#Mando angst

[handspunyarns]

Wrote this bit of dialogue, no reason, not part of my current fiction, and I’m sure this scenario has already been written a gazillion times

OC: (waking up) …. What happened?

Din: You fell on the ice and knocked yourself unconscious. Unfortunately, it took a while for me to find you … you were deeply hypothermic.

OC: That doesnt explain why … it seems I’m in a sleeping bag.

Din: Well …

OC: And you’re in the sleeping bag with me.

Din: See …

OC: But behind me.

Din: I …

OC: And I’m naked.

Din: Yes, I …

OC: And so are you.

Din: (pause) Ah, you’re done. Body heat is the most efficient way to warm someone with hypothermia.

OC: Okay. So … this is a naked Grogu that is tucked in front of me?

Din: He wanted to help.

OC: Okay. So … is your helmet off?

Din: Yes.

OC: I thought you were not allowed to remove your helmet before others …

Din: I am behind you. And I trust you not to turn back.

OC: Din, I …

Din: Wearing the helmet while otherwise naked would be weird.

[moon-sang]

ᴛʜᴇ ɢɪʀʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏɪɴ

Din Djarin x Teen!Reader

SUMMARY: When meeting up with a slaver who had information on where Gideon may have taken Grogu, Din comes across a peculiar little slave. 

WARNINGS: Slave!reader, Fem!Reader, Teen!reader, soft!Mando, angst (A LOT), fluff, cuteness!!!, mature language, typical violence, dad!Din, trauma and all the bad things that come with slavery @.@

~ There is ONE 鬼滅 の 刃 (Demon Slayer) reference in this.

WORDCOUNT: 1.5K

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Big, shiny armour was all you could see as you opened the door.

You silently gasp at how tall your new visitor is, taking a few careful steps back. The strange man in the helmet tilts his head to the side, taking recognition of your much, much smaller form. 

After a moment’s silence he nods his head once, before carefully stepping around, in such a gentle manner it has you dumbstruck. If it had been any other one of your master’s friends they would have pushed you into the wall laughing as they stumbled in. 

Weird...

“Aaah! Mando!” Exclaims your master. Maker, you could just gag at his sickly voice.

“Dru,” Mando greets. 

Your Jablogian master hobbles over to this Mando guy, his thick double chin bobbing up and down as he stumbled across the hall. 

“Have you brought the money?” Dru seethes, freckles of saliva spraying from his mouth as he spoke. 

The Mando nods his head and places a pouch of what you could only assume were creds, into his rough hand. 

“Aaah, very good, very good, now come, let us eat and talk about your little green womprat” He suggests, clapping his hands twice. Your breath hitches momentarily as you rush to your masters side. “Get us something to eat.” He snarls, shoving you into the kitchen. 

You stumble in and fall with an oomph. Quickly you force yourself up. Master did NOT like to wait. Grabbing a cutting board and knife you begin slicing a few fruits into small shapes, Just the way master liked it. You slide the fruits off of the wooden cutting board and into a rather big bowl, sprinkling some orange and lemon juice on top of it, for extra flavour. To finish off you pour two glasses of red wine before walking out. 

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You gently place the tray of food and wine on the small table before your master and ‘The Mando’ The Mando quickly thanks you in a timid voice, but does not make a move to grab anything to eat. 

Weird...

“Took you long enough!” Dru practically yells, snatching a piece of fruit and shoving it in his mouth. 

The Mando menacingly cocks his head to the side, staring at Dru in such confidence it was almost scary. 

Dru chuckles nervously and pushes the bowl across the table, encouraging The Mando to take a piece. 

He still makes no indication of wanting to have any. 

The man in the silver helmet pushes the bowl back to Dru, refusing his tempting offer. 

“Thank you for your communication.” The Mando offers, before stepping out of their small booth and making way for the exit. 

“Wait!” Dru yells in desperation. 

You knew that voice, he was hungry for more of his credits. 

“Please, mr. Mandalorian-”

Mr. Mandalorian?

“I will come along with you and save your green son, if you can pay me for my service.” He tries.

“No, thank you.” 

Mr. Mandalorian gives you a quick glance from behind him, and stutters in his confident strides to the door. However, with a quick shake of his head, he leaves the mansion.

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“YOU IDIOT!” Screams Dru. 

“It’s your fault he didn’t stay!”

You quickly duck as another spice tray is thrown at your head. 

“You weren't doing things right! You-you were standing wrong! You....you chose the wrong wine! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!” He screams, slapping you hard enough on the cheek to send you to the stone floor. 

You whimper, but allow no tears to pass.

“I’m sorry, master.” You barely say above a whisper. 

Dru scoffs incredulously, eyeing you in disgust. 

“Sorry won’t cut it. I think it’s time I sold you off to someone else, and get me a more useful slave. What do you think...Y/l/n?”

You’re about to answer when a powerful punch is delivered to your stomach. Once again you crumble to the cool floor, willing the pain everywhere to go away.

Of course..it does not.

A forceful kick is swung and landed to the side of your head, and that was the last grip of reality you had before you mind swam into unconsciousness. 

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“Get.....need....bandages......quickly...” 

You could distinctly hear someone speaking, but the sound of your breaths and your heartbeat were too loud to decipher what they were saying. You strained your ears even harder to try and make out some of what the person was saying, wanting to gain some sense of your surroundings.

“I need some bandages, and get some bacta too!”

Hey...that kind of sounds like....The Mando? 

You force your eyes open, instantly regretting it as a sharp hot white pain shot through your skull. 

You whimper and let your head lull against someones arms. 

“Shhh, it’s ok, you’re ok.” 

An arm moves across your waist and pulls you a bit to closer to-

wait

was someone holding you?......

Was that the smell of smoke??

Your head was spinning and The Mando must have noticed because his thumbs begin to gently rub at your temples, avoiding the wound left by master-

Where was master Dru?

“Where...master....” You groan. 

“He’s gone, you don’t have to worry, ok, just try to open your eyes, take it easy though.” 

You do as you’re told and slowly blink your eyes open, this time the pain is dull as you do so.  

You’re greeted with a familiar tilt of a silver helmet, and a few unidentified people behind him. 

“Good, now keep your eyes open, can you do that?” 

You don't respond, only keeping your eyes open for him. 

“Good.” 

“I’m going to check for a concussion now. I need you to answer my questions as honestly as you can.” 

You do nothing in response. 

“Ok.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He ask, holding up 2 fingers. 

You copy his fingers and hold out 2 of your own. 

“Ok, good.”

“Do you know your name?” He asks, voice gruff. 

You don’t say anything, just staring blankly at the void of his visor. 

“Can you tell me your name?” He repeats, giving your bruised arm a gentle squeeze.

~~

Din watches the slave with intent. 

He was starting to believe she really did have a concussion, until she reached for her pocket. 

She fished out a small coin and positioned it in between her index finger and thumb, then she tossed it in the air and caught it with direct precision. 

Tails...it landed on tails. 

“I’m Y/n.” She admits. 

Maker it felt so long since she had said that name to anyone. 

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5 days later...

“Is she still using that coin?” Cara asks, as Y/n played in the fields with Grogu. 

“Yes.” Din admits, head hung low. 

“That is so strange.” The ex-shock trooper chuckles. 

“What do you think it means?” She questions. 

“I have no idea, she uses it at least three or four times a rotation.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Fennec says with a smirk. 

“Y/n! c’mere.” The assassin calls.  

Cara and Din exchange glances of confusion, but nonetheless play along. 

“So..” She starts.

“Tonight, I am going out to eat dinner, because Boba is a horrible cook. I’m thinking of wearing normal attire, but there’s this really pretty dress. Which do you think I should go with?” She asks, a gentle smile playing on her mouth. 

Same as always, Y/n pulls out her small coin and tosses it in the air.

She catches it and flips it onto her palm. 

Heads. 

“The pretty dress.” She murmurs.

Fennec smiles once more. “Thank you, you can go now.” She whispers. And off she went, back into the meadows. 

“The coin is her decision maker.” Cara gasps.  

“Obviously.” Fennec scoffs. 

“She was a slave...she doesn’t know how to make decisions for herself.” Din ponders, putting the puzzle together. 

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Later that day...

“Y/n.. Can I talk to you, please.” Din asks, gently, as not to startle her. 

She brings her lucky coin to her hands and flicks it up, however, Din catches it in midair. 

“Let’s make a bet.” He offers, leaving no room for the teenager to say otherwise. 

“If the coin lands on heads, you make your own decisions from now on, and have the freedom to act as you feel is right. And you throw the coin into the nearest ocean as far as you can.”

Din could see the internal struggle through her eyes, the desperation of her wanting to grab the coin out of his hand and hide away from the rest of the cruel world. 

“Hey, it’s ok, I’m going to help you, adi’ka.”

“D-Do I really h-h-have to throw i-it in the o-cean? I-it’s the only thing I-I-I-I have left of my f-f-amily.” She stutters as tears well in her eyes for the first time Din had ever seen. 

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, adi’ka [little one], don’t cry, no i’kaad [baby], you can keep it...we’ll just...put it in a locked cupboard and whenever you want to hold it, you can, ok?” He whispers, holding her in a gentle embrace.

“Ok.” She sniffles. 

And although hard at first, she learnt she had a choice, because her buir never gave up on her. 

[galactic-star-bruiser]

Revolution 0 din x reader

The lyrics of the song 'revolution 0' by boy genius matched an idea I had in my head a little too well. hope you enjoy my loves

-rose xx

angst, fluff

warnings: blood, wounds, crying

.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,.,

If it isn’t love then what the fuck is it? I guess just let me pretend

---------------------------------

“Mando!” I screamed at the top of my burning lungs, running as fast as my legs would take me.

The ink black sky of Tatooine taunted me like a raven flying low.

“Fuck”, the gasp tumbled out of my body as I held the limp Mandalorian’s body close to mine. “Wake up, cmon you cant leave me here.” I pleaded with his lifeless form. 

A bounty had gone wrong and the beskar clad man took more damage than he ever had, crushed against the side wall of a building and six men you couldn’t see the faces of. They had now been taken care of... too late. 

It was strange to see him helpless like this... how was he caught off guard? I thought to myself.

I just wanna know who broke your nose

Figure out where they live

So I can kick their teeth in

I sobbed, dragging the large man through desert until my legs gave in. I was going about a mile a minute and felt like I was going to collapse... only the thought of saving him carried my body forward.

On his ship, tears flowed silently down my stone cold, stoic face. Bacta, various medicines, needles, stitching thread, and bandages littered the floor. His pulse was shallow... but he was there. 

I tried my best to respect him, but as more blood flowed like an old testament river from under his helmet... I felt I had no choice but to lift it. 

The whimper that clawed its way out of my throat was unlike anything I had heard a living creature utter before. 

Deep gashes, evidence of a traumatic brain injury, bruising around his throat and eyes, as well as the flows of blood emitting from behind his soft matted hair was enough to break me. 

“Mando... im so sorry” I whispered, caressing his face, not caring about the blood that transferred onto my clean palms.

I cleaned, stitched, and sprayed bacta for what felt like hours. No fever. That was a good sign. 

I used all of the strength left in my body to lift his massive form onto his small, cot-like bed.

He looked like a fallen angel... so peacefully asleep, but that innocence was juxtaposed by the deep scars, and bandages that littered his body and face... his face.

The guilt gnawed at me, I forced myself away after stealing one last glance. He was beautiful, and even that word didn’t seem to describe his features.

I walked back into the small space near the entrance of the ship where I dragged and dropped him. I filled a bucket of boiling hot water, grabbed a rag, and let the water burn my hands as I scrubbed his blood off of the steel floor. Hot tears and sobs escaped me. 

If it isn’t love

Then what the fuck is it?

I guess just let me pretend

I silently put away and threw out the bucket and bloodied rags, with nothing but my own footsteps to listen to.  The scent of rust, blood, and dirt infiltrated my nose and I knew it was something I wouldn’t soon forget. 

How I missed his laugh, his footsteps, and the way he smelled... I never realized you could miss those things. 

I walked to the refresher, stripping my clothes off with winces as if I was peeling bandages off of fresh wounds.

The water only matched the heat of my tears as I pushed my back against the cold tile, sliding down to sit with my head in my hands. 

After what felt like an hour, I finally noticed the freezing temperature of the water and cursed myself for using it all, what if he wanted to- never mind. 

The first night, months ago, that I met The Mandalorian, he had lent me an old shirt of his so that I could go on a mission for him and look like a disheveled woman wandering the streets of Tatooine. The plan worked and a disgusting man gave up all of his information just to get me into his bed... safe to say that never happened after learning what you needed to. 

I wasn’t sure if he knew that I still had his shirt, but I did. It held its place under the small flat pillow that laid upon my bed. I knew it was childish and that I was acting like a school girl, but as soon as I smelled him on his shirt... any hint of embarrassment was washed away.

Tonight I decided to wear it, needing to smell him on my skin. I wondered if it was creepy... but I justified my actions with the thought that any bereaved partner or friend would want to wear the clothes of someone they were missing. 

Before I let the intoxicating way my bed beckoned me to it, I decided to check on him one last time. 

You wanted a song

So it's gonna be a short one

Wish I wasn't so tired, but I'm tired

I knocked softly as if he was going to answer me, then walked in to feel his forehead. Still no fever. His bandages were snug and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. 

I sat up from off the side of his bed when a small but distinct noise choked out of the mans mouth. 

“Mando?...” I said softly, terrified that my mind had made up the sound. 

No, there it was again, soft enough to be akin to the flutter of a birds wing. 

“Im here.” I said, avoiding looking into his bare face “...I’m here, Mando.”

“Din” croaked the small voice as he stirred a bit. “My name, it’s Din.”

“Din” I hummed back to him, with a small smile gracing my lips, “We can speak in the morning, Din.”

“No” a strong arm clasping around my wrist stopped any motion of moving away, “Don’t leave me. Don’t go.”

My heart felt as though it were a rock and had dropped to my stomach. 

“Your helmet... I had to take it off to help heal you.I’m sorry. I don’t want to disrespect you by staying-“

“I don’t care.” He said with a wince. 

“Okay” was all I could whisper before crawling beside the large man, his skin cold with sweat.

Even through his pain, a small cocky smile danced its way across his face, “I like you in my shirt.”

Fuck, he knew now.

“Shut up” I mumbled, a deep red blush creeping its way up from my neck.

He hummed in an attempt to laugh, but even the small sound had him wincing. 

“Sleep, Din.” I said, loving the way his true way tumbled from my lips. 

When he slowly turned to face me, I could feel the breath hitch in my throat as my heart pumped as though it were ready to burst into my chest. 

“You need rest, Din...”

“I know” he managed to choke out, “but it might be my last chance to do this...”

With that his soft lips were on mine and a large warm hand was caressing  my cheek as gently as I had ever felt in my life.

“Din...” I whispered... “I...”. I was too taken aback and drunk with love that I couldn’t speak. 

“Oh.” I said with a slight smile, “Goodnight, Din.”

Sleep had finally found The Mandalorian again, and I watched his chest rise and fall with every breath, each sound like a lullaby made just for me. 

I put my head next to his, tracing the curve of his nose, and feeling the stubble that scattered his cheeks. 

“I love you” I whispered, even if I knew I was the only one awake to hear it.

If you're not enough

Then I give up

And then nothing is

[moon-sang]

Love this!

Freezing Fingers

Day 4

Welcome to the 2022 Christmas Writing Challenge!

Summary: While repairing damage to the Razor Crest your hands go numb from the cold. Din helps to warm you.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Reader (gender neutral), Din Djarin x You

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Rating: Mature 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 584

Warnings: longing/pining, slight sexual tension…let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: This takes place during the episode The Passenger in Season 2.

Day 3 Day 5 Christmas Masterlist Main Masterlist AO3 Join my taglist

“Any luck?” You asked, arms wrapped around yourself to ineffectually ward off the freezing temperatures. Din looked up from where he was crouched trying to fix the Crest. After a close call with some x-wings, you had crash landed on this ice planet. You were transporting a frog woman and her eggs to Trask in exchange for information on the location of more Mandalorians. After crashing into the cave you were now trapped in, you all woke up to discover the Razor Crest in shambles around you.

“I’m not sure,” Din’s deep, modulated voice answered you. “The damage is severe…I’m doing the best I can, but I don’t know.”

“N-Need any help?” You offered with a shiver. Din sighed and looked over the damage.

“Yeah,” he replied. “We need all the help we can get if we wanna get off this damn planet.” You nodded and grabbed some tools to get to work. You both worked silently, fixing everything you could as quickly as you could. Your gloves kept getting in the way, so you had removed them early on in your efforts. That had been several hours ago, and your fingers were numb now. The third time you dropped the wrench you were holding with a loud clang Din tossed his own tools down and came to stand beside you.

“Having some trouble?” He asked.

“N-No,” you stuttered through the cold seeping into your bones. He glanced down at your hands.

“Meshla, your fingers are blue!” He scolded. He ripped his own gloves off, and before you even had the chance to marvel at the sight of his bare skin, he was grasping your hands in his. He rubbed them between his hands, trying desperately to warm you up. When that wasn’t working, he lifted his visor enough to reveal a lush mouth. Your jaw dropped as you witnessed the mysterious Mandalorian reveal more of himself than ever before.

He pulled your hands up to his mouth and breathed hot air onto them. You shivered—and not from the cold.

“W-What are y-you d-doing?” You sputtered.

“Trying to warm you,” he said lowly. It was the first time you had heard his voice unmodulated…and it was beautiful.

“Your v-voice,” you rasped. Din stilled. It was as if he only just realized how exposed he was. He slowly lowered his helmet. Your heart clenched at the loss of his lips. He gently pulled you closer. He shifted things slightly so he could tuck your hands into his flight suit beneath the beskar. You gasped when you felt the molten hot bare skin of his chest against your freezing hands.

“D-Din?” You whispered.

“It’s alright, meshla,” he whispered back. “Just get warm.” You nodded and tried to focus your attention on anything but how incredibly sexy the man before you was. Several minutes passed. Your shivers subsided and your fingers thawed out. He gently removed your hands and picked up your gloves. He pulled them on for you and gave your hands one last squeeze before letting you go.

“Keep those on,” he ordered softly. You looked down at your gloves and nodded. Before you could say anything, the child grabbed your attention. The frog lady had disappeared further into the cave.

“Dank farrik,” Din cursed. He sighed heavily. “Let’s go find her.” You followed behind Din and the child, your hands still tingling from the feel of his skin. You smiled to yourself. Maybe you’d forget to wear your gloves more often.

Day 5

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[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Familiar & Unfamiliar

din djarin x female!reader

warning: attempted sexual assault (not by our boy mando, and i don’t describe it in depth the furthest it goes is non-consensual kissing), light smut, angst then comfort, then fluff fluff fluff, identity theft, mentions of slave trade, canon violence, dom!din trying hard to be sub!din for you, he doesn’t succeed for long

word count: 4,174

Summary: You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

“It shouldn’t take long.” Mando hummed as he collected his gear from his weapon’s storage. You sat cross legged on the Razor Crest’s floor with the child in your lap. His small green hand played with the small, metal ball he seemed to always find. Your hand stroked his ears only stopping to push the ball away from his mouth when he began to try and chew on it. Mando turned around to stare down at you. “Will you be alright here?”

After traveling with the Mandalorian for the last two months, babysitting and completing repairs on the ship, you had finally grown accustomed to the silver beskar covered man. Initially it had been difficult for you to even look at the man for longer than a second⏤ too intimidated by the black t-shape visor that stared back at you. However, joining him had been your only option at the time, an act of self preservation, so you had to push your fear aside. Luckily, you had quickly learned that though the metal he was covered in was impossible to penetrate, the man underneath was as soft as they come.

You learned that the solemn, silent, and dangerous facade Mando wore was more or less an interpretation of what people saw. Yes, he was dangerous. You had seen him wrestle quarries three time his size and come out unscathed, but you had also seen him humming a song under his breath while giving the child a bath. You had seen Mando go out of his way to purchase you a new pair of boots in the market simply because he noticed your discomfort with your current pair. The brief times you felt his touch, a brush against your arm or a hand on your back, it was soft and comforting. His eyes were impossible to see behind his helmet, but you could feel the care in his gaze. Having Mando’s attention on you felt like safety.

Mando called out your name and you blinked in surprise. “Oh, um, yeah! We’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“I shouldn’t be gone long. Days at most.” He reassured before you could even ask. You stood up and Mando drifted closer⏤ his gloved hand reached out brush the child’s head. Mando chuckled when his son cooed and giggled in response. You heard a long time ago that the best judge of a person’s character was how they treated animals and children. Mando passed that test with flying colors. “You remember the rules?”

“Hmm, no running with scissors?” You joked. Mando tilted his head and you chuckled. “Don’t open the Razor Crest’s ramp for anyone but you, and if I do have to leave for some emergency, get to a crowded spot with plenty of witnesses and talk to no one. Not until you come for us.”

Mando nodded in approval. He gave the child’s head one last pet along the ears and as his hand pulled away you felt his leather covered fingers drag down the length of your bare arm. Heat crept up the back of your neck and you prayed to any deity that was listening that Mando hadn’t heard the hitch in your breath. You were not attracted to your metal armored Mandalorian employer and friend. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

Without another word, Mando made his way to the back of the cargo hold. He opened the ramp before heading down and you called out for him to be careful. Mando glanced over his shoulder, at you and the child, and you waved. You stood at the cargo hold’s edge as Mando pressed a button on his gauntlet and the ramp began to rise. As the metal door rose, you stared at the mandalorian’s back until the ramp cut him off from sight.

Din was more distracted than usual and he told himself it wasn’t because of the newest addition to the Razor Crest. It obviously wasn’t because of you. No, he was just busy with all the bounties he was juggling and the stress of trying to find the child’s people. Then the added dilemma of his current quarry. Already he had been on the flesh trader’s trail for three days. Three full days. That was nothing in comparison to past hunts that would take him weeks on end, but Din found his patience wearing very, very thin.

“Are you ready yet, mate?” A voice asked through the closed door. 

Din had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. His only lead came from a mercenary who was hunting an Inner Rim politician that had come all the way out here to participate in the slave trade. It was the only access Din would have to get into the market to find his quarry and it came at a cost. Din glanced down at the helmet held in his hands. It was an oddly shaped red thing from Kaleesh culture. His new mercenary partner made it very clear that if he walked in as a Mandalorian everything would be lost. On any normal bounty Din would’ve risked it anyways. There was very little in the galaxy that could coax him out of his armor, leave him bare to the world, but a child in danger did it. 

A mother had come to him after he searched for a lead in the local cantina on his first night. She had fallen to her knees in front of him and begged for his help⏤ she offered everything she owned and more in return. Her only child, an eleven year old little girl, had been stolen away from her. Dragged to the flesh market to be sold. Din swore to her that he’d bring her back. On his word as a Mandalorian, she would be reunited with her daughter. He just wasn’t allowed to do it looking like a Mandalorian.

“Seriously, mate, we’re going to be late!” Trigg, the mercenary, barked once more.

Din settled the helmet over his head and shifted uncomfortably. It didn’t fit quite like his real one did, but it was tight enough that he wasn’t worried about it falling off in the heat of battle. For a second, he just stared at himself in the mirror. Red armor of cloth and leather covered every inch of his skin, black gloves pulled on tight, and his oddly shaped helmet covered his face entirely. Din hated it more than anything. But, the sooner he saved the girl and caught his quarry, the sooner he could return to his ship. Return to the child and you.

