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danaewrites · 19 days

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Helmet Over Heels

part iii: harder to hide than i thought

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 4.2k

summary: When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives.

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

the first part of this chapter is very much inspired by Space Song by Beach House. imagining the pretty lights of hyperspace instead of the slope fields i’m working on in calculus has kept me sane, so hopefully you beautiful readers have as much fun with that as i did!

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv coming soon!

You slowly stirred to consciousness, face scrunching up at the heat of the sun on your face. Memories flowed back to you in disjointed flashes, slowly piecing together the setting of your current prone, relaxed state.

You’d spent the night mesmerized by the bright lights of hyperspace that lit up the darkness beyond the ship’s windows, fighting the sleep that threatened to lower your eyelids. You tried your best to remain quiet and allow Mando to pilot you through the galaxy in peace, but you couldn’t help the gasp that slipped out when the white beams momentarily faded into pastel shades of lilac and chartreuse. His helmet snapped sharply towards you at the sudden noise, tensed shoulders only relaxing once he saw the awed expression on your face.

“You haven’t seen this before?” He sounded surprised, and for a moment you felt embarrassment twist in your stomach at your lack of travel experience. He sighed, baritone turning low and thoughtful. “Come here.” He gestured for you to lean closer to him, directing your attention to a small cluster of dots on the navigation holoscreen.

“We’re passing through the Cresser Nebula. The original star died too recently for the dust to fully disperse,” he explained. “The extra material makes the hyperspace tunnel thinner for a moment– those colors are the new stars forming outside of it in the leftover gas.” He spoke with an unexpected patience, and you wondered whether he’d learned it from attempting to teach Grogu. In your experience, trying to keep the green baby’s focus for longer than a minute was a constant challenge.

You’d hung onto his careful speech, memorizing every detail as he continued his quiet tour of the cosmos. It was the first time you’d ever truly heard about the intricacies of space; your overwhelming focus on surviving Nath’s harsh environment generally took up any extra time you could’ve used to learn about the rest of the galaxy. You didn’t intend to let a single lesson of his go to waste, not when you were finally free to hear them.

You snuck a glance at the reflection of his silver helmet in the arched window, admiring how the lights shimmered across the beskar. You wondered what he was looking at beneath the metal mask: the pretty blur of hyperspace, his blinking console, or maybe the tiny lever where Grogu’s ball rested? There was just so much to watch, from the endlessly flickering radar screen to the breathtaking display of deep space beyond the glass paneling. You didn’t think you’d ever get sick of the view; you’d stay on his ship for the rest of your life if it meant you could enjoy the peace of hyperspace every night. Despite your pondering, his visor gave nothing away, and you forced yourself to pull your eyes away before he caught you staring.

The quiet rhythm of his steady, modulated breaths beside you only added to the calmness that settled into your fatigued bones. Eventually, your exhausted brain must have shuttled you away to dreamland somewhere in the trance of hyperspace. Maybe you had been more tired than you thought, because you certainly didn’t remember bringing a blanket this comfortable back to your seat. You were wrapped in something thick and warm, a soothing contrast to the cool leather beneath your thighs.

A tiny sigh found its way out of your mouth as you pressed your face into the soft fabric, shielding yourself from the daylight before you were forced to face reality once again. Stars, but it was lovely. The faint smell of woodsmoke and vetiver and something mechanical—blaster grease, maybe—enveloped you as you melted into the cloth, overwhelmingly reminded of days spent playing in your family’s workshop back on Odala. You’d forgotten so much of what life was back then, simple and joyful, but this tiny luxury of sensation brought back some of those precious memories.

A quiet inhalation echoed from above you and your eyes snapped open. You jolted up from the cool leather of the passenger seat to see Mando paused mid-step before you, helmet tilted towards where you had snuggled into the blanket. You looked down to see that the blanket was not a blanket at all; it was, in fact, his own deep grey cloak that you were clutching like it was your child. Your face flamed and you quickly relaxed your grip, awkwardly smoothing out the areas where your hands had wrinkled the charcoal fabric.

Had he given you the cloak? You didn’t think you had a habit of sleepwalking, and there was no way he’d have been unaware of you somehow snatching it in the night. Grogu was still wherever he’d been dropped off, so his shenanigans couldn’t have been involved. That left the most logical option– that Mando had been the one to settle the soft fabric against you in the darkness of the cockpit.

You felt your cheeks flush again, this time from acknowledgement of the unexpectedly thoughtful action. You knew that following the temptation of that warm feeling led to nothing but danger. You couldn’t risk messing up the best thing that’d happened to you since you escaped your ruined homeworld, but… it’d been so long since anyone tried to take care of you, even with a gesture that small. Your traitorous heart beat a little faster at the thought.

“I— have you been awake long?” You spoke sheepishly, hoping to distract him from the messy tangles in your hair and the redness left on your cheek from being pressed into the seat all night. You were sure you looked ridiculous, though the Mandalorian appeared perfectly polished as usual. The mud and soot from the previous day’s activities had been scrubbed from his armor, replaced with a subtle shine.

“No.” He dragged his glance away, moving past you to flip a series of switches above the pilot’s seat. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, feeling the Crest settle onto the ground with a muffled thunk. You opened your eyes to find that the sunlit clouds of the atmosphere had disappeared, in its place an arid desert with a bright metropolis of a city on the horizon. The planet’s name was Nevarro; according to the navscreen, it was located in the Outer Rim. You had landed near its titular city, an old trading stop and the location of the Bounty Guild’s main headquarters.

“The kid’s been staying with some old friends here. Sent them a comm that I’d be coming today,” Mando said as he straightened from his position crouched over the controls.

You nodded, tugging your shirt down from where it had risen up over your abdomen when you slept. A frown creased your forehead as you stared at the worn piece of fabric. You hadn’t had the chance to retrieve the rest of your minimal wardrobe before leaving Nath– the swarm of angry citizens around your rental pod had made sure of that. If you were to survive the wide range of galactic temperatures while traveling with Mando, you’d definitely need a few more outfits. You made a mental note to persuade him to make a market detour before leaving the city.

Mando opened the cockpit doors with a pressurized hiss, and you scrambled down the ladder after him. Your eyes wandered over the tidy hull of the ship, surprised at how neatly-kept it was now that you were seeing it in full light. It was bigger than you expected, too. There was enough space for a cramped but functional ‘fresher, tucked beside what appeared to be a bedroom. You caught a glimpse of a miniature hammock suspended across a corner of the small room. That must be where Grogu slept, if the little red sheet hanging off the edge was anything to go by. Beneath it, you noticed a set of dark, slightly-wrinkled blankets stretched across a lowered bed frame.

Your eyes widened slightly as you realized that Mando must have slept there sometime after you passed out. It was oddly intimate, seeing proof that even the armored bounty hunter had human needs. At least, you assumed he was human, from his shape and voice. You’d spent longer than you’d willingly admit imagining what he might look under the layered beskar, eventually coming to the conclusion that a pair of green ears would definitely not fit under the helmet. The father and son didn’t appear to share any physical characteristics, and you wondered what their story was. Hopefully, you’d find out some of that information while taking care of Grogu.

Your attention focused back on the rest of the hull, eyes tracing the supplies stacked neatly by the net-lined walls with evident curiosity. Mando gestured to a dark set of doors by the ship’s entrance. “That’s the carbonite freezer. I’d suggest you stay away from those buttons, unless you want to travel like a bounty,” he warned.

You eyed the area with trepidation and nodded. He seemed satisfied with your response, pressing another set of buttons until the boarding ramp lowered. “Behind the cockpit is the galley– it’s not much, but you’re welcome to use it.”

You nodded again, relieved that you wouldn’t have to subsist on flavorless ration packets while traveling. Maybe you’d even have the time to experiment with a few new dishes– a luxury not afforded to you during your hectic hours at the cantina. “What are Grogu’s favorite foods?”

“Anything that hops,” the Mandalorian grumbled, tone quickly filling with exasperation. “He’s not picky when he’s on the ship, but take him outside for a minute and the kid’ll have eaten all the frogs in a damn parsec.”

Your mouth quirked up as you imagined the little green child stuffing his face with whatever unfortunate amphibian dared to go near him. Like father, like son, you supposed. Those hunting skills had to be passed on somehow.

“And you?”

Mando paused his descent onto the ramp, clearly caught off guard by your question.

“What meals do you prefer?” You clarified, mind wandering to all of the dinners you’d saved for him back at the cantina. You could never quite determine which he liked best, since the bowls were always scraped clean no matter what you put in them. You weren’t sure whether that said more about your ability as a chef or the lack of actual food aboard the Crest. “I’m more of a fresh fruit and vegetables person myself, we never got much of those back on Nath,” you admitted.

He coughed, modulated voice rough with surprise. “I— whatever you make is fine.” You remained silent, fixing him with an expectant look. Men.

He hesitated for a moment, then spoke, “I liked the spicy orange stew.” At your blank look, he continued. “With the little… bread pockets?”

Your eyebrows raised at that, and you hummed thoughtfully as you remembered the dish he was talking about. “Oh– the napethsh curry!”

That had definitely been one of your finer culinary moments. Your boss had brought in packets of rich, aromatic spice powder that morning for the day’s special– a rare, delicious find. You’d carefully shaken them into a savoury pot of sandgrain with the last of the sweet tubers, alternating between stirring the dish and flipping fried bread puffs on the pan next to it. Your eyes had fluttered shut in pure appreciation when you’d finally tasted your handiwork, and if Mando’s reaction had been at all similar— well, you couldn’t blame him for wanting more.

“Spicy food, huh. I can work with that.” You beamed up at him, visions of fragrant curries dancing in your head as you followed him into the sandy landscape. You’d bet a fair amount of credits that a market on a desert planet like Nevarro would have no lack of spice vendors. If your haggling skills were up to par, Mando might get his wish granted faster than expected.

***

The Crest had landed within a reasonable distance of Nevarro, but when you finally reached the metropolis you felt as if you’d been walking for miles. It would take some time for you to get used to the feeling of intense heat on your skin instead of the bone-chilling Nathian winds.

All your discomfort, however, was quickly forgotten as you entered the city. Terracotta buildings lined the narrow, twisting streets; each structure featured no less than four oval windows and was topped with a dome that curved to a sharply pointed apex. Vibrantly dyed clothes fluttered in the desert wind, carefully draped across thin lines of rope that criss-crossed over the alleyways. You watched as a group of laughing children weaved between the booths of haggling vendors in their pursuit of a hovering disc. It was noisy and cramped and reminded you so much of home that your breath caught in your chest.

You didn’t notice that you’d stopped walking until Mando called your name, breaking the spell the warm environment had put on you. Your gaze snapped up to see the beskar-clad man paused several paces in front of you. Kriff. Had you really been that lost in thought?

“Sorry, I– got distracted,” you offered sheepishly, almost tripping over a loose cobblestone in an effort to catch up. “Where are we headed?”

“There’s a school here, where the old Guild headquarters used to be.” Your armored companion adjusted something on his helmet, scanning the area before he motioned for you to follow him down a less-crowded street. “Don’t know whether the kid likes the lessons or stealing his classmates’ lunches more,” he grumbled under his breath. You gave a small chuckle at that, remembering Grogu’s endless attempts at sneaking a treat from the bar whenever your back was turned.

You stayed close to Mando as he led the way through Nevarro’s crooked streets, gawking at the liveliness that seemed to infect the entire town. People smiled at each other as they passed, shouting multilingual greetings from across the busy pathways. It was so very different from Nath, where the most interaction you’d get in a week outside of your work was a couple of suspicious glares from the old women selling fish on the street corners. You’d felt so isolated there, but here your mood was buoyed by the warm spirit that lit up each face you passed with a genuine expression.

Mando stopped near the doorway of a round, sandy building on the edge of the town square. Despite the darkness of the clover-shaped entrance, you could still see the faint outlines of desks and hear the sound of excited children talking over each other. A tall man draped with a regal–looking cloak leaned against the school’s wall next to an imposing, muscular woman. His face brightened as Mando approached– something rather unusual, considering that most people were terrified that he’d been sent to capture them.

“Karga,” the beskar-clad man in front of you acknowledged with a dip of his helmet.

“Ah, that’s Magistrate Karga to you, Mando!” The dark-skinned man boomed jovially, stepping forward. “Things have changed since your last visit,” he continued. “Nevarro isn’t just a dusty pit stop anymore.” He spread his arm wide, gesturing to the bustling town square, and you privately agreed with his assessment.

Mando gave a short nod, then shifted the conversation to more important matters. “Where’s the kid?”

“He should be finishing school any moment now–” Karga was interrupted by your excited gasp.

“Hi, bug!”

You stepped out from the tall Mandalorian’s shadow, beaming down at the little brown bundle speed-waddling towards you. You crouched down to his height and opened your arms, laughing at his excited babbling. “Yeah, I missed you too.” You were completely sincere, despite the teasing tone of your voice. The kid’s antics brought a lightness to your life that you didn’t know you needed until he came along.

“Mando, you didn’t tell me you brought a friend!” Karga exclaimed, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. “And such a lovely one at that,” he continued, bending with a dramatic flourish of a bow. “Now you don’t have to call me Magistrate, just Greef will do,” he winked.

You were pretty sure Mando was rolling his eyes underneath his helmet, if his crossed arms were anything to go by, and you refrained from doing the same. You knew men like Karga back on Nath– charming and flirtatious, but only to the extent that it benefited their ambitions. You were more flattered by the thought that he’d deemed you important enough to impress than by his actual words.

Still, you gave him a good-natured smile and introduced yourself as you bent down to pick up Grogu. “Your city is beautiful, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you complimented the Magistrate, holding in a laugh at the way his chest puffed up.

“So how’d someone like you wind up with him?” The muscular woman beside him asked with blunt honesty, cocking her head towards the Mandalorian. She crossed her leather-bound arms, clearly interested in your response.

“Oh, I’m Grogu’s–” you paused, looking over at Mando as you tried to think of the right descriptor. You hadn’t exactly discussed job titles in the twelve hours you’d been employed by him, and you didn’t want to accidentally offend him by implying the wrong level of familiarity. And it wasn’t like you could just tell them you’d knocked his shiny butt into a snowbank, beginning a beautiful friendship of riding rainbow Mythosaurs into the sunset and exploding the occasional Tradoshan and/or cantina along the way. Although… the idea was rather tempting, if only to see how Mando would react.

“Caretaker,” the armored man finished for you, and you sent him a grateful look. The muscular woman next to him smirked, appraising you before extending her hand.

“Cara Dune. Ex-Rebel-shocktrooper, current Marshal of Nevarro,” she introduced herself with a wink. You instantly liked her, despite the intimidating aura she exuded. Her frankness appealed to you— it was a welcome reprieve from the icy insincerity Nath’s citizens wrapped their hearts in, tighter than their winter cloaks.

Karga rubbed his hands together eagerly. “Well now, Mando, we have some business to discuss. Marshal Dune will show your friend to the market, if you wouldn’t mind coming with me,” he spoke, gesturing to the tall, sloped capitol at the forefront of the plaza.

Mando remained where he stood, helmet tilting towards you. “Get her to the medcenter first. Have them take care of her face before anything else.” He instructed the Marshal. You winced as the unsightly gash across your cheekbone twinged, a reminder of why you were here in the first place.

“Hmm. What’s in it for me?” She cocked an eyebrow at the armored man. “I’m a busy woman these days, I can’t always be making detours…”

“Dune,” he warned, tone supremely unimpressed.

The dark-haired woman’s smug grin widened. “Yes, sir,” she spoke, raising her arm in a mockery of a salute. “Didn’t realize it was that serious.” She nudged your arm, giving you a knowing once-over as she walked past the beskar-plated man. “Alright, then. Medcenter it is.”

You turned to leave with her, but the cool press of beskar on your forearm paused you in your tracks. You angled your head up to meet Mando’s gaze– or at least, where you assumed his eyes were beneath the beskar– with a questioning look. He tilted his head toward the bustling streets and pressed a handful of credits into your palm.

“Get whatever you need. We won’t be stopping at another market for a few weeks,” he instructed, and you nodded gratefully as you tucked them into a secure pocket of your tunic.

Suddenly, Grogu cooed, grabbing for the remaining credits glistening at the top of the pouch that hung from Mando’s belt. His unexpected movement caused you to stumble forward, just barely catching yourself as he slipped out of your arms. You frantically tried to regain your clutch on the child before he could scamper away, but Mando had already beaten you to it, holding him firmly in place on the cobblestone road.

To your surprise, the armored man crouched down and fixed his son with a rather intimidating head tilt. “Hey. Don’t do that again,” he warned the green toddler, who blinked up at him with guileless eyes. “You’re going to behave for her,” he reminded Grogu sternly. “Or no coloring book.”

That did the trick. Grogu immediately turned to you, lower lip trembling and arms outstretched in repentance. You raised an eyebrow, but allowed him to climb back up into your embrace. Your mouth quirked to the side as you looked back up at Mando.

“You still have the coloring book?” You asked, eyes crinkled with surprise.

The Mandalorian scoffed. “It’s a miracle Karga was able to wrestle it from him before school.”

Your lips curved into a delighted smile, pleased that you’d judged the kid’s artistic interest correctly. You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Well, I’m excited to see what he’s made,” you grinned up at the beskar-covered man. Your gaze lingered on him for a moment, watching the desert sun flicker across his helmet as Grogu nestled into your arms.

