of health.

His pulse rose even more under your fingers, and he sighed in frustration. “Mesh’la….”

“What’s one more time,” you mumbled into his shoulder blade, tucking your face into his spine whether to hide away or simply because it made you feel safer, you didn’t know. “I don’t like seeing you hurt, Din. I’m not going to break from healing the ones I love.” You turned so just your forehead was resting against his back. “At least I don’t think.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

Din only nodded after a moment. He understood. He didn’t like it, but he understood. Another sigh passed his lips as he brought one hand up to pat yours over his heart lightly, pulling it up to kiss your palm before placing it back on his chest. Then he put his hand back on the wall in front of him. Almost like a reflex. You were there, so he had to reach out and touch you somehow. It made the corner of your mouth quirk up if only for a second before it fell once again.

A long moment of silence stretched between you two until you finally ventured again, “You never explained. How? What is it that changes in me?”

Din kept staring at the wall in front of him, his voice echoing off the shower stall when he finally spoke again, but barely loud enough to be heard over the quiet drone of the running water.

“Sometimes…. Sometimes there’s a darkness to you. I don’t think you’re aware of it, it’s definitely not a conscious decision, but this…. Thing takes over, and your eyes…. They look cold.”

“When?” Your hands moved back to his rib cage. “When was the last time you saw it?”

“With Gideon. At first I thought it was just some sort of fierce protectiveness. But when you held your saber at his throat, I could feel it.” His hands came up over yours and squeezed softly, pulling them back around his chest to place them over his heart again. “The room shifted. You went somewhere dark.”

Resting your forehead against his shoulder blade, you took a deep, shuddering breath, before bringing your mouth to simply rest against his skin. Breathing as slowly as you could through your nose, your eyes screwed tightly shut, you focused on the things around you.

The smell of the soap from the room. The smell that was undeniably him that no amount of scrubbing could remove. The heat from the water. The warmth of his hold on your hands. The comfort of his body pressed into yours.

“Mesh’la?” He asked quietly after a moment, gently squeezing your hands still held in his.

“I’m fine,” you whispered. “That’s…. It’s…. I’m not….” Your breath caught in your throat, another sharp inhale coming to a sudden stop making your eyes screw even more tightly shut. You couldn’t tell if it was from the shower or if you were crying, but droplets were cascading down your cheeks.

Din wasted no time, turning in your hold and gently pressing you into the wall, his forehead resting against yours as your spine sealed against the cold tile, making you gasp.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed on a broken whisper.

“That’s not-”

“No, it is,” you cut him off, opening your eyes to stare blankly forward, catching a glimpse of his facial hair but not daring to look any higher. Not brave enough to see what you’d find there. “It means I am not in as much control as I thought. And…. That’s not safe. For any of us. I need to do better.”

“Then I’ll help you,” Din mumbled, leaning further into you, his arms circling around your waist to pull you tighter as he simultaneously pressed you further into the cold tile wall. It was a sharp contrast, his warm skin at your front, the cold wall at your back, and somewhere in the middle the warm water of the shower melding it all together in a sea of steam. It was hard to tell where he ended and you began. Every bit of him a part of every bit of you. “We both will.”

“No, Din. No.” You shook your head, rocking it back and forth against the wall, only stopping when Din pressed his forehead more firmly into yours. Swallowing roughly, you let your eyes close tightly once again. “That’s not…. It’s not the kid’s place. Or yours.” Swallowing again to try and keep the emotions down and away from your steadily wobbling voice, you sniffled before going on. “This is something I need to do on my own.”

“Dank farrik, mesh’la!” Din hissed, one hand leaving your waist to hit the wall beside your head in frustration, making you jump. You shushed him, shaking your head slightly as he mumbled gentle apologies, his hand coming back to snake around your waist where it belonged. “Don’t you see? That’s why this is a problem!”

Opening your eyes, you still hadn’t quite found the strength to look up, but you did it anyway, deciding you’d rather just see whatever was waiting for you and face it straight on than let it torment you in the back of your mind from quiet shadows.

Warm brown eyes were waiting for you, relief washing over them as they crinkled at the sides from the tentative smile crawling up his face.

No judgment, no disappointment, no fear, only something that resembled hope as they traced the lines of your face in search of something you weren’t quite sure.

“That’s why,” he reiterated, arms squeezing you gently for emphasis. “You’ve been trying to do all of this alone, and you can’t.”

Your eyes fell down to his chest and you sighed, pulling your head away from his and leaning away slightly. “Din-”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m saying it can’t.” Lifting your eyes back up to his, you found him tilting his head slightly to try and catch your gaze again. He smirked slightly when he did. “This is something that’s meant to be shared. From what I’ve seen, Jedi aren’t solitary creatures. At least they aren’t supposed to be. The ones that are left have adapted after years of training.”

You couldn’t help the grin that was working its way up your face. “A Mandalorian and a Jedi…. What could go wrong?”

“You're forgetting the fifty year old Jedi baby.”

“Ah yes, and the fifty year old Jedi baby,” you chuckled.

“And the answer is, I’m sure, absolutely everything.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as he reached for the shampoo. “But until then, we’re still covered in bioluminescent blood, so….” Squeezing some of the liquid onto his palm, he pulled your hand from where it rested on his waist to in between you and put some in your waiting palm as well. “….for now, I’ll help you if you’ll help me?”

You hummed in amusement. “Oh, poor Mandalorian. I think I finally found the one thing your armor can’t do.”

“Nah.” He shook his head, scrunching his face up. “I’m sure I could find a way to figure it out. It’s just….” He groaned as your fingers started to massage the shampoo into his damp hair, making your grin grow.

“It’s just….” You repeated, teasingly.

“You do it so much better,” he finished on a sigh, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder with a thump, giving you easier access to continue working it into his curls.

“What about me? I thought this was a you help me if I help you thing? You even have shampoo in your ha-” You’re cut short when his hand comes up and plops the glob of soap on your hair, making your jaw drop.

“I’ll do it after. There’s a whole bottle. Just…. Please?” He was almost whining by the end, leaning further into you. His head turned so his lips were pressed into the crook of your neck. “Please, please, please….”

Suddenly you felt him drifting, the scruff of his facial hair prickling the skin near your clavicle as he chased it with soft kisses. Working his way across toward your other shoulder, your fingers stalled in his hair as you sighed.

“If you keep doing that, I’m not gonna be able to keep going.”

Din hummed into the crook of your neck, the vibrations tickling the skin as he began his climb upward toward your ear. His words were mumbled into your skin, causing goosebumps to spring up all over despite the still hot water. “Won’t be able to keep doing what?”

“This,” you said through gritted teeth, tugging on his hair to pull him away from your neck and send him a playful glare.

Din smirked as he leaned further back into the spray of the shower to rinse the suds from his hair, shaking his head and tossing droplets everywhere before he was back at your side. You could feel his lips turning up into a smile as they brushed against the shell of your ear, his nose tucked into your hair. “Then don’t.”

His unmodulated voice was something you’d never quite get used to, no matter what you told yourself, particularly so close to you and so quiet.

“Turn around,” he murmured, his hands smoothing down your sides to land on your hips. Gently applying pressure to reorient you with your back to him, he nudged you under the spray of the shower.

“This better be the part when you wash my hair, Tin Can,” you teased playfully.

“We’re getting there,” he rumbled quietly. “But first….” His hands left your hips, his body following after them, and despite the warmth of the water, you found yourself already missing the heat that always radiated off of him in waves.

You began to realize all the times you leaned into his quiet touches, while you told yourself it was just to appease him, to speak his language, it was every bit for yourself as well. It made you feel safe. Every time his arms silently wound around you, he lingered at your back, hovered at your side, or you felt his eyes quietly watching from across the room…. It was the safety you’d never felt anywhere else that you craved.

The warmth that encased you, that trailed over your skin with just a look, a brush of a hand in passing. You craved it. He was your addiction. And you were longing for a hit.

Taking a step back toward him in search of his warmth, you only made it half a stride before bumping into him, both of you chuckling as his hands came out to steady you on your upper arms.

“Can I help you?” He drawled.

“Uh,” you eloquently said, staring straight forward as you searched for the words, any words. “Was just looking for the soap.”

Din chuckled knowingly. “I’ve got it, mesh’la.” He dropped his chin down to rest on your shoulder. “But you knew that.”

Tilting your head back to look down your nose at the wall of the shower in front of you, you huffed. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

The Mandalorian turned his face down into your skin, circling his arms around your waist to hold you close. As he peppered gentle kisses across your left shoulder blade, he offered a compromise between each one. “Well. You know…. The kid’s gonna wake up soon. And I already used the soap. Haven’t rinsed it off yet. We could…. Share.”

The slide of his skin against yours sent a shiver down your spine, his huff of amusement next to your ear making you grin.

“We should do this more often.”

You groaned as his fingers began to massage shampoo into your hair.

“You won’t hear me complaining,” his voice was soft, tucked into your neck as he massaged the soap into your roots.

“That means getting a room more often,” you mused, leaning further back into him, your grin of amusement growing at his grumble of annoyance. “Less bumbling around the Crest, camping on backwater planets, hiding out on-”

“If I told you,” he cut in, his voice conspiratorial, “that I know all the good spots-”

“Spots?”

He pinched your hip before continuing pointedly. “Yes, all the spots, on all the backwater planets, as you so nicely called them. Some beautiful waterfalls…. Hot springs…. They’re no dingy Daiyu room shower, but-”

You turned in his grip, arms coming up around his neck as you leaned your forehead against his. “They sound wonderful, Din.”

He grinned. “Then it’s settled. Next place we stop, I’ll take you on a tour of all my favorite places.” He leaned forward, brushing his nose against yours. “Well, they used to be my favorite. Now I have a new one.”

Slowly rolling up onto the balls of your feet, cinching your arms around him tighter, you huffed out a quiet laugh. “Oh yeah? And where’s that?”

The sneaky smile turning up his face continued to grow as he leaned closer to you, his lips ghosting over yours as he whispered, “I’ll just let you take a wild guess,” before they pressed firmly to yours.

Xxx

Tags to come!

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kaysfanficcorner · 2 months ago

Text

Out of this World Chapter 13: You Remind Me of the Babe

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Earthling Reader/OC

Summary: The Mandalorian and the Earthling take the child to the forest planet of Corvus in search of Bo-Katan's Jedi ally.

Author's Note: Holy moly. This chapter was a DOOZY. It took me over a month but this thing finally made itself clear to me. When I tell you, dear reader, that there were SO MANY REWRITES. So many edits. So many conversations with my best friend. April 2025 was consumed by this chapter. Any moment to myself was spent thinking about it. This chapter is so very important to me, and so integral to this story. This one is a bit of an emotional roller coaster, and it may be the longest chapter of this story to date. Like all the chapters thus far I poured my heart and soul into it, but this one is special. I certainly wasn't going to post it until I was truly happy with the final draft, but now that I am happy with it I am also so thrilled to share it with you. I hope that you enjoy and I hope that the blood sweat and tears that went into this make for some good fanfic reading.

Mando'a: Di’kut - idiot, useless individual, waste of space Di'kutla - useless, worthless, stupid adika - little one cyar'ika - darling cyare - beloved ner - my verd - warrior ratiin - always ner burc'ya - my friend ni kar'taylir darasuum - I will know you forever (I love you)

Warnings: Cursing, violence, death, major character has a panic attack, vague conversation about religion, bastardization of canon events, I take some... liberties with the Force, fluff, lots of feelings from everyone, a reference to Labyrinth if you squint. I know that Labyrinth can't exist without Star Wars, but I wanted to use it anyway regardless of the fact that Earthling's Earth has no Star Wars... just go with it.

As always, strictly 18+, minors DNI

AO3

*****

The road to Corvus proves to be long and depressing, taking a few of the bleakest weeks you've experienced on the Razor Crest thus far. Moving about the ship feels completely miserable and it’s taking everything you’ve got to hold yourself together for the sake of your loved ones. But with each day that passes as your mobile home stretches across hyperspace, your ability to do so feels more waning than the last. Even that one spell when you and Din had been quietly mad at one another for several days felt like a nice family road trip compared to this. Instead of being mad at each other, however, this time the two of you are just equally trudging though the murkiness of one another's misery.

You haven't been sleeping well. When you do manage to get some rest it's back to being without your cosmic companion squished against you, which is likely contributing to the problem in the first place. Din's simply been too antsy to be cramped up in that tiny sleeping cabin with anyone besides himself, and he's told you as much multiple times. In your bones you know that when he does try, he can’t sleep either. He hasn’t complained about it outright, but the sound of his restlessness is obvious in the constant weariness which has chosen to settle in his voice as of late. It sounds as if everything in him has been worn so thin that he’s working with only useless shreds of himself. You can tell that he tries his best to sound normal in front of the kid, but when it’s just the two of you speaking you hear the torment in your love’s sullen tones.

“I can't relax enough to fall into real sleep,” he’ll respond in that same dejected manner when you ask him to join you in bed, “I fear I will just keep you awake with my constant fidgeting. It feels like I can't breathe in there.”

At this point you've ceased pestering him about coming to bed all together. The last few times the urge has bubbled up your throat you’ve shoved it back down, tired of that little pang of disappointment you feel each time he refuses. You're desperately missing the feeling of his strong body snugly flush with yours, wanting your own sense of comfort and security back at such a tough time like this.

Din does, however, make himself comfortable on the floor just outside the cot every night, listening as you read The Ruins of the Exiled to the kid. He hasn't missed a bedtime yet. It's the one genuinely nice and lighthearted part of the day for either of you. You'll be curled up in that poor excuse for a bed with the child in your lap, and your Mandalorian will be at the mouth with a bare hand reaching in to stroke your leg or caress your foot. It's comforting for you to have that touch from him in those moments. He's clearly using it as a way to communicate to you that he is trying his best to be present even if it's incredibly difficult for him to articulate that right now. Until this miserable trip is over and done with, it's the best you can hope to get from him.

It's after one of these reading sessions when you find yourself curled up in the cot thinking about possible outcomes for the future. Above you the child sleeps soundly in his hammock. Looking around the dimly lit sleeping cabin and trying to imagine how empty it will feel without the little one’s snores dangling over you, a sharp sting to your heart causes that thought to quickly dissipate. Instead, in an attempt to pull yourself from the pit of despair’s tempting edge, the image in your mind is replaced with a wildly contrasting scene.

One of a child’s bedroom, decorated and filled with things only a child could want. The warmth of a real home, not a nook on a cold spaceship. Much as you love the Razor Crest, you're aware that it cannot sustain a full life.

That image warms you for a moment, until everything around you is unexpectedly in disarray. Somewhere in the midst of all this contemplating the ship has suddenly dropped from hyperspace. Without warning, the world as you know it is violently lurching forward. With a frightful little squeal the kid comes falling out of his hammock and into your arms, and frightful noise of your own escapes your throat as the both of you tumble out of the cot all together. The pain in your right ass cheek feels like it's going to bruise from the way you land, but thankfully the kid is unscathed as you cradle protectively against your chest.

“Ugh, what the hell was that?” You ask yourself curiously before holding the child out to examine him, fingers brushing his forehead gently after he shakes his ears out like a dog drying its wet fur. “You okay, sweetie?”

The kid blinks up at you a few times, nodding and giving the 'thumbs up' gesture you've recently been teaching him for yes and no responses. Your heart soars a little at the sight of his two little fingers curling into a fist, noting that it's the first time he's flashed his 'thumb' without your prompting.

“What about our Mandalorian, I wonder?” A frown creases your facial features, asking the child this rhetorical question with worry in your tone. Then you move to get up, rushing over to the ladder. With your free hand cupped to the side of your mouth, you're calling up, “Din?! Is everything alright?!”

When an answer does not immediately follow you look down at the kid with even more worry knitting your brow. “What do you think that was all about, buddy?”

The kid coos and shrugs in response. You make quick but careful work of climbing up just enough to shove the kid onto the ground up there so that you may safely climb the rest of the rungs yourself. Once on the Crest's second floor you're scooping the child into your arms again, pressing the button for the cockpit door to make your way inside.

Din is in his seat facing towards you but he does not look up when the door opens. He's hunched forward, elbows balanced on his plated thighs. The silver of his beskar helmet is encased with the brown leather of his gloves, the orange tips of his splayed fingers pressing into the visor and forehead.

You hear him cursing in Mando'a under his shallow breath. Barely audible, the hiss of the modulator every few words is giving him away more than anything. The stars sit eerily still behind him. It dawns on you then that the ship has not only dropped out of hyperspace but is also completely sedentary.

“Din? What the hell happened to the ship? Are we okay?”

Din doesn't move, nor does he answer you. The string of Mando'a curses and phrases you don't understand continues to spew from his hidden mouth, the very sound of it sending jolts of anxiety through you. He's really starting to freak you out, having never acted like this before. You’ve seen him on edge plenty of times but this feels worryingly different. This is fucking unnerving . Moisture begins to spread through your palms, and the knot in your belly is dangerously close to becoming a deep pit.

Voice wavering, you ask him, “More importantly, are you okay, ner verd? ” Using the pet name you’ve adopted for him recently, you're attempting to pull him from what seems to you like some new form of panic attack.

Din has his special, lovely names for you which you cherish so much. So naturally you'd been wanting something personal to call him in return. Going through most of the ones common on Earth, none of those ever felt right to you. It seems wrong to call a Mandalorian 'honey' or 'baby'. Just doesn't sit well on your tongue. Then one day when you were practicing Mando'a the word for warrior came up. That's when the light-bulb appeared above your head. Din Djarin is your warrior. What could be more fitting than calling him just that in the tongue of his people? Laying half naked with him on the cockpit floor one night, you let the name slip from your tongue and it stuck the landing, so ner verd he quickly became.

Mindlessly, you're reaching for your warrior now, the gesture innocent enough, without considering his possible sensitivity around personal space at a time like this. It's a force of habit to touch him when he's feeling emotional, as he usually welcomes the physical attention. Your once touch starved lover usually acts as if he needs to feel the touch of your flesh against his more than he needs food or water.

Which is why you truly don’t expect Din's entire body to react to your oncoming fingers, jerking back against the dark red leather of the pilot's seat as he hisses, “ Don't touch me! ” He says it so sharply, almost as if he thinks that when you touch him one or both of you will burst into flame. Clutching the armrests of his seat, he shakes his helmeted head fiercely back and forth. “I am not worthy of that name. I am not worthy of anything . Di’kut! Di’kut! Di’kut! Ni di’kutla!”

The child's ears cast downwards and he makes a fluttering little noise of distress. You're flinching backwards too, putting a decent amount of distance between Din and the two of you. Moving over to the kid’s seat, you gently sit the foundling down with a kiss to the top of his head before turning back to face Din.

Hearing him say those things about himself, to call himself something like an idiot or a worthless waste of space in Mando’a, is completely discombobulating.

It feels like you’re not even looking at the man you consider to be your warrior right now. He looks like someone else, body moving in frantic ways so alien that your heart fills to the brim with fear at the sight of it. This is the man you rely on, the man who both protects you and teaches you to protect yourself. The man who makes you laugh without even trying and makes you cum at the drop of a hat. The man you’re certain you want to spend the rest of your life with. Face or no face. Green Bean or no Green Bean. Up until this moment you were so fucking sure that Din Djarin is it for you. Is that surety faltering?

No, certainly not. This may be the most he’s ever freaked you out, but that doesn't change the fact that you’d be lost without him. The only sure thing you see when you attempt to glimpse far enough in the future for your hair to be gray and your skin to have sagged is a beskar helmet by your side and a tan, wrinkled hand tangled in yours.

With a steadying breath, you remind yourself that Din Djarin is it for you. He’s the one and only. The person you intend to be with for as long as humanly possible. Din’s helped you through so many emotional ups and downs since the two of you met, and perhaps there have been times that he was just as frightened as you are now. Lord knows he’s seen you in similar states of distress.

Normally he’s the one who’s level headed, or has everything figured out. On the surface at least. It’s only really apparent to you at this moment that perhaps your warrior has only had things half figured out. He’s a natural leader, but that doesn’t mean he’s always in the headspace to lead.