“I’ll be right out.” Din called back. He settled all his beskar armor pieces into the tarp bag he had borrowed from the child’s mother. It was her home they were using as a base of sorts. Din hid the bag in the closet of the room behind a stack of boxes. It made him anxious to leave his armor behind, but he forced himself to step away and open the door.

Trigg stood in the hall wearing his own personal gear. The blond man had scars from a raking claw on the side of his head leaving those patches with sparse hair. His arms were crossed over his chest and he stared at Din in a mix of annoyance and impatience. “Finally. Did you have to do your hair?”

“It’s you we’re waiting on now.” Din replied dryly as he marched past the man to the door.

The sooner, the better.

Night had fallen for the third night of Mando being gone. It was too soon for you to be worried about him, but a ball of anxiety still sat in your gut. He had been away for longer periods of time before. The longest thus far being three weeks. You were mumbling a soft song under your breath as you rocked the child to sleep. When his eyes drifted close, you carefully set him in the hammock above Mando’s bunk and tucked a blanket around him. 

When you were certain that the kid was settled, you drifted toward the fresher to get ready for bed yourself. You wondered what it would take to convince Mando to pick up a bounty on a planet with an ocean soon. Going from the lava plains of Nevarro to the deserts of Tatooine and now this dusty Outer Rim world was bleak. You missed water. You had grown up near a river on your homeworld and spent a decent amount of time there. It wasn’t until you saw dry planet after dry planet that you truly began to appreciate natural bodies of water.

You shrugged out of your clothes, tossing them aside, and slid into a pair of shorts and one of Mando’s shirts. It had been borrowed early on in your travels and now it belonged more to you than it did him. The dark shirt was large enough to cover most of your shorts. You had been in the middle of washing your face when you heard the tell tale sound of the ramp. Quickly, you grabbed a towel and dried your face while rushing out of the fresher.

Mando was walking up the ramp just as you entered the cargo hold and you shot him a smile, “Hey, Mando.” He came to a sudden stop. You glanced around but saw no evidence of a quarry behind or near him. Had they gotten away? “What happened with the quarry?”

The Mandalorian crossed his arms and a nervous energy settled over your skin. The way he stood just seemed…off. And, the silence that surrounded him wasn’t the usual comfortable quiet you had grown used to. Mando’s helmet tilted some, as if his eyes were raking over your form, and you tugged on the bottom of your shirt anxiously. This was an outfit you wore to sleep every night on the Razor Crest, but right now was the first time you felt uncomfortable having it on around Mando.

“Are you⏤Are you injured?” You asked.

Mando strolled closer to you. Another bit of him that wasn’t right⏤ his gait. As you tried to gather your thoughts, he came to a stop right in front of you. Nearly chest to chest. A lump had formed in your throat, mouth dry, and you tried to swallow it down. Being around Mando always made your stomach feel as if it were filled with butterflies, made your heart race out of your chest, made an addicting warmth pool in your core. 

That was not how you felt right now.

Your hand reached out, as quickly as you could manage it, and slammed against the lock button of Mando’s bunk. The metal door slid down. It clicked into place, and the Mandalorian in front of you grabbed you by the throat and shoved you back until you slammed into the Razor Crest’s wall. You clawed at the familiar, gloved hand tightening around your throat as a low, unfamiliar chuckle rumbled through the modulator.

“What’s wrong, baby?” A voice that did not belong to your Mandalorian asked. “Aren’t you happy to see me? You were a minute ago.”

“Wh⏤Who⏤” You tried to spit out but you could barely breathe let alone form words.

“I’m your Mandalorian, baby.” The cruel laugh coming out from behind the t-shape visor you found comfort in felt so very wrong. He yanked you off the wall and released your throat. You managed to gasp a single breath of air before he backhanded you across the face hard enough to see stars. You fell to your knees and elbows roughly, a cry of pain leaving your lips, but you struggled to find a weapon of any kind. “That’s right. Crawl away, baby. Run. I’m a Mandalorian who likes to hunt, and now you’re my prey. How’s that sound?”

Your hand found a screwdriver, lying off to the side where you had been working on something under the floorboard earlier, just as he kicked you in the side to flip you over. The imposter knelt on the ground over you and you tried to stab him where only the flight suit sat. Unfortunately, he turned fast enough that the screwdriver struck beskar and did absolutely nothing. He laughed once more as you gave up the attack to try and slip away, but he grabbed your hands by the wrist and pinned you to the ground. The imposter sat on top of your thighs, kneeling over you, and you were forced to stare at your reflection in Mando’s armor.

It would be a bold faced lie for you to say you hadn’t daydreamed about having the beskar armor on top of you⏤ the weight of it pressing into you in every delicious way you could think of. But not like this. Not with a stranger inside of it. 

“Who knew the ship came with such a pretty little whore.” The imposter hummed. He shifted your arms so he could pin both your wrists with one hand. With his other, he grasped the bottom of the beskar helmet and pulled it off.  The man’s eyes were a piercing blue. Cold and cruel. Blond hair covered his scalp except on the side of his head where the scars of what looked like claw marks sat. He tossed the helmet aside and gave you a sickening grin. “Is that what you’re here for? You keep the Mandalorian’s bed warm? Let him fuck you when he’s done with a hunt?”

“Get the kriff off of me!” You struggled against his grip, against his touch, but nothing seemed to deter him from using his other hand to run over your body. You screamed until you were hoarse and when you cried out for Mando the man sitting on top of you just laughed. Faintly, you could hear frantic tapping behind Mando’s bunk door and fear struck you. Was the child awake? He wouldn’t be able to unlock the door from inside you didn’t think. 

It seemed the imposter was too immersed in you to hear the sound. 

“How about this,” The man leaned closer into your space, “I get a quick taste of you now, and then, once we’re up and in hyperspace, I’ll fuck you better than your Mando ever could, yeah?”

His lips crashed down on yours roughly. You tried to turn your face away, but the imposter bit down on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Between the metallic taste of your blood on your tongue and the smell of his rancid breath you were going to be sick. You gasped in pain and he took advantage by shoving his tongue into your mouth. He pressed his hips down into you, grinding against your stomach now, and the feel of his erection pressing into you made a horrified sob slip form you. It seemed to only spurn him on further. He let go of one of your hands to grasp at the waistband of your pants.

The sound of sprinting footsteps made the imposter sit up and you were barely able to register what was happening when a body dressed in red leather slammed into the beskar covered imposter⏤ both men falling away. Taking advantage of your freedom, you scrambled back as quickly as you could. The stranger dressed in red, wearing an oddly shaped helmet that covered his face, had a hand wrapped around the imposter’s throat while his other fist pounded away at the man’s face. Grunts of anger filled the air with every blow thrown and the imposter fought back only for a moment before his body went slack.

You scrambled away further but your back hit a metal crate sitting in the cargo hold. It shifted slightly and the sound made the stranger sit up and spin around. You gasped⏤panicked. Heart still racing. The imposter laid motionless. His face bruised, broken, and bloody beyond all recognition. You were breathing hard, trying to suck in more air as the air you did get brought no relief. The stranger jumped up, motions smooth and agile, and rushed to you. A cry of fear left you as you tried to pathetically jump up, but his hands wrapped around you. Soft, but firm. A comforting weight.

“It’s me. It’s me. You’re safe, mesh’la.” A familiar voice came out of the unfamiliar mask. The bright red and angry shapes still jarring to look at and you tried to struggle away. He pulled away to rip off his gloves. One hand came to rest on the side of your face, while the other lifted the red helmet just enough to reveal a jaw covered in dark scruff and lips. “Listen to me, mesh’la. You’re safe. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s me. I’m here.”

You were still shaking, your entire body threatening to tremble into pieces, but your breaths were beginning to grow controlled. The warm hand on your face was grounding. It was familiar. You couldn't see the man’s eyes, but you could feel his soft gaze. Safe. You felt safe.

“M⏤Mando?” You gasped.

“Yes.” He nodded. “I’m here, mesh’la. You’re safe now.”

You broke into an uncontrollable sob, unable to bite it back, and Mando didn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms. The coarse, red armor you buried your face into felt unfamiliar, but the strong arms that wrapped around you felt right.

For the first time, Din felt uncomfortable in his helmet. It smelled of the spice that Trigg disgustingly chewed on. He couldn’t even bring himself to pull his armor on. It left him in a pair of plain sweats and shirt. After setting you in his bunk, the child curled into your side, he had stripped the mercenary out of his beskar and thrown the piece of shit into the carbonite freezer.

The job had gone so well then so bad. Din found the young Rodian child and killed his quarry. He’d only get half the bounty with the flesh trader dead, but something was better than nothing. The moment he returned the girl to her mother his heart had stopped when he realized his armor was missing. Din had sprinted to the Razor Crest, faster than he had ever run, and still he hadn’t come soon enough. 

Din stepped out of the fresher. The Razor Crest was in hyperspace and the cargo hold was dark. The only light spilling from the open door behind him. The sound of whimpering filled the otherwise silent space around him. Din hurried to the bunk to see you tossing and turning. He scooped the child up and set him in the hammock before crawling in to try and calm you.

He called out your name, bare hands on your shoulders, and when your eyes snapped open, thanks to his visor, he could see clearly the way panic and fear filled them. You screamed and began to swing at him. His helmet. It was his helmet. Without thinking, Din ripped his helmet off and threw it out of the bunk. Din pulled you into his arms again, pressing your face to his shoulder, and whispered reassurances.

“It’s me, Mesh’la. It’s me. I’m sorry. I was wearing the helmet. You’re safe, I promise.”

“Mando?” You breathed. He buried his hand in your hair and pulled you tighter into his chest. As if the two of you weren’t already tangled together in the small confines of his bunk. “I’m sorry I hit you⏤”

“It didn’t hurt. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you alone. I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Din didn’t know which emotion waged in him the most⏤ guilt or anger. They were neck and neck. You took in a deep shaky breath and your hot breath on his neck made him sigh in relief. You were safe in his arms. Din rubbed your back and the question fell out before he could hold it back. “Did he… Mesh’la, did⏤”

“No.” You whispered. “You got here just in time.”

Din could feel tears soaking into his shirt. When the tears stopped, Din coaxed you out of the bunk and onto the cargo hold floor. He grabbed a first aid kit and rushed back so you weren’t left alone for too long. The only light still came from the open door of the fresher and he sat so his back was to it. The dim light illuminated your features and it was like a spotlight to the injuries you sported. He had told you that you could open your eyes. With the way you sat, it’d be too dim for you to see his face, but you said you didn’t want to risk it. 

He let his fingers trace the forming bruise surrounding your right eye. It trailed down to brush against the torn skin of your lower lip. Dank farrik. That kriffing fucker had bit you. He could see the outline of teeth. Din’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a bit of bacta and rubbed it gently into the forming bruise. He was going to do the same for your lower lip when you stopped him.

“Did I hurt you?” He blurted.

“No, no. Not that.” You mumbled. “Can I… Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Anything, mesh’la. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?” You asked. Din was certain he had misheard you. It was why he sat in silence. He was trying to puzzle out what it was you had actually said. You spoke again, nervous, “You don’t have to. I⏤I…”

“You want me to…kiss you?”

You nodded. Eyes still closed lightly. “I know it’s dumb. It⏤ I just don’t want to feel his lips anymore. I don’t want the taste of him on me.”

“That’s not dumb, mesh’la.” 

Din settled one of his hands on the side of your face. His thumb caressed the soft skin of your cheek. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Din began to lean in. He didn’t want to startle you. He wanted to give you every opportunity to pull away if you needed to. Din would be lying to himself, again, if he said he hadn’t imagined the way your lips would feel on him. But not like this. He hated that these were the circumstances, but there wasn’t a single thing Din wouldn’t do for you if you asked.

His nose brushed against yours. Din was close enough that he could feel your lips part. He waited one second more before pressing his lips softly against yours. One of your hands lifted to tangle in his hair and a simple gesture shouldn’t make him feel so hot under his skin. The kiss was slow and tender. Din was terrified to press too hard and bring you pain. The injury to your lower lip still so fresh. And after what you had just suffered through, he wanted you to have all the control. If you needed to use him to rid yourself of that nightmare, to erase the memory that bastard left on your lips, then he would. 

Your tongue brushed against his lower lip, tracing it, and he parted his lips for you giving you room to explore him. Maker, the taste of you was so sweet. It took every single ounce of Din’s self control to not deepen the moment even further. The kiss grew almost frantic. A hand in his hair and another at the back of his neck to pull him into you. You pulled back just enough to suck in a sharp breath before your lips was back on his and Din lost his battle for self control.

He wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Din was caught off guard when you pushed down to press yourself against his already hard cock, but it was a welcome surprise. He grabbed your hips, hands tightening into the soft skin there, and grinded into you. You moaned into his mouth and Din pulled away briefly so he could press open mouth kisses along your jaw then down your neck until he reached your shoulder. Thoughtlessly, he bit down, wanting to leave evidence of himself on you, and you let out a sharp gasp while grinding into him again. Din ran his tongue against the bite soothingly. 

Din’s hands slipped under your shirt and he desperately let his lips find yours once more. His tongue slipped past your lips, but then he tasted it. The sharp, metallic tang of blood. Din pulled back quickly realizing his plan to let you run the show had gone to shit. Both of you were breathless. 

“Are you okay, mesh’la??” He pulled one hand away from your hip to touch your face. His thumb brushed against your lower lip and in the dim light he could see the tint of red. 

“Thank you.” You breathed. You leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss that missed and only landed on the corner of his lips. Then you leaned your head on his shoulder and just took slow breaths. Din let his knuckles drag up and down your spine. He could feel your entire body going limp as you melted into his hold. You mumbled, “Thank you, Mando.”

“Din.” He replied, but he didn’t know if you had already fallen asleep or not. “Call me Din.”

[bon-sides-sw]

Sometimes you spend a season on a dusty place, fall in love and never see again until much later

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 1

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: this one has been on my mind for ages and I couldn't wait any longer. I'm a huge sucker for angst, so I hope I've got this just right.

Word Count: 5,174

"Just... a little further. We're almost... there!" Your knees feel about ready to buckle as the Razor Crest comes into view. "Din! Din, no!..." Din's heavy frame slumps from your shoulder, pulling you to the ground with him. "You... argh... you gotta get up." He's still, terrifyingly still. You press the button on Din's vambrace to lower the ramp and with your waning strength, pull the unconscious bounty hunter across the muddy ground and up the ramp, the desperation to save him overriding the burn of your exhausted muscles.

With a last tug at his wrists, you manage to drag him away from the ramp and further into the belly of the ship, immediately pressing the button to close it. You're not taking any chances. "Din? Din, can you hear me?" You shake his shoulders roughly, hoping the momentum will rouse him. Nothing. But at least he's still breathing. A little wail emanates from the sleeping bunk before the door whooses open, revealing a very worried and frightened Grogu.

In an instant, Grogu is at Din's side, having used the force to propel himself across the hull. "It's okay, buddy. He'll be okay." You don't know who you're trying to convince, him or yourself. Grogu murmurs anxiously, his large ears drooping as he places a tiny hand on Din's helmet. Without another moment to lose, you begin to strip Din of his armour, checking for injuries. There are plenty of cuts and bruises, maybe some bruised ribs, but the injuries don't appear to be severe enough to render him unconscious. "Din!" you shout louder this time "Ner Karta, please wake up."

Your frantic heartbeat thumps against your ribs, threatening to break through at any minute. You're at a loss at what to do. That's when you notice it; a sight that makes your blood run cold! A slowly oozing trickle of deep crimson, pooling on the floor by Din's helmet. "No, No, no, no," you shudder as you carefully slide your fingers under the lip of the helmet at the back of Din's head. Your stomach plummets when your fingers meet a warm and sticky substance. Blood! Din's blood!

On hands and knees, you scramble across the floor to a nearby crate, searching frantically until you find the medkit. You rush back to Din's side and with trembling hands, open the medkit and retrieve the Bacta spray. You momentarily freeze when you realise what you must now do. There's nothing else for it. To save Din's life you have to remove his helmet. A barrage of thoughts invade your mind at the same time; would Din be angry? Would he hate you? Would you hate yourself for breaking his creed? Would he understand? Would he forgive you?

Time is of the essence now, every precious second bleeding away, along with Din's life. You have to do it. You have no choice, consequences be damned! You're not about to let the man you love die, even if he does hate you afterwards. You'll accept his wrath if it means he's alive. You set the Bacta spray down beside you and take a deep breath. "I'm so sorry," you whisper regretfully, and with a heavy heart, you gently lift the helmet up with one hand while supporting the back of Din's head with the other.

The helmet rolls away from you with a clunk. Brown curls fall backwards from the most beautifully sculpted face you've ever laid eyes on. Patchy, greying scruff decorating a perfectly chiseled jaw, a strong aquiline nose that suits him so well and plush lips... He really is stunning! So much so, that you're taken aback. But you snap yourself out of it. There's no time to lose! You grab the bacta spray and roll Din onto his side to get to the wound. Your breath hitches in your chest and you spray slowly, making sure to liberally apply the treatment.

You're probably using more than necessary, thinking back to how Din would often scold you for wasting the valuable resource when you've patched him up before. But this is literally Din's life in your hands. You'll exhaust the whole supply if you have to. The affects are almost instantaneous. You breathe a sigh of relief as the bleeding ceases and the damaged tissue begins to repair itself. Grogu looks up at you with expectant eyes. "He'll be okay, sweety," you soothed, while stroking Grogu's ear, comfortingly. "Mmm..." Grogu looks back to his dad, sadly.

Once you're satisfied with the progress of the Bacta spray you unwind a sterile bandage, cautiously wrapping it over the wound and around Din's head, trying not to jostle him too much. You then shift your attention to the many cuts and scrapes littering his body, making sure to disinfect every abrasion you see. There's no way you can lift him off the floor so you fetch a pillow from your shared bunk to place under his head and drape a blanket over him. It's not much but it'll have to suffice. With the adrenaline now subsiding, exhaustion begins to sweep over your body and mind, causing you to fall back on your arse, rather un-gracefully, and catch your breath.

You hadn't noticed just how much you'd been shaking this whole time. With controlled breaths your heart rate slowly returns to normal. Grogu waddles over to you with outstretched arms. Poor little guy needs some reassurance. Your maternal instinct has you reaching for him but you stop as you notice the drying blood on your hands. "Hold on, buddy," you say, gently, then rush to the fresher to wash away the blood and horrors staining your hands. Sitting down next to Din, you scoop Grogu into your lap, cradling his head in your chest, while humming a soothing melody to calm him. "Your dad's a fighter, kid. He'll come back from this," Please, you silently beg to whoever might be listening.

All you can do now is wait. Wait for Din to wake, wait for everything to make sense again. Hopefully he won't be furious. Surely he'd understand there was no other way. Even now it feels wrong to look at his face, the very act being sacrilegious to his people. But it's too soon to put his helmet back on. The wound needs more time to heal. Guilt starts to take root the longer you think about what this now means. What you've taken from Din cannot be easily undone. Because of your actions, he is now technically an apostate. He will be cast out of Mandalorian society, exiled in disgrace and it's all because of you.

But what was the alternative? Let him die? Let Grogu lose his dad? Live with the knowledge you could have saved him, but refused? No! It's unthinkable. You know in your heart, you've made the right decision. You just hope Din will see it that way, too. You're not sure how much time has passed, or how long you and Grogu have been asleep, when you are startled awake by a low moan. Grogu stirs in your lap as you sit up from the wall you were slumped against. An equal amount of relief and dread consume you. He's okay, he's waking... But how will he react to the violation of his creed?

"Din?" you gulped, nervously. Din lets out another grumble as his head turns in your direction. You clutch a now awakened Grogu tighter to your chest, apprehension swirling in your stomach. You feel sick! You bite your lower lip, waiting for his eyes to open, for the inevitable realisation to dawn on him. Slowly Din's eyelids lift and you are met with rich, chocolate brown eyes, eyes you would happily let yourself drown in, if it weren't for the look of abject horror and betrayal staring back at you. "Wh... what have you DONE?!!" Din exploded, his face turning red with rage and his eyes filling with tears.

You're frozen to the spot, eyes wide, voice lodged in your throat, refusing to co operate. He's furious, of course he is. "I..." your voice fails as your throat constricts in panic. Between Din's shocked gaze and Grogu's little whimper, you somehow find your voice. "I'm so sorry, Cyare. I had to. You... you were bleeding." Desperation to make Din understand claws at you. "It was the only way to save-" "No!" If looks could kill, you would be dead this very second. "It was NOT the only way," Din seethed, staring daggers at you, "You didn't have to remove my helmet. You chose to do it!" You can't believe what you're hearing.

"But you would have died!" Tears gather at your lash line at the thought. "Better to die a Mandalorian than live as an apostate," Din snapped as he sat up, clutching the back of his head. His eyes frantically dart around the hull, searching for his helmet. He reaches for it but you reach for his arm to stop him. "You can't. You're still healing-" "Don't!" Din recoiled from your touch as if you'd burned him. You heart drops like a stone to your stomach. You've never seen Din so angry, so hurt, his face portraying the image of a man who has lost it all. And you did that. You took away his sacred creed and left him with the ashes. The hiss of the helmet fills the tense air as Din places it back on, the familiar T- shape in front of you once again.

Only it's directed to your lap, where Grogu sits, looking with uncertainty between you both. "Patu," he murmured, while reaching out for Din. Din gently takes Grogu into his arms, his heaving chest and taut shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm okay, pal," Din soothed, trying to calm his foundling, but you can hear the strain in his voice as he now fights to keep his emotions at bay, no doubt for Grogus' sake. Din stands on shaky legs, your first instinct is to help him up, but you stop just short of touching him, unsure if your help will be welcomed. Without so much as a glance in your direction, Din heads to the ladder with Grogu tucked into his chest. "Din? Cyare wait, we have to talk about this-" "Just!..." Din raises his hand to stop your words, his back still facing you. "just stop," he sighs despondently. "I can't look at you right now." Tears sting your eyes as you watch him ascend the ladder, locking himself and Grogu in the cockpit, away from you.

Din sat in quiet dispair, trying to come to terms with his new reality. One where he is now an apostate... again. Sure, he had removed his helmet to save Grogu when he'd been abducted by Moff Gideon and to say goodbye, but that was his call, his decision to make. By removing his helmet, you'd taken away his choice, his creed, his very identity. You should have let him die an honourable death. Of course, redemption is possible but that doesn't change the fact that you betrayed him. He had trusted you, opened up to you and believed that you respected his creed and his way of life.

The longer he sat contemplating, the angrier he became. How could she! he thought bitterly. Not only had you dishonored the very foundation of who he is, you had also inadvertently destroyed the close bond you'd both built over the past year. He doesn't even know who you are anymore. To have done what you've done... how can he ever forgive you? His helmet suddenly feels too restrictive, too suffocating. Din pulled his helmet off with one hand while still holding Grogu close, and set it down on his lap, staring bleakly into the pitch black visor.

Until he can atone, this helmet will serve as a reminder of what has been lost. "Mmm..." Grogu tilted his head as if to ask 'are you alright?' Din exhaled, long and deep and looked at his son with a thin lipped smile, his face reflecting back to him in the childs' large, glossy eyes, the only eyes that are, by creed, permitted to look upon his face. "I'll be okay," he whispered softly, "I'll make this right." He can find forgiveness in the living waters, that part is simple enough - well maybe simple isn't the right word. He still has to live with the fact that he has grievously sinned against the creed. Even the living waters can't wash that truth away - but how can you both move forward from this? Is it even possible?