“Hey! You coming or what?” Both of your heads snapped to where Cara was standing at the end of the road, hands on her hips and a curious look on her face. You stammered out a sheepish apology and raced over, but when the Marshal’s attention was diverted, you couldn’t resist looking back at the silhouette of the armored man. You gave him a tiny wave, holding in a giggle at the way Grogu mimicked your action.

The Mandalorian raised his gloved hand, subtly returning the gesture. You spun back to the street with a hidden smile.

***

As promised, Cara led you to the medcenter, where you waited for a nurse droid to patch your face up with a bacta kit. The building was unlike any you’d ever been in; light shone through stained–glass skylights onto the woven cushions where prospective patients rested, the scent of cinnamon and sanitizing solutions mixing to form an odd but not entirely unpleasant aroma in the air.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Mando?”

“What?” Your confused expression made her lean back on her cushion with a lighthearted scoff.

“Oh, come on. He doesn’t let just anybody stay around his kid. I had to fight off a damn Imperial invasion to get him to trust me,” she muttered, eyeing you. You blinked in surprise, then remembered that she’d been a Shocktrooper before Nevarro. Of course Mando would need someone with those terrifying skills in his line of work.

“So what’d you have to do? Rescue another alien child? Blow up a prison?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, letting Grogu toy with your fingers. The cantina wasn’t a prison, but explosives were definitely involved. You figured you were dancing on the right side of the truth.

Cara shook her head in mock exasperation. “Mandalorians. Always gotta be something with them.” She grinned, all teeth. “Good thing I like demolition.”

You shot her a wry grin, opening your mouth to ask her how she’d wound up on Nevarro. Unfortunately, the droid chose that moment to spray you straight in the eyes with aerosolized sanitizer. You yelped in pain, scrambling to direct its robotic arm to the right location before you wound up needing bacta for more than one spot on your face.

Once you’d finally gotten the droid under control and your treatment grudgingly paid for, you headed out to the market with directions from Cara– all previous questions forgotten in the stinging wake of the sanitizer. You’d parted with a promise to return with stories about your travels with Mando and the kid. Mostly, she wanted to know if there was any exciting conflict in the center of the galaxy that she could jump into. You had a feeling she wouldn’t stay as Nevarro’s Marshal for too long; you recognized the thirst for adventure that gleamed in her eyes all too well.

Your time in the market was far too short, even though you’d spent the better part of a day there. You’d happily wandered through the streets, wonder etched into the lines of your face at the sheer variety of wares hawked at every turn. You’d trained yourself to be frugal, determined to buy only the essentials and save the rest for your future travels, but here even the barest necessities were crafted with care.

Sweet, earthy jasmine soap that surrounded you with a peaceful aroma; impossibly soft textiles that shimmered enticingly in the sun; bittersweet fruit that melted into a soothing wave of liquid in your mouth. Nevarro was a land of plenty indeed, you mused as you pored over a vendor’s towering collection of cheese.

You returned to the school as the sun sunk beneath the horizon, a drowsy green child on one arm and a basket of supplies on the other. You said your goodbyes to Karga and left, Mando’s bounty belt now four pucks heavier. The two of you ambled back to the ship in peaceful silence, Grogu asleep in your arms and the soft glow of the night lanterns glimmering on curved beskar.

Unbeknownst to the bounty hunter, a tiny jar of dried nari peppers rested in your back pocket. It’d taken you ages to choose from the tables of spicy seasonings, but you finally decided on this one despite its exorbitant price. You planned to surprise him with it on some sort of special occasion– maybe a birthday, or a holiday. It had been too long since you’d had cause to celebrate anything, really, and you were determined to seize any little chance you could. Hm. Did either of your new roommates even have birthdays? You’d have to wrest that information out of Mando eventually. But for now, you were content to just walk next to him in the moonlight, city hubbub fading away into the quiet whisper of the sand.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @aheadfullofsteverogers @dindjarinsmut @orcasoul @maellem @pigeonmama

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read on: part iv coming soon!

#baby yoda #friends to lovers #clan of two #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin angst #din djarin fic #best friends to lovers #fem reader #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #slow burn

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psychedelic-ink · 2 years

Text

kinktober '22 ║Ⅶ

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni

word count: 1.4k

summary: din likes it when you cry for him.

warnings: dacryphilia, piv, exploration of masochism/sadism, non explicit mentions of consensual slapping/hitting, more of an emotionally driven kinktober piece

MLISTS . LIBRARY. TAGLIST . KINKTOBER '22

The first time you cried, Din was worried.

He was deep inside of you, the shaft of his length scolding as he moved his hips. Did I hurt you, he had asked. You only shook your head, saying something along the lines that it felt so good and that it made you want to cry. He ignored it after that, his sole focus being to make you feel good.

The second time was a month later. He took you from behind, gloved hands gripping at your waist, the visor of his helmet pressed between your shoulder blades. That time he didn’t question it. He tugged your hair, twisting you so that he could see the wet streaks going down your warm cheeks. His thumb pressed into them, smearing the wetness further into your skin. You cried harder then. He came hot against the small of your back, huffing and groaning as he listened to you sob.

The third time it was clear to you that Din enjoyed that you cried. It was fine because you enjoyed crying. Enjoyed being so bare and vulnerable for him. It was dark inside of the Razor Crest, you could only feel the wall you were promptly pressed against. For the first time Din removed his glove. He felt the salty drop with his fingers, rutting into you faster than before as he brought a thumb to the corner of your eyes, sighing as a drop rolled over his thumb.

Neither of you addressed it.

The first time he said anything about it you were laying completely naked on top of the cot, his naked body between your legs and covered head resting between your tits. The tips of his fingers skimmed along the frame of your body, still wet with a sheer coat of postcoital sweat.

“I feel bad,” his modulated voice echoes in the small chamber.

“For what?” you ask, knowing well that it was hard for him to open up.

“For enjoying it when you cry. It’s not normal. Is it?”

“Well, I enjoy crying. That’s not normal either,”

“I think it is,” he says thoughtfully, laying his moving hand against the bottom of your breast. “You feel good. So good that you can’t hold it in, isn’t that normal? People cry happy tears, angry tears, I don’t think this is much different,”

“When you put it that way I guess,” you shrug, hand tracing the nooks and crevices of his helmet. “Will you feel better if I tell you something not-so normal about me?”

He chuckles, fingers now gently squeezing the flesh of your tit.

“Depends on what it is,”

You take a slow breath, making a show of your lungs expanding. Fear went into your skin like multiple needles. You aren’t sure how he’ll react to your deepest, darkest desires. You’re not even sure how you want him to react. You look at him one more time before speaking, his fingers trails around your nipple, it pebbles at his gentle touch.

“Sometimes I want you to hurt me,”

He stills. You’re pretty sure he stopped breathing, probably thinking of the worst as he often did.

“I mean, not anything permanent, obviously,” your teeth dig into your bottom lip. “I just– I sometimes like feeling the pain. Enjoy the feeling of being helpless, someone else being in control of me,” you suck in a cold breath. Din’s hand travels back down to your waist, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I probably like the intensity of it. I think that’s why I enjoy crying too, I like being vulnerable because I feel like I can’t be in my normal life,”

When the space is only filled with the sound of breathing, you shake your head.

“Never mind. It’s stupid, I didn’t say it so we can do it. You don’t have to. Just– Enjoying me cry isn’t the most bizarre thing,”

“It’s not stupid,” he answers almost in a panicked tone. He looks up, dark visor showing a reflection of yourself. “I was just a bit surprised. We can try it,”

“Really?” you raise an eyebrow. “Like, right now?”

“Hmm maybe not right now,” you can hear the grin in his voice. “But soon.”

It all happens in an instant.

While running after a bounty Din nearly got himself thrown over the mountain, which in return made you panic and afraid. In the end you two caught the bounty, but the adrenaline still lingered in your veins. Neither of you talked to each other until you reached the ship.

And even then not a lot of talking occurred.

Din has his hand on your throat, fingers digging into your flesh, pain blossoming across your skin. Suddenly you feel very small standing across from a man covered in beskar. This is what the other must feel, you think. He crowds your personal space, cold chest pieced flush against your body. He breathes heavily. He squeezes more, your eyes feel like they’re about to pop, you can’t breathe. A choked out whimper falls from your lips.

“Your mine aren’t you,” he sneers. “I don’t need you worrying about me. I’m the one that looks after YOU. Not the other way around,”

His helmet presses against your forehead. He listens to your barely there breathing, chest stuttering underneath him. He revels in it. He feels powerful in a way he never has before. To have someone that trusts him to this extent…it makes him ache for you. Din sees the tears already stinging the corner of your eyes, the tremor of your bottom lip, the tremble waving across your body– He enjoys it all, but he also feels that he shouldn’t be.

“Cry for me,” he commands. The hand wrapped around your throat slides up to your chin, you gasp for air, eyes rolling back. “I like it when you cry,”

A soft sniffle is quick to follow, a small tear sliding down your face like untouched moonlight.

Everything happens in a blur. The ground beneath you slips and your feet never grace the cold metal of the ship again. Din’s rough with you. More than rough. But each strike against your body, each bite of his nails or the squeezing of your throat, he does with care. It’s a mind numbing experience. You feel free surrounding yourself completely to him. He doesn’t finger you. He relies only on how wet you are and pushes– no, shoves his cock into the heat of your cunt. You cry for him, beg for him, thank him. Each plea seems to make him more frantic. He pinches your nipples, pulls at your hair, slaps your aching clit. All of it sends jolts of pleasure up your body, electrified.

The nearing of your orgasm makes you full-on cry. Your tears are hot, salty, lips trembling as he fucks into you again and again.

Then you ask something you never asked before.

“Will you kiss me?” you hiccup, your insides clenching around him incredibly tight that he hisses.

He continues to thrust into you, cock going in painfully deep as you wait for an inevitable ‘no, sorry.’ But the dreaded answer never comes. Instead, he yanks the pillow from underneath your head and presses the soft material into your eyes. You feel the weight of his arm holding the pillow. A hiss echoes in the room and a beat late you feel the bristles of his facial hair and the softness of his lips.

His tongue meets your own, licking, tasting and claiming you. Your orgasm shatters through you like glass, it scratches your skin and makes you scream for him. His lips continue to mold into yours. He fucks another orgasm out of you, his own soon following, spilling into you until you’re overflowing.

When the pillow is lifted, you see the familiar sight of shiny beskar. It makes your chest ache, only for a moment, before you lift yourself up with shaky elbows and press a kiss right under his visor.

“Thank you,” you whisper, careful not to fog the glass up. “I love you. I never said it but you know that right? I don’t think I can live without you,”

You hold your breath when his hand lifts and touches the underside of his helmet. There’s a moment of hesitation before he lowers his hand, touching your cheek with the same fingers. Your lips curl upward, a desperate attempt to hide your disappointment.

“I love you too. I love you with every fiber of my body but…” he sighed, laying his head into the crook of your neck. “You know I can’t. Sorry,”

He must’ve seen your disappointment. You were never good at hiding what you feel when it came to him.

“It’s okay,” your smile is sincere this time. “I love you with every fiber of my body too. Maybe even more.”

kinktober tags: @tusk89 , @amneris21 , @witchisenpai , @pedrito-friskito , @tom-whore-dleston , @lola766 , @batdarkladyvampir , @dindjarinswhore , @dnxgma , @eyelessfaces , @queenofthefaceless , @softtdaisy , @saintlike78 , @timpletance , @xdaddysprincessxx , @stardust-galaxies , @spacecowboyhotch

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin/reader #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x y/n #mando x you #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #kinktober '22 #kinktober 2022 #smutober

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violent-darkness · 1 year

Text

Blindfolded

Din Djarin x f!reader

*To see a World in a Grain of Sand

And a Heaven in a Wild Flower

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand

And Eternity in an hour

Summary: Just before parting ways for good you and Din finally share a kiss, albeit in a slightly unconventional manner.

Word count: 3k

A/N: This is my first fic ever and I am really nervous about posting it, so please be gentle with me. 🥺 Originally it was supposed to be way shorter than this, but I got carried away. No warnings whatsoever, it's really just a slow burn, soft and fluffy one-shot. I am keeping the possibility of doing a part two. * The beautiful verse in the beginning is not mine of course. It belongs to William Blake.

You’ve been travelling with the Mandalorian for some time now. He kept you safe from all the bounty hunters and he promised to help you find a Jedi master who will teach you to control your abilities. You know it wasn’t an easy decision for him, but from the moment he first saw you using the Force in order to save his life back on the planet Arvala, he knew that you’re important, special. And boy, you’ve been through a lot together. In a way he is more family to you than anyone else. He is the only one who cared about you since you can’t even remember when. And now you are about to say goodbye to him and the two of you will probably never see each other again. This brings a burning sensation to your chest and it makes you feel slightly nauseated.

These thoughts are spiralling through your head as you watch the Mandalorian piloting the Razor Crest to the planet Dagobah where you are supposed to begin your training to become a Jedi.

"It will take us another 12 hours to reach Dagobah. It should be a smooth ride from here. I turned the autopilot on." Your thoughts are suddenly interrupted by him turning to you from the pilot seat.

“So we have 12 hours to drink spotchka then." You make a firm decision to hide the pain that’s building up inside you, as you smirk with a daring gaze towards him, pulling out the bottle you took with you during your last stop.

He hesitates for a few seconds, but you persist. “Come on, Mando, don’t be like this, don’t spoil all the fun. We don’t have much time left together. Let’s make it a memorable experience, shall we?”

“Okay,” you hear his sigh through the modular of the helmet. His voice sounds a bit somber to you. Is he sad that your are leaving too? You convince yourself that it’s all in your head.

He gets up from his spot and sits next to you on the floor of the ship that’s been your home for the past months and you hand him a glass of spotchka as you refill your own. At first you mostly sit silently next to each other only the soothing noise of the engine of the Razor Crest running subtly in the background. You are actually comfortable sipping your drink in silence as you know that Mando is a not a man of many words. His calming presence making you feel safe is more than enough for you.

As time passes you both start to ease into conversation. It’s not so much the spotchka as it is the need to share all the stuff that has been eating you from the inside lately. So you talk and talk and it keeps pouring. It’s mostly about your ability to control the Force. How you don’t know if it’s a curse or a blessing. How it sometimes makes you feel afraid. How lonely you are and how you long for a normal simple life. Mando listens carefully to you.

“You are special. Why are you so desperate to be like everybody else?” He puts a hand on your shoulder sending a small shiver down your spine. You don’t get to see his gentle side often.

“Besides, if you didn’t have your abilities, I wouldn’t have been alive right now,” he adds with a warm note in his voice. “By Creed you are in my care after what happened.”

“No one has ever cared about me. No one. At least not since I was a baby,” you say to him as you take a deep breath and look away, overwhelmed by emotions.

It takes you a few minutes, but you finally build up the courage to look at straight into his helmet.

“Would you miss me?”

“I would.”

“Do you sometimes get lonely underneath all that beskar?”

“I do.”

So it goes. You both stare at each other in silence for what feels like an eternity. No one flinches. You sense the tension in the air building up. You know that something is going on, but you are not entirely sure what yet. Suddenly the whole dynamic of your conversation is changed. Of course deep down you’re fully aware that Mando also has feelings for you, but you are too nervous to admit it even to yourself. The only thing you can admit is that right now you and Mando are sitting really close to each other. You can pick up intuitively that he is unsure what to do next.

A lot is going on inside Mando’s head. He has dreamed on so many nights about touching you, imagined what does your warm skin feels like. But his Creed always stood there as the ever-present obstacle. Besides he is really out of his depth in this domain. And how come someone so special like you want to do anything with someone like him? Does he have the right to?

Finally Mando decides to act despite all his doubts. The urge to feel you is too damn irresistible not to. Very slowly he lifts his right hand and removes his glove. He does the same with the left one. You are absolutely stunned by what is happening. You just stare at him, while a wave of emotions washes over you. You can’t help but notice the slight tremble of Mando’s hand. Right now he seems to be just as emotional, unsure and vulnerable as you. Very cautiously he reaches towards your face and caresses your cheek with the tip of his fingers. He then proceeds to brush over your lips with his thumb. This sends an electric current across your whole body. You shut your eyes momentarily to fully immerse into the warmth of his touch. His palms are big and his skin a bit rough – the hands of a warrior, yet his touch is very delicate. Knowing full well how strict Mandalorian Creed is, you can’t help but wonder how long, if ever, since he has physically touched another human being and how emotional this might make him feel.

Mando continues to explore you beneath his fingertips by cupping your face. You stare at each other frozen in this moment. Everything else has ceased to exist. It’s only you and him now – two grains of sand floating together through the eternity of space. Maybe you’ll find eternity in the tenderness of his touch or the depth of his eyes. You gaze at his helmet wondering who really is the man underneath it, how does he look like, what picture does the touch of your skin paint on his face.

You may not be able to see him, but you are well aware that for him all of this means a great deal. He strips his soul bare and gives it to you and you only.

At some point Mando decides to remove his hands from your face. The absence of his warm touch immediately sends a cold shiver through your body.

You notice that he hesitates about his next move, eventually putting his hands on his helmet. At first you are not sure what exactly is going on. Your mind has stopped functioning properly. But suddenly it dawns on you and all you can do about it is stare at him in awe, completely numb. After a slight pause Mando starts to lift his helmet.

“Don’t!,” your sharp voice startles him. Your fingers move quickly to catch his and stop him from removing it.