Feeling determined to show him the same amount of trust and respect he usually displays for you, some of that fearful urge to flee gets pushed to the side.

Stepping forward slightly, careful not to get too close, you finally say to him, “Whatever happened to the ship sure scared the hell out of Green Bean and I. We got thrown out of the cot.”

His head finally snaps up at that, his voice tenderly asking, “Are either of you hurt?” The worry in his tone is so severe, causing your heart to surge with worry for him.

“No, we're fine. Shaken up if anything,” you reassure him evenly, “It’s you I’m concerned for.” Then your brow furrows, disquiet riding your tone, “Din, please talk to me. What's going on? Are we in danger or not?”

“We're not in danger. I-I dropped us from hyperspace on purpose,” he responds, visor clearly avoiding your gaze as he hesitates.

Springing from a furrowed position up towards your hairline, your brow continues to move along with your emotions. This time there's a surprised tone riding your voice, “I thought we still had like seven hours to Corvus?”

“We do. I... I don't know what came over me. I was sitting up here thinking about everything. Thinking about him ,” Din gestures towards the kid, and you notice his hand is trembling. Then he adds, “And then all the sudden hyperspace sounded so damn loud. Like a sharp painful dinging, as if the natural volume of the world increased out of nowhere. The noise of it made my chest hurt and my skin crawl. I needed it to stop. Needed everything to stop.”

“So you stopped the ship cause you needed everything to stop?” you ask tentatively.

He nods, “Still do. Even my own voice sounds like it's screaming at me right now. Yours too, and those noises the kid's making. Shit. It hurts . I've never felt this before.”

“You’re very overwhelmed. Sounds like an anxiety attack,” you say quietly, “and a bad one at that.”

“I don’t know about that, but I do know that I am not fit to carry on. I can’t do this anymore, cyar’ika.” After that his breathing becomes shallow again and he barely sounds like himself as he frantically mutters, “ I can't do this. I am a poor example of a Mandalorian. My beskar should be melted down and donated to those in need. Those with more honor than myself.”

Your chest begins to seize up a little with a mini anxiety attack of your own, your already weakened sense of security beginning to crumble under the weight of this sudden shift in your surroundings. “Din, you’re scaring the shit out of me right now. You don’t sound like the man I know under that beskar. Nothing’s more terrifying to me than seeing you like this.”

“I don’t know who the man under this beskar is anymore. Maybe I never knew.” The way his head tilts up to look at you as he says that, shoulders as slumped as they ever have been, makes you feel both beaten down and desperate to get this situation under control.

“Listen to me,” with your hands out in defense, you murmur, “I'm not gonna touch you. Promise. Do you want me to go back downstairs and leave you alone for a little bit?”

With a sharp intake of breath he quickly shakes his silver head, “ No. I do not wish to be alone. I... I need you,” he says your name, the cadence of it strained.

Nodding, you ask, “Can I sit on the floor here in front of you, then?”

“Yes.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“No.”

“Okay. I'm here for you. I’m freaked out and I’m worried about you but I’m here . I’m not going anywhere unless one of us needs space.”

“I'm sorry for snapping at you like that. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

Moving slowly so as not to upset him, you lower down and cross your legs in front of you, sitting with your back straight and your hands on your knees much like in yoga. Looking up at him, you gently pat the area on the dark metal ground in front of you, beckoning him down to your level. You’re determined to get your guy to come back to you, even if for but a moment.

Then your face muscles strain as you try to send him an understanding smile, hoping he can read your expression and feel safe as you address his apology, “I'm not worried about that right now but thank you for apologizing. I know you didn't mean it. Do you think you can try breathing with me to get your rhythm back to normal? That shallow breathing you're doing is actually making the anxiety worse. I learned about this in therapy. Your thinking brain needs all the oxygen it can get right now. One trick to snap out of it is to do some breathing exercises to relax your nervous system. The idea is to make your brain realize you're safe in order to stop using the fight or flight response. I’m anxious too, and I think we need to calm down enough to really talk.”

Wordlessly and unceremoniously, Din slides forward from the pilot's seat and lands with a dense thud on the floor, moving to get into the same seated position as you. After a moment his head tilts up so his visor can finally meet your eyes.

Slowly, in and out through your nose, you take a few deep breaths and he audibly begins to mimic you. Gently, you explain, “What I want you to do is inhale for a count of four, hold it in for a count of four, exhale for a count of four, and then hold for another count of four. Then you do it all over again. We will do this for as long as you need to, but after a few rounds your body should start to relax. Feel free to close your eyes.”

Din nods, and for the first time since the day you first met him, his stiff and stoic beskar face suddenly has you completely thrown off your game. At an emotionally critical moment like this, seeing his real facial expression would help in so many ways. Without it you're not sure if you know how to gauge when the anxiety attack is ebbing away or how bad he truly is feeling. You want to feel certain that it's pretty fucking bad, though you're not sure if trusting your intuition is enough in this situation. You've become fluent in the body language of Din Djarin but, as you told him, you've never seen him like this before. These are uncharted waters, and it would certainly be a bit of a life raft to be able to look at him right now.

But would actually seeing his anguish truly help? Or would that just unnerve you even more? Would seeing real pain in those mythical brown eyes you try to imagine from time to time break your heart in a brand new way? Is your heart strong enough to withstand what something like that might look like?

Suddenly the barrier of beskar between the two of you feels like a brick wall, and you’re scared shitless when you look at him.

Ignoring yourself, the very notion of that feeling like a betrayal, you begin breathing with the box technique and he soon follows along fairly in tandem. Eyes slipping closed, your own body begins to relax into the feeling of it despite this being the most unrelaxed you think you could possibly feel.

After about eight or so rounds, Din's voice breaks through the uneasy silence which envelopes the cockpit, “That helped. Thank you. I feel a little more like myself now. Embarrassed, perhaps, but me again.”

Prying your eyes open, you see his body in a more relaxed position with his helmet's visor fixed right on you. You’re still feeling unnerved when you look at him, but you try your best to maintain the offered ‘eye contact’. “You're welcome. You sound a little more like yourself, but I’m still very worried about you right now, Din. I know you're not okay.”

He chuckles, the eerie sound of it devoid of any humor, “No, I am very much not.” Then his head shifts as his gaze moves to where the kid sits off to the side, and suddenly the low rumble below his chest plate is flooded with genuine humorous energy. “Look at our foundling, cyar'ika.”

Din’s sudden shift in mood has you on edge, hating the feeling of him reminding you of your past. One minute this to one minute that is what your home felt like growing up. Feeling that with Din now makes your heart sink a little, but logically you understand that though this may not be normal behavior for Din Djarin it is normal behavior for any human being going through something substantial.

Calming yourself with that knowledge, your gaze follows his. Head turning to see the child sitting crisscrossed just like you and Din, you truly cannot fight the little smile tugging at your mouth. The kid looks so mellow, big eyelids closed with his little hands at his knees as his ears lay in a relaxed position. From the looks of it he's fallen into a deep meditation, which isn't something new for him. He does it from time to time, and you’ve always assumed it has something to do with his powers.

Chuckling along with your cosmic companion, you momentarily gush, “God, he's so cute. He's the cutest kid in the whole universe. Not a single human baby holds a candle to our little guy.”

Din makes a choked noise, his visor still fixed upon the child. “I love him,” he says your name after this statement, the cadence of it so desperate as it rides the saddened tone of his voice. Then the kid's eyes pry open and he looks right at Din, who says directly to the child, “Maker forgive me. I love you so much, pal.”

Tears well in your eyes at that, unable to hold back the little quiver of your lip. “I know you do. I could see how much you love him the moment I met you both on Nevarro. I mean, I called you his dad that evening because it just always felt true. You love him as you would a child of your own, and that's obvious to just about everybody you meet.”

Din responds with a shaky voice, looking back at you, “He's felt like my child from the moment I first laid eyes on him. I can't explain it. That pram opened and I just felt connected to him for some reason. I tried to fight that feeling off, explain it away. Tried to tell myself the kid was not my problem just because I was the one who found him. But I think we both know how good I am at ignoring my feelings,” he says this last part sarcastically, with another humorless chuckle.

The self-deprecating way he says that causes you to frown, groaning a little in frustration. “I’m so tired of watching you beat yourself up over loving someone. Have you ever stopped to think that trying to ignore these feelings doesn't work because it's not natural to push it all away? I understand why you were so cautious of getting emotions too wrapped up in this, but I think that ship sailed a long time ago. Long before I came along.”

Silver pauldrons drooping as his shoulders slump, Din sighs, “I suppose you're right.”

A moment of silence falls between you and then you speak up again, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, love,” he replies.

Eyes narrowing slightly, you ask, “What was the plan for after you dropped out of hyperspace?”

He looks away, “I thought about changing our trajectory to somewhere else all together.”

With a surprised expression, you’re aware that you sound a little sarcastic, “Did you have a place in mind for this grand escape?”

“I don’t know. I do not know what I was thinking,” Din replies, then looks back at you for a long moment as he ‘eyes’ you up and down. “I am surprised that you're not encouraging me to do so anyway, though.”

With a raised eyebrow, you shoot him a very irritated look. “As the one who is strongly against this little trip to Corvus I do understand why you would say that, but I'm kind of offended that you assume I'd so readily encourage you to go against your creed.”

Din sighs, “I think a part of me is hoping you will convince me to.”

Now both of your eyebrows raise at that, a small amount of anger rising up your throat to meet your words. “ Wow . Is this why you called yourself a poor example of a Mandalorian?”

His head hangs, “Yes. I feel ashamed to wear this beskar for even thinking about going against the creed, so perhaps deep down the idea of you making that choice for me feels alluring.”

With a deep and pissed off frown, you find yourself doing one of the rarest things you’ve ever done to Din Djarin. You are scowling at the man, tongue razor sharp, “Are you fucking serious , Din? Do you know how fucking unfair that is? Making the choice for you is probably the craziest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I am not proud of the impulse,” he says defensively.

“So?" you bite back, "It still makes me feel so frustrated with you! I thought that you were braver than that, Din Djarin. My warrior, ner verd , is not a coward. Not the Mandalorian I know.”

“What is it that you mean to imply?” Din’s own ice cold frustration is now lacing his tone, replacing the hopelessness that had been there a moment ago.

“ I’m not implying anything. I’m just angry at you for putting that kind of weight on me when you know very damn well that I would have stopped this wild goose chase months ago given the chance. If I could have things my why we would have never left Nevarro after that beautiful week we spent together. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear you imply that you would just stop if I really tried to convince you? To imply that it would have been so easy this whole time? It feels like a betrayal of the trust I’ve extended to you when I have actively put your feelings about this above my own for months.”

Din’s voice waivers, anger still riding the tone of it despite the little falter you hear, “I never asked you to put my feelings above your own.”

Throwing your hands up in frustration, you're trying not to yell at him even though you want to. “You didn’t have to, dammit! I did that because I care about you. It’s wrong of you to hope I will suddenly become the selfish one so that you don’t have to be. I would never encourage you to make a decision that I think you would ultimately regret. If I acted on those feelings I would be acting against you .” As you pronounce that final syllable, the weight of it causes your eyes to mist over.

He sighs heavily, some of the tenseness ebbing away, “I can see that what I said was out of line. For that I apologize. But it’s how I feel, cyar’ika. It’s how I’ve been feeling for days.”

With a heavy sigh of your own, you feel your nerves relax slightly. You’re upset, but fundamentally it's with this situation more than it is with him. Aside from snipping, which you’re also entirely guilty of when in distress, he hasn’t truly committed any wrongs against you.

“I get that. I really do,” you eventually reply, “I was just taken aback. Even if I thought that begging you was an option, I would not humiliate myself by acting so childish about this. A person who acts on emotional impulses like that isn’t fit to be caring for a kid in the first place. I’m not going to say I feel like I can be a mother if I’m not actually mature enough to be one.”

Din sounds like he’s starting to truly feel embarrassed, "I shouldn’t have placed that pressure on you. I do not wish to disobey the creed, tempting as it may feel. It was a moment of weakness and I am not proud of it.”

Moving so that your legs are spread, you gesture for him to come sit so that you can hold him. Din scoots over, and the mass of him with all of his armor settles in between your knees before he's leaning back into you. He's laying with most of his body across the floor, but his upper back is against your stomach and his helmet rests against your breasts. With your arms coming to circle around his broad shoulders and hands resting on his chest plate, you lean in to place your right cheek against the cool beskar.

“Din Djarin, you do know that your dedication to your creed is one of the many reasons I admire you, right?”

“You've made comments as to that, yes,” he agrees, “but I still do not fully understand why.”

Settling in, you reply, “I wasn’t religious on Earth. My family tried to force their beliefs onto me as a kid but I never believed in their false values. You see, their religion’s message claims to be all about love thy neighbor and good will towards others, but then a lot of the people meant to be spreading these values are filled with so much hate. People like my grandmother, who claim to uphold their principles with grace and yet treat those who do not meet their expectations with a foul ugliness. You are the complete opposite of that to me. Even when you've had to kill because the nature of this lifestyle requires you to do so, I've never sensed real hatred or ugliness in you or your ideals. Ideals that, in all honesty, certainly line up very closely with my own. Loyalty, honor, family. For you, the creed is just about who you are as an individual, and if you're upholding your own values or not. You're not concerned with others' values unless it's someone close to you, and even then I don't mean that you're pushy about it. I just mean you're careful about who you let in.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement, “that observation of me is sound.”

Hugging him tightly, your words flow freely, “The creed is so fascinating to me. Firstly, because it has nothing to do with worshiping a deity. Secondly, because you have never once tried to force anything you believe onto me. Thirdly, because watching you stay true to yourself even through all of this heartache has been both hard and beautiful. I wish you could see yourself from my perspective. You're a beautiful person, Din. You're strong, devoted, fucking hilarious, and the best partner I could ask for. I’ve never known anyone like you, and I mean that in the best way.”

“I appreciate that,” Din says quietly, “I appreciate everything you have to say.”

You're kissing the back of his helmeted head, breath from your nostrils fogging the cool surface as little warm lip marks pepper beskar. “You owe it to yourself, to the Mandalorian I know you are, to see this mission through to the end. I've come this far with you. I will go with you wherever we must go next. But we've gotten way too close to turn around now. Green Bean deserves to make his choice and you deserve to maintain your sense of honor. It breaks my heart every second of the day, but we have to carry on. We have to see this through as a family, even if we can’t be a permanent one.”

Din brings your hand up and presses it to where his lips are beneath the beskar, a kissing noise coming from within its confines as your flesh meets the cool glass-like material of the visor’s bottom half. “We will always be a family, even if we are not all together. Thank you for keeping me steady,” he says.

“Ratiin, ner burc'ya. Ni kar'taylir darasuum.”

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum. I fear I would be lost without you if I had to do this by myself.”

The two of you lay there for a long moment but when the kid rustles around and makes a chirping noise, you both begin to stir. Din gets up to his feet and offers you a hand. He uses it to help you up from the ground, pulling you into him for a proper hug once you're on your feet.

“I was waiting for the right occasion to give you something,” you say up to him cryptically, “and I think right now is the right occasion.”

“Mm?” Din hums curiously, tone much lighter than it had been when you first entered the cockpit.

Detaching yourself from Din, you move to lift up the child from his seat and dump him into Din's arms. Turning on your heel, you leave to climb back down to the first floor of the ship. “Stay up here for a sec,” you're calling after him as you run off through the open door.

*****

“You know what this is about, buddy?” Din asks the child in his arms, looking down into his large brown eyes. That fearful ache inside him from before is very much still present, just under control for the time being. He feels so grateful for your presence in his life right now, unsure of how he would be handling what just happened on his own. He's certainly felt anxiety before, but this ‘attack’ as you called it was frighteningly new for him. And an attack is very much how he would describe it if he had to. It came at him both from nowhere and everywhere, surrounding him. Besting him instantly.

It may be his most harrowing battle to date.

The child happily coos, and Din can't help but chuckle in spite of the heaviness within his chest, “Of course you do, don't you?” Brow furrowing beneath the beskar, Din adds, “I meant what I said, adika. I love you very much. It was wrong of me to consider abandoning this mission for selfish reasons. She's right, you deserve to choose your own fate.”

The kid nods, babbling his private little language up to Din as he makes a face Din cannot quite distinguish. The Mandalorian's heart both swells and breaks simultaneously.

Suddenly you’re rushing back into the cockpit looking delighted, and his curiosity is even more piqued. Din wasn’t sure what he’d expected when you’d run off, but he certainly wasn’t expecting you to place a tiny holoprojector into his gloved hand.

“What is this?” He asks curiously, turning the little black cube over a few times before looking at you. The thing seems like a very basic version of the same tech he's used in the past.

“A holoprojector,” you answer with excitement guiding your every movement, bouncing on the balls of your feet one foot at a time.

“I know that,” Din replies with a hidden smile, “I meant to ask what's on it. Usually these are round and a little bigger. Meant for sending and receiving images. I take it this thing lacks transmission capabilities and doesn't have a lot of space for much?”

“Just enough space for one hologram,” you agree, grabbing the device to turn it on before giving it back to him. “I bought this the same day I bought the reader pad. The kid and I wanted to give you a gift. You do so much for us. I thought it would be nice to show our appreciation. Some shop was offering what I, a mere Earthling, would describe as a photo shoot and this thing for a decent enough price. Green Bean and I love you so much, Din. No matter what happens on Corvus, we'd like you to always have a reminder of that to keep with you.”

Din's heart flutters when a grainy three-dimensional blue image of you posing with the child in your arms comes to life in his palm. The image is from the waist up. You look radiantly beautiful, giving your best smile. Your planet necklace from Smuggler's Moon is on display at the base of your throat, just above the loose round shirt collar. The kid looks so happy, dark eyes shining along with his wide grin and his ears pointed upwards. Both of your heads are titled in towards one another.

Chest swelling so greatly that he fears the chest plate of his armor may crack, Din feels himself swaying a little from the intensity of it. The kid squirms around in Din's grasp so that he's standing on Din's inner forearm, tiny arms splaying out as he puts all of his weight into gripping Din's upper chest in a big hug.

Cursing the fact that he's covered in so much beskar he cannot feel the pressure of the tiny foundling's embrace, Din sucks in a sharp breath. Almost knowingly, you move forward to gently take the holoprojector from him. At that moment Din has both arms around the child and he's tilting the helmet down to graze the foundling's wrinkled green head, silent tears flowing freely from his weary brown eyes.

*****

Corvus is gross. That's really the only way you can put it. According to Din, this planet was once beautiful. Industrial pollution and devastation have ruined most of the forest surrounding the small city of Calodan. The air is thick with a greenish smog which you can practically taste as soon as you're off the Razor Crest. Din landed the ship outside of the city limits far enough away for some privacy from the locals, so it's a short trek through desiccated woodlands to reach Calodan’s unwelcoming looking gates.

The city itself seems like a hell hole. Din keeps the kid somewhat hidden behind his cloak, the child riding in the satchel at Din's hip so you can both be on high alert. You're armed and ready, but for what you have no idea.

Upon getting let in by some sketchy looking mercenary named Lang, you and Din make your way through a city both in despair and disrepair. Its locals seem utterly petrified of everything, including Din when he tries to approach a family outside of their home. The reaction of the father is so intense, a lump forms in your throat after that.

You see why the citizens live in fear when the Magistrate's lackeys have you and Din dragged to her ridiculously lavish garden. On the way into her domain, you pass by a group of locals being kept like animals in the most inhumane electric cages you've ever seen. It's so horrifying to watch that you have to look away, and you can tell that the kid is equally disturbed at Din's hip. You would have preferred for him not to have seen that.

Once inside the obscenely contrast garden, you quickly realize that the woman Din is dealing with is pure evil. So you stay quiet and allow him to conduct his business with her. When she brings up needing help eliminating the Jedi who plagues her, your stomach drops. The vile lady brings Din a spear made of pure beskar, offering it to him as payment if he were to hunt and kill this Jedi for her.