A dull, throbbing pain pulses through Dins' temples, causing him to groan and lean his forehead into his palm, his elbow resting on the armrest. He needs to calm down. He needs to think with a cool head. Grogu yawns and snuggles into Dins' stomach. "Okay you little womp rat, time for bed," Din smiled as he tucked Grogu into the crook of his elbow. After securing his helmet, Din makes his way down the ladder and into the hull, where he finds you sitting with your back pressed against the wall. His heart physically aches at the sight of your red rimmed eyes and blotchy face. You look as though you're about to say something, but he hasn't got the energy for this right now. All he wants to do is settle the kid in his hammock and rock him to sleep. So Din quickly opens the bunk door, disappearing inside.

The dim light of the hull reflects your sombre mood as you listen to Din's modulated voice, muffled by the closed door, speaking softly to Grogu. Most of the time you and Din would say goodnight to him together, every bit the picture of a happy family. But now you are shut out, physically and metaphorically, and it hurts, maker it hurts so much. You are only meters away but it might as well be the length of the entire galaxy. A short while later the door slides open and Din slowly walks out, keeping his steps light as to not wake Grogu. He turns to you for a moment, seemingly unsure of what he wants to do next. He takes a step towards you but then stops. Sighing, he turns on his heel and retreats to the cockpit once again.

Your heart sinks and lungs deflate in crushing disappointment. You can't stand it anymore. If Din won't talk to you then you'll talk to him. You bring the sleeve of your top to wipe your face - not that it'll make a difference to your puffy eyes and reddened cheeks - and steeling yourself, you make your way to the cockpit. The silence is deafening, oppressive, brutal. You gingerly sit in the co-pilots' chair, fiddling nervously with the hem of your top. Din remains motionless, staring out of the window, shoulders strung tighter than a bow. You feel invisible and you hate it. With a steady breath, you break the silence.

"Din, we have to talk about what happened." Din still doesn't look at you. "There's nothing to talk about," Din retaliated, the coldness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "What's done is done!" You shake your head. "Please believe me when I say I didn't make this decision lightly. It was the only way to save your life. What else could I have done?" The tears threaten your eyes again as you try desperately to make Din understand. "You could have let me die an honourable death." An incredulous huff forced it's way up your throat. "How could you expect me to do that? Listen to what you're asking? Would you have let me die if I were injured?! "That's different," Din retorted, annoyance building on his voice.

"How?!" You're so close to clawing at your eyes in frustration. "Because you're not Mandalorian!" Din's booming outburst had you shrinking back in your seat, his large frame now towering over you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. You know Din would never hurt you, no matter how angry he got, but at the same time you've never felt so small, so helpless. Is this how his bounties feel under his intimidating gaze? Din seemed to notice your unease, immediately unclenching his balled up fists and taking a step back to give you some space. After a moment of silent staring, he shakes his head and simply states, "You'll never understand."

That was a low blow! You've always respected Dins' creed, his way of life. Never asked him to go against it and never judged him like so many other's have. It's a part of him and you love all of him. Fear and despair have now given way to anger. "Maybe you're right," you glowered, "I'll never understand because if it comes down to chosing between the creed and your life, I'd chose you everytime. I love you too much to just let you die for an ideal." "And you think being an apostate is any better?" It's like talking to a fucking brick wall! How could he not see the impossible situation you'd been placed in?

"I don't know what else to say, Din..." you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat, "I'm sorry it's come to this, but I'm not sorry for saving your life." "Then there's nothing more to say," Din clarified with finality, sitting back down and turning to the window again. Silent tears run down your cheeks as you leave the cockpit and join Grogu in the bunk.

When you wake the next morning the bunk is empty, cold. Even though you were certain Din wouldn't have joined you last night, disappointment weighs heavily on your heart. A part of you had hoped he would calm down and come to you. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up with a groan, dreading the tension that will, no doubt, still be rife. "Morning, buddy..." you cooed, gently as you stood on the mattress to wake Grogu. Your brows scrunch in confusion at the empty hammock. Din must have come in to get him while you were still asleep.

Stepping into the hull, you hear babbling from Grogu in the cockpit, followed by the occasional chuckle from Din. A flicker of hope ignites within. Maybe now he's had time to cool off, you can both talk reasonably and calmly. Maybe not all is lost? However that flicker is soon doused when you walk into the cockpit and see Din's posture turn rigid, his chair not even turning so he can acknowledge your presence. The air turns icy and heavy with friction as you take a seat. "Good morning..." you offer, meekly. "Morning." Din's monotone reply confirms that he's still upset.

"Patu," Grogu smiled as he patted your leg to pick him up. You couldn't be more grateful for the distraction right now. "And good morning to you, baby," you grin as you scoop him up and place him in your lap. "You two strap in," Din orders as he fires up the engines. "Where are we going?" You bring the seat belt around yourself and Grogu. "Sorgon." Din's clipped tone is like a knife to your heart. It's the same tone he'd used when he'd first employed you two years ago, when you were both still adjusting to each others' company.

Now you realise how you've taken his caring tone, his laugh, his tenderness for granted. It feels a million miles away now. You swallow the lump in your throat and give Grogu your full attention, feigning cheery laughter while trying to ignore the 'bantha in the room' the whole way to Sorgon. The Razor Crest descends into the atmosphere, the blackness of space giving way to a dazzling blue, causing you to squint and shield your eyes. You've always liked Sorgon, visiting several times with Din over the years.

The simple, peaceful way of life is so unlike most worlds you've visited, and with that simplicity comes a tight knit community. One who always welcomes you with open arms. You've even made a few friends here, your closet one being Omera. Grogu bounces excitedly on your lap as the ship touches down on the outskirts of the small village, no doubt ecstatic at the prospect of seeing his friends again, especially Winta. "I know, I know..." you chuckle fondly, placing a kiss on Grogu's head.

Din shuts down the engines and without a word or even a glance in your direction, he leaves the cockpit. The harsh treatment makes you want to cry, but in an effort to shield the kid from any more tension you plaster on your best fake smile. "Ready to see your friends, sweetie?" Din lowered the ramp and was instantly greeted by a handful of locals, eager to welcome back the man who gave them back their home and dignity when the Klatooinian bootleggers attacked them.

He shook hands and accepted enthusiastic slaps on the back. He looked to where you stood, embraced in Omera's arms. Winta had already claimed Grogu, the two of them heading off to play with the other kids. The sight of his son playing with the other children warmed Din's heart, but that content, fuzzy feeling soon faded when his gaze fell back on you. Dread and sorrow wash over him, choking him, knowing what he has to do. Din turns to one of the men, lowering his voice. "Please, I need to speak to the village elders."

Din felt like the worst person in the galaxy as he discussed your future with the council, all the while you remained completely unaware of the real reason he'd brought you here. He'd been reassured you'd have a place here, a safe community to call home. Even through the anger and hurt, he had to know you'd be safe, protected. And since the defeat of the Klatooinian's, sorgon had become a peaceful planet again. He couldn't imagine a safer place for you to start over. Now all that's left to do is to break the news to you.

The ache in Din's chest grew stronger as he walked through the village looking for you. It didn't take him long to spot you, sitting by a fire with two other women you'd become friendly with. Din could tell you were wearing a forced smile by how it didn't reach your eyes. When your gaze locked with his, your smile faltered, replaced with a look of deep remorse and longing. Din sighed wearily and walked over to where Grogu was happily frolicking about with other kids. Again, guilt gnawed away at him as he thought about how hard this is going to be on Grogu. In time, he'll understand, hopefully.

Din catches sight of Omera and makes his way over to her. "Hi," Omera smiled. "Can I speak with you? It's important." Omera's smile dropped slightly, her face taking on a more serious countenance. "Of course," she replied. Din shifted uncomfortably, unused to asking for favours. This is the second time today. "Could you do something for me?" Omera raised an eyebrow in intrigue, waiting for Din to continue. "Would you look after Y/N? She... she's going to need a friend now, more than ever." " What do you mean?" Omera asked, clearly confused. "We're leaving, me and the kid... and Y/N is staying here... permanantly."

Omera glanced over her shoulder to you, then turned back to Din. "Is everything okay with you two?" Din looked down and placed his hands on his hips. "No." He shook his head before raising it again. "I can't explain right now, but, please, promise me you'll look out for her." Omera's face softened. "Of course I will. She's my friend." Din felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, albeit a small one, compared to the weight he'll have to bare for the rest of his life; the weight of breaking your heart and leaving you alone in the galaxy.

But what else was there to do? Nothing could ever be the same between you both again. This is for the best... at least that's what he keeps telling himself. "Thank you," Din replied with a twinge of sadness in his voice. "That... means a lot to me." He patted Omera on the arm in gratitude before making his way over to where Grogu was playing. "Time to go, pal," Din cooed as he bent down to pick Grogu up. "Say goodbye to your friends." Grogu waved as the other kids bade him farewell.

You could tell something was wrong when Omera sat beside you, her normally soft and calm mien now absent. In it's place, concern and worry clouded her features. But before you could ask her if she's okay, Din appeared before you. It's the first time he's acknowledged you since this morning. "Would you come with me for a minute?" The gentle tone of his voice and outstretched hand made your tummy flutter in anticipation. Without a second thought, you took Din's hand and stood up. But the little hope that gesture had given you was dashed when Din immediately released your hand, and you had to fight against the anguish his absent touch left in it's wake.

You silently follow Din to the Razor Crest, stopping at the edge of the ramp. "Are we leaving already?" you ask disappointedly. Din remains silent while he turns around to pick up a bag off the ramp. He holds it out for you and sighs, "I am... you're staying here." And just like that your whole world has come crashing down around you. Din's words are a punch to you gut, stealing your breath away. "What do you mean I'm staying here?!" Your voice wobbled as your veins ran cold. "I mean..." Din set his shoulders and took a deep breath, "This... us..." he gestured between you both, "it's over." Shock has you rooted to the ground. Icy chills prickle over your skin, nausea sweeping through you.

"You... you can't be serious! Din, we have to talk about this. You can't just go making rash decisions like this, please!" Your imploring eyes search Din's visor, hoping to detect even a fraction of hesitation behind it, but you find nothing but unnerving calmness. "I'm not making a rash decision," Din replied almost emotionlessly, pushing your bag of belongings into your hands, "I thought about it all last night and it's the right thing to do." "Look, I know you're upset with me but please just take a minute to -" "I don't need a minute!" Din snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Tears burn your eyes, the lump in your throat causing your voice to quiver. "But I don't understand," you begin, willing your tears to remain where they are, but your resolve is cracking with every passing second. You have to make him see how ridiculous this is! "You broke the creed once to save Grogu and you attoned. Can't you do that again?" "Of course I can," Din answered through gritted teeth. "Then... what's the problem?!" Your voice has now risen in pitch, despite your best efforts to de-escalate the tension. "The problem is you!" Your mouth snaps shut and eyes widen in response to Din's sharp words. Words lined with a razor edge, cutting straight to your core. "You didn't just break the creed Y/N, you broke my trust! The creed can be restored, my trust in you can't."

Words have now completely abandoned you, numbness slowly consuming you as you let Din's truth sink in. You now realise just how much you've hurt him. 'I thought you understood me, respected how my religion is absolute. I can't..." Din shook his head, his voice shuddering as he continued, "I can't trust you ever again. I feel like I don't even know who you are anymore." "Please..." you whimper as your tears begin to fall freely. "please don't do this. Don't leave me. I love you and I know you love me." "I do," Din agreed without hesitation. "Then we can get passed this." You reach for Din's hand but he pulls away. "No." he takes a few steps back, "Love isn't enough."

"So, what?..." you yell as your heartbreak turns into anger, "You're just gonna leave me here, after everything we've been through? You're just gonna to throw it all away like it meant nothing?!" "This is the way," Din responded, robotically, as if he's no longer a living, feeling organism. Fury welled up in your chest, until you were trembling with rage. "Fuck the way!" you exploded, wanting in the moment to wound Din as he has you, but regretting it simultaneously. Din visibly stiffened at your blasphemous insult, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I couldn't lose you Din. I saved your life and I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry." A silence settles between you both before Din sighs and responds, "I know... I'm sorry, Cyar'ika." Din Turns to walk away but you grab his arm, spinning him to face you. "Wait! Where's Grogu?" Your eyes dart to the ramp in search of him. "He's in the ship." "You were just going to take him away from me?!..." you gasped, hand on your chest as if the action would lesson the intensifying ache, "Without letting me see him." "It's for the best. Saying goodbye will only upset him," Din spoke, now devoid of emotion, "Please don't make this harder than it has to be."

In that moment your heart shattered completely, the shards ripping you apart from the inside. They say love hurts, but that is an understatement. This raw agony feels like it might just be the end of you. "Please!" you now beg, tears streaming down your face, "He's my son too. Don't take him away from me! He'll think I abandoned him." "He'll understand.... in time." Despite Din's persistence, he seems conflicted, like he's fighting himself on his decision, like underneath all that Beskar he's hurting as much as you.

"Please Din! Please don't do this!. Don't leave me!" you sob loudly as you fall to your knees, clutching your abdomen as if to comfort yourself. Seeing you in distress is unbearable to Din, but what makes it worse is that he's the cause of said distress. He Automatically takes a step towards you, hands outstretched, seeking to hold you but he stops himself and regains his rigid posture. "I'm sorry," he mutters as he quickly spins on his heel and storms up the ramp.

The rising Crest wobbles in your tear filled eyes as it ascends into the sky, heaving breathes causing violent hiccups to rip through your airways, as you watch your family disappear forever. In your distraught state you don't notice a pair of arms wrapping around your shoulders. It's only when your head is gently pulled into a warm chest, that you realise Omera is holding you as your whole life falls apart.

Part 2

[imaginedisish]

The Only Exception (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys!!! Ahhh here is the Din Djarin x reader fic I said I’d post. This has been sitting in my WIPs since late November/early December. This is what I was working on before I got sick. I’m so happy it’s done. I’m pretty pleased with how it turned out, although I may have written something similar to this already. It’s very much inspired by “The Only Exception,” by Paramore. I’m hoping I didn’t use this song as a title yet....Oh well. ENJOY!

Summary: Din has been wildly overprotective of you lately, but maybe it’s because there’s something lying deep below the surface that’s been threatening to bubble over...

Warnings: SMUT!!!!! 18+ Please!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cursing, canon typical violence, Jedi!reader, Razor Crest still exists (and it’s def bigger in my head than it is in the show), praise kink, friends to lovers, angsty but fluffy and smutty dw, I only proofread like 2 times so it may be bad (it’s 3:16am...so...we die like men!), AFAB reader, uhhh I think that’s it...

Word Count: 3,078

“I swear to the Maker, if you don’t get back on the Crest now, I’m gonna-,”

Din is cut off by the sound of your lightsaber clashing through the plastoid armor of the stormtrooper to your left. You swing your saber around, showing off more than you need to. You throw it down the alleyway, feeling through the force as it cuts through another stormtrooper before finding its way back to your hand.

“You’re gonna what?” You say, tilting your head to the side. You point your saber to the stormtroopers scattered around the alleyway. “I just saved you.” You close your saber and cross your arms cockily.

Din shakes his head, his gaze refusing to meet yours. “And where’s the kid? You just left him on the Crest?” You roll your eyes, turning your back towards him as you remove your cloak from your shoulders. There, in perfect condition, is Grogu, secure in a little carrier on your back.

“You really think I’d be that dumb?” Your words have a callous edge to them. Din had been far moodier than usual over the past few days, and with that came a strange overprotectiveness that you hadn’t seen before. It was starting to feel as if he thought you were going to mess up, that you couldn’t take care of yourself. “You think I’d put the kid’s life at stake?”

“That’s not what I meant.” The anger in his voice has all but melted away. You’re shocked by how defeated he sounds now.

You inhale deeply, taking a moment to calm yourself down. “So what did you mean, Din?”

“We don’t have time for this now.” He’s curt and almost a bit cold, his modulated voice echoing off the walls of the alleyway. “We need to get back to the ship.”

You hate the way he’s brushing you off, ignoring you, pushing you to the side. You didn’t need this; you didn’t need to put up with his shit. Not anymore. “What is going on with you?” The words come out louder, more aggressive than you meant them to.

Din takes a single stride towards you, his broad figure practically shoving you against the wall in the process. “We are not doing this here.” The feeling of him being so close to you clouds your mind. You can’t form a coherent thought, never mind a sentence. You want to say something, to stand up for yourself, but you can’t. “Now cut the shit so we can get back to the ship.” There’s that anger again, that finality in his voice.

In the distance you can hear stormtroopers chatting, whispering your name, mumbling on about Grogu, warning each other about the Mandalorian. Din was right. There was no time to hash this out here. You nod, finally caving in. Din takes a step away from you, immediately grasping your wrist in his hand before making a break for the Crest, just on the other end of the alleyway.

Somehow you make it without being seen. Din lets go of your hand, motioning for you to get on the ship. You make a b-line for the back and carefully remove Grogu from his carrier, placing him in his crib. You stand frozen in place in front of it, watching his eyes flutter open and closed as he slowly drifts off to sleep.

You don’t want to move. You rather watch the child you had come to care so deeply for sleep peacefully than deal with a massively enraged Din. The oncoming fight would most definitely wake Grogu, so maybe it was best for you to hide in the little corner that you had come to call Grogu’s bedroom, completely unnoticed. But obviously, that’s not an option. You begrudgingly step towards the end of the hull and decide to keep your hands busy by organizing the tiny stock of food that lined a makeshift shelf along the far wall.

You can hear Din’s heavy steps on the other side of the ship, presumably heading up towards the cockpit. After a few seconds and many annoyed grunts from Din, the ship is lifted into the air and away from danger.

You try your best to bring yourself to get angry at him, to yell some explicative across the hull of the ship and spit a curse in his helmet-covered face. You wanted the consequences, for him to storm over and scream back. But you couldn’t – because things weren’t normally like this. Din had always been kind, caring, protective even.

He'd leave the cockpit to grab a blanket from his cot when you fell asleep in the co-pilot’s chair. He’d come back and gently, yet silently, tuck you in with it. It was the only blanket he had. Sometimes you’d wake up in his bed, having been carried into it at some point during the night. He’d be awake, taking care of the child, flying the Crest, making sure nothing and no green baby woke you up.

You’d be lying if you said his doting behavior didn’t draw you to him, that it didn’t make you crave him. Every soft touch on your shoulder, every time you pretended to be asleep just to feel his arms wrap around you as he brought you to his cot. You’d let your stares linger a little too long from time to time, pushing past your reflection in his armor, searching for some sort of sign that maybe he feels the same.

You wanted him to come up behind you, rest his hands on your hips, squeezing softly at the exposed inch of skin where your top and your pants just can’t seem to meet, and whisper in your ear in that husky, modulated voice that he’s sorry, that he’ll make up to you by-

“Never, ever, do anything like that again.” You practically jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice. You quickly turn around, not realizing how close Din had gotten to you. His chest is practically flush against yours, the proximity causing you to stumble back against the shelf, threatening to bring it down with you.

Din immediately snakes an arm around your waist, keeping you from falling against the cold metal floors below. Your arms instinctively reach up around his neck to stabilize yourself. You’re glued to him now, and you don’t particularly want to let go. You swallow harshly, intimidated by the way the beskar clad man seems to tower over you, by the way you can smell him, by the way his forehead practically touches yours.

You take a deep breath, furrowing your brows and doing your best to collect your thoughts despite the fog that the moment seemed to create in your brain. “Do what? Save your ass?” You spit, instantly regretting the harshness of your words, even if he deserves them.

“You weren’t supposed to leave the ship.” He’s stern, his voice somehow punishing. “You were supposed to stay here with the kid.”

You shake your head, feeling far too much like a child caught playing in the front seat of their parent’s speeder. “You needed my help! You would’ve died out there without me! And I can handle myself,” You yell, trying to ignore how you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “If this is about risking the kid’s life, I promise you I wasn’t. I would never put him-,”

He cuts you off, “I know you wouldn’t, that’s not what this is about.”

What? You think to yourself, confused beyond belief. If this wasn’t about the child, then what could this possibly be about? “So then what’s the problem?” You ask, more aware of the way that Din is holding you against him now than you were before.

You can hear Din inhale deeply through the modulator. “You.” A shudder rolls down your spine. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed.” There’s still an edge in his voice, but he’s calmer now, almost pained, as if considering your death in some dark corner of his mind.

“Sorry that my death would be such an inconvenience for you,” You say sardonically. “It’ll be hard trying to replace me with some other force-wielding wizard that’ll be willing to babysit for you, since clearly that’s all I am.” You wanted the words to sting him, to hurt him, and maybe they did, but it felt like a punch in the gut to simply think them. You wanted to grab the words from where they still hung in the air and shove them back into your mouth, to swallow them so that they could burn in the acid of your stomach.

Din tilts his head down, crushed, defeated. Your heart winces. Fuck. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” His stare finds yours again, and you quickly look down at his shoulder, too embarrassed to have him look you in your eyes.

You shake your head. “But Din, that’s the problem,” You say, somehow finding the courage to meet his gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. How am I supposed to know what you mean if you won’t kriffing tell-,”

“Fucking hell, I don’t want to lose you!”

Your eyes widen. “What?”

Din looks around the hull, as if the words he was searching for were hiding, wrapped somewhere around its silver walls. “I can’t lose you. And before you ask, no, it’s not because you train the kid or whatever the hell you think it is.” You can feel the pain in his voice, guilt quickly filling your gut. “It’s just…” He trails off, silence hanging heavy in the air.

“Well…what is it?” You mumble, struggling to force down the lump in your throat. You wish you could see his face, to get a sense of his expression, an inkling as to what he was really feeling.

“You,” He says, as if those three letters held some secret, omniscient being or meaning. To him, they did. It was you. You were the thing that kept him up at night, the thing that made him want to show every facet of his being for the first time in his life.  “You’re reckless and careless and sometimes you drive me absolutely insane.”

You scoff. “Wow, what a glowing review of my services!”

Din shakes his head. “You don’t fucking get it. You’re so much more than that, because even though you drive me crazy,” He pauses; the modulator picks up his breath as it catches in his throat, “I know I’d never be able to spend an entire lifetime without you in it.”

You’re speechless. An entire lifetime? “Din I-,”

“Close your eyes.”

“What? You just said all that and you want me to close my-,”

“Just close your eyes. You trust me, don’t you?”

Of course I trust you, smart-ass, You think to yourself. So, you do what he says, shutting your eyes firmly. Then there’s a hiss, and then something clunks loudly against the floor. And then…

It’s warm, and soft, and smooth, and all those other perfect words someone would use to describe the perfect kiss. He has a mustache under all that metal, and now you know, because it tickles ever so gently just above your upper lip. His hands squeeze your hips just a bit tighter, pulling you further into his chest.

His lips press deeper into yours, hungrier. You keep your eyes closed tightly, your hands sliding up and into his hair, combing gently. He moans into your mouth at the touch as he guides you away from the shelf and towards his cot.

“D-Din,” You stutter in between gasps.

“What is it, mesh’la?” He presses a chaste kiss to your forehead.

You can feel the heat pooling at the bottom of your stomach, but there’s something stopping you, something telling you that there’s no possible way this could ever be real, that it wasn’t a set-up, that it wasn’t a dream. “Do you really want this?”

“More than anything.” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and you silently wish to yourself that you could see it. “Do you?”

You nod, repeating his words, “More than anything.”

