#The Silver Lining Mandalorian Fic

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 2

Chapter Two: Our Magnetism To Recklessness

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths,

Word Count: 10.1k

A/N: UHHH… I’m back! Hopefully, I can update this fic consistently now since I have a relaxed school schedule now. As well as writing chapters for Notre Dame but at the moment I’m back with Pedro Pascal character fics hehe.

Song: Someone To Stay by Vancouver Sleep Clinic

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INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

You’re sitting cross-legged with your palms facing up on the cool metal floor of the Razor Crest. Meditation has always been a struggle for you. You long to explore the depths of your soul, but confronting your deepest fears and desires fills you with a sense of trepidation. Danger seems to be lurking around every corner, and it's always been easier to turn away than to confront it.

But you know that danger lives within you. It's a part of you, an ever-present shadow that threatens to consume you at any moment. And so, you steel yourself for the battle ahead. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and let the stillness envelop you.

At first, the darkness within seems to grow, threatening to overwhelm you. But you refuse to be swayed. You focus on your breath, on the rise and fall of your chest, and slowly but surely, the darkness begins to recede. You feel a sense of peace wash over you, and you know that you've taken the first step on a long and arduous journey.

You open to the sound of the ship's hull rattling, a disconcerting reminder that you're hurtling through space. With a sigh and a frown, you pull yourself up from the floor and climb up the ladder to the cockpit. As you push the doors open, the baby coos in delight, oblivious to the events that surround you. You peer over Mando's shoulder at the star map, trying to make sense of the jumble of lines and dots that represent the countless stars and planets of the galaxy.

"Is everything alright?" you ask, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engines.

Mando shrugs, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen before him. "The kid keeps touching things."

You snort, knowing full well that the baby's curiosity is boundless. You settle into the co-pilot's seat, leaning over to get a better look at the holomap.

"Let's see," Mando says, his voice gruff. "Sorgan. Looks like there's no star port, no industrial centers, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it's perfect for us.”

You nod, fully aware that a remote planet like Sorgan is precisely what you need to escape the Empire's wrath and the other bounty hunters on your tail. After a brief pause, Mando turns to the baby and speaks, "Are you ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat? Nobody's going to find us here."

You can't help but smile at the Mandalorian's words, even as you feel the weight of your past deeds and the danger that constantly surrounds you. But for now, you're grateful for the opportunity to take a breather and rest up before the next job comes knocking. You strap into the co-pilot’s seat and prepare to land on the forested swamp planet.

SORGAN, 9ABY — DAY

The Razor Crest's engine hisses as the landing gear deploys into a locked position, signaling your arrival on the planet's surface. Mando rises from the pilot's chair and gently places the child on the ground, speaking in a hushed tone, "Listen, I'm going out to look around. It won't take long. Just don't touch anything. I'll find us a place to stay and come back for you."

As you stand up, the Mandalorian turns to you with a serious tone, "You watch the kid." He then turns back to the baby, his voice firm, "You stay put. Don't move. Got it?"

The child grunts in response and Mando nods, "Good."

You observe as the Mandalorian strides out of the cockpit doors, leaving you to tend to the small, precious bundle of joy. Your attention shifts to the baby, his big round eyes gazing up at you, conveying his desire to follow the armored warrior. You heave a sigh, weighing the pros and cons of taking the infant along, and then concede, "Alright, let’s go.”

You descend to the lower deck and find the Mandalorian working on lowering the left-side telescopic gate. The child is standing by his right side, fascinated by the mechanism, while you make your way to his left side as quietly as possible. As soon as the gate is fully lowered, the Mandalorian notices the child next to him, tilting his head down to meet the baby's curious gaze.

You stand there awkwardly, unsure how to convince him to let you and the child go with him. You give him a shy smile, hoping it would be enough to persuade him. He looks at you for a moment, then sighs and relents, "Oh, what the hell? Come on."

As you step out into the vibrant greenery of Sorgan's forest, you can't help but marvel at the beauty of it all. The towering trees loom above, their leaves forming a natural canopy that filters the sunlight to create a dappled effect on the ground below. You take in a deep breath of the fresh air, feeling a sense of calm wash over you.

With Mando and the child by your side, you begin to weave your way through the dense foliage, using your hands to brush aside the leaves and branches that obstruct your path. The colors of the plants and flowers around you are like a rainbow, bright and vivid, a far cry from the dull and dreary landscapes you've become accustomed to.

As you walk, you feel a connection to the planet, as if its life force is pulsing through every living thing around you. It's a stark contrast to the harsh and unforgiving worlds you've visited in the past, where the emotions of despair, distaste, and anger seem to permeate every surface. Here on Sorgan, you feel at peace, and you can't help but be grateful to have found such a serene and beautiful place to hide away for a while.

You enter a common house where food is grilled over a large grill. You pull your hood up, not wanting anyone to identify you. As you look around, the patrons are mostly human, and a loth-cat growls at the Child, startling him. You quickly check your surroundings and notice that Mando is doing the same before finding a table.

You lean down to pick up the child and place him on the toddler's chair, and as you sit down, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as you sense mixed emotions from someone nearby. Suddenly, the proprietor approaches your table and greets you, “Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

Mando is curt as he replies, “Bone broth, for the little one.” The proprietor hums, “Oh, well, you're in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there's plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” Mando nods, “Yes please, for her.”

The proprietor nods and turns to leave but Mando then inquires, “That one over there. When did she arrive?” The proprietor turns to look at who he’s referring to and replies, “I've seen her here for the last week or so.”

You also take a good look at the woman, your empath abilities seeing multiple shades of dark blue radiating and outlining her. Mando tilts his head, “What’s her business here?” She chuckles, “Business? Oh, well, there's not much business in Sorgan, so I can't say. She doesn't strike me as a log runner.” Mando then places down a few large credits on the table and the proprietor is delighted, “Well, thank you, sir. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka just for good measure. I will be right back with that.”

You smile and thank her as she walks away, only to spot that the woman sitting by the corner had seemingly vanished. Mando stands up alarmed by the fact and swiftly says, “Keep an eye on the kid.”

You nod in agreement and watch as Mando disappears through the curtains leading outside. Your own broth and the child are served soon after, but you can't shake off the feeling that something is amiss. The child hasn't used the Force to communicate with you or even tell you his name yet, you sense a commotion coming from outside. The child hops down from his seat, taking his bowl with him, and you follow him as he leads you to the curtains.

You peek through and see Mando engaged in hand-to-hand combat with a woman. The two grapple with each other, throwing punches and kicks before finally holding each other at gunpoint. You and the child watch in amazement, impressed by their skill and tenacity. Mando notices you both and looks back at the woman, "You want some soup?"

The four of you return to the common house. You sit in between the child and the Mandalorian, listening intently to the woman who introduces herself as  Carasynthia ‘Cara’ Dune, “Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor. Mostly Ex-Imperial Warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They'd send us in on the drop ships. No support, just us. Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, and suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for.”

“How'd you end up here?” The Mandalorian asked, as Cara slowly takes a good look at you, “Let's just call it an early retirement… Wait, were you part of the–” You cut her off before she could out you, “A long time ago, yeah… but it doesn’t matter, I couldn’t stay.” 

Cara’s eyebrows furrowed, “They’ve been looking for you.” Your eyes look downwards as you quietly replied, “I know.”

A brief moment of silence passes by the table and Cara cleared her throat, “Look, I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That's why I came at you so hard.”

Mando gruffly replies, “Yeah, that's what I figured.”

Cara moves to get out of her seat while saying, “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” 

You watch as the ex-shock trooper leaves, and her empty bowl of soup on the table, feeling disappointed at the missed opportunity to connect with someone in this peaceful place. The Mandalorian tilts his head in your direction, his voice husky as he said, “Well, looks like this planet's taken.”

As the night wears on, you find yourself sitting on the ramp of the Razor Crest with the child on your lap, keeping him company while the Mandalorian works on repairing the ship. The air is filled with the buzz of insects, and the only source of light comes from the two lamps illuminating the Mandalorian's silver beskar armor.

Watching him work with precision and skill, you suddenly blurt out a question that's been on your mind, "If you could go anywhere in the galaxy, where would you go?" His movements momentarily falter, caught off guard by your inquiry. For a while, there's only silence as he continues to work on the ship.

Just as you're about to apologize for asking, he finally responds, "Mandalore." Your confusion is evident on your face, and he elaborates, "I was a foundling. The Mandalorians rescued me, took me in." As he speaks, you feel the weight of his words and the depth of his emotions, the threads, and wisps of dark grey and blue enveloping you and leaving you breathless.

As you continue to play with the baby, you feel the Mandalorian's eyes on you through his vizor. You turn to look at him and catch his gaze before he quickly looks away, back to the repairs. It’s his turn to question you, "If you could go anywhere in the galaxy, where would you go?" and you can't help but wonder if he's searching for something beyond just a destination.

You consider his question for a moment before settling on an answer, "Home." You feel a pang of homesickness wash over you as you say it, but it's the truth. You don't know where home is yet, but you hope to find it someday.

Mando turns to face you, his helmet still covering his face, but you can sense his attention on you. "Where is home?" he asks, his voice quiet yet curious. You shrug your shoulders, "I don't know yet. Maybe it's out there, waiting for me to find it."

As the baby chitters and coos, Mando watches you with a strange warmth in his chest. He hasn't felt this way in a long time, and he's not quite sure how to process it. But watching you play with the child, seeing the way you care for him and make him smile, makes him feel something he's not used to - hope.

The peace of the moment was abruptly shattered by the sound of a repulsorlift speeder approaching. You alerted the Mandalorian, and he assured you he would handle it. As two men approached them, one of them began speaking, "Excuse me."

You watched as the Mandalorian addressed them with an uninterested tone, "There something we can help you with?"

The men hesitated before one of them spoke up, "Uh, yeah. Raiders."

"We have money," the other added.

The Mandalorian scoffed, "So, you think I'm some kinda mercenary?"

The men exchanged a worried glance before the younger one spoke up, "You are a Mandalorian, right? Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?"

"It is," the Mandalorian replied curtly, moving to the other side of the panel and using his large frame to herd you away from the two men. You felt his arm wrap around your waist protectively as you carried the child with you.

The men continued to stammer, "Sir, I've read a lot about your people... Tribe. If half of what I read is true..." The other one quickly cuts his friend off, “We have money.”

"How much?" Mando asks, his voice stern and unyielding.

The two men exchange a worried look before the younger one steps forward. "Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen."

The older man chimes in, "Krill. We're krill farmers."

You sense and feel their anguish and distress over the situation in their village. The villager holds out a bag of credits and pleads with Mando, "Please, it's all we have. We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in."

Mando takes the bag of credits but shakes his head. "It's not enough."

The villager's face falls. "Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is."

"I know it's not enough, good luck," Mando replies, his voice final.

The two villagers look crestfallen as they move aside, defeated. As you ascend up the ramp, you can't help but turn your head towards the two men, feeling guilty for not at least trying to help. With a pleading look in your eyes, you silently urge the Mandalorian to consider their request.

"Come on," the older villager says to the younger. "Let's head back."

The younger one protests. "Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere."

Mando turns to face them, a hint of compassion in his voice. "Where do you live?"

"On a farm," the older man replies. "Weren't you listening? We're farmers."

Mando presses on. "In the middle of nowhere?"

The younger man nods. "Yes."

With a deep breath, the Mandalorian considers their request. He looks at you, and you nod your head in agreement. “Good,” he says to the two men. “Come up and help.”

As they follow you into the Razor Crest, you can feel a sense of relief wash over you. Though you don't know what lies ahead, you know that you're doing the right thing. All of you carry different sizes of crates and supplies, loading them onto the repulsorlift speeder and the child quietly sits, observing all of you move around.

You hear the rumble of the Mandalorian’s voice through the modulator of his helmet as he said, “I'm gonna need one more thing. Give me those credits.”

“You gonna ask Cara for help?” You asked as you loaded a small crate of supplies and Mando nods, “I’ll be right back.”

You sit beside the Mandalorian, holding the baby tight against your chest as the speeder glides through the forest. The yellow glow of the lamp illuminates the path ahead, casting flickering shadows on the trees. Across from you, Cara looks skeptical.

“So, we're basically running off a band of Raiders for lunch money?” she says incredulously.

Mando turns to her, his helmet reflecting the light. “They're quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked, that's a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we're a deterrent. I can't imagine there's anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn't handle.”

Cara nods in agreement, but you can feel your eyelids getting heavy. You lean against one of the crates with the child in your arms, feeling the Mandalorian's warmth beside you. As he stretches his arms and legs, he tilts his helmet up, searching for a comfortable position.

Your tired eyes flutter closed and you sink into a peaceful sleep. The stars twinkle above you, and the speeder's gentle hum lulls you into a deep slumber. You don't notice the Mandalorian's initial rigidity as your sleeping form curls into his, but after a long look at your peaceful face, he relaxes and allows himself to doze off as well.

SORGAN, THE VILLAGE, 9ABY, – MORNING

You awaken to find yourself lying on top of Mando's chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing beneath you. As you open your eyes, you notice that the sun is already high in the sky, casting a warm glow over your surroundings. Mando stirs beneath you, muttering something unintelligible.

"We're here," he says finally, his voice low and gruff.

You feel the cool touch of his beskar armor against your cheek, contrasting with the heat of his body. You blush, feeling the blood rush to your face, and apologize for your unintentional intimacy. Cara, who's been watching you both, gives you a knowing look.

Despite the embarrassment, you can't help but feel a sense of comfort and safety in Mando's presence. Cara smirks knowingly as Mando quips, "Looks like they're happy to see us." The children of the village rush to greet you and the child as you disembark from the speeder, their laughter and cheers filling the air.

You're led by one of the villagers to a barn where you'll be staying for the time being. Omera, the woman who prepared the lodging, welcomes you both in. "I hope this is comfortable for you two. Sorry that all we have is the barn."

You glance at Mando, concerned that he won't have the privacy he needs. "I can bunk with Cara in the meantime so you can have your privacy," you offer. Omera looks between you and Mando, "Are you not… together?"

Before you can clarify, Mando cuts in, "It's fine. She’ll stay with me and help me keep an eye on the kid." You're skeptical, but he simply hums, indicating his certainty. "This will do fine," he adds.

As Omera clears her throat, you notice her eyes lingering on Mando with a hint of admiration, and the jealousy inside you twists uncomfortably. "I stacked some blankets over here," she says, gesturing to a corner of the barn.

Mando thanks her before kneeling down to unpack a few of his things. You watch him, lost in thought as you gaze out the window. Suddenly, you hear small footsteps and Mando quickly spins around, his body tense and alert. You whip your head to the source of the sound, spooking a young girl standing at the doorway.

"Whoa, it's okay," you say, trying to calm her down.

Omera moves to the doorway, slowly revealing the young girl, “This is my daughter, Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers.” She then looks at her daughter lovingly, “This nice man and lady are going to help protect us from the bad ones.” Winta looks to both of you, “Thank you.” Mando nods in acknowledgment as you give the young girl a soft smile. “Come on, Winta. Let's give our guests some room.” Omera said, leading her daughter away from you two. 

You place the child in his wooden crib that had been provided by the people of the village. As you both unpack your belongings, the Mandalorian remains quiet and distant. You notice his reluctance to get too close, but you can't help but be drawn to his presence.

You break the silence by asking, "So, where did you learn to fight like that? You know, with all those fancy weapons?"

He glances at you briefly before replying, "I've been trained since I was a child. It's part of being a Mandalorian."

"Wow, that's really impressive," you reply, admiring his dedication to his craft.

The Mandalorian grunts in response, his attention focused on organizing his weapons. You decide to try again, "What about you? Where did you grow up?"

You see a flicker of hesitation in his movement before he answers, "I was an orphan. I don't remember much of my childhood."

You nod, understanding his desire for privacy. But you can't help but feel a pang of curiosity. "It must have been tough, growing up like that," you say softly. "Did you have anyone to rely on?"

The Mandalorian pauses, his hands stilling on his weapons. "No one," he replies flatly. "But I had to learn to rely on myself. It's the way of our people."

You sense a deep pain and loneliness in his words, and your heart aches for him. "I'm sorry," you say softly. "But you know, you don't have to be alone all the time. Sometimes it's good to have someone you can trust by your side."

You meet the Mandalorian's gaze, his helmet hiding any trace of emotion. He seems guarded as if waiting for you to reveal more. "And what about you?" he asks, his voice low and curious. "Why are you here?"

You take a moment to consider how much to disclose, knowing that there is more to your presence than meets the eye. You finally decide to offer a vague response, "I'm not really sure. Maybe I'm also running from something... I'm just not sure what. But something drew me to Nevarro and then to you… and the child. I guess it felt right to be here."

The Mandalorian nods, seeming to accept your answer, but you sense that he knows there is more to the story. You wonder if he suspects that you possess a connection to the Force, something that you have been keeping hidden from everyone, including yourself.

You feel a sense of relief that he didn't question you further, knowing that you couldn't reveal your true purpose for being there just yet. You glance out the window, lost in thought, and catch a glimpse of the setting sun. It reminded you of the prophecy that was spoken about the Force, but you quickly push the thought away, not wanting to reveal too much to the Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian nods slowly as if considering your words. "It's not safe out there," he warns. "You should be more careful."

You chuckle. "I can take care of myself, you know. And besides, I have you to protect me now, don't I?"

He doesn't respond, but you can sense a hint of amusement in his posture, completely relaxed and open. Despite the Mandalorian's initial reluctance, you find that he has a dry sense of humor and sharp wit, and you can't help but be drawn to his enigmatic persona. It's a small victory, but it's enough to make you feel hopeful. Maybe he's not as closed off as he seems.

You suddenly hear Omera’s voice by the doorway, "Knock, knock." Mando turns his head to face the door, and you nod to let him know it's okay to let her in. "Come in," he says, his voice steady and calm.

Omera enters the room with a tray of food in her hands, followed by her daughter Winta. She sets the tray down on the table and walks over to the crib where the child rests. Winta looks up at her mother with hopeful eyes, and Omera nods her head in encouragement.

"Can I feed him?" Winta asks, looking up at Mando.

Mando turns to you, silently asking for your permission. You nod, and he responds with a soft "Sure."

You watch as Winta offers the child a mushroom, which he happily munches on. After a moment, she turns to Mando and asks politely, "Can I play with him?"

Mando looks at you for an answer, and you smile and nod your head. He sighs and says, "Sure."

He gently picks up the child and sets him down on the floor, cooing softly to him. You watch as Omera gazes at him with fondness, and you feel a twisted and sickening feeling in your stomach. It sits like a rock, weighing you down, and you feel as though you're standing on the edge of a drop-off, or at the summit of a great mountain.

As Winta leads the child out of the barn, you notice Mando's protective nature kick in as he steps forward and hesitates, "I don't think…"

But Omera places a calming hand on his chest, interrupting his thoughts. You turn away, trying not to intrude on their moment. You hear her reassure him, "They'll be fine."

Mando still seems hesitant, repeating, "I don't…" before Omera firmly reassures him once more, "They'll be fine."

You can feel the tension in the air and look down at the wooden floor, feeling a sense of unease. In a quiet voice, you speak up, "I'll go keep an eye on them and make sure no one gets hurt." You quickly leave the barn, not wanting to see the possibility of having something to lose.

You step out onto the grass, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. As you make your way toward the children, you can hear their laughter and playful screams in the distance. You see Winta and the child running around in circles, the little one stumbling and giggling as he tries to keep up with her.

You stand off to the side, keeping a watchful eye on them. It's hard to resist the urge to join in on the fun, but you know better than to draw any unwanted attention to yourself. As you watch, you can't help but think about the danger that seems to follow the child everywhere he goes.

You sit on a bench a few meters away from the Mandalorian, lost in thought as you watch the children play. The sun is setting, casting a warm glow across the landscape. You sigh contentedly, feeling a sense of peace at this moment.

Meanwhile, the Mandalorian is sitting alone at a table, his helmet resting beside him. He watches the children with a soft expression, savoring the moment. As he eats, his gaze drifts to you, sitting on the bench. He takes a deep breath, his thoughts turning to you.

Unbeknownst to you, the Mandalorian is watching you. His heart beats faster as he takes in your features, admiring your beauty from afar. He wonders what you're thinking about, what's going through your mind.

For a moment, he considers walking over to you, but he decides against it. He knows he can't reveal his face to you, and he doesn't want to risk exposing himself. So he remains where he is, silently watching you and the children play.

You, on the other hand, remain lost in thought, unaware of the Mandalorian's gaze upon you. You take a deep breath, feeling content and at ease in this moment of peace and quiet.

As evening falls, you, Cara, and the Mandalorian swiftly track down and analyze the trail left by the raiders. Little did you know, the Mandalorian's keen senses were also keeping tabs on your every move. He switches to his infrared vision and presses a few buttons on his left bracer, “About 15 or 20 of them came through here on foot. And something big sheared off those branches,” he observes, pointing to the missing chunks of the tree.

You and Cara follow the Mandalorian closely, unaware that his eyes are also scanning your form from a distance. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks, causing you and Cara to look up and see a huge print on the ground. “AT-ST,” he declares, and you curse softly under your breath, realizing the gravity of the situation.

The Mandalorian's voice breaks through your thoughts, “Imperial walker. What's it doing here?” Cara shakes her head, unsure, “I don't know. But this is more than I signed up for.” As you look ahead, you witness the aftermath of the walker's destruction - a vast clearing of trees completely demolished and torn down. You're completely speechless, and a sense of dread settles in as you realize the danger you're all facing.

You make your way back to the village, feeling the weight of the impending news you have to deliver. Mando calls for a town meeting to announce the situation, and you stand in front of the crowd. He begins, “Bad news. You can't live here anymore.”

The murmurs of questions and concern immediately fill the air, and you look at the Mandalorian in disbelief, though you had expected worse. “Nice bedside manner,” Cara comments, causing Mando to retort, “You think you can do better?” She shrugs, “Can't do much worse.”

Cara steps up, raising her voice so the farmers can hear her, “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.” Mando moves to lean on the wall behind him, holding his left arm with his right hand, and quietly observing the people around him.

A farmer reminds them, “You took the job.” To which Cara replies, “That was before we knew about the AT-ST.” Another asks, “What is that?”

Cara looks at them pointedly, “The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us.”

Protests immediately erupt as they beg for your help. Eventually, Omera speaks up and pleads, “Please. We have nowhere to go.” Cara chirpily replies, “Sure you do. This is a big planet. I mean, I've seen a lot smaller.”

One of the farmers responds, saying that his grandfather seeded the ponds, and his companion adds that it took them generations to build this village. Cara nods, “I understand. I do. But there are only three of us.” To which one of them replies, “No, there's not. There's at least 20 here.”

Cara shakes her head, “I mean fighters. Be realistic.”

As the farmers plead and Cara stresses the impossibility of fighting the AT-ST, you feel overwhelmed by the multitude of emotions emanating from the crowd. Fear, desperation, anger, hopelessness, and determination all blend together, causing your powers to spiral out of control. You try to focus on breathing and grounding yourself, but the colors in your vision continue to scatter, blurring your sight.

You lean against the wall for support, trying to steady yourself. The room feels like it's closing in on you, and you can't help but feel the weight of the situation. The farmers have built their lives and livelihoods in this village, and they have nowhere else to go. It's up to you and your companions to find a solution, but the odds are stacked against you.

As the tension in the room escalates, the Mandalorian surprises everyone by speaking up. His words hang in the air, daring the villagers to consider the impossible. You can't help but feel a glimpse of hope as he says, “Unless we show them how.”

As the Mandalorian begins to teach the farmers how to fight and shoot, you step away from the group, needing a moment to collect your thoughts. The air around you is thick with tension and uncertainty. You feel the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders.

You walk towards the edge of the village, away from the chaos and noise. The world around you is peaceful, yet melancholic. The sky is painted with hues of pink and orange, a reminder of the beauty that still exists amidst the chaos.

As you stand there, the wind brushes against your face, carrying with it the whispers of hope and despair. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, trying to clear your mind of the overwhelming emotions.

You pick up a staff from nearby, feeling its weight in your hands. The sun beats down on you, casting a golden light that dances across the grass, and you take a deep breath, ready to practice.

You start with simple movements, twirling the staff in your hands, and feeling the wind whistle through the hollow center. As you continue, your movements become more fluid and more natural, and your mind quiets as your body takes over. You lose yourself in the dance of the staff, swishing it back and forth, striking against imaginary foes.

With each movement, you feel your muscles stretching, your body growing stronger. You can feel the power coursing through you, and you close your eyes, savoring the sensation. For a moment, the world falls away, and you are alone with your staff, in perfect harmony.

But as the sounds of the villagers practicing with their blasters and rifles reach your ears, you remember the urgency of the situation. You open your eyes, feeling more focused and determined than ever before. You take a deep breath and start practicing more elaborate moves, twirling the staff overhead, sliding it across the ground, and striking at invisible enemies.

You continue to practice until the sun begins to dip below the horizon, and the sky turns a deep shade of purple. Your body is slick with sweat, and your arms ache, but you feel invigorated. You know that with each movement, you are preparing yourself for the fight ahead, and you feel more confident than ever before.

As you make your way back to the barn, your heart beats with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. Your hand reaches for the satchel, fingers fumbling as you open the flap. Inside, the lightsaber hilt gleams with a soft, pulsing light that seems to call out to you. You grasp it firmly, feeling the power of the Force course through your veins.

For a moment, you pause, taking in the weight of the weapon in your hand. This is what you have trained for, what you have waited for. You know that you will need to use it in the coming fight, and the thought fills you with both excitement and fear.

Finally, you pocket the hilt and emerge from the barn, scanning the crowd for Cara. When you spot her, she wastes no time briefing you on the plan. You listen intently, the words washing over you as you visualize the steps in your mind. Eventually, the two of you look for Mando, knowing it’s almost time to leave.

As the Mandalorian and Omera speak by the house, you couldn't help but notice the intimacy in their conversation. They stood so close, their faces mere inches apart, and their voices low and gentle. It made you wonder if you were good enough, if you could ever be as strong and capable as Mando, or as graceful and alluring as Omera.

You watched as Mando turned to leave, his helmeted head facing away from Omera. She lingered there, her eyes following his retreating figure with a mix of admiration and sadness. As you watched this scene, you felt a twinge of jealousy and inadequacy. It was as if you were an outsider looking in, a witness to a connection that you could never fully understand or be a part of.

Cara nods to him that they needed to leave. You walk away from them, towards where you were supposed to hide, not wanting them to see the sullen look on your face, needing to shake the feeling off and focus on the task at hand. The villagers were counting on all of you, and that’s not something you take lightly.

In the midst of the village's collective anticipation, time slows to a crawl. The sky above transforms into a particular hue, casting an otherworldly glow over the scene. You stand amidst the gathered villagers, a mixture of anxiety and determination knotting your insides. The atmosphere is charged with a blend of urgency and impending confrontation, the air heavy with a sense of destiny that you can't quite escape.

As the minutes tick by, the weight of the moment presses down on you. The instinct to seek shelter wars with the fierce readiness to stand your ground. Amidst this inner turmoil, a strange paralysis grips you momentarily, as if the very ground beneath you has rooted itself, making each step an arduous effort.

Then, in the distance, relief washes over you like a cool breeze as the figures of Mando and Cara emerge into view. Their forms dash towards the makeshift barricade that you and the villagers have constructed, a symbol of your collective resolve. Amidst the swirling emotions and the pulsating energy of the moment, Cara's voice pierces through, a beacon of command and assurance, “This is it. Once that thing steps into the pond, it's goin' down.”

From the distant heart of the forest, an eerie symphony of creaking trees accompanies each ponderous stride of the AT-ST, its colossal frame sending shivers through the earth itself. The very ground trembles beneath your feet, a testament to the immense power this machine wields. Amid the tension-soaked air, the mechanical titan's eyes, ablaze in a menacing red hue, fixate on your position. Cara's authoritative voice cuts through the unease, “Weapons ready.”

With a resolve that refuses to waver, the villagers heed her call, seizing their arms with a mixture of determination and fear. You grip your quarterstaff firmly, its cool surface a reassuring anchor in this storm of impending conflict. The rhythmic thuds grow louder, the impending doom drawing closer. Amidst the anxiety, the Mandalorian's voice, a steady murmur, reaches you, “Just a few more steps.”

Anticipation hangs heavy in the air, but just as the monstrous machine teeters on the brink of submerging into the pond, a sudden, jarring halt freezes its movement. A collective breath catches as hope and dismay collide. “It stopped,” Cara's voice rings out, the disappointment palpable, and you can't help but release a quiet curse of frustration.

The AT-ST's ominous features illuminate as its piercing lights cut through the encroaching darkness. In response, Mando's stern command ripples through the group, “Get down. Get down.”

A burst of violence shatters the relative calm. A fiery blast erupts from the AT-ST, obliterating a nearby house into a shower of debris and destruction. Omera's anguished cry pierces through the chaos, “Caben. Stay there!”

“Hold your positions!” Cara commands and you await the oncoming chaos.