Din wisely doesn't respond to this bargain, but leaves her unpleasant company in a way which suggests that he is going to take the job. You know Din well enough to know that he wants nothing to do with that woman, but he'd needed to get all of you out of there without making a fuss.

At the edge of the city, Lang looks down at the child on Din's hip with a curious sneer, “What is that thing anyway?”

The child glares at him and gurgles angrily.

“I keep it with me for good luck,” Din quips back, sounding both sarcastic and like he'd like to rip this obnoxious guy's head off.

You'd certainly like to do that yourself after hearing him refer to the kid as 'that thing'. The little glare the child sends up his way is definitely not lost on you, a smirk finding the corner of your mouth. Atta boy, kiddo.

As Din gestures for you to keep walking, the nasty little man shouts after your party, “You're gonna need it where you're headed!”

Trudging through the ruined wasteland of a forest, you're staying mostly quiet at Din's side while he navigates. For one thing, everything about being on this planet has you feeling miserable. Polluted, gray-green air. A woodland that must have once been beautiful is now infected by greed and capitalism. Innocent citizens being treated like meat in those awful cages. A Magistrate who clearly needs to meet her comeuppance sooner rather than later. That village is an awful feeling place and you hope to never have any reason to go back. Being there is like an exaggerated version of all the worst things about Earth.

On top of all of this, a Jedi seems to be just around the corner. Every step further into the forest feels like a step further away from your family, and that feeling has you completely cornered at the moment.

Din must notice your silence, because he looks over his shoulder at you in a gesture which you read as curious but with a splash of worry. “You're uncharacteristically quiet, love,” he observes.

“I just hate this planet,” you respond honestly, “being here is unpleasant for a multitude of reasons.”

“I relate to that senti-,” Din begins but is quickly cut off by an attack from above.

You can only watch in stunned horror as an alien woman suddenly appears out of thin air, two swords made of glowing beams of light striking directly into Din's armor. His beskar blocks the attack easily, but now a fight is abruptly breaking out between your cosmic companion and some stranger. A stranger you are willing to bet is the Jedi your party is reluctantly looking for. She's undeniably beautiful, and perhaps the most interesting alien species you've encountered thus far. Almost like a twi’lek in the sense that she has fleshy protuberances in lue of hair, but she’s also completely unique in every way.

Flamethrowers and whipchords are expertly used on her by your warrior, but the woman easily gets out of these attacks by moving her body with the same sort of ease and grace as Jupiter. The cat-like movements are certainly impressive, but worry for Din is your only concern right now.

After flipping over a branch she draws her light-swords again, and Din suddenly stops fighting with his arms raised in the air.

“Ahsoka Tano!” Din shouts with a blaster in one hand, the other hand held out in a surrendering motion. At the sound of her own name, the woman halts. Din quickly adds, “Bo-Katan sent me! We need to talk.”

The Jedi woman's gaze finally moves past Din and lands upon the child in your arms. Slowly, she moves to a normal standing position and disables her swords. It looks as if the light gets sucked up into the hilt. She then tilts her fleshy head curiously, sounding almost delighted in a way, “I hope it's about him .”

*****

“Your pacing has me on edge,” your voice quietly slices through both the ambient night-sounds of the desiccated forest and the uneasy racing thoughts of an increasingly worried Din Djarin.

Din's feet stop moving for the first time in twenty minutes, and he looks down at you apologetically. “Sorry,” he says quietly, moving to sit down beside you on the long rock you've been perched on.

“No need to be sorry,” you say, shooting what he interprets to be an apologetic look in your own way. “I just needed you to stop for a second.”

So stop he does... until his left knee starts bouncing a mile a minute. Then he feels your right hand come to press into the area of his thigh not covered by beskar. Again, this seems to do the trick of grounding him for only but a moment.

“She hasn't said a word, yet they've been at this for nearly two hours,” Din remarks. “I feel like I'm going crazy .”

“I think she’s communicating with him using the Force,” you say, eyeing him for a moment before looking back over to the Jedi and the kid with an anxious expression. “Can they do that? Is that a Jedi thing?”

Din shrugs in response, at a loss.

You shake your head, “All I know is, I feel incredibly judged whenever she looks over at us like that.”

Din follows your gaze and the scene of the two of them, faces lit by the lantern's soft orange glow with a full moon backdrop behind them, sends a shiver up his spine. Just as you said, Ahsoka looks over at the two of you briefly and Din’s blood runs a little cold. Suddenly all of this feels more real than it did a moment ago, his chest tightening.

After a few more moments of silence, Ahsoka Tano rises from her seat and gathers the child in her arms. As she begins heading back over, Din shoots up from his seat to anxiously meet them halfway. You get up and follow close behind him.

Ahsoka sits the lantern down on a small rock, followed by the kid on a slightly bigger one. She takes a seat to the kid's left and looks up at the two of you patiently.

Then she and the kid eye one another for another long moment. A small smile creases her lips and forehead, the white patterns of skin surrounding her clay-tan face altering.

Din feels desperate to know what is going on, asking, “Is he speaking? Do you... understand him?”

Ahsoka looks down at the child, tucking her hands into the pockets of her thick gray poncho. “In a way,” she says evenly. Then she looks up at Din, adding, “Grogu and I can feel each other's thoughts.”

“Grogu?” Both foster parents say this in unison. Din hears you sound just as shocked as he does.

The kid's head whips up at the two of you as little noises erupt from his tiny mouth, big dark eyes crinkling happily.

“Yes,” the Jedi responds, “That is his name.”

Din feels the name out along his tongue once again, a warmth spreading through him as he pronounces the two syllables slowly, “Gro-gu.”

Again, the kid's ear's perk up and his head whips up to look at the person who said his name. His name . Not just 'the kid' anymore. Not Green Bean. Not adika. Grogu .

Din says it once again for good measure, chuckling a little at how happy it makes the child. “I like it. It sounds like you, kid.”

Agreeing from beside Din, you move to squat down and grab for one of the kid’s tiny hands with a loving smile gracing your lips. “I like it too. You have a wonderful name, Grogu. Very handsome and distinguished.”

“What else did you learn about him?” Din asks the Jedi woman.

She takes a controlled breath, that stoic energy of hers unfaltering as she relays the requested information. “He was raised in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant where he was trained by many Jedi Masters. After the Clone Wars, when the Empire rose to power, he was taken from the temple and hidden away. From there his memory becomes... dark. Filled with much fear. That fear only starts to subside when the two of you begin caring for him. Then the fear morphs into something else.” As she says this last sentence, her tone is laced with something Din cannot place.

“Have you met another of his species?” You inquire from Din's side.

“I have only known one other like him. A wise and powerful Jedi known as Grand Master Yoda,” Ahsoka replies, meeting the child's glance when a look of recognition washes over Grogu's face. Did the kid know this grand master?

From there she asks if the child can still wield the Force, to which Din replies to clarify that she indeed means the kid's powers. She explains that the power Din speaks of is being drawn from the Force, which she describes as an energy field created by all living things. The concept of it makes little sense to Din, but many things have made little sense to him ever since Grogu came into his life.

She tells the group that wielding the Force takes a tremendous amount of training and discipline.

Din responds by saying that his task was to bring Grogu to a Jedi.

“The Jedi Order fell a long time ago,” Ahsoka replies.

“So did the Empire yet it's still out there, working in secret. It must be the same for your people,” Din argues, gesturing to the kid as he feels himself getting frustrated. “He needs your help.”

*****

The kid's been looking very tired for the last couple of minutes or so, eyes slipping closed for longer than a blink here and there. When he and Ahsoka clearly share another moment of feeling each other's thoughts, she lets out a long sigh and shakes her head. The look comes off as if she doesn't like or agree with this situation one bit.

Join the club, sister , you can't help but think. Ahsoka's eyes flick to yours the moment the thought leaves your brain, unsettling you more than anything you've seen today. She looks at you as if she heard you think that.

After a moment, she looks away and declares that Grogu should sleep, and that she will test his abilities in the morning.

Din gets up and scoops the child into his arms, nodding down to Ahsoka, “Thank you for speaking with him. We've waited months to know anything about his past.”

“Especially his name,” you interject with a yawn as you stand to join them.

Looking you up and down for a long moment, Ahsoka regards you curiously. “May we speak before you retire?” The Jedi asks, surprising both you and Din as noises of shock manage to escape from you both simultaneously.

Nervously, you ask, “Why do you want to talk to me of all people?”

“A feeling,” she replies simply.

“A feeling about what?” Din asks, tone concerned.

Ahsoka ignores Din's question, continuing to look only at you. “What planet are you from? It is not of this galaxy, is it?”

“No, it's not. Did Grogu tell you that?”

“He didn't have to. I could sense it when we first met. I must ask you, are there force sensitive individuals on your planet?”

“Ha, they wish. Not that I am aware of. From what I understand no one on Earth has special abilities.”

“Not even you? Or someone close to you perhaps?”

“Absolutely no-,” you start to scoff. But a feeling of realization dawns on you, and suddenly you're remembering everything your grandfather told you back on Tatooine. “Actually there is someone. But I don't know if I believe that he's what you would describe as force sensitive.”

“Cyar'ika, do you mean Richard?” Din asks, and you nod at him with a small frown before looking back to Ahsoka.

“The reason I am in this galaxy is because my grandfather built a device which used the energy of a black hole to transport us here from Earth. I don't even truly know how far away we are, I just know it's far . My world does not have the technology for long term space travel like most do here. We are very behind when it comes to that sort of thing. What my grandfather built is completely unorthodox. He shouldn't have even been able to build it in the first place, let alone conceptualize it. But he told me that ever since he was a little boy he's had dreams of this galaxy. Vivid dreams as if he were really here himself. As he got older he began to feel like these were not dreams at all. When compared to how the other people around him dreamed, what was happening to him during sleep each night was not that whatsoever. He felt that he was seeing a window into another part of the universe. One that made more sense to him than the one we came from. Does any of this even make sense?”

“I am following. Please continue,” Ahsoka says kindly, gesturing with a bow of the head.

“He told me that he eventually began to journal every morning to create a faithful record of his nightly visits with as much fine detail as he could remember. Eventually he became a brilliant scientist and a talented engineer. It took decades of his life but he eventually figured out the formula for how to make his machine work using what he learned in his visions. After he came here he learned of the Force and felt that was the explanation for why he dreamed of this place. He feels he is connected to it somehow and it guided his way here, but that's all he's said about it. No powers from what I can tell.”

“And do you agree with this?” Ahsoka asks.

“I honestly didn't know what to think about it when he told me this, but it's just as good an explanation as any I suppose.”

“Have you ever experienced similar dreams?”

“I don't think so, but I don't remember every dream I've had either.”

Ahsoka regards you for a long moment, contemplating. “At the Jedi temple there was speculation of the Force stretching far beyond the reach of just this galaxy. The Force is a part of the entire universe, and therefore the Force is present in the entire universe. The Jedi merely believe that we are the first ones to learn to wield it. It is only logical that early stages of Force sensitivity are beginning to appear on worlds that have no knowledge yet of its existence.”

Din gestures to you as he asks Ahsoka, “So could her grandfather learn to do what you and Grogu can do? We've seen Grogu do things that we cannot explain.”

Ahsoka shakes her head, “One must train to wield the Force from a very young age. If this individual is old enough to be a grandfather then he is too old to learn. And I believe that whatever connection he may have with the Force is not the same as what Grogu or I experience. It may not even be the same as what you experience,” the woman says your name as she addresses you.

“I'm very certain that I have no connection to the Force at all,” you reply confidently.

“Then explain why I can sense you in the way I can sense Grogu,” Ahsoka bites back just as confidently. “I cannot sense your Mandalorian this way. He is there, but his presence in the force is not pulsating like yours is.”

“Pulsating?” With a scoff and a wave of the hand, you readily dismiss her claims, “I can't explain something that isn't true.”

Grogu makes a little noise as if he's hurt by what you're saying, and your head whips over to him in concern.

“Ah,” Ahsoka says with a knowing little smirk, her blue eyes shining, “ there it is.”

“There what is?” you reply defensively, thinking idly in the back of your head that you're starting to sound like Din.

“You could feel Grogu just now, couldn't you?” The Jedi asks, her expression knowing.

“When he got upset? I could tell, yes. I'm his caregiver and I have been for months. I can tell lots of things about him. It's not the Force. It's because I've gotten to know who he is as a developing person.” As you finish this you’re shaking your head.

Ahsoka is shaking her own head in the negative, “He got upset because he doesn't want you to dismiss this connection to the Force as it is also a part of your connection to him . You merely need to learn to understand it. Not to wield it, as I do not think it is like something to be wielded, but to fully understand it.”

“What are you saying?”

“Have you always been able to sense the feelings of others?”

“I... I don't know how to answer that.” Thinking back to your childhood, you could always tell when your parents were about to get into a big fight. Anytime their emotions were heightened it felt as if the house was crashing down around you from the pressure of it. You'd just grown to assume that their volatile relationship forced you to become very good at reading the room to avoid any second hand abuse. Perhaps this trait followed you into adulthood, but it's never been something you stopped to consider until now.

Ahsoka’s eyes narrow slightly, as if she’s trying to figure you out. “Do you feel it took you a long time to get to know Grogu? To understand his needs accurately?”

Shrugging, you answer, “I suppose not. He and I were on the same page almost immediately.”

Ahsoka turns her attention to Din, “Do you feel this observation is correct?”

He nods, looking back and forth between both women, “I recall being surprised by how quickly they bonded, but I equated it to her natural maternal instincts.”

“Yeah, I just always assumed it was because of that too,” you agree, brow furrowing as you consider the possibilities of what Ahsoka is implying. “Even with other kids I've watched I just felt like I always knew exactly what they needed from me. But with Green Bea-shoot, I mean Grogu , it definitely feels like our connection is stronger than any I've shared with another child.”

“Another indication,” Ahsoka says, “That name you called him when you had nothing else. Do you not agree that the cadence of it sounds similar? It even begins with the same sound.”

Now you're really scoffing at the Jedi woman, “Oh don't be ridiculous. I call him that because he's green and it was a cute little nickname.”

Grogu again seems distressed, and both women stop to look at him for a moment.

Ahsoka meets your eyes as she goes on, “Or perhaps it is subconsciously what your brain conjured when Grogu wanted to share his name with you? He showed me the memory. He was trying very hard to communicate with you that day, and he used a great deal of his power to try and make you feel his name.”

“I... Are you serious?” You're dumbfounded as you glance at the child again.

“Very,” she replies evenly.

Looking at Grogu, mouth slightly agape, you cannot quite believe what you are being told. “Well I got close, sweetie,” you tell him with a shaky little laugh, halfhearted smile trying its best to reach your eyes. This revelation has you feeling exhausted suddenly.

“And what of you two?” Ahsoka is looking between you and Din with a curious expression.

“What do you mean to imply?” Din asks, voice on the edge of being defensive as he comes to stand closer to you.

Considering the possibilities of this, your body sinks back down onto a rock, facial muscles going slack with shock. “I think she means did any of this play a factor in how we ended up romantically entangled. I worry the answer is yes now that I really think about it.”

“Grogu told me that your Mandalorian will not remove his helmet in front of another living being, including you,” the Jedi says to you, and then to Din, “A Child of the Watch, I believe?”

Frowning, your voice drops a little, “And you feel that I have been able to sense his feelings this whole time and that is why we are close regardless of that factor?”

“It certainly couldn't have hurt,” Ahsoka replies knowingly, and you cannot help but sense that she is purposefully trying to get you to feel that knowing glance. Not to just see it and interpret it. The fact that you even understand that from her is a little mind boggling.

Could this truly be something that you've never known about yourself? Would this explain odd things from your past? Could this actually be real?

“This is a lot to take in,” you say, heavy waves of exhaustion flowing through you. Din's hand is on your shoulder giving it a comforting squeeze, so you reach up and touch the light tips of his gloved fingers.

“As I said, this is not so much an ability you can wield. Think of it as an extension of yourself you did not realize was there. But I understand that this is a bit daunting. We can discuss this further in the morning,” the Jedi says wisely, dipping her head in a kind nod.

*****

On the Razor Crest, the air is so thick with tension that it feels impossible to move through the space comfortably. Once the sleeping kid is tucked away in his little hammock, the two adults take to the second floor of the ship to speak without disturbing him.

Driven to tears, a sob escapes your throat as you throw yourself down in your seat. Drawing your feet up on the leather so that you can hug your knees, you take the opportunity to bury your cries into the meat of your thighs.

As Din makes sure everything looks good on the Crest's controls, he then flops down into the pilot's seat and spins around to face you.

“I'm sorry,” Din says lamely. “I know that this news of Force sensitivity is disconcerting. I want you to know that it makes no difference to me. You know me better than anyone, and if the Force helped that along then all I can do is thank it.”

“I appreciate you saying that, Din. But it's not just that. The Force thing I can deal with, if I even believe it. Which is something I'm still trying to figure out. It's Grogu , Din. I don't want to say goodbye to him tomorrow.” After you say this, another great sob escapes you and you're forced to muffle it in your thighs again, body quaking.

He sighs, “I feel responsible for this misery.”

“It is not your fault. I broke the number one rule in any caregiver job. I became too emotionally attached to my client. And my client's dad. Christ, Fran Drescher eat your heart out,” you say this last part with a cynical laugh as you wipe at your nose with your sleeve.

“I'm too tired to handle Earth references right now, cyar'ika,” Din croaks out weakly, slumping down in his seat.

“Humor is my coping mechanism,” you reply with a halfhearted shrug, waving him off. “Just ignore me.”

Din shakes his head fiercely, “Ignoring you would be cruel. I do not wish to be cruel to you when we're both this vulnerable. I already feel responsible enough for your pain and I do not intend to cause any more. I tried not to let things get this far, but admittedly I didn't try very hard. As much as I preached about not playing happy family... about not getting too attached... you know I was just as guilty of doing it myself. I am both weak to my desires and a hypocrite, as it would seem.”

Shaking your own head in the negative, a deep frown creasing your tear-stained face, you counter with, “I don't consider any of the last nine months, nearly ten now, to be 'playing family', Din. What I have with the two of you is the realest thing I've ever felt in my life.”

Din sighs, head dropping, “I misspoke. Perhaps I am the one who should be ignored.”

A sigh of your own falls from your lips, shoulders slumping, “Neither of us is going to be ignored tonight. I feel sensitive so I picked apart your words and that's not fair. For that I'm sorry. We need each other now more than ever.”

“You know that 'playing' is not how I see this. It's just hard to string thoughts together right now.” Then Din's voice waivers, and you can hear that he's fighting weeping when he speaks again. Or did you 'sense' that? “This is probably our last night with him, cyar'ika. The thought of it... I do not think I have felt a pain like this before.” As he says this he begins rubbing the chest plate over his heart.

“It hurts for me that way too. It's like this searing burn. Right here, right?” You point to the area right between your breasts. He nods, and you're really contemplating the possibility that what Ahsoka said about you is true. Are the two of you experiencing similar pain, or does your empathy truly run that deep? What a strange notion. Then you add, “And the pain is draining down into your stomach, making you feel almost nauseous?”

“Something like that, yeah.” Din makes an indistinguishable noise, the helmet looking at you with an energy you don't recognize. It comes off as so defeated, and that's something you cannot abide.

Getting up to move towards him, you're placing a hand on either arm rest as you lean over him a little. “We are strong . We both know how to lose people. But this is hard . Maybe one of the hardest things either of us has ever had to grapple with. It's not going to be easy, but I do think that together you and I can find our way out of how shitty this feels one day. Things can't feel shitty forever. You're worth every ounce of patience I have to give. I hope you'll show me the same in return.”

“I will,” he breathes, modulator hissing.

“I don't think I'll get much sleep tonight, but I say we go get in the cot and just be close to our boy while we still can.”

Din's hands find your waist, gripping slightly as his helmet tips upwards to allow for the visor to meet your eyes. “Before we retire, I need to thank you. I know you do not want any of this to happen, yet you've handled yourself with such grace. Your respect for my creed is, as always, appreciated more than you know. You may not walk the way but you are just as formidable as any Mandalorian woman I've come across, if not more. That warrior’s heart of yours is the strongest muscle in your body, ner cyare.”