His lips find yours again, his knee nudging in between your thighs as he pushes you down onto his cot. He’s on top of you now, his hands on either side of your body. “Wanted you for so long…” He whispers in your ear. “Wanted you this whole time.” Fuck, he was going to kill you.

Din presses sloppy kisses into the crook of your neck, leading up to your jaw. His hands stretch under the hemline of your shirt, his fingertips gliding across your stomach and towards the edge of your bra. You shudder as he reaches underneath, slowly inching towards your chest.

Something was changing within him, and that something was you. You made him want to throw his Creed away, to ignore all he had been taught his entire life. How could you ever possibly be something he shouldn’t have? He needed you.

More than anything. And you needed him.

“Please,” You beg. “I need you Din, please.”

And just like that, something within him finally switched.

“Open your eyes, cyare,” He’s so quiet you almost miss it. His fingers dip underneath your bra, rolling a nipple between his thumb and forefinger teasingly before doing the same to the other. “’Want you to look at me when I make you come.”

Panic rises to your chest. “W-what, are you sure? What about the Creed, what about-,”

“It doesn’t matter, not if it means I can’t have you.”

You wait a moment, giving him time to change his mind, but he doesn’t. You let your eyes flutter open, his curly hair and brown eyes flooding your vision. And Maker, there’s that smile, the smile you’d only heard through laughs and sarcastic, snide quips. You swear your heart skips a beat, maybe even two. He was perfect. Of course he was fucking perfect.

“You’re beautiful,” You whisper, your hands finding their way to his cheeks, his neck, your fingertips carefully running over his lips. His forehead rests down on yours, his eyes closing softly, reveling in the intimacy.

Din lifts himself off you and makes his way down your body, settling in between your legs. His fingers hook the waistline of your pants, tugging them down and throwing them somewhere in the hull. He feels your core through your soaked panties.

“So fucking wet for me, pretty girl,” He coos, practically ripping your panties as he pulls them down your legs. “Need to taste you.”

“F-fuck, Din,” You breathe sharply as his tongue laps at your clit, your hips lifting off the mattress. Din presses an arm across your hips, keeping you down against the cot, his free hand spreading your slick, teasing your entrance.

“’Tastes so good,” He rasps, his voice vibrating deliciously against your core. “Doing so good for me sweet girl.”

His mouth sucks harshly at your clit, taking the small bundle of nerves into his mouth, lapping at you like he was starving. You wanted more, needed more.

“N-need you, Din,” You whine, your hips fighting against the arm that held you down. He pushes you down further into the mattress, his mouth pressing even deeper onto your core.

“Not done with you yet,” He grunts, pushing two fingers into your entrance, pumping in and out, fast and hard. You could feel yourself growing closer with each thrust.

You moan his name like it’s a prayer, and in this moment it is. “Din, please, I, just…” But you can’t finish your sentence. It’s all too much, his fingers, his tongue, his voice, him. He was everywhere and everything all at once. And yet you needed more.

“Use your words, sweet girl,” He says patiently, nonchalantly.

“I want…” Your words fail again. “I…need you to f-fuck me, please.”

But he doesn’t stop, he keeps going. “I said I wasn’t done with you yet.” You could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, teetering just on the edge.

“I’m so close,” You pant in between ragged breaths.

And then, abruptly, he pulls away, leaving you cold and empty. Before you can even think to sit up or reach out for him, he was back, his hips resting against yours, his pants and armor now somewhere scattered to the side. You could feel his cock throbbing against your inner thighs. He lines himself up with your entrance, teasing you.

“Din,” You whimper. “Plea-,”

He buries himself inside you, cutting you off, stretching you out. “So fucking tight,” He praises, pulling all the way out before thrusting back into you, filling you up again. “So soft, so perfect.” His fingers find your clit, circling the nerves roughly.

His forehead rests on your own as his left-hand searches for your right one. His fingers intertwine with yours just above your head, keeping you from drowning, cementing you there with him. It all feels so good, each pump, each circle at your clit. You can feel your walls clenching around him.

“Taking me so well,” He soothes, rocking into you. “Such a good girl.” It was all too much, his words, his cock.

“I-I’m gonna-,” You choke, white heat flooding your vision. You know Din isn’t far behind, his hips stuttering against yours.

“Come for me, sweet girl, that’s it,” Din moans, sending you over the edge. You feel yourself shattering underneath him, falling apart into a million pieces, only to be put back together again. His name slips off your tongue as he comes inside you.

His hips roll slowly against yours, gently rocking into you a few more times before pulling out.  

He shifts a bit so that you can comfortably lay on his chest. After all that, there’s only one thing you can think about.

“You wouldn’t be able to live without me?”

You look up at Din. His smirk stretches into a smile. He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t, no.” He says it so matter-of-factly, so simply, as if it was common knowledge. “I need you. I always have.”

“I need you too.” He was the only person you had ever needed, the only exception. You didn’t need to tell him. He knew. Always has, always will.

You are the only exception

You are the only exception

And I'm on my way to believing

Oh, and I'm on my way to believing

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C   

word count: 8K   

chapter summary: Marathel awakes from surgery, struggles with her feelings for Din, and tastes her first ice cream

warnings:  angst, mention of female bodily functions and medical issues, past abuse, mention of murder and infanticide, mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing   

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

You Were Marked: Masterlist     

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter

Marathel, wake up. 

Marathel was dreaming, and she knew it.  She’d been dreaming this same dream for quite some time.  And now, a new dream section had been added.  Knowing that it was a dream, however, did not assuage her fear or her misery. 

In the new part of the dream, which now served as a new beginning to her original dream, she was staggering through the Hold grounds, surrounded by a sea of Dahls, all growling and chattering, saying horrible things to her — saying that she was a whore, that she was a murderer, that it was all her fault that all the boy children were dying, and that she deserved all the anguish she was suffering.  

In her dream, Marathel could only speak the Oldtalk, which the girls all learned in the kitchen as the women spoke to each other, an almost secret language to separate themselves from the men, who only used the Oldtalk for pejoratives and cruelty.   

As Marathel stumbled, tripping over the blood-hungry Dahls and the corpses of boy babies, she began the apology verse of the only song, brokenly wailing, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth … {I broke your heart …  trust … broken …}”. She ran forward to pick up a boy-child before a Dahl could get to it, but it was ripped from her hands, and she cried out,  “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch … {Stop! Stop! No, DON’T! Stop, please …}” and began to cry.  She then whimpered,  “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gaal’wch th’ych’lyth … {Come back to me, Din Djarin … please, please, come back to me…}”   

But Din Djarin would not come back to her and he never would.  The Dahls continued to tell her that while filling her head with other horrible things: that it was her fault, that this was all she deserved, that they, the Dahls, were the only ones who ever loved her, Din Djarin did not love her, he’d never loved her, that she was theirs and theirs only.   

“ Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei.  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch. {You are lying to me.  Liar!  No, don’t.  Come back to me, Din … please.}”  

But Din Djarin did not come back to her, and she was alone in the darkness. The voices of the Dahls kept on, filling her heart and her mind and her soul with their foul words.  She was now in a pit of despair so deep that not even the Mandalorian would be able to pull her out.  Finally, she dropped to her knees and allowed herself to be swallowed up and drowned by the Dahls. 

Marathel, you need to wake up now. 

Then, Marathel knew she was back in her original dream.  The dream she’d been having since she and Din began the journey back to Unmanarall.   

She was standing in a small, dark place, whispering, pleading for forgiveness, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth … {I broke your heart …  trust … broken …}”.  There was an open doorway before her, leading to somewhere outside where the sun was bright, but she was in deep darkness, far from the door.   

We must leave, she heard Din say, before hearing his heavy boots walking on a metal floor.  His silhouette filled the open doorway, and she could see Grogu  just over his shoulder, looking away from her.   

From her place in the darkness, she cried out,  “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch … {Stop! Stop! No, DON’T! Stop, please …}” and began to cry.  She then whimpered,  “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gaal’wch th’ych’lyth …{Come back to me, Din Djarin … please, please, come back to me…}” 

But Din kept walking, through the doorway, into the sunlight, away from her, taking Grogu with him, leaving her in darkness.  You will see us again, she heard him say placatingly, as if she were only a child who dropped her honey stick in the sand.  Then, they disappeared into the bright sunlight. 

“Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei!  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch! {You are lying to me!  Liar!  No, don’t.  Come back to me, Din … please!}” 

But Din and Grogu were gone, and she was alone in the darkness. The voices of the Dahls kept on, filling her heart and her mind and her soul with their foul words. 

Marathel, wake up.  Mando is worried about you.  

“Dwy’tu’ar!” screamed Marathel. 

“Whoa, okay, crankybritches, calm down.   Take a deep breath through your nose … in … and out.  Again, in … and out.” 

Marathel began to understand that she was waking up, and she could see sunlight filtered through her eyelids.  She obediently breathed in and out through her nose as she had been directed.  She cracked her eyes open, squinting against the brightness.  She was lying partially upright on a pillowy surface in a white place, which confused her, as her last memories had her lying twisted on the hard, rocky ground.  Marathel turned her head, and could just see a person-shape through her blurry vision.   

“That’s good, Marathel, keep breathing through your nose, in and out, deep breaths.” 

Marathel blinked several times and rubbed her eyes until she was able to focus on the person, a woman, sitting next to her.  Marathel opened her mouth and said, “You are very pink.” 

The woman laughed. “Yes, yes, I am.  Quite pink.  Anything else?” 

Marathel frowned.  “Your hair is very blue.” 

“Very good. I’m a Zeltron; have you ever heard of Zeltrons?”  Marathel shook her head no.  “Good.  That way, I don’t have to tell you that everything you’ve heard about my people is exaggerated.  My name is Siewan.  Do you have any idea where you are?” 

“No.” 

“You’re on Canto Bight.” 

Marathel took another deep breath and looked around the room.  “This is not … a wedding chapel, I don’t think.” 

Siewan laughed again.  “Another good observation.  Canto has more to offer besides casinos and wedding chapels.  You’re in a medical center.  You were in very bad shape when you came in.  Do you remember anything about that?” 

Marathel shook her head again.  “No.  I was … elsewhere.  But who brought me …?” 

“Does a Mandalorian sound familiar?  With a little boy?” 

Tears filled Marathel’s eyes.  “He came back?  He came back, he came back …” She began to weep. 

Siewan gently took Marathel’s hand.  “Yes, he came back.  But what I need to know, honey … did he do anything to hurt you?  Is he the reason why you’re hurt?” 

“NO.  Never!  He saved me, he rescued me, he took me away from that horrible place; is he here?  Is he still here? Is he all right?  Where is he?  Where’s Grogu?” 

“Okay, honey, you need to breathe now, breathe.  In and out.  Breathe in … breathe out.  He’s still here, so is his boy.  Desperately worried about you.” 

Marathel continued crying.  “I need to see him, please, can I see him?  Please?” 

“You’ll see them both, but right now you need to breathe.  You just had a procedure done, and you were under anesthesia for quite a long time.  Since you don’t respond to bacta, they had a hard time keeping you properly sedated, so they gassed you up good and proper.  You need to clear that stuff out of your lungs. Once you’ve settled a bit, we’ll take you to a room where you can see both of your fellas.  Now, keep breathing, and eat some toast.”   

Marathel dutifully took the proffered toast, and took a bite.  It tasted like nothing — certainly not like bread — but she ate it anyway, and sipped on the sweet juice Siewan gave her.  In between sips, Marathel would take another deep breath.  “What … procedure?  What did they do to me?” 

“You had a D&C.  Do you know what that is?”  Marathel shook her head.   “Well, I’m going to let the surgeon explain all the technical details, but among other things, a D&C removes all the horrible bleeding and clots of a really bad menstrual period.  Your condition was quite severe.  Has your cycle always been like that?” 

“Yes, it’s always been …” It suddenly occurred to her that Din had to care for her while in that state.  That he had to … never, never … a man?  Helping a woman with her cycle?  Ashamed, she began to cry again, and she could not seem to stop. 

Siewan clicked her tongue, and said, pityingly, “Oh honey, they gassed you up bad, didn’t they?” She pulled up Marathel’s surgery notes on her tracker.   “That gas, it will mess up your emotions right into hyperspace.  Oh, and then they gave you a double dose of hormones to hopefully chill out your endometriosis, so you are just one hot mess.” 

“My — my endo-what?” 

“Your endometriosis.”  Siewan looked back up at Marathel, who looked lost and confused.  A torture cult, thought Siewan.  Abused since childhood.  She looked at the half-healed wound down Marathel’s forehead, considered the whip marks on Marathel’s back and Din’s horrific description of her brutal rape, and put some more pieces together.  “We’re all here to help you, Marathel.  You’re not alone, and you are safe here.  I know you’re scared and confused, and that’s okay.  But my job and the job of everyone here is you make you feel better and keep you safe. Pinky swear,” said Siewan, holding up her little finger.  Marathel, confused, just looked at the nurse, who laughed.  “Don’t leave me hanging, Marathel, pinky swear!”   Marathel tentatively reached out with her own little finger, which Siewan grabbed with her finger tightly as she whispered, “Pinky swears are the strongest promises in the galaxy.  So I promise to do my best job by you, and you promise to do your best to get better.  Okay?” 

Marathel tearfully nodded.  “Okay. But … can you tell me why I have a horrible-smelling cold wet towels on my feet and face?” 

Siewan laughed again.  “Sweetie, on top of everything else, you got the worst sunburn I’ve ever seen.  And since you don’t respond to bacta, we had to improvise.  Those towels are soaked in an acidic fruit tea to help the heat and swelling.  Some old-fashioned Moorjahone remedy.  Apparently , sunburn’s a real issue there — but then they have three suns, so there you go. If we were on my home planet, we could have used hyigin plant leaves on you.  Finish your toast and juice, and we’ll get you moved to your room, okay?”  

Marathel nodded and ate the second piece of toast.  It didn’t taste any better than the first piece, but it felt good to have something in her stomach.  The juice was very sweet and reminded her of the sweet melon Cobb had bought her at the market. The memory sparked a tiny bit of joy within her heart, making her wonder if Din would be taking her back to Tatooine.  She must have smiled, for Siewan said, “Well, it looks like you’re feeling a bit better.  And I just got a page that you have your room assignment, so, we’re gonna motor.”  The nurse laid Marathel flat on her gurney and deftly straightened out the tangle of IV and oxygen and blood transfusion tubes along with the sheet and blanket covering her. 

“But what about Di-… I mean, the Bounty Hunter … will I get to see him?” 

“We’ll grab him on the way.  Oh, and … by the way, the little boy … he’s not exactly supposed to be on the ward, so I’ve asked your … Bounty Hunter to keep him concealed in that bag he carries out in the hallways.  But he can be out in your room so long as the kid goes undercover when my boss shows up, cool?”  Marathel nodded, face full of nerves and hope.  Okay, there is a lot more going on between these two than I first thought.  I don’t think it’s anywhere near as complicated as Mando says it is — certainly not from Marathel’s side of things.   

Din, meanwhile, had been nervously waiting close to five hours for what he’d believed would be a two-hour procedure. He understood bacta tanks, not surgery.  Grogu had been so fractious it was a struggle to get him to eat something that wasn’t the childcare’s pet lizard.  Both their nerves just seemed to be completely frayed.   

Din did take an opportunity to send Captain Teva some of the holos he took, slingshotting the message around a false sub-ether address some four systems over.  An old trick, but still useful.  He also spent some time reading over some forms that Karga had sent regarding the idea that Din had set into motion a couple weeks ago, just before Marathel dropped her bombshell that she wanted to return to Unmanarall. 

Din sighed, his mind relentlessly mocking him with the memory of his original intentions.  The plans he had made had been wishful thinking anyway — but to have them completely dashed as they had been was still painful.  And now Karga was getting pushy, wanting answers that Din didn’t want to consider quite yet. 

Then he finally heard the heavy doors that led to the surgical ward open, and his heart and stomach switched places as he wavered between anticipation and dread. 

As Siewan pushed the gurney through the door from recovery to Marathel’s room, she spied Mando standing next to a wall, silently watching them approach.  He gave some pats to the side of the bag he carried, and then appeared to hook his thumb on the strap; as they got closer, Siewan could just see Grogu’s tiny green hand clutching the large gloved thumb through an opening at the top of the bag. That is the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.  And I can just tell by the way Mando’s standing there that he loves this woman.  I wonder why he can’t see that? 

Before they even reached him, Marathel was already extending her hand out towards him, quietly crying again.  Din fell into step beside the gurney, allowing Marathel to clutch his hand tightly.  By the time they got to her room, she was openly sobbing, holding his hand in both of hers against her cheek — unfortunately , the one covered by the fruit tea towel — as she cried.  Siewan said, “Marathel, honey, you need to take a breath.  And I need to borrow Mando for a moment.  Mando, we need to shift her to the bed.  You get her head, I’ll get her feet.”  Din disengaged his hand from Marathel’s and helped Siewan move her into the bed, stepping back so that the nurse could get her tubes and bags and blankets arranged.  Once Marathel was comfortable, she said, “Okay, I’m going to let you rest, Marathel.  Lunch will be coming around in a little while.  This is the secure ward, so your door will automatically lock.  Each person who needs to come in here will announce themselves on the intercom before they can enter, and only those of us with the proper fob…” —Siewan held up her wristband— “… can open the door.  Okay?”  Marathel nodded, sniffling.  Siewan patted Din’s bag, saying, “Okay, take care of her, big guy.”  On a whim she patted the top of Mando’s helmet. “You too, Mando.”  Siewan grabbed her chart tracker and left the room, closing the heavy door.  There was a definitive click as the lock engaged.   

Din turned back to Marathel.  She sobbed once more, swiping the towel from her sunburned face.  She then sat up and grabbed at him, pulling him down so he was half-sitting on the bed, hugging him hard and whimpering I’m so sorry over and over. 

He let her clutch at him, swallowing a few tears himself.  Grogu crawled out of the bag, now wailing as well, crying Mama until she scooped him up against her with her injured arm, ignoring the pain it caused her, peppering her boy with kisses. 

Din, for his part, allowed one of his arms around her shoulders to help her stay upright … but that was all … and Marathel noticed.  Forcing herself to calm down, she let go of Din and wiped her eyes.  She felt a cloth being pressed into her hand, and she made herself chuckle.  “How many of these have you given me?” 

“Quite a few.” 

“I really should start giving them back.”  Marathel blew her nose, trying to smile. 

“Yeah, no thanks, you can keep it now,” said Din, trying to be lighthearted.  Marathel smiled wanly and leaned back in the bed, partially on her side, gazing at Grogu, who was now saying bad daws, bad daws repeatedly.  “He’s saying …” began Din. 

“… Bad Dahls, yes, Grogu, the Dahls were very bad.” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “How is it you always know what he’s saying so easily?” 

Marathel shrugged, and said, “I’ve had a lot more practice with toddler talk than you, I think.”  Marathel watched Din slide off the bed and pull up a chair alongside.  “The Dahls … I didn’t know it was them, Din; truly, I didn’t.  I didn’t realize they had such a power over me.  And you … I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry you were dragged into this.  And Grogu, too.  They’ve had a hold on me for such a long time … I guess I could no longer tell.  It’s all my fault, and I’ve hurt you …” 

“It’s all right, it’s not your fault …” 

“But it is, it is.  Even Rodanthe had a hold of you, and I didn’t know. She …” Tears spilled over again, and she turned her face into her pillow.  Grogu patted her cheek, quietly saying sad Mama. 

Din put his hand on the bed, saying, “Don’t … don’t talk about it right now, Marathel.  Not until you’re stronger.  You’ve had a rough time.  You had surgery …” 

“I know.  Siewan told me.” 

“… and you should rest for now.  And breathe.  The surgery nurse told me they had to use a lot of anesthesia on you, and it’s affecting your lungs.” 

“Siewan told me that, too.” 

“Well then, what do you need me around for?” teased Din, shrugging. 

Unsure if he was joking, Marathel looked into his visor, tears threatening again.  “Please don’t make fun like that, please, please.” 

 Din immediately leaned forward and gently patted her leg.  “I’m sorry, Marathel.  Of course, I’m not going anywhere.  Besides, Grogu doesn’t show any signs of wanting to leave.” 

Marathel looked down into the crook of her arm, where Grogu continued to stroke her face with loving touches, healing her sunburn and her cheekbone.  Marathel leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes, thinking, Din’s only calling me Marathel.  Not mesh’la, not ner kart’a, not even ma’mwsh ha’laa.  Just Marathel.  Rodanthe untied us … and it seems that was the only thing holding us together, besides Grogu.   

How long will I get to hold on to this little boy before I lose him, too? 

The whispers of the Dahls came back into her head, and she clenched her hands into fists, willing them away.  Once the whispers went silent, Marathel sighed and stared off into space.  Din sat quietly, wondering if she was deep in thought, in pain, or simply being still.  Her hands were still curled into fists, so he reached over and gently took one of her hands in his, straightening out her fingers and examining the spirals of metal encircling her fingers. He could see that several were crimped and bent out of shape, pinching her skin.  As he carefully removed one and began reshaping the metal back into place, Marathel said, “Din?” 

“Yes, Marathel?” 

Her eyes closed and another tear spilled over.  “How do you do it?” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “Do what?” 

“How do you kill people and not have it destroy your soul?” 

Oh, ma’mwsh ha’laa.   Din sighed, and said, “You did what you had to do, and it was no less than any of those men deserved.” 

“But the children ...” 

“That was not your fault.” 

“But ...” 

“It was not your fault,” said Din firmly.  “What you need to remember is that some people ... don't deserve to breathe your air.  They don’t deserve to be walking on the same ground as you.” 

Marathel frowned and asked, “Does that work?” 

Din shrugged.  “Usually.”  He knew, though, that murder — even for revenge — would be hard for Marathel to cope with, but he was unsure what would help her. 

They stayed quiet for some time.  Din carefully replaced the reshaped splint on her trembling finger, and removed another.  Marathel cradled Grogu, and she indulged her family fantasy briefly before remembering that Din had had to care for her in the most intimate way.  Yes, he’d rendered aid for her wounds the first time they’d left Unmanarall, but — Marathel wondered how a man existed like this one, so far outside her scope of what men were like that she could barely comprehend it.  “Din, I …” 

Din looked back up at her and waited.  But she wouldn’t finish her sentence, and instead closed her eyes again. “What is it, Marathel?” 

He watched her brow twitch before she answered, “You had to … tend to me again.  And this time, you had to … but men don’t …” Her face flushed almost as red as her sunburn had been.  “I’m so sorry …” she whispered before turning her face to the pillow. 

Din leaned closer to her.  “You needed help.” 

“It’s so shameful …” She began curling up tighter on herself.  

“It’s all right,” he said emphatically, gently squeezing her arm.   

Marathel turned back to Din with dismay.  “Oh, no, did Grogu ...?” 

“Grogu was concerned, yes, but he seemed to accept my explanation…” 

“Your explanation?” 

“Of what was happening to you.  He took it quite well, all things considered. I thought I would bungle the whole thing.” 

Perplexed, Marathel asked, “What did you tell him?” 

“That women, uh … have to prepare a place inside them, for a baby to implant and grow …” 

“No ba,” sadly said Grogu, patting Marathel’s belly. 

“ … but if the woman has no ba — as the kid says — then she … sheds the blood and tissue from her body.  Now, you …” 

“Hurt Mama.” 

“That’s right, Grogu, I told you that hurt Mama has a hard time, and she needed a doctor to make it better.  So … that’s what we did,” said Din with a chuckle, hoping that his misadventure would lighten her spirits.   