A beat passes and you spot the klantooinians raiders charging through the fields and you hear Cara shout, “Open fire.”

Amidst the chaotic symphony of blasters roaring and explosions resounding, your thoughts keep returning to the Child and the other children, tucked away in a hut for safety. The clamor of battle seems almost distant compared to the nagging worry that gnaws at your core. But suddenly, a chorus of voices rises in unison, snapping you back to the present turmoil.

Mando and Cara remain engrossed in the fierce firefight, their blasters blazing as they relentlessly confront the marauding raiders. You bide your time, observing the ebb and flow of the battle, waiting for the opportune moment to make your move. “We gotta get that thing to step forward,” Mando's words cut through the din, met with a silent nod of agreement from you. Cara's response follows suit, determination etching her features, “I'm thinking.”

Your gaze shifts from the AT-ST to the gap that separates it from the pond, then back to the determined figures of Mando, Cara, and the villagers, united in their struggle to defend their homes and lives. They're fighting against the odds, wielding resilience in the face of adversity. It's a hand they didn't choose, yet they're attempting to rewrite the cruel script forced upon them.

With a determined exhale, you voice your plan, “Well, I’ve got one. Cover me.”

Mando's urgent cry pierces the battlefield, “Wait!” But your feet are already in motion, pounding towards the imposing AT-ST. Klatooinians attempt to thwart your advance, but your actions are driven by purpose. The AT-ST's mechanical gaze fixes upon you, unleashing a barrage of blaster fire. Swiftly, you deflect the first onslaught with your staff, the sheer force of it causing the weapon to fracture.

Disregarding the broken staff, you retrieve the hilt of your saber from your side. A single motion ignites the weapon, its vibrant hum slicing through the tumultuous air. A momentary hush descends upon the battlefield as the radiant purple glow pierces the darkness, a beacon of your will amid uncertainty.

Seizing the moment, you propel your legs into swift motion, closing the distance between you and the towering AT-ST with resolute determination. The machine responds with a rapid barrage of blaster fire, its crimson bolts lancing through the air toward you. But your reflexes are honed, your connection with the Force guiding your every move. The blaster bolts meet their match in your deft saber strikes, the vibrant blade intercepting and redirecting the onslaught with precision. One of your well-aimed deflections strikes true, the blaster bolt rebounding off the reflective surface and impacting the window of the AT-ST. An immediate burst of flames engulfs the interior, setting the machine's innards ablaze.

Closing in on the colossal mechanical menace, you keep your focus sharp. Your fingers clasp the hilt of your saber with unwavering determination, the hum of its energy reverberating through your hands. A fierce battle cry escapes your lips as you direct the blade toward one of the legs of the AT-ST. The searing edge of your lightsaber bites into the metal, and with a surge of strength channeled from within, you cleave through the mechanical sinews that keep the monstrosity upright. The air sings with the screech of metal yielding to your power, and as your blade severs the last connection.

Amidst a chorus of groans and creaks, the colossal machine succumbs to its own weight, a symphony of destruction that heralds triumph within the tumultuous disarray. The very ground shudders beneath the force of its fall as it crashes into the abyss of the deep trench. Unexpectedly, the Mandalorian surges forward, a grav charge in hand, and drives it into the heart of the walker's chassis. The device emits a beeping signal, and then he seizes your hand, urgency driving his movements as he pulls you with him. Together, you plunge into the pond's embrace, immersing yourselves in the watery depths just before the AT-ST succumbs to the explosion that fractures it into fragments.

Stripped of their mechanical support, the Klatooinian raiders who remain flee into the shadows of the forest, their bravado shattered in the wake of defeat. Around you, the villagers erupt in exultation, triumphant cheers filling the air like a melodic affirmation of the strength they've discovered within themselves. 

In the watery sanctuary, your breaths come in ragged gasps, echoes of the fierce battle still resounding within you. A wave of exhaustion washes over you, the weight of the fight making itself known. Yet, a tender touch upon your cheek stirs you from your fatigue-induced daze. You turn to find his gaze upon you through the opaque visor, and beneath its cold exterior, you sense something unexpected—a question, an unspoken curiosity, an almost vulnerable inquiry.

His voice, normally so brusque, is a gentle breeze against your senses as he inquires, “Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

His words hang in the air, an invitation to open up, to be real, to let him in. For a moment, you're paralyzed, the fear of being truly seen like a tangible thing. Your lips part, the urge to speak rising, but the words remain trapped, caught between the weight of vulnerability and the yearning to connect.

Yet, he doesn't seem to need your words. His hand, clad in smooth leather, finds yours in a firm yet gentle grip. The touch, the connection, is a promise that whatever unspoken truths linger will find their way into the light. And for now, as your fingers interlace, you both find solace in shared victory, the unspoken understanding between you more profound than any words could convey.

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER…

SORGAN, THE VILLAGE, 9ABY,  – AFTERNOON

"Wow, that's so cool!"

"Are you a Jedi?"

"Can we see the lightsaber again, please?"

With the dawn's gentle embrace, the village emerged from slumber, and before Mando even stirred, you found yourself encircled by a swarm of eager young faces. Tiny hands reached for yours, their chorus of pleas and questions creating a symphony of innocent curiosity despite the weeks that have gone by of answering their queries.

In their midst, you shared stories and secrets, laughter and gasps of amazement, as their wide eyes absorbed your every word while you held the child. It was a long night's rest that had rejuvenated your spirit, and stepping outside the hut, you became an instant magnet for the village's exuberant youth.

Through the playful haze, you caught sight of Cara, Omera, and Mando engaged in conversation by the hut. His helmet's visage glinted like a sentinel beneath the sun's warm embrace, his figure a silent sentinel stationed against the wall. Amidst the cacophony of youthful delight, you juggled their queries with practiced ease, attempting to distill the complex realities of your experiences into tales they could grasp.

As you spun your narratives, the sunlight painted glimmers upon your skin, and your peripheral senses detected a familiar gleam. A glint of Mando's helmet, a silent yet potent presence observing from a distance, stirred your awareness. Amidst the ceaseless laughter and relentless inquisition, your gaze inadvertently gravitated toward the corner of the village square, drawn by an unspoken connection that lingered between you and the Mandalorian.

Omera emerges from the hut's threshold, her gaze pivoting to Mando as she inquires softly, "Can I set you something in the house?"

He pauses for a moment before answering, "Uh, thank you. Maybe later."

A subtle smile graces Omera's lips as her attention shifts to you and the child. "She and the kid are very happy here," she observes, an undercurrent of warmth threading through her words.

Mando's response carries a quiet affirmation, "They are."

Omera's smile widens, and her raised eyebrows convey an unspoken sentiment. "Fits right in."

Meanwhile, Cara, the no-nonsense warrior, interjects with her characteristic bluntness, her voice carrying a mix of skepticism and curiosity, "So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?"

Mando offers a succinct reply, his tone unchanging behind the helmet, "No. You just can't ever put it back on again."

Cara's retort is laced with a wry grin, "That's it? So you can slip off the helmet, settle down with that beautiful young Jedi, and raise your kid sitting here, sipping spotchka?"

His visor-hidden gaze narrows thoughtfully, a silent response that hints at a complexity he's unwilling to divulge. The beat of silence stretches before he speaks again, changing the subject, "You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back. It's too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on."

Cara's gaze flicks between you, the child, and Mando, a sardonic edge to her tone, "Would not wanna be the one who's gotta tell them."

Mando's statement carries a mixture of conviction and conflicted sentiment as if he's wrestling with his own decision. "I'm leaving him here. Both of them. Traveling with me, that's no life for a kid. I did my job, he's safe. They have a better chance at having a life."

As Mando's resolve wavers under the weight of his choice, Cara offers a sage observation, taking a sip of her spotchka, "It's gonna break their hearts."

Seeking perhaps to steel himself against the impending heartache, Mando responds with a hint of resignation, "They'll get over it. We all do."

A sudden, familiar weight settles in your chest, like the ominous gathering of storm clouds on the horizon. It sends shivers of unease coursing through you, prompting a quick scan of the surroundings for Mando and Cara as if you could physically warn them of the disquiet simmering within you.

Standing up, you cast a glance back at the children, your young charges engrossed in their activities, oblivious to the turmoil now churning inside you. As if propelled by an invisible force, you start walking away from the innocence of their laughter, the gnawing sensation in your gut demanding your attention.

Only a few paces beyond the tranquil krill ponds, your gaze locks onto a scene that wrenches your heart anew. Omera and Mando stand together, distanced yet intimately close, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun. It's a tender tableau, one you were never meant to witness.

Omera's fingers curl around Mando's armor, a slow and deliberate gesture, as she begins to lift his helmet. You swiftly avert your eyes, the sting of tears threatening to surface. You pivot away from the scene, your steps leading you toward the child, an attempt to ground yourself in something pure amid the swirling emotions.

The weight in your chest intensifies an inexplicable heaviness that tugs at your soul. The tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, a mix of frustration and sorrow. You silently chide yourself for feeling this way – Mando was never yours, his heart and his choices his own. So why, against all reason, should you be caught in the clutches of this tumultuous emotion?

A sharp crack pierces the air, a blaster bolt splitting through the tranquility of the forest clearing not far from where you stand. In an instant, your protective instincts surge to life, igniting your lightsaber and positioning yourself in front of the child and the others. Panic ripples through the group of children, their cries a jarring contrast to the once-serene atmosphere.

Your focused gaze darts toward Omera, a swift nod exchanged between you, an unspoken understanding passing like a current. As she moves to shelter and reassure the children, you pivot on your heel, determination propelling you toward the source of the disturbance.

Emerging from the shadows, your lightsaber casting a determined glow, you encounter a scene of finality. Cara stands over the lifeless body of a Kubaz bounty hunter, blaster in hand, her expression a mixture of readiness and relief. The confrontation ended as swiftly as it began. The Mandalorian strides forward, his presence materializing at your side, the crisp sound of his boots on the forest floor. 

A somber resonance fills the air as the lifeless form meets the forest floor, and Mando's sturdy boot nudges the body, revealing the insistent blinking of the tracking fob. The device emanates an eerie glow, a digital reminder of an unrelenting pursuit. Cara's voice slices through the weighty atmosphere, demanding answers amidst the tension.

Her inquiry hangs palpably in the air, the silent acknowledgment that danger remains close, relentless in its pursuit. Mando's response is terse yet laden with gravity, his words encapsulating the dire reality that they all now face.

As the gravity of the situation settles, Mando carefully places the tracking fob onto a weathered rock, a symbol of the imminent threat that looms over the child. The weight of the knowledge rests heavily upon them all, and Cara's astute observation underlines the inescapable truth that now binds them.

In the midst of the chilling realization, Mando's voice carries a resonance of acceptance, his words a stark recognition of the inevitability of the conflict to come. A flicker of resolve paints his expression, his gaze unwavering as he crushes the tracking fob beneath the heel of his boot. The sharp sound of the device's demise echoes in the forest, a defiant act of defiance against the relentless pursuit of those who seek to harm the innocent.

The sting of departure hung heavy in the air, a palpable ache that mirrored the heaviness in your chest as you methodically packed your belongings. The room you had called home for a brief moment seemed to resonate with memories, each corner a repository of emotions now interwoven with the essence of Sorgan.

Before stepping away from the threshold, your gaze swept over the room one final time, as if etching its image deep into your memory. The village buzzed with activity, the collective efforts of the villagers and Cara aiding the Mandalorian in loading his supplies onto a repulsorlift sled. In the midst of this orchestrated movement, you silently began to load your own belongings onto the sled, a quiet moment amidst the whirlwind of departure.

Cara's voice cut through the busy air, “Are you sure you don't want an escort?” His gratitude resonated in his reply, speaking with the same reserved sincerity that defined him, “I appreciate the offer, but we're gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest.”

“Until our paths cross,” Cara's words held a weight of camaraderie, her outstretched hand an emblem of the bonds forged during their time together. Mando's gloved hand met hers, a brief yet impactful connection, his own voice echoing her sentiment, “Until our paths cross.”

As the village seemed to gather around for their farewells, Omera's gratitude radiated as she approached Mando, words unspoken yet deeply felt. Beside her, Winta bid a heartfelt goodbye to the child, sealing the moment with an embrace that carried the purity of youthful affection. Her gaze then turned to you, arms wrapping around you in an embrace that spoke volumes of gratitude and the unspoken connections that had formed in this place.

With each step taken toward the waiting repulsorlift sled, the inevitability of departure weighed heavily upon you both. Seated side by side on the sled's back, the village began to fade from view as the repulsorlift carried you away. The faces of the villagers, once so vivid, slowly merged into the tapestry of your memories, their waves of farewell etched into your heart as you embarked on the next chapter of your journey.

Amidst the backdrop of transition, a simmering tension took residence between you and the Mandalorian. The weight of unspoken thoughts and emotions hung heavy in the air, cocooning your interactions in a heavy silence. A palpable shift in this silence marked your decision to finally address the unspoken, your voice carrying the weight of honesty, "You were going to leave me here with him, weren't you?" The words emerged, a tentative bridge between the chasm of thoughts that had separated you.

The Mandalorian's response was measured, spoken with a characteristic directness that defined him, "It isn't safe being with me." His words echoed, revealing a truth steeped in his understanding of the galaxy's harsh reality.

Your own response held a mixture of wry humor and vulnerability, a glimpse into your own perceptions, "I think I have you beat there." His tilted head met your words, an unspoken query that hung in the air, waiting for further elaboration.

The weight of unspoken revelations hovered, waiting for the right moment to find their way to the surface. Mando's voice cut through the charged atmosphere, measured yet laden with curiosity, "So you're a…"

The sentence hung unfinished, your heartbeat echoing loudly in your ears as you paused his words with your own, your admission cascading into the open, "I'm not... I’m not a Jedi. I never completed my trials, nor was I sworn in. I possessed the training, but I never reached the end." The quiver in your voice betrayed the underlying emotions, a turbulent sea beneath a fragile surface. "I didn't intend to keep this from you or lie. I… I was scared."

His head tilted, a gesture of silent acknowledgment, urging you to continue. "Scared of me," he interjected, his words more a statement of perception than a question.

With your gaze unwavering, you gently dismissed his assumption, the connection between your eyes and his visor palpable. "No, not of you," you affirmed, the confidence in your tone unwavering. "I was scared of losing you, of losing both you and the child." Your voice, though steady, carried the weight of a vulnerability you had kept hidden. "Nevarro offered refuge for me to escape and to serve, a sanctuary from a cryptic prophecy that remains uncertain. My intention was to help you, to protect the child. But I understand why you would have left me here with the kid. I wouldn't put it past you."

The air held a renewed tension as the unspoken reverberated in the stillness. It was then that you offered a choice, a path back, a way to erase the uncertainty, "I can still go… if you want me to." Your words carried a hint of apprehension, manifesting in the slight fidget of your fingers with your clothes. "You can just drop me off near the town and I can…"

The Mandalorian's swift response was a resolute negation, a declaration that shattered your expectations, "No."

His words hung in the air, a statement that caused your gaze to lock onto his, a mixture of surprise and anticipation coloring your expression. Your unspoken question trembled in the unspoken, and his next words were a simple, unwavering assurance, "You're not staying here."

The silent exchange spoke volumes, a shared understanding held in the unspoken spaces between your gazes. Time seemed to pause, a fleeting moment that held the promise of uncharted possibilities. "But I thought you…"

"I… I was wrong," he confessed, his admission fraught with a rare vulnerability. "I thought it was safe here, for you and the kid. So you can have a life… without me… but it seems as if… it's better for you to stay. I’d like you to stay."

His words hung in the air, a poignant acknowledgment of the complexity of his decisions. You blinked, your thoughts a maelstrom of emotions you struggled to articulate. The Mandalorian cleared his throat, a subtle gesture that preceded his unexpected twist, "Besides, I need help with the little womp rat."

Your reaction was instinctive, a smile that tugged at your lips and a laugh that bubbled from within. Unbeknownst to you, your laughter held a transformative power, stirring something within the Mandalorian that had long lain dormant.

As your head tilted back and your laughter filled the space between you, the Mandalorian watched a silent observer of the joy your presence brought. In that ephemeral moment, something shifted within him, a recognition that the bond forming between you was unlike anything he had ever known. And as he witnessed your smile and heard your laughter, a seed was planted - a seed that hinted at a future where, amidst the galaxy's uncertainties, there could still be space for connection and a lifeless solitary.

END NOTES:

The bitch is back on that Pedro Pascal fic writing grind. IDK IF THE PACING IS PACING PROPERLY??? I THINK IT IS?? I DUNNO?? I second-guess myself all the time when I’m writing. Also sometimes it’s as if I black out and wake up with over 10k words and I’m like– alr that makes sense to me! OK BYE IMMA WRITE CHAPTER THREE NOW MWA MWA!

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil

[djarins-cyare]

Held Is The Seed for the fic asks game, please! <3

Hi lovely Caroline! ❤️ Thanks for the ask and sorry it’s taken me a while to get to it. I’m offering a snippet further down as compensation 😇

The title Held Is The Seed comes from a quote by John Harrigan: “Happiness held is the seed, happiness shared is the flower”. There’s no specific line in the fic that refers to it (at least, not yet), but it seemed appropriate because Din has always hunted his bounties alone, whereas in this fic, he’s teamed up with someone else. Still, he keeps himself relatively closed off from her, essentially holding the seed of his happiness close to his chest. It’s only when he fully opens up and shares himself with her (in traditional smutty fanfic fashion 😏) that his happiness has a chance to bloom.

It’s basically a four-part smut-fest. The concept is that they’re in a cantina (separately so as not to appear conspicuous or too threatening) to locate a potential source and get some intel. Reader is bored and drinking, and she gets chatted up by a random guy. He notices that she keeps glancing at the Mandalorian in the corner, assumes he’s got competition, and claims Mandos make poor lovers. Reader vaguely thinks Din is attractive but assumes he’s kind of sexless, but she defends his honour nonetheless and invents a few stories about him to shut her would-be suitor up…

“How would you know?” you challenge. “Maybe there are loopholes. Maybe he can take it off in the dark or if his partner wears a blindfold. Maybe he’s the best damn lay in this bar, and women tell stories about his legendary talent with his tongue. Did you consider that?” With your attention now entirely on Zabrak(ish), you can’t see Mando’s reaction to your somewhat lewd suggestions, but you can imagine he’s probably shocked. The two of you banter occasionally, but you know him to be a sweet guy when he hasn’t got his gruff hunter guise on, and you bet this kind of talk makes him blush. The one time you’d mentioned anything carnal in front of him, he had awkwardly slunk off to the cockpit and hidden for a few hours. You, however, are enjoying the expression on Zabrak(ish)’s face. It’s equal parts annoyed that you’re defending his rival and worried that you might be right and he’s lost the game. Hilarious. You need to press more. Swishing the whiskey in your glass, you take a swig and raise an eyebrow. “You wondered why I was looking at him. Maybe I’ve heard rumours. A Mandalorian in silver armour, the best in the parsec at licking and dicking. Fights well, fucks well.” You risk a glance at Mando and see he has his back to you now and is with a shifty-looking guy who is speaking furtively. The informant. You’re glad he’s distracted, to be honest. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t hear what you’re saying about him. It might reveal your desires, and since you work and live with this man, you shouldn’t complicate things. Zabrak(ish) now seems torn between erupting in anger or collapsing in tears. But emboldened by your success so far and the knowledge that Mando can’t hear, you decide to weave another false scenario to illustrate to this guy why he shouldn’t make assumptions about your partner. “And even if the helmet never comes off, maybe he’s got other talents. Knows exactly how and where to use his fingers to make a woman come in seconds. Talks so deliciously dirty through the modulator that he can get her off without even touching her. Has a huge cock and knows how to use it. And by the way, the whole mysterious armoured warrior thing is seriously attractive. So sorry, pal, you’re outmatched on this one.”

I’m sure you can see where this is going!

Din has, in fact, overheard, and he later offers to prove Reader’s speculations correct one by one. First with just his voice (dirty talk ahoy!), next with his fingers, then with his tongue, and lastly with his dick.

There’s a tiny snippet here from an old WIP challenge post taken from a paragraph near the end of the dirty talk scene. Depending on whether this gets much interest (which I doubt because I’m not tagging anyone), I may post something a little spicier later, but let’s just say Din finds an innovative use for that ridge along his shoulder pauldron… 😳

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Hi JJ :] could I make a request for a din x reader fic? It’s just dancing with him (I have a feeling that you’re a swiftie so I’m gonna say inspired by dancing with our hands tied)

anyway thank you for considering this! Love you very much :]

[a/n: lolol spot on, my friend. I am in fact a swiftie and i forgot how much i loved this song until i re-listened to it. it's technically not just dancing, i got carried away as i always do, but dancing does happen so....]

Mandalor!Din Djarin x Royal Female!Reader

Warnings: mentions of sexual history, so smut adjacent?, arranged marriage, technically cheating b/c reader is engaged (but she's never even met the dude so does it even really count?)

Word Count: 1,885

Summary: Your love came with an expiration date. Doomed to fail from the second you met him.

DEEP BLUE, BUT YOU PAINTED ME GOLDEN

"I'd kiss you as the lights went out, swaying as the room burned down. I'd hold you as the water rushes in, if I could dance with you again." ⏤ Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Taylor Swift)

Your world ended the moment you met Din Djarin.

For all of your life, you were the perfect royal daughter. You followed the rules, wrapped around you like chains, with no struggle. Picture perfect and sinless. Raised to be a representation of your kingdom and a political token to be bartered. It was all you had known, and you never complained. You loved your parents, your family, your people, and if being tied to a stranger in marriage helped them in some way you would do it. 

You never questioned that sacrifice. Not until a meeting, held by your father, brought together rulers from all the neighboring worlds in hopes to unify and create alliances. When the Mandalor walked in, you felt a shift in your very soul. There was no logical reason why. He was decked, head to toe, in brilliant beskar armor⏤ a thick, red robe hanging off one shoulder. His presence alone had changed everything, and when your father made introductions and you heard Mandalor Din Djarin speak your name in his low, modulated voice, you knew nothing would be the same again. You learned that night that he felt the same pull you did. Involuntary and irresistible.

Din Djarin woke you from a slumber you didn’t know you existed in. Your life had been shades of gray and blue for so long that it seemed to be all you were capable of. Someone who had never seen the sun would never miss or crave the light. But, he painted your world in color. Red shades of passion, golden shades of pleasure, and cool beskar silver.

The two of you took every opportunity and more to see one another. Nobody in either of your lives suspected anything. You were an obedient, royal daughter betrothed to a prince, and Din was the well respected Mandalor who would find a riddur in another Mandalorian. In their eyes, nothing would ever come from that beyond friendship and a strong alliance between your worlds. However, when their eyes looked away, behind closed doors, those lines were blurred. The lines didn’t even exist. 

It was hard to find the sin in this relationship when Din had his head buried between your legs. There wasn’t an ounce of regret in your soul every time you laid in the dark listening to Din’s deep, hoarse voice murmur and grunt praises in your ear as he drove his cock overwhelmingly deep into you. The warmth of his tongue on your skin, the taste of his cum lingering in your mouth, the feel of his strong hands exploring every inch of you⏤ it was a pleasure you hadn’t thought possible in the life destined for you. The only time guilt seeped into you was when the passion slowed down. When you laid on your belly, bare, as Din’s heavy and hot body laid on top of you with his uncovered face buried in the crook of your neck. Din would wrap his arms around you lovingly and whisper about a future the two of you could never have. A home with land on a quiet, nondescript world where neither of you had to hide your love and a family could be started. It was a life you didn’t know you wanted until you met Din. For the first time in your life, you wanted something and the guilt of that desire ate you alive.

This dance continued for nearly a year before your lives dragged you apart.

It was time for you to meet your fiance and move forward with your engagement. Saying goodbye to Din was heart wrenching. What hurt the most was that it was a goodbye neither of you truly wanted. It was responsibility to the worlds you came from that pulled you apart. Leaving one another felt like fighting gravity itself.

“My daughter, smile.” Your mother cooed as she reached out to readjust the mask covering your upper face. It matched the gown you currently wore. When your engagement party was planned, multiple themes were offered to you and you passively went with whatever your parents thought was best. Which turned out to be a Masquerade. Not that it mattered. No party would lift your spirits. “What’s wrong?”

“I guess I’m just nervous to meet the prince.” You replied simply. The party was in full swing and your fiance would be here any minute now. A hiccup in his travel plans made him late, but not late enough to cancel the party unfortunately. It was still in full swing with a mass of masked people dancing happily.

Your mother chuckled and cupped your face, “Don’t be nervous. The prince will be a good match for you. We made sure to pick someone kind and fair. Someone who will be good to you.”

You forced a tight lipped smile and nodded. Your parents were good people, and you had no doubt they picked a man who they thought would be best for you. But, how well did your parents really know you these days? You weren’t the woman you were this time last year. You wondered if you could ever be her again. It was unlikely. 

After your mother wandered away, you drifted through the room speaking to those who greeted you first. Playing the role you were born to play. Mid way through the room a hand wrapped around your wrist and you didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. You had the feel of Din’s palm on your skin memorized. An ache overcame you at the touch, and you bit down on your lower lip⏤ refusing to turn around. He drifted closer, hovering dangerously close while in public like this, and you shook your head. “Mandalor, you can’t be here.”

You hoped using his title would make addressing him easier. It didn’t help.

Din leaned down and spoke, his voice unmodulated but muted, “I am not the Mandalor, ka’ra’ika.”

Curious, you finally turned and your eyes widened to see Din was not dressed in his beskar. His broad frame was dressed in a simple suit, nothing to make him stand out in a crowd, and his face was covered with a full face mask. His eyes hidden behind a line of dark glass and the rest painted in shades of black and white. “What are…” You paused in shock. Din’s loose, dark curls peeked around his mask and even with confusion swirling all about, your mind involuntarily memorized the color. It was a habit. Every single detail you were given about the man in front of you was tucked away like a well hidden secret. “Why are you here?”

“Dance with me?” Din asked in a voice that was borderline pleading. “Please?”

You nodded once and let him drag you slowly toward where the other bodies danced in an organized crowd. Din pulled you in close so the two of you could sway. You rested one hand on his shoulder while he held your other. It took every ounce of self control in your body to not lift your hand and rake your fingers through his hair. Din spun you around the dance floor, and a slow smile graced your lips for the first time all night. Din brought with him a glow. Being with him just seemed to brighten your world. Din lifted his arm to spin you⏤ your dress flared out around you, and a laugh bubbled out of your lungs. You heard his deep chuckle before he dipped you low. When he brought you back up, you were flush with his chest and your hands rested there. His heartbeat under your palm grounded you, but with it came guilt and the painful reminder that this was fleeting.

“My fiance will be here soon, Din.” You murmured. “You’re only making this harder.”

“I can’t walk away from this. From you.”

You shook your head, hands grasping the lapels of his suit, “We were doomed from the start. We knew that.” Your eyes burned with unshed tears. “With our beginning came an end date. And we’ve… we’ve reached it.”

“No.” Din’s hands slid down to grip your hips as he pulled you in closer. You sucked in a sharp breath. This wasn’t proper. “We’ve been living by rules set by our responsibilities and by outside factors when we should be the ones to decide. We should get to choose who we love.” 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Don’t. Don’t say it.” Now, it was you pleading. The two of you never used that word. You felt it, it changed you, but admitting it out loud would be too real for something destined to end. So you both agreed to leave it an unspoken truth. A phrase only whispered when the other wasn’t listening. “Din, please…”

“I have a… a proposition.” Din said. “I’ve made my choice, but now I want you to make yours.”

“What do you mean?”

Din leaned in close, “We can run, ka’ra’ika. This doesn’t have to be the end of our story. It can be a new beginning.” 

“Din, we can’t.” You shook your head. “You’re Mandalor⏤”

“No. I’m not. I’ve renounced the title.” Din admitted. Your eyes widened and your jaw popped open to question him, but no words left your lips. “I’ve passed it on.”

“Why would you…” You gasped. “Din, you don’t even know what my choice will be.”

“That’s alright. I made my choice on my own accord.”

“What if I say no? Then what, Din? You gave up your title⏤”

“If you say no,” Din began, “Which you are well within your rights to do, then giving up my title was simply the price to pay.” You furrowed your brow and you could hear the soft smile in his voice. “The price to pay for one last moment with you.”

The lights suddenly went out and you jumped in surprise. One of Din’s hands left your waist and seconds later Din’s lips were at your ears. It was then you realized this cover of darkness was not accidental, it came at the hands of the man holding you.

“If you send me away, I’ll never bother you again, I give you my word.” Din whispered in your ear and the sound alone made your eyes flutter close. A soft breath leaving your lips. “But I would regret it for the rest of my life, if I didn’t tell you how much I love you.” You felt tears collecting in the corner of your eyes. Hearing those words in his voice, just like when you first heard him speak your name, caused a shift in your soul. Din pressed his lips to a spot on your neck right below your ear. “If I didn’t beg you for one last kiss.”