Moving so that your forehead softly butts into his for a kiss, tears cannot help but re-form in your eyes as you softly utter the words, “This is The Way.”

The helmet's modulator hisses with the little gasp you hear hitch in his throat, his body reacting along with it. First there's the little flinch of surprise, then his arms swiftly move to envelope your hips and the firm metal of his helmet comes to rest against your abdomen. He squeezes you, and as your hands move to lay upon the silver beskar which clouds your only love's surely anguished face from you, his clearly anguished voice whispers, “This is The Way.”

*****

The next day Ahsoka Tano is waiting outside of the Razor Crest as the three would-be family members emerge. After a restless night, both adults are feeling completely miserable as they greet the Jedi from halfway down the ramp. Grogu seems to be in good enough spirits though, babbling at the Jedi woman as she greets him with a squeeze of the hand and a bow of her head.

“Good morning, Grogu,” she offers warmly to the child in Din's arms, a smile finding her intensely blue eyes. Then those eyes move to the two adults, nodding in greeting. “I trust neither of you slept well by the looks of it.”

“How could you guess?” You reply sarcastically from Din's side.

In a rare moment of understanding your need to lighten the mood, Din says to you in a sarcastic tone of his own, “It's obviously the bags under my eyes.”

At that, you snort loudly, letting out a short bark of a laugh, shoving at his shoulder a little. The kid giggles against Din's chest as the Force of the shove causes Din to rock backwards a bit. He finds himself grinning despite the misery in his heart, and for the first time he really does understand that with you by his side he will eventually overcome this loss. His life will not be without joy, even if it has to be without the child.

The white markings which frame Ahsoka's face alter shape slightly when her brow shoots up, an amused smile finding her lips as she observes the display. After a moment, she beckons the group to follow her deeper into the forest.

Soon back to the area they were in the night before, Ahsoka leads them over to the mossy rocks and fallen trees. Its bright green color is a stark contrast to the desolation surrounding it, making the patch of land feel oddly beautiful.

Ahsoka turns to face Din, though her attention is on Grogu the whole time as she says, “Now let's see what knowledge is lurking inside that little mind.” With a delicate finger to the kid's nose and then a hand resting on his chest for a moment, the way she smiles down at him indicates to Din that she's communicating with him again.

She separates herself, gesturing for Grogu to be sat down on a large rock. Din obliges, and when he squats to sit Grogu down he rubs his back in an encouraging little gesture of 'you got this, pal' without verbally saying it. Considering everything he learned about the Force the night before, Din feels confident that the kid understands.

Lifting up from the squat, Din comes to stand next to you a few feet away from them. When he reaches your side he notices your eyes are a little wet as you turn to look up at him. Din reaches for your hand, holding tightly once his gloved fingers find yours. Little do you know his eyes are just as wet beneath his helmet. Not only do you hold his hand in return, you adhere yourself to it. He squeezes it fervently, hoping that you can also feel his intention through the Force like Grogu.

With you by his side, Din watches Ahsoka pick up a small rock and hold it in the palm of her hand. She then flips her hand and holds it straight upright, the rock floating in midair as she pushes the thing towards Grogu. It slowly floats into his hands and he chirps.

“Now return the stone to me, Grogu,” she orders, hand out.

He looks down at the stone and frowns, looking back up to the adults with worry in his eyes.

Din also frowns, offering lamely, “He doesn't understand.”

“There's no way he doesn’t,” disagreeing with a shake of the head, you add, “we've seen him move stuff around with his mind plenty of times. Grogu, don't be shy sweetie, it's okay.”

Ahsoka's face is soft as she says, “It's okay. The stone, Grogu.”

Din looks at the kid and then nods sideways towards the Jedi woman encouragingly. Come on, kid. You got this.

Grogu suddenly makes a noise of frustration and drops the stone all together. You make a noise beside Din, eyes flicking to him before back to the child with worry. Ahsoka sighs and walks forward, each movement of her body so graceful as she squats down to hold Grogu's hand.

Eyes slipping closed, she remarks that she can sense much fear in the child. “He's had to hide his abilities to survive over the years. But the fear I sense in him comes from a different place... let's try something else. Come over here,” she commands.

The kid doesn't move, and Din motions for him to go over to Ahsoka with a nod of the head in her direction again. Still he doesn't move, looking down with a frown. “He's stubborn,” Din says, at a loss for why Grogu is suddenly being so shy about his powers.

“Not him,” Ahsoka replies, gaze turning to Din, “You. Both of you. I want to see if he will listen to you two.”

You meet Din's gaze through the visor, nodding to him as he leads the two of you to where the Jedi stands patiently waiting.

Handing him the stone, Ahsoka gives an encouraging nod.

Din holds his hand out, “Come on, kid. Lift the stone.”

“Grogu,” Ahsoka says into Din's beskar covered ear.

“Grogu,” Din repeats, and the little noise the kid makes is so sweet that Din wants to give this whole thing up and run back to the Crest with the child in his arms. To tell this Jedi lady never mind and high tail it the hell out of there. But instead he forces himself to say, “come on, Grogu. Lift the stone.”

The kid still refuses.

A deep frown creases your brow, shaking your head as your voice takes on a worried tone. “Yes, he's stubborn sometimes, but so is every child. This isn't like him, Din.”

“Connect with him,” Ahsoka interjects, “I have seen the way you two are with him. Be that way now.”

“Wait, I have an idea,” Din says, digging into the pocket of his utility belt for the silver ball from the cockpit. He'd found it earlier that morning and forgot that he'd shoved it in his pocket until now. “Grogu, you want this? Your favorite toy, buddy?”

Grogu's little green face perks up at that, ears lifting.

“Oh good idea! Come on, Grogu. Take it,” you're encouraging from Din's side with that kind, loving smile of yours directed at the foundling.

After a moment of hesitation, Grogu uses the Force to take the ball from Din's hand. Both adults cheer and hug one another before moving down on one knee to praise him, each telling the kid they knew he could do it with loving little pats on either tiny shoulder.

And that's when Ahsoka suddenly declares gravely, “I cannot train him.”

Both adults stand to attention.

“What?!” Din exclaims, mouth going slack under the helmet.

“But he just did the thing you wanted him to do,” you argue with a confused tone, brows knitting.

Ahsoka shakes her head, “He's formed a strong attachment to you two. His attachment makes him vulnerable to his fears. His anger .”

Din can't wrap his head around this at all. “All the more reason to train him.”

Ahsoka looks scandalized. “ No! I have seen first hand what these feelings can do to a fully trained Jedi Knight! To the best of us...”

As she lets this last bit trail off, Din can't help but feel that she's drawing from a deep well of private pain and he relates to that anguish in her face. It's only there for a moment, but it's heavy. He knows the searing pain of loss when he sees it.

Her voice returns to a more neutral tone as she shakes her head, stating firmly, “I will not start this child down that path.”

“Please help us to understand, then,” you plea in return, eyes flicking over to meet Din's helmeted gaze every now and again. He reads the worry in your furrowed brow, but in your eyes the gleam of hope is unmistakable.

Din's own hope is beginning to swell in his heart, but he tries his best to sound calm about it as he says, “My task was to return him to the Jedi. If you are going to refuse I need to know why.”

Ahsoka sighs, looking away from everyone for a moment as she turns her back to them. With her hands clasped at the small of her back, the Togruta woman's impressive striped lekku on display, she takes several deep and calming breaths. Then she turns to face Din and his family once again with a serious expression weighing on her striking features.

“Jedi must free themselves of possession and attachment. Attachment is antithetical to the Jedi way of life. When one becomes attached to something or someone, one begins to fear losing what they have found. Fear of that loss can lead to jealousy, greed, anger, negativity. Negative feelings are normal. All feelings are normal. As Jedi we learn to feel through our emotions and move on. We do not let them consume. When a Jedi becomes a slave to their feelings, it can lead them down the path to the dark side of the Force.” Ahsoka's face becomes grim as she ends her speech with a firm statement of, “I would not wish that fate upon any child.”

“What makes you think he would become a slave to these feelings?” Din asks defensively.

Ahsoka's blue eyes narrow in Din's direction. “Because, Mandalorian, he already is! You and her have corrupted this child with so much love and affection that he cannot bear to be separated from it! I told you I sense much fear in him. Grogu is absolutely terrified that I'm going to take him away from you two. Even though I have already assured him that I am not .”

The look on your face is so filled with relief that you seem suddenly younger almost, the life finding your eyes again as a smile slowly creeps up your lips. Din can hear the joyful surprise in your voice, asking the Jedi, “You're not? ��

Ahsoka's face softens as well, her own lips curving upward as she nods once towards you, “I am not.” Then to Din she says, “And I never was.”

Din's a little taken aback by that statement. “What do you mean?”

“Grogu showed me last night that he does not wish to resume his Jedi training. He feels that path is no longer the one the Force has set him on.”

Din looks at the kid, frowning under the beskar as he looks him over. The little guy looks almost scared, like he's worried about the reaction this news will receive. Gently, Din asks him, “Grogu? Is that true?”

Grogu looks away as if he's ashamed of himself for a moment, or embarrassed in some way. Din moves to crouch down in front of him and you're soon coming to squat down as well.

“Sweetie, it's okay,” you soothe the child, “no one is upset with you and you're not in trouble.”

The motherly voice you've taken on is not lost on Din whatsoever, his heart swelling at the sound of it. His own tone softens more as he assures the child, “Yeah, buddy. We are not mad at you. This choice was always yours to make. It was my job to get you here so you could choose.”

Grogu's little face looks relieved, and at that he begins reaching for the two of you with little babbles and coos.

When you both grab for one of his tiny hands, Ahsoka declares, “You are like parents to him. Grogu showed me these feelings last night in great detail. He allowed me to view a glimpse of the life he has lived with the two of you. This child hasn't felt this happy or safe in a very long time. In Grogu's eyes, you are his mother and father. With you he is home.”

Din's so overcome with love, eyes slipping closed for a moment as the information sinks in. The reality of it. His deepest wish, the thing he's secretly yearned for for months... is suddenly the true outcome of this long quest after all? Maker, his heart wasn't prepared.

Then he hears you asking, “If you never intended to train him, why the test of his abilities?”

Din's eyes open as Ahsoka is explaining, “It was necessary for me to see how much he can still wield the Force, as well as the validity of the attachment between all of you.”

“And your conclusion?” Din asks.

Her smile is genuine, “The three of you are a family. One I believe to be brought together by the workings of the Force. A unit not meant to be broken. At least, not for a very long time.”

“This is music to my ears,” you're happily saying to yourself, a hand to your chest.

“There is one other reason for the test,” Ahsoka addresses Din as she speaks, “Grogu wanted me to ensure that you upheld your oath. He showed me how important your Mandalorian creed is to you, and he did not want you to feel as if your mission was a failure.”

Chest swelling, Din looks right at the kid as he declares, “Nothing about this quest was a failure, Grogu.” Dank farrik , if only the kid could see the pure joy on Din's face right now.

“Thank you, Ahsoka,” you say genuinely.

She gives a single, graceful bow of the head. “I have delayed too long. I must return to the village.”

“The Magistrate hired me to kill you,” Din declares as she begins to turn to walk off. As those words leave his mouth, she stops in her tracks and turns to him with a raised brow. “Offered me a spear made of beskar as payment. I did not agree to anything. For your help with understanding the kid, with Grogu , I will help you eliminate her before we depart.”

*****

You have no interest in joining a fight right now, so when Din asks you if you'd be okay with taking Grogu home to the Razor Crest while he and Ahsoka take care of the awful Magistrate back in the city you're thrilled to agree. Imagining the beautiful Jedi facing off with the evil woman in her very Kill Bill Zen garden, with a lightsaber in place of a katana, a smile can't help but form on your lips at the grizzly mental image.

And so the two of them construct a plan while you lovingly cradle Grogu to your chest, humming one of his favorite Earth songs to him. Din eventually shares a meaningful embrace with each of you, and then both parties set out to go their separate ways.

As you and the kid are making your way back to the Space RV alone, a stray thought comes to mind. Are you really ready for this? Do you have what it takes to do right by this kid?

A weird moment of fear strikes your heart at that, enough to stop you in your tracks. Grogu makes a little noise at you from his perch in the satchel and when you look down at him it hits you that you really are going to be his mother now.

Ahsoka Tano, a real Jedi what-have-you, has declared it to be so herself. Grogu readily agrees, according to her testimony. You still can’t shake how strange it felt to watch her silently communicate with him. A small pang of jealousy surfaces at the memory of it, wanting to be able to listen to his coherent thoughts in the same way. Feel them , as she had put it. Perhaps it's a skill you can build with practice if what she claims about you is really true.

From what you gather, you’ll never be able to ‘wield’ it like Grogu, but perhaps you can teach yourself to understand your connection to the Force and how it relates to your connections to others. Dramatic as it may sound, you’ve always felt like you can see the best and worst in people whether they try to hide it or not. But that’s not something you ever attributed to any sort of otherworldly ability. It always just felt like you would get a hunch about someone’s feelings or intentions and be right about it. Sometimes this works in your favor and other times it can cause complete chaos. Your accuracy record isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, either. You’ve been wrong plenty of times, but you’ve also been correct enough to feel that perhaps Ahsoka’s observation of you is not false after all. Perhaps you do have some minor form of an ability.

It’s just so bizarre to think that there’s anything different about you at all. Back on Earth you idolized sci-fi stories and characters with special abilities, always pining for a life like that. To realize that in a little less than a year you’ve gotten the chance to live out what was once your heart’s deepest desire in nearly every aspect, that’s enough to make your head spin.

But your heart’s deepest desire has evolved just as much as you have in the last ten months. Now when you close your eyes to dream of a life you feel satisfied with, a Mandalorian and a green child stand by your side. That same green child who is perched at your hip as you walk towards home, the green child who thinks of you as his parent.

The fear you felt a moment ago is what you assume most new parents feel on their first day. But this isn't your first day. You aren’t new at this. You’ve been with this kid for a long while. He’s felt like your son for the last couple of months now, so why the sudden trepidation? Is it because now it's actually real ? Ahsoka called the three of you a true family. Unlikely loved ones brought together by the mysterious ways of the Force. A unit that is not meant to be broken.

The intensity of what you feel now is unmeasured. After months of looking for a Jedi. After months of fearing the loss, the pain, and the suffering that would inevitably follow. After months of constantly worrying that this loss would drastically alter the dimensions of your relationship with Din. After months of trying to mentally prepare for unimaginable heartbreak... suddenly that heartbreak isn’t going to happen?

The truth is… you hadn't really planned for this outcome. No matter how hard you may have wished for it.

Back on Earth you'd been starting to worry that a child was never going to make sense for you. It always seemed so far off in the future. A distant dream. As you told Din once, adopting a child was something you saw yourself doing if you had the right partner to raise one with. But between dead-end relationships and dead-end jobs, the idea of it seemed pretty impossible by the time you ended up in this galaxy.

Now you have this beautiful little boy in your life and he's asked to be your son, for you to love him as your child. As you've said many times in the recent past, you would become his mother in a heartbeat. Now that heartbeat of opportunity hits like a great thunderclap all around you, shaking the very ground beneath your feet. All at once you know it to be true in your bones, that this is the course you’re meant to be on.

So the question now is where do you all go from here? You and Din are going to need to have a very serious conversation about what the future holds, but none of that really matters in this singular moment. Not when the child at your hip has acknowledged that he loves you as a mother to him.

"Grogu?" You ask him tentatively, the name still feeling a bit foreign on your tongue. The way he whips his little head to smile up at you when you use his name causes your chest to swell. Removing him from the satchel, you gently place him down on a big mossy rock in order to squat at eye level with him. "So you really do want me to be your mom, huh kiddo?"

He makes one of his little 'patu' noises in response to you, bowing his head in a single nod.

Okay, then. If it's a mom he wants, it's a mom he's going to get. Time to pull on those metaphorical mom jeans and talk to him like he really is your child.

"Grogu, sweetie, I want you to know that I am aware of how hard all of this has been on you. Constantly moving around. Having to hear me and your dad argue about your future. Being in danger half the time. I'm sure it was really scary and confusing, buddy. It was scary and confusing for us too. But I think that before you met Din, you'd been even more scared and confused. For a long time it sounds like. I'm so sorry for that. I'm sorry that you had to ever be put in this situation in the first place. I'm sorry you've had to see so much ugliness in your young life."

The way he looks at you with such understanding in his big eyes causes your own to water, but you soldier on through what you need to say.

"I just need you to know this: Now that you're officially staying with us, you never have to question where your home is ever again. Ever. I love you very much, and I promise that as long as I am alive you will have a place in my heart. I've wanted a child for a long time, but I am so lucky that it gets to be you, buddy. You will always have a home with me, Green Bean. Shoot, I hope it's okay if I still call you that sometimes. It'll be hard to break the habit."

The kid seems to soak in these words, little tears of his own forming in his large eyes as he quite literally flies forward and into your arms. His body is so tiny, so it surprises you with a squeak when the Force aiding him knocks you backwards onto your ass. You can't help but giggle as he snuggles into your chest, but the giggle quickly slips into a sob as he squeezes you for dear life.

Grogu's little form shakes as he cries into your shirt, soaking the material with tears, snot, and saliva. You could care less about the mess of it, sitting in the dirt as you comfort your weeping child.

After a little bit, Grogu hiccups and his breathing evens out. He looks up at you with his huge brown eyes as he motions towards the Razor Crest in the distance.

"Ready to go home? Me too, buddy. Let's go see what Jupiter is up to. Hopefully your dad and Ahsoka make quick work of defeating that nasty Magistrate lady. I don't know about you but I am so ready to get off this polluted rock.”

Looking around the ruined forest land, a shiver runs up your spine as you move to get back on your feet. “Place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

*****

Din's impressed with Ahsoka's skill as a warrior. The entire ruse leading up to Din's dramatic jetpack entrance goes off without a hitch, and the Jedi's abilities are unmatched as she takes out several mercenaries. It is no wonder the Jedi were once so revered.

He doesn't have to see her fight the Magistrate to know she is winning, the sounds of their struggle echoing throughout the quiet city are all the indication he needs. Lightsaber colliding with beskar, the unmistakable grunts of physical exertion.

Lang's silly little standoff with Din doesn't phase the Mandalorian one bit, the natural high he's still riding on very much at its peak. After learning that Grogu has chosen to stay, Din's not sure if anything could phase him right now. His heart is completely filled to the brim, making him feel utterly unstoppable.

Din pretends to listen as the man spouts off, knowing a betrayal is just around the corner. The faster the scummy little man tries to pull one over on Din, the faster Din can be on with his life. The newfound joy he feels when he thinks of the future is fueling every action in him.

Din shoots Lang down when the older man attempts to attack, and though he holds reverence for the act of taking a life, he's thrilled to be done with this ugliness so he can get back to what really matters to him.

With the city freed from the Magistrate's tyranny, the locals are soon celebrating out in the streets with flutes and dancing. Within an hour the place is already filled with so much life compared to when he arrived the day before. Din watches a family embrace with relief lacing the emotion of it, and he's suddenly desperately ready to get back to his family to share a similar moment of relief. It occurs to him that he hasn't really been able to process this life-altering news of Grogu's choice to stay, nor has he been able to discuss it with the one person he values most.

Ahsoka comes to Din at the city gates, where she gives him the beskar spear and insists that it belongs with his people. She asks him then if she may accompany him back to the ship so that she may say her goodbyes to Grogu, and Din gladly leads the way. The music fades out as they head into the forest, leaving Din slightly saddened to hear its pleasant tones dissipate. If only he could save music from every world on his device.

When they reach the Razor Crest, Ahsoka respectfully remains outside to wait for Grogu. Inside the ship, speaking of music, he hears your voice as you sing along to one of those Bowie songs you’ve corrupted him with.

This song in particular is one you sing to the child often, given that the odd lyrics seem to be about a magical baby. You’ve tried to explain the movie of its origin to him several times, but he fears it is one he would have to see to understand.