“Don’t do it, Mando. I don’t want you... to break your Creed because of me. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself after that. It’s not...It’s not worth it,” you tell him with a voice filled with regret and reconciliation. He is not ready yet and you know this. You don’t want to ask of him more than he can give you.

“Forgive me,” he sighs deeply while gently squeezing your hands. His voice is heavy from the inner struggle that torments him. Even though he wants this so much, he wants you more than anything, he doesn’t have the strength to break his Creed.

He has fought these feelings for the past months while you were traveling with him on the Razor Crest. At first he tried to fight them, then to hide from them, but eventually he just let himself drown in the ocean of your eyes, your soft smile, your sweet smell with just a hint of something intriguingly spicy and your engulfing warm presence. You became his wild flower, his little peace of heaven. And yes your abilities to manipulate the Force made you special but it’s not why he fell for you. He saw your bravery – you saved his life by risking yours without blinking an eye. You had suffered so much and yet you possessed the kindest heart. You acted all tough from the outside but on the inside you were just a lonely and confused kid looking for her place in the universe – like him. And what’s more – you saw him for what he truly is. Maybe this was your true special skill – you managed to peek beyond all the beskar and acknowledge him. To the world he was simply a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, a killing machine, but to you he was a human being. And he felt like it with you around. The way you asked him your ridiculous questions all the time, or how you served him tea in the morning with that bright smile of yours or even your terrible stubbornness and constant attempts to provoke him into arguing, it all awoke human emotions in him that he thought were long gone by now. He didn’t really know what to do with these feelings – what is to be done really. He decided to just carry them into his heart and not do anything about it. It already provided him with more comfort than he had ever hoped for.

Until this night when he had to confront the harsh reality that very soon you’ll be parting ways for quite possibly forever. This made him lose his balance.

And now the beskar stands as the constantly present obstacle dividing him from you. Mando sees the disappointment in your eyes and the idea that he’d let you down tears him up.

But suddenly your face lights up. “I may have an idea. Hold on. Don’t move,” you hastily stand up and rush towards the lower deck of the ship.

After a few minutes you come back with a black ribbon you normally use to tie your hair.

“I don’t understand,” Mando says with a confused voice.

“You can tie my eyes with it, so that you’ll be able to remove your helmet without me seeing you,” you explain.

He doesn’t like that initially. The idea that you have to make some sort of compromise for him and for his Creed bothers him. He longs to see the reflection of his face in your eyes.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure,” you answer with a firm nod.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You hand him the ribbon. He ties it over your eyes gently, but firmly.

You turn around to face him, but it doesn’t matter now – it’s all pitch black. You do however sense him close to you, the coldness of his beskar armor engulfing you. After that nobody says or does anything for what feels like an eternity. Your nerves start to play tricks on you and you begin to wonder if this was all a mistake. Maybe Mando changed his mind. Maybe he thinks you are not worth it. After all why should you be the only exception in his life bound by oath and service.

But all this quickly goes away when you hear a distinctive hissing sound and realize that he is slowly taking off his helmet. Your heart rate immediately picks up. His warm breath is brushing against your cheek. The whole idea that he is sitting right next to you without his helmet gives you butterflies in your belly. You lift your hand in his direction.

“May I,” you ask with barely a whisper.

“Yes.”

You hear his voice without the modulator for the first time. His real voice. It’s shaky and uncertain and filled with emotions. It’s so unlike him that you can’t help but feel privileged to get a glimpse of this part of him – the part that he hides from the world behind the beskar. This moment must mean so much to him – he hasn’t removed his helmet in front of another soul since he took the Creed in his youth.

You reach with your right hand very gently, as if you may break him. Your fingers brush against his cheek with a feather-light touch, causing a quiet gasp from him. You begin to explore his face piece by piece. The first thing you learn is that he has a beard with a few bald patches here and there. You smile softly. You are almost certainly the only person in the universe in possession of this knowledge. Your fingers trail down and stop at his chin. Your left hand sweeps over his forehead feeling a few gentle lines and then continue through his closed eyes. His small moan almost makes you lose yourself in this moment forever. Next is the curve of his nose. It turns out it is rather prominent and sharp and you immediately make a mental note about it. You brush along his lips with your thumb wondering what do they taste like.

“Please,” you mumble.

Mando takes your palm and places a gentle kiss on it. He then cups your face with one hand and slides the other down to your waist. From this alone you start to feel the desire burning up inside you. It’s melting you into the moment. He leans to you resting his forehead against yours. You sense his warm breath against your cheek and your heart is about to burst. You both stay like this for some time, slightly trembling. All of this is so new to Mando. When he took the Creed all those years ago it came with a sacred promise to leave all human emotions aside, including love. He thought he had made peace with the idea of living a loveless life. But then he met you. And even though the prospect of any real relationship was doomed from the start – your paths were destined to diverge sooner or later, he knew he couldn’t just let it go. The love he felt for you started to grow inside him, living a life of its own. It was impossible to quiet it down. And Maker, he tried. Not so much for his own sake, but for yours. You deserve so much more than what he can offer. But eventually the love took him over. He was no longer the master of his own faith. It didn’t matter if you felt the same way or if his love was ever to cross the realm of the physical world, he knew he was bound to you for the rest of his life.

When he is ready Mando tips your chin up and puts his lips over yours in a very light almost non-existent kiss. You are not sure if he is more afraid that he’ll break you or that he’ll break himself. He repeats his soft kisses a few times before locking his lips with yours firmly. His beard is caressing your face as his tongue is starting to explore your mouth with growing confidence. Your heart is pounding in your chest. You feel as the time has stopped and nothing exists beyond this moment, beyond this kiss. Hell, you are not sure if you even exist. Or maybe you are just some weird dream inside Mando’s head? He finishes the kiss with a few more light ones on your lips. His forehead is still pressed against yours, he is not yet ready to give up the contact with your skin.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are,” he asks with what you hope is a light smile and a kiss on your forehead. You smile and skate your fingers across his face once more. You know that this is all you’ll get from him tonight. He wouldn’t go any further. He is still very new the intimacy of being close to another human. And for now this is more than enough. Actually more than you could ever dream of — having him close to you; his hands on you cheeks; your breaths merging together; his lips over yours. He showed you a side of him that he doesn’t show to anyone. Your heart is full of joy and love. Even if it’s just a kiss you feel like this is the most intimate you have ever been with another being. You wouldn’t dare think that you may never see him again after landing on the planet Dagobah.

He gently pulls you towards him as you rest your head on his shoulder, his arms encompassing you and palms running along your back. In his grip you feel at home – something you’ve been deprived of since you’ve been on the run for basically your whole life. You are home whenever he kisses you, whenever he holds you.

“Tell me, Mando, what is your name,” you ask with a soft smile.

“It’s Din. Din Djarin.”

#din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #din jarin fic #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal fic #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the mandalorian/you #the mandalorian/reader #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader

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justagirlinafandomworld · 11 months

Text

For You I'd Risk It All

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Song Prompt from Unclaimed Love Songs: E.T. by Katy Perry

Word Count: 170 (I went over again)

You watched for as long as you could, but Din was slowing down. Cara caught your eye from the pilot’s chair and opened her mouth to object. But you were already out of the co-pilot’s seat, strapping on the extra jetpack and slamming on the release for the loading ramp.

“I can’t protect you if you’re dead,” she shouted over the onslaught of whipping wind.

You didn’t respond.

Pulling on the oxygen-fed helmet, you ran down the ramp and pushed off with both feet.

You went soaring, turning on the jets for direction before slamming right into the rogue that was taking aim at Din’s defenseless back.

The vizor of his helmet slanted towards you; his silence sharp against the adrenaline rushing through your ears.

He pushed off from leaning on his knee, firing at those behind you.

You did the same for him, making it to his side and kneeling to help him stand.

He would have words for you later.

You decided you were looking forward to it.

#unclaimed love songs flash fiction challenge #din djarin x reader #din djarin drabble #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandalorian/reader #the mandalorian/you

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jomiddlemarch · 4 months

Text

wishes redux

You’d had to teach Din about wishes.

“It isn’t necessary.”

“It is not The Way.”

“The moment must suffice.”

He found it easier to gratify yours than to come up with any of his own.

“Your happiness is mine.”

He told you every wish he might have had was now fulfilled.

“Come the beloved, the thirst is quenched.”

He admitted he was scared. To desire again and to go without. To find he wanted to remove the helmet and be overwhelmed by the sunlight.

“If it cannot come true—”

You had to tell him you’d still be there. Always.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian/you #din djarin #din djarin/you #holiday prompts #drabble advent #din needs all the hugs

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imactuallyilliterate · 2 years

Text

Copilot

Description- After the loss of his child and his ship, Din tries to go back to life as it was before while carrying the heartbreak of losing all that he had. A new ship and a reinstatement of his position in the guild is a start, but even he has a hard time piloting a 4 person ship by himself.

Din x Reader, Din Djarin x Reader Insert, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Reader Has A Backstory

TW: Swearing

Tags: @mandalorian-theway @fic-appointment @wakeupjackthisisntfair @kirsteng42 @darthmama1618 @hoodedbirdie @donnaa @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @lemuelzero101

AO3 Adaptation

Fanfiction.net Adaptation

Part One, Part 2, Part 3,

Chapter Four: Caisiorpha

Getting to the valley took almost as long as walking from the ship. And as you walked onto a dirt path you began to realize that the Mandalorian had landed the ship in the opposite direction of the city's official entrance. Though even though you came in the wrong way something gave you the feeling that the stares you received while walking into the residential area were going to come regardless.

The locals, reptilian-like creatures with long necks, round bodies, and short stature, would stop tending to their gardens and poke their heads up at you with confusion and curiosity as you made your way down the dirt road. Noticing their behavior you felt lucky to have had the foresight to pull up your translator before walking into the city. It seemed that the farmers weren’t used to outsiders and while you hoped that someone would speak intergalactic standard it wasnt something that you were going to put all of your credits on it.

As you continued down this trail, ignoring the pointed stares in your direction, you came across two young ones too interested in a ball game to be disturbed by you. Figuring that would be the most opportune time, you walked up to the two children who stopped their game once you approached.

In your datapad you wrote the following sentence-

Hello. I am a traveler looking to resupply my ship. Are there any marketplaces where I can buy food, toiletries, and medical supplies?

Then passed it through the autotranslator. The two young ones looked up in awe at you and the datapad as the device spoke to them in their native language.

“That’s a neat trick! Does it do other languages too?” The taller of the two children said to you.

“Oh, so you do speak Basic. Good to know.” You said rather happily before putting the datapad in your satchel. Placing out your hand you introduced yourself, the taller of the young ones gladly taking your hand with his own and shaking it.

“My name is Hagaark and this is my little sister Kuula.” The boy introduced himself then looked back at his little sister who shyly hid behind her big brother and gave a small wave.

“Was that your ship we saw fly over?” Hagaark asked with high interest in you. His eyes were wide and his head slightly tilted to the side. You couldn’t help but smile at the excited child.

“It was.” you answered back and Hagaark nodded to himself knowingly.

“We could tell you weren’t a botanist because usually they land their ships on that side of the valley,” he explained as he pointed past the four large buildings at the center of town.

“I see… well I’m sorry if we made anyone nervous. We didn’t see a landing dock when we broached the atmosphere.” you apologized and the young boy narrowed his eyes in confusion.

“We?” he repeated, and then you quickly did some mental math. The people were already untrusting of you just because of your arrival. Somewhere in the area, a drug-smuggling operation was going on and you knew the Mandalorian actively trying to capture the person behind it. Saying too much too early would put Mando’s job at risk, and as you looked at this young child you didn’t feel as though he would need your whole backstory to be satisfied.

“My employer. We split up so I could resupply.” you told Hagaark who took what you said at face value.

“Speaking of, is there a market place nearby?” you repeated wanting to take the topic of your travel companion and Hagaark nodded in confirmation.

“The shopping center has a lot of stuff. I could take you there, but I’d have to check in with my parents.”, the idea of having a guide to the market made your shoulders sink in relief, and without much thinking, you nodded your head yes.

“Thank you, I’d really appreciate that.” you told Hagaark, who took his little sister’s four-fingered hand into his own then walked into one of the nearby metallic dome houses. A few moments later you saw the door to the hut open and standing with Hagaark were two older Chelonoids, one green-skinned and the other yellow, who you gathered to be Hagaark’s parents. There were words said between the young boy and his parents before the shorter of the two gave Hagaark a long spear then motioned for him to join you. The primitive weapon was awkward in the boy’s hands and made you nervous as he approached.

“Okay, we can go.” Hagaark said, very nonchalant for a kid who was just given a weapon to essentially run to the store. You pointedly looked at the spear then raised an eyebrow at Hagaark.

He looked down at the ground, shy and a little embarrassed before answering your unasked question.

“My mom and pop don’t really trust you. They want me to take this incase you try to do something weird.” he confessed. A part of you wanted to take offense at these people who immediately thought the worse of you, but then as you examined the situation you found yourself somewhat understanding the parents fear of a stranger asking their child to lead them to the center of town. So instead you smiled kindly at the boy.

“That’s very smart of them. You never know what kind of creeps could be out there.” you said to the boy before the two of you began your walk down the dirt path, further into the city.

“Has there been weird stuff going around that's got them worried?” you asked, placing the datapad back in you satchel. Hagaark nodded ‘yes’ at you while he held the spear tight in his small grip.

“There’s bad men stealing one of our sacred flowers.” he explained, immediately piquing your interest.

“Really? That’s terrible. It must be causing a lot of stress around here, huh?”, you tried to gauge his reactions but he didn’t give you much. His face was very different from your own, however, whatever you didn’t get through subtleties in Hagaark he would just tell you out loud. Like most children, unless given a reason to not be, he was very trusting.

“The adults talk about it a lot. My mom and pop have been going to weekly meetings at city hall and it's all they talk about.” he told you in earnest, waving to another local as the two of you stepped off the dirt road and onto pavement.

“Why do you think someone would steal this sacred flower?” you asked Hagaark who only replied with a shrug.

“I don’t know… But grownups are mad because the flower is only supposed to be used during weddings. But the people taking the flower are using it whenever they want and now there arn’t enough for marriage season.”, as Hagaark explained this you tried to figure out what could be so appealing about a flower, wich major effects were extreme rage and excessive violence, that it was worth not only smuggling but making it become scarce to the culture that it belonged to. As well as, apparently, playing an essential part in the local marriage ceremonies. You tried to connect these dots as the two of you walked side and side to the marketplace.

Many other questions of yours were answered on this short walk with Hagaark who was very knowledgeable about his home. The city used to be a small farming village about 10 years ago, right around when Hagaark was born, growing only Nysillum for the NCC. But very recently, a group of newly graduated botanists hired by the NCC came and struck up a conversation with the local elders. The botanist wanted to build a laboratory to research local flora in the area to see if there were more medicinal plants to be discovered. In exchange for building their lab in the area and growing what they asked, NCC would pay the farmers double what they had been in the past and build a school for the children. The elders agreed, and the botanist got to work. With the increase in money and children excelling in the school people from surrounding villages started to come and set down roots. First, the community space was upgraded into a city hall then when people wanting to sell their wares for better prices started to overflow the market place a shopping center was built. The city was flourishing, up until the discovery and prohibition of the Caisidorpha flower. Now not only was there tension between the botanist and the locals, but locals amongst each other as none of them knew who was working with the drug ring and who wasn’t.

The inside of the shopping center was unlike any marketplace you had ever seen. It felt strangely urban compared to the humble forest and farmland that surrounded it. It was two stories high with little shops all neatly spaced next to each other in a circle. Five shops on the bottom and five on top. A stone fountain with creeping vines and iridescent mushrooms growing amongst it sat in the middle of the first floor and ten feet behind it were stairs leading up to the second story. While the shopping center seemed very organized for people who knew the area, not a single sign above the stores were written in standard. Feeling intimidated by this you turned to Hagaark.

“Hey Hagaark? I know I only asked for you to lead me here, but I could use your help getting around this place.” you admitted to him to which he looked confused.

“Couldn’t you just use your fancy tablet?” he asked you.

“I could but it takes a lot more time to translate everything through the datapad. Plus it would take up a lot of its battery and without this, I can’t contact my employer.”, Hagaark gave you a look of understanding before tucking the spear behind his tunic.

“As long as I’m back before dark I don’t think mom and pop will be upset.”

“When does it get dark?”

“Around 18:45 this time of year.”, you pulled your datapad back out and quickly did some time conversion before figuring that you had roughly three hours before it got dark. Thinking about how long it would take Hagaark to get home and how long it would take you to get to the ship you gave yourself an hour 45 minutes to get all of your shopping done. It was a fairly short time frame, but not an impossible one. After relaying your time frame to Hagaark the two of you went up to the first shop and began your restock.

Any fear you had of overspending on medical supplies was null and void the second you stepped into the first of the ten businesses. Nysillim extract was dirt cheap for obvious reasons, but many other medications were as well. You stocked up on bandaging and emergency first aid supplies while also buying pain relief, sedatives, fever reducer, and an antiseptic solve for cleaning wounds. None of it putting a dent in your funds except the one thing that was actually expensive, a vial of injectable bacta with five doses. You didnt know when or if you would need it, but there was only one in the entire store and the idea of having it made you feel secure. As you were getting rung up the person behind the counter said something to Haggark but before he replied he turned to you.

“They want to know if you’re going to carry this out or if you are going to have your things delivered.” Hagaark asked.

“Delivered?” you repeated.