Without hesitation, you dug your hands into his hair and pulled his lips to yours. It was muscle memory. You knew the taste of him and you welcomed it. His warm hand gripped the back of your neck as his tongue licked into your mouth. You moaned and tried to pull him closer as if he wasn’t already tangled with you. The taste of your tears mingled in the kiss.

Din pulled back and let his thumb brush under the edges of your mask to swipe at the tears that leaked down your cheeks. In that moment, you whispered your truth.

"I love you."

When the lights came on, there were two less bodies in the mass of confused dancers, and the expensive and delicate mask of the royal daughter laid on the ballroom floor⏤ carelessly tossed aside.

[court-jobi]

Best Medicine

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader (AFAB | fem pronouns, but fairly neutral)

Words: 7.7k

Rating: Teen/Mature, 18+ (spicy first half) (K'oyacyi, sweet minors)

Warnings: Implied sensual release, grinding, cuddling, love confessions, carbonite sickness, language, memory loss, emotional hurt/comfort, survivor’s guilt, sleep intimacy, talks of consent/taking advantage, FEELINGS, the helmet comes off, Mandalorian marriages, Din deserves everything wonderful, Fluff/Hurt/Comfort roller coaster ride, angst with a happy(ish?) ending~

//set in pre and post- Season Two | The Mandalorian and the Book of Boba Fett (time jump)...// Translations included at end of work//

A/N & credits: Honorable mentions to @writerlyhabits for helping my mind run wild with carbonite sickness headcanons, and for inspiring me to write out this emotional ride of comfort-HURT-comfort for you all. It’s not often I make any form of whump, my Tumblr lovelies, so be kind and apologies in advance for this… It was both a challenge and an adventure to write~ I promised there’s a lovely silver lining in all my works, and I hope this one is enjoyable!

✨May the 4th be with y'all✨

Need more Star Wars fics? Get your fix w/my masterlist HERE!

Read on AO3

Summary: These are the soft moments you live for: each caress and light word of banter chisel the dark heaviness of life away, chip by chip. Tonight’s no different– you are swept up into the arms of Mando who’s taken your bait, and loving every minute of it. You’re overdue for a break and some quality time.

The quiet cabin of the Razor Crest gave you the space for cozy confessions, to learn more of his mother tongue, and give in to your tendency to get carried away like teenagers, if just for a spell.

Laughter is the best medicine: from the dead of hyperspace, to whatever bed you've landed on while on the run. Yet will that be the case– as the cruelty of time and circumstance test it?

"Ho-okay, c'mere you."

Relishing in your giggles as you wedged your hand in between his newly exposed ribcage, the Mandalorian let out the catch in his throat and quickly picked you up by your thighs– the perfect way to toss you up on one shoulder. You squealed and couldn't stop laughing even as he groused about your ‘cheeky hands where I can see them’, and walked you over to his quarters. 

He swung you back down so that you plopped with a bounce on the recently laundered bunk. It’s tidy – well, was, before you fell onto it– and still smells fresh and windblown from your last stop. Pliant under his shadow, he towered over you with a hand on each side of your head. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t wearing armor; he’s still impressive.

"Do I have to teach you to mind your manners, too?" The rasp came out as annoyed, but you knew better.

He chides the kiddo all the time. 'Quit picking at things', 'don't give her that attitude'; all the magic words have to be instilled in him, as well as just keeping to himself and not being a nuisance. Munchkin has to be taught such things; they're juvenile. 

That's not what he means with you. He's talking about the glances, the bounce of your foot taunting him when your legs cross, the playing with your belt which then tugs your neckline… when you line up your scope just right, just as he taught you, and you give him all the credit. 

You really don't have to try hard at all to get Mando’s attention– it's the game of keeping a step away that leads into a chase that gets under his skin. Especially when he just knows you're up to it. 

You have a few hours to kill until the next leg of your adventure begins. It’s bound to be a restless one when you touchdown planetside, so spoil him, you shall.

You couldn't stop smiling when he caught you.

"C'mon, you can't blame me, space cowboy. You're fun to tease." 

Since you were taken down, you brushed your hair back, let your arms hang above your head, toying with him through your eye’s bat.

The visor transfixed on you told you everything you needed to know: you were practically gift-wrapped under him, and he’s obsessed with the view. That was by design.

Your laughter died down to little hums as you watched him glance to the wall, back to you, then again toward the shelf. He finally decided to palm the panel brusquely to shut the door behind him: encasing you both in automatic darkness. 

You heard the click of the underside of his helmet. A relaxed, hollowed chuckle transitioned to a bright one to fill the silence. 

Jackpot.

Strong arms came slowly down to the bed to hold you, with a warm, -now ungloved- hand brushing more hair back that had framed your face every which way.

The Mandalorian cooed down at you with a saccharine smile you knew had to be there,

"I love hearing you laugh…"

Hearing and touch senses honed in, you reached tentatively to where his shoulder would be, pulling him in and inviting him to lay in his newly claimed spot between your legs. The Mandalorian followed so, gingerly.

You murmured an affirmation as a questioning reply, coupled with a breathy string of chuckles to confirm his desires. Truly your eyes couldn't know the difference between open and closed in total blackness, anyway.

"--and I love listening to you sing," he praised you again. “I can hear you better this way.”

You hummed sweetly, 

"Aww, so you do enjoy being serenaded huh? Big, scary bounty hunter brought to his knees by a wannabe wordsmith with a funny accent?"

Eager lips laid their caring touch to your forehead. 

“Every time." He pressed little cheek kisses to you, too, explaining his untold, priceless comforts in between, "The minute you put the kid to bed is my favorite part of the day."

He feels your fingers trail up to his hair, nails taking through the crimped mess of curls there. He froze his affections the moment you did that. You ease moans out of him at one, singular touch.

He doesn't care how small he sounds, you think. All he knows is ‘I’m safe.’

"And this, is mine:" you said with a softness reserved for him. All teasing is set aside when you do choose to be serious. You shifted so he can let down more weight onto you in the newly shared room, "Taking care of the one man who puts everything and everyone else before himself. It's quite the honor, for me."

Sighs fall from him so easily. You'd imagine his eyes shut at that. 

“It’s you who honors me,” Mando countered.

You wanted these moments to count: taking any chance you could to affirm and provide whatever comfort you can with the little downtime you had.

You know he won't show you, but it doesn't keep you from wondering… when he's so close, you wonder what he looks like under the helm. What kind of hair, how long. What breaks in the skin have cut into him after wearing it for so long, or did he have any prior to swearing on the names of his Ancestors. 

What of his eyes alone? There's the usual gemlike hues, earthy tones; or there's always the artificial overlays people use to disguise themselves or the retinal scans– it's just a special effect they use in those holovids you watch on the weekends. Just the kind he mocked when he caught you watching them. 'Silly and pointless and ridiculously scripted.' And yet while he sassed about the waste of time, you often corralled him enough so that he'd at least sit with you while he cleaned off the carbon scoring of his rifles, to watch them passively by your side… he'd caved to your whims if you so much as touched him. That's what got you here.

With him at his most docile, you felt brave enough to ask what has always mystified you,

"What color are your eyes, hon?"

You heard Mando’s head tilt up with its sleepy intake of breath. A flash of worry that you overstepped hit you, feeling his form rise from its concave state under your touch… but he didn't go away. Fingers wound their way to cup the back of your neck instead– 

–to prepare to taste yours in just a few moments.

"Purple," he answered.

You snorted at the lie. It's just a little bluff, but you'll entertain it… you both are teetering in the realm of what's permitted within his Creed anyway. 

His lips are a breath from yours. You played along; like you'd won the guessing game,

"I knew it."

Your winner’s kiss was the touch of warmth he'd needed all day. 

Eh, maybe he'd tell you the truth one day, maybe not– besides, you don't have any brainpower left to wonder when he's kissing you. 

One turned into two and more, with the Mandalorian’s hands roaming your features until they reached low enough to switch spots and roll you over onto his chest instead. His palm’s exploration over your shoulder gave you the chance to pull away for a breath, leaving you to process the shivers he's causing and taking the time to relish his touch.

"I really do have to thank you," Mando confessed between deep breaths. Deep, like he was really breathing for the first time today. "I've– never felt so.. safe. Ever -in all my life- than when I'm with you."

You melted, until he said more.

"Feels like I’ve cheated the Fates to even be left standing, much less lie down without needing to keep an eye open. I never-- really thought I.. deserve this."

You wondered why. Your browline tensed with worry, why he would be so self-deprecating even after a career like his… littered with wins and paygrades and beskar trophies?

"Ill-deserving of what?" You asked plainly. "--having someone care about you?"

Your Mandalorian fell quiet, simply running a hand up and down your back with complete tenderness. Where his blunted nails caught your skin on the backstrokes, the pads of his glove-worn hands soothed the loving scratches’ path. 

This silent confirmation wouldn’t cut your questions: it’s still a force of habit, Mando using actions to show what he means. 

"You give me kindness. Kindness that," Mando spoke of the wonder of this feeling, "I had to convince my heart to accept. Who'd dare refuse a gift from you… But I can't help feeling it's wasted on someone like me."

Someone like him: a hunter? Or a Mandalorian? Folks frowned upon both mantles. You knew the biases, but you treated him fairly, made him feel valid– even before your feelings for him grew into something much sweeter than a working coexistence. Thank the Stars, you were so happy to find your chemistry was a feeling Mando shared after a late night with a too-close call. A feeling he was apparently still getting used to- hence the apparent guilt of what ‘gift’ he'd been given by having someone so generous like you for a partner.  

This broke your heart every time. Not just hearing his affirmations and words of appreciation when they catch you off guard– but how he’d thank you for the most basic needs of his own.

"Honey," you leaned down your forehead to his, "You matter. Whether you believe it or not, you're loved and not alone in this galaxy. Your words, feelings, they matter to me. It's not wasted, any of it, baby. I'm honored to be the one who gets to love you on the day-to-day basis, yeah, but... even if I wasn't in the picture, I should hope you’d still seek out getting your needs met. That's all anyone wants, I think." 

You caressed his stubbled jaw line with your thumb as it slid and traced down the seams to his chest. Something inspiring bumbled around in your head, so you tried working it out.

"You know as well as I do... these days can blur together so fast when we're moving too fast. We– get in the way of our own thoughts, and that can make our minds a messy place. It’s easy then, we forget how needed our wants are, sometimes.”

The hands caressing you stilled; reverent to every word you said.

“Keep your word, settle your debts, all that’s still true,” you shook your head, “But please don't forget this part, hon... You matter, and that includes the softer things you want. The nice things. What the amazing, kind- hearted man underneath needs."

No person has ever respected him so much. To honor his creed and what it entails, to support what he did, the lifestyle he chose-especially one as taxing as this. He wouldn't call himself a kind man; he was a killer, detached and for the longest time, keen to remain that way.. But if this woman so dear to him said so, maybe he was learning to be gentle after all.

You wished more than ever that you could stare him in the eyes so you'd know he heard you– but you swung for the next best thing: you held your hand right on top of his heart. Its beat was faint under his padded underarmour, but there.

His breath faltered at the touch. 

Mando reached his to find the digits caressing him and dancing his along each one: skin to skin. Has no one really ever told him that? A little huff of air escaped him; you felt his head shake from the motion rustling the pillow beneath him.

"Hell, you're sweet," Mando brought your fingers off and laced them to his lips. "You mean that."

"Of course I do. I don't say it to prove I'm being right. I want you to know the truth."

He was quiet again. Only this time, a purposeful finger ran along your side to coax you out. Tickle, more like.

"Ok, sometimes I like being right!!" you rushed out to make him stop.

"I have a running list of wagers a mile long that says otherwise, cyar'ika. You fool no one, let alone me." 

Mando amused himself every now and then, a sound you loved like a drug, too. You took control and dove up for another kiss, his deep laugh turning into something stronger, deeper. He always kissed you like he was drowning and you were his source of life and air. As if you'd fly away at any minute.

His hands pulled you tightly to him, demanding closeness with firm, undulating grips on your thigh and on your neck to direct you. Kiss after kiss, you eventually led from your point of leverage to start kissing down his neck as an experiment.  He'd gasped at first, but the good kind. The kind that begged, not stalled for less.

“Loving on me,” Mando rasped, “Is that wha’ you– you’re calling nngthis?”

Your boy needed reassurance, something awful, tonight.

You'd normally tease him as you go, gauging his response to touching these new places, but were kind about it tonight. As touch-starved as your Mandalorian is, you didn't want to overwhelm him.

So you merely paused, gave a sweet “Sir, yes, sir~” and carried on after a quick peck on the cheek.

You couldn’t help but let your giddiness escape again when you reached a soft spot on his neck; one that made him say your name in an awestruck cry. Soft on the clips, long on the vowels. God, you love the sound of it, bobbing under your waiting lips as you worship the space. He's warm, stubbled, and just perfect. 

"The way you say my name,” you beamed, “I'm starting to think you like me or something, honey."

Mando sighed out, moving a hand to the back of your head to get your attention:

"Din."

You still kissed him, asking him to repeat with a little hum.

"m'... m' name."

The loving haze blew away, and you with it. A zing thrummed to life in your chest. He’s never told you his name– ‘anonymity was his strength’ dictating the secrecy, after all. Despite the dark, you leaned up on an elbow. 

Your eyes went wide, looking into nowhere at the wall, breathless at the discovery.

"Your name is Din?" 

He was just as breathless beneath you, equally rendered mute as you were. Made sense, it was the first time he'd said the word to anyone in years; the proof lay in how his chest was heaving, "Yes."

"...Din."

He melted at the sound of it on your tongue. 

"Din Djarin." he offered up his family name.

"Din Djarin." so you honored the clan, just the same.

He shuddered, "Fuck, yes".

In a surge, Din Djarin -no longer just the man you affectionately called ‘hey you’- pulled you back to his lips. Heated minutes passed with his hands all over you and your delighted, soft laughs breaking your kisses from pure happiness. 

You now knew his name. Two words that coded him in a way few knew, and you were one of the select recipients of such intimate knowledge. This would take your bond to new heights tonight, and you could barely stand the euphoria that flooded you.

You'd started shuffling about with your hips instinctively over his once as much as your perch allowed and when they settled as an unintentional roll, Din sighed deeply and with a tighter grip. One hand gathered up your hair in his hand, where he could relish the waves in it and hold you back enough where he could lap at your neck as you'd done to him. Your hips found permission to work their magic and you were met with a carnal side of the Mandalorian you'd anticipated he held back all along. Even though his thick trousers and your leggings separated you two entirely, it was enough to scratch the itch and blind him even more to anything around him in a matter of seconds.

Little phrases passed Din’s lips; sweet nothings you thought, with no idea for their meaning. But with him talking, you didn't care if he was reciting the alphabet, his dinner order, or the damn 'Ode to the Empire’. He was practically praying hotly in your ear, and that was a buzz you'd never try to stop and put a pin in the moment to demand a pocket translator.

"Mesh’la, cyar’ika. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la. B’d jate... Jatne o'r ner sur'haai…" 

One deep roll sent him gripping you tight so he bucked back. The sensation hit you in a special place too; you cried out a bit louder than you anticipated. Before you could even think to be shy about it, Din sucked hard on your neck– and your surprise jumped an octave.

"That's it, sweetheart." Din swallowed, "Kriff, that's a good girl." 

He set a pace that you had no control of anymore. You'd be losing control yourself soon enough.

A bit helplessly, you whimpered along with the rolls, listening to his begs, 

"Din, I ---nnnguhhh"

"What is it, sweet girl? Rejorhaa'ir ni. Does that feel good, huh?"

"Mhmmm.. it feels good,"

"You sound good. Heavens, you sound amazing. So.. so fucking pretty.." Din sought a sloppy makeout that you happily fell into. 

From the warmth buzzing in your face through your body, you shot away breathless in a tiny whine into his cheek; something was going to burst inside.

"Ohmygodohmygod, Mand– Din, I can't..."

He ground up a bit faster, "Ni ganar’e, cyare, I've got you. Let go. Let me hear you, c'mon."

You'd whined again, shaking your head against your better judgment. 

Sensing the fight in you, Din fisted the hand on your hair into a deliciously tight hold– his loving, seductive mouth speaking into the soft flesh by your jaw while his hand explored its way down to your thigh.

"C'mon, I know you're close. C'mon." The bass in his voice turned it into a growl easily. He was desperate too. "Be my best girl, like I know you are."

Oh God that tempted you. You'd been grinding faster, yourself. Not unlike hearing the pre-flight tells you catch when the engines cycle power in the cockpit: you're racing the lighting inside you while still trying to be conscious of the moment. Staying centered on him. 

On Din. Din Djarin.

And with another suckling, lazy kiss to your neck, you'd cried out. The tremors jolted within you, subsiding into trembling shakes even when you quit thrashing against him.

Din's hand dropped to brace your back after your rush, keeping up his pace while you fought for breath. His voice choked out fast, too, ending his chase in a hard groan and his own hips rutting against you a few times harder than the rest, then fell back altogether. Your highs concluded quickly– with the mellow clang of his head thunking against the bar at the top of his bunk as he fell back.

You didn’t mean to, but you chuckled at his small 'ow', so you cupped your hand up to cradle his head. Massage it, to comfort. Even he, the man who takes vibroblades to the flesh and barely sheds a tear, feels vulnerable enough to give a little whine out to play for sympathy.

 Catching your breath has never felt so good.

 Soon enough though, you felt both his hands slide to your hips and push up a bit.

You lifted gingerly, "Oh, am I hurting you?"

"I.. I uh,... made a mess." Din sounded so winded.

You ran hot at that admission.

"Oh. Heh, sorry ‘bout that."

"Oh hell, don't you apologize for that," You could hear the smile, albeit the awkward stumbling behind it. "Wait- wait here." 

He tipped you on your side and kissed you quick. 

"Eyes closed?”

You nuzzled his forehead pressed onto yours, "Already there."

"Atta girl." Din  leaned into another kiss.

He left and changed quickly. Gave you enough time for you to collect your hair up and over the pillow from where it got mussed, hugging a pillow to yourself in his place, still giddy at making the Mandalorian lose himself.

Making Din lose himself.

By his dulled footsteps and overhead bar of light painting a Mandalorian-shaped shadow onto the door again, you hid in your pillow dramatically. The rumbles of his voice carried to you as the door closed and he crawled back to you as before; bare to the room once more and laughing at your comical eagerness for him to shed the helmet again.

"Ok–" Din’s welcoming hand pulled your arm down; familiar, to when he'd collected your hands at the start.

"Hey you." You cooed shyly.

"Hey you." He purred back.

You lifted up into another kiss, this one much calmer and softer, having been sated in the most tender way with him.

Settling back, breathless you muttered out a quick 'hey' to bring him back to the present. "Teach me how to say something?"

Obeying your pause, he slowed to a stop. "In Mando'a?” he asked.

"Mhm?"

Interest piqued his tone, “What do you want to say?”

What your heart’s been singing for months every moment he has his back turned. What you’ve meant and said a thousand different ways other than the three standard words. Only this time, you want him to be in on the secret, too. You wanted to be able to tell him this in a way that will only resonate with him:

“..I wanna say 'I love you'.”

Din went rigid. Then straightening up, he brushed your hair back soothingly, falling to a whisper- another secret.

"We would say..ni kar'tayl gar darrasuum."

“Ni cart ah-"

He chuckled, "ni kar'tayl,"

"ni kar'tayl,"

"gar,"

"gar?"

"darrasuum."

"darrasuum."

"That's it. All together?" Din guided. 

You tried for all three, and when it did , it slid perfectly off your tongue so that a happy, wet sound left him. Something about it must have stung his eyes you couldn't see. You pressed a couple small kisses to his lips.

Mando’a was a gorgeous, sonorous language– and quite possibly the trickiest to pick up.

Then your tone turned curious, "Haven't… you been saying that to me? All this time?"

"You remembered." He nuzzled your forehead, but shook his head a little to answer, ‘not quite’ teased in his motion. "Kar'tayl means 'to know', or another way... It means to care deeply, to care for. Mandalorians use it for many things, depending who they speak it to. There is no word for 'love', so... "

"To really know someone is to love them." You finished sweetly.

You hit the nail on the head, and speaking that core tenet earned you a loving sweep of Din’s thumb across your cheek.

It’s inevitable; your chest was going to burst.

"That's beautiful, Din." You blissfully sighed. He snuck both arms around you, pulling you forward. “Din Djarin.”

"It means so much," he whispered, "--coming from you..."

In that moment, you hoped his heart could rest…

FIVE MONTHS LATER

Din lays at your back, having nestled up subconsciously overnight. 

His arm -the perfectly still, bracing one he relies on when he scouts- found its place so easily spooned beneath yours. Proof you are part of a matching set: intwined in love and bond and safety, even in sleep– at least to him, who you knew once felt he didn’t deserve such sweetness and warmth.

This would have been nothing out of the ordinary, nothing out of character for Din to do with you in bed. He cuddled you nightly, religiously, from that first evening onward, sharing your bed and souls alike since you spoke your first word of love to him. Normally, you’d welcome it, you always welcome him.

But– not now. Now, it set you on edge. Since his last shift of the blankets when he rolled over, you haven’t been able to fall back asleep. In uneasiness, you lie awake and aware of how a once tender act was wrong. Your conscience nags at your gut: no, no, no.

Not like this. 

He doesn't know what he's doing.

Stop him. 

Tell him to move.

Move him.

You willed yourself awake when Din curled in; you really shouldn’t allow this. But for the sake of his rest as all the docs all say he needs, you let him seek his peace however makes him the most comfortable, content enough to watch the ongoing lanes of traffic of early and late commuters of the Ring out your window’s slats. 

Sleep wasn’t easy for you now anyway– not with this every present knot in your throat. It’s set to burst when your mind wanders too far towards what got you here…

There were two callsigns you memorized since meeting Din– not as a request or favor, but a demand. One of course, was his, and the other belonged to one of the last Mandalorians standing from his former covert as a last resort. One that he quizzed you on over and over about answering, ‘should anything ever happen to me’. 

One day, that callsign just pinged you– and sent a good bit of ice into your stomach when you greet a wide-cut blue helm filling your holo. 

“Master Vizsla.”

“Lady Djarin,” Paz greeted with a warm-enough familiarity. 

Something in the way he chose how he delivered his words around you told you that he’s perhaps making an effort to appear personable over a holomessage, whereas he may put on fewer airs face-to-face.

You were honest, 

“I feel like there’s few reasons someone like you would call me, and none of those reasons strike me well…”

“ I’ve only said two words, little bird. Your intuition is a curious one,” his helmet shook a little, “-though, not misplaced...”

You leveled your face, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“I have news. I recovered your riduur. He is alive, though not in the same state as when he left you.”

Now that is a curious response. 

You outsourced yourself for a job and have taken a good, six-week-long hiatus from your shared space rented on the Glavis Ringworld pursuing your own contracts. Although confident in this share of responsibility, it’s been harder being away from each other than either of you anticipated. You spoke on comms for each other’s voices about every other rotation in your separation, though never nearly as far from each other’s mind. But this was your marriage, one you honored in every way- together or apart. 

And anything to bring in some extra credits, and… take your mind off the kiddo’s absence… has been a welcome distraction. 

Only now, with Paz’s news, you’re both relieved and far more anxious to learn just why Din hasn’t answered your hails from an unusual, weeklong stretch of radio silence…

“Sorry, not the same– state?” you asked, “what do you mean? What about his state…”

Before your headspace had the chance to spin– running wild with concern over his body, what he could have suffered, could have fought, could have breathed, ingested, poisoned–

“...state of mind, I fear.” was Paz’s cool answer. “He has lost his Path, and you need to help him guide it back where it belongs.”

This, as it would turn out, was not so easy a malady to heal.

You met Paz at his transmitted coordinates to collect your husband and work through what was to become the biggest challenge this -or any relationship in your life- has ever faced:

Fekking carbonite sickness. Or whatever corrupted version of it Din Djarin had quite literally trapped himself into.

While on his own mission, Paz recovered a poorly thrown together carbonite freezer that a petty gang abandoned, with a select few targets within. One of which entombed none other than his own kih’vod. The reason why he described it as ‘a botched job’ was that the alchemical readouts of said carbonite chamber pointed to a tainted solution: not pure in ingredients that typically secure a clean, minimally-invasive freezing process. When you start cutting corners to save costs, you compromise the effectiveness of the flashfreeze. Some sentients did not survive this treatment; though it was a blessing Din clearly did– though not before taking a unique toll. 

Typically, carbonite would blitz your vision, your extremities; make you feel like a ten-ton transport has dragged you across the Dune Sea then set you spinning through a wash cycle, expecting you to walk a few miles blindfolded as a cool down without a single misstep. 

It makes you drowsy– not lose your short-term memory. 

When Din awoke, the questions posed to him concerning what events led him to his present predicament went unanswered. Not from a place of obstinance, but complete confusion. He’s unsatisfied with himself, the frailty he feels. Being stripped of the mind stung equally as bad as if it had his body– which conveniently, was also hurting. 

He got angry, Paz said– furious as to what could have altered his head and made him feel so out-of-body. There were decent chunks of recent days, weeks he claimed he could not recall. That list grew as he couldn’t even say what his last paygrade was, what he’d done with the Guild for the last year, what had become of the covert on Nevarro. When he glanced at a darkly mirrored reflection of himself, he didn’t know how he procured the newer portions of his chromed armor. 

The bad news continued to careen out of control. He didn’t recognize the mudhorn etched on his shoulder; had to ask the Armorer why that creature was added. To her immovable surprise, she sobered at how serious this truly was. He didn’t know his Clan? Of its addition?

He didn’t..--he didn’t know the name Grogu. Never even heard of such a species. 

When shown a holopic of the kid, he simply looked at you and asked if something like that could speak- could maybe answer to what happened to him. That nearly broke you on the spot if the Armorer hadn’t ushered a still-throbbing Din to sit and receive a medical consult and diverted your attention. The whole scene was a heartbreaking one, though Vizsla spared you most of the big questions you wanted to ask by ripping off the emotional bandaids himself.

It was by Paz’s explanation that Din had been told that you were his wife, his riduur. For some strange reason, he accepted that quickly. Explained straight away why you stuck around. But in the hours and days that followed, your partner was far from the cozy and nurturing man you’ve known for so long. Even if he tolerated you, he still appeared to consider you a stranger. You knew why, and therefore didn’t blame him one bit. He was hard enough on himself for his failings on a good day. Getting himself into such a vulnerable situation and having to nurse this blasted headache everyday that barely seemed to let up would naturally only make that self-image worse.  His steps fall heavier, carrying weight unseen. 

It was clear a depression was setting in as the hard first days melted into a week. Into two. The man you loved walked through your shared home as a cold, distant shell of himself, filled to the brim with unspoken anger, confusion, guilt, and lost pain. 

While in your company every day, you led most of the talking- just about practical things. Suggestions when he lost his train of thought, simple choices, graciously avoiding the oliphant in the room by keeping topics in the moment with your usual, helpful nature. It’s your default and, so, hard to break; but for the most part, Din Djarin accepted that too with nods and hums of agreement. He poured himself into some easy reconnaissance missions and errands to try and pull himself out of the dark, but he offered very little depth of dialogue with you, claiming he’s focusing on meditation. Centering himself. 

But you knew better. Centering, introspection– that takes a different form with Din when he’s in a bad headspace. He’s hating himself, punishing: for being a disappointment, to be your problem. 

Though… oddly enough… your nighttime routine had not really changed. That’s the most bittersweet feeling of all of this. 

When it came that first night to talk about your living arrangement, he insisted that nothing change: for you to keep your bed, and he would busy himself elsewhere. But as you both just talked things through about what your next steps should be, sitting side by side against the headboard watching the nightlife stream in through the porthole of your room, your drowsiness took root, and he somehow fell asleep right beside you– as though nothing had changed. 

In the silence of morning, he didn’t speak on it; you carried about your days as before, getting by. But sure enough, when you’d catch up at the end of the day, the same sinking feeling around you would hit at the same hour, you’d lie down, wake with him having never left his side of the bed, and the cycle would repeat. 

A poignant, if painful, reminder of what connection still stood between you– and what little  comfort the universe was offering you in the midst of a horrible situation through your Mandalorian’s touch.

Still, you know it’s not the same. It’s instinctual, not intentional. You don’t cry anymore about it. You’re all sniffled out, though your throat hasn’t gotten the memo. It seizes every time he calls you by name instead of Cyar'ika. 

So here, he sleeps behind you:  seemingly none the wiser about the more amorous nights that bombarded your god-awful, precious memories. These dreams, they keep you awake at all hours of the early morning when even Din’s subconscious cries out to hold you. To allow him to sleep by your side when surely his entire world felt numb and unfamiliar? It was his blessing, and your nightly curse.

A noise, finally. A little catch, high behind your neck- a barely-there attempt to wake up. In trying, he squeezes you in, then settles with a soothed groan. Din’s nuzzling between your shoulders. The scent of your conditioner must be the only thing keeping him in such a drowsy state. On the edge of sleep, he’s still able to make you melt with his rarely-seen gentle nature. 