Following your voice and the surefire scent of food being cooked in the galley, Din finds you happily attending a meal with one hand as the other holds Grogu at your hip. As your body sways back and forth, your hips wiggle along with the music and your bare feet gracefully step in and out of position. When you use the tongs in your left hand as a handheld microphone, Din cannot keep himself from holding in the loud snort which escapes him.

Jumping a little with a yelp of surprise, laughter soon follows as you lift Grogu to squeeze him tighter, nuzzling his head with your cheek. “Looks like our dance party is over, sweetie.”

The domestic sight of it flares his heart, especially when you turn to meet his gaze with a radiant smile. You look probably the most beautiful you’ve ever looked to him in this moment.

His own smile is one that he fears may get stuck there forever, tone playful as he teases you, “Mm, making dinner without me I see?”

“Just some noodles. Nothing as good as your food, I assure you. Grogu and I were starving so we had to make due without you,” you say with an equally playful roll of the eyes as you stir the sizzling food. “Seems like you made it back just in time if you’re hungry.”

Din reaches out to stroke a thumb over Grogu's little hand, telling both you and the child, “I am starving as well, but it's time to say goodbye.” When an almost comical look of horror crosses your features for a moment, Din quickly squashes your worry, “To our new friend. Not each other. Ahsoka's business here is finished and so is ours. She asked to say goodbye to Grogu and I figured it was as good a time as any to get on the road. Without the Magistrate the town should start to rebuild. It was already an improvement when I left, but I don’t want to be here anymore. The more distance between us and Corvus the better.”

“Agreed. Where are we going to go next, though?” you ask, setting the utensil down to fully face him.

“I don't know, but we can figure that out as a family,” Din replies, and the truth of the statement leaves him feeling like his life is about to change in ways he can't begin to fathom just yet.

*****

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Masterlist

*****

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black-dhalias · 2 months ago

Text

Simple by Design

Mandolorian X BountyHunter!Reader

Warnings: Imagine included sexual acts, and some violent depictions (non-sexual).

AN: May the 4th be with you✨ I’ve been saving this one for a while, almost forgot to post it.

Blasterfire lit up the alley in a staccato rhythm, red bolts flashing like lightning in a bottle. You pressed your back to the wall, breath steady despite the chaos around you.

Your target—a slimy, blue-skinned con artist named Kess Pralo—was holed up behind a speeder wreck, whimpering between his useless return shots.

“Pralo,” you called, voice low and smooth, “you’re surrounded. Or you will be in about fifteen seconds when my thermal detonator goes off.”

“Wait! Wait! Don’t—!”

Thunk.

The sound made you look up. Someone else had landed on the rooftop above the alley—someone cloaked in beskar and silence. He dropped to the ground with the weight of certainty, his rifle already trained on the cowering conman.

“You’re late,” you muttered, stepping out of cover, blaster aimed steady.

“I wasn’t trying to be early,” came the calm, modulated voice.

The Mandalorian.

You hadn’t seen him in nearly two cycles—not since the botched job. Back then, he was quiet, efficient, and unbothered by things like allies. He still seemed that way… but something lingered in his helmet’s tilt as he looked at you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” you said, toeing your boot against Pralo’s dropped weapon. “You usually ghost your way through a job.”

He slung his rifle over his shoulder, stepping closer, visor never leaving your face. “You handled it well.”

“You watched that long before stepping in?”

“Long enough to see you almost talk him into giving up,” he said. “That doesn’t happen much.”

You smirked. “Some of us have skills beyond brute force and a carbonite chamber.”

That got a low hum from him. Maybe amusement. Maybe respect. With Mando, it was hard to tell. But he lingered longer than you expected, his silence almost… curious.

“I was thinking of tracking him,” he said, nudging Pralo’s whimpering form with a boot. “But I’ll defer. You got here first.”

You raised a brow. “Since when does the Mandalorian play nice?”

“Since I started valuing company that doesn’t get killed by the end of the job.”

You froze for just a second. Not because the words were threatening—but because they weren’t.

A compliment. Maybe.

“Next time,” you said, binding Pralo’s wrists with cuffs, “don’t be a stranger. You might like having someone who can match you.”

He turned, but his voice lingered behind him.

“I already do.”

And just like that, he vanished into the shadows—silent, cloaked, and gone.

But something told you this wouldn’t be the last time.

•

The twin suns of Arvala-6 hadn’t risen yet, but the wind carried grit like tiny razors. You crouched low on a ridge overlooking a weathered outpost, the bounty puck’s holo flickering beside you. Your mark was inside, surrounded by offworld raiders and too much firepower for one person.

Good thing you weren’t alone.

“I told you this wasn’t going to be a clean job,” you muttered, barely turning your head.

Behind you, the gravel crunched.

“I wasn’t looking for clean.”

You didn’t jump—didn’t have to. You’d recognized his footfalls before he spoke.

“I thought you worked alone,” you said, glancing over your shoulder.

“I do,” he said. Then added, “Usually.”

The Mandalorian crouched beside you, visor scanning the outpost. His presence was like a storm front—quiet but heavy, pressing at the edges of something you couldn’t quite name.

“How’d you find me?” you asked.

“You’re hard to miss.”

You arched a brow. “That a compliment?”

“I don’t do compliments.”

“Could’ve fooled me, last time.”

He didn’t answer. Just a tilt of the helmet, the kind that felt like a shift in gravity. You felt it again now—that uncanny tension, the pause between two sparks right before the explosion. It hadn’t faded. If anything, it had grown.

You both waited in silence, side by side in the low light, watching.

Then, he broke it.

“I’ve had a few jobs since we crossed paths. Kept thinking about that alley on Nevarro.”

You looked over, slower this time. “Why?”

“You didn’t flinch,” he said. “Even when you knew I had the shot. You weren’t afraid of me.”

You held his gaze—or at least the visor where his eyes might be. “Should I have been?”

“No,” he said. And then, after a beat, “That’s the problem.”

You couldn’t help the dry chuckle. “You’re not used to someone not flinching?”

“I’m not used to someone staying.”

That quiet between you grew sharper. Not uncomfortable—but brimming. He looked at you like he didn’t know what to do with the feeling you stirred in him.

“I can take the left side,” you said finally, voice quieter. “Hit them when they least expect it.”

“I’ll cover you.”

“And afterward?”

There it was again—that pause. Like he hadn’t considered there was an afterward.

He turned toward you, and for a second, the wind didn’t exist. “Then maybe… you stay.”

You blinked, the tension settling deep in your bones. A flicker of heat, not from the suns or the adrenaline.

You nodded slowly. “Then let’s make it worth surviving.”

He didn’t say anything else—but the way his shoulder brushed yours before you moved into position told you everything.

The Razor Crest creaked softly in the stillness of orbit. You stood near the wall of the dim cargo hold, body still humming with leftover adrenaline, dust and sweat clinging to your skin like memory.

He stood a few feet away, silent in his armor, visor tilted ever so slightly toward you.

“You didn’t have to come back for me,” you said, arms crossed to keep your voice steady.

“I know.”

“Could’ve taken the bounty, flown off, and never looked back.”

“I didn’t want to.”

The air tightened between you. You took a step forward. Then another.

When you reached him, your fingers brushed the cool beskar of his chestplate. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

“I don’t want your face,” you said, voice quiet but steady. “I want what you’re willing to give.”

His breath hitched through the vocoder—just slightly. But his hands came up, slow and searching, pulling you close like the restraint he usually wore was cracking open at the seams.

Your fingers slid to the exposed skin at the back of his neck where the armor ended—warm, real, human. He stilled.

“There are other places to kiss,” you whispered, “besides the lips.”

That made him exhale, sharp and low. Almost a groan.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against him, a hand sliding up your back to your neck. You kissed the line of his jaw under the helmet, your lips brushing the warm skin where it peeked out near the base—then lower, against his throat, lingering where his pulse thudded hard beneath it.

He made a sound—rough, guttural.

And then everything unraveled.

His gloves were off. Your shirt was lifted. The cargo hold became the site of something wordless and hungry. He touched you like he’d gone too long without the weight of another body, without the heat, the contact, the closeness.

Every movement was rough, his hands navigating you like a man desperate to know every part. The way your lips felt like sin against his chest, his abdomen, as he laid himself back on the small makeshift bed.

You let him take. Let him give. And gave it right back.

He never removed the helmet. You never asked.

And that restraint—your willingness to navigate the spaces around it—somehow made it more intimate than anything else could have.

Later, when your heartbeat settled and the silence returned, you sat side by side near the foot of the ramp, not touching now, but changed.

“I won’t ask what this was,” you murmured, fingers resting on your thigh.

He didn’t look at you. “I wouldn’t know what to call it.”

You smiled—small, bittersweet. “You don’t have to.”

The ramp hissed open.

Neither of you said goodbye.

•

The cantina was warmer than you remembered. Still rebuilt from the ashes of the old guild hall, its edges were cleaner, brighter—but the smell of fire, spice, and old violence clung to the walls like an echo. You sipped something strong at the back table, half-listening to the music droids and the murmur of passing smugglers.

Your ship was grounded for repairs after a hard exit from Sorgan. You hadn’t planned on lingering.

Until he walked in.

At first, you didn’t look—just felt it. That ripple in the air. Like a shift in gravity. Then came the sound: familiar boots on stone, the low hum of beskar plates, and a presence that hadn’t left your memory since the last time you touched it.

You turned your head slowly, keeping the smile in check.

Mando stood near the threshold of the tavern, cloaked in armor and shadow. But what stunned you wasn’t him—it was the child cradled in his arms. Tiny. Wide-eyed. Green.

You blinked.

The Mandalorian had brought something soft into a hard world. And he looked… changed. Not less dangerous. Just—more human.

His gaze swept the room, and then landed on you.

A flicker. A shift in his stance.

He didn’t move for a beat. Then—he started walking toward you.

You rose from your chair just as he reached the edge of your table.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said, that familiar glint in your eye. “You still make a dramatic entrance.”

He tilted his head slightly. “You haven’t changed.”

You smiled faintly. “Noticed that, did you?”

“I always did.”

Your eyes fell briefly to the child, nestled in the crook of his arm, half-asleep but peering at you with startling curiosity.

“Well, you’ve changed,” you said, voice softer. “I see you picked up a new partner.”

Mando glanced down at the child. “Something like that.”

You met the child’s eyes, and the corner of your mouth lifted. “He’s special.”

“He is.”

He watched you longer than he needed to. Watched the way you stood—still, centered, not threatening, but… present. You hadn’t even reached for your blaster. You rarely needed to. There was something in your stillness, the way your eyes read a room without speaking. Like you were listening to something deeper.

It clicked, somewhere deep in him.

You didn’t just move like a bounty hunter.

You moved like someone who used to be something else.

He didn’t say it out loud. But the realization landed like a quiet stone.

Jedi?

Or… not quite.

Something else.

But you didn’t offer the truth. And he didn’t ask.

Instead, you gestured to the empty seat. “Sit. Unless you're just here to stare at me again.”

He hesitated. Then sat.

The child climbed curiously onto the table, reaching toward your cup before Mando gently pulled him back. You laughed, light and unguarded.

For a few moments, you shared nothing but silence. Then, you leaned in just slightly.

“Nice to know the galaxy hasn’t worn you down yet,” you said. “Though I guess it takes a different kind of armor to raise someone like him.”

Mando studied you through the visor. Your face. Your voice. Your calm. He remembered your hands. The warmth of your breath near his neck. The way you never asked for his name, or his face—but still left a mark like you'd seen both.

And now… you were still here.

Still not aging.

Still untouched by the years and the weight of war.

“You’re not just passing through,” he said finally.

“No,” you admitted. “I think I was meant to cross your path again.”

And deep down, though he didn’t want to believe in fate or anything beyond survival, Mando felt it too.

Because the child was staring at you now—not with curiosity.

But recognition.

Mando hadn’t said a word in over a minute. Not since you joined him at the table. But the Child had. Not aloud—just with his eyes.

He hadn’t stopped watching you.

Not unlike a child watching a stranger. More like someone remembering.

You glanced his way again, offering a soft smile, and reached toward him—not touching, just allowing space. The Child blinked, then let out a low, pleased gurgle.

Mando stiffened slightly.

You noticed.

“It’s alright,” you murmured. “I’ve spent time with beings like him before.”

Mando tilted his head. “Beings?”

“Sensitive ones.”

He went still, and the air around the table changed. Not tense. Just heavy.

Your gaze flicked to the child, and your voice lowered. “I knew someone once who could move stars without lifting a hand. He was kind. Strange. Lost. This little one reminds me of him.”

“You were close?”

You looked at Mando carefully, that unreadable expression in your eyes again—the one he remembered from that night on the Crest.

“We were… aligned, for a time. He’s gone now.”

Mando didn’t ask what happened. He didn’t have to. The look in your eyes said it was the kind of loss that never fully left.

Before he could speak again, a voice called across the room—

“Mando!”

Greef Karga, flanked by Cara Dune, gestured from the doorway.

Mando stood, but paused before turning. “You coming?”

You blinked. “That an invitation?”

He hesitated. Then, “It’s not not one.”

You scoffed, but stood anyway, brushing past him as you picked up your gear. “Lead the way, Mandalorian.”

The husk of what used to be an Imperial facility loomed like a wound in the rock. You moved with the others—Cara on point, Mando at the flank, Greef handling the rear. But every few steps, the Child peeked out from the satchel on Mando’s chest to look at you.

Watch you.

Feel you.

And you let him.

There was something in you he recognized—not the same power he had, but a cousin to it. Yours was quieter, older. Like stone weathered smooth by centuries of wind.

When the stormtroopers came—panicked, outnumbered—you moved through them with lethal grace. Blaster low, blade hidden in your boot, you struck with an ease that made Greef pause mid-shot just to stare.

“She always move like that?” he muttered.

Mando grunted. “Yeah.”

But he was staring too.

Not just at how you fought—but how you knew when to fight. You didn’t waste a shot. You didn’t lose your breath. And when the last trooper fell, you were already turning to the Child—who stared at you with wide eyes, as if seeing something that had always been there.

You crouched near the child. “You feel it, don’t you?”

The child reached toward you.

Mando stepped closer. “He doesn’t do that often.”

You met Mando’s gaze, voice quiet. “He knows I’ve walked close to the Force. I’m not one of them—not Jedi—but I’ve touched it. Been touched by it.”

Mando said nothing. But inside, he felt the old weight of questions. Things he’d trained himself not to wonder.

And now you were back. Still unaged. Still silent. And carrying something ancient beneath your skin.

Not Jedi.

Not Sith.

Something else.

•

The stars outside the viewport bled into lines as the Crest jumped into hyperspace, its battered frame groaning gently with the shift. You sat in one of the co-pilot seats, eyes on the blue swirl beyond the glass, but your thoughts weren’t out there.

They were behind you—in the hull of the ship, where you could hear soft, shuffling feet, and Mando’s low voice speaking to the child in that quiet way he thought no one noticed.

It hadn’t been a request, not at first.

You’d caught up to him near the hangar bay, dust still clinging to your shoulders, and without turning to you, he said, “You should come.”

No explanation. No pretense.

Just: You should come.

You hadn’t needed to ask why.

And now, as the door to the sleeping chamber slid shut and his footsteps echoed back into the main cabin, your pulse ticked faster against your throat.

You didn’t look at him when he returned—but you felt him. Every step, every breath. The quiet weight of his gaze on the side of your face.

He sat across from you, in the bench bolted to the wall. The helmet was still on. Of course it was. You didn’t expect anything else.

“I wasn’t sure you’d say yes,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure you’d ask.”

The hum of the hyperdrive filled the silence between words. Not uncomfortable—just familiar.

You finally turned to look at him. “You were different, today. With the child. You care for him?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “More than I expected to.”

“Is that why you trust me now?”

He didn’t answer at first. But you watched his shoulders shift under the armor, slow and tense.

“I never stopped thinking about that night,” he said. “Even when I told myself I should.”

You smiled faintly. “I didn’t expect to see you again. Thought maybe it was just… a moment. A passing star.”

He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “It didn’t feel like a moment.”

Your eyes met the blank visor—and still, somehow, it felt like looking directly into him.

“Do you ever wonder,” you said softly, “if the people who find you, the ones who get closest… are the ones who see past the armor? Even if they never see your face?”

He went still again. A silence more vulnerable than words.

“I remember your breath,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “The way your hands shook for a second. Like you weren’t used to being wanted without demand.”

You leaned back in the chair, eyes half-lidded.

“There was something holy in that,” you murmured. “To want, without asking for more than someone can give.”

He was quiet for so long, you almost closed your eyes.

Then—his voice, low and hoarse.

“I remember how you kissed my throat. Like it meant something.”

“It did.”

The quiet swelled again, a pressure neither of you released.

You glanced back, and the Child’s soft snores drifted in from the back. A presence warm and fragile. Like hope made small and sleeping.

You spoke again—quieter now, with a tired edge to your voice.

“You don’t know what you’ve brought into your life, Mando.”

He watched you. “You mean the kid?”

You hesitated.

“No,” you said. “Me.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just tilted his head the slightest bit, as if trying to read the face behind your words.

“I don’t know what you are,” he admitted. “But I don’t think you do either.”

That stung more than it should have. Mostly because it was true.

You’d carried the weight of your survival for so long that the shape of it had begun to blur. You weren’t Jedi. You weren’t Sith.

But what were you?

The Force had marked you. Twisted something in your bones. Preserved your breath when the rest of your kind had turned to dust.

And now it was pulling again. Toward a child. A Mandalorian. A path you hadn’t meant to follow.

“Why did you ask me to stay?” you asked suddenly.

He didn’t answer right away.

You turned to face him fully. “Is it because of what I can do? Because I’m useful? Or is it something else?”

Din didn’t shift. But there was something in the air between you—dense, unspoken.

“You were already staying,” he said finally. “I just gave you permission to admit it.”

That silenced you.

Not because he was right. But because you didn’t know if he was.

Outside, hyperspace swirled on endlessly. But inside, the silence thickened. You didn’t move. Neither did he. The distance between you felt both endless and razor-thin.

You turned back to the stars, jaw tense.

“You should sleep,” you murmured.

“So should you,” he said.

But neither of you moved.

And neither of you would—for a long, long time.

he ground was ash beneath your boots. Blackened bark cracked under every step. Mando walked ahead, the Child nestled in the sling at his chest, but you kept to his flank—silent, alert, and oddly aware of how the air had shifted the moment you landed on this world.

You felt her before you saw her.

Not the way most would. Not in sound or heat or shadow. But through the strange weight that pressed behind your ribs, coiling tight like a string drawn too far.

She felt you too.

Ahsoka’s approach was fast and precise. And the moment she leapt from the trees, igniting her twin sabers in that silent-white glow, you already knew the strike wasn’t for Mando.

It was for you.

You moved fast, drawing no weapon, only stepping into her line with an arm raised. “Stop—”

White light halted inches from your shoulder. Mando didn’t breathe. The Child let out a small, startled coo.

Ahsoka narrowed her eyes, staring at you with an intensity that felt ancient. Her voice, when it came, was not surprised. Not truly.

“You.”

You met her gaze. “Ahsoka Tano.”

“I felt you before I saw you.”

“And now that you’ve seen me?”

“I still don’t know what you are.”

Her sabers didn’t lower.

Mando stepped slightly between you, tense. “Theyre with me.”

“They’re not Jedi,” Ahsoka said flatly, ignoring him. “But she’s something.”

You gave her a faint, tired smile. “I’ve heard that before.”

She circled slowly, eyes never leaving you. “I knew someone like you. A long time ago. A being who touched the Force, but didn’t follow it. Not Jedi. Not Sith. Something in between. He burned alive trying to find meaning in it.”

You didn’t flinch. “And yet here I stand.”

“Why?” she asked.

Mando looked at you, too—but his gaze was softer. Quieter. He’d been wondering the same thing since Nevarro, but hadn’t spoken it aloud.

You looked down at the Child, who was staring between the two of you, wide-eyed and still. His little fingers curled around Mando’s tunic.

And then, softly, you answered.

“Because something wanted me to stay.”

Ahsoka exhaled slowly, sabers deactivating with a hiss. “That’s not always a kindness.”