“Men learn of such things on other planets?” 

Din petted Grogu, who purred sleepily.  “Some men do.  I think they should.” 

Marathel’s face was less red by now, but she still had an attractive blush in the fullness of her cheeks.  She looked down at Grogu, snuggled up tight against her, with Din’s large hand on his little head, mere inches away from touching her. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Grogu sadly muttered, “No Patu Mama ba …” before drifting off to sleep.   

Marathel looked up at Din, who grunted and said, “He asked me if you and I could have a baby.  I told him no of course, since you can’t …” 

“… and you’re shooting blanks.” 

“Not … quite in those words, but yes.”  He sighed.  “I think that’s what he found most upsetting, besides not being able to help your pain.”  

No babies for us, ever, Grogu, I’m sorry … thought Marathel, before amending her thoughts: But Din could possibly be fixed.  He could possibly have children of his own.  Not that any child would replace Grogu, but … his life will now continue beyond you, Marathel, you stupid useless cunt.  You will remain nothing, not a mother, barely a woman, barely a person, barely even fit to breathe air on any planet, just like the men you killed and the babies that died and the women that will die because of you … 

Somehow, it got through to her that Din was calling her name.  “… what?” 

“You keep … going still, checking out, clenching your hands into fists.  Do I need to find the nurse? Are you dizzy?  Nauseated?  You had a concussion …” Marathel shook her head but stayed silent.  “Marathel, I understand that it’s hard for you to comprehend your actions in the Hold.  No one is ever going to blame you for what happened there.” 

“They already do.  I killed them all.  I’m the one responsible …”  

Din lifted his hand from Grogu’s head, and cupped her cheek, and his touch nearly made her faint, her heart hurt her so much.  He said, “The Dahls killed the children.  Not you.”  He felt her trembling beneath his hand.  “Marathel … are the Dahls still in your head?” 

She nervously nodded.  “Yes.  I can hear them, even this far away.  Louder than ever before.  Can’t you hear them?” 

“No.  Not since I had the … not since Rodanthe died. Marathel, you need help.  You need…” 

“All I need is …”   

Before Marathel could finish, there was a click and a tinny voice coming through the intercom.  “Siewan here.  I have a couple of people and your lunch with me, Marathel.  May we come in?” 

“Just a moment,” called Din as he picked up the dozing Grogu and put him in his bag.  “Yes, please, come in.” 

There was a long pause.  “I need Marathel to answer, please, Mando.” 

“Please come in, Siewan.” 

Siewan and company entered, and Siewan looked vexed.  She raised her perfect blue eyebrow and said firmly, “Marathel is my patient and I communicate with her.  She will speak for herself.  Do you understand?” 

Din stared at Siewan, completely abashed.  Then he understood that Marathel needed to be in control of her care, so he nodded with deference and replied, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Siewan turned to Marathel with a smile, then puzzlement.  “What the … no more sunburn?  How’d you manage that?”  She noticed Marathel glance at the bag on Mando’s lap.  “Marathel, this is nurse Ya-Bito,” she said, and a lovely woman with green skin smiled.  Her teeth were not so lovely, and reminded Marathel of the large fish that would take enormous bites out of other fish and swimming children.  “She’s going to take over for the next shift.  Anything you need, you ask her.  We have your lunch here – it's a bland diet, sorry.  And this is Doctor Dine’; she’s the one who did your procedure, and she’d like to talk to you for a little bit.  Mando, this is girl stuff.  Scat.”   Din immediately stood and stepped out, still holding Marathel’s finger splint in his hand.  After the door closed behind him, Siewan grinned and said, “Damn, he just does what you say, huh?” 

Ya-Bito nodded and said, “Wouldn’t mind one like him, no.”  The doctor coughed, reminding the nurses to have a bit of decorum.  She invited Marathel to go ahead and eat while they spoke to her.  Marathel lifted off the cover of what Siewan told her was pureed chicken stew.  Marathel thought it was an odd color — quite more yellow than she made stew — but she obediently sipped from the bowl while the doctor talked to her about her condition and asked questions.  Marathel was not exactly vague with her answers but she didn’t exactly offer a lot of information, either.   

The doctor did her best to communicate to Marathel the nature of her reproductive and menstrual troubles, but Marathel wasn’t interested in hearing about that.  All she really wanted to know was when she could leave.  The doctor informed her that she needed to stay at least one more night; they were concerned about potential infection, since Marathel didn’t respond to bacta and they had rely on old-school antibiotics.   

“Mando — and company — will be allowed to stay with you, if you’re worried about being alone here,” said Siewan.   

But that wasn’t Marathel’s worry, because this wasn’t the place that Din was going to leave her behind.  That place was elsewhere, according to her dreams and the chattering of the Dahls.   She knew, she knew, that he needed to keep moving for Grogu’s safety as well as his own, that Din had his own agenda to complete that had nothing to do with her, an agenda that she kept upsetting because of her very presence … so the voices in her head kept telling her. 

Someone was patting her arm.  “…what?!” 

The other three women glanced at each other.  The doctor said, “I was saying, Marathel, that I believe you should speak to a couple of our therapists.  You have experienced much trauma, and I believe you need help to process that trauma.” 

“I don’t understand the point of that,” said Marathel. 

“The point is to help you heal, Marathel.” 

“I will heal, but it will take only time.  No words can fix what’s been done to me.” 

“Talking about trauma can help …” 

“Talking does nothing.  Talking is just … words.  And words always lead to lies,” firmly said Marathel, hoping that she had ended the conversation.  She may be as dumb as anything, but these women before her were no Eliadu and Cieroprac.  She doubted they had serums or potions to make her speak her mind, and there was no way she would willingly speak of her past life again.  She had to tell the Reconstructionists, she’d had to tell Din,  she’d had to revisit her shameful existence far too often and it did no good whatsoever!  She simply wanted to forget and go far away from the Dahls and not have to hear them anymore.  They couldn’t talk to me on Tatooine.  I won’t have to hear them there.  I will make my days busy so I won’t have to think. I will be still and not think.   

“We’ll try again in a little while, Marathel.  Eat your lunch, and if you’re still hungry, we can get you something else.  I want you to take a walk this afternoon, as often as possible, actually.  But eat first,” said the doctor.  She and Siewan left the room, leaving only Ya-Bito, who was looking at Marathel impassively, her startling teeth bared. 

“Yes?” 

“Where is the fork, Marathel?” 

Marathel looked up at the nurse, but was unable to hold her gaze.  “There was no fork.” 

“There’s always a fork, Marathel. I used to work dietary when I was in nursing school, and I wrapped possibly a million of those cutlery sets before I graduated.”  Marathel stared at the empty bowl on her tray, her left hand under the sheet, next to her leg … clutching the fork, pressing the points of the tines deeply into her thigh.  Ya-Bito sighed and sat down.  “If we believe that a patient is hurting herself, we have to, we must, pull her off the floor and into a three-day hold in the psychiatric ward.  That’s not a good place for someone as fragile as you obviously are… we do our best, but psych’s not always so great.  I can hear you cracking up like an ice floe in spring. 

“I know that fork is keeping you together right now.  So let me make a deal with you.  You can keep the fork until you’re done with your lunch.  After that, I’m coming back in, I’m going to remove those IVs and the catheter and I’m going to send you and Mando on a little walk — you need to walk; you’re on a lot of opioid painkillers and that’s going to stove you right up — but when I do that, I want the fork back.  And if you can do that, I won’t report this. Can you do that, dear? 

“Believe me, I know, I know, the fork is helping right now.  But you can’t keep doing that.  This is one of the reasons why we all think therapy is a good idea for you.  I promise, it’s better than a fork in the thigh in the long run. I swear.” 

Marathel’s throat swelled with tears again, and she croaked, “Pinky swear?” 

“Absolutely,” said Ya-Bito, holding out her pinky for Marathel to link with her own.  “Do we have a deal?”  Marathel nodded.  “Good.  Finish up your lunch.  Buzz when you’re done.  Did you want to be alone, or did you want Mando back in here?” 

Marathel blurted, “I’d like him back …” before falling silent with a blush. 

Ya-Bito chuckled and patted Marathel’s leg.  “Press your call button when you’re done,” she said as she opened the door and saw Mando just on the other side.  “Where the hell have you been?  Get back in there,” said Ya-Bito, teasingly.  He stepped aside to let her through, and she left. 

Din sat down and pulled out an awake Grogu.  Din noticed that Marathel still had part of her lunch, so he held Grogu on his lap.  “You still have food to eat.  No, Grogu.  Not yours.  Try the ice cream, Marathel.” 

“Ice cream?” 

“Ice cream.” Din picked up the container and peeled off the lid.  “Here.” 

Wondering what in Frith Din was talking about, she took the container from Din and almost instantly dropped it back into his gloved hands.  “Frith!  It’s cold!” 

“I said it was ice cream.” 

“I don’t know what ice cream is!” 

“It’s … it’s … ice cream.  Frozen sweet cream with salt and … whatever else is in ice cream.  Just eat it, I think you’ll enjoy it.”  He handed her the container and the spoon.   

Marathel put a cautious spoonful in her mouth and was at a loss of what to do with whatever this foodstuff was, but it hurt her teeth.  “Ai!  So cold!”  She dropped the container and spoon on her tray.  “It’s soft, but now it changed … it’s like … laegg … maybe.  Oh, I don’t understand what this is!” 

Din sat there, silent, wanting so much to burst out laughing, remembering her limited scope of the galaxy.  He had to bite his lip and bounce Grogu on his knee just to keep his mouth shut. “Did you not have ice or cream on your planet?  You must have had milk of some kind; you had cheese.”  

“Well, yes, milk.  That’s what laegg means.  But ice or cream, no.” 

“What animals did you have that produced milk?  Cream comes from milk.” 

“We had cwagylans. They are … smallish animals, smaller than Dahls, but a similar-shaped head, and horns.” 

Din pondered for a moment, and pulled out his holopad and did a search.  “Goats?  Did they look like this?”  He held up the screen to her and she nodded.  “Okay … it says here that goat milk doesn’t separate easily, so … well, that explains that.   But ice … you never saw frozen water on Unmanarall?  It never got that cold?” 

“Sometimes, a few times, it became terribly cold. Once, my little stream stopped flowing and it became hard to the touch.  It burned my fingers to touch it, but it turned back into water when the sun came out.” 

“That’s ice, Marathel.” He finally let himself chuckle.  “You have a lot to learn about ... food and ... well, everything, I suppose.  Did you not like the taste of the ice cream?” 

“I didn’t notice the taste. I think I was too surprised by what it was,” said Marathel, embarrassed.   

“Well, give it another try.” 

Marathel picked up the container again, and ate another spoonful, rolling it around on her tongue to avoid her teeth, pondering the flavor.  “It’s sweet, but that’s about it, really.” 

“That looks like plain ice cream.  It comes in many flavors.” 

“It does?” Din nodded.  Marathel ate another spoonful.  “Do you like ice cream?” 

“I do.” 

“Then you should have some,” said Marathel, holding out the container to Din. 

He gently pushed it back towards her, saying, “That’s yours; you enjoy it. What else you got up there?”  Marathel held up a piece of fruit.  “That is a yellowfruit.  Make sure you eat that; they were a treat where I came from.” 

Marathel sniffed the thick-skinned yellowfruit, then went back to the ice cream. “You mean on Nevarro?” 

“No … Aq Vetina.” 

“Aq Vetina.  It’s a pretty name.  Is it a pretty planet?” 

“I don’t remember.  I was only a child when … I left.” 

Marathel tilted her head.  “And you’ve not gone back since?” Din shook his head.  “You should take Grogu there.  Show him where you came from.” 

Din shrugged and replied, “Hand me the yellowfruit, I’ll peel it for you.” 

She did, and watched as he split the skin and peeled the outside of the yellowfruit back, revealing a whitish-looking fleshy inside.  Din broke off a small piece and gave it to Grogu, who happily mashed it into his mouth.  Marathel smiled, and took the fruit back, taking a bite.  She nodded, saying, “Hmm.  I like it.  It’s soft, like the ice cream.  It’s … I can’t think of a word?” 

“Creamy?” 

“That’s a word?  I suppose it works,” she said before eating the rest of the ice cream, and then the yellowfruit. 

Yes, creamy, suddenly thought Din, like how your skin felt when I first touched it, that’s how I remember it, at least.  He watched her carefully wipe her lips with a napkin.  She sat quietly for a few moments, gazing off into the distance, and then she placed a fork back on the tray.  When did she have a fork? 

“I’m supposed to call nurse Ya-Bito when I’m done,” said Marathel sheepishly, leaning back on her pillow, her hands folded primly in her lap.  “They want me to walk.”  Din nodded, still wondering what the deal was with the fork.  He reached over and found the call button for the nurse, pressed it, and then put a protesting Grogu back in the bag.   

“I should get him something to eat …” began Din as the door opened and Ya-Bito stuck her head in. 

“I’m done with lunch,” said Marathel, holding up the fork and placing it back on the tray. 

“Excellent.  Would you give us a few minutes, Mando?”  He nodded and left.  “So …did the fork help?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “A little.” 

“Talking is better.”  Marathel didn’t respond, so the nurse went around to the other side of the bed to check the hanging bags for Marathel’s IVs.  “The doctors want you to drink as much water as possible, but we’re also going to keep you on fluids because you got so dehydrated.  We think you’re good on blood now, though.” 

“I didn’t use to be.” 

“What was that?” 

“I used to have a terrible bleeding condition.  I’ve lost all my blood before.” 

Ya-Bito looked at Marathel’s face.  “You’ve suffered greatly.”  Marathel didn’t respond.  “Siewan believes that you’re heartbroken as well.  I agree with her.  Does it have something to do with that Mandalorian and his little boy?”  Marathel nodded and sniffled.  “He cares for you greatly.” 

“No. He feels responsible for me.” 

Ya-Bito shrugged.  “That’s part of caring for another, especially someone as fragile as you at the moment.  Let him carry you for a while until you can walk on your own.” 

Marathel, puzzled, said, “I thought you wanted me to walk.” 

“I do.  What I meant, though, is allow him to help carry your sadness, your hurt, until you have the strength to do so yourself.” 

Marathel drew a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  “My hurts should not be his burden.” 

“He seems more than strong enough, and — dare I say — willing to take those burdens for you.”   

Strong, yes, willing, no.  He will leave me behind as soon as he is able. As he should.  He was untethered, and he is now free of me. “I’d like to walk now … can I do that?”  Ya-Bito nodded, and removed the synth-blood line, then asked Marathel to lay back so she could remove the catheter.  This startled Marathel greatly; she had no idea such a thing existed, much less was inserted inside her.  Ya-Bito patiently explained its purpose and exactly how it worked, which eased Marathel’s mind.  Ya-Bito then helped her sit up on the edge of the bed to put on another gown to wear as a robe, and a pair of soft socks that had anti-slip treads.  “Oh, I like these,” said Marathel, testing them on the floor.  “I like these socks very much.” 

Ya-Bito laughed and said, “I’ll make sure you get a few pairs before you leave.  Now, can you stand?” 

Marathel carefully stood, only a bit wobbly, and took a couple cautious steps.  “I feel pretty good.  May I use the necessary?” 

“Vac-tube’s right in there,” said the nurse, pointing to a closed door.  “You probably won’t tinkle anything; it’s the removing of the catheter that makes you feel that way.  And here …” She handed Marathel a pair of absorbent, stretchy, disposable underwear.  “You are spotting a bit, which is completely normal, so you might want to wear these.” 

Marathel looked back at the bed; there was a pad there with some blood on it, but not much at all. She went into the little room and saw not only a vac-tube but also a fresher.  She hoped she could use it later.  She tried to use the vac-tube, but Ya-Bito had been correct; she hardly had any piddle at all, just more an urge than anything else.  Marathel pulled on the absorbent underwear and instantly hated them, but decided they would do for now, until she could wear her regular clothes again …  She then remembered that she left her bag behind on Unmanarall.  Oh … dank ferrik, as Din and others would say! I have no clothes, nothing!  What am I going to do? 

Marathel stepped out, worried, and as she was washing her hands, she looked at the mirror and remembered her clam shell pendant … which was now missing from around her neck.  “Oh, no,” she cried. 

“What is it?” asked Ya-Bito, who was replacing the large absorbent pad on the bed. 

“I had a clam shell … a pendant … around my neck, and it’s gone …” 

The nurse came over to her, patting her shoulder.  “I don’t know, but I will find out for you.  Okay?  What is lost will be found.  Now, let’s go walk.” 

Marathel nodded tearfully, and wiped her eyes.  As she walked to the door, pulling her IV stand, there was a knock on the door.  She cautiously opened it slightly, and Din was on the other side. “Oh …” 

“You’re standing; good.”  He came in, noticing the distress on her face.  “What is it?” 

“My clam shell … the one Grogu gave me …” Marathel began to cry again. 

“Oh, I have that …” Din dug it out of his pocket and placed it over her head.   

Ya-Bito smiled and said, “Lost is already found.” 

“They made sure to give it to me before you went into surgery; I’m sorry it slipped my mind.”  Marathel dropped her head and clutched the clam shell, sniffling.  Din kept his hands on her shoulders. He clicked his tongue and said,  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa …” 

Marathel gasped, her tears forgotten, and she looked into Din’s visor.  “Did you say ma’mwsh ha’laa?”  Or could it have been my mesh’la? 

“Of course I said ma’mwsh ha’laa; you’re always going to be ma’mwsh ha’laa to me.”  After handing her yet another cloth to dry her tears, he said, “Now, do you feel up to walking?”  Marathel nodded and smiled — an actual smile, Din noticed — so he held the door open for Marathel, and she stepped out into the corridor.  “Which way should we …?” 

“First of all, please …” Marathel guided his arm so that she could hold his forearm, just like Cobb had when he’d led her to the courtyard. 

“Well, when did you learn about that?” asked Din.  

“Cobb taught me.”  Din made a hmm noise and they started slowly walking, Marathel guiding the rolling IV stand alongside her. 

After a few meters, Din felt the need to place his hand over hers on his arm, which cheered him as well as her.  “Am I walking too fast?” 

“No, this is just fine.  Where’s Grogu?” 

“Back in the childcare center.  He kicked up a fuss but was distracted by a cup of ice cream.  Food seems to be a good currency for him.” 

Marathel frowned.  “I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“I can use food to make him do what I want.” 

She smirked.  “Boys are the same all over.  Promises of sweets always worked in the Hold.  Girls only wanted a hug, or praise.  Or safety.  Which was impossible to give,” she said sadly.  Din patted her hand, and they walked in silence for a while.  “I’m glad to have my clam shell back, but I’m also upset because I left my bag behind.” 

“I picked it up.  It’s on the Razor Crest. Your blanket is being laundered courtesy of Grogu’s childcare assistant.  They’ve been very kind.” 

Marathel had to take an extra breath to control her emotions.  “... Thank you, Din.”  She let out a long wobbly exhale. “So, you went to the hut?” 

“I did.”  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  “I’m so sorry about your kinswomen.  Ni ceta. Olba, Tymfy, Lorica, and Hylma – I recited the Manda’lor death chant in their honor.  They were good women.” 

“They were all good to me in their own way. Hylma was the only one I didn’t truly know.  I helped at her birth, but why she would be willing to help me at all; I have no idea.  And I’ll never know.”  A thought occurred to her.  “How did you learn their names?  I thought you didn’t know them.” 

“When Grogu and I arrived back at Unmanarall, we went to to Hold first.  Well, what was left of the Hold.  I seem to recall thinking that Marathel doesn’t mess around when I saw that building blown to bits.  I was impressed. You’re dangerous, woman.” 

Of all the things Din might have expected Marathel to do at that moment, it sure wasn’t laughing.  “Cobb said the same thing,” Marathel said as she chuckled. 

Unsure of how he felt about that, Din asked, “Why did he say that?” 

“I threw a mug at his head.  He deserved it.  He was being a … what did you call him?  Oh yes, a menace.” Marathel chuckled some more.  “Oh, that’s not quite true.  I was asleep, and I was very groggy when I awoke, but he was there in my room and he startled me. So, mug to the head.  He managed to duck, though!  Oh, goodness…” Marathel continued to laugh.  “Then, another time,  he came into my room while I was sleeping to measure my foot so he could find some shoes to borrow …” 

Well, now I’m peeved, thought Din.  Cobb was just hanging out in her room? Touching her bare feet while she was sleeping?  What else did that handsy son of a bitch touch? 

Marathel turned her head to look at Din, who was not looking at her.  Her brow furrowed.  “Are you … angry at me for speaking about Cobb?” 

“… No.” 

“I think you are.”  Din didn’t reply, so she decided to change the subject. “There’s another thing I must apologize for. I’m so sorry, Din.” 

“Why?” 

“Some time ago, I thought to myself, that Din Djarin never does anything I say.” Marathel chuckled.  “But the truth is … you did everything I ever asked of you.  Except leave me behind.  Twice, now, you’ve come back.” 

“The third time’s the charm,” said Din, who regretted it instantly.   

“I don’t think I quite understand what you mean.  Perhaps … it’s for the best?” 

Before Din could answer, a man and two women rounded the corner right in front of them.  Marathel had no idea who they were.  The man wore an odd uniform; it was orange with white straps and a white woven thing on his chest.  The two women wore nearly identical pants and jackets of a brownish green.  All three looked quite stern.  The man nodded at Din, saying, “Mando.”   

Din sighed deeply, muttering, “Captain Teva.”  Hearing the name Captain Teva instantly filled Marathel with terror, and she thought, there are Captains elsewhere?  Are there Bishops and Dukes too?  How does Din know another Captain? 

This new Captain, of whom she was already afraid, turned to her and said, “Marathel ap Bishop, we need to have a chat.” 

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One point Five ->

[moon-sang]

𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚗

~ 𝘋𝘪𝘯 𝘋𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

SUMMARY: A Mandalorian myth is proven to be true, but what’s that got to do with you? Turns out...more than you thought. 

WARNINGS: Set before Mando get’s the darksaber, Talk of being possessed, Made up Mandalorian myth, Fem!reader, Reader is described as smaller than Din, ANGST, mature language, a little bit of references to the adventures of puss in boots because the storyline is awesome XD, pls tell me if I miss anything. 

~~~

“Well, we’re finally here.”

The triangular obelisk stood proud and tall in front of the four of you. Or should you say hovered proud and tall. The stone the obelisk was made of was eroded and covered in dust, making the symbols carved into the stone almost impossible to read. 

Under the markings on the rock was a hand imprint. 

“Where’s the cabur? [guardian]?” Exclaims Paz.

“The legend says Sage Vizsla chose three cabur’s; Green, Orange, and Red, Green the merciful yet strong one, Orange the evil merciless one, and Red the chaos one, yet sympathetic.” Taroh states, going over the legend again. 

“We faced the green one when we got the emerald flower, we faced the orange one when we got the amber flower, where’s the cabur to protect the ruby flower?” Vizsla groans in question. 

~~~~

EARLIER THAT DAY

“So what are we doing on Mandalore?” You ask, all too intrigued. 

“I am in debt to Paz Vizsla from when he saved me back on Nevarro, so he has asked me to accompany him on this mission on Mandalore.” He replies. 

“And what’s the mission?” You question, eyebrow quirked. 

Din sighs coming to a halt. 

“It’s a long story.” He argues. 

“Well I wanna know what I’m getting into.” You chuckle, batting your eyes innocently at him. 

“You? No, you’re staying with the armourer, it’s WAY too dangerous where I’m going.”

“But-” You start. 