And despite the circumstances, you laugh at this, softly.

"What are you doing?" you ask of yourself more than him: but he answers…

"Mmmm... y'r warm.."

Now that’s your Din. That’s your Darling talking. 

It’s him… and not. 

"Djar…” you sighed with a catch in your chest, “Honey, wake up."

You’d shown him where he stowed his helmet on the shelf while you slept and that you’d never get up before him, so he didn’t feel exposed. It was torture though– you always woke up before him now and were subject to his snuggly nature: sans the intimacy you once shared by turning into each other. That wouldn’t be fair now, wouldn’t be right, even if it was what you craved the most about mornings with him. For now, you’d face away, until he was ready.

Din stirred again. His limbs gave a quivering squeeze to wakefulness. You knew it the moment he must have opened his eyes, because his breaths seized. He’s aware, then... even more aware.

"Oh,” he broke through his morning voice with a rush, “I'm so sorry-- I was just-"

"It's ok, just relax,” you threw confidence into your voice, “How’s the head?" 

“It um.. It’s ok. Kind of achey.”

“C'mon. Lay down and rest.” You’re selfish and can’t help settling in, "It's not like we have to get up yet. Paz still has the speeder, so we can stick to this side of town until he brings it back."

You held onto his wrist carefully, returning it to its lax spot between your breasts, just where it fits. You just want him lucid; even if he doesn’t hold you as tight as he used to.

After the Grogu holo incident, you couldn’t bear to ask him more about what he does or doesn’t recognize. You couldn’t bear to ask him if he remembered you, and you wouldn’t, even now. How could he, after all? If he didn’t even know the face of his own son, what chance did you have? You’d met him months after taking on his charge. Based on the gap of time Din struggled to remember, you certainly fell within that ocean of nothingness. No, you didn’t bother to ask him things of that nature. You simply accepted his companionship and moved along.

At your word, Din nests back in, presumably to get a few more minutes of sleep. But then, he  breathes in, and you sense it’s not purely therapeutic, the way he’s settled into you. He’s scooted closer, and not to readjust his posture. He’s moved your hair, and not to get it out of his face for his comfort–

He starts– kriff, he’s kissing you. Kissing you like he means it. Little pecks. Your neck, your shoulder, and– you stop him.

"D- babe,- you don't have to,” the warning lights fire off in your brain, holding his wrist firmly now.

Din mumbles more between presses, "I want to.”

"Mando, you-"

"Call me Djarin again."

The way he hushes you, so fekking softly, it sounds like him… dank ferrick. .

Stars, it’s weird. This whole thing is weird. When was this supposed to let up, a vague ‘week or two, come back for a new assessment and we will review the prognosis’? You try to hope he’s feeling more like himself after a good night’s rest, but you can’t really explain this behavior.

Your restraint now is a testament, a promise to protect him as he’s always protected you:

" You’re–” you shoot yourself in the foot and craft the words as they break your heart. “You're not yourself. I can't ignore that. I know it, even if you don't."

You’ll curse this blasted phase in the future, when everything settles and eventually goes back to normal. But this is the one time you’d ever call such tender treatment truly insufferable. He pauses in his affections,

"--No," Din then counters, gentle and curious, "I… I remember this part..."

Remember what? You’ve shown him video still after still when he asks, letting him lead his own recovery journey as he wills. You obviously do your best, but it hurts you– and you’re not so sure he doesn’t notice judging by the sweet ways he apologizes for troubling you. 

You’re sure he’s being kind. "Do you, now."

Facing the wall with empty focus, you kept your sights down, ignoring how he braced himself on one arm and attempted to turn you onto your back. You followed the give of his hand’s press on you, but not much. And of course, you still didn’t look at him. Can’t stomach him revealing himself to you when you assume he’s doing it out of duty; what’s expected of him as an unwilling, ‘newfound’ spouse.

But when he spoke again, the barest of touches skidded along your collarbones, up the neck…

"You were born with these,” Din shares with a reverence. “Here. Little Ones, from the sun. But this: this was an accident. When you were small; your skin was too new."

Your eyes honed on a red traffic light outside– the sight of it mimicked your alarm. He’s brushing a scarline– yes, from a childhood incident you told him about… months ago…

"You really can't see it unless your face turns red. Pretty sure I’ve seen that,” Din trails off, sets to brushing your cheek, “Turns white, against the curve. You get embarrassed, but I remember telling you to quit–”

"--to not worry about it." you finished as a whisper. “Din.”

‘Makes you who you are. Pretty as a picture, meshla. Think of it as a brushstroke, when the Maker was putting on the finishing touches of you.’

He knows. He does know you. He hasn’t forgotten?

Your eyes stung when you tried to blink the memory away. This makes no sense…

"I’m sorry- you remember that…” you shake in awe, “But– not?…"

Grogu?

"I know." His brow furrowed, "or.. rather, I don't."

His hand set atop your bicep– something grounding.

“I want to," he begs of you, "Truly, I want to say I feel like I’m nearly there. If only to convince you to look at me.”

You laid flat the rest of the way. Mostly so you could better hear him and not make him think you’re hiding, but also, you could now reach him more comfortably. 

Bittersweet tenderness braided you two together-- here in an unbelievable turn of events. 

You lifted your eyes to him at last. Din whispers again,

“Angel Eyes…”

The endearment makes you nearly sob. Dammit, he does remember. Relief, grief, it’s all muddy.

"I don't remember my foundling’s name.” you’re crushed at how mournful he sounds, “-which is a sin in its own right…" But he speaks with life-rendering conviction,  "But I know I told you mine. I know where we stood, which light panel on the Crest I turned off, how you- h-how you kissed me back that day.”

Your foreheads touch, the invisible string pulls you to do it. The lids of your eyes shut on contact with the ebb of a hurricane behind your eyes.

“Please use it-" Din asks of you, "-until I can remember all of the rest. Until I can remember every time I have ever told you ‘I loved you’-- and revive it, tenfold."

The tsunami's pressure strikes you down. You bury your sob down your windpipe and lunge for him– to kiss sense into him if it's the last thing you do.

And kiss, you do: for the release, for answers, for solace in an unfair time. For whatever reason, your riduur finds the same comfort, though he is desperate at the other end of the spectrum. You, in knowing a shred of him still exists and rejoicing in that; in him, grasping onto that one fact like it’s the only thing he has.

His entire energy is sad beyond belief, but he looks at you like you're his lifeline when you part. Din wets his lips- masking a tremble by how he bites it. 

"This is the only thing that feels normal. Feels right. I don't understand it…"

The shadow of his humility shines, even as he wallows in his present struggle.

"You'll get there,” you swore through tears- not all of them sad anymore. “If this is any proof, you'll get there. Won’t last forever."

You share another kiss for healing. By how his brows seem to even out, you wonder if it’s actually helping to ease the pain after all. It’s firm, longing. It’s all you have to give him.

Din looks you over as he’s in close proximity- refamiliarizing himself with every high point in your face, every contour, and gives a genuine smile. 

“Pretty sure…” he worked through the whirl of ideas behind that dreamy gaze, “... had a dream about that kid. Kept taking that– did he try to take the gear shift off the Crest? Y’know, the ball end? Think it was a toy?”

And finally: you laughed for the first time in weeks. 

“Yes, he did! It’s the one thing that survived the crash!” you burst into happy tears. “Oh my God, I can’t believe it~ see? You’re–”

"You haven't laughed. Not in days," Din interrupts– "I like it when you laugh."

You hear it once more, plain as day:

I love hearing you laugh.

–like it was yesterday…

"I know you do." you calm yourself. "Maybe one of these days, you'll remember how you bring it out of me."

He considers you, and a funny little aire of critique passes across his face.

“Something tells me that’s not hard to do. I’ll try my best,” he scrunches his perfect nose, “M’not a comedian though, fair warning. ”

“That’s ok. It’s your delivery that’s the funniest part. Munchkin thinks so,” you reminded with hope. You worded it like a question, hoping Din would visualize the instance easier if you made it sound casual. 

“Seems to favor testing me, more like– what you've told me so far.” Din trails off on his own. His brow twitches, showing his head may be pulsing, but he’s fighting through it. “Better be one to mind his manners the next time we see him. Wonder if the Jedi teach that, too.”

Understanding just how many times he'd looked your way expressionless under the guise of armor, he'd learned the benefits of using words when you came into his life and makeshift home. It was a change of perspective that was all too necessary; that he could truly speak his mind and that you would listen anytime- day or night. The way he communicated was truly poetic once he felt comfortable to release the matters of his heart through his mouth. 

So now, even when his mind has split and you were left to patiently wait out for his memories to return in full force, you'd simply hold his hand and keep the anchor set so his heartstrings could untangle themselves.

You smile despite the gap in understanding the gravity of what he'd just spoken- that Grogu was with a Jedi without hope of any visitation date that you knew of. It's still so hard without him– another pain you feel that you're shouldering alone…

“Have I said that before?" Din's flare of insecurity flared like the ebb of his headache. "I'm not making things easier by opening my damn mouth, am I…”

You sift the thoughts away, out from the forefront, "No…" you say, to ease his worry. 

You're reminded of how much he is still the same Din. The power of his gentle words and the potency of laughter: the best medicine he could take. With knowing tears lining your eyes, you answered with a massage to his temple,

“It just means more, coming from you."

Translations:

Mesh’la, cyar’ika = Beautiful, sweetheart. Ka'ra jaon'kov, cuy’gar mesh’la = Stars above, you're beautiful. B’d jate = So (good) Jatne o'r ner sur'haai = Perfect (good, superlative) in my eyes. Rejorhaa'ir ni = Tell me Ni ganar’e, cyare = I have you, my sweetheart

[the-starry-seas]

So I guess it's as good a time as any to have a pinned post?

Hi, I'm Sticks! I use vae/vaer/vaers/vaerself and it/its pronouns. This is a multifandom blog with a dash of many other random things. I'm a proshipper, cloneshipper, multishipper, and polyshipper.

I'll tag things to the best of my ability if you ask. Sometimes I'll forget. I love being tagged in ask games, WIP games, last line challenges, literally whatever. Mutuals can DM for my discord.

You can check out my fics on AO3 at lizardwrites (Star Wars) or purpleturtle9000 (Rise/Bayverse TMNT). Or check the tag for sticks' fics to see drabbles and previews. My askbox is open for requests for more drabbles, headcanons, and general rambling.

Consider this a blanket permission for any and all transformative works of my writing. You may post translated versions of my fics on other sites but you may not repost the original work. And please show me what you've made!

I have a lot of OCs and I love talking about them. I also want to hear all about yours! In the meantime, there's a list of mine below the cut. tumblr wouldn't let me link all of them, but you can try copy-pasting the-starry-seas.tumblr.com/tagged/ and put in the character name (I tag with ranks, so put in CT Racer instead of just Racer).

The Murderbot Diaries:

Jude (she/they rogue SecUnit)

ROTTMNT:

Kestrel

Star Wars:

212th Squad (Boot, Mik, Squeaker, Moxie, Onion, Crumpet)

Aces Squad (CT Racer, CT Fury, CS Blue, CT Whisper, CT Ember)

B Roll, all-girls clone squad formed of Bark, Bite, Bumble, and Bee

Clone Force M (CT Winter, CT Bee, CT Indigo, CT Jewel, CC Nebula, CT Zenith, CT Sunny, CT Star, CT Sky, CT Silver)

Mar'eyce, modern AU Clone Force M, featuring the Smokejumpers

Ghost Squad (CL Harlow, CS Karla, CT Shay, CT Cavalry, CT Boom, CT Ray, CT Nox, CT Tally) and their associated Mandalorians

Green Squad (formerly) now civilians Aralyn, Berry, and Prey Drive

Royal Squad, five tubies adopted by the royal family in a nobody-dies Bail/Breha/Fox AU (Bug, Jaonyc, Yancy, Helio, Vidal)

Shili Squad (Chen Nihaan, Alyx, Bella, Corvin, Watcher, Atlas, Ginger, Circuit, and Synch)

Shiny Squad: Kit's batchmates CT Lucky, CT Shrike, and CT Carno

Grafitti & Rence of the Corrie Guard

Kit also of the Corrie Guard and Fox's shiny/adopted son

Legacy and Legend, a pair of Force-sensitive batchmates who are smuggled to a Jedi temple

Prim Fett (clone, Mandalorian, and adopted daughter of Boba)

Riye Verda (Kamino-cloned, Mandalorian-raised)

Switch (clone, reconditioned, cyborg, mercenary)

Kryndi (florist and Kit's girlfriend in the royal OT3 AU)

Cathedi (Jedi)

Xerin (Jedi)

Clan Merit, composed of Quin, Aya, and Amery (Mandalorians)

Mirshko (Mandalorian)

Torrak Varkus and Torrak Vermil (Mandalorian)

Vinir (Mandalorian)

Soruli and Seryla (Nautolan Jedi and Force-sensitive smuggler)

A'Hidayat (Tusken)

U'Rajya (Tusken)

Tusken OC umbrella tag

Ripper (Yautja in Star Wars)

Valkyries (all-women pirate crew-slash-polycule)

CC Kamor, Eixes Judarri, and Padawan Rivi from the Better or Worse AU, where a clone captain finds and adopts his general's padawan, with the help of the Zabrak smuggler who becomes his queerplatonic partner

Chen Xunielah, a Togruta ambassador and duchess, and her clone husband Chen Nihaan, who form the Chen family with their kids

Scrapper Crew, a collection of troublemaking ladies

Come Home AU, about Mando spouses separated by the Empire and later reunited

Mordex, a Force-sensitive kid enslaved by a Sith who later becomes a bounty hunter during the Clone Wars

Transformers:

Button

Chromeblaze

Demoiselle

Goldshot

Neutrobolt & Nitroblitz

Nightflash

Stormbrake

Voltcast

Various:

Rowan

[limnsaber]

Mandalorian Slash Fic Rec List - DinLuke Volume III: Canon AU + Other AU

Welcome to Volume III of The Mandalorian Slash! For reference, 🔐 means a restricted work and 💜 means an personal favorite. Check out the other lists here: Gen III, and Mando Slash I, II, and IV. Happy reading, and make sure to give your love to our featured authors!! -Limn <3

💜 Hand in Glove by rinwins (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Prosthesis, Gen, 1k)

“Here,” Luke says, “help me with this?” “I’m not really a mechanic--” “That’s fine, I just need your hand.”

Canon AU

💜 Right Side of the Sun by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Greef Karga, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, 6k)

Karga comms Din out of the blue and asks him to come to Nevarro.

Under the Sky by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Teen, 3k)

“So,” the man currently invading Din’s personal space says, biting his bottom lip as he looks Din over. “You come here often?” Din’s heard better, and when he says as much the man laughs, mouth pulling into a genuine smile.

all for freedom and for pleasure by @foggysirens (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Mutual Pining, Rebellion Era, Teen, 10k)

“It was you.” The words fall from Luke’s lips before he can stop them. The Mandalorian freezes, helmeted gaze turning to focus on him. “The Force was leading me to you.” - Or, in an act of desperation, the Rebellion seeks out help from a rather unlikely source, leaving Luke unsure of how to feel about the new arrival to Echo Base, but unable to deny that the Force works in mysterious ways.

Like the Dawn by @ace-din-djarin (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Leia Organa, Han Solo, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Mutual Pining, Found Family, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Teen, 15k)

Din’s words appear a few months after the attack on his village, after he had been taken in and adopted by the Mandalorians and the grief was still thick in his throat. He doesn’t know, at first, that they are there at all, until his baji’buir looks at him, her golden buy’ce tilted, and says, quietly, “I believe you have your words, ad.” She hands him a piece of shining beskar to use as a mirror, and sure enough, curled under his left ear in a slanting script, there they are. Two words: I am.  — Just before his eyes slip closed, he sees something else overlaid on what he can actually see — a flash of silver, shining and beautiful. Something in Luke’s heart sings, for just a second, and he hears the Force whispering ‘ this one.’ He strains, trying to see more, but he can’t hold on, and drops down into unconsciousness. — Or: The first words your soulmate says to you are written on your skin. Luke and Din travel the galaxy before they find their match.

Branching by @alchemyalice (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Finn, Rey, Gen, 8k)

“What color is the ship?” “White and red,” Reeves reported slowly. “Why?” Din’s lungs rattled as he exhaled. “I, uh.” He worked saliva into his mouth. “I think it might be a friendly.”

🔐 the albatross by TheCosmicMushroom (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Sith Luke Skywalker, Force Sensitive Din Djarin, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mild Gore, Mature, 5k)

“There, at the epicenter, he awaits. Back-lit by ominous red—so much red—Luke Skywalker appears small, too small certainly for the devastation he’s wrought. Covered head-to-toe in black, he epitomizes the Dark Side itself. Effortlessly, he sends blaster bolts careening back to his would-be attackers with that crackling, wailing blade. Lines blurring from impossible speed, he is a wraith in the waning daylight. And before him, men break into pieces like wet flimsi.” [An AU in which Din finds himself entrenched in the Rebellion and the Imperial Prince’s attention.]

through power, there is victory by @emilianadarling (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Sith Luke Skywalker, Power Imbalance, Psychological Horror, Teen, 8k)

Then, slipping between Stormtroopers like a living shadow, another man appears. He’s of modest height and slim build, clad in a black cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. The energy in the room instantly changes as he steps forward, becoming weighted and charged. There’s a sense of raw deference in the way everyone watches him. When the commander from earlier steps forward and tries to speak, the man raises a gloved hand to cut him off without looking, dismissing him as easily as one of the rank and file. Din’s stomach bottoms out. - In a galaxy under Emperor Vader’s rule, Din and Grogu are intercepted by Imperials.

only as strong as the warrior next to you by @emilianadarling CaroGolden (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Sith Luke Skywalker, Power Imbalance, Politics, Possessive Behavior, Imperial Prince Luke Skywalker, Depictions of Fascism, Multimedia, Ensemble Cast, Explicit, 141k, man this one, whoof)

With an indolent air, Luke rests his elbows on the railing, leaning forward to better take in the action. Below the Mandalorian is already in motion, beskar a glinting contrast to black walls and floors. Luke’s eyes trail him as he moves, bitter and gluttonous. Watching as Din takes stock of the concrete half-walls, helmet tilting upward to survey the turrets above. Exploring terrain before the simulation is initiated, his professionalism unaffected by the tension that still lingers beneath armor. Compartmentalization is a skill Luke learned involuntarily; a way to cope with the horror that was once his daily existence. Din, by contrast, embodies the very practice of it. That rigid separation between self and other. The Mandalorian’s inner world is so vast, Luke could get lost in it. - Imperial High Prince Skywalker has taken himself a bodyguard.

Other AU

Persevere by @chocmarss (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Lighthouses, Teen, 40k)

"And you don’t need to pay me anything just because I saved your life. Anyone could’ve done it.” “You’d be surprised at how many wouldn’t,” Luke told him with a wry smile. “My name’s Luke, by the way. So that you’d know who you just dragged into your home.” “That implies that I should be worried,” The man —Din— pointed out, using his hip to lean against the bedpost by his feet. Luke reached forward and set the glass on the tray. “Should I?” The sun lit up his brown hair, catching every curl that glowed red and amber. Luke met his gaze head-on. “I’m not a threat, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Luke didn't take into account how he could get tossed into the sea when he was on that mission; he didn't think he'd wake up in someone else's house. There were a man, his baby, and his dog, you see. You'd have to understand — Luke wanted to be a part of it.

would you be so kind by furiosophie (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa, Jyn Erso, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Mature, 4k)

"You ready for self-defense class in second period?” Jyn asks from where she sits with her feet up on the common table of the teacher’s lounge. “Apparently Ahsoka bullied one of the parents into doing it." Now Luke actually comes awake, "One of the parents?" "Yea, that one scary looking dude who never takes off his helmet what was his name--" Oh, Luke knows exactly who that is.

handspun (i could be lonely with you) by @we-re-always-alright (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicago, Mature, 40k)

Luke runs a yarn store out of converted coach house in a quiet part of the Clybourn Corridor. Din is trying to chase his kid and keep him from touching everything in sight. Grogu just wants to live in the softest yarns. (A story about the vibe of a city, spoken poetry and the power of the hand knit.)

splicing (tell all the stars above) by @we-re-always-alright (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Ensemble Cast, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chicago, Weddings, Mature, 63k)

Luke decides the best way to get your family to approve of your partner is to drag him and his child to France for a week. Din is skeptical of most of the Skywalker family. Grogu is willing to try snails but he already doesn't like the texture of mushrooms and French cuisine loves mushrooms. Leia is having the most elaborate wedding this family has seen since the last time the Amidala family was at court with the Bourbons. Something about weddings can bring out the best and worst in your family, can't it? (A continuation of the story about the vibe of a city, soft spoken poetry and the power of the hand knit. The Over-the-Top Elaborate French Wedding Edition.)

making it easier for us to celebrate by @andfollowthesun (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Meet-Cute, Pre-Relationship, Gen, 6k)

There are some days when he wishes he could stay at home full-time. Like now, when Grogu plants himself in front of Din, and promptly bursts into tears.

💜 Are We Out of the Woods Yet? by @maered613 (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dinluke Halloween 2022, Mature, 14k)

There’s something following them. Din’s sure of it.  His old instincts have kicked in ever since he heard the snap of that branch.  It’s almost lunchtime, and by now he’s memorised Skywalker’s graceful, sure gait- and all the kid’s chaotic stampeding.  There’s another in the mix.   Grogu’s Boy Scout troop is going camping, and faced with the prospect of spending 48 hours worried out of his mind or sleeping outside for a night, Din decides to get some fresh air. Din thinks his biggest problem is going to be hiding his attraction to Grogu’s Scout leader, that is, until he hears something start to follow them through the woods.

💜 To the trust funds and the punishers by niuxuu (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 15k)

“But you can say no.” “Why would I say no?” As soon as the words left his mouth he realized he wanted to, he wanted to say no more than anything. But he had no reason to do that, not when everything was going according to plan; this was an accomplishment. Grogu needed this, so why was he being selfish and hoping to deny it? or Where Din is Grogu's foster dad and he convinces himself its just for a short while, until one day he's contacted about a couple that wants to adopt the kid and he realizes he can't imagine a life without him.

Blue Sky by @thrvrnd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Explicit, 35k)

Luke is trying to adapt to his new life: out of the Navy, in a new town with his newly-found sister, following the death of their long-estranged father. Then he meets a Force-sensitive kid and his single dad at a playground. Luke isn't sure about getting into a relationship with a single father. Din's not sure Luke's ready either. Can they work it out? Yeah, they can. They do. That's the story.

And in my mind, I still need a place to go by @dancynrew (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 7k)

"Ah," Luke says, blinking rapidly, ice pack dripping into his eyes, lights still flickering, air conditioner still groaning horribly. "Well. This is a disaster."

🔐 I'm still trying to figure out (the end of what I was starting to say) by Kushana (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Relationship, Mature, 7k)

Luke is still reeling from the discovery that he has somehow found himself another family – and isn’t it strange how right it feels, how easy it feels, to fall into rhythm with Din and Grogu. They have been doing it for months now, unaware of what it meant, of where it was leading, getting in sync without having to think about it.

by committee by @treescape (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Teen, 5k)

Over the years, Luke’s just about seen it all. He and Leia had spent twelve long years growing up in the Imperial Palace while Padme was Supreme Chancellor, and they’re both settling nicely into their own Senatorial careers now that their freshman terms are over. But he’s never seen anything quite like Din Djarin, who’s apparently just won the Mandalorian Senatorial race without ever actually running. Or, Luke and Din are both Senators and serve on the same committee.

Some Glad Tomorrow by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Pre-Relationship, Teen, 4k)

Din’s not sure what to expect when he gets a call out of the blue. Especially when the caller turns out to be a lawyer.

💜 Up Against the Dark by @vagrantblvrd (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes, Teen, 5k)

Luke honestly doesn’t know what it says about him that he ends up in these situations. Really. “Strange,” the Mand’alor says, a pained note to his voice, which is fair as he literally just took a bullet for Luke. “I think it says you’re an idiot.”

somewhere only we know by @foggysirens (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Grogu, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Night at the Museum Fusion, Teen, 42k)

Scanning the paper, Din's eyes fall onto a listing that he had somehow missed. Right at the bottom of the page, in smudged black ink, is a listing from the natural history museum looking for a new nighttime security guard. Now that was an interesting thought. - Or, Din is a struggling single father who becomes the natural history museum's new night guard. He's not expecting much out of the job other than a steady paycheque, but when the sun goes down and the exhibits start to come to life, Din needs to find a way to keep everything under control. A task easier said than done, especially when there's a certain Medieval knight who won't leave him alone.

impossible scenario by deniigiq (Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker, Peter Parker, Crossovers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Reincarnation, Reunions, Teen, 14k)

Luke did a double-take. “That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.” “By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully. Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink. “By the Force,” he said. Ned’s face fell. (Peter accidentally flirts with a drunk Luke Skywalker in the middle of an identity crisis. He then becomes involved with a bunch of people who might actually be more chaotic than him and decides to help out the best he can.)

[dindjarinandlysakane]

The Sweetest Taste | Chapter 2 - Indebted

Din Djarin is happy on Nevarro. He has a home, a family, what more could he want? But when a woman turns up selling bread and cakes at his doorstep, how can he not fall in love? And how can he also stop her from getting hurt at the hands of her partner behind closed doors? Will the hero save the girl and get the girl? Warm and sweet fluff/romance/hurt/comfort fic.

Masterlist

Chapter 2

----

Din never liked to be indebted to anyone.

Bounty Hunter jobs were different. There were plenty of favours he was owed, and owed in return. But when it came to credits, the Mandalorian always wanted to make sure his debt was paid.

That was the reason he was headed into the City. Of course it was. There definitely wasn't anything, or anyone for that matter, who had dwelled in his mind for the past five days.

Din Djarin stomped through the welcoming city walls, with Grogu in his pram hovering close to his side.

It was early evening and the sellers at the bazaar near the city gates were just packing up their wares.

Din gazed around. Despite the troubles of recent times, Nevarro was really getting back on it’s feet, almost unrecognisable from the place it once was. 

The city was thriving. More and more people arriving here by the day, having heard tales of the place that Greef Karga had built from the ashes.

The pair strolled wordlessly side by side.

The peace and quiet was something Din was accustomed to after being alone for so long. So he appreciated the silence that he and Grogu could walk in, together.

The pair had only just returned from a big job off-planet. 

It was nice that Din could be more selective now about the jobs that he took on. And this one had paid out well. Far better than the bare scraps Din had been accustomed to picking up here and there, before his path had crossed with Grogu’s.

The Mandalorian headed into the town square, where the civic buildings stood, imposing and grand, in the centre.

On a normal day Din’s path would take him up and into the Offices of the Magistrate of Nevarro.

But today he wasn't here for to see Karga.

Instead, the Mandalorian and his child made their way over to a small plinth, just outside what had previously been the Nevarro City Hall, before it was destroyed.

Din tapped a button, which caused a holographic map of the city to pop up, rotating in front of him in slow motion.

Beside him, Grogu chirped inquisitively.

Din liked that his son was at the age where he always wanted to know what was going on.

“It’s a city directory,” he explained, his gloved fingers hovering over a rusted silver keyboard. “Shows you the names and addresses of everyone who lives here. Or at least it’s supposed to.”

Din punched the name LYSA KANE into the terminal, before waiting a few seconds as the map zeroed in on a small back street in the far North of the large city.

“Come on,” he said, turning on his heel and beckoning Grogu to follow him.

Fifteen minutes later the pair found themselves on the other side of the city.

The streets here were a far cry from the grand civic plaza.

Here there were buildings reduced to rubble. Broken wreckage from the recent troubles littered the ground. And sinister-looking characters lined some of the shadowy corners, eyeing him with suspicion, obviously wondering what a Mandalorian was doing in their neighbourhood where he didn’t belong.

Din could instantly tell that this was not a good place to live. And he frowned to himself absentmindedly as he thought of the woman called Lysa Kane, who to him, felt bright -like birdsong and sunlight, having a home among the bleakness of all this.

The Mandalorian checked his wrist comm once more, before gazing up at the house ahead of him. If you could even call it that. More like a door sandwiched between two other buildings.

Approaching the rusting door with Grogu floating at his side, Din pressed the buzzer. 

Almost instantly there was a muffled yet irritable-sounding yell from inside. And the door slid open.

But stood there was not Lysa. Instead it was a man, a little younger than Din, with dark hair peppered with grey, and an ugly scowl painted across his long, tanned features.

“Who are you?” he spat arrogantly, his steely blue eyes cold and hard-looking.

Now a man like him Din expected to be living in a place like this.

The Mandalorian didn’t answer the man’s question. Instead he stood there as stoic as ever.

“I’m looking for Lysa Kane,” he said matter of factly.

The man looked Din up and down, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you want with Lysa?” he snipped back almost instantly.

His tone was accusing, suspicious.

But before Din could retort, a sudden figure appeared behind the man.

“Crix, it’s fine, he’s a customer.”

The melodic voice of Lysa was sweet to Din’s ears.