“I never said it was.”

A long silence fell between you, layered with things unspoken—lives lost, orders fallen, choices made in grief and fury.

The Child’s ears twitched.

Then Ahsoka stepped back, finally turning to Mando.

“You’re here for the child.”

He nodded.

Her voice lost none of its edge. “Then come. All of you.”

You followed them deeper into the forest, but Ahsoka kept her distance from you. Even as she sat across from Mando, even as she gently opened her mind to him, you felt the flickers of her attention drifting—back to you.

To what you were.

To what you still might become.

And when night fell and the Child, now known as Grogu slept in Mando’s arms by the fire, Ahsoka finally came to sit beside you at the edge of camp.

She didn’t look at you when she spoke.

“There’s still a chance to turn away.”

You glanced sideways. “From what?”

“From becoming something even you won’t recognize.”

You let the firelight dance across your fingers before replying.

“I already don’t recognize myself.”

Ahsoka didn’t speak again.

But she stayed.

Because like you, she’d known what it was to be made of fragments. To walk through fire and still not burn.

To be chosen by something that never asked if you wanted to survive.

•

Grogu was asleep again. Mando had carried him off into the Razor Crest to rest, pausing only to glance back once—at you, at Ahsoka, at the strange distance between you.

You sat with your back to a scorched tree, fingers absently tracing patterns into the dirt beside your boot. The fire crackled low. Orange light danced across your features, softening the edges of the exhaustion you wore like a second skin.

Ahsoka didn’t speak for a long while. She sat across from you, eyes half-closed, hands resting in her lap like a statue carved by silence.

“I wasn’t sure it was you,” she said at last.

You lifted your gaze. “You thought I was someone else.”

“No,” she said, slow and sure. “I knew you weren’t him. But you reminded me. The same… stillness. The same ache beneath the surface.”

You leaned back against the bark. “Who?”

She hesitated.

Then: “Quinlan Vos.”

You stilled.

The name rippled through the space between you, carried like smoke—familiar, dangerous, mourned.

“He wasn’t like me,” you said.

“No. But he stood where you’re standing. On the edge of the Force. Close enough to wield it. Far enough to be consumed by it.”

There was something unreadable in her tone. Not accusation. Not quite sorrow, either. Something more… unfinished.

You breathed in slowly. “I heard he died.”

Ahsoka’s eyes flicked toward you. “So did I.”

The silence was heavier now.

“You said he burned alive,” you murmured.

“He did,” she said. “But not in fire. In grief. In the fracture between what he was and what the galaxy made him become.”

You looked away. That hit too close.

“He trusted too much,” she added.

“And I don’t trust enough,” you replied.

“Maybe,” she said, almost gently. “Or maybe you’re just afraid to.”

You felt the pull in your chest again. That ache that never left.

“I don’t age because I don’t live the way others do, my people on my planet, they lived immortal until they chose to settle—” you whispered. “I exist. I survive. But I don’t move forward. I don’t let myself. Not really.”

Ahsoka nodded slowly, watching the flames. “That’s what I saw in you. Not darkness. Not power. Just… drift. Like a being suspended between now and then.”

You laughed under your breath, dry and low. “And yet he asked me to stay.”

“The Mandalorian?”

You nodded.

Ahsoka tilted her head slightly. “He doesn’t ask easily.”

“No,” you said. “He doesn’t.”

A longer pause.

“I’m not what Grogu needs,” she said after a while. “But maybe you are.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I can’t train him. Not without risking the path Anakin walked.”

You winced at the name, but didn’t speak.

“But you…” Ahsoka trailed off, watching you carefully. “You walk a line so thin it disappears beneath your feet. And still you’re here. Still trying.”

Your mouth felt dry.

“I can’t guide him,” you said. “I don’t even know where I’m going.”

She looked at you, steady.

“Then maybe,” she said, “you’re exactly the one who should walk beside him.”

The silence in the chamber was unreal. Not peace. Not stillness. Just absence.

Grogu was gone.

You could still feel his presence clinging to the air like warmth after fire, but he was no longer in Din’s arms. No longer his to protect. No longer yours to tether you to the path you hadn’t known you were walking until it ended here.

Din hadn’t moved for a long time after Luke Skywalker carried the child away. He just stood there, hands at his sides, his breathing loud inside the helmet. Like he’d forgotten how to exist without someone to carry.

It was just the two of you now, beneath the humming wreckage of a war that had cost more than either of you were ready to count.

You stared at him—not with judgment. Not even pity.

Just…understanding.

“You let him go,” you said softly.

Din didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“I thought I was the one who couldn’t,” you added. “Turns out… you’re braver than I am.”

He stood completely upright.

You froze. Not out of fear—but reverence. He had only done it for Grogu, that’s what you told yourself. You’d never ask. Never take that from him:

He’d revealed himself to Grogu, but with his back to you, all you could see was the dark curls that hung loosely. Unkempt. But when he turned to face you, you could finally see.

Because there he was.

Eyes rimmed with red. Skin marked by hours under steel. A face that looked too human for the armor he wore. Vulnerable. Raw. Quiet.

You’d imagined it, once. Wondered. Dreamed.

But nothing had prepared you for the weight of it.

He looked at you the way a man looks when there’s nothing left to hide.

And you didn’t look away. Because in that moment, you felt that time clock in you start. Felt your soul snap into place and you knew, Din Dijarin, helmet or not—was always meant to be your ending.

Your voice cracked as you whispered, “Now I know your face.”

He swallowed, jaw clenched. “I wanted you to.”

The honesty in it nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

You took a step forward, slow. Careful. Like you were walking toward something sacred.

“I’m not who you think I am,” you said.

“I don’t care.”

You blinked. “You should.”

He reached out, fingers barely brushing yours. “I don’t.”

And that was the moment.

Not the helmet. Not the look. Not even the touch.

But the knowing.

Two people who didn’t belong anywhere, finally seeing something in each other that did.

He didn’t kiss you.

You didn’t ask him to.

You just stood there, eye to eye—two survivors, stripped down to nothing but truth and quiet and the ache of goodbye still echoing in both your bones.

And for once, neither of you turned away.

#imagines #imagine #fandom request #requests are open #imagine requests #x reader #requests #love #may the 4th #the mandolarian #mando #mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #reader insert #star wars #Star Wars imagine #Mandolorian imagine #din dijarin x reader #din dijarin

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cowboygenesis · 10 months ago

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1: kindness and coin | din djarin x reader

part 1 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist. | buy me a coffee?

pairing: din djarin x reader chapter warnings: none. word count: 6.2k series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible. notes: this fic is set a while after the corvus arc in season 2, after din sets to find a teacher for grogu. there's tons of flavor-lore here, some of it canon, some of it completely made up (by me). smut happens late because im a slave to slow burn. but enjoy the mutual pining!

You have known this your entire life.

The air smells like fresh earth and wildflowers when you open your kitchen window that morning. The fog clings low to the ground as a cool breeze seeps into your home, making you swaddle yourself tighter within your knitted sweater.

Your cold-numbed fingers wrap tightly around the ceramic mug cupped in your hands, periodically bringing it to your lips for a languid sip. The caf scalds your tongue, but you persevere. Outside, the sun rises above the horizon, peeking over the tall treeline and illuminating the town with a subtle, golden glow.

Across your makeshift garden stands a small stripe of farmland, glistening with freshly sowed soil and soft patches of stray grass. You spot your elderly neighbor strolling about with a blanket-covered basket and wave her hello when she smiles at you. Her breath comes out in a thin cloud of condensation which you see as it mends with the dewy air.

You exhale. It’s unremarkable, peaceful. Predictable. The way it’s been for as long as you can remember.

You have known this your entire life. But today, the air feels thicker. Your hands slip against the polished wood when you reach for your hairbrush, and the Shiir fruit you have for breakfast tastes soured as you bite into the soft, dotted flesh.

It all started three days ago, when a small craft landed in the nearby woods. It was the dead of night, silent besides the howling of sifflings and a distant cricket song filling the empty void.

You didn't see it happen, nor did your neighbors, as the first whispers came from the children: wide-eyed and brimming with interest, they gossiped quietly of a strange craft that emerged just before dawn, sleek and noiseless, nestled beneath the canopy of trees that surround your little village. No one emerged from it, they chimed. The forest swallowed it whole as if it had always been hidden in the cloud of greenery.

At first, it was just another embellished story—a tale spun from boredom or fantasies, something for the local folk to entertain themselves with during the quieter nights at the cantina.

But as the hours turned into days, the usual vibrancy of your community turned subdued with the whispered rumors. And sure, people started talking, but nobody dared to see the ship for themselves. Such was their Maker-fearing nature.

You, like many others, grew quite curious as the stories spread. When you walked down the stone-laid path to the town’s square every morning, your eyes followed along the treeline, glimpsing between the foliage in a silent hope of catching something inexplicable: a metallic wing, a flailing cape, or even a hint of movement. But nothing ever came.

You finish your drink and place the cup in the sink, the clink of ceramic echoing in your quiet kitchen as you let the residual warmth of the caf envelop you. You make a mental note to stock up on the good stuff as soon as the Mon Gazza traders come through your town next time.

You lean against the wall in your chair, glancing over at the basket you'd prepared last night. It sits by the door, neatly packed with fresh bread, a few vegetables from your garden, and jars of homemade preserves. You’ve made it a habit to bring these goods to the village market as a small way to keep yourself busy and prevent the excess produce from spoiling. Cooking for one is no easy feat.

As you turn to the window again, you notice the sun has fully crested over the trees, casting long shadows down the strip of farmland in front of your home.

You stand up and stretch with a grunt, grabbing your cloak from the green-padded loveseat and tying the ribbon around your neck. You grab the basket, tie your boots neatly, and step out into the crisp morning air with a deep inhale. The bells hooked on your doorway jingle as you lock it behind you.

Lazure Prime’s climate is temperate, yet the mornings are notably chillier at this point of the solar cycle. It’s a good omen for the upcoming harvest, the farmers had always said; something about the condensation that makes the tartness decline. You’ve never been big on food science, but living in an agriculture-based town has illuminated many aspects of the topic over the years.

The walk to the village is unremarkable. Trees sway softly in the wind, their leaves dancing in the early daylight. You pass by familiar faces— fyrion melon farmers prepping the land for sowing and children making their daily hike to school. Each one of them flashes you a bright smile as you walk past, some calling out your name cheerfully.

Your eyes hover over the treeline again, watching the bark weave in and out of the lush greenery but… no metal. No ship. It’s the same as it’s always been. A part of you expects the visitor to be long gone, perhaps in a moment where nobody caught it.

As you near the market square, you catch the distant chatter of townsfolk. They weave in and out of the stalls, exchanging greetings and produce as a weekly ritual.

You skim through the stalls with your eyes and select one of the empty ones. You place your basket on top with a grunt, stunned at how robustly you managed to pack it this time around.

Your hands work quickly, unraveling the protective rag covering the inside and reaching for your produce. Four loaves of oat cakes, amber squash, a few bunches of carrots, and half a dozen jars of dew jam— a family recipe. Because it peddled so fast last time, you made sure to amp up the production this week to at least double the amount.

You hear your name be called, paired with a gentle touch on your arm. You turn around on your heel, gaze dropping to be met with the curious look of a young girl.

“Good morning Nissa,” you smile, giving the child a small wave. She beams at you, exposing a row of milk teeth, two of them missing. “Is your mom around?”

She shrugs half-heartedly, quick to dismiss your concern. “She’s here. Probably getting the stuff we need for this big, special dinner next week— we’re making yak stew. You know yak stew, right?” she explains, eyes suddenly widening, “Oh, you have to come! I’ll tell mom about it, I— We’d love to have you over!”

You chuckle warmly at her excitement, reaching a hand behind you to grab a round, cloth-enveloped parcel and hiding it behind your back as you crouch down to meet the girl at eye level.

“Yeah, I know it. Yak stew sounds lovely. I’ll have to ask your mom if that’s alright with her, though,” you reply with an apologetic look, toying with the package behind your back. “You know how she feels about surprise.”

Nissa rolls her eyes, arms crossed. “Whatever, she’ll have to say yes!” she insists, extending her hands as if to make a point, “You have to come, okay? You promised to show me how to shoot a bow last time, you promised!”

“Nini, I said I’ll show you how it works,” you grimace slightly at your own mistake of giving a child the idea to learn of a weapon in the first place. What can you say, you got overly excited as usual and spoke too much, too soon. “I don’t think your mom would like us toying around with a weapon in her home. And yes, I asked her already. It’s not gonna happen.”

She blows a raspberry at your reprimanding, followed by a loud huff. And then there’s that stare, the kind that you’re sure makes her mother scowl at how effective it is. “We don’t need to be in the house. We can go to the garden, right? It’s not technically the house anymore.”

“Technically? Who taught you that?” you chuckle, praying it’s enough to distract her hyperactive mind from the bow-shooting idea.

“Er— you did? Mom says I spend too much time with you, by the way. She doesn’t like that I pick up on the things you say, because now I can actually talk back. It’s great. You should teach me more,” She replies, going on a tangent. Works like clockwork.

You sigh, taking the parcel out from behind you and cupping it in front of the girl. “Hey, it’s not a good thing. We don’t want to upset her, right?” you reprimand gently, “Here. You told me you liked the oat cakes I made last week.”

Her mouth widens in profound excitement as she quickly grabs ahold of the wrapped gift. “No way, you baked an extra one just for me?”

“Yes— Hey, it’s for your family, alright? Make sure to share it with your brother, at least,” you wag your finger at her with a smile, your heart slowly warming at the raw reaction.

She nods, but you can tell she doesn’t catch a word you say. Her little fingers reach for the knot, ready to untie the morsel, but she’s stopped in her tracks at her name being called.

You peek behind her shoulder to see a woman striding towards you two with a hurried bounce in her step, a woven basket on her hip, and a young boy trailing behind her. She says your name as she approaches, and you can tell from the way her thick eyebrows stitch that Nissa is not supposed to be here alone.

“Morning!” she calls out, her voice carrying a pleasant, melodic lilt when she addresses you. “Ni, I told you to wait up. Help me out with this, will you?” she adds sternly, motioning to her basket with a tilt of her head.

The girl rolls her eyes but does as asked. She strains a little as her mother passes the basket over, a little grunt emitting from her mouth.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s been talking about you all of breakfast,” the woman speaks, breath still heavy from prancing around the market. “Didn’t cause you any trouble, I hope?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. You hope the bow idea doesn’t get a mention. “Not at all, Val. We had a nice little chat about your ‘special’ dinner plans.”

Valerie smiles warmly, though there’s a hint of jest in her dark eyes. “Ah, yes, dinner. Kids this age eat for two, it feels like. Half of this moon’s pay went directly to grocery costs, can you believe it? This one’s got the stomach of a bantha,” she motions to her daughter with a nod of her head, and you catch Nissa rolling her eyes again.

You chuckle, and the woman shakes her head. “Yak meat is a little pricey, but I promised the kids we’d indulge this week. I’d love to have you over, but only if you’re free. It’d be nice to catch up, I feel like it’s been a century since we got to sit down over a meal and a nice spotchka— Oh! I got this really fancy one from that one trader from Kashyyyk in the big city. Who knew Wookies had an appreciation for quality spirits?”

“Who knew,” you nod through a frivolous giggle, enjoying your friend’s little rant. Like mother like daughter. “And sure thing, I’m free. I’d love to join if it’s not a problem for you all,” you smile.

“No! Never a problem!” Nissa adds through a toothy grin, trying to cement the plans.

“Well then. I’ll make sure to bring some dessert, too,” you add with a wink at the little girl who beams at your generous suggestion. You survey your options, and quickly decide on a plum pie— you remember Nissa’s particular mention of her love of the tart ones.

“That’s too generous of you, as usual. You know the kids love your baking, and so do I,” she says, placing a hand against her son’s back and gently pushing him forward. “Right, Ki?”

The boy tucks a stray brunette lock behind his ear, glancing up at you with a coy nod. You smile, giving him a little wave of encouragement.

“Of course. I’ll whip up something good for you guys,” you respond, turning around to start organizing your produce on the wooden boards. “Thank you for the invite, by the way. I’ve been home-stuck for way too long, and I feel like it’s finally getting to my head,” you add, turning around to flash your friend a cheeky smile. She responds with a similar one, a hand now stroking down her daughter’s plaits.

Nissa tugs on her mother’s sleeve, eyebrows knitted. “Mom, we were supposed to get spice rolls today. You promised Kivan you’d buy them for us,” she complains, and Valerie chuckles warmly.

“Right, I guess I did make that promise at some point,” she shrugs, giving a knowing smile that you return absentmindedly. “Excuse us, but priorities call. On this note, you should really try Mrs. Veska’s spice rolls, I hear it’s an original family recipe from Batuu. Which, by the way, did you even know she’s from Batuu? Maker, the things I still find out after living here my whole life.”

You laugh at her small tirade, taking a step forward to place an affirming hand on her shoulder. “This town is a gift that keeps on giving, huh? I trust you have plenty more gossip to share with me over that drink you suggested.”

“More than I care to admit,” she winks, straightening out and adjusting the large messenger bag on her hip. “Anyway, I think we better scavenge this market before all the good stuff is wiped out. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“I’ll see you, Valerie. Bye, kids!” you lean down, waving enthusiastically. Kivan gives you a coy nod, while Nissa waves back with a wide grin, the wrapped oat cake now sitting safely within the basket she’s carrying. She watches over it with a honeyed gaze.

As you watch Valerie and the kids disappear into the bustling crowd, you exhale a small sigh of contentment. Dinner and some spotchka are exactly what you need after a long, lonesome week.

Your fingers resume their work, carefully arranging the last of your produce on the stall’s wooden boards. You lean back when you’re done, watching the colorful array with your hands on your hips and a satisfied smile across your face.

It pales when a dull shiver grazes at the nerves of your back. There’s a ringing in your ears as your surroundings fill with a thick, palpable aura.

That’s when you feel it— an abnormal sense of stillness settling over the market. Mutters, whispers, then silence.

The stillness hovers in the atmosphere like a prayer about to be spoken. You wait a beat, breathing in the thick air and swallowing down saliva. You turn around on your heel, the empty basket still clutched tightly in your hands.

That’s when you spot it.

You watch a sleek figure cut through the bustling market crowd, tall frame draped in armor shining brilliantly under the rising daylight. You catch it immediately, something besides the armor—it sends a surge of quiet fear through the townsfolk gathered around. The remaining whispers slowly dampen as the figure strides through.

People step aside as if instinctively, letting him pass through uninterrupted as Maker forbid a guy of his caliber gets interrupted. He seems used to the treatment, as his helmet stays fixed forward.

Your fingers wrap still against the edge of the wooden stall, knuckles white, watching the stranger approach.

You catch glimpses of villagers giving him a wide berth, murmuring amongst themselves, uncertain whether to approach, keep a safe distance, or run.

A small, rounded pod floats beside him, gently humming as it hovers by his right hip— you catch it gleam in the soft, morning sunlight when he makes a turn. You’ve never seen such a gadget before.

He draws nearer, and for a brief moment, his helmet turns in your direction. It… turns in your direction? Maker, it… is he looking at you?

Your breath hitches. You meet the opaque visor, your reflection staring right back: eyes wide, lips ajar.

There’s no nod, no words exchanged, just a brief moment where your gaze meets his; you can feel it boring into you even through the visor.

The moment passes instantly as his helmet finally tilts away from you. He continues on, stout boots thudding lightly against the packed dirt of the village square. You blink twice, his gaze lingering on your silhouette, or maybe it’s just your imagination.

Your jaw unclenches, though you don’t remember tightening it in the first place.

You dig into the depths of your brain, clawing at the grey matter. Something about his armor, or perhaps the blaster tucked at his side, makes him seem familiar.

You don’t exactly know why you decide to take a step forward, but as your foot rises from the ground, it’s already too late.

Be it primal curiosity or the quiet aura that clings to him like a shadow; regardless, you feel compelled to approach him, steadily nearing the armored stranger.

