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thefrogdalorian · 10 months ago

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The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Two

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 4508 Rating: Teen Summary: The character of The Mandalorian is known and loved by millions. But there is another, much softer side to the man who portrays him that Din Djarin is determined to keep hidden from the world, despite the challenges that presents for him and his beloved son, Grogu. Content Warnings: Past child abuse (impacts of Grogu's early childhood trauma is explored but what happened to him is not described in detail) and vomit (Grogu pukes but also not described in detail) - both things are as graphic as in canon. Author's Note: Woo you finally get to meet Din in this universe! Really hope you like how I wrote him and I did his and Grogu's bond justice. Thank you for the kind words about this story, I'm so excited for you to see where it goes. If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this one, please let me know! Also HUGE thanks to @suresnips for being my beta and doing a great job at spotting when I miss words and skip to the next sentence because my brain runs at 2938mph!!

2. He Is My Only Priority [Din's Pov]

If a single one of the millions of viewers who knew him only as a formidable warrior were able see him now, Din Djarin mused, they would never believe that he could possibly be the person behind the tough character with a fearsome reputation that they knew and loved. Mando was famous to millions the world over for his strength and dogged resilience… but the man who portrayed him onscreen was currently wiping up bright blue puke from his son’s stained brown shirt, tutting at him affectionately as he did so.

Grogu had attacked a packet of cookies that had been momentarily left unattended on the table while Din was off taking a call and the little boy had, as usual, overindulged. It was a common theme with Grogu, as far as food was concerned. Din suspected it was something to do with the traumatic start to Grogu’s life, but he preferred not to dwell on that. It devastated him to imagine how much this tiny, helpless child had suffered before that fateful day when Din had crossed paths with him. Now though, for the rest of his life, Din knew that Grogu would want for nothing.

Din did not like to dwell on the day, which hopefully lay far in the future, when he would no longer be around to take care of Grogu. But Din comforted himself with the knowledge that he had more than enough funds to provide for his boy, for everything he could ever possibly need or want. And Din would give it to him happily.

Din knew that circumstances in his son’s early life had taken their toll and left lasting consequences that, as a parent, Din had to deal with every single day. Grogu had failed to meet several milestones, including speaking, that he should have for his age. Grogu had just turned three recently, but he had not yet uttered his first words. He struggled walking and moving as a normal child should, too. Grogu hated busy places and loud, bright environments. He would cry hysterically, so Din rarely took him anywhere, unless it was quiet and they had a quick way to get out.

But there were also so many moments that being a father to Grogu was the most joyous, incredible thing that Din had ever experienced. Although Grogu could not speak and did not always return gestures, the times when his big brown eyes would peer into Din’s filled him with a sense of pride that was almost overwhelming. To have that reassurance that Grogu was happy meant everything to Din. Even if the only thing Grogu did was stare at Din with his big brown eyes, with a slight smile on his face as he turned his favourite shiny ball in his hands over and over again, it meant everything to Din.

As Din wandered to the sink to wash the cloth that he had grabbed to tend to Grogu’s mess, he pondered – with a smirk – over knowing that if fans of the show could see him now, their illusion of the gritty, aloof warrior would shatter. They would instead see a completely different side to the man beneath the Beskar. A gentle, caring side that would never align with Mando’s fearsome reputation. It was strangely satisfying to Din to know that no one would ever get to see these two sides of him. There were only three people on this Earth who knew that Din Djarin was The Mandalorian: the show’s creators, and the leader of Din’s tribe. But Din had a strictly professional relationship with them. Sure, the creators had seen Din helmetless in some early meetings for the show, but they would never get to witness such a private moment between Din and his son. Likewise, while the leader of the tribe knew about Grogu and his fighting, Din was often separated from her by many miles. When they did cross paths, it was like a cordial encounter with a distant relative. Friendly but not too familiar.

Apart from the show’s creators and the golden-haired woman who was the leader of Din’s tribe, everyone else either knew him as Din, or Mando. Like most things in his life, Din was meticulous that the two versions of himself would never overlap and be known by a single individual.

Caring for Grogu was a key part of the reason why Din had fought for such a strict stipulation in his contract that his identity remain a secret. Fear of what people would think of him and protection from the often rabid nature of Star Wars fans was partially what had motivated Din’s insistence in concealing his identity, that was true. But there were other reasons why Din had fought so hard to maintain his privacy. Most of them were related to the small boy Din had assumed all responsibility for on that fateful day when their paths had crossed.

Agonising over whether to accept the role had been difficult for Din. Even more so after he had been forced to fight to maintain his privacy, by offering to accept the job on the condition that he would remain anonymous.

Of course, the multinational, mega-corporation that Din had been forced to negotiate with had not liked the proposal one bit, but he knew that he was in an incredibly strong bargaining position. After all, there was no one else on this planet that would be able to portray The Mandalorian as effectively as Din Djarin would be able to. He knew that, Disney knew that. It was why they had even approached him in the first place. So, they folded and Din’s identity remained a complete secret, known to only a handful of people. Even his co-stars had no idea about who he was, which was lucky considering how much of a loudmouth one co-star in particular was.

Yet it was not the sole reason that Din had pursued such a strict stipulation. The ancient Mandalorian Creed that Din followed viewed secrecy as a strength, a key to a survival of their traditions for so many centuries.

Din’s way of life was one that was becoming increasingly rare: there were not many people left who followed the Way as strictly as he and his covert did. But Din’s adherence to it was absolute. The gratitude that he felt for the people who had taken him in as a child and raised him as one of their own was a debt that, truthfully, he felt as though could never adequately repay. So living by his covert’s rules was the least he could do. It was far from a burden to Din.

But above preserving his ego from any harsh comments that may come his way, or maintaining the secrecy of his tribe and the Creed they followed… the primary reason that Din had been so insistent about the anonymity clause in his contract before he agreed to sign on to play The Mandalorian, was the desire to keep his son out of the spotlight.

Grogu was not Din’s biological son, from looking at the two of them side-by-side, that much was obvious. Although they shared similar dark, curly hair, Grogu’s was much curlier and he had a complexion darker than Din’s own olive skin. It was a deeper bronze and contrasted sharply with the child’s grey locks. Din was not entirely sure why Grogu’s hair had taken on such a hue, he supposed once again that it had to do with trauma from the first part of Grogu’s life, before he met Din.

It was precisely for that reason, Grogu’s welfare, that Din refused to invite any kind of intrusion into the little boy’s life by leading a life in the public eye, where strangers could scrutinise the pair and the way they lived their life. Besides, Din liked it this way, his anonymity clause allowed him to live a largely peaceful life, outside of the times he was required on set. The studios that The Mandalorian was filmed in were in the peaceful English countryside, convenient enough to be close by to the country’s capital but without treading inside the sprawling city’s boundaries.

Din had stipulated a small, quaint cottage next to peaceful, lush farmland not too far away from the studios as part of his contract. It was an ideal base for Din and Grogu between filming days. Plus, its location allowed him to explore the countryside and maintain his own training regime – portraying a Mandalorian onscreen was an incredibly demanding and physical role, after all. The studio had tried to set him up with trainers but Din had let them go after only one session. No one understood what it meant, physically, to be a Mandalorian more than Din Djarin did. He had more than proved that when he easily outworked the so-called professionals that had been hired to force him into a punishing regime. They were no match for Din, with all of his years of experience working various physically demanding jobs.

It was that training regime that Din was preparing to follow as he put Grogu down for a nap. It seemed after the incident with the cookies, Grogu was thoroughly worn out. So Din placed him down for a nap in the plushie covered cot in his room, which overlooked the picturesque English countryside.

Filming for the third season of the show was really beginning to ramp up and there were numerous action scenes and stunts that Din had to carefully prepare for. For a man in his mid-thirties, he was remarkably fit, with a strong, muscular physique that was pronounced but not overly buff. Din sighed as he attached the various pieces of armour to himself, in preparation for a session on the treadmill in the little outbuilding that had been transformed into a home gym to allow him to workout in private.

Din stared at his reflection in the mirror, as he entered the gym, cradling his helmet in his hand. He marvelled at how different he looked in the armour. It was surreal to him that he could shift from a stressed, tired father who had to mop up his son’s puke, to looking like an intimidating warrior in such a short space of time.

Of course, it was that intimidating aspect of his culture that The Mandalorian had originally intended to focus on. It was pitched as a show about a lone bounty hunter traversing the galaxy, but with Din’s input it had turned into something more profound. Din had passionately argued that Mandalorians should have a moral obligation to leave the places they visited better than they found them, it was a practice he adhered to with the way he followed his Creed. The Mandalorian’s signature phrase “This is the Way,” had also been included at Din’s own suggestion. If anything, Din had left The Mandalorian better than how he had found it. After the writers had met Din, they had been encouraged to transform the show from the hollow violence-oriented show that it had been pitched as into something with a little more humanity. It was precisely that humanity of the character that most viewers had fallen in love with.

Sometimes, it was hard to tell where the character of The Mandalorian ended and Din Djarin began. Mando was Din’s personality and fighting skills, only exaggerated to an extreme amount. After all, there was far more that came with being a Mandalorian than collecting bounties and hunting down bad guys. Looking after family was extremely important to Mandalorians and formed a fundamental part of their Creed. Din took that vow extremely seriously, as evidenced by the care he took towards his son. Grogu was always going to be the number one priority in his life.

As Din ran on the treadmill, pushing the limits despite the heavy armour and helmet that he was wearing, his mind wandered to his and Grogu’s story so far. Din had never seriously considered that it would be possible for him to be a father. It was not something that he had ever foreseen for himself. He had lost both of his parents at such a young age that for the first chunk of his life, attachment of any kind had terrified him. He had done his best to keep himself to himself, travelling between jobs with his head down, minding his own business and just anticipating his next pay day. Din had held down many jobs over the years – nightclub bouncer, security guard, personal protection for the elites, stuntman (which was the job that ultimately got him the contacts for the role of The Mandalorian) and he had even liaised with the intelligence services of various nations.

They sounded like the most thrilling jobs in the world and indeed to outsiders, Din supposed they were. But after the day he had crossed paths with Grogu, he had found that there was no job comparable to that of being a father. Looking after the little boy, watching him thrive and blossom into an adorable child after everything he had been through was truly the greatest privilege of Din’s life. It mattered to him far more than fame, fortune or anything else the world could offer him. Din would go to the ends of the earth for Grogu.

That fateful day, in that terribly dark attic, when Din pulled back the blanket over the white pram and found Grogu’s big, brown eyes peering up at him with nothing in them except sheer terror, Din had made a promise to himself that he would never again allow anyone or anything to make Grogu feel so afraid ever again, for as long as he lived. So far, Din thought that he had done a pretty good job. Even if he occasionally spoiled the child – how could he ever say no to those big brown eyes? – it was a small price to pay to know that Grogu was safe and happy.

Indeed, for the first few months, Din had not understood much at all about the child he had strode purposefully out of that house with. Din had no idea who he was, or where Grogu came from, if his parents were even still alive. For a while, Din had not even known Grogu’s name. All Din had known for certain was the unlikely bond the two of them shared. It went beyond words or description, the overwhelming affection and protectiveness he felt for the little boy was more than he had ever felt for another being in his entire life, certainly since the deaths of his parents.

Din had not wanted to do anything to jeopardise that, keeping Grogu hidden when he went to his various jobs. But there came a point when Din knew this was untenable. Sooner or later, they would slip up and someone would find out about Grogu. Perhaps they would even take the little boy from him. That was a risk that Din could not afford to take.

It wasn’t until Din realised that and finally felt secure enough to show Grogu to the leader of his covert that things had started to move quickly. Journeying to the last known location of where the tribe had been hiding, deep in the Mojave desert in a collection of caves, had been daunting to Din. He had been unsure of how the leader would respond to an outsider in Grogu. But fortunately, she had been nothing but welcoming and accepting of the small boy who seemed to have an incredible ability to effortlessly charm everyone he encountered.

The golden-haired woman who led Din’s covert had insisted that Din take Grogu to the local authorities. A sympathetic woman with bright blue and white hair that contrasted with her coppery skin, called Ahsoka Tano, had vowed to take on Din’s case and assured Din that she would do her best to ensure that Din and Grogu would be reunited.

Ahsoka had believed every word of Din’s story, no matter how far-fetched it had appeared. Din had felt tremendous relief as they sat there together in the office. Despite the formality of the setting, Ahsoka had made Din feel instantly relaxed. Din had taken on groups of dangerous men as though it was second nature, but sitting there in the office as the story of how he happened across the child was cross-referenced had been perhaps the most terrifying ordeal of them all.

Ahsoka had told Din that his son’s name was Grogu and that he had also lost his parents when he was young. Grogu had been sent to some distant relatives, who had taken good care of him until tragedy had befallen them too. Details were murky, but it seemed that Grogu had then passed around various shady establishments, in the hands of various nefarious characters. That was, until Din encountered him as part of his line of work at that particular time – liaising with local law enforcement to run a sting on a drug ring. But there were no real firm details of Grogu’s life from the time between the relatives who had taken him in being brutally murdered and when he met Din.

Then the two of them had been shown to a playroom, with a two-way mirror, where a collection of social workers and law enforcement would observe the two of them interacting. The entire ordeal made Din nervous, but he just concentrated on playing with the shiny ball – which was Grogu’s favourite toy – and tried to forget about the professionals observing the two of them, unseen, no doubt making their notes. Din’s hands had been trembling, so nervous was he that Grogu would be taken away from him.

When Din left the room, he was told that everything appeared to be in order thus far and Grogu should be allowed to return to him. But first they had to conduct some checks to verify Din’s story and ensure that Grogu would come to no harm if Din officially adopted him.

Standing there in the office, watching as an emergency foster parent named Luke Skywalker left with Grogu, Din had cried in public for the first time in his life. He had been unable to stop the genuine tears streaming down his cheeks as the little boy who had changed everything for him left. Din did not know whether he would ever see him again, though he had promised Grogu that he would in the brief moment they had been allowed to spend together before Grogu was taken away.

It was a memory that was almost bringing Din to tears now, as he set the treadmill to a lower speed and walked to end his workout. As his long legs stretched and his feet thudded rhythmically against the moving surface, his heart ached as he remembered how shattered and broken he had felt in that moment. How he had feared that he would never feel true happiness again.

The period between Grogu leaving had been perhaps the toughest time in Din’s adult life. He had just felt as though he was getting to know who Grogu really was, their bond had reached new depths. Cruelly, immediately after feeling as though he was really getting to know Grogu and even finally learning the name of the boy who had changed so much in Din’s life, the child had been snatched away from him. He had to keep going though, for Grogu.

After months of wandering around aimlessly, Din had finally received a call with an update. Grogu was to be returned to his care. Despite the suddenness of the news – Din did not even have proper lodgings or consistent employment – there had not been a second thought in Din’s mind about taking Grogu back. Din returned to the office where mere months ago, he had feared his life had been as good as over.