She was dressed in a pale blue belted tunic today, that fell to her feet. Her long hair was loose and wavy, framing her face light a golden halo of light.

She smiled at Din warmly.

But the man in the doorway sucked on his teeth hard, before Din saw him turn on Lysa suddenly, grabbing her by the elbow and steering her back into the house, out of the Mandalorian’s line of sight.

From inside he heard the man’s raised voice. His words were muffled but there was no denying he sounded angry. Yelling at Lysa.

At this, Din bristled.

Only a second later the blonde woman appeared again, her smile was still there but it seemed pained this time.

She swallowed.

“Hey,” she said sweetly. “Sorry… that was my-“

She stopped, faltering slightly, waving a finger over her shoulder as though searching for the words. She blinked slowly.

“…that’s Crix. Crix Val’shif. He’s my…uh…”

Lysa’s words trailed off distractedly, as her greeny-hazel eyes fell to Grogu.

Her face brightened once more and she wrinkled her nose, as the child gave a happy gurgle.

“….w-what are you doing here?” she finally finished. Her gaze meeting with Din’s behind his beskar helmet.

The Mandalorian knew this Crix must be something to Lysa. Her husband maybe? Or at least a lover? But right at this moment, Din did not feel much love in that relationship.

“I wanted to pay you,” he explained. “For the sweet breads and fruit you gave us.”

Lysa stopped for a second, gazing at Din.

She blinked a couple of times, as though in disbelief, before her face broke into a wide smile.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here just for that,” she said with a kind shake of her head.

“I wanted to pay what we owed you,” replied Din, holding out the credits he presumed would cover the cost of what Grogu had eaten.

Lysa tilted her head, taking only one of the three credits from Din’s gloved hand. 

“You didn’t owe me that much,” she said, scolding him softly for his generosity, looking up into his face once more.

Silence fell between the pair of them. It was not an uncomfortable one, but Din Djarin, not being the best conversationalist, knew that he needed to say something…anything, to keep their conversation going.

He opened his mouth to do so, when there came a sudden shout from inside.

“LYSA!”

It was the voice of the man named Crix. He sounded annoyed.

At the noise, Lysa visibly flinched.

“I have to go,” she said gently, offering the pair of them a soft, apologetic smile. “But I can come and deliver to you again……i-if you’d want that?”

At this, Din gave a nod, as Grogu chirped excitedly at his elbow.

“We’d like that.”

Lysa Kane pursed her lips together, as though self-consciously trying to stop her smile from widening further. Before she nodded and took a step back. Offering the father and son one more lingering look before the door slid shut between them.

Din Djarin gave a shuddering sigh.

“Come on, buddy….let’s go home.”

---

You know me. I love a slow burn.

Would you guys like to read more? Please leave a review/comment if you would like to be tagged.

[thegreenlizard]

Jango’s army

Jango Fett steals an army from the Sith.

What if the reason why Jango accepted the assignment on Kamino was not to gain revenge on the Jedi, but to gain an army to take back Mandalore? With a hundred handpicked warriors and the thousands they would train, stealing an army would be the biggest con in the galaxy.

Could be as dark or as light as you like. I mean, producing child soldiers to fight your wars is still not ethically great but stealing them right from under the noses of the Sith is at least better?

And can we talk for a minute about Jango’s armour and its paint? Silver for seeking redemption and blue for reliability. (I guess silver is not canon and blue could be clan colours, but what if..?) Those tell a story and it’s not the same story we’re told in canon. How does a steadfast man seeking redemption go to working for demagolkase (and I mean it in a very literal sense, people experimenting on children)?

Maybe Jango’s first thought was that he’s gonna take that operation down—but alone, he doesn’t have the firepower to do it—but wait, if he’s the inside man—and they want to hire outsiders as trainers? Jango volunteers to recruit them—a hundred Mandalorian commandos definitely can take the facilities.

Or is Jango’s lesser evil making sure that the child army has a progenitor that cares about them instead of someone who doesn’t give a shit, just like Obi-Wan’s lesser evil is making sure they have a general who cares instead of someone who doesn’t? (I’m sorry, I don’t remember what fic had this line of argument between Jango and Obi-Wan. If you do, please leave it in the comments and I’ll link it.)

Or was Jango’s plan something else from the get go? Maybe the plan got derailed by canon events? Or did the plan—and Jango’s paint—change at some point?

I suppose the silver could also be unpainted because Jango feels there’s nothing and no one to paint his armour for because he’s lost everyone and everything—but still, reliability is what he has left? Not gold for revenge?

[martianbugsbunny]

We Are Mandalorians: Our Love Must Be Forged (An AxePaz Fic)—Chapter 9

Righty-ho, this is the chapter where things get worse for like a second but in a really fun way and then everything is gonna turn out great. It’s literally my favorite part of the entire fic tbh, except maybe the happy ending (which I promise is coming eventually!) Also, I don’t remember if I’ve used any Mando’a before in this fic, but I don’t think I have, so the rule for big phrases is Mando’a is the actual dialogue and the translation follows in italics. Singular words that are probably common knowledge among Mando fic fans are just as-is, but here is a link to the Wookieepedia page about Mando’a just in case. Anything I use can be found there. Enjoy!!!

“Paz, will you say the vows with me?” Axe asked.

Paz was weary; Axe could see it the way he nodded. And yes, it seemed futile to do it in a pit, at the end; but if not then, it would be never.

“Mhi solus tome,” Axe began. We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome.” Paz took the next line, his breathing labored and his voice hoarse with exhaustion. We are one when parted.

“Mhi me’dinui an.” We will share all. Including death.

“Mhi—ba’juri verde,” Paz said, and Axe’s heart ached when he heard how Paz’s voice stumbled on this part. We will raise warriors. He took Paz’s hand and squeezed it tight.

The footsteps in the cavern above came closer to the edge of the pit. Paz leaned his helmet against Axe’s. “I love you,” he whispered. “With all the strength of my heart.”

Axe longed to prolong the Keldabe kiss until the end, but he was tired and he was afraid and his nerves were absolutely bare. “Let me hold you,” he said, his voice trembling. “Let me die with you in my arms.”

Paz laid down with his head in Axe’s lap, his breathing slow. His right arm seemed stiff, and he curled his left around Axe’s knees. Was it the most comfortable of positions?…No, not really, but it wouldn’t matter for long anyway. Axe draped his arm across Paz’s upper body, fingers clutching at the cloth beneath his armor in hopes of feeling his pulse one last time past all the garments of war.

Just as the footfalls above reached the edge of the pit, the sound of blaster fire split the air. Bodies collapsed, beskar alloy ringing out against rock, and Axe held Paz tighter. “I love you too,” he said. He didn’t know what was happening up there, but he couldn’t let Paz die without him hearing that.

The noise died down and Axe heard a jetpack fire. Seconds later, a Mandalorian in shiny silver armor landed in front of them: the notorious redeemed apostate Din Djarin. “They’re alive!” he called up to the edge. “They need medical attention!” He knelt down in front of Axe and pulled off his helmet to make half-direct eye contact. “Are you alright?” he asked.

Axe didn’t know what to do, what to say, so he shook his head. “Take care of Paz first,” he insisted. “I can wait. He needs help.”

Din pulled Paz to his feet. The strain of the past few days had definitely caught up with him; he looked like he was about to pass out. Axe didn’t feel much better than Paz looked, but like hell was he going to let himself be attended before he knew his husband would be healed. As Din left the crater, holding Paz securely by the waist, Bo-Katan dropped down next to Axe.

“Where’s the fleet?” he asked. His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth. “They were gone, or I would’ve come back with—”

“Easy. TIE bombers attacked and they were forced to flee. They’re back in orbit now, and the Imperial base has been destroyed. Gideon is dead and what remains of the Imperials are being hunted down and eliminated, including the ones who were about to shoot you like ducks in a barrel.” Bo-Katan tilted his chin up. “You rescued a Child of the Watch instead of fighting?”

Axe inhaled and took a moment to clear his mind before responding, to make sure his words would come out without being jumbled. “He’s my riduur,” he said. “I couldn’t—leave him to die.”

Then he blacked out, falling face-first into Bo-Katan’s arms.

[meandorla]

So grateful to @pedrostories for making this Christmas so very merry for us all with this fic exchange! Gorgeous @grogusmum - I wrote this for you! ❤️ Thank you for your perfect prompt. It's been a while since I wrote fiction and ashamed to say I got UP IN MY HEAD over this - wrote three, hated them all, and eventually decided this was the best. I hope it's ok and it brings you some well-deserved joy! (And I apologise for all of my typos. I will be back for another review with fresh eyes in the morning!)

Prompt: "We're not going anywhere in this snow" Din/F Reader. Post Razor's Crest. CW: Language. Mild angst; some self-loathing; vague and non-specific references to a difficult past. Loneliness. Light jealousy, some fluff. Also, like... Elsa-powers? I don't really know how that happened. I really hope it's ok! 

  A Spell Of Winter

This is the shit all your nightmares are made of.

It hasn’t been like this for years. Not since you were a kid, when the toxic cocktail of fresh teenage hormones and unexplained abilities had turned your world on its head. “A hot mess” your sister had jokingly called you back then, until your fuck ups grew increasingly serious, and then nobody laughed anymore. 

The control you have gained since that time has been bitterly won. Long, lonely years of bleak isolation; an entire cycle spent in silence contemplation with the B'omarr monks. Even been a brief, disastrous foray into black-market pharmaceuticals. It’s been messy. It’s been cruel.  But you’ve always thought the silver lining was in the happyish ending, at least. That it had all brought you here, to the the life you have now. To the fragile but burgeoning trust you now hold for your body and skills. In your ability to confidently control what it does.

From the start, the Mandalorian had seemed like the perfect partner. You appreciated the economy he applied to existence: speaking only when needed, moving only to act. After so long alone you couldn't handle much small talk. You weren’t looking for friendship, just a mutually beneficial exchange.

You had a ship. He had guild membership.

You each had the thing that the other had lost.

He asked you no questions when you showed him your ship; offered no comment on the heavy industrial insulation he could see you’d installed on the walls. He’d simply set his own pack down in the small, empty bunk room, then moved himself to the cockpit for the pre-flight checks. 

Those early tandem hunts had gone almost impossibly well. To your surprise you found you made for a balanced match, your assorted particular skill sets tessellating well. His: body strength, complex weapons, tech-supported bounty tracking. Yours: data analysis, covert intelligence and emerging and innovative tech.

To your surprise you found you were naturally fluent in the language of body movements. He just made immediate sense to you- a small turn of a shoulder, a nod of the head. He read you with similar ease, the closest thing you've ever known to a metaphorical pair of extra hands.

It made it easy. It made it nice.

Nice enough that when you fuck up and he finally sees your abilities, you're really afraid that he’ll run. 

You blame the hunt. It’s been seven long day cycles, both of you trudging through dense, humid rainforest that seemed to slither with unseen and unsettling life.

The bounty had proven irritatingly illusive. Even with two of you his on his tail it had all taken longer than expected and by the time you finally corner him by a rock-face you are aching. Bone weary, ravenous and more than a little on edge.

You must telegraph it with every muscle and movement. You known Mando reads your frustration with ease. It's clear in the way he steps back to let you handle the bounty. How he holds back his offers of help. 

The mark is noisy; kicking and fighting, cursing in multiple tongues. It’s nothing more than you're used to but then spits at you - thick and visceral - right in the middle of your face. His hissing voice calls you a schutta, asks the Mandalorian why he’s letting his hooker tie him up.

Something snaps in you then. Before you can think, before you can regulate, the guy has ceased all his fighting, cold and solid beneath your grip. You look down to see a soft frost of ice crystals drifting over his hair.

Frozen. Fuck. You lost control again. So you swallow the panic that flares in your chest, steel yourself for rejection. In the long years of living like this you must surely have faced just about every possible reaction to your undesirable gifts.

Every reaction, it turns out, except one, as you turn to take in the Mandalorian at your rear.

He isn’t running. He doesn't look afraid. Every line of his body is relaxed, in fact: hands resting just at his hips, his stance casually open and loose.

His helmet tilts slowly, his shoulders dipping in a shrug. “Saves on the carbonite” he finally deadpans, and then he is hoisting the bountysicle over his shoulder and leading you back to your ship without further comment.

You walk behind him in silence with your mouth hung agape. Mind reeling, fingers still tingling with prickles of frost.

In hindsight, that's probably when all of your problems began.

Because Mando’s lack of reaction had you enthralled after that. You’ve never known this before - this simple acceptance, this unquestioning acknowledgement of whatever you are. It floods in to fill something old, dry and empty inside of you. As if you’ve been stuck under water, and he’s helping you take a first desperate breath.

After that you start to let him see other small glimpses of your abilities. His sunbaked water flask suddenly made icy cool as you trek through the desert; an instant cold compress pressed to his dislocated knee.

And with each of these tiny physical confessions, he seems to open up more in return. One inky, perpetual night he tells you carefully about Grogu, the small child he had to give away. You learn about his creed and his armour, about how he came to be here with you.

You both discover a shared love of kuma-fruit, a competitive penchant for overly-long sabacc games. You find that you like him, this strange, metal man, and it starts to unravel you over time.

You’ve had lovers before; urgent couplings in the back of cantinas, faceless fumbles in 'freshers by night. But this thing with the Mandalorian is entirely different. Delicate and slow, it unfurls in you like a flower, pulling you into a full and reluctant bloom.

The smallest touch of his glove leaves you breathlessly heated. You linger late in your cabin, slick and frantic fingers fighting to relieve how you ache.

You’re fairly sure he is feeling a similar tension. It flares in the unnecessary curl of his hand at your hipbone as he passes you close in the hold. It’s there as his gaze seems to settle on your face in the quiet.

It burns quietly between you, a small, simmering pilot light, and you find yourself nervous that you might accidentally snuff it all out.

So you continue - marvelling at how this quiet, stoic man has you speaking more than you can ever remember, and aching at how you can say everything except what you really want.

Sometimes, in the gentle hum of hyperspace, he will strip some of his armour away. Pad around the ship in his socked feet and only the form-fitting flex of his tactical layers. You try not to stare at the wide, expansive stretch of his shoulders, the broad, solid heat of his thighs. You don’t let yourself dwell on how he radiates warmth when he's sitting beside you. You work hard not to wonder what's under the next layer of wrapping on this prize.

If he notices the soft glitter of frost that sometimes creeps up the walls in these companionable moments, then he never complains. And if some nights, with your head against his shoulder as the star lines blur to silver before you both, your hot tea cools unusually quickly, well. Maybe that's just the ambience of space.

You can disguise your slip-ups, but you cannot hide the subtle tells of your tension. He starts to call you on it: "you look tense" murmured at you as you drag yourself to the sani-steam; as you brew another pot of strong caff in the tiny kitchen space. Between hunts he starts to take you to a clearing - an expanse of desert or meadow with nobody else around for miles. He’ll set out little targets: empty bottles, ration tins, whatever junk you have to hand. Sweeps an arm at the makeshift shooting range, standing back.

The first time, not understanding, you had lifted your gun.

“No" he says sharply, taking the rifle with care. “Your way. Let me see." He tilts his head to the tins - scattered around the field, watching you, like a tiny audience of faceless droids. 

You raise a shaking, tentative hand, and loosen a glimmering bolt of high-pressured winter from your palm. The can chimes like a bell as it falls to the ground, a sudden rush of warmth and giddiness bubbling out of you in a loud and exhilarated laugh.  You spin towards him and delight in his reaction: stumbled back and clearly staring, you could swear you can taste his grin.

It gives you confidence. It makes it fun. You toss a can into the air then cast a perfect arch of ice to slide it smoothly to the ground. You swirl a flurry of frost flakes together to coat all the leaves and branches on a tree. Draw up the dew drops on the grasses to make specks of glitter in the air.

He regards you you, open steadily. You let yourself bask in his intensity feeling warm and bright.

One night, slumped in the hold sharing a bottle of spotchka you confess how for so long your own powers have had you full of fear. You speak of all that you’ve lost since this 'gift' had emerged in you; of your parents, your sister, your friends and your hopes. You tell him how it feels to do terrible things against all of your will. How you worry that you are cursed. That it's your punishment now to be forever alone.  He listens with warm, silent focus, then surprises you by leaning forward and cupping a glove to your cheek.

“We are not born, we become,” he tells you, voice low and sincere. “Ni haa'taylir an be gar” [I see all of you].

His hand lingers there, warm on your face. You stare up, but all you can see is the reflection of your own, tipsy gaze. You lick your lips and swallow, feel something living and fierce flare to life in the narrow space between you both.

And then the spotcha bottle explodes in your hand.

You leap apart and look down. Shards of glass and amongst them, tiny frozen fragments in luminous blue. The warm thrum of possibility within you is doused in shame.

You lost control. Again. It feels like an omen - the galaxy’s warning for wanting things you will never deserve to have. 

After that you pull away from him, actively tamp down the fire. You spend more time closed away, cold and alone in your cabin. You let him pilot you both to Nevarro. Lie awake, reading boring old datapads, trying to quiet your frantic mind.

In your fragmented meal times and curt cockpit check-ins, neither of you talk about what will happen next. You’re not sure that you can face either alternative: whether he stays or he goes, you know it is going to hurt.

The landing on Nevada is smooth. Karga’s men are waiting ready to unload your shared haul. Mando launches the shut-down sequence while you open the hold.

The volcanic heat hits you like something solid as the boarding ramp lowers; you have to steady your spine, take a deep, final breath of cold air from the ship.

The two of you walk into town in a delicate silence. Now and again you can sense the Mandalorian is looking at you, but he volunteers nothing, and you feel grateful for it.

Once you hit the cantina, you go to sit apart. Your lost Guild trading licence excludes you from official bounty discussions. Besides which, the long line of colourful bottles at the back of the bar is already calling your name.

You perch at the counter, order a drink. What the spotchka lacks in flavour it makes up for in kick, and you swallow the burn, watching Mando slide into a dark corner booth. Seated opposite Mando you see Karga, and beside him there's a woman - long dark hair, dark eyes, dark clothes.

She glances up in your direction and your nerves start to jangle with unwelcome unease.

You turn your back to the party, return your focus to drink. The first glass is over too quickly so you order a second, desperately chasing some hazy sense of calm. By the end of the second you have even stopped tasting the burn. It feels cool to you now, almost numb in your throat.

Chancing a quick glance at Mando you see that the woman is sitting beside him now.  The two seem familiar; you note how she rests her hand on his arm, how he doesn’t move it away. You watch how he tilts his head in her direction when she says something low. You take another cold gulp of spotchka and hope for its magical numbing property to spread through your chest.

Pucks and credits pass across the table and Karga calls his goodbyes, but still the Mandalorian and the mystery woman stay sequestered in the booth.  You imagine that you can feel the hum of his baritone; it grumbles up through the floor to vibrate inside of your bones.   You hear her laugh, low and sultry, carrying high across the crowd.

It occurs to you then just how foolish you've been. How it never even occurred to you that the Mandalorian would have friendships beyond yourself. Allies, partners. Lovers, paramours. Dark-haired women with flickering eyes and that easy familiarity you have never had the chance to know.

You steal another look across and he catches you - his helmet tuned, sharp and precise to where you sit. You turn away hurriedly as if it will save you; as if you can remove the burn of envy he must have seen on your face.

It all aches, aches impossibly, and suddenly you are too tired to think. You sink your head into your hands, elbows burning into the cold metal bar top, willing yourself to find the fortitude to just get up and go. With glazed eyes you look down, half unseeing, at the patina of whirls and bracken etched across the aged metal countertop.

It seems to dance before your eyes; you watch it dully, head swimming, until the girl behind the counter lets out a sudden, sharp cry. Dread, cold and familiar flares to life in your lungs. The air is gelid. You find that you're scared to look up.

A hush falls across the cantina. From between your hands you can see it: long fingers of frost creeping steadily across the wall. They sparkle prettily in the light, forming the same swirling organic pattern you had traced on the on the bar. Before you, server is stock still and wide eyed, her pretty face painted in fear.

Your blood starts to roar in your ears. Your brain starts to scream all of the worst things it knows.

You make yourself swallow, try to suck in a breath. Control. You have control over this.

Tiny shrill sounds of contraction sound all around you, crackling and tinkling. Breathe in. Breathe out. From somewhere behind you can hear the Mandalorian’s companion, sotto voice, asking “What’s wrong with her?”. You push your shaking legs to stand. One by one, the colours bottles on the shelf behind the bar begin to fracture and break. In an explosion of glitter glass, you stumble blindly towards the door. All around you, patrons are doing the same thing. Scurrying for exits, toppling tables and glasses and one another in their wake.

You don’t turn around to see whether Mando has also escaped you. Can’t decide if it would be better or worse if he has. 

Reaching the exit you surge through the door, eyes and lungs burning as you stumble to a halt. Everything is wrong - the world made impossibly bright. The sun is still shining down warmly, but all around you the rich volcanic colours of Nervarra have been drained away. Like an overexposed holo, the world around you is dazzling and white. Your gasping breath puffs like ion clouds in the gelid air.

You take a step, feel the powder crunch beneath your boot. 

Just as it feels like you will become completely untethered, you feel a warm presence at your back. Then there’s a hand, warm and solid, pressing firm against your spine.

“Mesh'la” he says, voice soft, calm and coaxing. “It’s ok.”

Except, of course, it isn’t.  This is a desert planet. There is an active volcano here!

“I’m a monster” you breathe, unable to keep the truth to yourself any longer.

The hand presses into you more firmly. You feel where his chest plate meets one of your shoulder blades, feel how it's you who is solid and unyielding when compared to the steel.

He is staring beyond you, looking out to the street. You follow his gaze, rapt in your misery, determined to share in this final exchange. A tangle of children are spilling out of a building, all of them squealing and laughing. They gather wet handfuls up from the ground and fling them at one another. You both watch as they holler and whoop and chase all around.

Further down, you spy an elderly market vendor, the bright splash of her apron the only colour in the scene. She holds her shaking, aged hands out palm-upwards, her face tilted back as she cackles up at the sky.  Beside her, from in her skirts, a small child throws himself down horizontal and begins to pump his arms back and forth like a bird.

“It looks beautiful to me” the Mandalorian says somewhere close to your ear.

“I can’t control it any more”. It comes out as a whisper. It's all of your greatest shame. 

“It’s ok” he replies, near enough now for you to feel the electric hum of the vocoder at work. "It's ok. Let me help"

You're still frozen, locked in time, unable to trust yourself with whatever comes next. Unable to hope that what he is offering could be real. Unwilling to take down the wall of ice you've had to build around your heart.

The hand on your back slides a little lower, resting right on the edge of propriety.

“You seem tense" he murmurs, the audible trace of a smirk in his voice. "I can help with that too, if you like". His voice is heated enough to melt glaciers. You feel the tiny trickle of a thaw. 

Sighing, you relent, leaning back into the warmth of his form. Your whole body is heavy and languid. The children squeal in delight as the snow starts to drip. Half an hour, and all of this will be gone.

“Karga keeps a room in the inn upstairs" your Mandalorian tells you. “We can stay here tonight.”

“Together?” you ask, equally hopeful and incredulous. 

His dark rumble of amusement makes you warm to your toes. 

“Well" he says, that wayward hand sliding possessively to wrap right around your waist. "We aren’t going anywhere in this snow now, are we?”

[dameronology]

star wars masterlist

i am finally just compiling each fandom into a masterlist because my main one was going fucking wild

these are not to be reposted on any other sites

characters who got their own masterlist bc they have so many damn fics

⥤ poe dameron masterlist  ⥤ obi-wan kenobi masterlist  SEQUELS rey ⥤ the one where you come back  after two weeks away, rey has never been more happy to see you ⥤ the one where you argue  ‘if you’re not ready to be in a real relationship, then don’t be in one’ finn ⥤ the one with the nightmare you have a nightmare & finn comforts you ⥤ relationship alphabet self explanatory tbh ORIGINALS luke skywalker ⥤ the one with the broken x-wing ‘that’s the first time you’ve told me you loved me’ ⥤  old times & new times ‘you pushed me away’ han solo ⥤ the one where he comforts you  after you have a panic attack, han helps you calm down ⥤ step by step, bit by bit  han solo didn’t fall in love. then again, there was a lot of things that han solo didn’t do before he met you. leia organa t.b.a. PREQUELS anakin skywalker ⥤ the one where he looks after you after coming back from a mission a little worse for wear, anakin is there to clean you up ⥤ the one where you take a break ‘i think we should take a break’ ‘you’re right - we’ll get some food, cool down and then we can talk about this’ 'no, i mean a break from us’ OTHERS din djarin ⥤ that’s all

you’d saved din djarin from himself before. now, with the pain of losing his kid, you’re about to do it all over again.

⥤  everything i need 

din has to rethink his life plans how that you’re by side - not that he’s complaining ⥤ in the eye of the hurricane, there is quiet 

for the mandalorian, a reminder of your mortality is a reminder of his humanity. there’s a man beneath the beskar and you mean everything to him ⥤  figure it out 

din djarin doesn’t usually get jealous. not until he met you, at least ⥤  dance with somebody

din djarin doesn’t dance - but for you, he’ll try ⥤ wait on

boba fett is a good therapist, and din djarin is spectacular at being nosey. the result? a much needed conversation. perhaps there’s a silver lining

⥤ the only thing that matters

after an argument, you and din have a heart-to-heart. cassian andor ⥤ never doubt me 

after falling into the hands of the empire, a situation of life and death forces you and cassian to finally talk about your feelings

HEADCANONS ⥤ their favourite thing about christmas ⥤ their reactions to being told you love them ⥤  when you get injured ⥤ when they’re in love ⥤ when they realised they loved you ⥤ room mate reviews ⥤ languages of love  ⥤ hugs ⥤ angsty moments (sequel trio only)  ⥤ having a passionate/excitable s.o  ⥤ cheering you up after a rough day  ⥤ cuddling ⥤ mornings

[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 1

Chapter One: The Mercury Keeps Rising

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families in need of medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and albeit the bounty hunters as well. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has somehow led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths,

Word Count: 6.7k

A/N: YA’LL IM BACK TO WRITING MY SOUL OUT HERE YAY! I feel like this is gonna be a weekly updated fic or updated twice a week if I’m feeling speedy hehe. Did I turn to the Enneagram again? Yep! You are an Enneagram Two for this fic! Yay! (Cause I’m an Enneagram Two :>) And Din is an Enneagram One, so ya’ll are romantically compatible. Anyways, my thoughts and explanations are gonna be in the end notes! Leave a comment to let me know if you want this series or if I should scrap it. :)

Song: The Great War by Taylor Swift

Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

Just a little longer now… Shouldn't be much longer. Wait, what is this about? You’ve been having trouble sleeping since you were young. The nightmares were nothing new, but the sharp flares in your chest and side kept bothering you recently. Your nervous system's acting up and now being awake feels unsafe as you lay there in your cot, clutching your chest, feeling each breath that escapes from your nose and out through your mouth as you stare at the ceiling above you.

You were a long way from Bogden 3, where you were raised. Nevarro wasn’t the ideal place to hide. It was situated within a sector of the Outer Rim Territories, in a system with a singular star and asteroid fields. An ashen world of black sands, with rocky and volcanic terrain that consisted of regions of rocky flats and hills along with vast fields of lava, which contained lava rivers both on the surface and underground. 

The planet became a bounty hunter hive after the fall of the Empire. The Bounty Hunters’ Guild owns hubs throughout the Galaxy. One of such hub is located on the Outer Rim planet Nevarro, which functions as a cantina. The cantina works around the clock, has its brewery, offers a wide selection of drinks with snacks, provides coolness from the air conditioner, and is a favorite place for rest and meetings of bounty hunters.

By some luck or the unknown ways of the Force, no one had recognized you nor put a bounty on your head yet. After aiding the Republic during the revolution against the Empire and after the Battle of Yavin as a healer and a medic, you left to medically aid those in need after the war. If you were being honest, you missed your friends in the Soaring Hawkbat Clan and the people who raised you. However, you knew that what you were doing needed to be done. 

Droids may sometimes be unreliable, and no matter how sophisticated technology becomes, there is no substitute for the human touch. No droid, no matter how dexterous, can offer compassion. It might be able to store and process more medical information, but only people can offer a truly sympathetic ear. As one of the few who possessed the knowledge to provide primary care to the sick and wounded, Greef Karga eventually established a small medcenter a few blocks away from the cantina.

You decide to push yourself up and away from your cot, seeing the glimmer of light peek through the window. Cleaning up, getting dressed, and after quickly eating a piece of purple fruit, you sling your brown satchel over your shoulder and hurriedly make your way to the medcenter. As you enter, you greet the 2-1B droid which had modular limbs that allowed them to use a range of surgical tools and other medical instruments based on their patients' needs. You made your way over to your desk, setting down your bag and then sterilizing your hands afterward.