“This isn’t up for debate, Y/n.” And with that he starts walking in large strides through the remains of Mandalore, not giving you the chance to ask any more questions. 

~~

Soon after, the two of you found the armourer with two other Mandalorian’s; Paz Vizsla and Taroh Nem. 

“Ah, you’re finally here.” grumbled Taroh. 

Din offers a curt nod, before-

“We must leave straight away, times running out.” Vizsla hurries, ushering both Din and Taroh to their transport. 

“Stay with the armourer.” were Din’s last orders before being shoved into the ship. 

The engines roar to life and you watch as the ship lifts off of the ground, before zooming into hyperspace. The frown on your face deepens when you can no longer see the it. 

With a sigh you turn around and follow the armourer into the secluded covert on Mandalore.

You take a seat by a stone table...if it even was a table and stare into space, already bored out of your brain. 

“You want to go with them.” 

A voice suddenly booms through the empty hallway. 

Your head snaps to the armourer. 

“I-” You start. 

The armourer tilts her helm to the side, drinking in your form. 

“Yeah, kind of.” You laugh. 

“Din Djarin is right. It is very dangerous where he is going.” She exclaims. 

“W-where is he going?” You ask, getting slightly worried for his safety yourself. 

“Multiple places.” She announces, short and sharp. 

You sigh. 

“Can I at least know what they’re doing?” You plead. 

The armourer sighs and takes a seat opposite of you. 

“A long time ago, a Mandalorian named Sage Vizsla, Paz’s ancestor, bred a powerful plant, and it was able to create a medicine that could restore youth to those who drank it out of soup and cure their diseases. However, when it got into the wrong hands, it was remade into a killing plant, the pollen was changed to speed up the ageing process until the victim died within seconds. When Sage figured this out, he took every single one of his sacred flowers and killed them all, but one pair.” She explains. 

“It took three flowers to create the remedy of curing diseases and restoring youth. A green one, the emerald flower, an orange one, the amber flower, and the main ingredient; the ruby flower, which was red. He hid all three of the last flowers he kept alive in seperate temples, which he then chose three people to guard those flowers, which we call cabur’s, which means guardian’s in basic.” She takes a quick breath before continuing. 

“However, instead of trusting the cabur’s to guard it themselves, he put an ancient spell on them which would make them even stronger and deadlier. It also made them only loyal to him only, this way he knew he could trust them. So the cabur’s had no control over what they did, as long as they completed their mission of protecting the last of those flowers, they were satisfied....they could never live normal lives and were bound to their temples.” She sighs. 

“Taroh’s daughter is awfully sick, the doctors on Nevarro have claimed that she will die before she is 20. Vizsla and Taroh want to take the last of the flowers to cure her, and any other person who may be sick, they think there is greater purpose in those flowers than keeping them locked up in a temple.” She continues, getting up to pour you a small chalice of tea.

“I can help them,” You blurt, fascinated with this Mandalorian tale. 

The armourer scoffs, and then chuckles. 

“How so?” She questions, the smile audible in her tone. 

“I studied archaeology, I can read seven dialects of ancient symbols, maybe there will be some symbols they will not be able to read.” You suggest. 

She hums in agreement and goes silent for a second.

“It will be dangerous.” She says.

“Especially with the cabur’s they will have to fight.” 

“I want. to. help.” You affirm. 

She clenches and unclenches her fists, obviously debating whether she should let you go or not. But then-

“Alright, I will let you go, but first, you need to be prepared, I will pack you a bag.” 

~~~~

Of course you had gotten a scolding from Din when you got to him (the armourer sent you to where they were) for not staying, but he couldn’t be too mad at you, after all, the armourer had let you go, even when he specifically told her not to, besides, you were proving to been very helpful with your reading skills. 

~~~~

PRESENT DAY

You stared at the obelisk in amazement. How was it floating without anything supporting it? 

“Do you think the cabur for the ruby flower is dead, already?” Taroh ponders. 

“I doubt it.” Din replies instantly, fingers twitching at his stun blaster, whilst the other kept you behind him. 

“Be cautious, the red cabur is said to be the most dangerous.” One of the Mandalorian’s say, but you’re barely paying attention anymore. You’re too focused on the enchanting way the obelisk is calling to you. Like a siren it draws you in closer and closer until you’re standing right in front of it. 

“I’d be careful, Y/n, the cabur could come from anywhere. He wouldn’t let you get anywhere near the ruby flower” One says. 

And then, as if on cue, the ruby flower unravels itself right on top of the obelisk, twirling gently in midair. 

You can’t help but let out a small ‘woah’ looking at the hypnotising flower. It’s petals were a menacing red with black tips, and rosy pink bits as the petals dipped inwards, towards the centre. 

You didn’t get long to admire the lushness of the flower because suddenly a red light bursts out of the flower and surges towards you. 