Din had been stunned when he was summoned back to the office, having expected to see Skywalker himself, it was in fact a colleague of Ahsoka’s, called Artoo, who had handed Grogu back to a grateful Din. It was an overwhelming experience and there had been many tears shed and cuddles that night, when Din had finally been able to take Grogu home.

Although Din’s life was in a period of uncertainty, Grogu’s return had coincided with the negotiations for him to appear as The Mandalorian. Getting Grogu back had lit a new fire in his belly, both to secure the job and to ensure his son’s protection with the anonymity clause. It had not been an easy process, with much adjustment and many stressful hours of negotiations. But when negotiations had finally ended with an agreement which adhered to Din’s terms, it had been an incredible feeling.

After the contract with Disney had been finalised with Din’s demands honoured, a strict set of rules had been agreed upon for everyone working on the show. Din would don his armour before arriving at the studio and the only two people in the studio who were aware of his true identity were the show’s creators. The cast were fully aware that the actor portraying The Mandalorian wished to maintain his anonymity. It didn’t stop them from trying, though. A certain curly-haired co-star named Peli Motto, who Din enjoyed spending time with despite how extroverted she was, had done her best to catch him out. But she was no match for the decades Din had spent hiding his identity, fading into the background like a wallflower.

Aside from his castmates' curiosity, Din had constantly shied away from his role of The Mandalorian. He didn’t have social media and had only recently mastered texting. Aside from that, although he preferred to stay at home, if he did venture out and happen across a Mandalorian shirt, the embarrassment Din felt was almost paralysing. Din was terrified each time that they would somehow be onto him and realise perhaps through how he walked or his build that he was in fact the man behind the character they loved so much.

The most Din had ever done in terms of publicly acknowledging to himself as The Mandalorian, was when he had visited the local children’s hospital in full armour to spread some joy to the sick children there. It had been a little act of kindness that had been suggested to him by the creators of the show. To the doctors, nurses, patients and their parents, the visit from Mando was done by a kindhearted, enthusiastic fan of the show. Din had been terrified of repercussions when pictures had appeared in the local paper, even though his visit had been cleared through official channels. His visit had also apparently gone viral on social media, not that Din had seen any of it. Peli had delighted in telling him about it, though, even reading out some of the more salacious comments about how hot he looked in the armour.

The public had been amazed that such a realistic-looking costume could be made, fans had been begging for the man to reveal how he had crafted such an incredibly realistic cosplay. Of course, the truth could never be revealed. Din never planned to reveal his identity, no amount of money could ever tempt him – and he had been offered life changing sums, numerous times in fact.

But the way the kids' faces lit up on that day at the hospital weighed on Din’s mind a lot. That was worth more to him than any amount of money. Some of them had been very ill, he had known that their prognoses were not good. But the sheer joy that Din was able to evoke in others just by dressing in his armour had opened his eyes to the impact that this character was having in the outside world, outside of the self-imposed isolation that Din kept himself in. It gave him an idea, one related to a conversation that had on set earlier in the day.

Din knew the reason his mind had turned to such memories. As he made his way back in the house, after his work out he lingered in the kitchen, warring with himself whether he should open it.

An envelope lay unopened on the kitchen table, next to where Din had been attending to his son’s blue-cookie-induced wardrobe malfunction earlier in the afternoon. It was an invitation to a fan convention that had been enthusiastically pressed into his hand by his curly-haired co-star on set the previous day.

Peli Motto had boundless enthusiasm and energy. Although she portrayed a minor character in the show, she was nevertheless a fan favourite and she loved interacting with the large, passionate fan base that the Mandalorian had. Peli had been bemused that her character had received such a great reception – of course there was always going to be a vocal group of haters on social media, but for the most part people loved the kooky mechanic from Tatooine – but she had been immensely grateful for it. The amount the fans had loved her had encouraged the shows’ writers to gradually include her in a greater number of scenes. Perhaps that was why Peli always felt so compelled to visit these conventions and give back to the fans. Din could think of nothing worse. Whereas Peli was most comfortable in a room full of people, Din was far more shy and reserved, his personality mirrored Mando’s in that way.

But something was telling Din Djarin to open that envelope, his official invitation to the convention. Although he had no plans to go, Din’s curiosity got the better of him and he reached for the envelope.

The elaborate font was printed on glossy paper and Din found his eyes scanning the words:

GalaxyCon

London, UK

14th, 15th, 16th & 17th June 2024

Dear Mando,

We would be delighted if you would join us for some out of this world fun at our 17th annual ForceCon at the Dockside Convention Centre in London, England this June!

Please find attached your badges for entry. They will be upgraded once you arrive. We are running several panels about The Mandalorian and we would be honoured if you would attend them as a special guest! If you are interested, please contact our Invited Guest Assistant Cara Dune on 073790848.

We hope to see you there!

– ForceCon Team

Din had no intention of actually taking up the offer to attend a panel or to liaise with the woman, who was certain to be incredibly sycophantic, as those interacting with famous names occasionally could be. But he reasoned that it couldn’t hurt to go along in his armour as just another fan, with the regular badges. Din planned to take some photos, meet some kids. He would only stay for a couple of hours and then he would be on his way again. What was the worst that could happen?

It wasn’t like fan conventions could possibly be life-altering experiences, anyway.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro boys #the mandalorian fanfiction

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chad-something · 2 years ago

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BEHOLD Fic Recs!!!! 18+

Notes: I’m reposting this because it seems to have disappeared completely from my account!! After the week we’ve all had I thought I’d accumulate some of my favs 🥹🥹 I’ll make a list for fluffy fics as well! Big love.

Side note, there is no theme, the theme is chaos fuck you Filoni

Warnings: These all contain 18+ content, minors do not interact - all posts contain individual warnings.

Expensive Tastes: by @eloquentmoon - cad bane x AFAB!reader

• Good lord. Need I say more? I want this shit tattooed on my fucking eyelids.

Rough Day: by @no-droids - mando x F!reader

• Because obviously. Is it too much to call this the Bible for fanfic readers?

Tech Savvy: by @bb-8 - Tech x F!reader

• Pure, unadulterated perfection.

Can I help with that?: by @nahoney22 - Tech x F!reader

• She needs no introduction. All of Honey’s work is PERFECTION!! I’m kicking my feet and blushing thinking about it all.

Handling: by @moodymisty - Tech x F!reader

• Again, she needs no introduction. Incredible writing AND incredible sex, what more could you ask for? I just adore all of her stuff!!

Catch and Release: by @sporadicthingcollection - Cad Bane x F!reader

• This was the first fic I ever read on ao3 after somebody sent it to me and I remember with such clarity being like … wait… this shit can be GOOD good?! I feel like I’m reading a Jane Austen novel rn except it’s pure smut and about a blue space cowboy. I seriously hang off Emberly’s every word - this fic and the whole series is AMAZING

Poise Counterpoise: by @sporadicthingcollection - Tech x F!reader

• Mmm same as above but for tech. I want to inject this into my brain?!

Quick and Dirty: by @eyecandyeoz - Tech x Reader

• Everything. All of Candy’s stuff. But in light of recent events this one has been on my mind!

Multitasking: by @neon-junkie - Tech x GN!reader

• I dare you to find a fic by neonjunkie that I won’t obsess over, this is one of my personal favs

Coriolis Effect: by @uponrightful - Crosshair x reader

• FANTASTIC Crosshair series with excellent writing, pacing, and smut by uponrightful

What Boba thinks about on the throne: by @saradika - Boba x F!reader

• I’m blushing. Every. Single. Fic. Is. Perfection. (And read kinktober 2021 NEEEOOOOOOWW)

These are just some off the top of my head to help ease the pain from the finale!! I’ll be back with more soon I’m sure - and there are so many other fluffy fics I adore that I can’t wait to shout out asap

(Boarders by @saradika)

Em x

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stealingpotatoes · 1 year ago

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askposting: imagine a creative title here

you know the drill bestie. feat. a lot of jedi survivor and some other star warsing

the more you think abt this the funnier it gets. like it means kanera are declaring their income which is absolutely stolen imperial credits to the empire, means kanan went and got a SSN/national insurance number or smthn for his fake identity, and that these ppl who live on a ship ie have no fixed residence are somehow still paying taxes to somewhere. 10/10

@engagemythrusters TUMBLR IS A FUNCTIONING WEBSITE!! i too love when he sit like a people

@finwe77 well now i want to see luke cooking for HIS mando and din being a brave soldier and saying no he's totally fine and then putting the helmet back on to cover his tears and sipping blue milk thru a straw

im like 60% sure thats that aussie dog show but i dont think im qualified to answer this

@stars-are-watching ohhhh nooooo what a shaaaame!!!!! you just HAVE to!!!!!!!

also dw i won't be going on THAT aggressive a cal kestis lockdown. i mean... i imagine you're gonna be seeing a lot of him here for a few days but--

i have to say cal's basic bitch bracca poncho, legally

--- SEVERE JEDI SURVIVOR SPOILERS BELOW!!!!!!!!!!!

WHERE TO START!!!!!!!!!!!!! CAN I SAY ALL OF IT???? EVEN IF IT EMOTIONALLY DEVASTATED ME??????

it's probably the cute mantis fam scene before everything goes to shit. theyre all being so domestic and adorable and MERRICAL!! KISS!!!!!!!!!!!! MERRICAL!!!!! cal deserves nice things even tho for the entire cutscene i was thinking "this feels exactly like a scene in another game where we're meant to be going to the final location tomorrow but then my allies betray me" AND WELL.

even if it emotionally obliterated me i also loved the entire bit after bc SO MUCH. HAPPENED. like???????? thE SHOCK OF BODE even if i was getting a bit sus of him after the dagan fight I STILL DIDNT SEE IT COMING AND I WAS SO UPSET AND THEN HE WAS A JEDI AND THEN PLAYING AS CERE!??!?!?!??!?!?!??!?!?!?!??! I WAS GRINNING SO HARD BC OMG COOL EVEN IF CAL IS LIKE. MAYBE NOT OKAY RN THE FUN OF PLAYING AS HER WAS TOO MUCH. AND THEN. HOLY SHITTING FUCK I HAD NOT EVEN THE SLIGHTEST INKLING VADER WAS GONNA SHOW UP. I GASPED SO FUCKIN LOUD LMAO. IT WAS SUCH A GREAT FIGHT, VADER IS SO SCARY, AND I LOVE FIGHT SCENES W HIM BC YOU KNOW FROM BOTH A TACTICAL AND NARRATIVE STANDPOINT YOU CANNOT WIN AND GOD. THE LIGHTSABER FAKEOUT. DOES RESPAWN KNOW THEIR MEAT IS HUGE.

i am a big enough person to admit i cried twice and the bit after this was one of those times <3

BUT YEAH probably fave bit is the cute pre-emotional obliteration moment

#thanks for the ask!

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itsharleystuff · 2 years ago

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-ˋˏ 𝘊𝘖𝘕 𝘓𝘈 𝘉𝘙𝘐𝘚𝘈 ˎˊ-

— 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Din Djarin x afab!fem!reader (reader is described as POC)

— 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10k

— 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: When Mando crashes in an unknown planet, he didn’t expect to be saved by such a distinct individual; much less to learn plenty about her and the world that she lived in. Safe to say that her charm didn’t go unaware by him.

— 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 18+ content (minors dni), oral sex (f!receiving), teasing, blindfolds, voice kink(? Kinda, vaginal fingering, mentions of arranged marriage, body worship, I think that’s it.

— 𝘢/𝘯: this is my first time writing smut, so it might not be great but I’m working on it. Also, English isn’t my first language, therefore I apologize for any mistakes. Ps: this fic will have continuity and it contains certain elements of indigenous cultures (nothing specific, mostly general stuff brought together to create fiction).

| 𝙣𝙤 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙮/𝙣 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮 |

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩ ✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

| Six months before Mando

meets Grogu for the first time |

"Dank Farrik!" Mando mutters when he suddenly loses control of his ship. The smoke around him becomes suffocating and the bounty hunter doesn't know where it's coming from. Probably a damaged engine. The wound on his side stings greatly and his vision starts to get blurry as all he can see now is the blue sky of the unknown planet he was now landing on. Well, more like crashing on.

"I hate pirates." He managed to say, breathless, before he passed out and the razor crest stumbled to the ground.

•••

When Mando finally woke up, everything around him was unfamiliar. He was no longer in the razor crest. In fact, he had no idea where he was.

"You're awake." Said a voice next to him.

His first instinct was to reach for his blaster, but the ghost of it lingered on his fingers. As if for instinct, he checked for his other weapons, but he had been stripped of them, along with his armor. He felt vulnerable, naked, exposed... At least his helmet remained where it was supposed to be.

"Were you seriously going to point this vile weapon at me? The one that saved you?" Mando slowly raised his head to see the woman standing beside him. Her voice had a weird accent that he couldn't quite pinpoint, and her skin was tan, like bathed in sunlight. She was holding his blaster, staring at it as if it was a hideous creature.

The mandalorian realized that there was a bandage were he was previously injured by a knife. His underarmor remained, but it was ripped and dirty. He sighed, sitting up in the bed where he had been laying.

"Who are you?" The woman, dressed in a white silk robe, tied with a golden belt at her waist, stayed completely silent while she left the blaster on the nightstand by the bed. "Where am I?"

"You're in no position to make questions. Don't you think?" Mando scanned his surroundings, picking up every detail that could possibly reveal where he was. The room was big, peaceful and very open, with wide balconies that would let the warm, golden sunlight spill all over the place. It didn't seem like this was a crowded and loud planet, like corousant; if anything, the architecture reminded him of naboo. But the woman didn't seem like a naboo resident, not with that skin and dark long hair that fell on her back in a thick braid. She wore golden jewelry, in her fingers, arms, ankles and ears... She looked like nothing he had ever seen, and to be fair, as a very experienced bounty hunter, he had seen plenty.

"I don't know." Mando said, noticing the pain that struck his injury and limbs. "I think... I think I can take you."

He didn't mean it. At least, not completely. He had learned that things that looked innocent and naive are usually the deadliest.

"Not in that state." She replied with a smile. "Matter of fact, you're about to go on trial in about an hour, so I suggest you get cleaned up and prepare a proper speech."

"What?!" The man couldn't hide his astonishment. "Trial for what? Almost dying?" The lady turned her back to him. "Hey!"

"Why are you really here, bounty hunter?" She asked. Her voice was serious and low, warning him that he should be careful with his words.

"I don't know where I am."

"Yeah, right." She snorted, barely looking back at him.

"Am I supposed to know?" Once again, the woman didn't respond. Din just stood there, admiring her silhouette, painted with the lights and shadows that naturally formed in their surroundings. There was something graceful, yet dangerous about the way she carried herself around. "Look..."