Different energy and buzz were happening around Nevarro. As you patched up one of the Trandoshan and sold them a couple of cans containing bacta for a good amount of credits, you had overheard them talking about receiving a job from the Client and planning a flight to Arvala-7. Living on this bounty hunter-infested planet taught you to listen for information and to use it to your advantage when necessary. They were usually given a holopuck, a simple holographic device used to display an image of the quarry and the bounty payout. However, they were only given a tracking fob, the Trandoshan briefly flashing it to you before tucking it away in their belt.

The next few hours were spent treating different families with various illnesses and injuries, then sending them off with some medication and a specific date to return. This was your usual routine, nothing new to note except for that tiny piece of information from earlier.

The sound of the doors hissing to life causes you to turn your head. If you were being honest, this was the last person you expected to show up in your medcenter. Your mouth gaped open as you take in the sight of the tall and imposing figure in front of you. The unmistakable shape of the Mandalorian helmet and polished silver causes you to nearly choke on your saliva.

“Do you have any bacta spray?” The sound of his rough and modulated voice causes you to try and gather your composure as he walks towards you, which proves to be slightly challenging. You clear your throat and look at his vizor, “Yeah, let me just go to the cabinet to get some.” He doesn’t respond, leaving you to awkwardly stand there for a few more seconds before moving to retrieve the bacta spray.

You usually aren’t this nervous or anxious around anyone, but the Mandalorian was completely different. As you rummage through the cabinet, you try and fight the overwhelming urge to sense his feelings, but it is no use. He radiates with deep hurt from his past but tries to bury his soul in the dark. This Mandalorian weights living heavy on his spine. A man who has created mistakes grips at them until his hands are bruised and burning. You wince at that, nearly dropping one of the bacta sprays but manage to catch it, turning to the Mandalorian keenly observing you as you make your way over to him, trying to ignore the waves and streaks of grey and silver glowing around his figure, you quickly hand it to him while saying, “I hope three is enough for now.” 

He curtly nods, “How much?” You shake your head, “You don’t have to pay. It’s fine.” The slight tilt of his helmet almost causes you to blush, you feel his curiosity and concern, “I insist.”

You blink and shake your head again, “Nope. Just… be careful on your journey. That’s enough for me.” You sense his confusion and interest before he turns and walks away, leaving a trail of gray streaks only you could see, hearing the slight clink sound of beskar, and the doors closing.

Once you’re sure he left, you bring both of your hands to the side of your face, using two fingers to rub into your temple, sighing in embarrassment and disappointment for allowing yourself to nearly reveal who you truly are. Having strong Force empathy abilities involved picking up impressions of an individual's feelings and general emotional state. There was no explanation for the aura you could see around individuals, a specific color for each living creature that encompasses their character, personality, morals, past, present, and sometimes, a rare glimpse of their future emotions.

You try and ground yourself by closing your eyes and breathing, controlled and steady breaths of air as you reassure yourself that you’re safe. The peace doesn’t last long, as flashes of visions begin to cloud your periphery. Loud explosions on Nevarro, blaster fights, the unmistakable loud cries of a child, and the Mandalorian at the center of it all. You fall to your knees, clutching your chest tightly and the other to hold your upper body. You sensed the dark side, anger, fear, aggression, and a lust for power from this planet long before, but now you sense there is something much more sinister approaching.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – NOON

After a few days, you intercepted a transmission from the Mandalorian successfully capturing the bounty from Arvala-7, and must be directly given to The Client. While the Mandalorian was gone you had been secretly training, meditating, and gathering more information about whoever this Client may be, allowing the Force to guide you to the path you must walk on.

You step out of the medcenter to see the Razor Crest preparing to land on the settlement's spaceport and disembark. You toss the hood over your head and use a scarf as a mask, hiding in the shadows, watching the Mandalorian and a hover-pram pass you by swiftly and you catch a glimpse of a green creature inside. Your mouth slightly drops open in shock and the quiet feeling of the Force settles inside of you as you eye the baby.

You follow the two of them from a distance, not wanting to be noticed or seen. The Mandalorian turns right into an alleyway, and you wait a few seconds before trailing him. You hide behind one of the stone pillars, keenly observing his movements. The Mandalorian pounds loudly on a metal door and a TT-8L/Y7 gatekeeper droid,  a simple photoreceptor mounted on a retractable eyestalk. The Mandalorian shows a disc as proof of identity. You notice The Child reacts in surprise as the droid retracts.

The door unlocks, and you realize you must follow them without getting caught. Your eyes close as you calmed yourself, deep breaths in and out, registering the light and sound waves around you, every particle and atom. Tiny pieces of music, notes in the air that only you can hear, each sound of your heartbeat, you hold my breath and try to swim. Making infinite room for hope and oxygen, every cell across your skin comes to life, and slowly willing the light particles to bend and render you invisible to visual and audio detection.

When you open your eyes, you silently gasped, seeing a pair of Remnant Stormtroopers exit the house, and watching The Child lowers its ears and head. Your hands clench in a fist so tight you reminded yourself to breathe, following after the Mandalorian and the Stormtroopers before the door slides shut behind you. Inside the corridor, one of the stormtroopers roughly yanks the Child's cradle. Your eyes narrow in agitation and annoyance, the Madalorian is quick to say, “Easy with that.” To which the first Stormtrooper snarkily replies, “You take it easy.”

The stormtroopers lead you to a frail old man who you assume to be the Client and to a familiar-looking doctor on the side, the Client is delighted, “Yes!” He holds the tracking fob and approaches the Child, “Yes, yes, yes! Yes.” The Doctor begins to scan the child with a device, eventually, the scanner beeps to his delight, “Very healthy. Yes.”

The Client stands taller to speak to the Mandalorian, “Your reputation was not unwarranted.” The Mandalorian isn’t the least bit flattered, opting to question him, “How many fobs did you give out?” To which the Client responds, “This asset was of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure its delivery. But to the winner…” He walks over to the desk, bringing out a large container, “Go the spoils.” After a few buttons are pushed, the sides of the container bloom open to reveal bars of Beskar. The Mandalorian comes closer to the center table, holding two bars of beskar as you frown in disappointment.

“Such a large bounty for such a small package.” The Client says, and the Child cries and coos for the Mandalorian as he is taken away by the doctor. He can’t help the guilt that bubbles inside of him, he asks, “What are your plans for it?” The Client isn’t amused by his inquiry, “How uncharacteristic of one of your reputation. You have taken both commission and payment. Is it not the Code of the Guild that these events are now forgotten?”

Two more Stormtroopers appear from the room to the right, standing behind the Client, “That Beskar is enough to make a handsome replacement for your armor. Unfortunately, finding a Mandalorian in these trying times is more difficult than finding the steel.” With that, the Mandalorian places the two pieces of Beskar inside the container. No longer speaking and leaving with his prize as you follow him outside undetected.

Once you were in the main streets of the city, you pull back your cloak and render yourself visible, watching the Mandalorian walks through the marketplace and down the steps into the sewer below. You feel the heavy weight on your chest, unsure if the emotions you feel are coming from him or if they are your own. You shake your head and make your way to the Cantina, needing a drink after all of the information you’ve gathered.

You were taught about Master Yoda, a legendary Jedi Master and stronger than most in his connection with the Force. Small in size but wise and powerful, he trained Jedi for over eight hundred years, playing integral roles in the Clone Wars, and helped in the upbringing of Master Luke Skywalker, to which your clan members were deciding to join him or not. Could this Child be another one of his kind?

The Cantina doors opened and you were immediately greeted by Greef Karga, “Well, look who we have here our favorite medic! Never thought you’d step foot in this place.” You shrugged in response, trying to shake off the stares of the different guests in the Cantina, “I gotta support Mikgel from time to time. Besides, he said he owed me a free drink.” You walk a bit closer to Greef Karga’s table as he asks, “Why would a woman like you, so carefree spirited need a drink?” 

You sit on the other side of the booth, placing both of your arms atop the table, “Would… finding out about Imperial Forces hiding in out in a safe house on our planet count?” Greef Karga chokes on air and winces, you tilt your head down and raise an eyebrow, “Did you think you could keep this from me? What the hell are they doing here?”

He regains his composure and leans forward to whisper his reply, “I never intended to keep it from you. I was trying to protect you.” You scoff in disbelief and annoyance, “Protect me?”

To which Karga says, “Yes! Protect you, if they knew who you were and what you are they’d–” You rarely get angry, always choosing to see the good in people, but you sense the feeling of Karga’s greed and mixed lies.

You raise your hand, palm facing him, “Don’t lecture me about something I’ve lived and fought through. Giving them your services makes you an accomplice, a rat, and a damn coward.” The taste of acid and the waves of color that is radiates off of Karga is a mix of a bright lava orange and red, his simmering anger hisses at you, “Look who’s to talk. Hiding all your life. Running from your own future. Isn’t that a bit selfish and cowardly?” You deflate at that, understanding that he is partially right.

But before you could respond to the sound of the doors hissing open, you turn your head to see the Mandalorian entering the cantina, which silences its patrons as everyone gazes at him. Completely decked out with shiny new armor, he is completely unbothered as he approaches the table where you and Greef Karga are conversing. Karga heartily laughs, “Ah! Mando! They all hate you, Mando. Because you’re a legend!”

You try and get out of the booth and leave but Mando uses his right hand for you to stay put, so you settle back down again. You raise your eyes to hear the raspy voice of the Mandalorian confront Karga, “How many of them had tracking fobs?” Greef Karga scoffs and gestures around the Cantina, “All of them. All of them! But not one of them closed the deal. Only you, Mando. Only you.” The Mandalorian looks at you, “What about her?” To which you look up at him and frown, “No. I’m just a medic getting a drink after a tough day. But congratulations, I guess.”

Greef Karga continues, “And with it, the richest reward this parsec has ever seen. Please sit with us, my friend.” The Mandalorian obliges and unclips his Amban sniper rifle, placing it on the side of the couch before you move a little to the right to give him room to sit next to you. He took up almost half of the booth with his width and physique. You feel your left arm warm up with how close he was, the comfort that allures you to his orbit was unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. You choose to look straight ahead, trying not to acknowledge him pressed up beside you, luckily Greef Karga opens his mouth to talk, “They’re all weighing the Beskar in their minds, but not me. No. I, for one, celebrate your success. Because it is my success as well.”

Your right leg bounces up and down in anticipation Karga continues, “Hell! Even I’m rich.” He chuckled and digs into his breast pocket to reveal the two bars of Beskar he was given by the Client. You roll your eyes in annoyance, but the Guild Master says, “Now, how can I show my gratitude to my most valuable partner?”

Mando cuts to the chase, “I want my next job.” Greef Karga takes a sip of his drink before placing it down on the table, he eyes him with confusion, “Next job? Take some time off. Enjoy yourself. I’ll take you to the Twi’lek healing baths.” You frown at that and Mando doesn’t seem to care, “I want my next job.” Karga sighs, “Sure. Fine.”

“You hunters like to keep busy, right?” Karaga says with an amused tone, “Well, these are all far away.” He places a bunch of holopucks on the table and the Mandalorian reaches out to grab one, “The further, the better.” Karga smiles, “Well, take your pick. You’ve earned it.”

Mando places the holopuck on the table and it whizzes to life, showing an image of a Mon Calamari. “Ah. That’s the best one of the lot. A nobleman’s son skipped bail. Looks like you’re headed to the ocean dunes of Karnac.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything and simply takes the puck and moves away from the table, grabbing his Amban sniper rifle, seemingly satisfied with his pick. You turn to watch him go but he freezes, and you use the force to reach out what he’s feeling, to be flooded with waves of guilt. Your eyebrows knit together as you hear Mando ask, “Any idea what they’re gonna do with it?”

Karga is packing the rest of the holopucks, “With what?” The Mandalorian turns to face him, “The kid.” Karga shakes his head, “I didn’t ask. It’s against the Guild Code.” Mando’s voice goes deeper as he points out, “They work for the Empire. What are they doing here?” You raise your eyebrows at Karga, as you smile smugly at him, “I asked the same thing.” To which he says, “Are the two of you working together? The Empire is gone. All that are left are mercenaries and warlords. But if it bothers you both, just go back to the Core and report them to the New Republic.”

You rolled your eyes and the Mandalorian grunts out, “That’s a joke.” Greef doesn’t give a remark about his statement, instead, he says, “Mando, enjoy your rewards. Buy a camtono of spice. By the time you come out of hyperdrive, you will have forgotten all about it.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t reply and simply takes his leave. You shake your head, scoffing at Karga and he calls out your name as you near the exit, “I suggest you keep yourself out of sight with those Imperial troops. For your safety, of course.” You say nothing and leave the Cantina, you feel the ground shaking under your feet and feel the pressure building until you can't breathe.

You shake your head, and the temptation of the dark side calls to you, to give in to your rage and hatred, you internally fight it off, gritting your teeth as you say, “No.” You catch your breath and focus, rationalizing your decision to break into the Imperial Remnant safe house to save the Child, then you will yourself to move towards the medcenter.

You swiftly walked towards your desk, grabbed your satchel, and opened the flap of the leather. Finding the fabric that wraps around the object you were searching for, you pull it out of the satchel and unwrap it. The lightsaber hilt that you haven’t touched since the day you left the clan, weighs heavy in your hands but the familiar cool touch of silver and gold metal forged into one grant you a sense of comfort. You wrap the hilt once more, not yet needing your lightsaber, placing it inside your satchel and instead arm yourself with a blaster. As you were gathering a few bacta sprays, the double doors sounded open, you don’t look over your shoulder as you say, “We’re closed for the day.”

“I need your help.” You feel your eyes expand and widen, the familiar voice of the Mandalorian causes you to wince a little bit as you turn to see his figure standing a few feet away from you.

You try to act nonchalant ask you ask, “What did you um… need?” Mando steps a bit closer to you, which causes your back to hit the cabinet door, his grave voice echoes through the modulator, “I need your help with rescuing the kid.” You swallow away your nervousness, “What? Why would you ask for my help?”

“You never showed up to the Cantina until today. You were asking Karga about the Imperials and you were curious as to why there were here. You never carry a weapon with you so I’m assuming you’re about to infiltrate their base. It looks like our interests are aligned,” Mando stated plainly as you quietly shook your head, “You don’t know me. So why trust me at all with this?”

It takes him a moment to form a response, you watch as his shoulders rise and fall with every intake of breath, then he says, “I’ve heard the good you’ve done for the people of Nevarro. No judgment or malice. Sometimes giving them medical care for free. You’re right, I don’t know who you are or what you’ve done before. But right now, I do know you’ve only done the right thing. So, I’m asking for your help.”

You were startled by his response, completely breathless by his honesty and directness. You had thought he didn’t know who you were, just some medic around Nevarro, plain and simple. But it seems the Mandalorian also keeps tabs on the citizens around the town.

The color aura of the Mandalorian returns as you blink at him, feeling his emotions bouncing off of him and you becoming the receiver. Sparks of white and silver illuminate him, sensing his sincerity and need to save the Child. You lick your lips as an anxious tick and then nod, “Okay. I’ll do it. What’s the plan?”

The sun was beginning to set, casting shadows on your figures as you swiftly walk down the marketplace and down the alleyway to see the giant green metal door to the Imperial safe house. You make a right to find the hovering pram in the dumpster, and you feel his rage beside you. Like wildfire within him, mountains made of ash and clouds of smoke. It's fight or flight buried in his mind as alarms will sound.

You both climb up to the rooftop of the building across, positioned on his stomach, using his sniper rifle to listen to his targets. Clicking the side of his helmet to which the device whizzes and the static could be heard as you lay flat next to him. You figured he was listening to the targets and waiting for him to relay the information. After a few seconds, the Mandalorian quickly says, “We need to get the kid out of there before they leave.” You nodded as you lifted your hood up, “Okay.”

You both climb down off the rooftop. The Mandalorian bangs on the green door and is greeted by the gatekeeper droid. However, the Mandalorian violently grabs the stem, causing it to screech and rips off the droid's head, causing it to short circuit. He quickly walks away to the side, causing the two stormtroopers to come out to investigate. 

One of them tells the other, “Check the perimeter.” 

You and the Mandalorian plant a grav charge on a nearby wall, he grabs your wrist to hide behind another wall, “Cover your ears.”

You follow his instructions, using both of your hands to cover them, the beeping chirps louder, then sparks begin to fly, blowing a hole in the Imperial compound. Alarms are blaring, as you both walk into the corridor, positioning yourselves and waiting for the stormtroopers to advance.

The yellow lights flicker and eventually short-circuit, catching a glimpse of sparks flying on the side of the wall. You see the stormtroopers pass you and the Mandalorian to inspect the giant hole in the wall, using the flashlights on the side of their blasters to find nothing.

You both appear from behind the stormtroopers, the Mandalorian shooting the both of them from behind. Another stormtrooper enters the corridor and finds his fallen comrades, one of whom has a smoking hole in his chest. The Mandalorian once again appears from the shadows, knocking him down with his blaster and shooting him as well.

So far you hadn’t even needed to draw out your blaster, Mando is truly skilled. You walk through the corridors of the facility, checking each corner for stormtroopers. You and he venture deeper into the compound where he traps a fourth stormtrooper with his grappling cable and stabs him with his vibroblade. 

You shoot a door open and the stormtrooper manages to get a hit on this shoulder pauldron, causing him to jerk backward but manages to shoot the stormtrooper inside the laboratory. You both walk inside and you spot the doctor and an IT-O Interrogation Unit. The doctor begins to plead for his life, “No, no, no, no, please. Please. No. No, no.” You raise your blaster to shoot down the IT-O Interrogation Unit, watching the pile of junk collapse on the ground. 

Mando raises his blaster to shoot at the doctor, but he begs you both once more, “No, please. Please don’t hurt him. It’s just a child.” You and the Mandalorian walk toward him and he continues to plead, “Please. No. No! Please. No. No, no.” Mando grabs him by his chest and shoves him to the side, causing him to fall to the floor. He points and clicks his blaster at him, and he curls into a ball with his arm stretched out begging. You make your way to the machine keeping the child, finding him deep asleep.

You feel the Mandalorian break at the sight, alarms are still blaring, but it's too late for holy water now. He points the blaster, angrily asking, “What did you do to it?” He doesn’t get an immediate response which causes him to repeat the question harshly, “What did you do to it?” The doctor shakingly replies, “I protected him. If it wasn’t for me, he would already be dead! Please! Please. Please.”

The doctor whimpers as you quickly grab the Child and leave with the Mandalorian. You make a right but here the doors open, Mando grabs you and presses you up against a wall to hide behind some of the storage crates. You suddenly feel nauseous and can hear your own heartbeat flutter as you register the cool kiss of his armor against your warm flesh. You close your eyes as you feel the rise and fall of your chest and hear Mandos’ quiet breathing.

You try to push down your powers and senses, not wanting to feel his emotions at this particular moment right now. You feel the strings and waves radiating and intertwining with yours, the silver wisps curling with your bright shining colors. You tightly shut your eyes, hoping that you were almost out of this compound.

Suddenly, you hear the Mandalorian whisper, “They’re gone.”

Your lashes flutter as you open your eyes to meet his gaze through his vizor, there is a spectrum of color, surrounding you both. Your mouth partly opens to say something but there is no sound. For a moment, you believed he felt something too, the pull of gravity within your orbit. However, Mando pulls away from you and the colors disappear once more as if it was never truly there.

Neither of you spoke as you trail behind him and walk into a storeroom. The unexpected sound of the door opening catches you and Mando off-guard as two stormtroopers with flashlights attached to their armor try to shoot you both down. One of the stormtroopers says, “Split up. We’ll flush him out.”

You see their flashlights give away their positions, giving you and him time to defend yourselves. You turn to your left to give Mando the Child, letting him carry it, and make your way to the other stormtrooper.

“Give it up. There’s nowhere to–” You hear the groan of the stormtrooper being taken down by Mando, and you do the same to the other one, hitting him over the head with your blaster before knocking him out completely.

Another stormtrooper announces his arrival, “Hey!” To which you grab Mando’s Ampan sniper rifle on the floor, electrocuting him with the fork end of the device.

As you both exit the storeroom only to run into a stormtrooper. You both exchange gunfire, the sharp whizzing sound of blaster fire echoes in your ears, and the Mandalorian shoots him down. A second stormtrooper blasts his way through, and he unleashes his flamethrower on the second stormtrooper, scorching him. The Child looks away as this happens. The charred stormtrooper falls to the ground.

You groan in annoyance, “How many are there?” Mando hums, “Way too many for the Empire to be considered gone.”

You follow him and enter the meeting room with him holding the Child. Seemingly empty you walk straight to the exit doors, however, they open to reveal four more stormtroopers, “Freeze!” You three are completely cornered, “Don’t move! Hands up!” One of them yells, “Drop the blasters!”

You glare at the stormtroopers as Mando speaks calmly to them, “Wait. What I’m holding is very valuable. Here.” Mando gestures to you to do the same as you get down on your knees to place your blasters on the ground and he gently places the Child on the floor as well. “Now turn and face me!”

A stormtrooper commands, but neither of you moves, allowing yourself to have faith in the Mandalorian’s plans. You watch him clench his fists, and you hear the device on his arm chirp to life. “Stand up!” They command once more but you don’t follow their orders. A beat passes. The sharp sound of whistling birds creating fireworks as he unleashes them onto your enemies, you hear them groan in pain as it takes out all of the stormtroopers.

Mando gently picks up the Child and his blaster to which you grab your blaster from the floor, quickly exiting the compound. You walk side by side with the Mandalorian through the streets of Navarro, feeling the menacing stares of each bounty hunter. You spot their tracking fobs have been reactivated, loudly beeping as they point it towards your direction. Soon enough you are surrounded by several armed bounty hunters.

You spot Greef Karga stepping into view, “Welcome back! I’m surprised to see you ask for help from our talented healer. Now put the package down.” You analyze the several bounty hunters, trying to find an escape. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship.” Mando said, and Karga softly chuckles, “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass and our medic can be easily forgiven, after all, she’s done for the citizens of this town.”

Mando doesn’t relent and states, “She and the kid are coming with me.” You turn to look at him in surprise that he wouldn’t just leave you here to face the consequences of your actions. “If you truly care about the kid and her, then you’ll put it on the speeder and you’ll let her walk away as if none of this ever happened and we’ll discuss terms.” An R6 astromech droid, on the speeder, turns its head.

“How do we know if we can trust you?” You asked and Karga scoffs, “Because I’m your only hope.” You watch Mando walk over to the speeder and you feel your eyes begin to fog with oncoming tears. Karga says your name, “Walk away and we’ll discuss this later.” You clench your jaw and glare at the bounty agent before turning your back toward him, and placing your hand on your blaster as you sensed it, the tingling in your spine and throughout your body.

Mando whirls around and shoots at the other bounty hunters, jumping onto a repulsorlift vehicle carrying luggage. You quickly take cover and shoot down the other bounty hunters running towards the Mandalorian and hopping onto the repulsorlift. Deep and commanding, he demands the astromech droid, “Drive!”

The droid shakes its head in disapproval and Mando raises his blaster at him, “Drive!” The astromech screeches in fear and drives the repulsorlift vehicle while you and Mando are shooting down as many bounty hunters as you can.

You aim for the sniper above and shoot while Mando covers the ground as you drive by. The astromech is shot down by Karga, you see bright yellow sparks and you hear the droid power down. You hear Mando whisper, “Are you okay?”

To which you hum and nod, “Mhm. I’m fine.”

It’s now deadly quiet as the rest of the hunters step closer toward the repulsorlift. The fork end of the amban rifle peaks through the luggage as Mando aims and blasts bounty hunters into ash. Different species groan and clamor to hide behind various objects.

“That’s one impressive weapon!” Karaga states and Mando’s voice booms as he announces, “Here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna walk to my ship with her and the kid, and you’re gonna let it happen.”

“No. How about this? We take the kid and the medic, and if you try to stop us, we will kill you and we strip your body for parts.” Karga says menacingly, and suddenly you feel someone pull your leg, dragging you and you yelp out in fear and surprise.

Mando is quick to your aid, using the butt of his rifle and then shocking him with the fork of his weapon, completely stunning the first bounty hunter while you shoot down the second.

You spot the rest of the hunters advancing towards you with their weapons, firing every part of the speeder.

Greef Karga yells, “Don’t hit the target or her!” As a last resort, Mando activates his flamethrower, which causes the bounty hunters to fall back for a moment, only for it to run out of fuel. You lay down next to the Child, craning your head to the right to gaze at his peaceful sleeping form.

You feel the sudden weight of Mando hovering over you and the kid, trying to protect both of you til the end. You hear the Child coo beside you and smile in adoration.

You reach into your satchel and dig for the lightsaber hilt, readying yourself to defend Mando and the Child the moment it comes down to it. Without notice, you hear the whooshing sound of rockets streaking through the air to hit one of the bounty hunters straight through the chest. Fortunately, several fellow members of the Mandalorian Tribe, donning jetpacks and blasters, come to your aid, taking out several bounty hunters.

You watch in awe as the Mandalorians skillfully use their weapons in taking out the remaining bounty hunters, the head infantry lands close to the speeder and says, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!” To which Mando replies, “You’re going to have to relocate the covert.” The head infantry responds, “This is the Way.” And Mando echos back, “This is the Way.”

The firing continues and Mando carries the Child and helps to pull you up. You and the Mandalorian board the Razor Crest, but are soon cornered by Greef Karga, “Hold it right there.” You both turn to face Karga as he states, “I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the Code. And you,” he turns to talk to you, “Since you’re with him they will come after you too now. And the Imps will soon follow.” You raise your chin as you steadily replied, “Let them try.”

The Mandalorian uses his grappling hook to trigger the carbonite chamber, unleashing some tibanna gas in an attempt to blind Karga. You expertly doge his attempts to shoot at you only for you to outstretch your hand, using the Force to let his weapon fly out of his hands, he stands there completely stunned and Mando uses his blaster to shoot him off of the Razor Crest.

The hatch closes and you strap yourself in, the Razor Crest takes off, watching the other Mandalorians provide covering fire through the window. You comfortably soar into the skies of Nevarro. You spot the head infantry flying beside the ship and salute him before flying off.

The Mandalorian makes a remark, “I gotta get one of those.” And you snort in amusement. The Child is seated beside his lap and is reaching for something. The Mandalorian unscrews the metal ball on the stick and gives it to him to play with before taking the Razor Crest into space.

End Notes:

YAYYYYYYYYYYYY! SPACE DAD STORY!

You are a force-sensitive empath! HORRAY! 

You can force cloak yourself because this skill tends to come to people as more of a natural talent, for it is extremely difficult to learn otherwise; thus, the reason the ability is rarely seen.

The reader is an Enneagram 2! You are a part of the Heart Center; The benevolent, embrace of the good in other people, engage in every emotional love, you experience and feel their emotions more than anyone else. Helpful, natural nurturers, understanding, generous, supportive, mistaken as the passive, embodiment of what love and embrace look like.

The Mandalorian is an Enneagram One personality type with a Nine wing. Enneagram Ones belong to the body center, along with Eights and Nines, and they naturally make decisions based on gut instinct. The Mandalorian likes to feel in control, particularly of his physical environment. For Enneagram Ones, freedom and independence are important.

SO THAT'S A GLIMPSE INTO THEIR PERSONALITY TYPE AND THE WAY THEY MAKE CHOICES! 

All will be revealed in the coming chapters! I can’t wait for you guys to read them AHHHHHH

Thank you for all the reblogs, comments, feedback, and likes! Ya’ll really are too sweet and I truly appreciate your kind words. SEE YA IN THE NEXT CHAPTER!

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers

[beskarrd]

Center of Attention

Summary: When searching for an elusive bounty, you find yourself on a stage, performing for hundreds of hungry eyes. There’s only one pair that catches your attention, though, and they happen to be hidden behind a knowing silver helmet.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, men being creepy, mando being jealous and protective cause i’m a sucker for that shit, suggestive themes

A/N: This is my first fic in YEARS but I’m excited to be back! I hope you all enjoy but I’m a bit rusty so please don’t hold it against me! Also, I left the songs in this story ambiguous so it’s totally up to your interpretation, however, when I was writing, I imagined the first song as Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift and the second song as I Wanna Be Yours by the Arctic Monkeys. 

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

You scoffed and slid your hands on your hips. “Excuse me?” you snapped, without thinking. “Nice try, Djarin, but I’m not the kid. You can’t just tell me what to do and expect me to listen”.

Din stayed silent, almost daring you to challenge him further. His layers of beskar glinted softly in the dim lights of the hull as he leaned back on one of the walls, watching you intently. His visor never strayed from your face, making it almost impossible to get a read on what he was thinking. Over your time with Din, you’d say you had become pretty good at reading between the lines of his helmet, but sometimes, even you couldn’t figure out what was going on in that thick, metal covered head of his. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he was actually annoyed at you for even suggesting the idea in the first place. You just didn’t understand why. It was a simple mission. It’s not like you hadn’t hunted down bounties with him before. It was what he hired you for in the first place. You two had met on Corellia after he had witnessed you take down three armed men at once with nothing but your fists and a vibroblade. You were almost as skilled as he was at the job and Din knew it very well. So why was he being so stingy about this particular hunt?