“Y/n!”  Was the last thing you heard, before your vision was lost, along with your thoughts. 

~~~~

When the light had finally faded Y/n stood still in front of them, perched exactly where she was before the light invaded their vision. 

“Y/n?” Din calls, worry evident in his voice. 

Her head was dropped as she slowly turned to face him. Her eyes were closed, her eyelids occasionally twitching. 

And then her lashes lifted, revealing her eyes...but they weren’t her usual sweet e/c, no, no colour could be seen in her eyes except for the glowing dark red which occupied her pupils and irises, and tinted the white in her eyes slightly pink from the glow. 

“...Oh...MAKER.. DIN! SHE’S THE RED CABUR!” Shouts Taroh. 

Din’s eyes widen underneath his helmet. 

You...were the...guardian of..the ruby flower? But...HOW? He would know if you were...you would have know you were...

Don’t get him wrong...you were more than worthy to be the cabur of the ruby flower, you were strong, intelligent, kind, and beautiful...but...it was you! And now...He would have to....knock you out...hurt you.. so he could get the flower.

“Leave.” Was all you had said before readying the blood red sword that appeared in your hand from the light. 

“No, I need that flower.” Taroh growls, before rushing at her. 

“No!” Din yelled, but was seemingly frozen in place from shock. 

Taroh readies his sword to slash at you in midair, but as he jumped at you, your arm shot out and flung him into the nearest wall, as if he had weighed nothing. 

Your eyes were crinkled in a deadly rage of red and this time you had rushed at Paz. 

Vizsla ignited his jet pack and flew up, before you got a clean shot at him. However, you had gained the powers of the cabur and your jumps had been heightened. So you jumped onto a wall and flipped off of that onto Vizsla’s back, slashing the jetback. “Shit!” He yells as she jumps off of him and Vizsla crashes into the wall, landing on top of Taroh. 

Now that the two of them were unconscious, you had turned your attention to DIn. 

“Mesh’la..” He warns gently. 

You jump and spin in the air landing your blade on his spear he had managed to pull out in the knick of time. 

“Meshurok, you need to-” You slash at his head and he ducks. 

“Snap-” Your blades clash, and you push him up against a wall.

“Out of-” You sweep at his feet, but he manages to step over your leg.

“It!” 

You growl and twist around him attempting to stab him in the back, but he spins quickly and you stab his shoulder instead. 

He grunts in, and quickly pins you to the obelisk when he sees the chance. 

You grunt and try to kick him but he’s holding you in place. 

“STOP IT! You need to snap out of the spell!” He yells, his voice crackling under the modulator. 

You thrash under his hold, trying to fulfil your duty in protecting the ruby flower. 

Din is starting to worry. What if he couldn’t save you...what if this spell was going to take over the rest of your life? 

What was he going to d-

The...song..

His mother used to sing him...

It was worth a shot. 

And so he started to sing to you. Although through the pained grunts he was making it didn’t sound like a chorus he was singing, just broken words he didn’t know the meaning of. 

“Quer Shru-” 

You grunt and yell and writh underneath his weight, but he doesn’t let up, only continues singing to you, in the hopes it would do something.

“Shrey, doveru.” He grunts out. 

Then he sees it. 

The raging red in your eyes fades slightly. 

It was working..

He continues to grunt out words of the lullaby his mother sung to him as you struggled against his grip. 

“Trullap Cro sweo, medalda shiu-”

You start panting as you become weaker and start submitting to Din’s weight. You were transforming back to your normal self. 

“Miarwu, soru sha.” He himself pants the words out in laboured breathes. 

And finally the last of the red had disappeared from your eyes, and your black pupils came back to you, including your control on your own mind. 

When he is certain you won’t attack him, he cups your cheek gently, catching his breath with you. 

“Mesh’la.” He says finally. 

“Din.” You whisper. 

He rests his head upon yours, absent-mindedly giving you a keldable kiss. 

“I-I hurt you!” You whimper.

He shushes you and brings you in for a hug. 

“I-I couldn’t control it” You sob.

“Shh, I know, sweet girl.” 

After holding on to each other for a while longer you smile gently. 

“The song.” You whisper. 

Din too smiles under his helm. 

He had once used that song on you previously to pull you out of a really bad panic attack you were having. It had lulled you to sleep instantly and you had expressed you liked it the day after. 

“Let’s go home.” He says, just as the two other Mandalorian’s began to wake up. 

You nod.

“Home.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just To Clear Some Things Up:

~ Y/n didn’t want to not let them get the flower she had no choice because of the spell put on her and the other guardian’s.

~ Taroh’s daughter was healed because the managed to get the flower with Y/n’s approval and support

~ The two other guardian’s were not killed because lets face it Din isn’t one to kill innocents, so they were just knocked out.

~ The lullaby is a language I made up, and can translate to whatever you wish it to translate to. 

If there is anything else you need cleared up please comment.

REQUESTS CLOSED

[atyourmerci]

✩Your Galaxy✩

✩ ✩

Abby Anderson / Mandolorian AU

Summary: Abby as a Mandolorian. No specific relationship to reader yet (will obv get into if this turns into a fic).

Warnings: smut, MDNI, some fluff holy fuck Madda wrote fluff?? Fingering, cunnilingus, switch!abby, switch!reader, cannon typical violence, no y/n, only description of reader is having hair, making up shit about space and Star Wars uni that I don’t know!!!it’s fine!!!

A/N: hey babies, so I’ve been sittingggg on this idea for a sec and idk if it will gel with you guys so pls lmk if this would be something you’re interested in. I guess this is a blurb?? If you wanna see it turn into a fic pls let me know:))

✩ ✩

Mando!abby who takes off her gloves so she can feel how wet you really are, even when you promise her.

Mando!abby who let’s you trace your fingers along her face in the darkness of the night so you can imagine what she truly looks like. The first time you weren’t expecting her vulnerability, she had just fucked you senseless as you laid there heaving when she pulled your shaky fingertips to her defined face, allowing you to let them roam freely.

Mando!abby who took her helmet off for the first time when you were laid inbetween her thighs, lapping at her swollen clit. She wanted you to hear her pathetic whimpers that no one else had. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly when you heard the rustling of the helmet come off, but she trusted you… “k- keep going baby I- jus’ wanna watch you”

Mando!abby who couldn’t help but to admit her real name with you as she had you bent over her bed, helmet off heavy breathed over the shell of your ear, driving her soaked fingers into your needy cunt. “F-fuck Mando…” you pathetically breathe out, muffled by the thin white fabric of her bed. “Abby,” Mando remarked flatly. It took you aback at the unrecognizable name, your body froze as your mind raced, did she call you the wr- “call me abby,” she corrects herself. A guttural breath you didn’t notice you were holding escapes your lips. Abby…Abby. A delicate name for the otherwise ruthless murderer. The name swirled aimlessly in your mind over and over again…abby.

Mando!abby who’s secret you knew. She was able to go unrecognized as a woman in her field, tweaking her modulator so her voice came out husky, her build making her larger and more threatening than any other mandolorian you had seen before. She didn’t want them to treat her differently, think less of her ability. You accidentally stumbled upon her well held secret when she came back to the ship with a gash across her abdomen. She tried hiding it from you, but it came up so close on her chest you unknowingly forced it out of her. You froze at the sight of her black bra peeking under her tunic, cheeks flushed. “Don’t say a fucking word,” she bit under her breath. You internally pulled yourself together with your new found information on the mysterious killer, wild eyed averting your gaze back to her cover eyes, eyes that you’ll never see. “Okay.” You said with an attempt at confidence. An attempt at reassurance. She had no reason to trust your word, but she did.

Mando!abby who insists on showering your body even if the lights are on. A stupid fucking ship. If the shower was running the lights had to be on. This was an automatic off zone for you when things started with you and abby. Not only could you see her face, but her entire body would be revealed to you in the intimate space of the well-lit shower. Her body that you had only seen bits and pieces of in desperate, heavy breathed moments, but never her face. But when you had returned from a rather brutal hunt, blood caked in your hair, she insisted to clean you off. “B-but abby-“ before you can protest she began removing your blood soaked clothing out of your sight behind you, “just close your eyes, I’ll stand behind you. I’m not leaving you by yourself for another moment,” the tang of her sweet voice fluttered your ears, unmarked by the hardness of the modulated voice of her visor.

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed

[koi-illust]

[StarWars] [DinLuke]

The Forced Apostate

Din Djarin / (Dark) Luke Skywalker

The dark Luke is using his Force to…🫣

Don’t get me wrong, even though my first attempt at drawing Dinluke involved a Dark-Luke for Din, I also really enjoy Din/Nice-Luke. It’s just that there aren’t enough works in the fandom depicting Din in a more vulnerable and less aggressive role, with Luke in a position of absolute power showcasing his justified masculinity (he’s a Jedi Master who slaughtered a whole ship of robot killers all by himself! I want to see him overpower Din!!!) And there aren’t enough Bottom(or sub or omega)-Din / Top(or dom or alpha)-Luke dynamics as well, so I chose to draw this to convey my point...

(Or maybe it‘s just me loving to whump my fav character, as I often do 🤭)

[crumbledcastle28]

Din Djarin: Languid

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader (she/her; afab)

Excerpt: “Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”

You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”

He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”

And you did.

Warnings: sleepy, love-filled sex between a married couple. Wife!reader, grogu’s asleep, unprotected sex, mostly just kissing and feeling up. NOT breeding kink. A bit of cockwarming.

A/N: Once again, Happy Dincember everyone. I cannot explain how grateful I am for almost 3,000 followers without crying.

If you’d like to leave a like, comment, ask, or reblog, it would be much appreciated :)

Pedro Masterlist

(GIF from Pinterest)

The familiar scuff of his boots on the Crest floor pulled you from REM sleep into barely languid, and the heat of your body from the cot’s covers warmed just so.

Your riduur was home.

Due to how out of it you were, it took you a few moments to realize that no, this wasn’t a dream. This was real. The two-day mission turned five, turned seven, turned nine, turned twelve was finally over, and your numb body somehow found the strength to prop itself up and drape yourself with the blankets.

You sat like that, all wrapped up in your cocoon, smiling to yourself with your eyes closed, for a few moments. You then stood up slowly, taking the blankets with you, and squinted your way out of the bedroom. Your eyes were no wider than slits, and you thanked the maker for muscle memory.

You swallowed the sleep from your mouth and rounded the corner, feeling your muscles ache with stretch, still in a daze. Your head was beginning to swim with dopamine, and with one last yawn, you made it to the cock pit.

The sight before you halted you instantly.

There was your husband, wrapped in wealth and impenetrable metal, leaning over Grogu’s tiny bassinet. He must have gotten fussy when Din opened the airlock, and Din had immediately taken care of it.

You’d have to thank him for that later.

He sat Grogu up, patting his back, and fed him small bites of maple bar. His favorite.

“That’s it buddy,” he whispered. “Swallow. There ya go.”

You stood and watched this encounter, soaking it in. It was moments like this that you missed the most when he was gone—moments so domiciliary and domesticated that they etched into your heart implicitly. These moments were so wrapped in rarity that you could not even daydream about them or yearn for them, because you didn’t even know they existed. Like watching a Mandalorian brush his teeth, or chop an onion, or change the sheets, or breathe at night. They were the memories you would recall when you were old and graying, unable to describe them in a way that did them justice.

You wrapped yourself tighter in the blankets, just watching and basking in the glow of it. Eventually Din laid Grogu down, tucking him in, and traced his face with his leather-bound glove.

“Goodnight buddy,” he whispered, and turned to you.

You looked up at him in all his sheathing, and smiled.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hi,” he whispered back. He smelled of metal and woods with a hint of gunpowder. In the nearly pitch black of the room his shoulders still appeared as broad as ever, his armor was caked in mud, and his weapons belt hung a noticeable amount lower than usual.

You took a moment to soak in the fact that you would look at him like this for the rest of your life.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, moving closer to you.

“You didn’t,” you replied, “your boots did.”

His chuckle underneath the modulator was nothing like it was out of it, but it was enough to bring you home.

“You know I like being up for you when you get back,” you said, looking up higher at him as he came closer and closer. The warmth of the blankets and increased blood flow were not the only things warming your insides now. “Let me be your docile, obedient wife for once.”

You could feel the smirk on his face. “Yes. Obedient and docile, perfect for you.”

He made it to you, wrapping his hands around your waist. Your hands laid on top of his cooled beskar chest and chills etched up your spine as you looked up at him with a smile.

He pressed his forehead firmly against your own. The smell of forest and frost on him engulfed you. “My wife is none of those things.”

You hummed. “No, she isn’t.”

He began slowly walking you backwards into the bedroom, as if you were swaying in a dance, and your hands crept up to his helmet.

“Why didn’t you wake me up when the kid was fussy? I could have taken care of him.”

His gloved hands trailed up your back and the exhaustion in his voice was present. “I missed him. Wanted to take care of him.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his visor, tasting a mix of ice and salt that burned your chapped lips. “Okay.”

The back of your knees hit the bed frame and you stopped, creeping your hands underneath Din’s helmet.

“If you take this thing off me I’m not going to be able to keep my mouth off you.”

He said it so nonchalantly, as if that was a normal thing to say, and the fatigue of his voice and body language liquified you even more. Your still drowsy state was not helping matters.

You felt euphoric, in a perfect state of conscious and unconscious, like you were still in a dream. It was paradise.

“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” you said, removing the sheets wrapped around you. You let them fall onto the bed before reaching back up for him, slowly rising the helmet off of his head. The familiar hiss coated your ears as it rose, and the chocolate eyes that were yours forever met your own.

He smiled in the dark, illuminated by the moon. He brought his mouth inches away from yours, breathing in your breaths. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you responded, and he kissed you.

Immediately, the taste and feel of him washing over you threatened to crumble you to the floor. Din hands on your waist were the only things keeping you upright.

He kept you standing like it was nothing.

He kissed you slowly and deeply, taking his sweet time tasting you again. Your hands worked their way up his body, tracing his beskar all the way up to his hair. Your tongue met his at the same moment your nails scratched his scalp, and he pulled away from you to groan.

“Can we do this now?” he asked, resting his nose against your cheek. His breaths coated your face. “Please?”

You smiled, burying your hands in his hair. Your eyes drifted closed in bliss. “Yes, Din. I want you. Right now.”

He kissed your cheek and placed your hands back on his armor. “Please get this off of me, and please keep me awake.”

And you did.

Piece by piece, you disrobed the Mandalorian from his beskar down to complete nudity, watching his eyes open and close as he began to drift to sleep as he stood. A few times you had to lean him onto you to prevent him from falling, and he kissed around your pulse point every time. Whispering gibberish.

Finally you squatted down to remove his boots, and just like that, he was naked in front of you. His purple under-eyes stood out in the moonlight, as well as a new scar across his abdomen. Your irises coated in worry, reaching up to feel it, but he stopped you.

“Tomorrow,” he said, kissing you more passionately than he had all night. “Tomorrow.”

Then he disrobed you.

The rough skin on his hands tracing you lit you on fire, boiling you enough to keep you conscious. He was the slowest with your panties, pulling them down your thighs like an art form. You scratched your nails down his warm back, and that seemed to speed him up.

As soon as the fabric hit the floor Din lifted you into his arms, laying you down flat on the cot before crawling overtop of you.

“Din, you’re tired, I can—”

“No,” he said, burying his head in your neck. “Wanna be close to you.”

You couldn’t say no to that.

He took the sheets you had discarded and covered them over the two of you. You could see nothing else but him, and you were completely surrounded by the scent and warmth of his skin.

“Maker I missed you so badly,” he said before kissing you hard enough to make you whine. You pulled him as close to you as possible, tracing his body as he kissed and kissed and kissed you, memorizing your mouth. The passion and heat in you were rising, and with one trace down his haired chest with your nail, he pulled away. He traced his hands over your face, pushing your hair away to see you fully. You traced his face too, noticing his scruff had turned into a full beard.

You always liked that look on him.

“Y/N,” he whispered. “My Y/N.” He spoke as if you were unbelievable

“I’m right here,” you responded, holding his face in your hands.

“I just want to be inside of you,” he whispered, almost pathetically. “Can we just skip to that part?”

You smiled, laughing loudly, and kissed him quickly. “Yes.”

He huffed a laugh and kissed you again, nice and slow, like he had been the whole night.

He kissed you and felt you for so long that you didn’t know if he would make it. His movements slowed and slowed as he went on, touching you and tracing you so meticulously it was like he was painting you from nothing.

Finally, with a firm kiss to your jawline, he entered you tortuously. You exhaled in pure pleasure, and your body threatened to rapture already.

He was a dream come true.

Din halted when he was as deep as he could go and tucked his head into your neck. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur.”

You kissed the side of his head. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan.”

And that’s when he started to move.

As he moved in and out, in and out, in and out, dragging each thrust on and on to feel every inch of your folds. He felt all around you, re-memorizing you; how you skin felt, how your body had changed, and the exact rhythm of your heart.

Tears spilled from your eyes as he moved, and you moaned his name over and over, grateful for the return of it in your tongue.

“Keep—keep doing that, saying my name,” he said as he moved. “Almost forgot I had it.”

You repeated it over and over again, clenching around Din when he began to shake. He swirled his shaking fingers around your clit, and with one last clench, the both of you went.

The covers above your heads did little to hide the sound of your synchronization, and it was then that you really started to drift. Din was so warm inside you—filling you up completely—and his body had you trapped in a cave of sheets and serenity. You were perfectly satisfied with your husband safe and sound in your arms, and your body began to fail you.

You felt Din prop himself up and press kisses around your face and your mouth, and your lips tingled with the intensity of it all. He rubbed his nose against yours and pecked your lips before laying back on top of you, pulling the covers raised above his head off as he did. You were hit with fresh air, and were inches away from bliss before Din whispered one last thing in your ear.

“Goodnight, docile and obedient wife.”

You drifted off with a smile.

None of this was a dream. This was real.

Your riduur was home.

Mando’a Translations:

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika riduur: I love you/ I will know you forever, my sweet wife.

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, adol akaan: I love you/ I will know you forever, even through war.

Tag list: (I apologize if your tag is not working/not added. Let me know if you’d like to be added!!)

@leahkenobi

@cityofidek @burned-dorito @tiredbuthappy @punkiwiki @lovesbiggerthanpride @darth-voder @samanthacookieone @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel l @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @martinsmomo @letaliabane @cathenan @big-ol-boat @niiight-dreamerr @jezebel1945 @call-me-doll-face @yelyahcardella @letskeepthislo-ki @misspearly1 @petals-opento-the-moon @just-a-sewer-goblin @em---r @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @l0calgoth @thesmutslut @alastorhazbin @grincheveryday @reader8679 @torchbearerkyle @stardust-galaxies @c4psicles-blog @joelsflannel @mysun-n-stars @tateelii @darth-voder @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @arson-tm @cockscombkingdom

@lexloon @pauphs

[moonpascaltoo]

DIN DJARIN / THE MANDALORIAN

╰┈➤ 18+ none of these stories belong to me! this is a masterlist of all din djarin stories i’ve read and reblogged! just thought it would be nice to have them all in one spot! (if your fic is on here and you wish not to be, please let me know!) some will have summaries if provided <3

MASTERLIST ✨PEDRO PASCAL CHARACTERS ✨06/01/24

@softlyspector ☼ significant pt2 Din has been calling you riduur for months. You finally find out what it means, and get a little more than you bargained for. ☼ request ☼ jealousy!din ☼ request ☼ pregnant!reader

@theidiotwhowritesthings ☼ common mistake ☼ in a perfect world, you love me pt2 On the way to visit an old friend, you and Mando find trouble. Both of you are subjected to a drug that puts you in your perfect world. But, when you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, how do you know what to trust? ☼ familiar and unfamiliar You travel the galaxy with a Mandalorian who is much softer than his impenetrable beskar would lead others to believe. He leaves you with his son to search for a Quarry, but it’s not the Mando you’ve come to know and love who returns to you.

@rosepascal ☼ bucket of bolts The dad and the dog he didn't want but its Din Djarin and a BD unit.

@sinsofsummers ☼ push and pull after convincing him to help you hide from the guild, you teach mando how to enjoy himself. this is the way.

@archieimagines ☼ touching din The three times that Din bends his own rules and engages in physical touch. 

@absurdthirst ☼ secrets Reader gets drunk and mouthy. Mando wrestles with his own sense of sexuality and wonders if he can fulfill the desires of his crew member.

@bits-and-babs ☼ pure beskar

@januaryembrs ☼ kiss the scars You and Mando are forced to remove your helmets to save the child. But to you, it means more than breaking your creed. To you, it means revealing the thing you're most insecure about.

@the-archxr ☼ kar’taylir the four times Din Djarin almost says it, and the one time he does. alternatively, the four times you almost say it, and the one time you do.

@thefrogdalorian ☼ my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand When you and your Mandalorian companion are ambushed by a group of bandits, you hope that his stubborn nature will not make the task of treating his wounds any more difficult than it needs to be. But that is not the only obstacle. You also hope that the depth of your unrequited feelings for Din will not impact on your ability to care for him... ☼ downpour Leading a solitary, nomadic existence for much of his life means that Din Djarin has never cuddled up to someone he loves during a rainstorm. Until one night in his cabin on Nevarro, when unseasonably poor weather introduces him to one of life’s simple pleasures.

@groguspicklejar ☼ pretty picture Din would do anything to keep any outside threat from touching his clan.

@multifandombitxh ☼ keep it down

@wheresarizona ☼ creed Upon meeting Bo-Katan Kryze and discovering there are other Mandalorians out in the galaxy who remove their helmets, Din Djarin is suddenly questioning his beliefs and unable to stop from wondering what you, his wife, look like under your own helm.

@peterparkersnose ☼ i need you more than i wanted to Y/N overhears a damaging conversation between Din and Greef Karga

@bluebeary-jay ☼ face to face as riduurs, you and Din can finally show your faces to each other without suffering any consequences. but when the time finally comes, your insecurities and fears of rejection come into play, threatening to ruin this important moment.

@dindjarindiaries ☼ united we fall Din’s unable to control the Darksaber and accidentally hurts you with it, leaving behind a deep scar on your body and his mind. ☼ untitled ☼ everything i wanted You’re trapped inside a Din x Omera love triangle, struggling to get to your lover who’s entranced with your new host.

@writerlyhabits ☼ courting ☼ request Din’s partner figures out they’re pregnant, and is terrified. They aren’t married, this is the worst time possible, Din already has so much responsibility on his shoulders. But they have to tell him. Because Din deserves to know. She’s terrified of what his reaction might be, if he’d be angry, or excited, or dismissive, etc. ☼ shine and polish Din catches you cleaning/polishing his armor for him (something usually only done between courting Mandos) and gets all shy explaining the implications to you

@flowersforjude ☼ lost in translation A night in a beautiful meadow and an innocent question leads to a startling confession.

@backtothefanfiction ☼ not that easy When Din realised he was starting to have feelings for you, he got scared. Snuck away before sunrise and left you stranded on Nevarro. When you catch up to him on Tatooine, you have a few choice words for him.

@beskarandblasters ☼ caught in 4k You catch Din watching porn and discover his secret; his breeding kink. ☼ you’re the loss of my life You reminisce on your time with your riduur after his death. ☼ kiss me thru the comlink

@noisynaia ☼ the sweetest melody

@pedrito-friskito ☼ uncharted territory

@saradika ☼ beneath the mask when a mysterious stranger wins your hand at the tournament, you can't help but wonder about his intentions

@tremendum ☼ where to start Din lets out a shaky sigh, finally turning around in the chair to face you, legs spread slightly, “it’s not like- I don’t not want to- I just haven’t-I don’t know where to start." 

@thefanbasewhore ☼ mine Din says goodbye to reader and Grogu but once they are reunited Din has mixed feels about the situation, jealous of Luke

@haylzcyon ☼ beautiful truths After hiring you for your unique ability of being able to detect lies, the Mandalorian unknowingly consumes a tea that has adverse effects. You decide to help him, and find out some surprising truths along the way.

@lincolndjarin ☼ best kept secret Married off to a prince on a planet that you hate? New husband doesn't know you, and doesn't want to know you? New husband gifts you a personal Mandalorian body guard as a wedding present? Mandalorian is a wiseass who won't leave you alone? Lucky you.

@penvisions ☼ of beskar and kyber You’ve been on the run for as long as you can remember, from a lot of different people and a lot of different things. Everyone seems to see you as either a prize to show off or a captive to exploit. You had been successful in keeping a low profile and evading brief captures. That is until your mother contracted the Guild and the Mandalorian came to possess your tracking fob. Will he be the reason your freedom is no longer something attainable or will he be the one to help you achieve it in ways you never anticipated? 

@iron-strangers ☼ expanding clan mudhorn Din Djarin met a former jedi padawan who, after surviving order sixty-six, was adopted and raised as a Mandalorian. This series explores the journey of their growing clan as Din juggles the newfound responsibility of being the Mand'alor.

@thepascalofus ☼ supply of run part two part three You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

@yeollie-plz ☼ ever since we met, i only shoot up with your perfume You receive a new perfume, Din really likes your new perfume.

@suresnips ☼ tear in my heart after a rough encounter with a bounty leaves him worse for wear, din needs your help to patch himself up. little do you know he's struggling with more than just external injuries.

@ak-vintage ☼ quarry Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities. Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

@undercoverpena ☼ i’d look for you din offers you something else in a field of wildflowers

[thefrogdalorian]

Nowhere Else To Run

Din Djarin x GN!Reader

Summary: Despite the fact that sharing a cabin with you and Grogu on Nevarro has given him the peaceful life he was searching for, Din cannot escape the nightmares of his past which haunt him most nights.

Although he feels unworthy of your love, the only time things make sense is when you take him in your arms and dutifully put his pieces back together. Even on nights when he feels he does not deserve it.

Word Count:  3.4k ✯ Rating:  Teen ✯ Content Warnings: ✯ PTSD, nightmares, descriptions of canon-typical violence, survivor's guilt, Din feeling unworthy of love, Din's violent past, reader's hands described as being smaller than Din's. Author's Note: I created my blog six months ago, so here is a little Din drabble to celebrate. Title is taken from 'All These Things That I've Done' by The Killers (which is so Din coded) and I also listened to 2 Rocking Chairs by Jon Bellion a lot recently, so that might have inspired some of this too! Really hope you enjoyed it and here's to many more months of Din Djarin brainrot ☺︎

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

On the nights he startles awake, haunted by the nightmarish, twisted visions of the worst things he has done, he is certain that he does not deserve you. With all his evil deeds laid bare as his mind plays cruel tricks on him, Din Djarin remains convinced that he could live a thousand lifetimes and never be worthy of your love. 

His eyelids fly open as his bare, muscular chest heaves. His golden skin is covered with a sheen of sweat. Din raises a trembling hand to wipe the moisture from his furrowed brow. Disorientated and afraid in the darkness.

His sharpened senses, honed thanks to his previous life as a bounty hunter, begin to function with all the effectiveness which once led to him being deemed the best in the parsec. He cringes as he remembers his narcissism, disgusted by how dishonourable it was to take pride in such an epithet. 

First, Din feels your presence at his side. A warm mass of flesh in the dark, coldness of the night. So close that he could reach out and touch you if only he were not petrified that doing so would shatter your beauty. He yearns to draw comfort from you. Yet, he is too afraid to bring you down to his level, to defile your splendour.

Then, Din hears your soft snores. Truthfully, the sweet sounds you make are not quite snores at all. Merely the even, shallow sounds which indicate that you are peacefully resting. He relaxes slightly, relieved that his unwanted awakening has not disturbed you. 

Emboldened by your continued slumber, Din sits up and gazes at you. Your stunning features are barely illuminated by the faint moonlight which streams in through an ill-fitting blind, yet even such a simple glimpse leaves him overwhelmed by your beauty.

As he quietly watches you, Din wonders what he could have done to deserve you in a past life. He certainly is not worthy of you in this one.

How could someone as wicked and treacherous as he ever be worthy of the love you envelop him in each day of your lives?

The guilt creeps in, then. It snakes its horrifying tendrils around Din's entire being and suffocates him under the weight of his regret and his pain. 

He feels guilty that he has even found himself in a position to receive love like this in the first place. Especially after everything he has done, all the pain he has caused and contributed to.

Din wonders whether it is cruel to keep you around. To have intertwined his life with yours in the way he has. Surely you deserve someone better than him.

Inviting you to move in with him changed so much for Din. It deepened and strengthened his relationship with you while opening him up to experiences he had missed for much of his life. How to share space with someone else, to show affection and receive it in return.

Sharing a bunk with someone for the first time meant Din could not continue outrunning his past. It was a race that had begun decades prior on the day he lost everything on Aq Vetina, a marathon which continued well into adulthood. 

The race was almost won when Din took the job that changed his life and led him to Arvala-7 in the hunt for the bounty who eventually became his son.

Yet it wasn’t until Din found you that he had finally crossed the finish line. 

He still remembered the horrified look in your eyes when he awoke for the first time in your presence, thrashing and screaming as the night terrors plagued him. Terrified by the haunting visions that made his past as vivid as though it was happening right before him. 

The nightmares are indiscriminate when they strike. Extensive in their scope. 

In slumber, Din is confronted with the shameful jobs he took from the most reprehensible individuals in the galaxy, reminded of the ego he once possessed.

He relives how readily he hunted people for his gain, collecting bounties without a care for who he hurt. Who was he to be the law? To be judge, jury and, on occasion, executioner? Din is pained at the memory of the life of sin he led. 

Din sees the job on Alzoc III in harrowing detail. The unspeakable acts of violence he had a hand in. As much as he tries to downplay his role and blame the atrocities on the disgusting band of crooks he ran with at the time, deep down, Din knows that he was a willing participant in the barbarity.

He replays the moment when, in a cruel, unforgiving tone, the gold-helmeted woman he had always idolised coldly informed him that he was a Mandalorian no more. Din is tormented time and again by the knowledge that he rendered himself an apostate in the eyes of the people who saved him; who taught him how to live. Being a Mandalorian and swearing the Creed were the only things aside from violence Din had truly ever been successful at. Walking The Way of the Mandalore was the only thing which had brought him anywhere close to achieving inner peace.

But most chillingly of all, Din is reminded of the gravest transgression of his life. An act of cruelty he knows that he will never truly forgive himself for committing, for as long as he lives.

Night after night, Din is haunted by how he had given up the child you both adore beyond comparison, who sleeps peacefully next door, to the Empire for the measly sum of a camtono of Beskar. 

Was that truly all Grogu’s life was worth?

Of course, Din knows that there is no sum in the entire galaxy which would prove comparable to how Grogu has enriched his life.

Even though Din has seen the error of his ways, as he thinks back across the decades and counts his mistakes, Din Djarin knows that he is not a good man. 

Yet, somehow, he has found you. 

You are the greatest blessing to happen to him, matched only by his son.

He thinks of the way you still look at him with such love in your eyes, even after knowing the atrocities he committed in a past life; it almost embarrasses him to be loved in such a manner. 

Somehow, Din has secured your unconditional love. A fact which proves every now and then, both suns shine on a womp rat’s tail. That even the most undeserving of rodents can occasionally have the greatest of fortunes.

Even when the terrors overcome him, you have never contemplated deserting him. No matter how dark and disgraceful the visions he divulges to you are.

When he wakes up yelling for his parents or screaming for Grogu, whom he is momentarily convinced the Empire have recaptured, you are always there to reassure him and to hold him while he sobs; to kiss his pain away with a touch of your soft lips against his tear-streaked cheeks.

Even knowing all he has done, you still look at him as though he is responsible for hanging all the stars which twinkle in the sky above your cabin on Nevarro. 

Din recalls evenings spent on the porch with you outside the unassuming cabin you share by the lava flats of Nevarro. Watching the sun set beneath the horizon as he holds your smaller hand in his, while he admires how your hands fit together as they rest on his lap. He thinks about how smooth your skin is there, how it is so unlike the calloused roughness of his own.

You are softness and humanity in the face of his wickedness. 

A wave of nausea overcomes him. Din is stricken by an overwhelming urge to get away from you. To put some distance between himself and you before he corrupts you with his immorality once more.

He ponders that perhaps he will find some relief on the porch in the dead of night. A solitary figure, save for his thoughts and the ghosts that haunt him. Sitting in total silence, apart from the bugs which chirp in the distance, is an appealing prospect.

So Din slowly swings his legs off the edge of the bunk, careful not to disturb you. He cringes at the way the sheets rustle. It is a minor offence compared to the many sins Din has already committed. Still, he does not want to add disturbing your peace to that list.

He sighs in the darkness as he perches on the edge of the bunk, a forceful exhale which causes his shoulders to droop when he realises you are still sleeping soundly. Din is relieved that you are unaware of his distress. 

He is tantalisingly close to the door when the moment of solace is cruelly snatched away. His careful steps across the wooden floor were evidently not soft enough.

The gentle sound of your voice cutting through the darkness stops him in his tracks. Din turns to face you.

“Din?” you whisper, voice thick and husky with sleep.

The wave of guilt that washes over him is immediate. It threatens to wash him away, to drown him. 

“Go back to sleep, cyare,” Din shakily responds, hoping he sounds convincing to someone so attuned to his every mannerism.

“Did you have another nightmare?” you ask, clearly unconvinced by his display.

Din Djarin may be many things, but he is not a liar. 

Even under the merciful cover of darkness, when he would not have to look you in the eye as he skirted around the truth, he cannot bring himself to lie to you.