“Yeah. Most travlers buy in bulk then have a speeder deliver all their belongings to their ship the next day. Shop keeper says he can order you a speeder to pick up your medicines but it will cost a fee.” he explained, to wich you excitedly nodded your head ‘yes’ too.

“Please, that would be extremely helpful.” you told him, Hagaark relayed this information then the two of you went on to the next shop.

The next hour continued like that with the two of you walking into shops and him translating. Buying only what you needed and haggling for anything you wanted. After your fith stop you looked down at your tablet and when you realized you only had time for one more store you looked at Hagaark. You felt like you owed the kid something, he'd been so incredibly helpful to you even though he had no reason to be. Kindness like that was extremely rare in this galaxy and should of been rewarded.

“Hagaark?” you spoke once the two of you left a store that sold nothing but food and produce. The young boy looked up to you expectantly.

“Do you have a favorite store here?” you asked him. His eyes went wide and he nodded his head excitedly.

“Would you take me there?” you barely got the question out before he was leading you past the fountain and up the stairs, making a b-line to a shop that had no disconcernable sign above it.

Walking inside the store smelt like old leather, dust, and just a tad bit blaster fire. Covering every shelf and surface was miriade of toys, trinkets, used tools, and very clearly off world items. The only other person inside was an old Chelonoid who sat in a reclining chair behind the counter, taking a nap.

“Hagaark, I wanna thank you for helping me today. Not many people would have.” you said to the boy before giving him a smile.

“Go pick out something for you and your sister.”, Hagaark looked at you with unabashed joy and thanked you tremendously, before running off deeper into the shop.

“Just don’t break my credit account!” you playfully called out behind him, smile still wide on your face. Taking your eyes off Hagaark you started to meander around the store, finding it very funny that a young boy’s favorite place in a shoppingcenter was a buy-and-sell shop. You had expected him to take you to a sweets store or something of the like, but as you gently guided your hand over a shelf full of outdated repair tools you understood why a kid on an outerrim planet would find the most joy in things that came from beyond the stars. Even if it was junk.

You aimlessly walked through the store before a black bag caught your eye; it seemed to be newer than most of the other things in the shop. It had shiny metal zippers with pockets on every side and once you approached you realized that it was full of something.

“You like that?” a voice called from behind, startling you a bit. The old Chelonoid had sat up from his recliner and was looking at you.

“Oh- I guess… You speak Basic?” you questioned him. The old person nodded his head slowly at you as he made his way around the counter.

“I speak a little bit of everything.” he announced in the type of loud voice only old folks spoke in, the kind of loud that tattled on their loss of hearing.

“But you didn’t answer the question, you like it?” he reasked once he met you in front of the black tactical bag. You took another look at the bag and shrugged.

“I suppose.” you responded to which the wrinkled and yellow reptilian man chortled; he gave you a knowing head nod.

“Got this three weeks ago, everyone of them pockets is filled with something. Best part is? I don’t even know what.” he said with a grin. Finding him interesting enough you decided to indulge the old man.

“Why don’t you just look? I mean you’ve already bought it. Wouldn’t it be easier to sell if you knew what was inside?” you asked, not quite understanding how he could be trying to make a sale. His response to your question was a scowl before continuing.

“Because if I know, it ruins the mystery for the next person! You know, all you young people see when you come in here is stuff and junk. But you’re wrong! Everything Abok sells are stories.” the man told you triumphantly, his tiny old frame standing up tall for a moment before relaxing back to its natural state.

“Like this bag. You don’t know it got here, I only know part of the story and the rest lost! So many things here could tell you so much if they spoke, and this bag can! Once you open up the pockets its whole story will be revealed. I think… yes. This is one of my favorite items to ever come through my possession. But no one can give me a good enough price to give it away.” the little old man rattled through.

Now, you knew how marketers loved to hype up their products. All swindlers love to say that what they have is the best of the best, convince you to buy what their selling, only for the buyer to go home with their purchase and find out it's garbage. Back as a kid you fell for that trick a couple more times than you liked to admit, and when you went back to settle grievances the con-artist were either gone or protected under technicalities. You admit that he gave a good sales pitch, you were intrigued by the bag. You had plenty of credits to pay for Hagaark’s two things and maybe splurge on a mystery bag.

“I’ll bite.” you said after giving the idea a once over, you looked at the man whose eyes were still on the mystery bag.

“How much do you want for it?” you asked.

“500.” he stated flatly and your eyes almost came out of your head with the way you opened them.

“500 credits?” you repeated flabbergasted, but the old man stayed firm.

“500 or nothing.” he repeated not even looking towards you, his beady black eyes fixated on the bag. You could have really gone off on the man at that moment. Called him a lunatic for demanding that high of a price for a bag that could’ve had garbage inside for all you knew. Part of you wanted to… but instead you looked at the bag, took a breath, then looked back at him.

“You know what… I understand.” you started, getting the man’s attention back on you. \

“You are passionate about what, not only this bag, but every item in here represents. I respect that.” you lead, voice even and calm.

“However, you have to imagine this from my perspective. This bag could contain a story, which would be great, or it could be full of rocks and trash. Neither of us know! But if it is just trash and I tell everyone I know that you sold me a bag of rocks for 500 credits, whether you knew what it was filled with or not, it puts you and your business in a bad light.” you laid your argument down and watched the Chelonoid’s face as he grappled with your reasoning. His jaw tightened while your resolve unwavered, your eyes never leaving his pale yellow face.

“What would you be willing to give?” he finally asked, sounding dejected. You, keeping your determination to drive the price down, shrugged before answering.

“250.” you told him.

“250! That's an insult to me! I won’t be going lower than 400!” the man exclaimed, his small fist hitting the tabel the bag was displayed on.

“Shame because I won't go higher than 350, and this bag really deserves to have its story known. Don’t you think?” you looked down at the bag with a grin then looked back to him with the same sly smile, and you could almost see the engines in that old man’s head wurring.

“...375 and the boy gets one of his toys free.” Abok muttered with his beady eyes squinting at you, to which you stuck your out hand in response.

“Done deal.” you agreed and the two of you shook on it.

It wasn’t dark when you and Hagaark left the shopping center but it wasn’t fully daytime anymore either. Shifting the rather heavy tactical bag on your back and moving your satchel to the side, you looked down at the boy. Under his arm he had a brand new, well new to him, kicking ball and in his opposite hand he held a handmade doll for his sister.

“Thank you again for the gifts. Kuula is going to really love this doll!”, his eyes squinted at you in what you could only assume to be his version of a smile. You went to return the friendly gesture but when his eyes re-opened he looked concerned.

“Are you going to go back to your ship?” he asked and you looked at him confused.

“Yes? Why wouldn’t I?” you asked him, and his concern turned into fear.

“It's almost dark and the jungle is dangerous at night! There are monsters in there...” he told you, he clutched the ball and the doll closer to his body as he all but whispered the word monsters to you. The realization that you would have to go back into the jungle after dark hadn’t struck you until then. The hike down to the city had taken fifteen minutes in broad daylight, you nearly slipping on every turn. At night it would take twice as long to get back, and that was if you managed to go in the right direction.

Looking at Hagaark you didn’t doubt the validity of his claim. Even if it wasn’t “monsters” persay, a dark jungle would certainly be filled with predators that you had no way to defend yourself against.

“Alright…” you said, fully processing the fact that going back to the ship was a non-option.

“Are there any hotels or inns I could stay in for the night?” you asked Hagaark who shook his head no.

“Most travelers don’t spend the night here. They usually leave or stay in their ships.” he explained. You mentally cursed at yourself for not taking the jungle into consideration earlier, the sky was darkening and you had little time left to find shelter. Looking around, trying to find anywhere to hold for a night, you looked to the building on your immediate right. It was another large dome building in a similar build to the one you had just entered. Except that it was taller than the other three and looked like it had balconies on the higher floors.

“What about that place?” you asked Hagaark, pointing to the metal dome.

“Oh, that's the lab.” he told you.

“And the botanists here, they research and live there right?” you asked Hagaark and he nodded in confirmation.

“Alright… Maybe they have a bed for me.” you mutter to yourself, silently hoping your only other option would be willing to lend you some hospitality. You said your goodbyes to Hagaark and watched him run off towards home for a bit before you mustered up some courage and walked to the botany lab.

Walking past the front doors you were again surprised by how sleek and urban the inside of the lab was compared to its rural jungle outside. You were greeted by a short corridor that led to what looked like a receptionist desk. Behind the desk a green twi'lek woman stood up and put on a jacket; she looked like she was getting ready to leave.

“Excuse me.” you said to her, almost immediately feeling like an asshole. She stopped what she was doing and looked at you in confusion.

“I was wondering if you could help me?” you asked. The woman sat back down in her chair and rolled up the computer in front of her.

“Are you the pick-up? Because if you are, you’re 42 hours early.” she asked you as she pulled up a file.

“No no, I’m actually not here for any botany related reasons.”, The woman raised an eyebrow at you before you bit the bullet and told her everything that was needed to know while doing your best to leave the mandalorian out of it. Her expression of doubt and slight annoyance didn’t change the entire time you spoke, except for the occasional “hmm” or head nod.

“...You know that we aren't a hotel right?” she asked once you finished.

“Yeah I know.” you said feeling rather embarrassed of yourself and your situation.

“And If you know of any way I could get to my ship safely that would be fine too, but where I’m at you guys are kind of my only hope. I am willing to pay.” you reiterated. The twi'lek glared at you in silence for a couple of moments before sighing and dejectedly typing into her computer.

“I’ll contact Dr. Vai’rom and see if they can help you.” she told you. You thanked her and with a tilt of her head she motioned towards a couple of lounge chairs in a corner.

“Take a seat.” she instructed, and you gladly went and sat down. Shifting your bags you pulled out your data pad to check the time, looking at the communications application you wondered about your employer and what he was up to.

Bounty hunters had come through Peli’s shop before, but you didn’t know how dangerous their line of work could be until you saw mando bring in a quarry for the first time. He was human, a tall and bigger set kind of guy, but nearly unconscious. His face was beaten and bruised with blood running down the front of his face and staining his shirt. Mando was all but dragging him across the ship, forcing him to stand with only one arm. You helped him punch the code into the cargo room where the carbonite freezer was and tried your best not to stare but failed miserably. Once he had dealt with him you asked what happened. Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly he told you he got lucky and that quarry hadn’t left the city the two of you landed in. Mando had only been gone for about 12 hours that time.

As you pondered the nameless mandalorian, completely forgetting to check the time, you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Looking up you saw a bothan dressed in a pristine lab coat with circular glasses and short hair standing in front of you.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Zicric Vair’rom. You may call me Dr. Z” they introduced before holding out their hand in greeting. You quickly put the data pad away and stood before shaking the doctor’s hand and introducing yourself.

“Our secretary here has told me you’re in a bit of a bind?” they asked and you nodded your head in response.

“When I breached the atmosphere it wasn’t apparent that there was a landing dock close to the city. My ship is in a clearing in the jungle right now, but I’ve been told it's unsafe to get to at night.” you tell them, relaying the story for the doctor. Before you could ask about lodging the Bothan nodded their head and motioned for you to follow them.

“Yes Yes, this has happened a few times now.” the doctor said, elevating some of your embarrassment. You walked besides them down a hallway to the left of where the secretary no longer was.

“I apologize if Clara, our secretary, acted suspiciously of you. We’ve been having some… problems as of late.” The doctor’s brows furrowed and their nose scrunched as they emphasized problems.

“Problems concerning the Caisiorpha flower?” you asked them, feeling bold. Dr. Z only sighed as the two of you got to the stairwell.

“So you’ve heard… It’s a damn shame really. A damn shame. Years of building trust with these people nearly decimated by one credit hungry chemist and band of common thugs.” they said dejectedly as they began to lead you down metal stairwell.

“If I can ask, what’s so valuable about this flower? Why is everyone so excited by it?” you pried, hoping to get some more information about what your employer was up against.

“Its not much so the flower rather its chemical extract. On its own the flower is mostly harmless, but when turned into LPD- or Lotuspowder as its called recreationally- can become a powerful and addictive steroid when combined with Nysillum extract.” they explained as they lead you down the long chrome staircase. You furrowed your brow in thought as the two of you descended, trying to make sense of this new drug craze.

“It's a steroid? So it's just making people strong and aggressive?”, Dr Z stopped walking for a moment but continued to answer your questions.

“Essentially yes. The reason we are banned from producing LPD is because it also affects a user neruolocially. We found that use of LPD causes hormones that control the fight or flight response, arousal, and sleep to overproduce permanently. If the rest of the body can’t keep up with the new production of hormones then the brain will slowly start to deteriorate. Making you violent and delirious before finally taking your life.”, the two of you made your way to the basement during this conversation where you took notice of a few things. The first being that this was clearly the room in which they stored their heavy machinery, for what you don’t know, but also where they kept supplies. Crates and boxes with labels in languages you didn’t speak were stacked in the fairly large room from wall to wall. It was an almost completely open room with one silver door off to the side that Dr. Z lead you to.

“No offense but, besides from the fact that its addictive, why would anyone take this?” you asked them as they took a card from the front pocket of their lab coat and swiped it on the silver door’s card reader.

“It increases pain tolerance, reflexes, productivity and libido. I suppose if you are a person who is lacking in one or more of those things, you’d be willing to die for them.”, the door opened with a hiss indicating that some type of pressure had been released. They motioned for you to walk inside.

Inside the room looked almost like an innspace or a hotel room. A moderately sized bed in one corner with a small refresher area in another, a television sat on top a dresser pointed at the bed, but no windows.

“Now if you don’t mind I have some questions of myself that I would like answered.” the doctor said as you took a look around the space. You turned to face them and found that their brows had furrowed and their eyes had narrowed. A darkness hung in the air as you suddenly felt very trapped.

“Who are you, and who do you work with?”

#din djarin #din djarin/you #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian/you #the mandolorian fanfic #copilot #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #mando x reader #mando smut #mando s3 #mando x you #mando x y/n #long post

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nunyabhiznus · 9 months

Text

Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Word Count: 10.3K Warnings: Cursing, Smut, Masturbation, Handjob, Blowjob. Lmk if I missed anything.

It’s easy to spot Grogu amongst the children in the classroom.

Even if his son wasn’t the only small, green alien in a crowd of all human kids, Din is sure he’d still be able to find him with his eyes closed.

There’s a presentation going on and all of the children are huddled up at the front of the room as puppeteers put on a lively show. It’s moments like these, when he can see Grogu fully enjoying himself, that he’s especially grateful for the support group he’s made here. It’s something that he would have never had if he continued going on with the way he was living - a solitary mercenary whose only goal was to live for himself.

He thinks of the family he’s made and the friendships he’s strengthened. Things have certainly changed for the better.

After the . . . eventful introductions, Din thought it was better to take you with him to get Grogu instead of leaving you with his friends unsupervised again. Now, the both of you stand at the back of the classroom, careful not to make any distracting noises.

The puppeteers keep their small audience entertained, adding flare and jokes that have everybody smiling. He turns to you, ready with a joke of his own when he sees the confusion all over your face. You stare at the show with an eyebrow raised, definitely concentrating too hard than is required for a children’s play. At first he doesn’t understand why, but when three more jokes go over your head he finally remembers that you don’t speak Rodian.

Din leans down, whispering, “They’re performing Drovan and Yvaine.”

“What’s that?” You whisper back.

“You’re joking, right?” He tries to keep his voice down despite the shock. “It’s a classic.”

Your shrug answers his question and rather than continue to be on the receiving end of your pointed stare, he decides to explain it to you himself.

“It’s a love story,” he starts and your eyes instantly light up. He clears his throat before continuing, momentarily at a loss for words now that he has your undivided attention. “Drovan and Yvaine fall in love but can’t be together because their families are sworn enemies.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, let me guess. They both die in the end?”

Now it’s his turn to be confused. “What? No, in the end their families get along and they get married.”

One of the little kids turns around, putting a finger to his lips before shushing them with as much command as a child that age could muster.

Din lowers his voice as you bite back a laugh, “Why would you think they die?!”

“On Earth we have a similar romantic story,” you tell him. “Romeo and Juliet. It’s the same concept as yours except they both die at the end.”

“That doesn’t sound romantic at all.”

“It is romantic,” you stress. “I’m just explaining it wrong.” His smile grows on its own as you keep talking, dutifully describing an overly complicated plot that he can barely follow. “Basically, in the end, Romeo kills himself because he thinks that Juliet is dead and he can’t bear the thought of living without her. But when Juliet wakes up and finds Romeo dead, she kills herself too because she also can’t live without him!”

Din looks back to the puppeteers and at the little wooden figures currently getting married. “Your version is a lot more gruesome than mine.”

You stand straighter, crossing your arms as you give him a smug look, “Jealous?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he plays along. “It’s truly Mandalorian worthy.”

There’s a small part of him – the one that he’s been doing his best not to acknowledge, that enjoys how glad that comment seems to make you.

You’re about to say something when the sound of cheering and applause cuts you off. The puppeteers take a bow in front of their delighted crowd, and you smile warmly at the children, “Yeah, I guess your version is a lot less traumatizing.”

He chuckles, “That’s a first.”

The children start to file out of the classroom now that the show’s over. Grogu’s ears perk up and he makes a happy noise seeing the two of you walk over to him. Din crouches down with his arms wide, ready to catch his running form.

Grogu runs right passed him and clings to your ankles.

“Oh!” You exclaim, giving him an embarrassed smile before picking up the small green child. “I missed you too, Grogu.”