You had been hired by the mayor of a local city to track down and bring in the leader of a notorious street gang in the area. Apparently he and his goonies had been stalking and harassing the mayor’s daughter relentlessly for the past couple of months. The mayor had attempted to send some of the city’s armed forces to arrest him without incident until he realized gangs don’t particularly care for those in uniform. Or politics for that matter. So he enlisted the help of The Mandalorian and his partner to bring him in, not only to protect his daughter, but also to alleviate some of the violence among his streets.

You huffed indignantly at his lack of response. “We haven’t found a trace of this scumbag in two days. He’s hiding and he’s pretty damn good at it too since he’s managed to evade both us and New Republic officers. We have to try a different approach and I don’t understand why you won’t even consider this one!” Your tone was becoming borderline yelling but you didn’t care. 

“We can think of something else!” he shouted gruffly.

“If you have another idea I’m all ears, Mando!” You spat out the last word, throwing your hands up in defeat. 

Even though you knew his true name, you chose not to use it out of pure spite. Yes, you recognized you were probably being childish, but he was being completely unreasonable and you just wanted to throw it back in his face. Your plan was perfect and he simply refused to see that. 

After speaking to both the mayor and his daughter, you, and Din for that matter, realized you had a rather striking resemblance to the young girl and your plan simply used that convenient notion to your advantage. 

The girl had mentioned that the place she noticed the gang leader’s presence the most was at the local cantina. She performed there twice weekly, singing lead for the cantina’s in-house band. Although she does have a lot of eyes on her, she said she only really felt uncomfortable when the leader made his unwelcome appearance. All you had suggested was subtly taking her place on stage and drawing him out of hiding. That way, the girl would be out of harm's way and Din would barely have to do a thing. Singing a song or two to lure in a bounty was nothing compared to some of the other jobs you and Mando had worked. Plus, you knew the owner, and she owed you a favor for taking care of some nasty patrons a few years back. Everything was worked out. All Mando had to do was cuff him once he walked through the door. Easy.

Din sighed deeply and rose from his spot against the wall slowly. When he spoke, it was with gentle precision, as if to ease the frustration out of your body with his words. When he uttered your name it was like pure velvet, even with the incessant hum of the modulator. You never got tired of hearing that sound. Except maybe a little bit right now, as he slowly but surely shot down your plan once again. 

“What you’re suggesting is extremely risky. I’ve heard horror stories about this gang before, particularly their leader and his cruelty.” As he spoke firmly, he steadily made his way over to you, a feeble attempt at reasoning with you one last time. “Frankly, it’s a miracle the mayor’s daughter is even still alive. I can’t-” he groaned, his boots clunking with every step he took towards you. He only stopped when he was merely a hand’s reach away from you. You had to tilt your head up slightly to maintain eye contact (or what you presumed was eye contact) with him. 

Maker, he’s tall, you thought quietly to yourself. You quickly shook off the intruding thought. Now was not the time for that and you certainly didn’t need to betray your tough exterior now, not when you worked so very hard to uphold in front of him. 

“I can’t put you in danger like that,” he finished softly.

Oh. 

There was no doubt you and Din had a connection. He wouldn’t have kept you around if he didn’t feel the same way. He trusted you with the kid and with his name. But, you silently hoped there was something more he felt for you dwelling under all of that armor. Hearing him say something so vulnerable to you made your heart swell a little in hope, and you could tell your expression softened a bit under his gaze. You really hoped the hull lights were dim enough to hide the warmth that was spreading over your cheeks. Just to be sure, you quickly looked down at your boots. 

After you were confident the blush had dissipated, you returned your gaze to his face. “Hey,” you whispered, immediately dropping the angry exterior. You took half a step further and felt his cape graze your wrist as you extinguished more of what little space was already between you two. His helmet tipped lower to meet you.

“I can take care of myself. I’ve had the past couple months to learn from the best. That’s you,” you added jokingly. You tapped a single finger on his chest and gave him a small smile. You could’ve sworn you heard a light exhale, dare you say a chuckle, from Din in response. 

“I know you’re worried, but we’ve gotta get this guy. I don’t want the mayor’s daughter to feel unsafe in her own town any longer,” your eyes searched his visor for any sign he was listening. “You’ve gotta trust me on this one.”

You both stood there for several more beats, not daring to say anything. Finally, after what felt like hours, Din spoke first. 

“Fine. But I’m staying with you the whole time,” he stated plainly. You grinned. “I knew I could talk you into it,” you said, pumping your fists into his chest plate lightly. He shook his head, clearly not a fan of your antics. 

From across the ship, you heard the baby coo softly. A pang of guilt hit you as you realized you two had probably woken him up with all the arguing. Din began to move past you to grab him from his crib but he paused and turned to look back at you. 

“You do realize you’re going to have to sing, right? In front of an entire cantina. What if people catch on that it’s not the same voice? I mean, do you even know how to sing?”

You clutched both hands to your chest in feigned shock. “What, you think my ‘performance’ will just be so horrible, I’ll blow the whole mission?” you snickered. He remained motionless. “I’m kidding. Yes, of course I know how,” you replied. 

You thought of all those times you and your mother had been out in the garden growing up, pulling crops to sell at the market, humming and singing together to make the time fly faster. You didn’t remember much about your childhood, but you did remember your mother had a fantastic voice, always singing around the house or soothing you to sleep whenever she got the chance. 

“Relax, shiny. I know what I’m doing.” You turned on your heel and ascended the ladder towards the cockpit. Without looking back you heard Din shout from underneath you. “Hey, what are you doing?” 

“Flying us to the nearest high-traffic district. We have to get some supplies,” you said nonchalantly. You moved your feet up another rung when Din’s voice stopped you again.“What are you talking about? All the weapons are already on the ship,” Din argued.

You let out a quiet laugh under your breath. “We have to catch the bounty’s attention, right? Well, I can’t exactly be a ‘show-stopper’ looking like this, now can I?”

“Well,” you said as you stepped into the cockpit. Din didn’t look up as he gracefully landed the Crest back onto the city’s docking bay for the night. The mayor’s daughter was scheduled to go on stage in an hour and you both still had to get into position. 

“How do I look?” you asked. Din flipped some switches and finally swiveled his pilot’s chair around to face you. You held your arms out like a child and gave him a twirl. 

After looking in the shops for as long as your time constraints allowed you to, you had opted for a sleek but eye-catching dress that you found on one of the corner markets in the next district over. Since the cantina owner informed you that the dress code was more on the formal side, you figured this delicate, floor-length gown would have to do. The seller was willing to give you a bargain since that particular item wasn’t selling too well and you took it eagerly. It wasn’t much, but you had never owned something this nice in your life. It made you feel like some sort of intergalactic princess. 

It had a slight sparkle to it, catching the reflection of Din’s armor and throwing it all over the cockpit. The baby’s eyes twinkled watching the light as well, his arms inquisitively reaching for you, refusing to cease his babbling until you picked him up and he could get a closer look. 

You giggled and lifted the little wriggling sack into your arms. “What do you think, little guy?” you hummed. He smiled and tugged on your freshly done hair in response. “Think I look alright? You know, I know you’re technically older than me, so if you were just a couple feet taller I’m pretty sure you could pass as my date,” you chuckled. You ran your fingers over his wrinkly forehead and down the slope of his nose, tapping it when you reached the end. You looked back at Din and your smile instantly faltered. 

He sat completely still and silent, his helmet tilted ever so slightly to the left. His hands slid onto his slightly spread knees, but he didn’t rise. You couldn’t see his eyes, but the intensity of his gaze made your stomach do a flip. 

“Why are you looking at me like that? you asked suspiciously. “Do you not like it?” Din didn’t respond immediately, and you could almost see the gears turning behind that big, black “T” on his helmet. He stood slowly and warily, the intimidating confidence he normally exuded, dripping away the more he got to his feet. “No uh, you-” he grunted out softly, yet more sincerely than you would have ever imagined possible from him. He cleared his throat. “You look great.”

He walked over and tenderly took the child from you and placed him back in his crib, syncing the pod to the vambrace on his arm. He slid past you, his fingers lightly brushing your wrist. 

“We’ve gotta move now though, if you want to be on stage on time.” 

Okay so maybe, you didn’t think this plan entirely through. In hindsight it sounded great, simple, easy even. But the closer you came to stepping in the spotlight, you began seriously rethinking your choice. 

All those eyes on you. What if they saw through you? Realized you weren’t who they came to see? What if you got on stage and just froze? Your mind raced through the endless possibilities of failure. All around you, bar hands and musicians bustled about backstage, readying the cantina for the arrival of the mayor’s daughter which they, of course, knew had a substitute tonight. Standing in the back door and looking around at all the excitement only elevated your nerves as you watched everything become much, much more real. 

Din must have noticed your panic because he gently prodded your shoulder with his pauldron. “Hey,” he spoke just softly enough so that only you could hear him. “You know you don’t have to do this.” 

You tried to steady your breathing, slowly inhaling the hot cantina air that smelled of liquor and gunpowder. Breathing out deeply and slowly like you had done before to steady your nerves on hunts. 

Yes, you did. You came this far, you weren’t about to let the mayor and his daughter down. You just had to go out there and pretend to be an extremely prominent public figure and try not to get ambushed by a gang while doing it. Just like you said before, easy. 

“Hey,” Din pushed again. “You don’t have to do this. I’ll go tell the mayor the deal’s off right now.” You whipped your head up to meet his helmet, shaking you out of your fearful reverie. The visor never wavered from your face and you could tell he was listening intently for your answer. You shook your head and tried to physically fend off your nerves by stretching out your tight muscles. “I’m good, Din. Really,” you said, trying to sound braver than you felt.

Din’s visor still seemed trained on you, searching for any signs that you weren’t being truthful. “Okay,” he said, seemingly against his better judgment. “I’m going to be in the back near the entrance with the kid. I’ll be able to lay eyes on everyone who walks in and out. When the leader walks in, I’ll take care of it. Here,” Din handed you a comm type you hadn’t seen before. “This is a comm that goes directly in your ear. I’ve reset it so that it’s only one way. I’ll be able to talk to you but you won’t be able to respond since you’ll be on stage. It’s connected directly to my helmet. If, for some reason, you catch something I don’t, or need an out, give me some sort of signal. I’ll see it,” he finished.

“Got it,” you said weakly and placed the comm in your ear canal. You felt a large hand against your lower back. “I’ll meet you backstage as soon as all this is over. Just focus on keeping the crowd’s attention,” Din said, his voice an octave lower than normal. A shiver ran down your spine. He began walking away but his gloved presence on your back lasted for an extra second that certainly did not go unnoticed.

He made his way down the steps and into the formal backstage area with the baby’s crib trailing behind him. The crowd was getting louder out front as more people trickled in and you mentally steeled yourself for what was to come. 

Following behind Din, you moved much slower so as to not trip over your long dress. You lifted one hand to meet the railing and used the other to grasp the layers of your skirt, struggling slightly to step down without taking a massive tumble. That would be the absolute last thing you needed right now.

A metal covered forearm interrupted your view of your feet shakily stepping down the stairs. Din gently extended his arm for your taking. “Here,” he offered. You felt another blush rise against your cheeks as you realized what he was doing. “Oh, um,” you mentally cursed yourself for your floundering reply. “Thank you,” you whispered, and gratefully took his arm in yours. 

Even though you were now walking into a fairly dangerous situation, your anxious thoughts dissipated as nothing but heat flooded your mind (and other places) at the image of you walking into a bar on the arm of a mighty Mandalorian. 

Maker, you needed to pull it together. 

Din walked you over to the band you would be performing with. Three men and two women. All of them looked fairly pleasant and were more than happy to be a part of the plan, tuning their various instruments in preparation. One of the girls holding what looked like some string instrument walked up to you. “You about ready to go on?” she asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said nervously. You squeezed Din’s arm and let go, much to your disappointment. “See you out there, I guess,” you grinned up at him, a poor attempt at covering up your anxiety. Din merely nodded and stalked away and out towards the front of the building, the child’s pod following in his wake. 

The spotlights burned your eyes and the applause was deafening as you stepped onto the cantina’s stage. As you took hold of the microphone, you hoped your vice-like grip of the stand wasn’t noticeable from the audience. The number of people present had since tripled since you first saw them and you swallowed thickly. The slight hum of the guitar and knocks of the drumsticks behind you seemed muffled in comparison to the roaring of your own blood in your ears. However, no one seemed to raise suspicions that you were anyone other than who the cantina advertised you to be. You took that as a sign to keep the plan on track and the girl on the keys began to play the first chord. 

The mayor’s daughter had walked you through the songs planned for the night and luckily, you weren’t unfamiliar with any of them. The first was a powerful, sensual ballad that wasn’t extremely difficult for your range. Nothing crazy yet, just something to start out the night and Maker, was it going to be a long night. Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you heard your own voice reverberated tenfold around the cantina. The lyrics bubbled up out of you like a volcano that had been waiting to erupt for eons. Both of your hands took their rightful place on the microphone as you swayed in tune to the music. A short bit later, the bass and drums kicked in, sending vibrations underneath your feet and shockwaves to your core. You simply kept on singing as if this was completely natural to you as flying the Crest or handling a blaster. In a way, it was. 

The audience loved every second of it. They whistled and hollered whenever any one of you on stage did something remotely impressive and you were sure some patrons were already particularly inebriated. You became one with the sounds around you, the thump of the strings, the strikes of the drum, the harmonizing chords of the keyboard. You finally began to loosen up and took the microphone off of it’s stand, giving yourself the freedom to walk around, and enjoy yourself. You were enjoying yourself so much, you nearly forgot you were on the clock. As the bridge of the song approached, you realized you had yet to really look at the faces staring intently back up at you. You finally caught a familiar glint of silver in the back and maneuvered yourself around the stage to catch Din’s gaze. 

He looked…different. 

He was leaning against the back wall and facing in your general direction but he didn’t look nearly alert as he usually did on hunts. Normally, his head was on a swivel, constantly watching out for you and the kid, his fingers poised and ready to draw his blaster and fire at a moment’s notice. He was cool, confident even, in his abilities as the fiercest warrior in the galaxy.

Now, he was completely still. His helmet wasn’t even moving, scanning the area for threats. You might’ve mistaken him for a statue if you didn’t know better. His helmet slowly leaned into that devastating tilt as you made your way over to his side of the cantina.

He looked downright predatory. 

A wave of heat washed over you. You knew you had Mando’s full attention and that was enough to fill you with a burst of overwhelming confidence that made you feel downright, godlike. You lifted your dress and let it fall behind you as you turned your back on him, sweeping over to the other side of the stage as if you owned every part of it and tonight, you absolutely did. 

Everyone in the audience held their breath as the song finished, your last note long and drawn out in order to emphasize your position of absolute power. Everyone was on their feet for you. The lights dimmed slightly and you used that opportunity to scan the floor for any sign of the gang leader. 

Nothing. 

Your heart panged in fear. How could he not be here? Everyone assured you he never missed a performance from the mayor’s daughter. So where the fuck was he? Your head whipped to Din’s frame in the corner, silently urging him with your mind to say something. That he had a glimpse of the bounty, that he was moving towards him now, that he was here at all. This stunt of yours had to work.

Din looked like he hadn’t even moved. You flexed your hand outward, hoping he got the message along the lines of “what the hell is going on?”

Suddenly, you heard the deep timbre of his voice echo in your ears. You had trouble even registering what he said because his voice had gone about three octaves deeper than normal. It dripped of sultry venom and the entire room became completely irrelevant as his words hit you right in your very core. 

He barked your name to get your attention again. Your eyes refocused on your surroundings as the applause had now died down and everyone was waiting for your next number. Your eyes flicked to Din again.

“Nothing yet,” he hissed. Maker, he did not sound right. His breathing was labored and he sounded absolutely wrecked. If you didn’t have a job to do you would definitely have let your mind wander to…other scenarios he would sound that good in. His voice interrupted your thoughts once again. “I’ll keep looking, you just, keep,” he rasped, trying to get out the words but it sounded cloudy, as if he was holding something back. “Keep doing what you’re doing,” he cleared his throat. “You certainly have everyone’s attention,” he warned menacingly. The hint was so subtle you almost missed it, but it was unmistakable. He was pissed. You raised an eyebrow in his direction. He tensed in response. Before you could continue your nonverbal conversation, the second song started again.

The aura of this song was much, much different than the first. It was deep, dark, and downright sinful. One of the reasons these performances did so well amongst the locals was because it certainly did not shy away from being suggestive. As the night went on, the mayor’s daughter instructed you to get bolder. Leave the stage. Play with the audience. Keep their interest and leave them wanting more. It was what she did best but you didn’t know if you had the guts to pull off. But, as your brain so lovingly reminded you, you had a job to do. So if an erotic performance was what got you a cuffed bounty, so be it. 

The bass cut against your heart again savagely and you felt the electricity in your bones. You gingerly stepped off the stage, dropping your tone to match the sexual energy the song created. You ran your fingers across the table of several patrons, smiling suggestively. Every man and woman you visited nearly leaped out of their seats to be closer to you only to be left in your wake as you moved on. You looked in the corner where Din had decided to perch himself and smirked inwardly to see his helmet glued to your frame.

 His reaction to all this was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome. In fact, the attention he readily supplied you with gave you a very dangerous idea. You took a quick inventory of the room again, pausing occasionally to drive home a lyric in front of an ogling patron. Anxiety lightly simmered in your stomach as you still did not see your guy. On the off chance he was lurking somewhere unseen, you needed to get him to show his face. If he was so enamored with the mayor’s daughter, he certainly wouldn’t take kindly to seeing her with an outsider, right?  

You stalked over to Din, accentuating every syllable and note of the song as you looked him up and down. Then he did something you never thought you would see in your lifetime.

The Mandalorian backed away from you. 

You were a talented bounty hunter and a skilled fighter, there was certainly no doubt about that. But you were nowhere near Din’s level of brute strength and unparalleled intelligence. Yet, the powerful soldier took a small, but painstakingly obvious step backward. You cocked your head to the side as you finally reached him. 

“What are you doing?” he gritted through his teeth. The statement echoed in your ears. You, of course, said nothing in response but dragged the very tip of your finger against his belt that held every weapon imaginable. He could decimate you right now but instead, his chest heaved at the slightest of your touch. At the very tip of the chorus, you grabbed his bandolier and tugged hard. Your eyes stared loving daggers into his visor and he cursed under his breath. It was the most carnal thing you’d ever heard. He was furious, desperate and absolutely drowning in desire. 

It was the hottest thing you had ever seen. 

You dragged a palm down his beskar covered chest, singing directly to him now, and allowed your hand to slip a mere millimeter beneath his belt but it was all you needed to know he felt this as much as you did. You cocked your head and widened your eyes with a smile.

It was partially teasing his situation and partially incredulous longing. You were pretty sure you could cut the sexual tension between you two with the Darksaber itself.

The song ended and you nearly went deaf with the clapping, the cheering, and the obscenities being yelled in your direction. You were dizzy with need and absolutely drunk on Din Djarin. You turned your head, leaving Din in the dust, and stepped back on stage for a bow.

Your heart dropped down to your toes as you scanned the area again and were met with the complete lack of your bounty among the throngs of people. Not even a trace.

You backed away slowly, refusing to believe your failure. How could you have been so stupid to believe this would’ve worked? The band took over playing a light instrumental to give you a break which was perfectly timed as tears began to brim your eyes. You retreated into the shadows behind the curtain for some relief. As soon as you were out of sight you began to hyperventilate and wring your hands in panic. The tears flowed freely now as your heart thumped out of your chest. Remember your breathing, you thought.

You made quick work of inhaling and exhaling like you always did. Grounding yourself in reality so you can get the job done. You just needed to get back out there, find Din, and regroup. Yeah that sounded good. Just find Din and you two could figure it out like you always do. You nodded to no one in particular and stood up straight, whirling around–right into a firm, unfamiliar chest. You looked up and met the eyes of none other than the illusive man you had been searching for all night.

“Well, hello there, gorgeous,” the gang leader said slowly. He licked his lips and looked you up and down with abandon. To your absolute horror, you saw he held a rather long blade in his hand. He advanced on you like a predator hunting its prey. Unlike Din’s gaze earlier, this man ignited nothing but pure terror in you and you felt the need to flee, but had absolutely nowhere to go. He backed you into a corner and you were absolutely at his mercy, weaponless, defenseless, and in the most useless fighting gear in the galaxy. 

“You know, when you constantly reject a guy, he can’t help but feel a little hurt,” he patted his chest. “Wounded, if you will,” he sneered. “Come on, baby, I’m tired of this game. You know you want me. We could be great together.” Your back was completely flat against the wall as you desperately grasped behind you for anything you could use for a weapon nearby. 

You came up empty handed. 

His hot breath fanned over your face as his mouth came impossibly close to you. It took everything in you not to gag. “What do you say, hm? Forget this shithole town, once this entire city sees you at my side, everyone will realize who truly holds all the power,” he said menacingly. 

So that was his endgame. He wanted the mayor’s daughter as a pawn to wager territory. He must have been waiting for you to step off stage to ambush you. He held the dagger up to your cheek and dragged it gently down, piercing skin. “Answer me,” he demanded.

You spat in his face. His eyes closed on instinct and you used his shock to your advantage. With the little room you had to work with, you raised your elbow back and landed a pretty pathetic punch to his abdomen in an attempt to surprise him.  It didn’t work. 

“You bitch!” He screamed. He raised his hand to drive the dagger into somewhere unforgivable and that was all you needed. You grabbed his wrist with one hand, stopping his motion instantaneously, and took a side swipe with your other hand, aiming for his exposed ribs. Your fist hit home and he doubled over in pain. He took that opportunity to yank down hard on your dress, sending you crashing to the floor. He planted his foot on your chest and grabbed your arms, pinning them above your head. You were fucked now and out of clever ideas. 

“Naughty, naughty girl,” he breathed out roughly. He leveled the dagger at your throat. “Perhaps I was wrong about you. How unfortunate,” he spat. “If you just simply refuse to behave, I have no choice other than to-” His statement was cut off by the cock of a blaster leveled against his head. The smile he wore faltered slightly, but did not disappear completely.

“Hands off,” Din growled. 

His voice resonated unnervingly in the small backstage space. Content with the higher ground he held, the gang leader merely turned his head to side eye Mando, inching the dagger closer so you could feel it graze your neck. He chuckled. 

As fast as a whip, he dragged you up and against his chest, the dagger still against your neck but you were now upright, facing Din and completely helpless to do anything. The bounty yanked your hair, exposing your neck more than you would have ever thought possible. You grimaced painfully.

“A Mandalorian?” he questioned knowingly. “This is your savior, huh? A lowly bounty hunter by the looks of it too,” he said as he brought his lips up to your ear and whispered loud enough for Din to hear. “You know he doesn’t give a damn about you right? You’re collateral damage to him. An obstacle to his money, if you will. Did Daddy hire him to protect you?” he snarled. 

Din held the blaster steady, but didn’t advance so as not to risk your already jeopardized safety. If he was affected by the leader’s words at all, he certainly didn’t show it. Everyone was silent, so much so, you could hear the distant chatter of the cantina and instrumentals of the band. 

You broke first.

You struggled against his hold on your hair and his unforgiving grip on your throat. “For as determined as you are to rule this city,” you choked out. “You should really make sure you’re threatening the right girl first.” 

You turned your head up to face the bounty as far as the dagger would let you and looked him dead in the eyes. He blinked, not understanding immediately, but once he did, you could’ve sworn you saw the red leak into his eyes. When Din spoke, it was hard and harbored all the force of a thundering storm. He was like a hurricane in human form. He thrust the blaster forward once more. 

“Give her back to me,” he growled ferociously. “Now.”

The bounty spoke with a newfound calmness. Every part of your body went rigid with fear. You knew calm was what came right before the chaos, and his next words reeked with rage. “You’re not who I want,” he seethed. “Which means I have no use for you.” 

He wasn’t able to make the slightest flex of his wrist before Din’s grapple shot out and wrapped around the man’s arm. He pulled, dragging the man towards him as you collapsed to the floor. Din decided to forgo the blaster as he wrapped his arm around the bounty’s throat and snapped his neck in one, loud, crunch. 

It must have been the most brutal act you had ever seen with your own eyes. The gang leader dropped to the ground, absolutely lifeless. You flinched at the slap of skin against wood. Din, however, was over on his knees next to you in a heartbeat. His hands cupped your cheeks as his helmet searched your body for more damage. 

“Don’t move, you’re bleeding,” he said, gruffly. He wiped away the dried blood that had stained your cheek and tried to apply as much pressure as he could without any proper first aid materials. You reveled in his soft touch and found yourself subconsciously leaning into it, anchoring yourself to his familiar presence after being thrust about by a stranger. After he finished, he brushed your hair behind your ear, but didn’t remove his hands from your face just yet.

You brought your hands up to cover his gloved ones on your cheeks. “I’m okay, Din,” you reassured. Your eyes softened. “I swear, it’s just a scratch. We both know I’ve dealt with worse.” He scanned your face one last time and let out a large breath that he seemed to have been holding for a while. 

“Don’t ever leave my sight again,” he breathed out.

You chuckled in response and leaned your head against his chest. Normally you would never even think about such a vulnerable act but you were too tired to care at this point. “Oh don’t be ridiculous. I clearly had everything completely under control,” you said sarcastically.

“You wanna call a knife to your throat under control?” he asked, a light warning gracing his tone. 

You looked up at him and placed your hand to his chest for the second time that night. The lip of his helmet clinked against his chest plate as he stared at the interaction that made him melt under your hands only minutes before. You walked your hands up to his helmet and placed a proverbial finger over where you guessed his mouth was. 

“Shhh. I’m fine, you’re fine, we’re all fine,” you glanced at the baby’s pod behind him which seemed to have remained undisturbed. “Whether or not I had it under control is now irrelevant. But come on, you’ve gotta admit this blood brings out my eyes,” you gestured to the gnarly cut against your cheek. 

Mando sighed in exasperation. 

“Oh come on, it’s a joke! I can’t help that you’re so fun to mess with!” 

He still seemed unamused. “Yeah, I think you made that pretty clear tonight,” he whispered dangerously. 

Shit.

You knew you’d have to address your little stunt on stage with him eventually, but you figured it would be after you had collected your payment and were en route to another job. Not immediately after it happened, where you could still feel him tensing under your touch, still detect the faint imprint of his chest plate on your torso as he leaned in to get just an inch closer to you. 

You weren’t sure if you could face him after all that, at least not right now. However, you held one thing over him about this that he couldn’t deny. 

He liked it. 

You cocked an eyebrow. “Something wrong, Din?” you feigned obliviousness. “I mean, I was just doing my job. If I remember correctly, you were actually the one who told me to keep going and you know ‘keep everyone’s attention’.” You were treading dangerous waters but the thrill of it lit your whole body on fire. If even an ounce of the connection you felt out there was genuine, you had to know. 

“I didn’t know keeping everyone’s attention meant flirting with the entire room,” he remarked, unamused. You were sure he could read the emotions on your face like a book but at this point, you didn’t care. Out of all the things he could’ve said in response, that was the absolute last thing you expected to come out of his mouth. 

You scoffed, “Din Djarin. Are you jealous?” He said nothing in return but stood up abruptly and turned around. “Alright, time to go, we have to get this bounty to the mayor-” He began to bend down to scoop up the body of the gang leader until your voice stopped him in his tracks. 

“Oh really? Not jealous, huh? You see,” you stood up as well, taking your time walking over to him and accentuating every step as your shoes clicked against the floor. “I would argue your tone and all that squirming out there tells a different story.”

Din righted himself and you caught the side of his helmet as he looked over his shoulder. You had only closed about half of the distance between the two of you as you waited for him to fill the rest. You had ventured as far as you dared and you needed him to make the next move. You were so used to him putting up walls around you, shutting you out, only saying the bare minimum. It was his turn to speak his mind. He still remained deathly silent.

Fuck, maybe you had pushed him too far. 

“I couldn’t stand how everyone looked at you,” he mumbled. It was quiet and under his breath but you heard it all the same and your breath hitched in your throat. Even though you knew what he said, you wanted to hear it again. “What?” you asked. 

He fully turned around and began advancing on you, causing you to retreat and back yourself up against the wall for the second time that night. Only this time it wasn’t out of fear but out of red hot desire. You realized you were losing all of the ground and confidence you had just covered, but it suddenly wasn’t all that important to you anymore. His head tilted once more and he caught your chin in his fingers, forcing you to look up at him. He pressed forward against you and leaned in so close you could’ve sworn you felt his hot breath on your neck. 

“Do you have any idea what I wanted to do to you out there?” Your entire body erupted in chills. Anyone could walk in on you two right now in a very compromising position. Part of you wanted them to. You truly had no idea what Mando had been hiding behind that helmet. You couldn’t help the involuntary whine that left your throat. Before you lost the nerve, you challenged him further and pressed your forehead right up against his visor. 

“Is this you, not jealous?” you teased.  His gloved fingers left your chin abruptly as he stomped back over to collect the bounty for the second time. “Just s-stop, don’t, fuck, don’t say shit like that,” he said as he walked. He sounded unbelievably out of breath and you could tell he was losing his composure slowly, but unmistakably.