“Yes,” Din finally responds. His voice cracks as he struggles under the pressure of admitting his weakness. 

The light is on before he can protest, and you rise from the bed before he can insist that there is no need. Din blinks rapidly for a few seconds as his retinas adjust to the rude intrusion into the darkness.

When his eyes finally focus, you are standing right before him, already moving to gather him into your arms.

It is strange to him, this notion that he ever needed someone to pick him up and dutifully put his shattered pieces back together. A human needing repairs is an alien concept to Din Djarin. While he has always been adept at finding and fixing faults in his impressive arsenal and starships, he was never able to identify his weaknesses and repair himself. Until he found his Clan.

It wasn't until Din saved the kid that he realised he had been running from something for his entire life. Since that terrible day, when he watched over his father's shoulder as the bodies of his neighbours hit the dusty floor. Crumpled heaps, which used to be people until moments ago, were clad in the same distinctive red robes as him. The terror he felt as his parents ran through the streets, determined to save him, their only son. 

On his worst days, Din wonders if their sacrifice was worthwhile. He frets over what they would think if they could see what became of their precious boy. Whether they would be disappointed to see the life he followed. A life of such violence, such mercilessness. 

Your warm presence against him, as you take him into your arms, snaps him back to the present. Din willingly melts into your embrace, relishing the human contact. 

“Talk to me, Din,” you whisper as you hold him to your chest.

When you run your fingers through his hair, he loses all composure and breaks down into small sobs. Din shudders in your arms as you trail soothing fingers through his hair with one hand and rub your hand in circles on his back with the other.

“I don’t deserve you,” he eventually murmurs, voice quivering. 

Din feels the way you shake your head. You gently place your hand underneath his chin and tilt his face up. Din's eyes meet your gaze and he notices how your eyes are full of concern for him. He can hardly look at you, feeling mortified at being studied like this. 

Allowing himself to be vulnerable like this is still so fresh to him. To have his soul laid bare like this is uncomfortable and unnatural.

“You are not the worst things you have ever done, Din,” you whisper as you gently wipe the tears he was unable to prevent trailing a hot path down his cheek with your fingertips, “You cannot change the past. I know that you are a good man, Din, and I love you. All of you. You would not be the man that I adore without those parts of you. For better or worse, they shaped you into the man you are today.”

Din trembles under your gaze, under the weight of your words. Unsure whether he can allow himself to accept the unconditional love you offer so readily to him, time and again.

The tears stream steadily down his cheeks, as you continue to soothe his soul:

“In you, I see a caring father. A considerate man who will do anything to protect his Clan. A fearless Mandalorian warrior who has turned his fighting prowess towards a more noble endeavour. To rid the galaxy of any threats, to build a better life for your son. That is an honourable undertaking, Din.”

“I am not an honourable man,” he scoffs, instantly rebutting such a compliment. He is far too undeserving of such praise.

“You are,” you sigh, gently stroking his cheek with your thumb. There is such tenderness in your gaze and in how you touch him that he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. His bottom lip trembles at your next words, “Your life is not defined by your most evil deeds. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. I adore you, Din. There is so much of you that is loveable.”

Din sighs. In his current mental state, he is unable to believe your words. Unable to let them sink in, to find solace in your reassurances. He looks away from you, shaking his head in a silent response.

When he finally feels able to find your gaze again, he watches as something shifts in your eyes. A tether of patience snaps. 

There is a firmness in your tone the next time you address him.

“Do you know how empty our lives would be without you? How much the little boy in the other room adores you?" you plead in an exasperated tone. "He’s asleep right now, surrounded by a mountain of plushies that his father bought for him because even though you intimidate most you come into contact with thanks to your appearance, I have seen firsthand that, beneath your armour, you have a pure heart. And you are wrapped around each one of his little green talons.”

At the mention of his son, Din cannot help the way his lips curve upwards, the ghost of a smile crossing against his features. A welcome respite from the tortured look he has worn since he awoke from his nightmare. 

“Grogu adores you, Din. He idolises you. You would do anything to secure his happiness,” you nod, “And mine. How lucky am I to know a love like that?”

“I do love you," Din nods, "And I’m going to spend the rest of my life taking care of both of you,” Din vows, the cracks in his voice replaced with steely determination. 

Din notices the way you seem to loosen at his words, knowing that the man you know and love is gradually returning to you. His insecurities and devastation have been replaced by his determination to protect you from anything in the galaxy which could harm you.

“Then, let’s get some more rest, honey,” you whisper as you press a soft kiss onto Din’s stubbly cheek.

Din nods and laces his fingers with yours, allowing you to lead him the few steps back to the bunk you share. He slides underneath the covers, watching you as you round the bunk to join him. Once you have slid beneath the sheets, you turn the light off and plunge the room back into darkness. 

Yet, the darkness which permeated every atom of Din Djarin’s being has vanished. He can only see the light now. The way your love illuminates every part of his life. How unrelenting, yet not overbearing, the way you adore him is. 

Especially when you gently encourage him to roll over on his side so you can wrap your arms around his tight waist and nuzzle into the centre of his back. Your nose and mouth nestled between his broad shoulders.

Din lets out a sigh of contentment. 

In your arms, there is tranquillity. The necessary remedy which soothes his anguished spirit. 

✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯✯

Later, when Grogu is finally sleeping soundly after another long day of being doted on by his parents, Din finally makes it to his intended destination. Although he tried to reach the porch in the middle of the night, he would rather be here now. Especially since you are by his side, sitting next to him. It is a moment of rest after a hectic day spent entertaining a hyperactive Force-sensitive toddler with a voracious appetite.

With your presence in his life, Grogu has only continued to flourish. Din’s chest swells with pride as he thinks of his son's progress and all the milestones he has reached. Din knows that being a good father to Grogu is the most important role he will ever fulfil. He treats it with as much seriousness as such a responsibility warrants.

But Grogu is asleep.

Now, it is just Din and you. He smiles as he looks at your hands together, and appreciates how your fingers are intertwined. Din relishes the comfort he draws from your physical presence. He feels soothed by the knowledge that he has hidden nothing from you, that you can still love him regardless of his past transgressions. 

Din looks out across the landscape towards the rolling volcanic hills of Nevarro, dusted a pale pink and orange colour in the fading light of dusk. He thinks about how he will grow old with you here in this little cabin. If fate grants him such an honour. 

He cannot help but smile as he thinks about how you will sit out here on this very porch, holding hands with each other. When his patchy facial hair is flecked with grey and even when it is entirely white. When the wrinkles on his face are as lined and drawn as the crevices which scar the surface of Nevarro. Perhaps Grogu will be old enough to run around by then. Maybe he will have gained the gift of speech.

Regardless, even many rotations from now, Din knows with absolute certainty that he will still think you are the most beautiful sight in the galaxy. Even after years of adoring each other, he will still wonder how he was ever so lucky to be worthy of your love. 

Din is excited to spend the rest of his life proving to you that he is the good man you repeatedly inform him you still see, even amongst all his flaws. It is a heavy task, yet one he relishes. Love had terrified him for so much of his life. When he discovered its beauty, he was determined to make up for lost time.

It is a heavy thought that he may never exhaust his capacity and reach the depths of all the love he has realised he possesses.

For now, though, Din turns his head to look at you, a soft smile lighting up his face as the sunset illuminates his features. The colour has returned to his cheeks. You return the gesture, gently sweeping your thumb across the back of his hand. 

In the fading light, your face glows golden, only accentuating your beauty. Din wonders again how he was ever so lucky to know a love like this. 

Except now, he does not doubt that he deserves it.

Now, Din Djarin allows his chest to be flooded with the warmth he feels when he embraces your love.

He accepts it, even after all the things that he’s done.

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 3

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: Swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

A/N: the amount of comments and re-blogs for the first two parts of this story has blown me away. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this, and for all the love and support.

Word Count: 5,503

The world ceased to exist for Din the moment he saw your limp body sprawled on the floor. All that remains now is you; all that matters is you. He doesn't even remember closing the gap to get to you. One second he's frozen with fear and the next he's at your side, cradling your face in both hands. "Cyar'ika? Sweetheart, can you hear me?! Can you open your eyes?!" The tremble in Din's hands have now moved to his vocal chords, each word laced with worry and regret. "Come on, sweet girl. I need you to open your eyes." Din begs, gently tapping your cheek, but you give no response.

He's sure your eyes were open a moment ago.... or maybe it was wishful thinking, his mind conjuring up the image to give him hope. Ripping a glove off, he feels for your pulse. You're alive but your pulse is... wrong. It's much too fast. That combined with the trembling and sweat soaking your skin, it can only mean one thing; a blood infection. Din pulls up your blood encrusted shirt and gently removes your makeshift bandage to reveal an inflamed and angry looking blaster wound. "Dank farrick!" Din curses under his breath.

He'd had his fair share of infected wounds throughout the years, so he knows just how bad this can get. Guilt begins to consume him, the intensity threatening to drag him down into a pit of despair. He caused this. This is his fault. He'd abandoned you when all you did was love him. And now, this is what you have to show for that love. He'll never forgive himself if you... nope, that won't happen. "It's okay, Cyare. I've got you, I've got you," Din whispers as puts his glove on, then slides an arm under your back and the other under your knees.

He stands slowly with you, not wanting to aggravate your wound and tucks your head into his chest. A pained moan wheezes past your blue tinted lips. "Kriff, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Din's heart sinks at hearing you in pain, hoping you'll never have to make that sound again. You won't if he has his way. "I'm gonna get you help and then I'm taking you home," Din promised, then ran from the cave and back towards the village.

By the time he got close to the village, Din could barely walk. Almost an hour of continuous running had pretty much pushed him to the edge of his endurance. But every second was critical, so he'd pushed and pushed his now exhausted body, ignoring the protest of his lungs, his limbs and his back. He almost cried with relief when entering the village, falling to his knees and holding you tight. "Help! Somebody help her, quick!" Din screamed as loud as he could.

A group of villagers ran to where Din had collapsed, a few of them quickly taking you from his arms and into a large hut, while yelling at others to find the village doctor. "Where are... they... taking her?" Din asked, breathlessly. "Medical bay," a man answered, as he and another man helped Din to his feet, each draping his arms over their shoulders. "They'll take good care of her, promise." Din straightened, nodded his thanks to the men and on wobbly legs followed you into the hut.

Din felt utterly useless as he sat and watched the doctor and nurses tend to you. He wants to help, every instinct screaming at him to do something, but he can't. All he can do is sit and stare numbly at your deathly pale face and slowly rising chest. You've never looked so fragile before and it takes all of his willpower to not fall apart right then and there. He silently observes the medical team as they hook you up to a drip and monitor (courtesy of the New Republic, along with a generator and more modern equipment) and clean and stitch the wound on your side.

And in all this time you haven't even flinched. Was he too late? Do you even have the strength left to survive this? Din is pulled from his anxious thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and a soft but professional voice addressing him. "Mando?..." the doctor began, waiting until Din's helmet turned his way. "We've closed the wound and administered antibiotics to fight the infection. She's lost a lot of blood and is very weak. We're trying to bring her temperature down to a safe level, but all we can do now is wait. It's up to her now; she has to fight it."

"I understand," Din replied sorrowfully. "Thank you for everything." "Of course," the doctor nodded and lightly squeezed Din's shoulder. "We'll give you some privacy." He cocked his head at the nurses, silently gesturing for them to follow him. Din sat beside you, at a loss for words. How could he have let this happen? If he hadn't been so closed minded, so damn stubborn and proud, if he'd just talked things through with you as you'd begged him to do, you wouldn't be here now, fighting for your life. You'd saved his life and he'd almost cost you yours. He doesn't deserve your forgiveness. But if by some miracle, you do forgive him and give him another chance, he'll never take you for granted and never leave you again, no matter what.

Din removes his gloves, desperately needing to feel you, skin to skin. Taking your smaller hand in his, he closes his eyes and just allows himself to feel. The softness of your skin, the warmth, the ridges of your knuckles. How he'd missed you! "Cyar'ika, I don't know if you can hear me..." Din murmured, guilt eating him alive, "But if you can, I want you to know how sorry I am for everything I've put you through. For everything I said. I was wrong and stupid. I want to make things right, so you have to fight. I know you can; I know how strong you are. Just... don't give up." Din prays you can hear him, but if you can, your still body shows no sign of recognition.

Sweat trickles down your forehead due to your fever. Din reaches into a bucket of iced water set beside your bed and rings out a cloth, placing it on your forehead. "Can we come in?" Din looks over his shoulder to see Omera and Winta by the entrance of the hut. With a silent nod, he beckons them in. They stand on the opposite side of the bed, Omera holding your other hand, while Winta leans down to lay her head by yours, arm slung over your chest in a gentle hug. "Is she gonna be okay now?" Winta looks at Din, eyes full of hope. Her expectant and pleading expression brings a crushing weight of uncertainty to settle inside Din's chest, because honestly, he doesn't know.

"Um..." Din clears his throat, "I hope so. It's too early to tell right now, but the doctors and nurses are doing all they can for her. Only time will tell." "What happened?" Omera asked through held back tears. Din looked from Omera to Winta and back to Omera again. Omera, understanding what Din is trying to silently convey - that this is not something a child should hear - gently places her hand on Winta's shoulder and asks her to wait outside. Winta places a kiss on your cheek and leaves. Omera takes a seat beside the bed. "Tell me," she urges, softly. "I found her..." Din's tone becomes frustrated, "Bleeding to death on a kriffing cave floor! She was all alone. I never should have left her; this is all my fault." Admitting it out loud just makes Din even more angry with himself.

"It's not your fault," Omera insists. "You couldn't have known this was going to happen." "But she shouldn't have been here inthe first place. She should have been home with me, safe." A moment of awkward silence passes before Din asks, "Did... she tell you what happened?" "Yes," Omera nodded. Din sighed. "I failed her." "You're here now. That's what matters. I'm not taking sides here, you're both my friends, but you should know she hasn't been herself since you left, more like she's been a shell of herself. She's missed you, so much. You and Grogu are her life. She's been so lost without you both."

Omera's words hit Din more brutally than that Mudhorn did back on Arvala - 7. He thought he couldn't feel any worse, but he was wrong. "Dank farrick!" Din swore, quietly, feeling sick at the thought of what he's done to you. "I... I don't know how to make this right." Din's shoulders slump in defeat. "Start by being here for her now. That's all you can do... until she wakes up," Omera offered, sympathetically. Din nodded. "Thank you for looking after her." Omera looked at you with a sad smile. "There's no need to thank me. She's family." Din's heart warmed at Omera affection for you. Gripping your hand tighter, he looks at your peaceful face and with conviction he replies, "Yes, she is."

The nurse returned a few minutes later to check on you. Omera took her leave - not wanting to impose - telling Din she's here for him if he needs her. Din held onto your hand the entire time the nurse fussed about you. "Hmm... her temperature's still a little high," she frowned, "Other than that, she seems to be doing okay." Din didn't get a chance to respond as your hand suddenly tightened around his and your whole body began to violently convulse. "What's-" "She's having a seizure!" the nurse exclaimed, grabbing an extra pillow to place above your head so you don't hit it on the headboard.

Din shot to his feet, ready to hold you, to comfort you. "Don't touch her!" the nurse warned. "You could hurt her if you try to restrict her movements." "Well... what do we do?!" Din shouted, feeling like he's about to lose his damn mind. "She just has to go through it I'm afraid. She's fitting because of the fever. These seizures look frightening, but they're normally quite harmless," the nurse reassured. As if that's any comfort right now. After what felt like an eternity - but was only a couple of minutes, according to the nurse - your jolting body began to calm until you were still once again.

Din released a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. The nurse checked your vitals again. "She stable now. I'll come back to check on her in an hour," she informed Din with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, before leaving the hut. As soon as the coast was clear, Din ripped his helmet off, dropping it by his feet without regard. He quickly but gently placed both hands on your cheeks and rested his forehead against yours, his tears dripping onto your face. "Don't you ever frighten me like that again! Do you hear me?!... Never again." The last two words came out in a choked whisper. Din kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. "Please my love, don't leave me."

Din winced internally the second those words left his mouth; those very same words that had been haunting him in his sleep. The last words you had said to him. Din reached for the cloth that had fallen on the floor during your fit, dunked it in the bucket and placed it back on your forehead before reaching for his helmet. He knows anyone could walk in at any moment, so it's best not to tempt fate. He places it back on and for the first time since taking the creed the helmet feels like a barrier instead of a comfort, the inch of Beskar separating you feeling more like a thousand miles.

The next several hours went by in a surreal blur for Din as he watched the doctor and nurses taking care of you, and also watching you for any indication of waking. They were even kind enough to bring him food since he never left the hut. The evening drifted into night, the whole village becoming quieter as everyone settled into their homes. Din remained glued to your bedside, politely refusing the offer of a hut to rest in.

He will not be more than a few feet away from you. A nurse assured him no one would enter again until morning - unless in case of an emergency, of course - so he can remove his helmet if he wishes. Din prepared himself to sit vigil with you all night. He took off his helmet and breathed deeply. If you wake tonight, his face is the first thing he wants you to see.

Sound is the first thing you notice, crickets chirping distantly, a strange beeping and... a voice? It sounds distorted, the words not making any sense to you. An involuntary whimper escapes you as you try to move your head, which at this moment, feels like a ten tonne boulder. In your hazy state, you feel something touching your face, smoothing featherlight strokes across you cheek. The voice is becoming louder, clearer as your mind begins to catch up with your body. It sounds familiar and you use it as a beacon to hone in on. Your eyelids fight against your will to open but you finally manage to do so, only to be met with blurry vision.

A few more blinks and your vision clears, focusing on the once blurry figure hovering over you. A face, but not just any face. Brown eyes, vulnerable and cautious, but also filled with relief and tenderness stare back at you. Brown floppy locks drape over his forehead and salt and pepper stubble adorn his jaw. You are completely taken aback. Are you dead? Or is your mind playing another cruel trick on you? "Hi, Cyare..." a voice you never thought you'd hear again whispers lovingly. It's that which snaps you from your stupor, confirming that you are alive and he's here!

"Din?!" your voice croaks harshly from disuse, scraping your throat on the way out. "Shhh..." Din continues to smooth the apple of your cheek. "Try not to speak Y/N? You're safe now." Your eyes shoot around the room, confusion and panic overtaking your senses. "You're in the village..." Din's low timbre brings an instant calm to you. "You're going to be okay." You try to get up but a sharp pain flashes through your torso causing you to gasp. Din's hands are pressed to your shoulders, gently but firmly holding you down, "Don't move. You'll tear the stitches," he tells you. Stitches? Then it all comes back to you; the attack on the village, the blaster shot and the cave.

Your eyes fall on Din's again and you panic. "Oh shit!" you gasp, weakly and shut your eyes tight, turning your head away. "Y...your helmet! Where's your helmet?!" Your heart beats wildly in your chest, guilt and alarm filling you once more. Maybe he forgot to put it back on, and now I've broken his creed, again! You bite your lower lip in worry, awaiting the inevitable chastisement... only it never comes. "Y/N?" Din's bare hand cups your jaw, turning your head to face him. "It's okay, look at me." You remain frozen, eyelids firmly locked in place, unsure of what you should do. "Please, Cyar'ika..." Din's voice is calm, soothing. "Open your eyes. I want you to see me."

It was with trepidation you slowly opened your eyes, Din's warm smile instantly easing your anxiety. Heaven's that smile! It would have floored you if you'd hadn't already been laying down. "There you are," Din said warmly. Too much is happening to fast for you to comprehend. "Din?... What?... How?" you stutter after every word, a part of you still unable to believe he's here. "I came for you, "Din interjected with purpose. "When I heard what happened, I couldn't get here fast enough. And when I couldn't find you I..." Din's voice shuddered, "I thought I'd lost you forever. I was so afraid."

The raw devastation of Din's voice along with the wretched fear in his eyes stabbed you right through the heart, releasing a torrent of tears; tears of heartbreak, of frustration, of relief and of love all mixed together in one huge outpouring of emotion. At once, Din's hands found your cheeks and he lowered his forehead to yours. "I am so so sorry. I'm sorry for everything. I was a fool. I love you." He gently pressed his lips to yours and, even though he'd hurt you, you found yourself wrapping your arms around his keck, returning the kiss and holding him close. "I love you, too." You couldn't deny it, deny him. You didn't want to.

Din slowly pulled his lips from yours, placing a delicate kiss to your forehead. "You should rest now, Cyare. Your body needs it. We'll talk more when you're stronger." "Wait!" You grip Din's wrist in panic. "You're not leaving, right?! You'll be here when I wake up?" Din smiled and kissed the back of your hand. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart, I promise." With that reassurance, you allow yourself to drift off once more.

When you awoke again it was to the poking and prodding of fingers checking your pulse, you temperature and your wound. "How are you feeling Y/N?" a kind older voice asked. "Mmm... thirsty..." you cough as your parched throat sticks together. Din appears immediately, holding a cup of water and a straw in front of you so you don't have to move. "Well, the good news is you're going to be fine," the doctor says, encouragingly. "And the bad news?...." you question, cautiously. "The injury you sustained was quite deep, so you'll have to take it easy for several weeks while you're healing. I know how you like to keep yourself busy," he adds with an apologetic look. "When you're feeling up to it I'll get you some soup. He places a hand on your shoulder and you thank him before he leaves.

Moments later a soft hiss turn your focus to Din as he removes his helmet. Your first thought is to shut your eyes and turn away, but you stop yourself. Din wants you to see him and, damn it, you want to see him too. The other two times you had seen him had been under dire circumstances but now... now you get to really see him and he takes your breath away. Your eyes trace every slope and contour of his features, taking your time to really appreciate just how devastatingly handsome he is. It feels wrong that he's had to hide such beauty for most of his life. Din offers a sheepish smile. "Hi," he breathes out quietly. It's obvious he's been in great emotional turmoil as he looks at you filled with remorse and with teary eyes.

"You stayed," you sigh in relief. "Of course I did," asserted Din, as if the thought of him doing anything other than stay is ludacris. "I told you I'm not going anywhere." You couldn't help but begin to cry again. Din brought a hand to your face, gently wiping your tears. "Hey, hey, you're okay." he whispered, fighting back his own tears. It kills him to see you in this state. "It's okay. Let it out. I've got you, I've got you." He so badly wants to gather you into his arms and tuck you into his chest as you fall apart, but he can't move you yet so he settles for resting his forehead against yours again. "I was... so...f...frightened!" you whimper between sobs, gripping onto his wrists for comfort. Hearing such intense fear in your words finally broke Din. His sobs joined yours, unashamedly.

"I don't know where to even begin," he choked out, "I'm so sorry.... fuck," he huffed at himself, sitting back to look you in the eyes. "I know that's not enough. There are no words to express just how sorry I am. I hurt you, and not just you, but Grogu too. I hurt the two most important people in my life. What kind of man does that?!" You can feel the self loathing radiating off of Din and it's agonising to witness. Before you can offer any comfort, Din continues, "I was so caught up in my dedication to The Way of the Mandalore that I refused to accept your perspective. I refused to see anything beyond the creed." Din hung his head in shame. "I was wrong and for that I'll always be sorry."

Wow! You weren't expecting that. The creed is everything to DIn, so for him to put you before it shows you just how much he must still love you. "What made you change your mind?" you ask in bewilderment. Din looked back to you and chuckled, lightly. "I had some sense knocked into me by Karga. He said some things I needed to hear." The corner of your mouth ticks up in an amused smirk. "I guess I owe him one." Both of your smiles faded as the tension still lingered. "How's Grogu?" You fight to keep from choking up again at the thought of him. Din rubs the back of his neck. "He's uh... he's okay, but he's missed you terribly."

Your heart aches for your poor liittle boy. "I missed him too, both of you. Is he here?" "No, he's with Karga. I didn't want to bring him in case..." Din trailed off, bile rising up his throat at the thought of finishing that sentence. Even though you feel the sting of disappointment, you nod in understanding. The last thing you want is for Grogu to see you like this. As long as he's okay, that'll be comfort enough for now. Do you need anything?" Din asks, breaking the silence that has fallen again. "Yeah. Could you help me sit up?" "You shouldn't move," Din insists, worry lacing his voice. "Please?..." you shift awkwardly, "I just need to change position."

Reluctantly Din nodded and stood over you, threading his arms under yours and around your back. Stars! You've missed his touch, the comforting warmth of his body against yours, even through his armour. "Easy now," Din cautioned as he carefully lifts you to a sitting position. You suck in sharply through your teeth as a sudden sharp pain spreads through your side. You feel Din tense in in response. "I'm okay," you reassure him. Din sat you back against the headboard and sat on the edge of the bed. "No, you're not okay. Nothing about this is okay. Not the way I treated you or the things I said. Dank farrick.! You almost died because of me!"

Din is on the verge of completely losing it. The only other time you'd seen him like this was when Grogu was taken by the Dark Troopers. "Din." You grab his hand, holding tight to ground him. "This isn't your fault. No one could have foreseen this." Din shook his head vehemently, unwilling to accept your words. "I should never have left you here. You should have been with me. Kriff, when I think back to the things I said to you..." Din lifts his head t the ceiling, rolls his eyes back and sighs. "It was cruel and I was wrong. I trust you. I was just so blinded by my arrogance, but deep down, I guess I understood why you had to remove my helmet. I just wouldn't admit it to myself, so I lashed out at you."

Din's fingers tighten around yours. "The truth is, if it were the other way around and you were hurt, I'd do the same thing." "Oh, Din." Tears burn your eyes as he lays his soul bare. "Can I ask you something?" "Of course, Cyare." Din smoothes the back of your hand, a silent gesture for you to continue. "Why now? Why are you allowing me to see you now? What about the creed? I know it's important to you." " It is," Din agreed, 'But you are far more important, and I wanted to show you just how important you are to me." You have no words, your eyes and heartfelt smile telling him what you cannot put into words. "I uh... I don't expect you to forgive me right now, I don't deserve it. But if you'll come home with me, I'll wait for as long as you need to-"

"Shhh..." you press a finger to Din's lips and look into his brown puppy dog eyes with tenderness. "I've already forgiven you, Ner Karta." Din is stunned! "W... what? Why?" He can't comprehend why you're so willing to forgive him, after all the pain he's caused. You reach over to stroke his cheek, feeling the rough stubble tickle your fingertips. "Back in the cave... I'd accepted I was going to die," you sniffle as you remember the feeling of despair that came with said acceptance. "All I could think about were you and Grogu, and I realised... I didn't want to die being angry with you. I wanted to go with only love in my heart, so in that moment I chose to forgive you."

Din exhaled as if he'd been punched in the chest. He's in complete awe of you. He'd hurt you beyond measure, almost gotten you killed and you still found it in your heart to forgive him. "I don't deserve your forgiveness," he mumbled in disgust at himself, eyes cast down. "I don't deserve you." You gently hook your fingers under his chin, lifting his head up so that you're looking into each others eyes. "Yes you do," you declare with certainty, "Everyone deserves a second chance, Cayare." Din closed his hand over yours resting on his cheek and, pulling it away, brushed a soft kiss on your palm. "I promise I will never hurt you like that again. No matter what problems come our way, we'll handle them together." "Together," you repeated breathily.

Din stared longingly into you eyes for a moment, then leaned into your face and you met him halfway, your lips joining in a delicate sweep, gently at first but becoming more intense as the seconds passed. His hands slowly slide up your arms and around your back, pulling you closer as he groaned into your now open mouth, his tongue caressing yours. You loop your arms around his neck, relishing in the familiar taste and feel you've been needing but denied for so long. It's as if an invisible weight has been lifted from your soul, all the anguish and sorrow floating away into the ether. In it's place; love, relief and the promise of renewal. You feel reborn. You slowly pull away from Din's plush lips, bury your head in the crook of his neck and breathe in his scent of leather, gunpowder and something uniquely him.

Everything around you stills as you hold each other and just exist in this moment. "I love you so much," Din purrs into your ear. "I love you too," you reply, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I promise..." Din begins, straightening up and tucking your hair behind your ear, "I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you." You chuckle quietly and shake your head. "That's not what I want." Din looks at you, confusion crinkling his brow. "I don't want you to live in guilt everyday. All I want is my family back and to move on from this. Can I have that?" Din's features soften and he smiles in understanding. "Meshla, you can have anything you want."

You pull din in for another kiss, this time a bit more forcefully. His eyes widen and he chuckles in response. Din finishes the kiss with little pecks to your nose, making you giggle. "Din?" "Mmm?" "Did you mean it?" Din tilted his head in question. You've seen him do that often with his helmet on and seeing him do it now without it is adorable. "Mean what?" "That I can have anything I want?" "Anything!" he declared with passion, holding onto your arms. You throw him a cheeky grin. "Can you get me some soup? I'm starving."

Din's shoulders relaxed and he laughed endearingly. "Of course. I'll be right back." He put on his helmet and walked to the entrance, stopping to look at you once more before leaving. Slumping back you lean your head against the headboard and sigh happily in sheer relief. It's over. This whole nightmare is finally over and in the past where it belongs. Your heart is finally at peace.

Two days later you're given the all clear by the doctor. As you finish packing your belongings into your bag a pair of strong arms wrap around your body in a loving embrace. You lean your head back onto Din's shoulder pauldron, close your eyes and hum in contentment. "All packed, Cyarika?" "All packed," you beam as you turn in his arms and plant a kiss on his helmet. "I almost forgot..." Din reaches into a pocket, your jaw dropping as he pulls out your beaded bracelet (now cleaned from dirt and blood). With a gasp you take it, looking it over in disbelief. "I found it not too far from the cave." "I thought I'd lost it," you exclaim, voice cracking with emotion. "Thank you!"

You slide it onto your wrist and wrap your arms around Din's waist, hugging him tightly. Din brings his hand to the back of your head, gently stroking your hair. "I can't wait to hold Grogu again," you gush into Din's chest. "He'll be overjoyed to have his mother back." You lift your head from his chest, your eyes gleaming with excitement. "Does he know I'm coming home? Have you told him?" A small chuckle came through the vocoder. "No, I thought we'd surprise him." You couldn't contain the massive grin that spread from cheek to cheek as you imagine the soon to be reunion with your son.

Just as you turn to reach for your bag, Din grabs it, slinging it over his shoulder. "I can carry the bag. It's not heavy," you protest teasingly with your hands on your hips. "Your not carrying anything until you're fully healed." You know that finality in his tone too well. "Bossy!" you roll your eyes in jest. "Yep," Din replied, popping the P for emphasis. He wrapped his arm around you and under your arm to support you, since walking is still slow and painful for you. Outside the hut a group of people had come to see the two of you off. Omera and Winta held onto you like there was no tomorrow.

"I never would have gotten through the last month without you," you whispered to Omera, trying to hold back your tears. "You're the best friend I've ever had." "Promise you'll visit us soon," Omera pressed. "I Promise," you smiled. "Will you bring Grogu with you?" Winta asked, excitedly. "Do you really think he'd allow me to come without him?" you laughed fondly as you pictured his little face. Winta giggled and you pulled them both into another hug. "I'll miss you both so much." "We'll miss you too," Omera said sadly. While saying your goodbyes and thanks to the others, Din approached Omera. "Thank you," Din exclaimed, "For everything. For being there for her." He knows he owes Omera a debt he can never repay.

"Of course," she smiled softly at him. "I'm just so glad you two could work things out." "Me too," Din smiled to himself. He looked down at Winta and patted her head affectionately, "Take care, you two." Din walked over to you, placing his hand at the small of your back. "Ready?" You smile and nod and Din holds onto you gently yet firmly as you slowly make your way to the the Razor Crest. Oh, how you've missed this big hunk of junk! You settle in the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit, the smells and sounds you'd taken for granted welcoming you back in their own way, and you take a moment to appreciate everything around you, even the way Din so expertly prepares the controls for take off.

Din turns to you, lacing his fingers through yours on your lap. "You ready to go home, Meshla?" he asks you, lovingly. You smile, placing your other hand over his. "I'm ready." Din returns to the controls, somehow managing to pilot the ship one handed while still holding your hand. The Crest rattles and shakes as it ascends, every minute bringing you closer to home, closer to Grogu. Silent tears begin to fall, but for the first time in a long time, the tears are not of sadness, but of joy.

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