He tried to reach her side, but before he could step forward a dark shadow fell in front of him, blocking his way with a fierce growl. It was an unknown creature with feline characteristics, covered in black fur, two pointy ears and enormous fangs that didn't even fit it's mouth. The animal barely looked like a cub, but that didn't make it any less terrifying.

"It's okay." She whispered, and the animal slowly left it's guard down, approaching her side and laying at her feet, purring. "I believe you, mandalorian. But things aren't looking great right now." She petted the creature's head before looking at him dead in the eye. "There were pirates following you, which usually indicates that people know about us. And it doesn't really matter if I trust you, cause it's not me who you have to convince."

"Then who is?" She gulped and her gaze wandered from him.

"I can't say much. Not until the trial is over." Was her response. "But I can tell you're an honest person, mandalorian."

"Mando." She tilted her head and smiled warmly at him.

"Okay. Mando." He nodded slightly. "Get ready soon, I'll be waiting right outside. You may wear your beskar armor, but since you're under our custody, any weapons shall remain in our power."

"I understand." Din didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it. Before the woman and her pet left the room, he stopped her. "Wait." She raised an eyebrow at him, curious. "What should I call you?"

She seemed to think about his question, but her answer was rather simple and mysterious. "You may call me whatever you want."

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

You couldn't believe what just happened. An outsider; and nonetheless, a mandalorian, had just crashed in your planet. Your whole life you had lived hearing tales about the sky people...

The evil sky people that wanted to conquer your people and steal the riches of your planet. But you had finally met one, and he seemed... Oblivious.

Mando.

He was a peculiar one. You couldn't make up your mind about him, but one thing was clear to you: he wasn't a bad person. The people of your planet could always tell when someone was lying, and he seemed like an honest one. At least for a bounty hunter.

Asteria was an extremely rich planet, in every sense of the word. Minerals, food, technology, wildlife, landscapes, etc. So, the habitants had learned not to trust outsiders ages ago, disappearing the planet from every radar and map, making it seem as if they didn't exist. Occasionally, people would try to sneak, but asterians were raised ruthless warriors, instructed to not let anyone in.

This, however, was a different situation.

Mando didn't land there intentionally, at least not at first sight, and he hadn't been violent towards you, even when he had the chance. But asterians were distrustful people, and questioning him was an obligation. A necessity.

Therefore, you were now waiting outside your own room, where you took him and healed him, your spear in hand and a hint of nervousness.

The palace was a big and open place, usually very crowded by other people. But right now it was awfully silent and empty; probably because everyone was gathering with the tribe leaders to hear what the mandalorian had to say. So naturally, you were the only soldier guarding him. Well, you and nyx.

Nyx was a wildcat, a unique species that had only existed in your planet. You had rescued him when he was born, right after his mother passed away, due to a hunting injury. Animals in Asteria were considered sacred, so hunting them, eating them or destroying their homes was punished by death. Greedy people existed all over the galaxy, and sadly, your planet wasn't the exception; especially because wildcat's fangs were great for weapon making. Either way, you made sure that the transgressor got what he deserved, and sheltered nyx to raise him. He was not a pet to you, as asterians didn't own animals; he was your familiar, an extension of you. That was it, you didn't need anyone else...

When an hour exactly had passed, you opened the door again only to see Mando standing right in the middle, adjusting his chest plate.

"Does your under armor need fixing?" You asked, politely.

"It's okay. I've got a change in my ship." As if realization has suddenly hit him, he went extremely stiff. "Is my ship too damaged?"

You shake your head. "It'll need repair, but it's nothing serious." You paused, your eyes fixating on his wound. "Does it hurt? I did my best, but I'm still learning..."

"Nothing unbearable." He responded dryly. Tilting his head to Nyx's direction, whose tail was waving around your legs.

"Good." You were expecting a thank you, but he seemed far too unreachable as to ask for it, so you said nothing. "Walk in front of me." You pointed the spear to him, no too menacing, but not too soft either.

Din wasn't a fool. He knew that whoever these people were, they must be incredibly powerful, not only weapon-wise, but in terms of skill too. They left him alone in that room with his armor and a blaster, either trusting he wouldn't try anything (which he didn't believe) or knowing that, whatever he did, they'd be able to stop him. He knew better than to try and shoot his way out of this one.

You tied his hands behind his back with magnetic cuffs while he remained extremely silent. In fact, he remained in silence all the time you guided him through the halls of the Asterian palace. You guessed he was observing and gathering information of your world with everything he was seeing. The tall walls, the clean colors and lack of decorations and every open balcony from which the sunset light would spill into the place.

"Who will I answer to?" He asked suddenly, not looking back in your direction.

"The leader of our tribe." You replied. "He's a harsh man, but he'll trust you if you tell him the truth."

"Are you a soldier?" Mando wondered, curious, but rather stern.

"Yes."

"Is the leader some kind of king?"

"There are no kings in Asteria. The strongest and wisest is always our leader, and he cannot lead by himself." You explained.

"What does that mean?"

"You ask too many questions." You replied, annoyed. Stopping right in front of the gates that lead to the council room. "You better keep them to yourself if you want your head to remain attached to your shoulders." You feel him tense up, even if it's not visible. "I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you."

"Is there a difference?" You can't really tell if he's joking or not, but you laugh anyways.

"Good luck, Mando."

•••

The room was crowded and loud, even as huge as it was. Mando noticed that everyone there had similar features as you. Although, he thought, you were more distinct in an inexplicable way.

Right at the other side was a man, old and formidable. He had long hair, crowned by a feathered ornament, his ears were pierced and filled with golden earrings, such as his nose. His chest was exposed and filled with scars and colorful paint, as were many of other men in the room.

Mando felt the point of your spear in his lower back, sending a wave of electricity through his spine, forcing him to keep moving forward under the attentive gaze of the asterians. The man, whom he assumed was the leader, observed him fiercely while sat on a throne made of hard wood and thorns.

"Mandalorian." He said, standing up, and as that sole word was spoken, the whole room went silent. "I'd never seen one of your kind before." Mando didn't speak, and remained rigid and with his head held high. "Heard they were good at killing."

You glanced over at him, kind of admiring. There was something about Mando that intrigued and fascinated you, something rather unique that made him... Alluring. Yes, that was word.

He stood right there, in the middle of a room filled with the best warriors you had ever seen (including yourself), men and women that had cold-bloodedly killed all kinds of sky people just for trespassing the atmosphere of your planet, and yet, he looked so arrogant. His body remained all covered up by beskar that wouldn't show sight of his skin, while all the warriors of Asteria barely wore anything to combat, as a sign of how fearless and untouchable they were. Mando wasn't broader or taller than most of them, but there was something about his presence that made you feel intimidated right when he entered a room.

"Tell me. Is it true?" The bounty hunter tilted his head to the side and you wondered how such a simple gesture could be so attractive.

"Yes." He answered chastely.

"What do you think?" The leader asked in your language, turning to face you.

"I can't tell just yet, Att'ka." He nodded, side eying the mandalorian.

"What's your name, bounty hunter?"

"Mando."

"No." Att'ka gave him a harsh look and everyone sat at the edge of their seat at the sudden change in the ambience. "I asked what your name was, not what people call you."

For a moment, it seemed as if Mando wasn't gonna respond. The silence in the room was such that you thought everyone could hear your heartbeat, hitting violently against your chest. "Answer him." You whisper, almost worried. He turned slightly to see you, and you saw yourself reflected on his visor.

Another moment of silence in which he simply stared back at you; at least you guessed that's what he did, since you couldn't really tell, before he turned back to Att'ka.

"Din Djarin."

You finally let out the breathe you didn't know you were holding. And sooner than you realized, Att'ka was smiling.

"Trust. That's where your life relies on now, and you're off to a good start, Din Djarin." He continued, "I know your people don't give their names to anyone, so you giving it to me means I know, you're to be trusted."

Mando simply bowed his head, as if he was measuring his words. The palms of your hands were sweaty against the spear.

"So, tell me. What are you doing in Asteria, Din Djarin?"

"I accidentally crashed here. To be fair, I didn't even know about the existence of this planet before my ship landed on it." He said, voice determined through the modulation of his helmet.

"But you were followed by pirates. Why?"

"I had just delivered a quarry, someone that was close to them. If they couldn't have him back, they would at least try to steal my credits." He explained, careful with his tone. "I can usually take a couple of them, but they attacked me at night, all at once. I couldn't properly fly my ship while being injured. That's how I ended up here, trying to lose them."

After he finished talking, a wave of murmurs arose in the room. "So you've never heard of our planet before?" Mando shook his head in response.

"What do you think, A'mohra?" Att'ka asked you, calling you by your tribe name. "Is he telling the truth?"

"I sense no lies or fear in him, Att'ka. Perhaps, he was just unlucky." You answered, shrugging. For a couple seconds, he seemed to be meditating what he'll do next.

"H'arrat." Shit. The last name you wanted to hear now. "What would you have me do with this man?"

You turned your head to the left, only to see a man stand up from the crowd. Att'ka's son, the tribe's favorite to succeed his father as leader... And, if that happened, your future husband.

"The mandalorian does not deserve death. But we cannot let him go, he already knows about us." Said. "I think we should lock him up."

"Here?" You asked, abruptly. "To do what? He'll just be a burden, even as a prisoner. We do not keep prisoners." Everyone knew you were the type to talk back and not keep your thoughts to yourself, however, directly questioning H'arrat during an auditory was extreme. That wouldn't be a problem if you were his wife, but now you had just contradicted him, and therefore, his father. Thank the maker, they both seemed interested in what you had to say.

"So what do you propose, A'mohra?" Asked the leader. Mando slightly turned his head to your side, but you ignored him.

"His injured, Att'ka. And his ship is damaged. The bounty hunter has nowhere to go, unless we help him. Convenience. It might be dangerous to let him go, but will we really risk an innocent man's life just because he was trying to survive? It doesn't seem fair. Is this really who we want to be?" Your voice echoes through the room, but you make sure to add just enough emotion to shake everyone present. One way or another, they'd listen to you.

The silence lasted what you felt like forever before Att'ka spoke again. "If," he said, slowly, "this man is to remain on Asteria until his wounds heal and his ship is repaired, will you answer for him, A'mohra?" He paused, letting your mind to settle. "If he breaks any of our rules, will you face the consequences of his actions? Will you be responsible for Din Djarin's life for as long as he stays in our planet?"

That was a lot to process. You didn't even know him, and the little you did know wasn't really anything good. Nonetheless, something in your heart ached to say yes.

"Wait." Mando stepped forward to the leader, but before he could even process what was happening, you were blocking his way with your spear. "No, there must be- "

"I will."

"And if letting him flea our planet brings any further consequences in the future," the man proceeded, "will you face them in his behalf?"

In the corner of your eye you perceived the slight head shake that Mando gave you, such a small gesture that you doubt anyone but yourself could've noticed.

"I will."

"Good. Then we'll settle it democratically. Take the mandalorian outside and wait for me to give you the response."

You nod and bow your head down before motioning at him to follow you. Once behind the closed doors, he sighed. "You didn't have to do that."

"I did."

"What if I do something to offend you? To offend your people?" He asked, exasperated. "I don't want you to me responsible for any of my actions."

"Then don't do anything stupid."

"I..." for a moment, he seemed about to fight back and contradict you, but the second he saw that look in your eyes: determined, fierce, beautiful... Mando just couldn't say anything, he was completely taken aback. "Fine. This is the way."

Silent, you laid against the white wall without letting go of your spear. Nyx, who couldn't previously accompany you to the hearing, had waited patiently for you outside and was now staring menacingly at the handcuffed mandalorian.

"Is your name A'mohra?" He asked after a while.

"No. That's my tribe name, but not my birth name." That was a vague response, to which he simply stared back at you, expecting. "It's pretty common that asterian people give each other names based on something characteristic of the person. Att'ka means 'great father', H'arrat is what you'd call a great warrior in your language. Whereas A'mohra means 'kind spirit'."

"Seems fitting." Mando says. "Considering you saved my life. Twice, apparently."

You huff a laugh. "I used to hate it when I was younger. I wanted to be praised for my intelligence or my ability to fight." You caress Nyx's head as you speak. "Until I realized... Anyone in this planet can be a great soldier, but not everyone can really be kind. Att'ka says that's what will make me a good leader."

Your explanation simply brought more questions to the bounty hunter's mind, but before he could make them, the loud sound of the doors opening startled you both. It was H'arrat.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, mandalorian."

•••

Night fell quickly after that.

The tribe exited the throne room, giving Mando dubious looks whenever they walked past him. Att'ka was the last one to come out.

"Be careful." He whispered, although you were sure that Mando could hear him. "You will look after him. But most importantly, you'll have to look out for yourself."

You didn't answer, in fact, he didn't give you the opportunity to say anything before he left the two of you alone in the darkening hall. You sighed, walking towards him so you could take off the handcuffs.

"You heard them." You say, while doing so. "Try anything funny and I'll feed you to Nyx." You feel his body relax under your hands.

"I won't. You've been good to me." He replied in low voice. "I won't forget that."

You look up at his visor and wonder how'd you look like through his eyes and the polarized helmet. His words calmed you, meaning you'd probably done the right thing.

"Come. I'll show you where you'll sleep."

He did so, walking behind you as he admired the three moons in your planet, each one in a different phase and projecting their light upon the palace, which artificial lamps were fainted. Din was somewhat confused, his brain was still trying to process everything that had happened today and a part of him was convinced he was dreaming.

"Here." You say. "You'll stay next to my room."

Mando nodded, but didn't open the door. He stayed there in the dark corridor, standing next to you in silence.

"Okayyy." You invade his personal space so you can open the door for him. "I'll-uh... I'll get you something to eat in the morning and-". You gulped, trying to remain casual even if you had no idea what to say or do next. "We can start working on your ship after that."

Mando nodded again, looking down at you from his height. There was a hint of nervousness in your chest and you weren't sure you knew the reason for it.

"Thank you." His voice was low, and it came out almost as a whisper. You wanted to ask what for? Or something that'll take seriousness out of the matter, but he sounded so sincere that it genuinely froze your thoughts. And even if you wanted to reply with anything, he closed that door behind him before you could.

You leaned against the wall and sighed deeply, finally letting go of the spear. Nyx's shiny eyes were the only thing you could distinguish in the darkness of your room.

What had you done?

That's the question that echoed your mind. But most importantly,

What will you do now?

(…)

Two weeks had gone by already since you were commanded to take care of Mando, and considering he wasn't particularly a people person, you two had become each other's best companions.

Other tribe members preferred to ignore him most of the time, not because they were rude but because they weren't used to having strangers around; although some others had grown used to his presence reluctantly and liked to ask for his help from time to time. Nonetheless, Mando was curious, so he'd ask you questions whenever he could, his favorite time being when you two were alone working on his ship, which was almost all day long for the past few days.