“Why not?” you shot back. You could tell you were on thin ice here but you had to know. That you weren’t crazy, that you weren’t just imagining things. That all those soft brushes of your wrists when you were walking together, those stolen glances in the Crest, that typical protective tone of his, was something more than just companionship by proximity. 

“Because you don’t know what it does to me,” he blurted. His confession flooded you with confidence once again and you swallowed thickly. 

“Come over here and show me then,” you said quietly. Mando whipped around again and let out what sounded like a strangled cough beneath the beskar. He recovered quickly, though, and rooted himself to the spot, staring you down. You realized he probably half-expected you to lose your nerve and take it back. 

You didn’t. 

You stood there, much too far apart for your liking, for what felt like hours, years, eons even. You were sure you had basically stopped breathing by the time Din spoke again.

“We’re leaving,” he said simply. His voice cracked when he spoke and it felt like he was carrying the weight of a thousand suns by the effort it took him to compose himself. You blinked slowly. “Wait, what? Why?” you said incredulously. 

He grabbed the bounty by the ankle and started wrapping it in a large cloth so as to not startle any passing citizens. Every move was rushed, not nearly as precise as you knew Din to be normally. You were worried he had finally lost his cool with all of your incessant teasing and longing glances. After wrapping the bounty to his satisfaction he turned back to you, you having refused to move from the spot out of what you weren’t sure was stubbornness or pure fear at this point. When he reached you again, he gently slid his glove off of his hand and touched your cheekbone. A delicious shiver ran up your spine. His voice was low and dangerous but undoubtedly filled with lust.

“So I can show you just how you make me feel.”

[the-scandalorian]

Okay so i can't stop thinking about the mistletoe kiss prompt with din...like whatever planet they're on has the same tradition. Ur there at the holiday time and see couples/people kissing all over the place and din aches to see you all lit up as you take in the sparkling lights and cheer and he's never quite been willing to risk it all as he is right now, every time you pass a sprig of space mistletoe that's even the slightest bit out of view of people. Anyway when you get back to the ship he suddenly take out a sprig and holds it above you and ur like ??? Oho, now you want to be cheerful 😏😏

Thank you for the request, love!! I had way too much fun writing a winter holiday fic in the middle of the summer?? I hope you like it ❤️

Pairing: Din Djarin x GN!Reader Rating: T Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: unapologetic fluff, the lightest spice

You were only here because you had worn Mando down with sheer persistence. You’d wheedled and charmed—he’d probably say annoyed—him for several hours as you tracked, captured, and walked the bounty back to the Crest together. And he’d finally grunted, “Fine.”

That one gruff word made you smile, though, because coaxing him to do what you wanted was getting noticeably easier, and that made your heart flutter with reckless hope.

Honestly, he’d been almost indulgent recently, by his standards at least. Mando—who had always been single-minded when it came to jobs—had started to go out of his way to give you what you wanted, even if it put you a few hours off your tight schedule. You noted every tiny change, every little concession he made for your happiness.

A few weeks ago, he stopped a hunt early when you mentioned off-hand that you had a headache. Despite your reassurances that you were fine, he brooked no argument, insisting that it would make no difference to apprehend the quarry the following day.

Every meal, he tossed you your favorite ration pack out of the choices on hand—because by this point, he knew your tastes by heart.

He told you to keep the black long-sleeved shirt he lent you one night when you really needed to do laundry. You remarked on how soft and cozy it was, and when you tried to return it, he’d said, “Keep it.” You were pretty sure he liked when you wore it around the ship before bed. His gaze lingered. It burned.

Mando’s softness had started to show, and—what was even better—this side of him seemed only available to you. He was the same cold, hard Mandalorian to everyone else. Whether he liked it or not, it seemed that you were slowly seeping into the vulnerable spaces between his armor, insinuating yourself into the heart of the man underneath. You were starting to suspect that you were his weakness... and fuck if that fact alone didn’t make you weak for him.

Your influence only extended so far, however.

He was here—at the local winter festival of the planet you were hunting on—but he wasn’t happy about it. No, he stood out amidst all the cheer and merriment, a stiff silver statue with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his beskar awash with a rainbow of flickering reflections.

The festival was an enchanting dream around him. The narrow street was lined with stalls selling baked treats and warm drinks and colorful gifts. Strings of blinking lights were wrapped around every streetlight and crisscrossed over your heads; multicolored ribbons and sparkling stars bedecked every doorway, windowsill, and kiosk. The delicious scents of cinnamon, vanilla, and cardamom laced the cool evening air. The music was joyful and upbeat, the festive atmosphere buzzing with warmth and excitement. All the revelers were wrapped up against the chill of the evening in colorful knitted sweaters, scarves, and mittens, tromping through the light dusting of snow. Couples walked by, hand-in-hand, smiling dopily at each other. Everything glittered with the lightest dusting of fresh powder, and children were gathering the fallen snow on the ground and pelting each other with snowballs, zipping between harried looking adults.

It was almost comical how out of place Mando looked surrounded by all of that. He was being his usual withholding self, standing off to the side while you perused the stalls of the local artisans and bought a warm, sugary drink and a cookie the size of your face. He never let you out of his sight, however, always within arm’s reach. He’d confirm your presence every so often with a hand on your shoulder or back as you walked next to him. You weren’t sure if it was to make him feel better or to make you feel better in the tight press of the crowd—either way, you liked it.

You were warm and happy—delighting in the joyful spirit of the holiday, but more importantly, in the knowledge that Mando had a soft spot for you.

As you meandered down the busy street, you noticed that above every doorway or stone archway, a little bunch of leaves was hung. You assumed they were purely decorative until you saw couple after couple of all shapes and sizes walk under one of those sprigs, look up, smile, and kiss.

After the fifth couple, you stopped and turned to Mando to say, “I guess it’s a tradition.”

Mando stood there, the stern lines of his visor fixed on the two women kissing sweetly under a stone archway and said, “Guess so.”

“That’s so cute!” You beamed as you watched them.

The snowy evergreen forest that bordered the town made for an idyllic backdrop behind them. As if on cue, tiny flakes of snow started falling softly, completing the dreamy picture before you. You squealed in pure joy at the adorable sight, clasping your hands together.

Mando laughed beside you, a warm chuckle crackling through his modulator. When you looked up at him, you saw that his visor was trained on your face, no longer on the couple.

“Mando! Look at you getting into the spirit,” you teased, poking his arm playfully.

He cocked his head at you, his voice laced with amusement as he said, “I watched you break a man’s arm this morning, and now you’re squealing at two people kissing in the snow. I’m experiencing some whiplash.”

“I contain multitudes, Mando,” you laughed.

“Clearly.”

“Come on,” you said with a grin, pulling him along, “I want to see the rest.”

From then on, your stomach swooped a little each time you walked under a decorated archway with Mando by your side. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was also thinking about kissing you each time you passed under one of those little sprigs.

Probably. Yes. No. Definitely not.

...Maybe?

As you walked down the long, winding street, it gradually started snowing harder, and the wind picked up. When the downpour shifted suddenly to an icy sleet, all the revelers around you exclaimed and scurried to find shelter from the deluge. Mando grabbed your hand and pulled you into a recessed doorway and right away, you looked up. You couldn’t help yourself—you knew it would be there. Sure enough, a little bunch of greenery was suspended over your heads.

You looked down quickly, too quickly, hoping Mando wouldn’t look up and notice it too. You didn’t want him to feel weird about it...but of course, he noticed it—he tilted his helmet up to inspect it for a moment. To your surprise, when he looked back down at you, he stepped toward you. Your heart dropped. He reached a gloved hand toward your face, and you held your breath, smiling up uncertainly at him. For one insane second, you thought he was going to lift his helmet right there in the privacy of this little alcove and kiss you.

Instead of cupping your cheek, however, he brushed the tips of his gloved fingers over your hair.

“Snow,” he explained, dusting it off.

“Oh, thanks,” you replied, trying not to let disappointment seep into your words.

You stood in awkward silence, waiting for the gale to pass. Luckily, just a few minutes later, the gusts of wind quieted, the snow slowing again to a light sprinkle of powder.

“Shall we?”

He nodded and followed you into the steady stream of people reemerging from under doorways and awnings. You wandered over to another promising looking dessert stand, Mando in toe, and examined the baked goods laid out before you. You made your purchase and thanked the vendor, but when you turned, Mando wasn’t behind you anymore.

You whipped your head around, looking for his tall, shiny form amidst the throngs of people. The smallest tendril of panic twined around your heart. His sudden absence underscored the fact that he never let you out of his sight when you were together in public.

You turned around again, and he was there.

“Where—”

He made no mention of his disappearance, instead interrupting you to ask, “Ready to go?”

“Wha—oh yeah, we can go,” you replied, adding good-naturedly, “You have been very patient, and I know this has been torture for you... so even though I want to stay here forever, we can leave.”

He tilted his helmet sassily at you, then turned on his heel and walked in the direction of the Razor Crest. You chuckled, finishing your treat as you trailed after him.

When you reached the edge of town, leaving behind the crowds of people as you entered the quiet forest, you squatted and scraped together some of the freshly fallen snow. You packed it into a compact ball and held it behind your back until you and Mando were within sight of the Razor Crest. Grinning, you hurried forward until you were only a few steps behind him and cocked your arm, tossing it straight at the back of his helmet. It hit him with a muted slush sound, and he stopped in his tracks. You froze, the biggest, guiltiest smile on your face as you watched snow slide down the back of his helmet and drop onto his cape.

He turned slowly.

“...Oops?” you said, wringing your hands together in mock contrition.

He perched his hands on his hips. You couldn’t hear it from this short distance but you could tell by the way his shoulders dropped that he’d let out a dramatic sigh.

You threw your hands up. “It’s part of the festivities, Mando—a tradition—I had to throw a snowball to round out the celebration.”

“Well, you asked for it.”

Your smile faltered when he bent down to scrape together his own snowball. Uh oh. You spun around and took off at a run across the clearing, heading toward the trees to find cover. You screeched when his snowball hit you square between the shoulder blades. Of course he’d have perfect aim. You smiled when you heard his muted chuckle behind you.

You ducked behind a thick trunk and crouched down to pat together another snowball—much larger this time. You straightened and peeked your head around the tree, but Mando was nowhere to be seen. Shit. You backed up slowly, retreating further into the forest as quietly as possible as you scanned the area for movement.

You whipped around just as a silver blur sprinted up behind you and shrieked when Mando wrapped two strong arms around you, pinning your own arms to your sides.

“Drop it.”

You giggled and released the snowball; it fell to the ground with a muffled whump.

“Surrender,” he growled, adopting his serious bounty hunter voice.

Heat unapologetically surged in your belly at the intimate sound of his voice so close to your ear and the feeling of his body pressed tightly to your back. “And what if I refuse?”

“I’ll show you no mercy.”

You grinned. “Do your worst, Mando.”

In one quick movement, he released you from his embrace and bent to catch your knees and back to sweep you up into his arms.

You laughed, wrapping an arm around his neck: “This is showing me no mercy?”

He started toward the Crest, looking down at your face to say: “I mean, did you want me to bring you in cold? That’s your only other option.”

Holding you even closer to his chest, he jostled you slightly as he pressed a button on his vambrace, and the ramp lowered as you approached.

“You would never! You’d have no one to go to winter festivals with if you killed me! And I know how much you love celebrations and cheer and fanfare.”

He scoffed. “You’d be surprised. I liked some parts of it.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.”

He walked up the ramp and into the hull.

You smiled up at him expectantly, eager to watch him scramble for a reply: “Okay, which parts?”

“I’ll show you.” He leaned down to set you on your feet, slapping the control behind him to shut the ramp.

You rolled your eyes, sure he had nothing: “Okay, then, show me.”

Gloved fingers circled your wrist, tugging you toward him until you were only a few inches from his armored chest. You looked up at the black void of his glass visor, your bewildered expression reflected back at you.

“Close your eyes for me.”

“How are you going to show me if my eyes are closed?”

He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled something small out of it. When he opened his hand, you saw that it was one of the bundles of that mystery plant from the festival. He held it up so it was suspended between you, above your head. Your eyes widened.

“Where did you—?”

“Close your eyes.”

Your lashes fluttered closed immediately this time. A gasp escaped your lips when you heard the hiss of his helmet’s release.

You felt the ghost of his breath first, warm as it fanned over your face. He was waiting, giving you the chance to move away if you wanted to. You stayed put, the corner of your mouth twitching up in a smile. Just when you were about to lose patience and blindly reach out for him, he pressed his lips to yours tentatively, still gauging your reaction. As soon as he felt you respond, kissing him back eagerly, he wrapped his arms around your waist and drew you close. Your hands found their way around his neck, and you deepened the kiss, parting your lips.

He pulled back a tiny bit to whisper: “I like this part.”

***

Part 2

***

everything taglist: @chattychell @fisforfulcrum @iamskyereads @lexloon @meanperegrine @over300books @rebelpitstop @spideysimpossiblegirl @tacticalsparkles @tobealostwanderer @trashbuns @tuskens-mando

[thesmutbasement]

Welcome to The Great Divide: fully legal age gap fics that will keep you forever young!

Everything here in The Smut Basement is for 18+ friends only! Minors and unverified persons will be blocked. Please heed ALL author warnings when you click a link.

Dave York (Equalizer 2)

Notes on Tutoring (series) by @honestly-shite (Dave York is a teacher at a prestigious music college, and sparks fly when he starts tutoring the Reader in her guitar lessons. This is one of my favorite AUs, and as far as I'm concerned, Maia and NoT Dave can do no wrong! -Claire)

Din Djarin/Mando (The Mandalorian)

Hard Candy by @ezrasbirdie (Reader's old bodyguard from when she was a teenager returns to watch over her and her friend for a birthday outing to a nightclub. Din eats a "funny" lollipop, and gives into the attraction he now feels for his all-grown-up charge, who has been trying to get his attention all night. HOT! -Claire)

Eddie (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Holding Your Breath by @starlightmornings (GodDAMN!! And I need to repeat that, just in case you didn't hear me in the back, but seriously, Goddamn.... this was hot. We usually see age gaps with the Pedro character as the older partner, but this was a goddamn TREAT of a fic. I need more. Is there more? I'd like seconds, please. Thank you. -Claire)

Ezra (Prospect)

In the Dark 1 and Chapter 2 and Chapter 3 (series ongoing) by @frannyzooey (You meet Cee in your graduate writing program, and then you meet her guardian, Ezra. There's a weird tension, and you think (hope) he feels it, too. I'm living for the slow burn and the anticipation of this series, and I can't wait for more! -Claire)

Frankie “Catfish” Morales (Triple Frontier)

Basic Training (series) by @just-here-for-the-moment (Yes, I'm self-reccing here because I wanted to see more older woman/younger P character fics after reading the amazing "Holding Your Breath" (see "Eddie" section above. I was inspired to write a young Frankie Morales after he's graduated university but before he ships out to Army training. Hope you like it! -Claire)

Calling Home (series) by @littlepadika (Frankie calls the VA to track down his missing check, and one thing leads to another when he gets talking to Sweet Pea. I love this series because everything feels very organic for the characters and how they get to know each other, the long-distance friendship that grows into something more. It's bliss. This series is like a fluffy pink cloud with a smutty silver "bullet vibe" lining. Love it!!! -Claire)

Weeknights (series) by @frannyzooey (Frankie falls for his daughter’s college-aged nanny. Need I say more?? No, you know the drill, go read the entire series now. -Claire)

Javier Peña (Narcos)

The Crush by @the-ginger-hedge-witch (Javier has been in Colombia for the past eight years. When he left, you were just a snot-nosed 14 year old girl. He’s not ready for the woman he encounters when he returns. Part 1 was both hot and slightly heartbreaking. Can't wait for more! -Claire)

A Good Man (series) by @forever-rogue (Professor Javier Peña notices you smiling brightly and paying attention in class, and it throws him off his very carefully constructed post-Colombia routine. I loved the soft yearning and the anticipation and the heat of this series!! -Claire)

Old Enough by @221bshrlocked (Javier rescues you from being pushed into the pool at your hotel, and things heat up when you see him again. Be warned that there's a very hot description of Javier stealing your lollipop, and some "Daddy" action. HOT HOT HOT. -Claire)

Marcus Moreno (We Can Be Heroes)

The Secret by @frannyzooey (A series of drabbles about Marcus Moreno hooking up with Reader, a female college student. Marcus is tortured and torn, but gives us what we want! Hot-hot-hot! -Claire)

Marcus Pike (The Mentalist)

Lavish (series) by @whataperfectwasteoftime (Listen, I don't EVER want to be 22 again, but I would totally be 22 again for this Marcus. He's caring, hot, wants to just take care of you, and did I mention hot? The caring is HOT. Penny knows what she's doing with this character, and I'm here for it!!!! -Claire)

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones)

Sugar & Strawberries (series) by @ezrasbirdie and @starlightmornings (We've got this cross-posted in the Hot for Teacher section, but it belongs here, too. Professor Oberyn Martell and Lily are scorching HOT, and we love it!!! -Claire)

To be continued…

Bottom of the Basement: Filthy Fic Recs Masterlist

[ryehouses]

any fun paz pov’s? 👀 i love that paz and din have such a complicated past, would love to see more of that explored!!! (especially when paz feels “threatened” by boba when it comes to din sjskdjjdkfgk)

howdy howdy!

a look into paz and din's complicated past, you say? i have some up and coming warrior stuff for the wet hot mandalorian summer fic that i'm gonna sit on for now, but i do have some other stuff, including this bit!

set pre-ast during mando s1, but in the ast 'verse, ft. paz, his irritated wife and some of the aftermath of the covert revealing itself to rescue din and grogu post episode three.

i hope you enjoy!

(tw for some mild cult stuff, including paz's near-constant challenging of din)

in which paz vizsla tells a lie.  

“You just missed Din,” Paz Vizsla said, toeing his boots off with a sigh. He had hoped to return to the covert to find his wife already in bed, but of course Annika was still sitting up at the overturned crate that had served as her desk for the last several months, working even as her light cell flickered. 

She looked up when Paz shut the door behind him, pushing her helmet back against her forehead, a gesture that showed Paz just how tired she was. A heap of datapads was piled up on her makeshift desk in front of her. 

As always, something tight in Paz’s chest unfurled at the sight of Annika. It was like a fist opening to show a gift instead of a blow. He relaxed at the sight of her. 

She had stayed behind, when the covert had gone out to rescue Din from the mess he’d made with the Imps. It was standard practice to leave three or four warriors behind to watch over the kids, in case of ambush. Paz hadn’t seen her all night; he and the others had gotten Din out of his scrape, but then the night had been full of blasterfire and covering tracks, each warrior disappearing into the shadows of Nevarro City. 

Paz was glad that Annika was safe. 

She caught him looking at her and tilted her head a little, signaling a roll of her eyes. Paz, peeling off his gauntlets next, grinned. 

Annika, much like Paz, preferred not to bother with her full set of armor when they were in their room together. She’d piled her armor into a careful stack beside their bed, where Paz toed his boots and started to heap his own armor. 

In a few of their coverts over the years, they’d had enough room for proper armor racks. The covert underneath Nevarro City wasn’t quite that big; the tribe had piled into an old sewer system, long unused, and most of their “rooms” were old storage spaces or smaller tunnels branching off the main trunk that had been hastily partitioned into rooms with curtains, blankets and carefully-stacked crates. 

Paz and Annika were senior enough in the tribe now to have been awarded one of the old storage spaces, so their room had four walls and a door. That afforded them enough privacy to shed most of their armor when they were only in each other’s company, but not enough space for an armor rack. 

Paz didn’t mind. He liked to be the only one to see Annika like this. The only bit of armor she’d left on was her helmet, which was red and molded with a shallow crown of silver spikes. 

The rest of Annika was uncovered for Paz to see. She’d shed her kute too, in deference to the heat – Nevarro City was warmed from beneath by lava vents, which made wearing full beskar’gam an interesting challenge – and was dressed simply, in soft black pants and a sleeveless shirt that showed off Annika’s strong arms and her collarbones. Annika was a Zabrak, an Irdonian, and her skin was orange, patterned thickly with scars and tattoos. Her forearms were strong, her fingers calloused. She’d been working the forge lately, learning an armorer’s craft, and the work had left her shoulders broad, her back flexing with smooth lines of muscle. 

I love her, Paz thought. That thought came easy, these days.  

“He’s not coming down?” Annika asked, pushing her datapad away. Neither of them bothered to ask the other how the night had gone. They had survived the raid. That was enough. “He barely stopped by. I thought he’d want to rest for at least a few days. I wanted to hear about Arvala-Seven.” 

“He was here and gone,” Paz reported. He thought of how his night had gone and grimaced. “A little more explosively than usual, too.” 

He’d only meant that the tribe had had to go get Din, to intervene when the Bounty Hunter’s Guild had turned on him. But Annika’s chin came up, fierce, and Paz winced. Their easy, familiar calm evaporated, and Paz remembered that before Din had roused the anger of the Bounty Hunter’s Guild, Paz and Annika hadn’t been speaking.  

“Of course he left explosively,” Annika snapped. Her tone wasn’t accusing. She didn’t have to accuse Paz of anything – he knew what she was angry about. “Honestly, Paz, why you still feel like you have to pick on him – ”

“I’m not picking on anybody,” Paz said, struggling to keep a hold of his own irritation. Getting too angry to speak had never worked against Annika – she was more level-headed than Paz, and had been able to wind Paz up into an incoherent fury from the day he’d met her. Din was like that too. “I was just – ”

“What?” Annika said, tone sharp. “Testing Din’s temper?” 

She’d been saying things like that a lot lately. Ever since the alor had pulled Annika aside and named her the future of the tribe, really. Paz knew that Annika didn’t mean to ask if Paz had been trying to make Din angry. She was asking if Paz had felt the need to test Din’s strength, his finish, like Din was a piece of metal and Paz was testing to see if Din had been well-forged. 

That wasn’t not what Paz had been doing, but he knew better than to say so. Annika didn’t understand. She was ven’alor, the future of the tribe. Paz was just gota’shuk – he was just a hammer. That was his role in the tribe. 

Paz worked his jaw for a moment. It bothered him, that Annika still didn’t get that. That she didn’t understand. Paz had been like this for years. This was his job. If the hammer blows came harder down on Din, it was only because Din left. He was gone from the tribe for weeks or months at a time. Paz couldn’t keep an eye on him like he could the others, couldn’t watch for signs of weakness, so he had to do it when Din came back, however infrequently that was. 

Explaining that to Annika had never quite worked right, though. 

Paz still tried. “You didn’t see him,” Paz said, trying not to sound like he was sulking. “All of that beskar – you know where he got it.” 

Din had earned himself a full beskar’gam at last, which was a thing to celebrate, but Din hadn’t stolen it back or even taken it from a dead enemy; he’d been given the beskar. It had been his reward. 

And he’d gotten it from the Empire. 

“If he was paid with it, there’s nothing wrong,” said Annika, flatly. “Did he do the job he agreed to do?” 

“I – probably,” Paz admitted. He wasn’t sure what the parameters of the job had been. Din hardly told Paz every bit of what was going on in his life any more. The thought was an unexpected knife. “It’s Din’ika.” 

“Then the beskar was rightly earned,” Annika said. Her tone wasn’t dangerous any more, but it was still sharp. Paz winced. He supposed he deserved that. “And you had no right to challenge him for it.” 

“Any of us can be challenged,” Paz said. He hadn’t been reading all of the old datapads like Annika’d been, but he knew that. Any Mandalorian could challenge another. For status or for armor or to settle a score. Din and Paz had been scraping for years. This fight hadn’t even been that bad. Din’ika’d pulled a knife – they had called him gal’ika as a child, actually, “little hawk,” because he’d been more than happy to flash a talon or two – and Paz had gotten a few whacks in, but the alor’d stopped them soon enough. 

“If Denn or Ryna’d done it, they wouldn’t have called Din a coward,” said Annika. 

Paz winced again. “...No,” he allowed. “Probably not.” 

He knew that Din wasn’t a coward. He could hardly think any different. Din had been jumping out of trees and poking his nose into caves and picking fights with beings twice his size since he’d been four feet tall and armed with only training staves. 

“But you always do,” Annika said. “You’re lucky he had to leave – he would’ve kicked your shebs in the sparring ring.” She talked like she’d been looking forward to watching Din punch Paz in the bucket. 

Paz snorted. “He would’ve tried,” he said, though he and Annika had both been losing to Din i nthe sparring ring for the better part of twenty years now. 

“You might have deserved it, this time,” Annika said, though she was softening a little, her shoulders slumping. “Honestly, cyare, you don’t have to…” she trailed off. 

Paz sighed. “I know,” he admitted, quietly. Annika was probably the only person in the galaxy he could admit this to. The alor had never asked Paz to be her gota’shuk, but Paz had known his position in the covert from the time he’d been a child. 

Paz was strong. Paz had been tempered; his father Pallas had seen to that. Testing others was necessary. If one among them was weak, they all were weak. The strength of the tribe depended on all of them. It depended on the wisdom of the alor and the advice of elders, on the curiosity of the foundlings, the skill of the warriors. On the honor of their hunter, who fed them, and Annika, who would one day lead them. 

But I don’t test Annika, Paz thought. Not like I test Din. 

His mouth thinned. He kept shedding his armor piece by piece, staking it beside his wife’s. All of his armor was painted a greyish blue, aside from a few yellow pieces, and almost all of Annika’s was red. Din’s armor had been red too, once. Now it was all silver, freshly forged. Paz wondered what colors Din would settle on. Maybe something green – that kid he’d found had been green.

I’m just doing my job, he wanted to say. Annika’d gotten – odder, these last few weeks. Ever since she’d been named ven’alor. She’d gotten – quieter. More withdrawn. Paz had just assumed that it was all of Annika’s new responsibilities keeping her busy, but maybe it was something else. 

But I am harder on Din. Paz knew that he was. He couldn't seem to stop. But - he could try to make it right. For Annika.

Paz didn't want to add more stress to her shoulders, and - well.

And he missed Din too, he thought. Maybe. Paz missed the way things had been when the three of them hadn't had any of this kark to worry about.

“I can – next time I see Din,” Paz said, gruffly. “I’ll apologize. Okay?” 

Annika studied him for a moment, hard. She was still beautiful, when she was angry with Paz. Maybe especially when she was angry with Paz. She had a passion that lit her up. The closed fist in Paz’s heart opened again. It always opened for Annika. 

Paz got the last of his armor off, then shrugged out of his kute too. He stretched, sore from the fighting, and undid the seals on his helmet so he could scratch his jaw. His beard bristled against his fingertips. 

“I’ll apologize,” Paz repeated. 

Annika softened all the way. “Good,” she said. She pushed away from her desk and crossed the room. She slung an arm over Paz’s hips. He leaned gratefully into her warmth. 

“I’m just,” Annika started, sounding tired. 

Kark, thought Paz, half-amused. We have gotten old. Old and tired, like we swore we’d never get. 

“I’m just worried,” Annika said, pulling her thoughts into some kind of order. “It’s – I don’t know. I want Din here. I want him safe, with the tribe. With us. Now that the Empire’s after him – ”

“I wouldn’t worry much about the Empire,” Paz said. He turned so that he could brush the cheek of his helmet against Annika’s. She let him, leaning back. “Din leveled them, and we took care of the Guild. We’ll probably have to move in a few days, but here – here’s safe enough. Din will come back. He always does.” 

Annika hummed, the sound lighter and more musical than Paz would've thought a warrior of Annika’s size would be able to make, before he’d known her. Despite the battle – despite the exhaustion of the day – Paz’s blood began to warm. 

“He always does,” Annika admitted. “Think he’ll bring that kid of his with him?” 

Paz shrugged. “He might,” he said. “If Din decides he’s ready for one.” 

“The fight really went okay?” Annika asked. She was putting a little more pressure on Paz’s side, angling him towards their bed. Paz went happily. “Din’s okay? Everyone else?” 

“We’re all okay,” Paz assured her. The bed creaked under their weight as they went down, cheek pressed to cheek. The seals on Paz’s helmet were still loose, the motion of their bodies jostling it against his nose, his cheekbone, but he didn’t mind. He wasn’t afraid of losing it. Not here. “Even Din.”

“And there’s no more trouble?” Annika asked, already as protective over her tribe as a proper alor. 

Paz chuckled. He and Annika were both still wearing too many clothes. Paz set his fingers against the hem of Annika’s sleeveless shirt, thrilling at the flex of muscle there. “There’s no more trouble,” Paz confirmed. “Not from the Empire and not from the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. We’re safe here.” 

The last of Annika’s unhappy tension bled away. She relaxed into Paz’s touches, let him shrug her out of her shirt. She began to reach back. 

“Good,” she murmured. “That’s good.” 

“We’ll all be together again,” Paz promised her. “Din will be fine.” 

“Then come here,” Annika instructed, and pressed her forehead against Paz’s in a kiss.