His son turns at the sound of his name, surprised to hear it coming from you. There’s a little look on his face that asks, what else have you told her? Din stands and scratches one of the pointed ears, “Time to go, kid.”

The whole way back, Grogu sits in your arms. If you mind, you don’t show it, but honestly you look just as happy to have him there too.

It’s a sweet sight that immediately triggers a gnawing feeling in the back of his mind. A reminder that you’re not a permanent fixture in their lives, and to be careful of letting this new attachment grow any further - Grogu’s attachment, that is.

When they meet up with Karga again, he leads them to where they’ll be staying for the next few days. It’s not a Niamos resort, but it’ll do. You wouldn’t know the difference anyway.

Earlier, Karga had asked Din why he insisted on lodging arrangements when he had a perfectly good cabin just outside of the city limits. He wasn’t able to tell the truth at the time, instead convincing his friend that harboring a stranger in his home was not the best idea with Grogu around. How was he expected to tell him that in all that time since he was granted the piece of land, he’d never so much as spent a night inside it.

There have been multiple times where he thought he’d worked up the nerve to stay the night. Din would land The Crest next to the cabin, take one long look at it, and that’s as far as he’d get before closing the ramp back up. He’s never had a permanent residence before, and prior to adopting Grogu, he’s never needed one. So many big changes kept happening to him, and while he’d never regret a single one, he’d be lying if he said that it was an easy adjustment.

And so, he certainly couldn’t bring you there. You’d take one look at the near empty cabin and see right through him.

One thing at a time, he sighs. First, he’d fix your situation and then he’d deal with his own.

Inside the standard hotel, Din lets Karga talk your ear off about life on Nevarro while the rooms are prepared. In the past, he never thought that the day-to-day here was particularly interesting, but you hang on to every word he says like a kid watching a puppet show.

Watching you closely, he wonders how you feel about your situation, if you find it as refreshing as he does – to look at everything through a lens of fascination and discovery instead of the suspicion and that he’s so used to seeing throughout the galaxy. After the last couple of days you’ve had, he doubts you share the sentiment.

A worker comes back with two sets of room passes and hands them both to Karga before going back to handle other duties.

“I’ve arranged comfortable rooms for each of you,” he boasts, handing them each a pass. “I’ll leave you to get things settled.”

As Karga passes Din, he tells him, “Mando, you know where to find me.” To finish our conversation.

“Thank you,” they hear you say, all genuine politeness as you settle Grogu back in his floating pram.

“It’s no trouble, my dear,” his friend smiles. Without you noticing, Karga gives Din a knowing look and winks, “Take your time.”

As he saunters out of the hotel, Din resists the urge to grind his teeth.

“Mando, guess what?” You ask, your voice soothing away his irritation. He looks over at your wide smile, curious to know what has you all excited. You wave the room pass near his face, “Your numbers are the same as mine!” Such a simple thing.

You look at him expectantly and he’s unsure how to respond, afraid that anything he says will end up being an over or an under-reaction. He’d hate to disappoint you.

“I know it’s silly,” you start to tell him, as if you could hear everything he was thinking. It always shocks him how well you can read him sometimes. Your thumb brushes over the numbers on the pass, and your eyes take on a sad distant look. “But it’s the first time I’ve been able to read and understand something since I’ve been taken. Even if it is just a room number.”

Din restrains the overwhelming urge to hold you, to reassure you that he’d do everything in his power to keep that helpless cloud from darkening your eyes again.

He holds his arms firmly at his sides, instead saying, “It’s not silly.”

And even though he should have said a million other things, you smile at him anyway. Something akin to guilt makes his chest tighten then.

He nods toward the direction of the rooms, “Lets get going.”

The rooms themselves were simple, fitted with slightly above average necessities that would make their stay as comfortable as Karga promised. Din leads you to your room first, secretly checking over its security while you’re distracted with the amenities. He tries not to roll his eyes when you fling yourself onto the bed, mumbling into the pillows about “missing a proper mattress.”

Satisfied with the room, he gives your foot a gentle tap as it hangs off the side of the bed. You don’t move an inch but your muffled, “Mhm,” lets him know he has your attention.

“I have to go meet with Karga about some business,” he starts to tell you. He barely got the word “go” out before you shot up, sitting up on the bed with a nervous expression.

“You’re leaving?” You ask, and in the same breath add, “Can I go with you?”

“No.” The last thing he wants for you is to get more involved in his dirty work. Realizing his tone, he shakes his head, “It’s bounty hunter business, you wouldn’t be able to do anything anyways.”

You cross your arms, “So, you can take the baby but not me?”

Din had almost forgotten about Grogu. He’d taken him on so many jobs before that it was practically second nature to have him around. But he wasn’t about to tell you that. “Of course not,” he lies. Thinking fast, he decides, “Grogu’s staying with you.”

“What are we supposed to do until you get back?”

He dreads telling you this next part, “Cara Dune is coming later to help you get some appropriate clothing.”

You don’t need to say anything for him to see that you hate that idea. “You can trust her.” A skeptical look is all he gets for an answer.

It would have to do. He doesn’t want to waste any more time on this when he could be getting closer to finding Jules Taxo. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he tells you.

Grogu coos as Din places a gentle hand on his head. “Be good, kid,” he says before heading to the door.

He pauses by the threshold when he hears your voice. The words hitting him like arrows; they went in through his back and out through his chest. “Be safe,” you had said.

He can’t fully face you, not when he’s certain that he’d be met with such beckoning concern. He’s not sure he’d ever leave you if he saw that.

Din only turns his head enough for you to see him firmly nod once.

And then he leaves.

***

“Are you still mad?”

With all of the hustle and bustle of the Nevarro market, it’s unfortunate how Cara Dunes’ joking tone cuts through all the noise. “Don’t take it personal. When Mando and I first met I tried to kill him too.”

There’s a stand in front of you selling droid parts and you distract yourself with the pieces despite the fact that you know nothing about them. Anything to not give her the direct attention. Even so, you can’t help snapping, “There’s a shocker.”

You fiddle with a microchip looking piece when she catches up to you, making herself impossible to ignore. It’s obvious that she finds your attitude amusing and that only makes you angrier. Cara points to Grogu, “You’re being stubborn. If the kid can like me, so can you.”

Waving off the vendor who thought you were actually interested, you’re finally forced to look at her. It irks you that she’s right, Grogu does seem to like her a lot. Maybe you were being too hard on Dune. If you were able to forgive Mando after everything, then you could learn to play nice with her - even if your neck is still slightly sore.

You roll your eyes, conceding, “Fine.”

Off-Earth fashion was still something you had to get used to, but by the end of the afternoon, Cara Dune had helped you pick out a decent amount of clothes.

Now that the shopping was done, there was little to help stir conversation forward. As she leads the way back to the hotel, Cara doesn’t seem the least bit interested in you, only glancing back long enough to make sure you’re keeping up. Floating next to you, Grogu babbles nonsensically. If only you could pass the time by talking to him.

If she finds the silence as awkward as you do, you won’t find out by staring at the back of her head. You huff, trying to come up with conversation topics while ignoring the irony of how you wanted nothing to do with her a few hours ago.

You could ask her about Mando. After all, he’s the only thing the two of you have in common and you’re so desperate to know more about him that this might be the best opportunity to find out. Maybe she’d be able to tell you what he’d been up to before he met you or what he does in his free time. As unexpected as a pinprick, you wonder if she’s ever seen him without his helmet on. Probably not, right?

Not because you care, it’s just curiosity.

With that, you decide that asking about Mando would probably be an invasion of his privacy.

There’s a bit of traffic that makes Cara slow down and you’re able to catch up to her side. Without overthinking it, you say the first thing that comes to mind before she starts barreling down the street again.

“I like your tattoos.”

Her head snaps and she looks down at you like you’ve got two heads, “What?”

“I like your tattoos,” you repeat hesitantly, gesturing to her arm and face. “The one under your eye is pretty.”

You don’t know how, but somehow you know you just said the wrong thing. The crowd around you starts moving again, but Cara stays put, making you nervous with how insulted she looks.

Laughing nervously, you attempt to change the subject, “Should we get going? They’re probably waiting for us back at the hotel and I think Grogu’s hungry.”

She curses, and the laugh she echoes is drier than yours, “What rock did he find you under?”

Honestly, you’re more shocked than you are offended. “Excuse me?”

Cara scoffs, “Oh please, nobody’s that ignorant. Do you really expect me to believe you don’t know about Alderaan?!”

For making you feel like a scolded child, you’re not sure who you’re more angry at - her or yourself. How many times are you going to be forced to admit that Grogu probably knows more about the galaxy than you do?

It felt like an excuse every time you explained yourself and how far removed Earth is from everything. While that was all true, and deep down you knew you really couldn’t be held at fault for it, it didn’t make you feel any less embarrassed whenever something like this happened.

Some of this frustration must’ve shown on your face because Cara simmers down, sighing, “You really don’t know, you do?”

“I don’t,” you say, crossing your arms. “But I’m sorry if I said something to offend you anyway. It wasn’t my intention.”

“No, I’m sorry,“ her words sound genuine. “Alderaan is a sensitive subject for me, but I shouldn’t have taken that out on you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You ask, testing the waters. “I don’t really understand what you’re talking about but I’d love to learn more.”

“Alderaan was my home planet,” she explains in a grave voice and for a moment she looks smaller than she actually is.

You’re almost afraid to ask. “Was?”

Her fists clench at her side, seething at the memory of something you can’t even imagine. “The Empire destroyed it.”

From the bits and pieces you’ve been told, you have a vague idea of what The Empire is and what they did. Even so, destroying an entire planet was not something you thought was possible.

“I’m so sorry,” you know the words aren’t enough and that they’ve probably been overused on her. You don’t know what’s else to say.

Cara keeps taking. “The tattoo on my face is a memorial.”

Your hand goes over your necklace. You know the pain she feels is not the same as yours, but it’s familiar enough. “To remember them,” you say.

Cara turns to you, and you get the feeling that this is the first time she really sees you, “I know what it’s like to be alone and wonder if there will ever be a place to call home again. I’ll do whatever I can to help get you back to Earth.”

Her support was something you didn’t know you needed to hear. It gives you hope. If Cara was able to rebuild her life after such a terrible event, then maybe you’d be alright too.

“Thank you,” you tell her honestly.

She pats you on the back - a little too hard, but so full of new affection that it doesn’t bother you. “C’mon, let’s go. Mando will hunt me down if I don’t bring you two back by the time he’s done with Karga.”

***

Din drives his fist onto the table in Karga’s office, in part to let out his pent up energy but mostly because they had been at this for hours now with nothing to show for it.

Since he left you at the hotel, Karga and him had been looking into possible leads for Taxo’s location. Each one had gotten them nowhere and his patience was wearing thin.

“What about the Gotros brothers?” Din snaps at him. “Is there anything on them?”

The connection between them and Taxo was a small one, but it was still worth looking into. Those two are easy enough to find, and even though he doubts that they’ll be able to tell him about her whereabouts, those two idiots somehow managed to get the coordinates to Earth, something that he desperately needs.

Karga runs his hand down his face and Din prepares for the bad news. “They were found dead on Tatooine not too long ago.”

While that was bound to happen at some point, the timing of it raises suspicion. “Taxo’s covering her tracks.”

“You think she murdered them?”

With the gears in his head finally turning, he only answers his friends question with a nod, already moving on with his next train of thought.“And their ship? Earth’s coordinates would still be on it.”

“If it hasn’t already been stripped down for parts, it’s probably still there.”

Din is already moving, gathering his things as he plans his next move. “Where on Tatooine were they killed? The sooner I find their ship, the better.”

Karga puts his hands up, “Woah, slow down there, friend. It’s been a long day. You can go to Tatooine tomorrow.”

He doesn’t want to wait. Not when his mission to get you home finally has a direction. “Or, I could leave right now.” If he wants to make it before dark, he has to get moving.

His friend blocks the doorway. “Tatooine will still be there in the morning. Take the rest of the day to relax.”

Din grinds his teeth, “I don’t want to relax. I want to find answers.”

Karga’s face turns stern and he dawns the authoritative mask of the High Magistrate of Nevarro. “You might be fine without any sleep or rest, but what about your new ward? I doubt she’s had any kind of a break since you rescued her from Smarab. She’s probably exhausted. Stay the night for her sake, if not for yours.”

It’s shameful to realize that he hadn’t thought of your needs at all in this. Not many people could’ve handled all that life’s thrown at you the way you have. He’d be selfishly asking to add more to your burden by pushing you to keep moving.

“You’re right,” Din admits.

Karga smirks, “What was that? I didn’t hear you.”

“Don’t push it.”

That must’ve been a good enough answer because Karga steps out of the way, laughing at his own little victory.

“I’ll check in on her and make sure she’s okay,” Din says as he’s leaving. “But we’re only staying for one night. We have to keep moving.”

He doesn’t stick around to hear what Karga has to say about that.

Back on the streets, the market is as busy as ever and the crowds force him to slow down his pace. His mind is rushing where his body cannot, forcing him to accept his place among the leisurely pedestrians.

The natural flow of the market leads him to a stand that catches his attention. Propped up on shelves and stacked in neat piles, collections of both digitalized and physical books are what bring Din in to take a closer look. The vendor seems to have everything from children’s stories to academic texts.

He’s not surprised when he finds a copy of Drovan and Yvaine, like he told you- it’s a classic. He smiles to himself. And what are the odds that he’s traveling with the only person in the galaxy who’s never heard of it before today. Come to think of it, he wonders if you’ve ever heard of any of these books.

Din picks up the book, turning it over in his hands. You’d probably really enjoy reading this, he thinks. That is, if only you could understand it.

He doesn’t know what prompts him to ask. Maybe it was his earlier conversation with Karga or that his helmet was on too tight. It’s possible that some cosmic shift in the galaxy, the force even, was making him soft.

But Din turns to the vendor and asks, “Do you have any Aurebesh learning books?” What am I doing?

The vendor comes back with a thick tablet, similar to the ones that are used in schools. They’re meant for children, but it would work for you. Handing him the credits, he says, “I’ll take it. This book too.”

The rest of the walk back to the hotel is a blur and before he knows it, he’s standing outside of your room. Din knocks, and the following ten seconds have him shifting impatiently where he stands. There’s a huge smile on your face when you open the door and it’s because of it that he leaves his strange mood in the hall before walking in.

Grogu is at his side in an instant, and even though he’s begging for Din’s attention, it’s your new clothes that he immediately notices. When he first found you, you were wearing an odd combination of Earth garments paired with the raiding helmet and an old cloak. Being that he only exclusively wears his armor, he’s not one to talk about blending in, but even he could tell that you looked out of place wherever they went.

“Well,” you start, and he thinks you sound a little shy. “What do you think?”

What does he think? A warmth spreads throughout his chest at the sight of you. He thinks you look like you’ve been traveling with him all your life. He thinks you look ready to take on the galaxy. Most of all, he thinks your ass looks perfect in those pants.

You start to fiddle at the ends of the short cloak you’re wearing, “Do you think it’s too much?”

Din’s attention snaps back into place. “No,” he says quickly. “You look good.”

He doesn’t dare let himself think anything more than that.

“I got you something,” he tells you, focusing his attention on something less damning - although, not by much.

Your eyes soften, “You’ve already given me so much.” Only as much as I’ve taken away.

Din holds out a small, wrapped package that you take hesitantly. Your brows furrow after opening it and you flip through the pages of the book.

“Mando, this is really sweet but you know I can’t read this.”

“I know,” he responds, now handing you the reading tablet. He wonders if you can hear the smile in his voice. “So, I got you this too.”

You eye it curiously, “What is it?”

He turns on the tablet for you, “It’s a reading tool. I figured you could learn.”

Din doesn’t know what he’s waiting for as he watches you with your new gifts. He’s laser focused on your reactions, taking in each tilt of your lips or twitch around the eyes.

Eyes that are now looking at him as if he had given you the world. The satisfaction he gets from it shouldn’t be as much as it is.

You clutch both items close to your chest, your breath hitching when you finally say something, “You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

It was no big deal, nothing of great importance to him. He would’ve done the same for anyone else . . .

. . . right?

***

“I’m going with you.”

“We’ve been over this,” the Mandalorian growls at you from the pilot seat. “You’re staying here, and that’s final.”

Maybe you’re imagining it, but the ship lands with a bit more force than you’re used to.

You sigh, knowing that this was a moot point. The entire flight to Tatooine was spent arguing over whether you could accompany him, but Mando wouldn’t budge.

“If this planet is as dangerous as you say, wouldn’t I be safer with you?” You had asked.

“You’ll be staying with a friend of mine,” he told you. “It’ll be perfectly safe.”

“Your last friend attacked me.”

“This one won’t.” He then laughed. “But if she does, it’ll be a fair fight this time.”

“It’s not funny!” You tried not to sound like you were whining. “I can help you out there.”

“No, you can’t.”

“But -“

“No.”

You’d brought it up two more times before accepting that you’d have better luck arguing with a wall.

While Mando shuts down his ship, you begrudgingly gather your things into a crossbody bag, another courtesy of yesterdays shopping trip. As you put away the reading tablet, you realize it’s hard to stay mad at him with it in hand. You swallow your bad attitude, deciding to make the most of this.

From the corner of your eye, you catch Grogu watching you with amusement. Your mood instantly lightens and you walk over to scratch behind one of his ears.

“At least I’ll have you to keep me company.”