"How can you know so much about other people in the galaxy but others know nothing about you?" He asked while he opened the controller box and you focused on the razor's wings.

"It's our planet's magnetic field." You explained. "It allows messages from outside to come through, but nothing can go past our atmosphere. So we study the rest of you and adapt some of your technologies, education and economics to our society. Besides, sky people think Asteria is inhabitable." When you're finished, you reach his side in the cockpit. "Why am I telling you this? You better stop asking questions, cause I really don't have any filter."

"You don't trust me?" He asked, almost sarcastically, without even moving in your direction.

"No."

"Then why are you here with me alone and unarmed?" Mando closed the box he was working on and finally tilted his head towards you.

"Maybe I know that I don't need any weapons to beat your ass." You say, smiling down at him.

Fine, you had to admit it. You were flirting with him. You had been for a while now, but you were uncertain of his own response. Mando was always so stoic and robotic it was hard to tell if he didn't notice or if he just didn't care.

"Maybe." Was his reply, standing straight and hovering over you. Your breath hitched in your chest as he walked closer to you.

"I'll tell you what." You say, coming up with and idea. "You get three questions for each day as long as you're staying in Asteria."

"I get to ask anything I want?" You nod.

"Anything you want."

That's how he started to pour all his thoughts on you, and you started a routine. Every morning during that week you'd knock on his door to get breakfast (he'd usually eat it fast in his room, so he could take off his helmet), you would ask about his wounds and how he was feeling and later head off to the palace's workshop, where the razor crest had been transferred for repairing.

"Does your whole tribe live in the palace?" Mando questions.

"No. The palace isn't only for the leader or his family, it's more like... A shelter, you might say." The natural light was fading in the garage, which could only mean it was already past noon.

"A shelter?" His voice was muffled through the distance. He was now under the ship, whereas you were working on the engine.

"Yeah. Orphans or vulnerable people are welcome to stay here if they need to, but no one stays for too long." You answer, struggling to work with the burnt screws and metals.

"And..." Mando paused, as if he shouldn't ask what he was thinking.

"Me?"

"Yeah." You laugh at that.

"My parents died a while ago, but-" you groan when you start to see smoke were there shouldn't be. "I guess I'm here because... uh-" you finally give up, taking off the gloves violently. "Because I'm supposed to marry Att'ka's son."

You hear a loud metallic noise coming from where he was working and then silence.

"Mando?" No response. "Hey, Mando? Are you alright?"

After a short moment, you see him roll from under the razor with one of his tools on hand, looking a bit startled.

"Yes. I was just..." He sighs, getting up. "I'm fine."

You finish up what you were doing and jump off the top of the ship to join him. Mando was leaning against the crest's side, arms crossed and weight resting in one leg.

"What?" You ask with a smirk. "You didn't think a woman like me could be engaged?"

He didn't answer, instead, he scanned you with his gaze from head to toe, slowly. That wasn't really helping your nerves and that tiny crush you had started to develop on him.

"I didn't say that." He replies, straightening his posture. A sudden silence falls between you and you shift uncomfortably. You didn't really want to bring up the whole H'arrat topic, specially with him.

"Hey. It's late, we should head back inside." Mando agrees to your suggestion and follows you closely. It was funny, you thought, how you were the one supposed to look after him but every time you walked side by side it seemed like he was the one guarding you.

The big, scary mandalorian, a man covered in beskar with a presence that can make anyone shiver. He was admittedly terrifying; everything about him seemed so intimidating and menacing that even without his weapons you'd probably shit your pants if you saw him.

"Oh, stars..." you curse under your breath when you realize why the castle appeared so empty and quiet today.

"What is it?" The bounty hunter asks, freezing in his spot.

"Tomorrow is New Year's Eve." You mutter to yourself. "Everyone must be out for the preparations..."

Mando seems to relax his stiff posture, but still remains silent, expecting you to explain what you had just said.

"It's the longest night of the year, and the night when our three moons align. We... we make a couple of celebrations and eat a lot of sweets, but..." you pause for a moment, trying to think before you could speak. "The real deal is the meteor shower. It's quite a sight to see after four hundred days."

He tilts his head to you. "And why aren't you with your people?"

"I'm supposed to take care of you, remember?" You say with a hint of sarcasm.

"I can take care of myself." He responds with a groan of annoyance.

"Yeah, I bet. But I don't trust you." Mando looks down at you before relaxing his pose.

"Have I done anything to earn your distrust?" He asks blankly, and his assertiveness takes you by surprise.

You think quietly about your response. Did he? No, not really. As you said once, he was just unlucky.

"No." You whisper. "It's just that I... My whole life I've been thought not to trust anyone outside my tribe."

Mando remains silent, but you can tell that he understands what you mean. And he really does. There was something similar about you and him... His creed, your tribe. The way you both had something you'll give everything up for made him believe that, after all, you weren't as different as he had thought.

"Would you like to see it?" Your question interrupts his train of thoughts.

"Mm?"

"The meteor shower, tomorrow." You respond, lowly, moving your feet. "Would you like to see it?"

Mando holds still for a second, taking a step towards you. "You said... On my first night here, you said I couldn't leave the palace."

You close the distance between you, and now you can feel the cold beskar on his chest brush against your skin.

"I did."

"What changed? Won't it be dangerous?" He was so tense, but you could tell he was staring at you intently.

"Only if someone important sees us." You could feel your blood rushing through your veins and your heart pounding against your chest. You wanted to touch him, raise a hand and place it on the beskar covering his body, but you were still frightened by him, or his response.

"I'd like to see it." He whispers. "But I don't want to get you in trouble."

You smile at him, seeing yourself reflected on his visor under the dim lights of the corridor.

"Don't worry about me." You reassure. "I want to show you my planet... If you'll let me."

"Why?" Mando sounds genuinely confused. "How do you know I won't try anything? You just said you don't trust me."

"I don't. But I know you're not a greedy man. At least for a bounty hunter." You explain, trying to stay calm when he shifts his weight and leans in closer to you. "Or maybe it's just the fact that I can't seem to think straight whenever you're around."

You clearly couldn't control your mouth either.

Mando tilts his visor in surprise, but doesn't move or respond, staying as still as a sleeping drone. Shit. You messed up.

"I'm sorry!" You shake your head and take three steps back. "Shit, shit, shit, forget I said that."

You move your hands in embarrassment and start walking fast, not even bothering to check if he was following you or not. As soon as you reached your room, you closed the door behind you and almost banged your head against it.

"Fuck."

In the darkness of the room you hear Nyx yawn and feel him move closer to you. You could feel the anxiety creeping over you, and the animal could probably sense how bad you were feeling, since he started caressing you with his head.

"Shit, he surely thinks I'm a weirdo, doesn't he?" The embarrassment you were feeling was unbelievable, so all you could do was stare at the ceiling in silence, thinking about every possible outcome.

You probably stay like that about an hour or so before you hear a faint knock on your door. You didn't bother to move, if it was him, and you were sure it was, you wouldn't be able to face him.

After a while, you hear him sigh deeply and count his steps, guessing he's gone now. You decide you'll see how to deal with this situation tomorrow, for now, you'll just take a shower and go to sleep.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

The next morning, however, you didn't deal with it at all. In fact, you decided it was better to avoid him. You get ready as usual, but when you were about to take him for breakfast as you had done for the past weeks, you sent a droid instead. Despite the fact that he had inherently told you he hates droids. And after that, you scape to the city alongside Nyx, to clear your mind.

You spend most of your day outside, escaping the public eye and mostly training in the woods, practicing bow and arrow. There's usually people around the place, but due to today's celebration everyone was probably downtown, getting prepared for tonight's bonfire. After a couple of hours, when the sky was turning pink and the clouds orange, you decided it was time to return to the palace.

Once in the shower you start thinking of how good it was to have time for yourself and how you hadn't thought about Mando at all during the day. Well, maybe just a little.

Okay, a lot. And that frustrated you.

You breathe in deeply and decide that probably reading a book could help your troubled mind. You get out of the bathtub and tie your hair in a knot above your head, a couple of rebel locks falling messily around your face. Since it was already late, you chose to wear your nightgown and a silk robe above it, in case the air in your room got cold.

But once you open the door to your room, you felt that something wasn't quite right. You immediately scanned the area for Nyx, but it was hard to see solely with the pouring moonlight. However, you still knew he wasn't there. When you finally identified an uncertain presence, you rapidly crossed the room to grab your bow and point an arrow towards the intruder. But then, in the middle of darkness you were able to perceive a hint of shiny beskar, shining through the nightlight.

"Mando?" You narrow your eyes before turning the nightstand lamp on. "Shit Mando, you almost sent me into a damn coma!"

You yell at him, leaving the weapon were it was before, taking a hand to your chest to settle your heartbeat. You look at him, expecting to see the man waving a white flag, after all, you'd just pointed an arrow to his chest. Nonetheless, Mando wasn't that easily scared (he was a mandalorian bounty hunter, for fucks sake), matter of fact, he seemed utterly calm despite it.

He was leaning against the wall, next to your bed, just as relaxed as he appeared yesterday noon in the razor crest, a leg crossed over the other and a nonchalant posture as his helmet's visor was fixated on your figure. However, something wasn't adding up. It was as if he resembled a time bomb, you don't know when it'll explode but you know that it eventually will. You couldn't help but wonder if this was how his victims felt whenever they saw him... Knowing that you'll be hunted down by him, just like a rat trapped inside a maze.

Somehow scary, but exciting at the same time. The mere thought and the way he was blatantly staring at you made the pitch of your stomach warm up and your heart race again.

"You've been avoiding me." He says in a modulated, low grunt.

Damn, his voice is hot.

"That's not- that's not it." Why are you stuttering?

"Yes it is. I came looking for you yesterday and..." He tries to keep his voice calm, but you could clearly tell he was mad. "Just when I thought I'd get to see you, you sent a droid to me." His breathing is irregular, you can tell even through the modulator. "You know I fucking hate droids."

Suddenly, you feel guilty and cornered. Yeah, you did know that. Now you feel not only embarrassed but stupid too, and you can't help but divert your eyes from him.

"No, look at me." Mando then straightens up and starts walking in your direction, slowly. "Just be honest..." his steps are heavy and his cape waves with the wind that enters through your balcony. "Why are you avoiding me?"

His voice was demanding, leaving no room for questions or complaints. You can't help but feel your nerves buzzing and your jaw clench at the sudden proximity between you. It was so overwhelming that you had to step back, even if he was still reaching out to you.

"I..." your back hits the wall and you're now pressed against it and the cold metal on his body, alarmingly close to yours. Shit, you felt your skin burning at the proximity, thinking about how much you needed his gloved hands on you. "I'm sorry."

"That doesn't answer my question." He says blankly, and now the distance between you seemed tortuous; the way his hard body lingered close to yours, so much you can see your warp reflection on his helmet, yanked in your direction, and feel each other's body temperature.

How frustrating.

"Fuck, Mando. I said I'm sorry, what else do you need to know?" The mandalorian's amo belt pressed against your chest when he leaned to reach your height, stretching an arm to the wall behind you, right next to your head, towering over you.

"The truth."

It was as if something snapped in your brain, like every cell in your body decided to explode and there was no way you could just hold your tongue back.

"You want the truth?" Your voice comes out sharp and accusing as you face him, all your previous embarrassment washing away with a jolt of courage. "The thing is, I don't even know how to act around you, Mando. You get in my head so fast that it's annoying! I may have a tiny, stupid crush on you that I don't know how to handle because no man has had me teasing him this much and not ask to see my tits right then and there. You. You however, seem to be unreachable and that is driving me fucking insane! You've got me begging for your attention like a silly teen who's never been with a man before."

You figure maybe that's enough, but no, now you couldn't stop talking.

"And I know you've seen me. I mean, seen me. So I figured, maybe he is interested... But, shit." Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you stare at where his eyes are supposed to be. "Fuck, it's like talking to a damn wall. It's incredibly stupid, cause I've never even seen your face, know barely anything about you and above all, I should hate you. That's what I've been thought my whole life, and in spite of that, I just want you to..."

Then you abruptly shut your mouth and throw your head back. You let out a deep sigh and divert your gaze to the balcony, from where the tall trees and mountains of Asteria were visible. Mando doesn't move a muscle, and your words simply float across the cold dorm.

"What?" He whispers after a moment, making you look back at him.

"Huh?"

Stars, why was his voice so warm and low, and sexy...? He could probably read you the instructions of a shampoo bottle and you'd still be turned on by it.

"You want me to do what?"

A shiver runs down your spine when the hand that was resting on the wall comes down to cup your cheek. The leather on his gloves is mild and you can't help but close your eyes at the contact., although just for a split second.

"You mean to tell me that–" you can hear Mando's heavy breathing as he tries to formulate a sentence. "For the past two weeks, you've been testing my patience, teasing the hell out of me..." his finger roams over your bottom lip and you melt under his touch, the kind you've been craving for. "All of those times when you'd accidentally bump into me, every single time you'd look up at me with those pretty eyes of yours– fuck- I thought... And here I was thinking it was all in my head." He snarls, and you can't believe his words.

"So you...?"

"Yes, I noticed." Suddenly, his other hand comes to rest on your hip. "But I figured, since you're engaged..."

"Not yet, technically. And it doesn't really matter. Until the wedding day I am allowed to fuck whoever I want." Your hands shot to his broad shoulders, but you're still uncertain.

"So that's what you want, then?" He grabs your waist with both his hands, digging his fingers with light strength. "You want me to fuck you?"

You nod, feeling yourself get wet at his words.

"You should've asked since the beginning." Mando groans, rubbing circles on your hips with his thumb. "Tell me, did you enjoy teasing me?" He asks in a murmur, deep from his throat.

"I- I didn't..." you gasp when his knee spreads your legs and you feel the cold air hit your exposed thighs, the movement dragging the fabric of your nightgown up. "I didn't know..." one of his hands comes to caress the newly exposed flesh and your mind struggles to focus on anything other than him. "I didn't think you cared."

You feel him huff a laugh. "You have no idea what you do to me..."

As his hand goes higher, you raise your leg to embrace him, bring his body closer to yours. Mando's hot and hard against you, and everything about him- about this, is exciting to you.

But then his hand suddenly stops and he lets go of you carefully, taking two steps back.

"Show me." He demands, voice steady and commanding. "Show me how much you want it."

You almost whimper at the loss of his tact, but the way he bossed you around turned a whole different level of excitement. You look at him through your lashes, not breaking the eye contact when you dropped the silk robe to the floor.

"Shit-." He chokes out a moan and you can't help but smirk. Your nightgown was completely translucent, and right at that moment you weren't wearing a bra. So, naturally, he couldn't help but stare at your breasts, the way your nipples were already hard and fully erect from excitement and the cold air.