You take a slow breath, steadying yourself as you step forward and drop your emptied basket near the soil by your booth.

When you look up again, you see the armored figure ahead of you finally stop at one of the stalls. He stands silent and still, visor fixed on the selection of produce laid out before him. The stall owner, an older man with wiry hair and sun-weathered skin, toys nervously with the corner of his apron. You don’t hear the words exchanged.

Suddenly, a familiar silhouette emerges out of the cantina’s wooden doorway. His broad shoulders sway rhythmically, eyes piercing and focused as he trots down the soil. His weathered hand rests firmly atop his hip, cradling the only blaster the town has ever owned— as far as you and the townsfolk know.

It’s not something you had ever caught before, but the weapon paired with a tattered chest plate makes him stand out from the rest of the townsfolk. He looks modern, metropolitan, like a big-town sheriff rather than a community-voted overseer.

“Morning, traveler,” he calls out in a deep, gravelly voice, coming to a stop a few paces from the armored figure. His voice is enough to break the eery silence surrounding the market. A whisper picks up between the stalls again as the two men exchange looks. “First time seeing you around here.”

There’s a pause that lingers for a second too long. The stranger doesn’t respond right away, and you can feel the anticipation surging through the air as the marshal takes another step forward.

“What brings you to Terrine?” he continues, head tilted. You catch an ugly, strangely genuine smile painting his lips. Your nose scrunches.

The marshal steps from foot to foot, the blaster on his hip gleaming in the sunlight as if purposefully making its presence known. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you? Fine,”

The armored figure finally turns his head, the reflective visor of his helmet catching the morning sun. He doesn’t flinch or bristle at the marshal’s words—just stands there, towering and still. You feel unease mixing in your gut when you catch a glimpse of the stranger’s blaster resting in the holster on his hip, stagnantly.

“Bounty hunters and other scoundrels of your kind aren’t appreciated in these parts. I can see that weapon on your hip, don’t you find me foolish,” he motions to his blaster with a nod of his head, “What’s your business here?”

The question hangs in the air.

“You deaf under that helmet?” the marshal sneers, his tone sharp as he steps forward, shoving a hand against the stranger’s shoulder. The impact is solid as you can tell from the dull sound it makes, yet the figure barely flinches. “Huh?”

The crowd seems to hold its breath as the stranger pivots his stance ever so slightly, body shifting just enough to fully face the marshal. His hand moves slowly, almost deliberately, hovering near his blaster—just enough to be caught yet not enough to draw it— yet.

“You don’t want this,” the stranger finally says, voice low, gravelly, and calm as ever, carrying a weight that cuts through your tense body. It’s heavily modulated, yet it’s soft bass draws a crisp shiver down your spine.

The marshal pauses, his chest rising and falling rapidly, momentarily frozen in place as the air hangs heavy between them. You feel the tension peak, a bead of sweat forming on the marshal’s brow despite the cool morning breeze pouring into the market.

“I’m sick of you metal-clad fuckers causing mayhem where you don’t belong,” he suddenly hisses, sizing the stranger up as his hand slowly catches the handle of his blaster, “I’ve heard enough of your excuses for—” he draws it, and your heart drops.

A wave of adrenaline propels you forward, legs carrying you silently between the two men in a mindless, perhaps foolish, moment of clarity.

“Raan—” you call out desperately, cringing the way your voice shakes. “—Marshal.”

Both men turn their attention to you, but despite being shrouded by two deadly weapons, it’s the stranger’s unseen gaze that makes your stomach twist at that moment.

“Let’s not have this escalate,” you say, gaze soft yet determined as it connects with the marshal’s. Here we go. “We all know you’re just trying to maintain order and peace, but this man has done no harm. There’s no need for senseless violence.”

The marshal’s eyes lock onto yours. You hate this look he gives you.

His grip tightens on his blaster, knuckles white.

“Peace?” the marshal spits, his voice rough with your name on his lips. “—It’s people like him that disrupt the peace,”

The stranger remains eerily still, his helmet angled slightly towards you as if measuring your sincerity. The tension between the three of you feels almost tangible, and you can feel dozens of eyes boring into you expectantly. Briefly, you catch a glimpse of Valerie, her kids shielded behind the fabric of her dress.

“You know what kind of risk these types bring,” the marshal continues, voice rising slightly. “They come in, stir up trouble, then disappear without a trace. Worst damn case, they tell their little bounty-hunting friends about us so we can be plundered all over again. We don’t need that here, and you should know that better than anyone.”

Your eyes shoot wide open at his statement. Raan’s words sting, yet you take a deep breath, steeling yourself against the personal attacks. You’re too deep to withdraw now, and somehow, the little voice in your head you call intuition tells you the armor-clad figure is no ordinary plunderer.

Your eyes flicker to his visor, and for the briefest moment, you swear you catch something mild in the way his helmet tilts in your direction. Call it stress-induced delusion, but if he didn’t appreciate your interference, why didn’t he try to stop you yet?

“Marshal, I understand your concerns,” you start again, voice steady but firm. Your eyes linger on the visor for a second too long before returning to Raan. “But we can’t jump to conclusions based on fear alone. Not everyone who wears armor or carries a blaster is out to cause trouble, and you should know that better than anyone.” you bite back subtly, a self-satisfied smirk threatening to emerge at the way his eyebrows furrow at your remark.

His thumb drop from his holster, snaking up to rest firmly against his belt. He exhales sharply, giving the stranger a once-over before returning to you with a seemingly dampened mood.

“Listen to the girl,” the modulated voice comes again, lower this time. You can’t help the strange pang of adrenaline that shoots through your chest, but you keep your reaction at bay.

Raan squints at the stranger’s visor, then looks at you with a frown. You know all too damn well what it means.

“Fine,” he states firmly, taking a step back. His shoulders relax just a fraction, though the tension still simmers in his eyes. “But I’m keeping an eye on this one. If anything goes awry, we’ll deal with it one way or another.”

The stranger remains silent, his posture relaxed but you catch his visor fixed on the marshal as he withdraws.

The man huffs, and for a brief moment, it seems like he’s about to get a last word in but finally decides against it. He murmurs something under his breath, turning on his heel and making his way back into the quiet cantina.

The silence following the encounter lingers for a beat, before murmurs from the surrounding villagers slowly start up again, the crowd beginning to disperse as the scene deescalates.

When you breathe deeply to recalibrate, you can feel the weight of their stares, some curious, but most wary.

When you finally turn to face the armored man, you catch his visor pinning you in place.

Your breath hitches, your neck craning to appease his height as your eyes flicker for a moment in search of his. You don’t spot them through the darkness, but it doesn’t stop you from imagining them through the metal, like placing two pins on a map.

“I’m sorry,” You step forward, your voice steady but carrying a note of strain. “We don’t get many visitors here, and he’s just being cautious.”

The man doesn’t immediately respond. His visor remains locked on you, the helmet’s reflective surface making it impossible to gauge his opinion of your actions thus far. Somehow, you feel like he’s trying to determine your relationship to the marshal. It makes you queasy.

“Thank you,” he finally says, and the flatness of his tone makes it hard to catch at first but he seems… earnest. From what you can tell.

You give him a polite smile, feeling gratified by his small praise. “Keep browsing, if you like. We only hold this market biweekly, so it’s a bit of a treat every single time.”

He tilts his head slightly, considering your offer, but keeps silent. After a brief pause, he turns his attention back to the stalls, visor scanning down a selection of sweet pastries from Mrs. Veska. Your eyes flicker over pastry labeled ‘spice rolls’, and make a quick mental note to swing by later, once the crowd clears up a bit.

As you turn to walk back to your stall, you feel a quick, firm grasp on your forearm. “Wait,” the modulated voice calls out, making your gaze flicker to his helmet.

You give him that same smile again, his lingering grip making your gaze flicker to his gloved hand. It wraps around your arm effortlessly, the pressure treading dangerously between comfortable and tight. As if on cue, he withdraws, hands resting at his sides when he addresses you.

“Is there lodging here?”

Your eyebrows furrow at the question, your gaze flickering to the humming orb behind him. You catch a slit running along its length, and reason it must be some sort of… strangely extravagant basket.

“Lodging? You mean… rooms? Housing?” you question back, and his shoulders seem to imperceptibly drop at that.

“Yes. Available housing,” he clarifies, and you hum in thought. You’re about to ask him about his ship but realize it might be a little personal, especially as the feud feels fresh in your mind.

“It’s hard for me to say at this moment. Like you’ve heard before, we don’t get many visitors or tourists here, so most homes are permanently occupied by native residents. You could try the inn for a roo—”

“I need something permanent,” he cuts you off, making your lips tighten. Interesting.

“Okay,” you nod, searching your mind for a solution. “Permanent housing.”

His helmet tilts slightly, as if urging you to continue despite your hesitation. You meet the inscrutable visor with your gaze, feeling a sudden surge of sympathy.

You hesitate, realizing that the key to his problems might just blow up in his face if he tries it.

“I’m sorry, it’s probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but you’d have to ask the marshal about it. If there’s anything available, he’d be the one keeping tabs of it,” you finally explain, gaze growing apologetic as he takes in the announcement.

The armored man nods, his posture remaining quiet and ordered. “Okay,” he replies, the flatness of his tone giving you little to go off. You guess he’s not one to keep grudges, then.

“Listen, I… I know he came off pretty unfriendly back there, but he means well. If you explain your situation to him, I’m sure he’ll oblige,” you say, yet your eyebrows furrow. You suddenly realize that you don’t know this stranger’s situation yourself, and you’re not exactly in the position to ask, either.

The man’s helmet tilts slightly as if considering your words.

“Thank you for your help,” he says, voice steady and unyielding. You nod at him with a sympathetic smile. And that’s it.

Suddenly, you feel like you want to say something more; ask him a question, tell him about the town, anything to keep the conversation going despite it being long over. Then you realize.

You don’t even know his name.

Your lips hang slightly ajar as he nods at you in goodbye, turning to walk away. You can’t bring yourself to speak. His heavy boots make soft thuds against the packed dirt as you catch him mumbling something to one of the vendors.

You sigh, gaze lingering on him as you slowly withdraw towards your stall, the glint of armor disappearing between the crowd once you reach your produce.

You give them a once-over, a wave of tiredness washing over you out of nowhere. Your mind rushes to the stranger before you can tell it ‘no’, eyes glassy as you play over the feud over and over in your head… his figure clear when you picture it.

A full suit of armor, pristinely crafted to suit his body— one of his pauldrons harboring a strange symbol, the head of a horned animal you had never seen before.

You remember his low, stern voice addressing you with an indiscernible tone, something you can only compare to an unusual kindness. Perhaps it’s the dangerous nature of his supposed profession or the fact he stands out so drastically amongst simple townsfolk like you, but the truth is that your breath quickens as you think of his eyes on you through the slim, dark visor.

“Hey,” you hear, but the words seem muddled through your woolgathering.

You blink, the world around you snapping back into focus. The armored figure is standing right in front of your stall now, his imposing presence suddenly filling your bubble. You meet his gaze through the dim visor, the helmet almost intimate in its closeness.

“Hey,” he repeats, his voice modulated but softer now, gently waking you from your haze.

“Hey,” you reply. He… came back? Why?

“I need a favor.”

His request catches you off guard, your eyes widening slightly as you finally come fully to your senses. Your mind races, trying to moderate the intimidating figure.

“Favor?” you echo, frowning slightly. “Don’t tell me. He turned you down. Just… just come with me, I’ll try to talk some sense—”

“I didn’t go— We… didn’t talk,” he cuts you off, the initial softness disappearing from his voice. He shifts his weight slightly, arms crossed over his chest. “I… think I’ll manage without the lodging for a while.”

You give him a raised eyebrow but quickly muster up a sympathetic smile when he refuses to elaborate.

“Okay. What’s the plan, then?” you probe gently, watching him pull a pouch out of his messenger bag. It clinks softly as it rolls over his fingers.

“I need supplies,” he explains, tossing you the sack with a flick of his wrist. You yelp, straining to catch it mid-air. Once you feel the weight of it, you realize it’s a lot more than you bargained for. Your lip twitches.

“This is a small fortune,” you frown, withdrawing a singular coin from within. You pass it between your fingers, rubbing gently against the New Republic sigil engraved into the sleek metal. “I don’t have enough supplies to trade you for this.”

“I’ll take all you have,” he hums, helmet dropping slightly to glance at your small selection of produce. “And you can keep whatever coin is left.”

“What? No— of course I can’t,” you chuckle nervously, extending your palms with the coin pouch inside. “Why… why won’t you try the other vendors? Market’s open til noon, you’re granted some good cuts of meat and proper bread, at least,”

He looks at you. As always, you can’t tell for certain, but you feel his gaze on yours, boring into your very being as he shifts from one leg to another.

“My presence sparks fear in your people,” he says quietly. “They refuse to do business with me.”

Your heart twists a bit at his words. ‘None of them?’ you want to ask, but the silence between you speaks louder than any words ever could. You nod slowly, understanding dawning on you as your arms withdraw under your cloak, the small pouch with them.

“Alright,” you say softly, taking a deep breath. “Alright… let me pack this up for you,”

He nods in acknowledgment, stepping away as you walk around your stall. You feel his presence by your side as your hands work at the jars, placing them gently within a patterned cloth. Next come the oat cakes, then the vegetables.

He watches you in silence, helmet tilted as you skillfully tie the parcel into a knot. You turn to him slowly, straining a bit at the weight in your hands as you present it to him with an encouraging smile.

“Guess I can go home early today,” you muse, chuckling half-heartedly at your nervous attempt at a joke. The helmet peers at you, but keeps silent. ‘Tough crowd,’ you think.

His gloved fingers move to cup the parcel, your thumbs grazing as you pass it to him. You jerk on instinct and pray to Maker he doesn’t notice.

“Thanks,” he nods, turning to briefly gaze at the humming orb behind him. “Keep the rest—”

No, you can’t. It’d be putting yourself in debt, one you can’t pay off. Besides, you already know he’s struggling with being acommodated, so who knows the next time he’ll be able to get supplies again? Taking the last of his coin would feel like the opposite of helping in this situation.

“Come with me,” you intercept, louder than planned. He turns to you, helmet tilting in question. You swallow thickly, hands at your hips as you think of a way to elaborate. Your eyes drop to his metal orb.

“I really can’t let you give away all this coin. I understand you’re in need, but I’m just… I’m not willing to exploit it, okay?” you continue, and his helmet tilts to the side in… amusement. Right, as if he’d let himself be exploited. It’s a conscious choice he made, not a business malpractice.

“I have nothing more to offer you, but I want us to be even,” you nod. You’re dragging this on for way too long, and you’re starting to fear impatience.

“Go on,” he nods, and you exhale slowly. There’s no good way of putting this.

“I’m inviting you to my home,” you proclaim, waiting a moment later to gauge his reaction.

Nothing. His tall stature holds lax as he keeps his visor on you. Unsurprisingly, you haven’t gotten any better at reading him through the helmet over the short-lived course of your conversation.

His silence leaves you with few options. Either you explain, or back out. But you know the latter is not who you are.

“I have more to offer at home,” you stupidly add, immediately noting the connotation that comes with your suggestion. Maker, you’re probably red— you feel the heat blossoming across your face as your lips fly ajar to explain.

The stranger tilts his head again. If he wasn’t amused then, this should’ve done it.

You breathe in, then exhale slowly. He might be intimidating, but you’ve dealt with worse. Plus, in your own words, a set of shiny armor and a loaded blaster don’t make for imminent danger.

“Let me cook for you,” you finally explain yourself, voice much steadier than before, “So we may call it even.”

Your body ripples with anxiety as the words leave your mouth. Part of you wants to retract your invite on the spot when you watch him take a step towards you, unnervingly silent, and— Maker, why does he have to be so damn silent?!

When he stops, a soft, cool breeze sweeps across the square. It tousles your hair and makes his cape flow serendipitously.

“Okay,” he speaks, voice stern yet laced with something untraceable. You glance up at him with wide eyes, visor pointed at you blankly. “Lead the way, then.”

You think you catch the orb behind him stir for a second, before the stranger’s penetrating, all-encompassing prominence catches your gaze once more.

You step back as the ghost of a smile crawls onto your shock-stricken face. You bow softly, words echoing his. “Okay.”

158 notes · View notes

wanderinginksplot-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Gar Cyare Chapter Twenty-One

The trial of Akridia Brid is mercifully short... for you and Alpha, at least.

Alpha-17 x fem!reader (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Fake courtroom drama stuff, accusations, victim blaming (kinda), vague threats, misunderstandings, suggestive conversations

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

Burk’yc Urcir (A Dangerous Meeting)

Your shirt itched terribly.

The seat at the front of the court was uncomfortable - even more so because you were currently in the middle of being cross-examined - but all that kept running through your mind was how itchy the shirt was. Not for the first time, you envied Alpha his armor. It probably wasn't comfortable, but at least it was protective. You could use a little protection just then.

“Administrator,” Brid’s lawyer reprimanded sharply. “I asked you a question.”

She had, actually. In fairness to you, though, you had already answered the same question multiple times.

“No, I didn't think it was overly strange that Brid didn't contact me about the additional help that was coming to Kamino,” you repeated, striving for patience. “Our previous communication had been strained, and I believed that she was trying to avoid contacting me directly.”

The lawyer, Myndel Sall, didn’t seem to appreciate your attempts to be gracious about the repeated questions. “So rather than do the slightest bit of investigation on your own behalf, you chose to believe that Ms. Brid had neglected her job duties in favor of relegating tasks to her own supervisor?”

You were so tired of this line of questioning, but a glance around the courtroom treated you to the sight of a silently fuming Alpha. Abruptly, you were struggling to keep from grinning. You turned back toward Sall, who was still watching you expectantly.

With a shrug, you admitted, “Yes.”

A stifled laugh went around the courtroom. Brid was not well-liked, and much of the trial had taken place before you were brought in.

Sall’s lips parted in a sneer and you braced for whatever rude question she would pose next, but she was interrupted by Dedric Trosteld, the lawer speaking on behalf of the Senate. “Objection, your honor and all members of the court. The administrator is not on trial here. I move to strike this line of questioning from the record as irrelevant.”

Sall interrupted before the judge could speak. “I would posit that the administrator’s choices are relevant, as we are here to assign blame for the attack on Kamino.”

“Counselor, we are here to discover whether or not your client knowingly and maliciously allowed outside forces onto Kamino,” the judge stiffly reminded Sall. “The administrator is not on trial.”

“On the contrary,” Sall insisted, “the fact that the administrator didn’t question the absence of her direct supervisor is a large part of the reason that Kamino was unprepared for an attack-”

“Counselor Sall,” the judge said, voice severe. “I will not correct your conduct again. Counselor Trosteld, your objections are sustained. This line of questioning will cease immediately. Counselor Sall, do you have any further relevant questions for the administrator?”

“No, Your Honor,” Sall admitted begrudgingly.

“Very well.” The judge looked to Trosteld. “Your witness, counselor.”

“Thank you, Your Honor.” Trosteld tucked his hands behind his back and paced steadily in front of you. “Administrator, how well do you know your supervisor, Akridia Brid?”

You considered that for a moment. “Not well. We never worked together prior to my assignment on Kamino. The contact we had was short due to the unreliability of long-distance transmissions and limited strictly to work-related matters.”

“I see,” Trosteld said with a nod. “And did you notice anything in Ms. Brid’s behavior or work that would suggest that she was disloyal to the Republic?”

“No,” you answered honestly. “As I said, I didn’t work with her closely enough to pick up on anything about the quality of her work.”

“And how about her behavior?”

Hm. That was more difficult. “Nothing stands out too strongly, but she did start to get more impatient as I continued writing the report. She accused me of wasting time on Kamino instead of working.”

Trosteld nodded. “In your written testimonies, both you and Captain Alpha-17 claimed that Ms. Brid tried to eject you from Kamino. Can you describe that incident to me?”

“Of course,” you agreed, taking a deep breath to remind yourself that impartiality was the most important thing. “Supervisor Brid was unhappy that I missed a deadline for my report on the Kaminoan cloning process. She asked me to resign. I believed she meant to remove me from the project and I initially accepted, but she attempted to have me resign from the Senate workforce altogether. I refused.”