Mando leads you out of the ship and into what looks like a repair yard of sorts. The walls surrounding you are all beige stone, and everywhere along them there are parts thrown about or unfinished projects.

There’s a loud clanking noise that comes from one of the wall openings. It startles you, but Mando remains unbothered except for the annoyed sigh he lets out.

You see why as the source, or sources, of the clamor come out into the open. It’s three small, lanky looking droids that head your way.

“Hey everyone, it’s Mando!” An older woman calls out from behind the droids. She’s got wild curls of hair, tattered mechanic overalls, and heavy boots that kick up the sand as she excitedly walks over.

“Always a pleasure to see you. Are you here on business?” She asks him.

For the moment, the woman isn’t too interested in you as she catches up with Mando. Her droids, on the other hand, circle you curiously, distracting you enough to not remember that you haven’t introduced yourself yet.

One of the little robots gets too close for comfort and without drawing too much attention to yourself, you try to shoo it away. It ignores the waves of your hands and how you take a couple of steps back. Its only lens follows all your movements, and while you’ve gotten over how creepy droids can be, this one was getting on your nerves with all the hovering.

Fed up, the next time it invades your personal space, you hold your hand out to block it. As soon as your hand taps the lens, the droid collapses in on itself causing you to jump back in surprise.

Oh my god, I broke it.

Everyone turns to look at you then. Mando rests a hand on his hip and Grogu giggles. The woman he was talking to rushes over with an annoyed look on her face.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to b-“

“Get out of here!” She yells. Not to you, but to the remaining droids who start to scurry away. The woman slaps the top of the droid you broke and, to your great relief, it’s springs back up to life. She starts barking at it immediately, “Get back to work and leave her alone!”

When all the droids are gone, she extends a hand to you. “I never get to meet any of Mando’s friends. I’m Peli Motto.”

You introduce yourself back, shaking her surprisingly strong grip.

Mando directs his attention back to Peli, “I’ll only be gone for a few days, at most. Thank you for agreeing to watch them.”

You don’t bother to hide your surprise, shooting him a look that says as such. Mando pulls you aside, leaving Peli to fuss over Grogu.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be gone for days! Plural!” you say.

“It might not take that long,” he tells you. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Hopefully, with some answers.”

You sigh, twisting the end of your necklace around your fingers. “Stay safe, okay?”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Mando tries to reassure you. It doesn’t work. You’ll worry the entire time he’s gone. “Just try to stay out of trouble.”

With your luck? “I can’t make any promises,” you joke.

You can tell he doesn’t find it funny. Mando rests his hands on your upper arms, giving them a small squeeze. You look up at him, wishing you could tell what he’s thinking.

“Please,” is all he asks in a low voice.

Well, when he puts it like that. You nod, mouth going dry, “Alright.”

His thumb barely draws a soothing line on your arm before he removes his hands off of you entirely. It was such a quick touch, shorter than a breath.

Mando starts to walk back to Peli without another word, leaving you to wonder if that whole exchange really happened. It’s only because you can still feel the warmth of his touch that you trust yourself to believe it did.

It doesn’t help that the planet feels like a goddamn furnace. The heat is getting to you, you tell yourself. That has to be it.

“Your little critter will be safe with me, stop your fussing!” You hear Peli tell him as you get closer.

She then gives you an excited pat on the back, still talking to Mando, “And your friend here will make a great assistant for the time being.”

Peli’s expression turns mischievous, “With her talking to the customers, people will take whatever price I give them for their repairs.” You can practically see the dollar signs, or rather credit signs, in her eyes.

Mando immediately objects. “Absolutely not,” he barks. “You’re not going to parade her in front of all your seedy customers.”

It’s the damn heat that makes your cheeks feel hot. Definitely not the protective tone of his voice.

Peli puts her hands up in a mock surrender, “I’m just saying, It would be good for business if - “

“Peli,” Mando warns.

“Fine, have it your way,” she relents. “She stays in the back.”

Satisfied with her answer, Mando starts to say say his farewells.

“You know how to reach me if anything happens,” he tells Peli, who for all intents and purposes is acting as your intergalactic babysitter.

You tell yourself that there are a lot of reasons to feel anxious right now.

For one, you’re going to have to be without Mando again for a while and you’re not too eager to be without your trusty bodyguard. There’s also the fear you have for Mando himself. You know he’s a capable man, but he’s still going off to investigate something dangerous. Even if you were made to wait in the ship the entire time, you still wish you could’ve gone with him.

And then there’s the slight possibility that when Mando returns, he’ll have a way of sending you back to Earth. That thought alone is enough to have your stomach doing flips, and you try not to get too excited at the idea since nothings even happened yet. But since the possibility is there, so is the hope.

Having already said your goodbyes, Mando gives you a nod that you return. He pats Grogu on the head, bending down slightly to talk to him. “Keep them safe, kid.”

You smile, chuckling at the adorable fatherly moment. It’s a cute joke, thinking that a little baby could get you all out of any trouble.

Mando gets back in his ship, and you watch it fly off until it disappears from your line of sight.

“Now that he’s gone, you can tell me,” Peli starts, curiosity and amusement in her voice. “Are you two together?”

The question catches you off guard, making you trip all over your words. “Wha- No! It-”

Peli crosses her arms, giving you teasing smile. You exhale sharply, “It’s not like that.”

“Are you sure?” She asks you, her grin widening. “Because it sure looked like -“

“It’s not like that,” you repeat yourself in a stern voice.

Much like she did before, Peli puts her hands up dropping the subject, “If you say so.” Her smug smile stays plastered on her face as she walks away from you, making you feel like she knows something you don’t.

But what could she know? Peli doesn’t know a thing about your relationship with Mando. Doesn’t know how it started, and doesn’t know how it will inevitably end - with him dropping you off on Earth and never looking back.

But would you be able to do the same?

***

As your pounding forehead rests on Peli’s kitchen table, you realize that there’s nothing basic about learning basic.

The joke makes your headache worse.

“You’ve been scribbling on that tablet all morning,” you hear Peli say from somewhere behind you. “Are you fluent yet?”

“No,” You groan, slowly lifting your head from the table. “I’ve only been able to translate ten letters.”

“Chin up, you’ll get there.”

Peli starts to put something on the stove, her back to you as she works. She makes a face when she turns around, “Looks like you could use some caf.”

Your eyes narrow, ready to defend the tired look on your face when her words finally reach your ears.

“Caf?” You ask, excited. “As in caffeine? Like coffee? You’ve got coffee?”

“Woah, slow down,” Peli says at your onslaught of questions. She sets down a mug in front of you. “Here. I’m not sure what coffee is, but this is what I’ve got.”

You take a sip and the headache you had goes away instantly. It’s not the same, but it’s so similar that you almost can’t taste the difference. You close your eyes, and it’s like you’re sitting at your own kitchen table instead of Peli’s.

Grogu babbles next to you, pulling you out of your daydream and into reality.

You are probably projecting your own feelings, but you could’ve sworn that Grogu’s little face holds a sympathetic look.

You sweep away the thoughts of home, knowing that they weren’t doing anyone any good right now.

Smiling at Grogu, you down the rest of the caf in one gulp. “With a little milk and sugar, it could almost be like going to Dunkin’.”

His little head tilt lets you know he has no idea what you’re saying.

Looking over at the reading tablet, you turn it off with a sigh and shove it in your bag. Ten letters would have to do for the moment since your brain can’t take anymore learning.

Peli sits down across from you. “I have to go into town today to settle a business deal. Why don’t you come with me? The fresh air will do you good.”

When you walk through the market later that day, you’re not sure that ‘fresh’ was the right word to describe the air. In the boiling Tatooine heat the air is stagnant, making you wish for the air conditioning of Mando’s ship.

That gives you an idea.

“Hey, Peli?” You say as she’s about to walk into a large stone building that’s bursting with music. You don’t know what kind of business deal she needed to conduct in a place like that, but it doesn’t matter. You have other things on your mind. “Is there a place around here that sells pillows?”

Thinking about Mando’s ship made you remember how he gave you his only pillow. You’d like to fix that predicament by the time he got back.

Peli halts in her tracks, “What’s wrong with the one I gave you?” The defensiveness of her tone doesn’t match her small stature.

“It’s not for me. It’s for Mando.”

Peli crosses her arms, that taunting smile plastered on her face again. “Oh, is it, now?”

“Yes,” you answer simply, not wanting to give her any more material for her imagination. “He needs one.”

She doesn’t skip a beat before saying, “I’m sure you know all about his needs.”

“PELI!” You yell, rolling your eyes. “Is there a place or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, just keep walking along the street. Make a left, then a right. Or is it a right, then a left. No, I was right the first time. Are you paying attention?”

“Uhm,” The directions swirl in your mind as she talks and you look over to Grogu nervously. Unfortunately for you, it doesn’t look like he’s paying any attention.

Peli keeps going anyway, “There will be a sign for a store that sells linens and beddings and all that. You can’t miss it.”

You blink a couple of times and then point to the street ahead of you. “That way?” You ask.

She nods in confirmation, “Meet me back here when you’re done shopping for your man.”

With that, Peli disappears inside the building. A burst of music hits your ears when the door slides open, and it immediately dulls when it slides shut.

You and Grogu are left outside. “He’s not my man,” you grumble.

Grogu’s pram follows you as you walk through the market, making a right and then a left like Peli told you. None of the places around you look like what she described, though.

Next to you, Grogu makes a worried noise.

“We’re not lost,” you answer, even though he technically didn’t say anything. “Maybe this thing can help us.”

Digging through your bag, you take out the reading tablet with all of your notes, comparing the nearby signs with the few letters that you were able to translate.

As it turns out, that wasn’t the most accurate way of getting around town, and after ten minutes you were forced to admit to yourself that you were, in fact, lost.

You huff in defeat. “Looks like we’ll have to suck it up and ask someone for directions.”

Looking around, there’s a building a couple of feet ahead of you that has two guards posted outside the door. They stand motionless, covered from head to toe in their white armor, barely moving as others pass them by.

They kind of remind you of the guards in London or police officers.

You motion to them, “Those guys look official enough. What do you think?”

Grogu pushes a button on his pram that seals it up as soon as he takes a look at the white guards.

“Aw, there’s no need to be shy,” you reassure the floating metal ball since you can’t see Grogu’s face anymore.

“I’ll do all the talking.”

***

He could get used to the feeling of having somebody waiting for him when he arrived from a job.

Something about the way you and Grogu were already outside when he steps foot off The Crest brings him an unexpected amount of peace.

When he finally reaches you, he’s greeted by one of your bright smiles. Has it really only been three days since he’s seen you? It feels like it’s been longer than that.

And after the last couple of days he’s had, you’re definitely a sight for sore eyes. He’s too tired to deny that all he wants to do is look at you.

So he does. Din shamelessly takes in the sight of you, well aware that he has yet to say a word.

He wants to stay like this for a little while longer since he knows that the second one of you breaks the silence this small moment will be over.

It looks like your about to say something when Peli comes racing out of her home, yelling loud enough for all of Mos Eisley to hear, “You’re back! I was beginning to think the Jawas has mistaken you for parts!”

When she catches up to the two of you, she adds, “So, how’d it go?”

He had been dreading this conversation the entire flight over, turning the words over and over again in his mind so that they’d be less painful for you to hear.

You look at him expectantly. Eagerly. As if there was no doubt in your mind that he would succeed.

And now, like an idiot, he can’t remember any of what he had been prepared to say, pathetically landing on, “I’m sorry.”

You think so highly of him that he’s not sure what hurts more, the fact that he let you down, or that you’re doing your best not to show it.

“The ship was scrapped by the time I got there.” As if his explanation made it any better.

Disappointment casts a shadow on your face that you try to hide, “It’s okay.”

Din hates that the first words he hears from you after all these days sound so sad.

Your smile is tight lipped and it doesn’t reach your eyes, “Thanks for trying, anyway.”

Peli, wanting to lighten the mood, changes the subject. “Let’s go inside,” she says, giving your arm a quick pat before turning to him. “We were just about to have dinner.”

Din follows you both to the kitchen and sits at the table while you eat. He’s thankful for Peli’s lively conversation and how she’s able to improve your mood by the time dinner is over.

Soon, you’re telling him about how you spent your days here and he’s happy to listen to you talk about your walk through the market.

“ - And everything was fine until I decided to ask for directions from the rudest security officers I’d ever met.” Din shakes his head and laughs at you.

“They were all like ‘Keep moving!’ and pointed their blasters at me until I walked away! Thinking they were so high and mighty with their ridiculous white suits. They looked like walking PVC pipes.”

Din’s eyes narrow as you continue to tell him what happened. He starts to think out loud, wondering under his breath, “White su-” Oh, no.

He rises from his seat abruptly, the table shaking as his hands slam on the surface. “PELI, YOU LET HER TALK TO A STORM TROOPER?!”

His original anger starts to dissipate as he sees that Peli looks just as shocked to hear what happened as he does.

You look between the two of them with infuriatingly innocent confusion, “What’s a storm trooper?”

Your question is ignored.

“I left her alone for an hour! I didn’t know any of that happened!” Peli says, standing from her seat. “And besides, there’s no reason to get upset. Look at her, she’s fine.”

He’s fuming at her careless words. “You were supposed to keep her out of trouble, and I come back to find out she asked it for directions!”

Din takes a deep, calming breath and turns to you, not having the patience to argue with Peli.

To think that those thugs could’ve laid their hands on you.

“Don’t talk to them ever again,” he warns you. “In fact, just stay away from those guys altogether, do you understand?”

You blink twice, “… No, I don’t. Can someone please explain who they were?”

Din is unsure how to fill the silence that follows your question. How does one begin to explain the horrors of the Empire to someone who’s never lived them?

After a moment, Peli grabs a bottle off of one of her shelves and sighs, “I’ll need a drink for this conversation.”

***

The copy of Drovan and Yvaine is a lot harder to translate than you originally thought.

Maybe you were too ambitious to think you could translate what was essentially Shakespeare after only just figuring out the alphabet. Nevertheless, you push on and continue to annotate the pages, writing the letters you recognized over the ones you were still figuring out.

You had a nice little set up in Peli’s hanger where you liked to sit and work on your reading. A couple of crates and boxes worked as a make-shift table whenever you wanted to be outside, and you placed them in a spot where the suns would hit your station at the perfect angle.

Well, usually.

A sudden shadow across the pages forces you to put your pencil down.

“Are you enjoying the book?” You hear Mando ask as he leans over your shoulder to get a closer look at what you’re doing.

“I’m barely a paragraph in,” you say, turning to him.

His face is close to yours. Too close, you think. Close enough for you to suddenly become self conscious of the sweat on your face from the time spent outside.

“Then I don’t feel too bad for interrupting you.” Mando steps back from your space, and thankfully your thoughts are your own again.

Something around Mando shifts, maybe it was his posture or the sigh he lets out, but you can tell he wants to talk about something serious.

“Listen, our conversation yesterday got me thinking, do you know how to defend yourself?”

Your brows furrow as you get up from your seat, not expecting the question. “Well,” you start to say. “I took a self defense class in college.”

“Show me.”

You laugh. He doesn’t. “Are you serious?”

Mando nods, “Show me what you know.”

He gets into a ready stance and you mirror it poorly. You try to think back on the class you took years ago, remembering that most of the lessons stressed moving quickly and getting out of certain holds. You inwardly groan, wishing there had been a lesson on how to start a fight and not just on how to run away from one.

Without overthinking it, you lunge at him quickly hoping to take him by surprise. Mando must’ve seen it coming from a mile away because before you could blink, you were knocked back and he had you pinned to the ground.

His helmet was inches from your face as you breathlessly looked up at him with wide eyes. He hadn’t been rough with you in the slightest, but the ease of it all had left your pride a little bruised.

Mando lets you go, standing over you with an outstretched hand, “So, you don’t know anything, then.”

“Hey!” You argue, reluctantly accepting the help to get up. “The lessons weren’t exactly meant for fighting Iron Man.”

“Who?”

“Oh, forget it,” You dust yourself off angrily.

Mando has the nerve to chuckle. “I know you know how to survive, but you don’t know the first thing about defending yourself.”

“So you keep telling me,” you grumble.

“I’m not always going to be around to protect you,” he says, his tone now grave. “While you’re under my care, I need to know that you’ll be able to handle yourself if I’m not around.”

Need. That word seemed to hang in the space between you and him.

Mando walks further into the hanger, standing in the middle of a spot clear of any parts or tools. “I’ll teach you to fight like a Mandalorian.”

“What? Now?” You ask, playfully.

“Yes,” he responds, all seriousness. “Come here.”

You see no point in arguing this with him, smiling to yourself as you roll your eyes and meet him where he stands.

“Since you don’t know anything we’ll start with the basics.”

Mando begins by showing you how to stand properly.

“Follow my lead,” he instructs, getting into position. You follow his actions, moving when he moves, copying his stance as best you can.

If you followed him correctly, he’d circle you as you remained frozen in the pose. He’d hum in approval before saying, “Good.” And then you’d move on.

Whenever you’d get it wrong, he’d come up to you and adjust your stance himself. With the lightest touch, Mando would fix your posture or position you accordingly.

“Here,” he told you once, standing behind you with one hand on the base of your spine while the other pulled your shoulders back. “Just like that.”

You had to remember to breath in and out after each little praise. And if that wasn’t already concerning enough, you were starting to get annoyed with how much you liked hearing them.

“Now this is something that’s been bothering me since we’ve met,” Mando tells you after a while of practicing stances. He hands you one of his blasters, showing you what each button does and how to hold it properly.