You walk towards him slowly, letting him sink in the sight of your body. You place a hand on his chest plate and push him back slightly so he can sit on the edge of your bed. Mando's legs spread and you place yourself in between them.

"You- you're..." his breath hitches and then his hands are on you again. "So, so fucking beautiful. Fuck-"

One hand grabs your hip to keep you still while the other cups your breast over the thin fabric. Mando drags his thumb over your nipple, circling around it tortuously slow. You feel hypersensitive, moaning breathlessly when his other hand comes to your lower back.

"Mando..." your hand goes to his neck and you take his cape off, exposing a tiny bit of his tan skin. He squeezes your ass and you can't help the pant that escapes your parted lips. "Stars, you're killing me..."

You can't handle this pace anymore, so you come up to sit on his lap, straddling him.

"So impatient." He whispers, struggling to talk. "You've got to learn how to-how..." the words choke on his throat when you completely sit down on his clothed cock. His hands move from your inner thighs and slip under the gown, making their way over your waist and abdomen.

"I just..." your head goes to rest on his shoulder as you breath in his scent deeply. He smelled like soap, metal and leather. "I really need you, Mando." You say against his skin before placing a soft kiss near his Adam's apple. You feel him shudder and his cock twitches underneath you, further dampening your panties.

"Fuck this. Just-" he bucks his hips upwards and presses your body onto his, holding your waist and abruptly changing the positions so that he was now on top of you.

You hold back a chuckle at the motion, feeling his hands wandering through your body. You can't help the eagerness that scratches you, wanting to feel his skin pressing on yours. When he starts tracing the valley of your breasts with his fingertips you squeeze your thighs against his hips, but it seems like Mando wants to take his time to admire your body. However, every second that goes by in which he explores, yet ignores where you need him the most, simply increases your arousal and need.

You pinch your own nipple with your left hand, while the right one roams over the tent of his pants, looking straight at his visor. You saw your own reflection there, your open legs for his comfort, back arched just enough to give him the access needed, hair messy around your face and bedsheets while looking at him with begging eyes. You could understand why he was so entranced by the lewd sight. As Mando's hand goes up your neck, yours goes down to rub your clit over the thin fabric of your underwear and moan breathlessly at the contact.

The sound seems to ignite something in him, cause he immediately grabs your chin to hold your face in place and takes your wrist to stop the motion.

"We gotta work on that patience of yours." He murmurs, taking his thumb to your lips. You understand without the words, biting the top of his glove so he can take it off finally. His calloused hand is big and somewhat rough, just as warm as you thought I'd be and when his skin touches yours, it feels like your whole body is burning with desire.

"I've been patient." You whisper, closing your eyes when now both his both naked hands run circles on your nipples. "You neglected me."

"Mhm?" His voice sends vibrations through every nerve on your body. "You're right... And I'm sorry. Promise I'll make it up to you." After what seems like an eternity, his thumb goes directly for your clit, rubbing slow circles that snatch short moans out of your lips. "Shit- you're dripping-" Mando curses under his breath when he notices.

"It's you- your fault..." you can barely spit the words out. "Stars, I kept dreaming about th-this... Never thought it'd..." your panting increases when he moves your underwear to the side and the cold air hits your exposed, wet pussy. "It would feel this good..."

A low growl was his response and without warning he introduced two fingers in you, stretching you out with ease. You shut your eyes at the sudden action, but it didn't take long before he took them out, making you whine at the emptiness.

"Relax..." he murmurs as you look at his index and middle finger, glistening with your arousal. "We'll take it easy, ok? Let me know if I make you uncomfortable." His voice was soft and calming, although hoarse with desire, palpable even through the modulator of his helmet. You nod enthusiastically. "I need to hear it."

"Yes. Yes, Mando, please..."

The mandalorian raises his helmet just enough to take both fingers to his lips, licking them clean. The sight was filthy enough to send shivers down your spine, making you curse under your breath.

"Fuck..." he mutters, "you taste so good." The way he spoke plus the sudden grip on your inner thighs, spreading your legs, made you bite your lip to hold back your noises. "So good for me."

You grip the sheets, unable to hold onto him but desperate for some grounding contact. Mando then starts to take off your panties, slowly, helmet fixated just on your face while he gets rid of them. He gets on his knees between your legs, and you're pretty sure that his eyes are now on your dripping cunt. The bounty hunter kept murmuring dirty praises, but you were far too distracted with the sight to actually catch any of his words.

The cold beskar rubbed against your soft skin when he buried his face on your thighs, almost as if he wanted to feel your warmth even through the metal barrier. His tick fingers travelled from your tummy to your pelvis and then settled on your swollen pussy lips, making you gasp when his fingers entered you again. Only this time, he didn't remove them.

He was quick to find your sweet spot, pumping his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, curling them to hit all the right places while also rubbing your nub with his thumb. A mumble of inaudible curses left your lips, followed by light moaning. Mando inhales sharply, unable to hide his own excitement as he sees you rocking your hips to meet his pace, craving more of him.

"Look at you." He coos, voice darkened with lust. "You really want me so much that you'd just settle with my fingers?" You can't even answer properly, all you can hear now are the squelching sounds of your pussy, along with his ragged breathing. The mandalorian simply laughs.

You felt hot all over and the bottom of your stomach tightened as you were close to hitting that wave of pleasure you so looked for. But right when you were on the edge of reaching your high, Mando simply removed his hands from your body, making you whine at the sudden loss of ecstasy.

"What- why you'd stop for?" You manage to say, trying to catch your breath while supporting your weight on your elbows to look at him.

"I wanna try something." He says, standing to his full height. "Sit up." You do as told, letting the gown pool down once again. Mando holds your chin with one hand so that your eyes are fixated on his visor.

Maker, he almost lost it at that moment. Your eyes sparkled under the faint light, looking up at him almost pleadingly despite the mischievous smile that hanged on your lips and the messy hair that had loosen now, framing your features perfectly.

"Open." You took his fingers in your mouth, tasting yourself. You hollowed your cheeks and licked him clean, savoring his salty skin mixed with your arousal. You heard him choke down a moan before you let go of him and the sound was like music to your ears, adding to the heat between your legs.

"What's on your mind, Mando?" You ask, vaguely aware of how achingly hard he was under his pants, your mind still buzzing with pleasure.

"I'm going to make the most out of this empty palace." He answers, caressing your cheek with his thumb. "If I ask you to keep your eyes closed for a second, will you do it?"

You hesitate. There was a risk in that, something that would grant him a sense of power over you, and also, an opportunity. You didn't think he'd be stupid enough to try and runaway, but still...

"Please." He says, his voice barely audible. "Will you let me- can I...?" Mando struggles with words, sighing in desperation.

"Okay." You nod, giving him permission to do maker knows what. "But try anything funny and I swear, I'll-".

"I won't." You give him a warning look before closing your eyes shut. "Besides..." he says before you hear the sound of something similar to fabric ripping apart. "I want you. Probably too much to leave this planet before properly fucking you." You bite your bottom lip in expectation, sensing his movements and suddenly perceiving his body get close. Mando helps you out of the gown, removing the last piece of clothing that covered your body.

"Let me know if it's too tight." He whispers with the classic baritone voice. You're about to ask what he means, but instantly feel a pliable fabric covering your eyes.

"It's okay." You assure. "I feel somewhat weird and can't see shit, but... I'm alright."

You feel his body vibrate with a laugh. "Sure you can't see anything?"

"Yeah." He manhandles you to the middle of the bed, letting your head rest on your pillows. You can't help the nervousness and excitement that sits on the pit of your stomach. "Mando, I swear if you-"

Before you can finish the sentence, you hear a loud metallic thud on your nightstand, startling you. Soon after, you feel the bed give in under his weight and your heart starts thumping against your ribs.

"Mando..?" You mutter, tugging at the sheets beneath you.

"I'm here, cyare. I'm here." His hand traces the curve of your waist with a light, feathery touch, as if to calm you down. You gasp at the realization.

He's removed his helmet.

"Is-is this allowed?" You hiss when he settles between your legs once again, feeling a bit cold due to the wetness of your entrance.

"Loophole." He whispers in your ear, and you can't help but shudder.

His voice is velvety, manly and calming. For the first time since he's been in Asteria, you wonder how he'd look like under all that beskar. But no matter what, you were certain he was fairly attractive.

"How is your voice so hot?" You ask, hearing him chuckle. "It drives me insane." The heat of you body rises as he gets closer to you, and all of the sudden you feel the brush of his hair against your jaw. Your right hand shots to the nape of his neck, grazing the skin and his curls.

He has curly hair.

"You're so beautiful, cyare..." he murmurs before pressing his gentle lips under your ear, kissing the smooth skin. You ponder what that word he called you meant, all because it sounded so sweet coming from him. "You're the one that's got me acting like a complete fool."

Words get stuck in your throat when Mando starts placing hot, wet kisses along your jawline, neck and collarbones. His mouth feels heavenly and you can't help but notice the ticklish sensation of his facial hair roaming over the skin he grazes. Maker, how you wanted to look at him... But you can't even dare to touch his face, scared to cross his limits.

So your hand simply remains on his hair, messing it up, tugging your fingers on the soft locks and pulling, making him grunt at the feeling while your other hand holds tightly onto his bicep, digging your fingers on the muscle.

"Fu-fuck..." you groan when he shifts his weight and you feel his hard cock press against your inner thigh.

Mando's kisses travel to your breasts, and you moan mildly when his teeth catch your nipple, bitting and licking while fondling the other with his fingertips, leaving you a panting mess and increasing the wetness of your aching core, back arched to grant him all the access needed. He doesn't leave any part of your body unattended, almost as if he wanted to taste and touch every single section of you, get drunk on you.

Pants, moans and pleas kept leaving your parted lips, and you could tell just how mad that drove him, the fact that it was him and no one else granting you all this pleasure. Only him, a mandalorian, an outsider, could have the prettiest woman in that planet squirming underneath him. The fact that you couldn't see anything only made things ten times hotter, enhancing all your other senses.

"So beautiful..." he kept chanting, his body moving south, your hands never leaving him when he reached your throbbing cunt, but his lips only wandering around it.

"Pleasepleaseplease..." Mando laughs shortly, sending vibrations through your core.

"So eager." No time wasted, he bends down and licks slowly up your wetness, parting your pussy and teasing your clit. He almost goes feral at the way you tasted, much better than what he gathered from his fingers.

Unable to control your reactions, you grind your hips against his face and whimper at the sensation of his nose catching your clit, tugging at his hair. Mando pushes his tongue into you while holding your legs over his shoulders to keep you still.

At this point you're an absolute mess. And he can't say otherwise for himself. If anything, he was far worse; humping the sheets in hopes of reliving the aching pain on his rock hard cock. But Mando couldn't care any less... This, this- was his pleasure. You under him, shivering, moaning uncontrollably and struggling to say any other word that wasn't the name you called him while he greedily fucks you with his tongue, occasionally going to kiss and lick or rub your nub, eating you out like a starving man. Mando is absolutely lost in the way you take him, the flavor of your slick, how absolutely gorgeous you sound calling out to him and the divine image of you all spread out and blindfolded for him to wreck.

"Im gonna-" he hears your warning and immediately understands, but doesn't stop anyway. "Shit, shit, shit, Mando..."

Your body trembles as you start to feel the mind-blowing orgasm washing over you, eyes rolled at the back of your head and his name on your lips like a prayer. He doesn't slow down, never taking his eyes of off how pretty you look getting ruined by him. Your mind goes blank, overwhelmed by the hard hitting sensation as you melt beneath Mando, pulling his hair harshly and hearing him grunt.

He licks you clean, sending small shocks of overstimulation through you, eventually spreading light kisses around your abdomen while your chest rises and falls in an attempt to compose yourself. Shortly after you feel a shift in the positions.

"You did good. Hopefully that'll remind you not to send droids to my door when I'm hoping to see that sweet face of yours." The helmet's back.

"I'll think about it." You tease, his hands taking off the improvised blindfold carefully. You blink twice, adjusting your eyes and focusing on him. "May I make it up to you?" The question appeals to him more than you could possibly tell, but he still shooks his head, leaving you in awe.

"Later." He replies, putting his gloves back on and pulling the hair out of your face affectively, looking down at your bright eyes, still dazing with the effects of post-orgasm. "You have a promise to keep, remember?"

To be fair, you're pretty stunned at the moment, so you mutter a "I can't recall."

"You're taking me to that new year's celebration to watch the meteor shower. Did you really forgot?"

Oh.

You had, in fact, forgotten about that. And Mando knew it, but was still willing to bring it up so you wouldn't miss something as important.

"You sure you want to go?" He nods. "Fine, give a couple of minutes to make myself... Presentable."

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #mando x you #star wars #star wars fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction

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autumnalfallingleaves · 6 months ago

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Was thinking about my Mando Hilda AU that has Lydia and Phinium (because I like them), but then got to thinking more about the AU I came up with a little bit after s3 dropped where Johanna never got sick as an infant, so Lydia and Phinium never had to leave for Fairy Country, so Jo grows up with her entire family and without having to get her memory wiped.

Growing up, Johanna does not know she is part-fairy. Lydia and Phinium want to raise her as a "normal" kid and planned to tell her when she turned thirteen-- but that plan was derailed when the spider-frog creature from the lake attacked the family on an outing, and Astrid was forced to protect them, revealing her-- and Phinim's-- true nature in the process. They tell Jo she's half-fairy when she's nine, instead. So Johanna grows up with her entire family, knowing she's half-fairy. Phinium and Astrid teach Jo how to use her magic.

Later, Johanna goes off to college in Trolberg. She meets Anders there, and her ensuing relationship with him is her version of a late-teenage (she's in her early 20s) rebellion. Predictably, none of her family back home likes him. Jo thinks she likes him, but he dips, and we get the attitude toward him that Jo has in canon. Hilda comes along soon after. Anders is whatever, but Hilda? Jo loves her so, so much. Luckily, her parents and aunt do, too. I feel like Astrid would make a comment like "So, that's where Phin's blue hair went!"

(Continued under the cut)

Side note: I feel like Phinium would be thee dorkiest grandfather. He'd probably be Hilda's favorite grandparent tbh.

Anyway. Jo does what her parents did and decides to raise Hilda as normally and as humanly as possible. She moves out of Trolberg and out to her family's house in the Wilderness. Hilda grows up similarly to canon, but with the added bonus of grandparents :)

(I was thinking about the elves, and have decided that they still don't find out about them until the same point in canon. Even fairies aren't exempt from the elves' paperwork and rules.)

Canon continues largely the same from there. The most major difference I can think of until the end of s2 is just Lydia, Phinium, and Astrid helping Jo, Hilda, Twig, and Alfur get settled in Trolberg after Jorgen steps on the house.