“On what grounds?” Trosteld asked.

“My hours were far beyond what the Republic considers acceptable overtime,” you explained. “I offered to send my logged time to a Republic investigator as proof that the original deadlines were impossible, but Supervisor Brid didn’t seem to think that was necessary. She also opted not to request that I be removed from Kamino by the Senatorial Administration Office.”

“Why?”

You blinked. “I… I can’t begin to guess why Brid didn’t follow up on replacing me.”

“Forgive me,” Trosteld requested with a small smile. “I meant: why did you fight to stay on Kamino?”

“I believed that I could make a difference through my work on Kamino,” you told him, nonplussed. “How could I leave?”

Another glance around the courtroom showed smiles and approving nods from onlookers and the jury. Alpha gave you a warm look, smiling with his eyes alone, but you were distracted by a man at the back of the courtroom. He was standing beside the large doors, as if he had only stepped inside for a moment. He seemed to be wearing… armor under his long cloak. The single line of armor that was visible through the parted front of the cloak glinted golden in the light of the courtroom.

When the man saw that he had caught your eye, he offered a shallow tip of his head. The motion looked somehow familiar, but you couldn’t begin to place it.

“Esteemed members of the court, I have no further questions for this witness,” Trosteld announced, sweeping away from the raised booth where you sat. The judge dismissed you and that was that.

Since you and Alpha had both finished testifying, you were ordered to leave the court. You did so gladly, hurriedly changing into comfortable clothes at the hotel. Alpha lounged on the bed. He hadn’t seemed overly concerned about the trial, but now that it was over, you could see the way the near-invisible tension had melted from him.

“Do you think they’ll get her?” you asked, collapsing onto the bed beside Alpha. Even with the full force of your body hitting the mattress, he was barely jostled.

“Dunno,” he said, shrugging up at the ceiling. “Didn’t seem to have much of a case, did they?”

“Nora warned us about that, remember?” you reminded him. “She said that we would only see part of the case. Brid’s law team brought us there to prove that there were other people who wanted to destroy Kamino, but I’m sure the legal teams have other arguments.”

“I hope so.” Alpha turned slightly onto his side so he could watch you. “I want her in prison, but it should at least be a fair fight.”

You stared silently at the ceiling, considering that for a moment.

Brid was, in Alpha’s words, a di’kut. She had always been a di’kut, and trying to push blame for the attack on Kamino onto you? Well, if you had believed that you couldn’t think less of her, you had been mistaken.

But something about the situation didn’t feel right. You had gained a fine sense of when someone was taking advantage of a victim for their own ends, and that sense was tingling. Brid would be a terribly convenient scapegoat, and she hadn’t made many friends during her time at the Senate. With no one to side with her, Brid was vulnerable. And if she hadn’t orchestrated the attack on Kamino, the Republic wasn’t searching for the real perpetrator.

Before you could even start to articulate that, Alpha’s stomach gave a loud grumble. You grinned over at him. “Hungry?”

“Always,” Alpha agreed, rolling off the side of the bed and standing in the same motion. You would have been more impressed, but he had explained that it was basically the only way to stand up while wearing full armor.

“Come on,” you invited, standing in a less flashy way. “A lot has changed since the last time I was on Coruscant, but I’m sure I can track down something tasty, cheap, and filling for dinner.”

Alpha barked out a laugh. “How could I say no to an invitation like that?”

Skeptical as he was, you had managed to do exactly what you had promised. The street cart was nearly abandoned and it admittedly looked less than sanitary, but you had spent your time on Coruscant learning which carts were trustworthy and which were better to avoid. Somehow, this one met all your standards and you convinced Alpha to try it.

The cart boasted an assortment of skewers, each one with a variety of vegetables grilled to perfection. The vendor, a human female from Castilon, had briefly lamented to you that Coruscant’s seafood selection was so poor.

“There’s nothing like rokkna meat roasting over a wood fire,” she claimed, eyes bright with fervor. “But Coruscant is so far from a good ocean…”

You nodded sympathetically. With so many people in such a confined space, meat of any kind was uncommon on Coruscant, but seafood was especially rare. The nearest ocean planet was still too far for easy access, and most of the fishers on those planets charged a premium to the wealthy of Coruscant. Accordingly, seafood was a rare indulgence for the rich. The Coruscanti poor had no chance of affording it.

“Have you tried-?” you started, but Alpha’s fingers brushed your elbow before you could finish the thought.

“Neverd’ika,” he said lowly. “We need to go.”

You glanced around, but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Still, you trusted Alpha, so you nodded, offering your thanks to the vendor as you started back in the vague direction of the hotel.

“What’s going on?” You had waited until you and Alpha cleared the square where you’d started, but you couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer.

Alpha took a moment to answer, scanning your surroundings with a grim set to his mouth. “Thought I saw someone I know.”

“One of Obrim’s men?” you asked. When Alpha gave you a strange look, you shrugged. “That’s who was following Maze and I yesterday. Apparently, I’m a flight risk.”

Despite the tension in his posture, Alpha smirked. “That so, little one? I’m glad you warned me now. I’d hate to wake up one day and find that you’d stolen a transport and disappeared.”

You smiled back. “Could happen, but I hope that you wouldn’t make me disappear alone.”

“Never.” Alpha’s expression sobered as he looked around again. “Let’s continue this conversation when we get back to the hotel.”

For a large man, Alpha could move when he wanted to. He did the hard part of clearing a way through the crowd, even with his head ducked to help him blend in. All you had to do was stick close to his heels and get through the crowd before the halves re-merged behind him.

There was a noticeable decrease in the number of people as you approached the hotel. The area was mostly commercial zoning, so there were few housing complexes in the area. And apparently, not many tourists wanted to stay in the legal district.

When you and Alpha were two streets away from the hotel, a figure pushed steadily away from a wall. You could see it in silhouette - tall and lanky, but bulky in a way that seemed both familiar and utterly alien.

“Alpha,” you breathed, trying to keep the warning as low as possible.

“I know, neverd’ika,” he soothed, fingertips brushing over your forearm. “Keep an eye on ‘em - I have one back here, too.”

You eyed the figure nervously. “Do we stop?”

“Do anything but stop,” Alpha told you sternly. “Get to the hotel room and lock the door, even if I’m not with you. Don’t stop or wait for me. I’ll meet you there.”

“Alpha…”

“No time,” he hissed.

He was right. By that point, you were close enough to the figure ahead of you to see that it was wearing dark armor and a visor.

You did your best to skirt around the figure, clutching Alpha’s arm hard enough that your nails bit into the skin beneath his body glove. He slowed behind you just as the person reached out to grab your wrist in an iron grip.

“We need a word.” The modulated voice came from the helmeted face, sounding vaguely humanoid, but you didn’t recognize the tone. The accent was precise, almost polished, but dripping with menace and threats left unspoken.

It was hard to pinpoint when the change happened, but your mind was abruptly taken over by all of the training you had done with Trem. You let the figure keep a grip on your wrist, barrelling into their chest hard enough to knock them off-balance. One of your legs was planted slightly behind one of theirs, and when they stumbled backward, they tripped on your calf and fell heavily to the ground.

Initially, the figure didn’t let go of you, but working around clone troopers had left you with a keen understanding of armor and its weak points. With their arm extended upward to keep their hold on your wrist, their unarmored armpit was exposed. You planted the toe of your shoe against that unprotected joint and their grip faltered long enough for you to pull free.

“Su cuy’gar, Alpha,” someone greeted from behind you.

You were beyond the point of caring who these people were, tugging at Alpha’s arm so insistently that his shoulder joint probably hurt just as badly as that of the figure on the ground. Alpha, however, stopped short at the friendly voice.

Alpha’s solid body stopping halted you as well, if only because you had such a strong grip on his elbow. You collided heavily against Alpha’s chest and he caught you almost absent-mindedly, already turning to face the other person.

This one was much shorter. They were also wearing full armor and a helmet, though the gold plates of that armor were partially hidden behind a long cloak. Something tickled at the back of your mind, but the rumbling of Alpha’s voice through his chest distracted you before you could seize it.

“Skirata,” he greeted flatly in return.

You stared from the figure to Alpha and back again. “Skirata?”

“Alpha. Administrator.” The helmet inclined slightly, as if Skirata was eyeing the figure on the ground. “Alpha, my boy, you aren’t going to let an old man lie helplessly on the sidewalk, are you?”

A pang of guilt burned through the pit of your stomach. An old man? You had knocked down an old man? Armor or no, you were suddenly terrified that he had been hurt. Reflexively, you started forward, but Alpha’s hand on your shoulder stopped you from getting too close.

Instead, he glanced down at the man lying on the ground in his black armor and gave a loud snort. “Weren’t expecting that, were you, Vau? Suspect some of your boys would pay good credits to see you get taken down by a civvie.”

“I never did like you, Seventeen,” the dark-armored figure spat out, pushing himself up to his feet.

Alpha watched him, unimpressed. “The feeling is mutual.”

Skirata cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, son, but I heard the two of you were going to be on Triple Zero and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to meet your charming friend.”

“I’m not your son, Skirata,” Alpha dismissed. “And my friend is no business of yours. Let us pass.”

“Oh, but she is,” Skirata insisted, reaching up to remove his helmet. His freshly revealed face wasn’t as old as you had expected from his statement about Vau, but you weren’t truly surprised. Skirata carried himself with an aura of capable menace that warned he was still well able to fight. The features were schooled into an expression of kindly consideration, but you weren’t entirely fooled. There was a glint in his eyes, one of both keen interest and deadly focus.

“Kal Skirata,” he said, by way of an introduction. You had already braced yourself for his opening salvo when he added, “My boys tell me that you read all of of Ko Sai’s notes on genetic manipulation.”

The mood turned to something dark and frozen. You could feel the way Alpha was getting ready to tear into the older Mandalorian man, but you couldn’t let him. This was nothing more than a bluff. An incredibly high-stakes bluff, but nothing more than that.

With your most professional smile, you shook your head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Skirata, but I think you were misinformed. I never read the notes, just saw that they existed. I was able to see the note headings briefly using my Kaminoan administrative password, but I never accessed any of the actual files.”

“That so?” he asked, sounding unsurprised by your denial.

“Sadly,” you agreed. “I tried to warn your boys not to try slicing into the files, but I couldn’t convince them to listen before they set off the self-destruct feature.”

“They’ve always been hasty,” Skirata agreed with despairing smile. “Comes with the accelerated aging, is my guess. They know how little time they have, so they’re more likely to jump into things with both feet. Can’t really blame them, can we?”

The casual tone of Skirata’s voice was belied by the staggering intensity in his gaze. He was testing you, probing to see whether you knew more than you were letting on. Unfortunately for everyone, you didn’t. You had technically seen Ko Sai’s notes, but for all that you had understood, you may as well have been reading Huttese.

So you deflected, not with another lie, but with a truth so deep and close to your heart that there was nothing more honest you could hope to give this stranger.

“I can’t blame them at all,” you agreed, emotion tightening your throat until your voice sounded almost painful. “The only ones I do blame are the Kaminoans. It’s a cruel and heartless thing, to give life but make sure it’s short as well as being painful and frightening. If I ever found a way to reverse the accelerated aging, I would risk everything I have to get it out of Kamino and to the right people. That’s the reason I agreed to help your sons.”

Alpha’s hand skimmed over your forearm, settling just below your elbow with a light squeeze. You took a shaking breath, relaxing your muscles and expression with effort. There was a fine line between fervor that would convince someone like Skirata, and giving him ammunition to have you locked away by the Republic if you made a move he disliked. You had likely crossed back and forth over that line several times so far, but you couldn’t pretend it wasn’t the truth.

“I feel the same way,” Skirata said when you had collected yourself. “I wish more people did, but more people see the clones as expendable than as living beings.”

“They’ll learn someday,” you insisted. “They’ll have to. This war won’t last forever.”

Skirata’s expression grew sad. “We’ll see.”

Alpha cleared his throat. “We won’t see anything if someone reports us talking and the Republic decides to pay closer attention to what we’re doing on Kamino. We should go.”

“Pragmatic as ever,” Vau admitted, scanning the area around you all. “And a good point. Let’s wrap this up, Skirata.”

“Alpha has always been able to cut through to the point,” Skirata told you, leaning in as if Alpha wouldn’t be able to hear him from a yard away. “I’m as proud of him as I am any of my boys.”

Alpha rolled his eyes and sighed loudly.

“It was nice to meet you,” Skirata said, offering his hand in a firm shake. “Always like to get the measure of the people my boys work with, especially when they say someone is trustworthy.”

You tilted your head at that, but returned his handshake. If the Nulls found you trustworthy, you would think it was a shock, but you decided against saying it. Instead, you stared into Skirata’s face, attempting to get a sense of him in the same way he was trying with you.

He wasn’t as kindly and paternal as he pretended to be. You had realized that almost immediately. And now that you had spoken with him, Skirata’s air of harmlessness was laughable. He made you wary. He was a good man who loved his sons as fiercely as any parent you had ever met, and he was willing to do anything to keep them safe. If you were ever in the way of him doing so, you were as good as dead.

“Nice to meet you, too,” you agreed. “Always nice to see the ways children take after a parent.”

The corners of Skirata’s lips curled up in an appreciative smile. He seemed like a man who liked to speak plainly when possible, but he also seemed the type to enjoy a good verbal spar. “One last piece of advice? It’s a little harder to make changes from outside the system, but not impossible. And it takes care of any privacy agreements you may have signed. Working in the private sector means that you can rally the public to your side when you need to.”

“How-?”

You had stopped yourself before fully admitting that you had gotten a job offer from Nora, but Skirata still gave you a knowing smile. “It pays to have friends in strange places.”

“I’m sure she appreciates career advice from a mercenary,” Alpha interrupted, clearly having reached the end of his patience. “If you have any other wisdom to pass along, comm us.”

No one got in the way as you and Alpha left, but you didn’t exactly give them the chance. Your quick steps didn’t stop until you reached the safety of your hotel room, and you locked the door the moment you and Alpha were inside.

“How much of that was a threat?” you asked in the artificial silence of the room.

“Plenty,” Alpha said shortly, checking the locks on everything from the windows to the hatches covering the climate control vents. You watched in silence, antsy from the heavy tension of the room.

Sure enough, Alpha turned expectantly to you when he had finished. “Something you need to tell me?”

You took a breath to steel yourself. “After you left the restaurant last night, Nora told me about a group that might be interested in hiring me.”

“Are you going to finish the report first, or leave immediately?” he asked and you flinched at the blank expression he wore. Even his tone was flat, distant. “Are you coming back to Kamino at all, or do you want me to pack up your things and ship them back here for you?”

“No, Alpha,” you pleaded softly. “I’m not leaving. That’s the point. I wanted to talk to you about this myself after I knew a little more-”

“Is that why you didn’t tell me?”

You stared at him, aghast. “I just found out about this last night! And we were a little busy today. But I would have said something tomorrow or the next day. Don’t forget, we have another three days on a transport to get back to Kamino.”

Alpha didn’t join in with your nervous laughter. “I don’t like that Skirata knew before I did. And Czajak - did she purposefully wait until I had left?”

“No…” you said uncomfortably, but you couldn’t let the lie stand. “Well, yes, but not because you weren’t supposed to be part of my decision. She just wanted me to have the chance to turn it down without anyone else weighing in. And I have no idea how Skirata knew about it.”

Alpha’s spine was painfully straight as he turned to check the locks on the window again. It took a long moment before he spoke again. “I would never force you to stay on Kamino. You know that, don’t you?”

The raw vulnerability in the question made your heart ache.

“Of course I know that, Alpha,” you reassured, starting toward him. You stopped when you saw the way he tensed even more at your approach. “Nora was trying to look out for me, but she doesn’t know how our relationship works. I’ve been terrified about finishing the report for months. Now I have a chance to stay on Kamino - to stay with you - if I play my cards right. I want that so badly, but I don’t want to get your hopes up in case they don’t want to keep me.”

“They would be di’kuts if they didn’t keep you,” Alpha said with a scowl.

You smiled despite yourself. “You don’t even know who they are.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he grumbled. He sighed a moment later. “I’ve been worried about you finishing the report, too.”

You did an inelegant double-take. “You were-? You never said anything.”

Alpha shrugged. “It wouldn’t have helped. You were already worried. You didn’t need me making it worse. Who wants to hire you?”

“Some group called Sentient Rights,” you explained haltingly. “I haven’t heard of them, but Nora said she works with them quite a bit. They’ve read my report and they like that I treat the troopers as… people. They want to use some pull to keep me on Kamino as a way of preventing any violations of your rights.”

“We’re clones,” Alpha reminded harshly. “We don’t have rights.”

“Right now, the Senate hasn’t made any ruling on you except that you can be used as soldiers in the Grand Army of the Republic,” you countered. “Until they make an official decision, you don’t have rights, but you don’t not have rights.”

“That makes no sense,” he grumbled after a long moment of trying to find a gap in your logic.

“The Republic rarely does,” you agreed. Alpha’s lips twisted in a suppressed smile.

“What’s your plan?” he asked instead of remarking on your opinion of the Republic. “Work with them and hope they can keep you on Kamino?”

“I’m hoping to get confirmation that I’ll stay on Kamino before I submit the report,” you admitted. “I want to comm them before we leave Coruscant in case they want to meet in-person. I know the Kaminoans will kick me off-planet as soon as the report is done, and I don’t want to give them a chance to bar me before I get a permanent post.”

“Smart,” Alpha said with a nod. “Just as smart as hiding from Skirata that you read Nala Se’s notes.”

You grimaced, sitting heavily on the bed. Your knees felt a little weak at the reminder. “Hopefully, the misdirection was enough to throw him off. He definitely seemed suspicious.”

“He won’t waste time chasing down a lead like that if he doesn’t believe it’ll pay off,” Alpha reassured, sitting down beside you. “I don’t think you have to worry about him. At least, not in that way.”

“Good,” you said fervently.

There were ways to recapture information that a human or humanoid had seen, even if they couldn’t consciously remember it. But those ways were never pleasant and they were frequently dangerous. No sane being would willingly submit to the process. Unfortunately, it often happened to beings who were less than willing. If nothing else, Skirata seemed like the type who wouldn’t necessarily care about little things like ‘coercion’ or ‘war crimes’.

“Don’t worry, little one,” Alpha said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing as if he could hear your internal worries. “I said I would always keep you safe and I meant it.”

“I know, Alpha,” you agreed, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and smirking when he shuddered a bit.

“Keep that up and you’re going to be in for a night,” he warned lowly, voice rumbling delightfully next to your ear.

“I know, Alpha,” you repeated, smiling as you pressed another kiss to his neck.

It was impossible to know how full the hotel was, but your neighbors - if you had them - probably weren’t thrilled at your pleased squeal as he flipped you onto the bed.

---

Author's Note - Hey, friends! I'm going to start with a few disclaimers in case anyone is upset.

No, Brid's trial is not going to be a major plot point moving forward. It and the outcome will be mentioned in passing, but only in relation to other changes. This story is already running longer than I meant it to and we have other places to be.

Walon Vau is a certified badass, not a feeble old man who could be knocked down by a civvie. We're chalking it up to him expecting Alpha to cause problems and momentarily shifting his focus away from the administrator, who he expected to be rather helpless.

Kal Skirata is not someone to be fooled by an impassioned speech from a stranger, but he and the administrator were speaking their own little language in that scene. It was less about what they said than about getting the measure of each other, and giving the right impression in return.

The next chapter will be a spicy one, and I intend for it to be out next week if I can get my life together long enough to write it. It's been a busy few weeks (also my excuse for why this wasn't posted on Wednesday like I had originally intended).

Thanks for reading! I'll see you all soon!

#gar cyare #gar cyare fic #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars legends #star wars fanfiction #alpha 17 #alpha 17 fic #sw tcw #reader insert #captain alpha 17 #alpha x reader #alpha x you #alpha 17 x reader #alpha 17 x you #mando jumpscare #kal skirata #walon vau

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