When you’re able to correctly recite back all that you’ve learned, Mando grabs an empty grease can and sets it down a few feet in front of you. “Try shooting at it,” he instructs.

Shaking the tension out of your shoulders, you point the blaster at it. You take in a deep breath, getting ready to shoot your shot when you feel Mando come up behind you and fix your aim. His hand covers yours on the blaster, adjusting it a couple of inches to the left.

Your breathing stops completely when you feel his other hand settle on your waist.

“Go ahead,” he says, his deep voice right in your ear.

You wish you could say that all of your attention was focused on the grease can and not on how close Mando was to you. Trusting that he has you pointing the blaster correctly, you blindly squeeze the trigger. The shot was right on the mark and the can bounces away from the impact.

You gasp happily, proud of yourself even though he did most of the work. Mando’s hold on your waist tightens slightly - you could almost say it was affectionate. “Attagirl.”

Attagirl. Attagirl. Attagirl

He removes his hands from you, standing a couple of paces away now.

Attagirl. Attagirl.

Mando clears his throat, resting his hands on his hips. “Practice that daily,” he says, not looking at you when he does so.

It doesn’t surprise you when he decides to leave, ending the training session with a rushed excuse that caused him to be anywhere else.

This time you don’t mind his sudden departure, needing the space to think without Mando forcing his way into every thought you have.

Attagirl.

You groan into your hands.

***

Din is sitting in the cockpit of the Razor Crest staring out into hyperspace after punching in the coordinates to their next destination.

“Mando?”

He hears your sweet voice call him, so he turns his seat around to face you. Din can’t help the way his jaw drops or how his cock twitches at the sight of you.

“There you are,” you smile, leaning against the door frame in nothing but the metal slave attire he rescued you in.

His eyes trail over your body, drinking in the sight of you like a lost man finding water in the desert. Almost every curve of your body is exposed to him, from the soft swell of your breasts to the smooth length of your bare legs. Only your most intimate parts were tauntingly covered by the smallest pieces of metal or fabric - the entire garment seemingly made for the purpose of driving him mad.

You move closer to him, each step you take causing his heart to pound louder in his ears. When you finally reach him, you lean down, placing each one of your hands on his armrests. From this angle, Din has a full view of your breasts and not enough willpower to look away. He feels a desperate need to touch you but he keeps his fists balled up in his lap instead.

One of your hands go to the bottom of his helmet, using a finger to tilt his chin up so that he’s looking up into your eyes. The edges of your lips curl up into a knowing smile, and his face burns at having been so shamelessly caught.

“You know,” you start to say, softly. Slowly. “I never properly thanked you for saving me.”

Din swallows thickly, “You didn’t?”

You shake your head, still keeping that coy smile on your face, “Nope.”

Before he can think of a response, you settle yourself on his lap, straddling him on the seat. Din’s hands automatically go to your hips, his body knowing before his mind would admit that he wants to keep you there. His fingers dig into your soft skin, holding you in place as you press your body closer to his.

He has to stop himself from audibly groaning with every slight shift of your weight. His cock strains against his pants and he has no doubt you could feel how hard he was through that flimsy covering of yours.

Din bites his lip hard enough to draw blood just thinking about how bare you are underneath the cloth covering. How all he’d have to do is move the fabric to the side, and he’d have access to your dripping cunt.

You start to move your hips, grinding down on him in slow, deliberate motions. He matches your rhythm, holding you firmly against him as he moves his own hips against your core.

Your name falls from his lips with a sigh. You stop your delicious movements, blinking at him innocently, “What is it? Do you want me to stop?”

Din’s voice is raspy and desperate when he responds, “Keep going.”

His breathing is heavy and wanting as he watches you get off of him, never once breaking eye contact as you get down on your knees between his legs. Your hands trail up his thighs impossibly slow, leaving him throbbing with anticipation.

Din grips the armrests tightly when he feels your feather-like touch over his clothed member. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you bite your lip as you begin to palm him through his pants. That perfect hand of yours working him up as he imagines what it would be like to feel those lips all over him. Divine, most likely.

Deft fingers make quick work of his clothes, and his cock springs free from the release of his pants. Din almost hisses when you start to touch him, wrapping your hand around the base of his shaft. You pump him once. Twice. Setting a leisurely pace until beads of pre-cum start to leak from the tip.

You keep stroking as you bring your lips to closer him. He watches you transfixed as you run your tongue all the way up his cock, teasing him as you take your sweet time.

Din uses one of his hands to gather your loose hair and hold it back. He’s a gentleman, of course, and wants to make this easier for you. That, and he doesn’t want anything getting in the way of his view of your mouth on him.

His breaths are ragged as you leave sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along his length. Your tongue swirls at the tip, and he has to restrain himself from pushing himself into your mouth when he sees how you lap him up greedily.

“Ah.. fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hair tightening as you take him into your warm mouth. Din feels you moan when you go deeper, and the vibrations add to the pleasure. You use both your mouth and your hands on him, continuing to stroke him where your mouth doesn’t reach.

“Just like that,” he encourages when you hollow out your cheeks and press your tongue harder against him.

Din throws his head back against the chair, deeply enveloped in every sensation. The cockpit is filled with obscene noises and all he cares to feel is how you drive him closer to the edge.

You start to go faster. Harder. Taking him in until he reaches the back of your throat and you’re gagging against him. You don’t stop and he feels himself building up for release.

Din loves watching how your lips wrap around him. He gives in to the feeling of your hands pumping his hard length.The sounds you make are the most arousing sounds he’s ever heard.

He’s going to come soon.

He wants to hold you in place as you take all that he gives you.

Fuck, how he wants to see your mouth filled with his cum.

As you swallow every last drop.

He’s so close.

He’s

Din shoots up in his bed, a sheen of sweat covering his body. His breathing is fast and his heart pounds in his chest. He throws off the covers to reveal his aching cock, unattended and straining against his underwear.

For a moment he’s disoriented. He’s not in the cockpit, he’s in his quarters on the Crest. You’re not here with him, it was all a dream.

All a damn dream.

He glances at his pillow before holding it up to his face for a moment.

After they had said goodbye to Peli earlier, you had surprised him with the pillow. You told him how you saw that he had given you his only one when they met, and that you’d gotten him a new one as a thank you. He was beyond touched, but insisted that you keep the new one and give him back his original one.

It still smells like you. And when he went to bed it enveloped him so completely that he almost believed you were sleeping right next to him.

That must’ve been how you infiltrated your way into his dream. He shudders at the memory of it, the images and sensations still fresh in his mind.

He inhales into the pillow deeply, wanting to feel you in any way he can.

What am I doing?

Din takes his throbbing cock into his hand, feeling the pre-cum all over the tip.

He’s just a man. Made of flesh and blood, with wants and desires that go against his better judgement.

He’d only do it this one time, he reasons. It doesn’t mean anything, anyway. Just that he finds you attractive, and he’d have to be blind to deny that.

The flashes of the dream spur him forward and he begins to stroke himself to the thought of you. At first, he replays the scene from his dream, but his pace quickens as he imagines himself taking on more control.

Din tries not to groan too loud as he pictures touching your sweet pussy, spreading your legs wide as he pumps his fingers into you. He’d want to hear you moan and feel you writhing as he worked you closer to an orgasm.

After he got you wet enough, he’d easily be able to push himself into you. You’d be so tight for him, your walls squeezing him as he thrusts without abandon.

You’d be so willing. Your body completely his.

Din’s grip tightens as he pictures coming inside you. He’d watch his cum drip out of your cunt, and you’d lay there thinking it’s all finished before he’d fuck you again, over and over, filling you up even more.

He comes hard into his hand, holding himself back from moaning your name into the darkness.

As Din collapses back onto his bed, there’s only one question on his mind:

What am I doing?

#din djarin x reader #fanfic #star wars #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandolarian #din djarin x you #pedro pascal characters #slow burn #mando x you #mando x reader #smut #the mandaloria/reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian/you

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groguandin · 1 year

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three tickets to the barbie movie pls

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian spoilers #barbie movie #OH GOOD GOD #lizzo #jack black #ARIANA WHAT YOU DOING HERE vibes

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sarcasmismyonlydefense24 · 1 year

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"Not all men..."

Yeah your right José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal would never treat me like this

#din djarin x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x female reader #din djarin x mandalorian!reader #joel miller fanfiction #tlou x reader #tlou fanfiction #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #max philips x reader #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller #tlou

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cass-hues · 1 year

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✨Hope everyone has a wonderful May the 4th!! ✨

#may the fourth be with you #may the 4th #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #Mando

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eggdrawsthings · 1 year

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goodnight 💤

#let them have a good night sleep im begging #also just incase pls dont be weird in the tag thank you #my art #din djarin #grogu djarin #clan mudhorn #a clan of two #the mandalorian #star wars #mando #grogu #baby yoda #pedro pascal

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thefrogdalorian · 23 days

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Din Djarin + Eyebrows

#din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #star wars #swedit #din gifs #din edits #my edits #my gifs #such a pathetic sad little meow meow #awww are you gonna cry big scary mandalorian?#PATHETIC #covered in blood [PATHETIC]#social anxiety [PATHETIC]#anyway i love him i would die for him

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mearchy · 2 months

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The best fics are the ones that recognize that although Luke Skywalker may APPEAR on the outside to be a normal friendly twink who happens to have cool powers, especially when contrasted with such ship partners as Boba or Din or even Han, he is arguably the scariest person alive in the galaxy around the prequel era. AND, crucially, he is also a fundamentally weird guy. This man was homeschooled on a rural farm his entire life and then apprenticed to a swamp gremlin who showed him how to tap into the cosmic power of the universe. He blew up the death star age 19, killing approx 2 million-ish Imperials. He is a vortex of Force power that can communicate with the ghosts of dead Jedi. He’s staring into the distance and mumbling to himself and doing Yoda aphorisms and casually pulling out the “yeah I could crush that guy into a paste with my mind (:” and nobody around him knows what to do with that. I think he is a character who has very little frame of reference for how a Jedi or a person in general is supposed to act and there is some thing about him that is by necessity really fucking weird and a little scary but he’s so nice that it can throw you off the scent a little bit. Thanks for coming to my TED talk

#This can be played for comedic value eldritch horror BAMF moments and also just overall weirdness.#not even in a manic pixie dream boy way but just like.#a very unsettling guy… and you don’t know why…#but he also exudes enough light and friendliness that everyone overlooks it #and now HAN is used to this #and leia does not care #but boba fett is doing the 😧#and i just think that’s funny.#all jedi should be weird but luke is weirder because he doesn’t even have any context for this shit.#like normal jedi learn to be normal from the temple environment #or from being around lots of normal people.#so he’s like everything kind of Off about the jedi distilled into one friendly blond surfer dude.#star wars #original trilogy #ot #star wars original trilogy #luke skywalker #bobaluke #dinluke #the mandalorian #boba fett #din djarin

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softlyspector · 1 year

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Significant

Summary: Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for.

Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!Reader

Word Count: ~5.1k

Warnings: pining, absolute FOOLS in love, bit of grumpy x sunshine, lil angsty, possibly incorrect lore, fluff, lots of Mando'a (translations for the Mando'a at the end)

A/N: Happy Mandalorian Eve!! This is based on a short drabble I wrote, which you can find here! It's not necessary to read it first, though of course I recommend it! The reader and Din have been traveling together for a long time, and after removing his armor in front of the reader for the first time began calling them riduur.

“Riduur.”

It may as well be your name, the way you turn at the sound of that word.

“Din,” you return, adjusting the child’s little sleeve which had fallen down past his hand.

“Are you ready?” He asks as he tilts his head to the side.

You smile and turn back to Grogu. “Dad’s impatient today, isn’t he?” The child coos up at you, lifting tiny arms, ready to be picked up. “Yeah, he is.”

“I’m not impatient,” Din grumbles lowly.

You raise a brow at that and lift Grogu into your arms. “You’re always impatient, Mando.” His head jerks to the side at your assessment.

You have to bite back a laugh. In truth, he is incredibly patient. Most of the time, and especially when it came to you and Grogu. The only time you’ve seen him truly lose his temper was with the Jawas, and really, that couldn’t be helped.

The child reaches for Din when you turn back to him, and the Mandalorian immediately holds out his arms to take him from you. You deposit the little green baby there before grabbing your shawl. “Yes, we’re ready,” you finally answer.

The baby gets tucked into the pouch at Din’s hip, before he descends the ship’s ramp out into the desert air that awaits you.

You roll your eyes gently.

Not impatient, but not entirely patient either.

You follow, wrapping the light material around your shoulders.

It’s subtle, but he does wait for you, his pace slower than if he were alone. His right elbow ticks out a fraction, and you smile before cupping your hand there. He would never ask you to take his arm, still the offer is usually there if he can accommodate it.

He relaxes a little when you fit your hand against his bicep. “Supplies only,” he reminds you, ever practical.

“Supplies only,” you agree. “Unless I see something for Grogu.”

“The child is becoming spoiled,” he complains lightly. “We won’t have enough room in the ship soon.”

You shrug and tighten your grip on his arm. You like the way he says we. So, you return with, “That’s just because our child deserves the best.”

Din’s spine straightens a fraction and his shoulders tilt back.

He’s somehow both stoic and incredibly bad at hiding his emotions. You can tell, just by the slope of his shoulders or the exact angle of the helmet or the precise way he stands or walks, exactly what and how he’s feeling.

Or, maybe you’ve just spent too much time around him.

Maybe, you just know him too well.

And right now, he’s swollen with pride. Though you don’t know if it's because you’ve complimented the way he takes care of the child or if it were something else. Something in the way you said our.

It’s not long before you reach the market, and Din sighs as soon as it comes into view. It’s much larger than the ones you normally frequent, a riot of color and sound that you both know you won’t be able to resist. The town seems to be in the midst of some kind of festival.

The smell of fried food greets you before you’ve even breached the perimeter of the town, and your mouth waters. Something better than rations awaited you there.

Din is single minded though, and you know he’ll immediately make for the most boring of the stalls and shops.

Supplies only, after all, is what you’d come for.

“Mando,” you remove your hand from his arm and he immediately halts at the loss of your touch and turns to you. “I’m going to go look around.”

He stares at you, helmet tilting down. He doesn’t like telling you no, and knows it wouldn’t matter if he did anyways. But, he worries and so it takes a moment for him to reply. “Don’t go far,” he advises. “Do you have a comlink?”

“Yes.”

“A weapon?”

You pretend to search your person, “Hm, what’s that again?”

“Riduur,” he reprimands your teasing.

That word makes the inside of your skin light up pleasantly. Riduur. If only you knew what it meant.

You’ve started to assume it means something similar to cyare or cyar'ika. But he’d had no problem telling you what those words meant. Darling and sweetheart and beloved. He’d had no problem telling you he was calling you beloved.

But he no longer calls you cyare or cyar'ika. Since the first time he’d called you riduur, the day he removed his armor in front of you for the first time, he’d solely begun calling you riduur.

Even your name is becoming a rarity from his lips.

“Udesii! Yes,” you cross your arms. “You know I took care of myself for a very long time without you and nothing ever happened. I’ll be okay.”

Din doesn’t answer, just sighs and gives a curt nod and marches off towards a shop selling medical supplies.

The dramatics of it all makes you giggle. You like teasing him, especially because he thinks he hides how flustered you make him well.

Although you enjoy traveling with the Mandalorian, alone time has become a complete rarity. You were always with Din, or watching your little green menace.

You eat your way through a couple of different stalls selling food, bundling up second and third servings to keep for Din and Grogu.

Din wouldn’t think to get anything beyond rations. Both you and the child like a little more variety, where Din treats the act of eating like a maintenance routine.

You drift past stalls hawking trinkets and jewelry, fending off the sellers as you crunch something sweet and sour you’d picked up at the last food stall, not entirely sure what it is.

Textiles are next, bolts of cloth you run your fingers over but mourn not being able to afford. Still, it's nice to browse, nice to feel normal. The Mandalorian isn’t hunting someone for once, and you aren’t trapped in the interior of the ship, stale recycled dry air burning your nostrils.

A little supply stop has become a little welcome relief. It’s giving you the chance to stretch your legs, to explore.

Still, your mind drifts back to Din, the way he calls you something he would not name to you.

You’ve searched before, in other markets, on other worlds, for the answer to your question. What does that word mean and why won’t Din tell you?

You’d tried to convince him once or twice, with gentle words whispered in his ear, when the helmet was off and your hands were pressed against his skin, the contours of his face still a mystery to you.

Once, you’d felt the skin of his cheeks go hot beneath your hands when you told him he used his tongue so prettily, couldn’t he use it to tell you what riduur meant?

He’d mumbled something else in Mando’a but had not explained himself.

You can understand most of that he says now, but because he’s the only other speaker, you have to rely on him to tell you what new words and phrases mean.

Because the Mandalorians are such an insular people, you never come across any other speakers you could ask. There are no dictionaries to Basic that you could download and peruse.

It’s frustrating, especially since the word seems to be laden with something heavy. Din says it with reverence, with a softness that doesn't cut through the rest of his words. His voice is softer when he speaks Mando’a anyways, but that word is held with a reverence on his tongue, like it’s precious.

The only other time you had heard him use that tone was when he once called Grogu ad’ika, which meant child.

You’ve almost given up on knowing, resigned to that fact that you may never know and he may never tell you.

Whatever it means, you’re sure it's important. You just don’t know why.

The market is loud, boisterous and colorful. Music floats through the air, shouts and laughter.