However, Stone Forest is where things get different. Like Jo, circumstances force Johanna to tell Hilda about her fey heritage earlier than thirteen. At the end of SF, instead of Hilda being saved by the white woff, Johanna, in a panic, jumps out of the balloon to use her abilities of flight to catch Hilda. She doesn't answer any questions until she and Hilda are back home, at which point she says something along the lines of "This is something your grandparents should be here for." So, she calls them, and they and Astrid agree to come over the next day. However, events continue as normal and Hilda swaps with Baba that night. Jo is then left with a newly-human troll baby and her parents and aunt arriving soon.

They, of course, help with the search. Lydia elects to stay back with Tontu and Baba, and Jo, Phinium, Astrid, and Alfur go up to the mountains to search for Hilda, since they (excluding the resident elf) have magic and can possibly pinpoint Hilda. (They can't; the trolls' magic is too concentrated to find Hilda.)

I have more thoughts than what can fit in here right now, but a big part of this version of MK is Gerda working with the fairies and getting her mind opened to even more magical beings who are just people, same as anyone. Hilda also learns about her fey heritage and is, of course, ecstatic. Frida and David think Hilda's grandparents are wicked cool. Lydia and Phinium are delighted to have even more grandchildren (Tontu and Baba). I have no idea what s3 would be lmao.

#ive been thinking about this for a while tbh #only really got about to writing it down now #hilda the series #hilda netflix #hilda #hilda season 3 #Astrid hilda #Lydia hilda #phinium hilda #johanna hilda #hilda (hilda)#beans rambles

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court-jobi · 2 years ago

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Just Be Gentle

Pairing: Paz Viszla x reader (fem!reader, 'Songbird' for the use in the fic)

Words: 3,589

Rating: Teen+

Warnings: post-mission, light banter, mutual pining, mild!grumpy/sunshine, FLUFF, tender touching, teaching self-care, injury care, washing up- (not spicy yet, sorry loves) cuddles if you squint

Summary: He is a Cornerstone in his own right. The moment the Hunter dropped her off to him, she knew instantly by the reactions of everyone around her that this was a leader they respected, followed into the grittiest of scraps, because he’s the man with the biggest gun and equal fire. They call him Al’orad, their Top gunman, and always, brother. And brothers, well– he sure fought to protect them as only family would.

Paz Vizsla is the storm itself. Only now, it seems he got caught in the crosshairs and succumbed to the hurricane of the skirmish. It didn’t worry him, he’s patched up his own scrapes before.An immovable Mandalorian he may be, but she his Songbird– gentle soul who’d sooner see to his wounds herself than watch him treat himself so roughly any longer.

A/N: Special thanks to @newpathwrites for the original ask! Here's to you~ The response to my Paz thoughts inspired me to finish this one out the rest of the way, and was a joy to write. If you're like me and still reeling from the episode which must not be named, then you'll be glad to know PAZ LIVES ON IN FIC! This was written in third person as a practice for me, but please put yourself in Songbird's shoes in whatever race, kind or creed you claim. It's a big galazy, so imagine along with me~ edit: @newpath3432!

For my Star Wars | Mandalorian Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on A03

She could tell by the slight limp: Big Blue was hurt. He walked the earth with a strong presence, and now that presence hobbled with a case of the hiccups. It would be funny, if it weren’t stemming from a place of clear pain. Wouldn’t be caught dead admitting it, but he can’t avoid the obvious.

When he started walking into a lean towards the pillar in the dank entrance to the covert, she walked even faster. The heavy artillery strapped to his back in coils was slipping. Speeding up to a light jog, she caught him fast by the elbow– flitted past the other sentries like the little Songbird she is, straight to his side to corral him by the arm.

"THeRe you are.."

Her name flowed off his tongue when he realized she’d snuck up on him; not that the Mandalorian ever really used it. By the way she’d been caught humming at all hours of the day and night, she’d come to earn the nickname ‘Songbird’ around the dank halls of Nevarro’s underground lava flats.

There’s barely a point trying to hide someone as tall, broad, and vast as him; as her blue-armored warrior claims the attention of everyone in any room he enters… but perhaps for just a minute, she could manhandle his form so that he’d blend into the support column on the other side. To keep him behind it, and out of sight for only a quick once-over.

He is a Cornerstone in his own right. Both a buoy in the sea and a lighthouse on a hill. The moment the Hunter dropped her off to him, she knew instantly by the reactions of everyone around her that this was a leader they respected and would gather arms with him into the grittiest of scraps. They call him Al’orad, their Top gunman, and always, brother. ‘You couldn’t be in better hands,’ the one she’d later call Din Djarin had said:

Paz Vizsla is the storm itself and brings the fire befitting a Mandalorian. Only now, it seems some of the fire has caught him.

He halted at her first call to him, yet followed into her tug willingly. A testament to their unexpected orbit; Paz found himself biting his tongue and falling into her draw whenever she sought him out even though he’s twice her size– just as she could pick his boisterous call out of a crowd and would come to stand alongside him as if no one were watching. For her, stepping out under everyone’s helmeted attention took an uncharacteristic flare of courage- one that Paz brought out in her.

Under the arch, the Alor’ad was quite literally pulled from the roster of tasks in his mind to her will. That stern look in her usually tender eyes siphoned his full attention. How they never failed to stare right where his would be.

Paz greeted her with his immediate sense of concern.

"--shouldn't you be inside?" he braced an arm against the pillar ledge, relaxed.

"Shouldn't you be in the med tent?" Her eyes flickered across him: around his belt, to holster, and up again.

"I'm just fine."

"Paz."

He pressed a hand over hers, where she’d gripped the lip of his chest plate. "I will go when the others are seen to.”

“You need to be seen to!”

“Our healers are few; they’re overwhelmed.” Paz’s firm words -though delivered peaceably- commanded this conversation. “Those who suffered entry wounds receive attention first. My injuries are not urgent."

"You're limping; I could see it a mile away, and that's no good to anyone if you're ignoring your own problems,” she stressed again, “Play ‘Mr. Defender’ to your tribe all you want, but you’re fooling yourself if you think you can serve them at your best in this shape..."

He paused, looking back to her again and winced internally at the level of quiet care she was pleading to him.

"In my experience, I know you Mandos tend to shrug off anything short of a lost limb when it comes to pain,” Songbird’s a natural at this; making a case. She spoke her peace with a rein on her temper. “I'd prefer to see it not get to that point. You're no exception… and you're the strongest one I know." she admitted.

Against impropriety’s warning bells in his bucket, Paz cupped her cheek, mindful of the rough leather to not irritate her. It’s indulgent, but he risks it.

"I'll be there soon,” he promises, “I give you my word, if you'll believe it."

"I want to, Blue," she offered with a gentle warning.

"Then keep me accountable. You’ll find me sitting in that alcove in ten minutes. If I'm not..." His head quirked with a little show of amusement, "You have my permission to drag me by my shebs there."

Sure enough, he did– true to his word, once his offloading task was completed.

The covert’s Song remained under the awning of the covert’s med tent in the karyai as she watched Paz’s still-armored self being seen and treated on the left triage station. There she waited for him, until he reemerged with a hand to her shoulder in greeting. She squeezed it, asked if he was good to go, and he was all too ready to agree to some downtime. To seal the deal, she offered an arm around his back and he willingly outstretched his across her shoulders.

It would be pointless to assume she’s honestly bearing any weight, but her offer to help was received kindly, as if he did. Then again, the way Paz spoke of her to the others in his faction, she knew he believed her capable of heart.

Then, with every grace like a nesting dove, she moved independently in his space like it was second nature, despite her only having been here one or two other times as emergency demanded it. A sealed bacta patch had been applied to the slope of his neck on one side, but after inspection, they’d hardly cleaned him up much. She'd located clean handcloths and a pitcher since they were ready and prepared at a moment’s notice on Paz's galley counter.

The question of what the case for water was at the front table lingered at her tongue, but it left her completely as she heard Paz grunt on sitting, one leg extended further than the other. He busied himself with smaller huffs of effort trying to get his armor off.

"Do you need help?" She offered gently, not wanting to coddle the grown man before her.

“M’fine. It's-- (ah) tricky, anyway. Faster if I do it."

But even as he turned to wince and release the back plate with no success, she’d stepped over to him and released the clasp with a few well-placed fingertips. It unlocked easily and loosened into his lap. He turned a bit -until the woman he’d come to adore came into his visor’s view- to see a smile finally eased across her features.

"I've watched Djarin work it enough times, I could wear a kit myself. May I?"

Just the sound of that one word alone sunk a ballast into Paz's stomach worse than the fight did. Not even the clan he was folded into–she knew his first. His low tone shared such, though she took it as tiredness at first,

"You know his name."

"Hm? Oh, yes! I do know," she piped up. "It was the two of us drifting out on the Belt for so long, I think he took pity on me. Only so many times I would say 'hey you' before he felt bad for me, I think. Just calling him ‘Mando’ like everyone else seemed odd after a while– especially since he said I’d be meeting more soon; even that was never going to last as a nickname around a covert of them."

Paz only hummed. The clear picture of familiarity came to mind, how their months were spent in the time before him buzzed around his jealous thoughts uncomfortably. That nasty inkling of jealousy seeped into her sharing of stories of him.

But her lightness never wavered as she kept speaking–she simply moved her way to take care of his shoulder pauldrons next.

"--but he did tell me that's not the case everywhere, telling a non-mandalorian their name... He asked for discretion, so I never speak it around anyone else. Said it was fine here though, that you would call each other by clan name or given, so. Uhm.. where do you keep these?"

Paz turned to see her cradling one piece under each arm, one contoured to her breast, and the other gently in the crook of her elbow - hands full with the inner paddings of both. He leaned forward a touch, drew up a bottle of some solvent from the crate nearest him, and squirted some into the basin of water.

"In there is fine.."

She emptied her arms, and noticing he made no move to continue disarmoring himself, she kept going in his stead. She imagined he'd probably never had someone tasked to do this for him, and perhaps enjoyed the doting behind closed doors.

"Secret ingredient?" Song pried.

"It's an old recipe; cleans the armor without stripping it." He leaned back to where he was before, widening his legs for her to step between if she needed. “The alchemical reaction requires a tub to dilute the concentrate. Too strong and potent on its own, it would oxidize on contact without water."

“You’re on the wrong planet for that.” She grimaced with a jerk towards the window, the lava flats beyond.

“All the more reason for us to keep sentries by the reserve tanks. It is precious.”

Huffing a bit, she chuckled. "I can tell. oof- but that smell would be strong on a ship."

He hummed back to agree, and in a rare show of comfort as the weight of beskar was taken from him piece by loving piece, spoke, "...You're good at this."

She shrugged, a little tone in her voice.

"Yeah, Din came back half dead after a run-in with a pack of Trandoshans on Ord Mantell, so that was a trial by fire I won't forget. I had to do it all myself. He could barely talk, his concussion was so bad- oh gods, I was terrified the whole time, because I knew I needed to check to see if any bits were cutting into him between the plates. But also figured because of the Creed, I thought he might have to kill me once I was done. Had to weigh the options for a sec, but really, he was too passed out to notice. When he woke up the next day he was mortified, poor baby.. Felt bad that I had to manage on my own, but he didn't care at all that I had seen actual skin."

Her eyes twinkled and she smirked at what happened next.

"I told him I was flattered of course, but I wouldn't have peeked.. if for no other reason, then out of respect for that sweetheart he's got on Sorgan."

–And thank the MAKER for that sweetheart on Sorgan.

But rather than scream his relief, Paz laughed it out to cover up his anxious nerves.

"Sorgan, huh? Isn't that planet just a bunch of fishing holes?"

“Farms of them, apparently.” His elbows were now exposed, and next, the vambraces.

“So Djarin was wooed.. by a farmer.”

"Mhm," she removed the second, slipping out the lining and gloves to wash. "Widowed, with a cute little daughter who has eyes for the nugget- sweet guy was done for. She started leaving him his meals out for him on a hot plate the first night, so he wouldn't have to eat it cold. He still denies it," she rolled her eyes, "--but he said if he had the chance, he'd love to 'teach the little ones how to hunt one day’. Tell them more stories since so much has happened since we last stopped there. He'd make a good retiree. Deserves someone like her."

She seemed full of nothing but pride as she spoke. However, soon the sentimental coles turned impressed.

"And hell, she's a real catch if her shot is any indication. No wonder he was so gone on her. So... Who knows?"

She busied herself with turning the gloves back inside out to wash and knelt to start on his boots, but froze looking up when Paz asked,

"And you? Anyone else on Sorgan?"

"No. Not into farmers." she didn't look up, but shrugged, "Nothing Sorgan could offer me." She leveled out her mouth oddly, “...Might find it here, though."

"Is that so?"

"mhm..." She finished loosening one and yanked it off with a little give before moving to the hurt one, more carefully.

"If I can get 'im to quit getting banged up," she groused adorably, "maybe, just maybe I might find a Mandalorian to put up with me long enough…."

Attentive as always, Song remained mindful of his breathing to ensure she wasn't jostling too much.

"Might have to learn how to shoot better though. Those weapons are everything to you. I doubt anyone around here would take on a civvie like me as I am." She looked up and leaned into deprecating humor with a shy look. "M'not exactly the strongest either even though I’m light on the feet. That won’t do much good around here.. And I have a pretty bad mouth to get myself in trouble enough as it is."

This worry under the surface– not unlike a turtleduck spending its days furiously pedaling under the water, but looking ever too graceful on the surface. Naturally, the covert’s Songbird herself made counting her faults look like preening.

Paz chuckled.

"That's hardly a bad thing." He eased her worries. "Shooting can be taught. It's things like that ‘smart mouth’ that draw someone in. Catch someone's eye and ear."

How dare her heart give her that much hope…

"Y'think so?" She loosened his knee braces, doing her best not to ogle the strength of his legs in such close proximity. Surely he’s being too kind.

"I listened to you, didn't I? The list of those who can manage that feat is very short– ask anyone here…”

This seemed to humor her at least, if not outright pleasing her, and she shuffled back up to her feet, taking the cloth he'd been wiping his hands with and taking it with the dirty clothes.

He'd shed his shirt too in the space while she talked-- and she hid her surprise the moment her back turned and her ears burned with the sight.

Thick arms matched his thicker-than-durasteel legs, and strong ones– they’re downright gorgeous like the rest of him… but when she looked back, a tremor of panic surfaced, seeing how rough he was wiping along his patches from the nurses station, and she hurried back to his side right away to remedy that,

"--hey, easy!"

Paz looked up with surprised and she second guessed her urgency, coming back calmer.

"Y’just-” the poor thing braved a word of careful guidance, “You shouldn't be so rough, when the edges are still healing.."