It’s nice, it makes you smile and you wish you’d taken the child with you because you’re sure he’d have much more fun with you than with Din picking out rolls of bandage and rations and pulse rifle cartridges if he can find someone that has some.

You stop suddenly in your tracks when you hear a conversation in a language you immediately recognize, the familiar syllables cutting through the afternoon chatter.

You spin and find two men in robes speaking gently to each other in Mando’a. Before you can stop yourself, your feet have already carried you to their table where they sit sipping cups of caf.

“Su cuy'gar,” you greet. They both look surprised, glancing at each other and then back at you. “Sorry to bother you. You speak Mando’a?”

One smiles, “Yes. Of the few outsiders that do, I think.”

“Were you foundlings?” It’s the only way, you think, that they could have learned it.

“Once,” the older of the two says. “This one learned it at a university.”

You can’t help the curiosity that burns through you, “At a university? Really?”

“Only the very barest basics. From a woman being courted by a Mandalorian,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “That was a long time ago. Really I learned from him.” He gestures between himself and the other man.

You shake yourself, “I’ve just never met another aruetii that does.” Let alone two of them, you think dizzily. Two outsiders who spoke Mando’a.

“And how did you learn?”

“My…” you trail off.

Your what? You aren’t sure what exactly Din is to you, or what you are to him. You never have been. He treats you like you’re more precious than beskar, yet everything between you remains undefined.

“My traveling companion. He’s a Mandalorian.” You swallow, “I wonder if you could tell me if you know what a certain word means? It’s one I’ve been curious about.” You don’t want to tell them that you’re seeking it out because it's something he calls you. That feels too private, too close to the chest. “He said it once and I’ve been trying to figure it out ever since.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“It would wound my pride. He’s already taught me so much. He overestimates my fluency.”

They laugh and the man who was once a foundling says, “Yes, ask us then.”

“Riduur,” you say, carefully pronouncing it so they don’t mistake it for another word. “Riduur,” you repeat with more confidence.

The men glance at each other, brows raised. “Well, it has several meanings,” the more grizzled of the two says, “But I suppose it's all the same in the end. Spouse would be the most overarching translation. Partner, wife, and husband all work too.”

For a moment, you can’t breathe, you’re sure your heart has come to a leaping halt in your chest. “Truly? Riduur?” You say it again, just to make sure. They laugh and nod and you decide to have your meltdown away from their table. “Well, thank you for clearing that up. Sorry again to bother you.”

You turn away from them, a roaring in your ears. Your heart stutters in your chest. Riduur. He’s been calling you his partner, his spouse, for months? That word so softly spoken to you - to tease you, to call for you, whispered to you in the dark, said over and over, more than your own name. It meant partner, spouse, wife, husband?

Something inside you lights up with pride. The shape of it is warm, firm in the clasp of your lungs. Riduur. It’s a living, breathing kind of word, one that takes up space inside you. One you’re proud to bear the weight of, the title of.

Spouse, you think, doesn’t carry the same gravitas as riduur. There’s something heavier and deeper in the word that a translation couldn’t really carry over into Basic.

You start back down the road, smiling to yourself, but only make it several paces when Din steps up beside you silently from between two stalls. “Dank farrik,” you gasp, stumbling back. “Where did you come from? You scared me.”

He doesn’t answer you, doesn’t even tilt his head towards you. You may as well have not spoken at all.

“Mando?”

Still, he doesn’t answer you.

You raise a brow but don’t say anything else as he herds you gently out of the market, desert dust swirling around your calves. Eventually, when you reach the edge of the town, he asks, “Did you find everything you need?” His voice is flat, rough.

“Yes, I got some food for you and Grogu to try. A little feast for you tonight, since it won’t hold.”

He merely grunts and you frown. “Is something wrong?” You glance over your shoulder. “Did something happen? Are we being followed?”

You glance around his legs at the baby, still securely in the brown canvas bag, who’s peering up at both of you with anxious eyes, big ears drooping.

“No.” He answers curtly.

The walk back to the ship is silent, and tense, and you aren’t sure why.

It’s only when you’re in the safety of the mouth of the ship’s ramp, with the baby in your arms, that your irritation spills over. “Are you upset with me? I didn’t wander. I stayed close and had a weapon and -,”

Din’s hands go to his hips, helm tilting at an angle as he regards you. His voice is agitated when he finally speaks. You expect him to tell you that you wandered too far, that he commed you and you hadn’t picked it up, that you’d unknowingly wandered into danger. And you expect to have to tell him once again that it's all fine, that you are fine, that you’d traveled without him for years and things always turned out alright.

Instead, he says, “You should not call yourself an aruetii. That is not what you are.”

For a moment, it doesn’t register with you what he’s talking about, that he’d clearly overheard your conversation with the Mando’a speakers, likely eavesdropped on it.

All you are, for a few seconds, is confused. “But…I am an aruetii. I am not a Mandalorian.”

Din’s shoulders go stiff at your words. “That does not make you an outsider. You…you are far from an outsider,” he growls and suddenly spins away from you, his footfalls heavy and loud when he stomps across the hull.

He climbs the ladder to the cockpit and disappears, leaving both you and the baby alone, still standing on the ramp up to the ship. “He’s angry with me,” you say in disbelief, glancing down at the child in your arms, not really understanding why. “We’ll let him cool off,” you decide, bouncing the child against your waist. “Hungry?”

The baby coos and you smile, worry biting into you as you settle with him in the mouth of the ship. The sun is setting on the sand, the air warm, casting red shadows over the world. There’s nothing around you but sand in any direction you glance, aside from the town from which you’d come on the horizon.

In the distance, fireworks from the town explode in the sky. You point them out to Grogu, gently feeding him bites of food that you’d gotten at the market. He makes a sound that you suppose is a giggle, big eyes focused on the colors dissipating in the sky. He holds a tiny hand up, like he’d like it to fly to him.

You curl a hand over his. “None of that,” you say with a laugh. “Those are meant for the stars, not you.”

He goes back to eating, already distracted.

A weight settles over your chest.

If Din heard you call yourself aruetii then he knows that you now know what riduur means.

Maybe that was the true source of his irritation, that you’d gone behind his back to figure out what it meant when he clearly hadn’t wanted you to know.

You rub the tip of Grogu’s ear between your fingers and sigh.

Any warm feelings you’d had are gone.

Riduur.

He’s been calling you that for months. But he hadn’t wanted you to know that he was calling you his partner. For some reason it stings.

The Mandalorian is not cruel, not the type to play with another’s feelings. But, nonetheless, it feels like he might have been. Teasing you in a way you couldn’t begin to guess at. Or, like he could pretend without actually attaching himself to you, and you’d be none the wiser.

You shake those thoughts away, listening to the music echoing over the sands.

When Grogu falls asleep and the sun is just disappearing behind the horizon, you secure the ramp of the ship and carry the baby up into the cockpit.

Din sits silently in the pilot’s chair, and doesn’t look at you as you tuck the child into the floating pod.

You fidget with his blanket, not sure what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he breaks the silence first. “Ni ceta.”

“Din,” you perch next to him in the co-pilot’s seat. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone poking around where I don’t belong. I’m sorry.”

His head tilts toward you, the visor impenetrable. You swallow when he doesn’t answer, an inexplicable lump forming in the back of your throat. “Don’t belong?”

“I shouldn’t have asked them what riduur meant. You didn’t want me to know.”

Din stands and holds out a hand to you. You take it carefully and let him pull you to your feet. “That is not why I-,” he stops. “Do you really not know?”

“Know what?”

“I should have been…honest about the name I’ve given you.” He tilts his head and releases your hands. “I’m upset because-,” the Mandalorian pauses and seems to consider his next words for a long moment. Finally, he sighs and simply repeats, “You’re not an aruetii. By definition you can’t be.”

You stare at him for a long moment, before shaking your head. “I don’t understand.”

He huffs, helm ticking to the side again. “Would you call Grogu an outsider?”

“Of course not,” you answer, horrified. “No.”

“And why is that? He’s not a Mandalorian either.”

You don’t have to think about it, shaking your head before he’s even finished speaking. “He’s your child.”

Din steps forward, close to you, but doesn’t say anything. “Our child,” he corrects eventually. “I am upset because you don’t seem to know you are a part of our clan. Even after knowing what I’ve been calling you. Riduur, ner riduur, for months. You still don’t know.”

Oh. Oh.

“Osi'kyr,” you murmur softly. “How could I know that, Din?”

He stands silent and still before you, so still you aren��t sure he’s breathing. “I thought it was clear,” he says stiffly. “I thought it was clear I was courting you.”

Something pleasantly warm settles in among your heart and lungs. “Maybe you should explain your customs to me more thoroughly,” you joke lightly.

He doesn’t laugh, shoulders tense, hands curled in anxious fists.

“So why not tell me what the word means?” It seems a bit past courting to you, to call someone riduur. It seems to you he’s already chosen you.

He shifts from foot to foot, the movement somehow laden with vulnerability and worry. “If you did not…want the same - I’m not sure I could bear that.”

You stare at him, not entirely sure what to say to that. “So, what,” you start, “you expected me to one day just realize you considered me your-,”

“I would have told you,” he interrupts quickly. “One day.”

“Told me-,”

“What riduur means,” he corrects. “And asked if you’d like to be that.” Din takes your hands again, “Just know that you are part of this clan, whatever your answer is.” His voice is so sincere, it breaks your heart a little. “Whether you want to be attached to me or not, you have a place in this clan. You are not an aruetii.”

You tilt your head at the same time he does, the nonverbal cues you both habit in reflecting between you. “I’m just a bit confused. Was that your idea of a proposal?” You smile so he knows you’re teasing him.

Din gives a long suffering sigh. “Mandalorians do not propose.”

“Oh. So what do you do then?” You lift a brow, sliding your hands to his wrists so you can work on tugging one glove off at a time.

“We make an agreement,” he says, not trying to stop you. His voice is hoarse. “We make vows.”

You don’t look up, tucking the gloves in your belt before tracing your fingers along the veins in his wrists, the lines of his palms. “Oh. And did you make vows to me that I wasn’t aware of?”

You’re still joking, but Din takes your words to heart. He shakes one hand loose from yours and presses it beneath your jaw, tipping your head gently back. “I did. I make vows to you everyday.”

All the air seems to get sucked out of the ship. You gape at him, mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out as you struggle to find words. He chuckles, low and breathy beneath the helmet. You imagine he must be smiling. “Now you see how you make me feel. Like I can’t breathe.”

You finally manage to take a breath, lifting your chin away from his fingers, threads of embarrassment beating under your skin at his teasing. “You could have told me, you know.”

“It was too large a risk. I wouldn’t risk you.”

Maybe you should hesitate in your next words.

But you don’t.

You’ve never been surer in something.

“Din,” you step close to him. “I would take those vows.”

“They…they are heavy vows. Not meant to be taken lightly. They’re bonding vows.”

He thinks you don’t get it, that you still don’t understand. “I understand what kind of vows they are. What are the vows?” You step even closer, the heat of his body seeping into yours.

He smells like sun, like spices from the market and oil on beskar. It makes you dizzy, the usual scent of him is much cooler. Evergreen and pine.

The cockpit is dark, the very last dregs of light on the horizon gone. The contours of the helm are shadowed, the flicker of lights from the control panels reflecting in blinking lights over the visor.

There is no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks.

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

You mouth the words, doing your best to translate them.

But he’s spoken too quickly, and you only understand part of it. He waits for you to ask for him to translate, giving you a moment to attempt it instead of immediately telling you.

“I only understand part…We are one together and-,”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” he says easily. “We are - we are all of those things already. I have kept the promise I made.”

Your throat is dry, and you can’t think about how that’s true. “We’re raising warriors?” You attempt a joke.

“Would you not call the child a warrior?”

“I would,” you agree. “I would also still take those vows, now knowing their meaning.”

There’s a long pause in which you can feel the Mandalorian’s stare. His gaze is intense, assessing, hot against your skin. You patiently look back, waiting. “You don’t have to.”

“You think I don’t want to.”

He huffs, “I…don’t want you to believe you have to make vows to me. You are a part of our clan no matter what.”

“Would you still call me riduur?”

“If you allowed it,” he takes a breath. “Yes.”

The lip of the helm drifts up and you can sense he’s no longer looking at you, embarrassed. “Din.” His head snaps back down. “I know I am not an outsider.” You wait for him to digest those words. “I know this is my clan now. I still would like to make these vows to you.”

He reaches up and presses his palms to either side of your jaw, the crown of the helmet pressing softly against your forehead for just a moment when he dips his head. “If you’re sure, repeat after me. We’ll say them together.”

“Elek,” you agree.

“Mhi solus tome,” he starts, reverence and disbelief lodged in his voice.

In the distance, more fireworks explode in the sky. The colors reflect in the glass of the ship’s front window, sparking over the reflective helmet. “Mhi solus tome,” you say slowly, careful to pronounce each word exactly right.

You’d never imagined yourself as someone who would get married, and certainly not like this.

But that was before you knew Din. And all this feels to you is right. It’s both sudden and not.

This was meant to happen. All your years with the Mandalorian lead towards this.

You repeat the rest of the vows after him, slow and deliberate.

When the final syllable rolls off your tongue, a muted kind of joy overcomes you. You’ve been a part of it for a long time, but you feel it now, the belonging to a clan and people.

Din releases you and leans back. His chest rises and falls quickly.

You close your eyes and reach for the edge of his helmet.

You want to kiss him at the very least.

But when your fingers skim over the release, he captures your wrists in one hand. You let go and Din reaches up with his opposite hand to take it off himself.

You expect him to kiss you right away, but he doesn’t. You can only feel the lingering touch of his gaze.

“Open your eyes.”

“What? No-,” you begin to protest.

“Yes. You can now, riduur.” The word rumbles out of him proudly, heavy in his mouth.

You tilt your head and frown. “Are you-,”

“This is the Way.” His voice warbles, just a little.

“Are you sure?” You get the entire question out this time.

Now it’s his turn to tease you. “No,” he says dryly. “I’ll change my mind after you open your eyes.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan. “You’re very funny.”

“Open them.”

You think you might be more nervous than him to see his face. You honestly never thought you would get to, and you had long ago made peace with that. It didn’t matter to you what he looked like, you knew his heart and that was more than enough.

You’ve tried to picture him before, from tracing your fingers over his face, but the image is only half formed and without detail. It felt wrong, somehow, too, to try to picture the face of someone who deliberately hid it.

Slowly, you peek your eyes open at him. Whatever you had pictured is nothing compared to the man you find yourself gazing at.

A sense of vertigo sweeps through you, because it's almost like looking at a stranger.

You have to resist the urge, for just a moment, to tear yourself away from him.

His hair is darker in color than you thought it would be, but just as feathery and lightly curled as you imagined. Din’s eyes are dark, a deep brown that you’d like to spend lifetimes memorizing, falling inside. You were right too, from your explorations of his face with your hands, about the shape of his nose, his mustache, the patchy beard. You’d pictured his eyes all wrong, the shape of jaw.

One thing you couldn’t have guessed at is the naked expressiveness in his eyes.

It makes sense though, he’s spent a lifetime without the need to school his features into anything other than exactly what he was feeling.

You wonder how many times he’s looked at you with such longing, and you never knew.

He says your name, a question mark tagged onto the end of it, his voice wrecked and strange without the modulator muffling his voice.

The sound of his voice rips the upside down feeling away. It’s his voice, it’s him. Not some handsome stranger.

Your eyes flit up from where your gaze had lingered on his lips, the pink shape of his mouth against golden skin. “I was right.”

He frowns, eyes soft and worried. It shocks you again, just how open his emotions read in his eyes. “About what?”

“I knew you were pretty. You are pretty,” you tease, pressing yourself against him, the hard contours of him biting into you. You fist your hands into the fabric at his sides. “Mesh’la.”

Din frowns at you. “I told you that means beautiful, didn’t I?” His voice is playful and doesn’t match his expression.

You nod and don’t answer, reaching up to cup your hand against his cheek. Din’s arm settles easily around your waist, dragging you closer, the weight of his helm in his hand heavy against your hip. Normally, you’d let him close the distance between you but you can’t quite manage to let him now, gazing instead at the planes of his face. “Mesh’la,” you tell him. “Ner riduur.”

“That’s my line.”

“Not anymore,” you tease. “Husband.”

You tip your chin into his and wait for him to meet you there.

He gives a slight smile before leaning into you. “Not husband. Riduur.”

“Right,” you agree, because really, it isn’t quite the same. It can’t be. “Ner riduur.”

The kiss lingers long on your lips. He’s savoring you, a warm passion that doesn’t quite extend into heat. Din’s tongue meets yours briefly, the groan it tugs from his mouth sending flashes of lightning all the way down to your toes.

The fireworks outside are no rival for the feelings clawing up the back of your throat.

You want to tell him you love him, but you think he already knows.

He breaks away to set his helmet down. When he turns back to you, his hands roam over you, free in their movement, tugging at the band of your trousers.

You can’t stop staring at him, suddenly overwhelmed, drinking in the sight of him, the naked expression of him, everything he’s thinking spread over his face like a well loved language.

All you’d wanted was to know the name he gifted you, instead - this.

You map your hand over his face, tracing the divot between his brows, the curve of one sharp cheekbone. “I never thought I would see your face,” you whisper.

Those soft, vulnerable eyes meet yours, arm wrapping around you again, as his bare forehead presses to yours, “And I always knew you would.”