Although intimidated by his size and what foul response he may have for being chastised, Paz surprised her with a simple 'by all means' and surrendered the cloth. She dampened it, and dutifully stood before him again.

To her surprise, Paz patted his leg and prompted her to sit: just as she had by the fire.

Yet while she took the spot, she didn't fall into his arms with the same comfort as that night a few weeks back. A wine-drunk flirty version of herself sunk into the embrace of her protector to chat him up, at his invitation. She’d not even been that nervous then, or even days after when they’d both been sober. There was a shortage of chairs in one of the meeting rooms, one glance turned to another, and he patted his leg in just the same way. She’d hardly shied away from his attention– enjoyed it, actually, to the point of craving. The top-of-the-line thermal compression pajamas she’d seen spread around on all the midwinter advertisements around the market could never warm her through like he could. She’s ruined for life if this trend turns into a habit…

But this was hardly the time for a cozy rendezvous– not while he was hurting.

Unaware of any of these inner ramblings, Paz laid a hand on her waist to train her to relax anyway. His free hand simply held her to his lap, thumbing along her far thigh. To ensure she didn't slip, of course.

Starborne’s Grace and Favor… this man is a delight for the eyes. For a man brimming with muscles, the cushioned fat layer made Paz quite comfortable– and quite the sight with blossoming tattoos along his chest and ribs.

While she set to cleaning the remaining blood the nurses missed first, Song also freshened the cloth, waving it a bit to introduce cool air, and dabbed off his collarbones and along either side of his neck, swiping along where his lean indicated.

Gods it felt good. He'd be asleep in minutes if she kept this up. Paz bit his tongue to keep from moaning outright.

Attention trained towards his comfort, the Songbird asked softly, "You must be hot under there."

His words slurred a tad in response, "I'm used to it."

She frowned a little but just tipped the chin of his helmet up just a touch, wiping up his throat to catch some sweat. She was interested to find dark, auburn stubble to hint at a full beard under the seal, but evaded from peeking too much and jerked her sights up to his visor instead.

"I don't say that to pry about what's under there, but I'd reckon to say a beard does make it warmer y'know…"

"I count on it during the cold seasons here." He murmured just as low as the first time, tilting whichever way she wanted. She could feel his true voice hum along his throat by the bob of his Adams apple. " I didn't plan on going to a damn swamp for the last week, or else I woulda shaved it."

"Poor thing." She mimicked, caressing the back of his neck. She spaced out at some point over him as she worked along his shoulders and passed the hand towel back and forth, registering only through touch how warm he felt beneath her. Warm and pliant and dangerously close to stealing her heart away and ruining her for other men…

It felt incredibly good, but Paz had half a guilty heart; she must be getting tired. The helm faced her head on,

"You don't have to do all that..." he cupped the fleshy inner part of her palm with utmost care– care that he typically never treated himself with.

"I want to.” she hummed back easily. “You deserve it.”

At his encouragement, she swept broader strokes down his back and up again with one hand, bracing on his shoulder with the other. It was so contoured, sweeping hills of strength along his spine where muscles built up over years of use. A landscape worthy of some special attention.

Paz just sat there –calm on the exterior, but a swirling pool of doubt and bewilderment, and unworthiness weighting down his chest into heavy breaths. This girl was making him into mush by the minute.

"How's that. Better?"

The helmet nodded back and its voice hummed a little.

He’s growing more in love by the minute, too. Just keep talking, sweet sparrow.

She sat back and propped up in his lap, crossing her ankles.

"I can warm up that food if you want; or you can shower up and I'll have it inside for you before I go."

His hand caught hers, "--You don't have to go."

"Not even so you can eat?" She clarified, curiously.

"I can wait on that. You..." He tipped the helmet down so their joined hands were in view. "...Food can wait."

The Paz Vizsla was holding her hands in both of his now, and she let him. These hands– the ones that made it their mission to treat him kindly when little mercies in this galaxy ever did…

She smiled, even though he was hardly watching: his big blue helmet is trained on feeling how soft hers must be by comparison. She’s finding it adorable that the big, strong Mandalorian seemed fascinated by her hands of all things. Song couldn't imagine she was the first girl to be perched on his lap like this, but by the way he rubbed over her like something precious, she secretly hoped she could be the last.

" ‘Food can wait.’ “ she repeated in a tease, “Since when would any fiery Mandalorian say such a lie– stalling a meal just because you found a little bird on your lap, huh? You want me to start singing for you next?"

Nudged from his trance, the visor lifted to her again making him lean back more comfortably,

"I wouldn't say no to that." Paz flirted right back.

With outstretched legs once more, Paz brought one up to be elevated as advised while guiding her in by her waist to relax in his lap again and take a break herself.

The Songbird followed his lead this time– and resumed her trademark humming with the knowledge of a job well done.

#paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla x you #paz vizsla x oc #big blue mando #the mandalorain #welcome to the haitus #the mandalorian fanfic #star wars fanfiction #paz viszla #paz vizsla

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dookuswifey · 11 months ago

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THE MANDALORIAN | OneShot

Tw: Sexual content, dirty talk, mommy kink, oral sex, implied Mando x reader

Pairing: Bo-Katan x Fem! Reader

Bo-Katan and reader enjoy the throne room very much.| NSFW

The stone was cold against your heated skin. Your whole body was flushed with excitement and sweaty with heat, from between your legs you could see a mop of red hair slowly kissing up the inner of your thighs, leaving behind big red marks.

Bo-Katan smirked against your skin, bitting down between the V of your legs, leaving marks between your inner thigh and your heated center, that was wet with need.

The bite went thru your nervous system as a new wave of pleasure that made you close your legs around Bo's head,her cold hands held your knees apart as she smirked at your sweaty flushed face. Her bossy tone was betrayed by her desire as she ordered;

- Be a good girl and spread your legs for mommy, sweetheart- She mumbled, bitting your thigh as with a snap her black bra came undone, leaving the mouth-watering sight close enough to tease your with it's rounded perfection but not close enough for you to reach or latch your mouth onto the pink buds.

- Do as your Mandalo'r tells you, cyare - Her body hovered over yours as you searched for her blue eyes, her gaze was almost black with only a thin ring of greyish blue.

A soft cry escaped your mouth as you obeyed, spreading your legs wider, each of your heels on one of the armrests of the throne, just as Bo-Katan liked.

- You look so pretty,baby... all naked on my throne...What would we do if someone came in..- She mummbled against your lips, bitting softly as your kissed sweetly. As she pulled away from the kiss you opened your eyes, she smirked again, kissing her way down to your heat.

Her kisses came to a stop as she reached your mound, her eyes searched for yours, making sure you were watching as she softly pulled on the skin of your clit with her lips with a loud "SLURP" and released it loudly with a satisfied hum.

- What if Mando walked in, hm?? What would we say?- The read headed woman stood up, shimmying her humid black panties off.- Should we let him fuck you raw against my throne? Hm?? I bet you'd like it- She smirked, her long fingers caressed your needy lips teasingly as she hummed- Maybe if you're a good girl for me...- Her caresses spread the wetness of your core around your entrance, making sure you were well-prepared.

- Will you be mommy's good girl?- she smirked, as your hands reached and played with her tits.- Mmh...I missed you while you were on your mision with him...Did you think of me while you were alone, my pretty girl? Did you miss me? I sure did miss you, Mesh'la.- the redhaired woman said, as she sat in front of her throne, her back resting on it. You whined as you loosed the feeling of her heated skin against yours. Her head rested on the seat,between your thighs as her hands reached for your waist, pulling you closer to the edge of the throne and closer to her.

- Now... Come sit down on my face and I'll show you how much I've missed you...- Bo-Katan smirked before her hands softly gave your butt a push so your core engulfed Bo's smiling face.

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primusdemoniccreatrix · 2 years ago

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Dreams of Milk and Honey (The Mandalorian X Earthling Reader)

I was inspired by a need to mother Grogu. I love him, my green son. Yes, I made things up, Marie Kondo style. Sue me. gif by @jedialways

Love, One At A Time

"Okay, there we go" You set up your phone just across from you, propped up precariously from across you on the counter, the device perched upon a strange contraption of wires and some questionable scrap metal that looked like it should be on the outside of the great antique ship the Razor Crest instead of inside but who was going to notice?

Well, someone, but not you. Out of sight, out of mind.

You open up the app, letting the timer start.

"Grogu, we're taping! Come on! Let's start!"

A small wrinkled green child with ears twice the size of its head and a nose as small and cute as a flower bell smiled widely at you, excited for what you had planned today.

"Good morning, and Welcome to the 'Craver Crest' where we make and bake what you're craving!" you spoke into the camera, smiling at your reflection as you speak. You turned and waved Grogu over, speaking once more to a disembodied audience as you kept your eyes on the little baby padding his way over to you, arms outstretched and ready for the world. You cradled him into your arms and had him face the camera with you to 'say hi to your fans!'

"Today and every day, all day, we welcome our sous-chef and taste-tester, Grogu! So today, we'll let Grogu decide what we get to make!" You presented two unused wires, one blue and one red, as choice makers. "So, Grogu, we can make either those cookies you like or we can make a snack sandwich today! Which would you like to pick? Blue for cookies, red for sandwich!" you chirped for him. Under your breath, you hummed the Jeopardy theme song as you smiled at Grogu, his big brown eyes full of innocence and sunlight that had seen too much pain already, living every day to the fullest, eagerly choosing the blue wire like you guessed he would. He did have a sweet tooth after Nevarro, after all.

"Well, looks like we're making cookies!" You grab a bowl and bring it to the camera, filling it with the egg whites and the cream you'd gotten at the behest of a few villagers you'd met several days ago. The places you'd travelled to had often yielded both unimaginable (to you) adventures and was often rewarded with homely little goods or money, but they were often a combination that greatly helped you pick out what you wanted. The last planet you'd been on, a pretty planet named Naboo, had offered you some goods that were easy to keep in the foodstore inside the Crest. The eggs belonged to some animals whose name you couldn't remember, but all that mattered was that the ingredients given to you by some thankful shop-owners you'd inadvertently helped by getting rid of the bounty had thanked you with some confectionary recipes for on-the-go dessert as a thank you, and also gave you at least 3 weeks of ingredients' worth for it! Mando sighed as he accepted, and you were determined to use them; it'd clear the shelves for the 'more important foodstuffs' he'd claim, like the practical grump he was.

"So, we've got our bowl with the rested egg whites, and the yokes I already cooked for breakfast, isn't that right, Grogu?" you asked, turning to the small green child who cooed in agreement, the camera catching your interactions as you spoke on about the ingredients of green sugar, blue cream, some paste that was almost almond-like, etc. You'd no idea that some sugars and milks in the galaxy could come in their own colours like that, but it just goes to show how far humankind could go if they weren't currently warring over dreams of delusional imperialism.

You turned to Grogu often, letting him join in the cooking after introducing the ingredients.

"Here, Grogu, could you pour the sugar in for me?" You'd lift him up and use a free hand to help him pour the contents of the bowl and then kiss his cheek as he laughed. "What a lovely assistant you are!"

"Would you pass me the spatula, dear?" He cooed as he lifted a small spoon, before you told him it was the one beyond, and as he grabbed it, you called him a 'sweet and clever sous-chef!' and bopped his teeny tiny nose before helping him stir the ingredients to finish off the quick recipe. Soon enough, it was time to put the fast-made sandwich batter for the macarons onto baking sheets and warm them, and you and Grogu laughed as you piped little circles of the batter onto a hoverpan, known to be the perfect non-stick pan even in heavy baking! You gave Grogu the important job of holding a small heart-shaped thick wire that worked as a cookie-cutter, and the wire was clean and usable, you'd made sure. Grogu was up to the task, concentrating very hard, his little eyes narrowing to inspect your work and ears perking up at every little heart-shape you both made. He took his job seriously and it warmed your heart every time.

By the time the pan was covered in two dozen hearts, the first two hearts were ready to be baked. In a matter of a few more minutes filled with your storytelling of Mando's most recent hunt, every last one of the hearts were ready, the quick-acting flour doing its job well. "Well, these look ready, so, with my sous-chef's word, we shall bake them! What do you say, chef? Shall we show our audience how to cook?"

Grogu's tiny fists waved in the air as he let out a squeal of agreement, and with a kiss to his head, you placed it into the Crest's oven, no preheat needed.

The wait was only 30 minutes, and you filled that time playing with Grogu, keeping him occupied as he passed you some sugar and milk, spilling a teeny bit as he lifted it to you, and you took it graciously and joked about the milk being excited enough to leap, just to hear Grogu giggle.

Grogu helped you mix, and in the corner of your eye, you could see your phone still recording, you and your lively little green boy stirring some fluffy butter-cream mix together for his cookies. You didn't know if he could read these recipe cards, but he was clearly vivacious, eager for the world, seeing it with the eyes of a child, even though he's known so much pain. This video wasn't just to make a joke and some fun: it was a small part selfish, but a bigger part for Grogu: he was already 50, and considering how young he was, it was clear he was going to outlive you. You didn't know if you'd be able to see him beyond a toddler's age, didn't know if you'd be able to hear him speak English/Basic, didn't know if sometime in the future, he might even forget you, or worse: not have the means or time to do something that makes him happy in a galaxy, a whole fucking galaxy's worth of enemies. You wanted to leave something for him, a memory of something fun, and maybe, just maybe, you'd find some way of living too, even as a little ghost who brought Grogu some joy in his young life. You'd give anything to be with him, but even you were mortal: you hoped you could give him a childhood to look back on before the future comes, whenever it may be.

The timer dinged in the midst of your little game of patty-cake you were teaching your three-fingered companion, and he jumped up, ears perking at the sudden noise. His eyes lit up, and you giggled at his antics. "Looks like our cookies are ready!"

His scream of joy was worth your teeth nearly gritting. His little feet pitter-pattered towards the oven that took you only a few steps to reach, but you walked slowly so as to give him time. "Come along, sous-chef, let's see what we made!" You had to move Grogu from the oven's front as he stubbornly squirmed until you told him hot air might hit him, and when he moved, you grabbed a protective handler and took the hoverpan out, placing it on the counter. You could feel Grogu tug on your clothes, trying to get up, so you picked him up and let him see the cookies.

"Well, it looks like we're finished! We just need to put them on the cooling rack! Would you help me, oh great sous-chef?" you exaggerated with a flourished bow, and a coo answered you in the affirmative. You took Grogu in your hands, took a flat-headed spatula that should be legally classified as a giant screwdriver, and with both your hand and Grogu's on the handle, lifted the first cookie up off the pan, the airy concoction coming up effortlessly, and you flipped it onto a cooling rack, making Grogu kick his little feet in excitement at this new activity. You two continued to flip the cookies, making sure you were explaining to Grogu to 'flick the wrist' and 'be gentle, or they might break before we can use them, okay hon?" and soon enough all the shells were cooling. You checked the recipe card from the shop-owner once more, seeing that the cookie shells just needed "a moment to rise and then it would be ready for the filling"; you turned to Grogu, telling him: "we can wait, right? We're almost done?" He tilted his head at you, and you nodded back, setting him down on the counter. "Well, we heard him, we're almost done and then its time for filling the cookies and eating! Did you want to say hi to the camera, sous-chef? Any words?" You pointed him the camera out to him, and he waved at his reflection, babbling at the phone, before the last clump of green sugar left from cooking caught his interest.

The timer blinking on your phone, and with Grogu occupied within supervision, you decided to add a personal touch to the video.

"So, Grogu and I made some cookies today, and we found out that flipping the cakes is a lot of fun! And that we have to be careful near heat sources, right?" You sighed at the camera, eyes distant, looking at Grogu in the camera who was facing the cookies, watching them with interest. "I hope that this recipe is something that you can enjoy any time, and I hope life gives you many sweet treats as sweet as you are. You're the world to me, baby, I love you so much; I hope you know that, sweetling". You smiled softly at the camera, before your expression turned to one of confusion as a turquoise macaron shell hovered in the air, Grogu's eyes narrowed and hand raised.

"Grogu no! They need to cool-" You got out of your seat and caught the cookie as it was making its way, hissing at the heat remaining on it before putting it back on the rack. You turned back to Grogu, his teeny hand now down as he looked up at you with those puppy eyes that screamed innocence with the gleam of mischief only you, Mando, and other parents could recognize in him. Snickering, you pick him up, cradling him to you, as you spoke with as honeyed a stern voice as you could make: "Grogu, those need to cool before we put the icing in or they'll get mushy and not tasty!"

The last thing the camera saw was a human placing buttercream onto little green shells, and a green baby putting another one atop, making a sandwich, both filled with smiles on their faces, love in their hearts as the human fed the tiny one the first of the cookies, the child enjoying them quite dearly.

Mando heard a beep registering on his vambrace, the alert not important but originating from his ship: your 'phone' he'd connected to his systems had taken a video. He remembered how he'd tracked your moves when you came aboard, and though it wasn't necessary, it was still a precaution that could help, he believed. The notification was a video file, titled Craver Crest1_ Cookies.

Well, it was alliterated?

He opened up the file. His helmet's visor picked up the command, and as he walked down the tunnels back towards the Crest since he'd delivered the bounty, the backdrop of the dark empty tunnel was perfect for the hologram as it appeared from his vambrace's built-in holoprojector.

He watched, nearly stumbling a few times as the passengers on the Crest made the same cookies he'd seen Grogu eat on Nevarro. It was so lovely to see Grogu smile and laugh, and learn about different things while having fun. The sight of him kicking his feet in excitement was something the Mandalorian would carry with him, an image in the back of his head, of just how cute Grogu would get sometimes. He watched as the video ended with the passengers, Grogu and his babysitter, smile and eat, waving goodbye to the camera with cookies in their hands. The video turned off, and the Mandalorian stepped out into the light of the lavender sunset on Tiragon, and made his way back to the ship. He wondered if there would be any cookies left for him? He'd know once he got back to the Cravor Crest, where they made the cookies he was now craving.

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kaysfanficcorner · 2 years ago

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Out of This World Chapter 2: Getting to Know You

Author’s Note: Hey all! Welcome to chapter two. Thank you to everyone who read chapter one! I’ve been excited to share this, so I hope your enjoy!

Summary: The Mandalorian and his new shipmate make their way to a few planets as he hunts for quarries. In the meantime, they start to slowly get to know more about each other and conflicting feelings arise.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Female Earthling Reader

Warnings: Light sexual tension. Light reference to masterbation. Cursing. This story is eventually going to have NSFW scenes so please no one under 18 interact. If you are under age, you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

AO3

*****

It takes a few weeks for things to fall into a comfortable routine around the Razor Crest, and for you to get your “space legs” as you like to call it. Being a nanny to the child quickly becomes a second nature to you. You’ve started to learn his moods, his habits, what makes him giggle or cry. You spend your days catering to the baby’s every whim, and you’re absolutely in heaven. He’s a curious little boy and if you’re not watching him all the time he tends to get himself into mischief, yet even so you can’t help but feel he’s one of the very best children you’ve ever been hired to watch. Perhaps you’re biased because of how stinking cute he really is, but he’s genuinely just a sweet little being in need of the same love and attention that any child of any species needs in order to grow up happily.

The Mandalorian turns out to have more of a personality under that helmet of his than you’d originally expected him to, and he’s more of a hands on father than you’re used to dealing with. Most of the kids you’ve watched in the past came from slightly toxic homes, much like the one you grew up in, and you’ve usually been the one responsible for fulfilling those absent parental needs where you were able.

The Mandalorian, however, spends every moment that he’s not flying the ship, using the fresher, hunting, or sleeping, to try and pay any attention he can to the kid. He may not know what he’s doing sometimes, but it’s undeniable that Mando is a really good foster dad. He truly has the natural instincts of a father.

So far, there’s been a single stop on one planet for Mando to hunt the first quarry on his list. The hunt only takes three days, but the planet is deemed entirely too dangerous for you and the kid to be left without supervision, so the two of you stay behind with Jupiter on the tightly locked up Razor Crest.

From your view of it up in the cockpit, you can see that the sky of this planet is a swirling mixture of navy blue and bright purple, even during the day. At night there are not one, but four moons. One of which is so close to the planet itself, that a majority of the lower half of the sky is taken up by its cratered, blue-green surface. It’s truly a sight to behold for your Earthling mind. Aside from that, the forest of dark blue, almost black piney looking trees is relatively quiet aside from the odd looking bird or animal that passes by.

You only go slightly stir crazy in that seventy-two hours. You and the kid try your best to patiently wait for the bounty hunter to return, but the little guy gets somewhat restless without the presence of his dad and you miss having another adult to talk to. Eventually you do manage to learn that the kid likes your taste in music, and that he’s completely enthralled by it when you do yoga. He even learns to mimic a few of the easier poses, which is probably one of the cutest things you’ve ever seen.

His big eyes closed as he sticks his arms out in warrior pose, is a sight to behold.

“Mental note,” you say to yourself out loud as you fiddle around with painting your nails at the beginning of the third day, “get Mando to bring us some arts and crafts supplies. Maybe the kid would like making things.”

In the background, a soft techno song is playing and the kid is bobbing his little head to the beat while the cat tries to knock a few things over.

Once the Mandalorian does return a few hours later, slightly bloodied but no worse for wear, you finally get to learn what carbonite is. He shows you how he freezes the bounty alive in a block of the gross looking stuff. The poor bith, a bug-like creature to say the least, is stuck with a look of terror in its gigantic eyes. This process can apparently cause hibernation sickness which results in weakness, dehydration, dizziness, memory loss, and temporary blindness.

“That’s horrifying,” you emphasize with a hand on your chest. The kid, who is cradled in your other arm, apparently disagrees and practically claps his hands at the foggy sight of the freezing process.

“Beats having to make conversation with a criminal,” Mando responds with a small shrug, “the ones I bring in warm usually never shut up.”

Mando shows you that he brought back a fair amount of fresh food from the local market just as you’d requested. Several exotic fruits and vegetables you’ve never seen before but are excited to try. One fruit in particular seems the most enticing, mostly because Mando tells you it’s one of his personal favorites. He also informs you that he asked around about any sort of black hole phenomenon, but was mostly met with incredulity from the locals.

After getting cleaned up and changing his clothes, the Mandalorian allows you a few hours on the outside of the ship so you and the kid can get some fresh air while charging the iPad. The bounty hunter sits with his back against a tree trunk as he keeps a close eye on your attempt to get the kid to exert some of his energy, but after awhile you’re willing to bet that Mando falls asleep for about forty minutes.

When he eventually wakes up, he stands and makes his way over to where you’re laying in the grass with the kid sleeping on your stomach.

“Hey,” you say with a smile up at him. The sunlight bounces off of his helmet and blinds you for a moment before his head moves to block the sun from your eyes entirely.

“Hi,” he says back, holding a hand out to you, “Let him rest for a little while and let me show you something.”

Careful not to wake him, you gently move the baby off of you and take the offered hand. He pulls you up with ease, as if you weigh the same as the kid, and that’s the first time you realize how strong he really is.

Then he hands you a blaster. You look down at it with skepticism, before looking back up to the man with curious eyes.

He answers your unspoken question, “I’d like to teach you how to use this. For now, I want to see how well you can shoot. We’re going to start off easy and work our way up from there. When we have some down time later, I’d also like to teach you how to properly clean it and care for it. These weapons are useful, but if you don’t know your way around it then you’re just endangering yourself and others. Do you understand?”

You nod, wanting to take this new level of trust that he’s extending to you very seriously. “I understand. Thank you for trusting me.”

He nods in return, “Try not to make me regret it. Hold the blaster how you think you should and show me your stance.”

You’ve never shot a firearm before, so after pulling from your memories of what you’ve seen in action movies, you spread your legs slightly and hold it out in front of you with both hands. Your right hand is holding the blaster itself, with your finger on the trigger, and your left hand is steadying your arm.

The Mandalorian makes a clicking sound with his tongue, “Not terrible, honestly. But you need to fix your footing. Like this.”

He shows you with his own feet and you mimic him. When he’s pleased with how you look, he comes to move behind you. His body is so close to yours that it’s distracting, but you try to focus as he keeps going. Your insides are squirming feeling him this near to you.

“You never want your finger on the trigger unless you’re about to take the shot. Keep it elongated down the side, so you can slip the finger in an pull the trigger in a moments notice.” As he says this and you comply, his arms circle around you and he adjusts your elbows slightly.

Your hands begin to sweat horribly.

“Much better,” he says, taking a few steps back to observe you. You miss the physical presence of him as soon as it’s gone.

“So not a lost cause?” You ask, trying your best to hold the pose he left you in.

“Not a lost cause,” he agrees, “Why don’t you try firing at that tree?” He points to one that’s a few yards away.

You slip your finger into the trigger and pull. There’s a soft click but nothing happens. “Did I mess this up already?” You ask.

“No, I wanted to see if you would remember that the safety is on.” He replies, there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice and you narrow your eyes at him.

“That was a cheap trick,” you say with a huff. It feels slightly like he’s picking on you and your shoulders slump a little.

“I didn’t meant anything by it, I just wanted to test you. There’s no harm in having a gap in your knowledge. All that matters is the willingness to expand it.” He shows you how to turn the safety off, and steps back again. “Sorry, I wont do that again.”

“I forgive you,” you reply with a little more confidence in your voice and you take the shot. A bright blast of red goes flying into the thick woods and you watch as it disappears into the tree line.

“Try again, you can go until you make the shot. Don’t hold your breath and keep both eyes open.” He moves to lean against the tree a few yards away from you so he can keep an eye on both you and the sleeping kid.

About fifteen minutes later, you hit the tree trunk dead on. A cheer erupts from you and you do a little victory dance. You’re sure you can hear a low chuckle coming from within the beskar of Mando’s helmet, and he claps his hands in applause.

“Congratulations,” he says, “You’ll be taking down Storm Troopers in no time.”

You turn the safety back on and look at him with a raised eyebrow, “What’s a Storm Trooper?”

*****

It’s probably another few weeks of space travel, with the occasional fuel stop at a star port and a trip to an aquatic planet for another quarry, before you’re finally ready to admit to yourself just how attracted to the Mandalorian you really are. There’s no use in denying it. You felt the initial spark of attraction for him when you’d met on Nevarro, and that fire has only burned brighter every day that you’ve lived on his ship and nannied his child. Will you act on this attraction? That’s an entirely different matter all together. It’s one thing to harbor a crush, its another to act drastically just because you’re a horny mess around him and it only seems to be getting worse.

You’re attracted to a man who you cannot, and will very likely never, look into the eyes of. A man you can’t actually see, nor do you know his age or true name. What a trip.

At first you try to chalk it up to cabin fever, to being cooped up inside with only him, the baby, and the cat. Then he’ll go and do something like clean his blaster in front of you or polish the jet pack, and the sight of the cosmic gunslinger sends thrills of need through your deprived core.

The things that his lovely baritone voice can do to your body should be considered sacrilegious in every imaginable sense of the word. He’ll suddenly break a comfortable silence between you to ask you if the kid’s taken a nap yet that day or a random question about Earth, and its enough to make your mouth begin water before you’re able to answer. Enough to make you have to bite down on your left knuckles in order to prevent yourself from making obscene noises as you touch yourself later on that night in the fresher, imagining all of the dirty, depraved things you’d like to hear that voice of his whisper in your ear.

Your natural scent has pretty much taken over the cot at this point, but that first glorious week of sleeping on the ship had been insatiable. The smell of him had been on every inch of the thing. As far as you’re concerned, the sweaty, natural musk of the Mandalorian could be bottled up and sold by Gucci himself and no one would ever question it. It’s a heavenly aroma to say the least.

His persona is strong and masculine on the surface, which is initially what attracts you to him in the first place. There is another part of him though, one you’re slowly getting to see more and more of during your time together. It’s this slightly more relaxed side that only comes out when its just your little group whirling through hyperspace, that’s what is truly starting to do you in.

The only way you can really describe it, is that he’s gotten used to you being around enough that he’s begun to let his guard down a little in front of you. Not by much, but enough for you to notice.

His shoulders will flex beneath the armor as he reaches his arms up over his head to stretch mindlessly, sometimes a yawn escaping through the modulator. He’ll curse more in front of you if the kid’s not around. Words you understand, and some you don’t at all. The tone of a curse being unmistakable behind the odd phrases regardless. You’ll catch him sitting up in the cockpit every now and then, allowing Jupiter to sleep in his lap while he flies the ship. He seems to like her just as much as she likes him, or at the very least he doesn’t push her down when she jumps up to rub her head lovingly into his chest or knead at his armor plated thighs.

When he’d laughed at your joke back on Nevarro? That had only been the beginning. Mando doesn’t crack many jokes of his own, but this doesn’t stop him from chuckling at most of yours. His sense of humor is hidden under that helmet somewhere, and nothing makes you feel more accomplished than getting a miniature laugh out of him. It’s never a robust or boisterous sound, but low and hearty.

The kid will suddenly reach for Mando to hold him while in your arms and you’ll pass him over, the openly tender moments shared between unlikely foster father and son pulling effortlessly at your heartstrings. You’ve become endeared to this duo whether you’ve asked to be or not, and when Mando is in the room its all you can do not to act like a smiling, giddy mess.

The attraction you feel towards him is undeniable and strong, even without the luxury of being able to see his face. He could be the phantom of the opera inside that thing for all you know, but still the infatuation persists.

But above all else, you’re really starting to consider Mando to be your friend. That might be the most attractive thing about him.

Trying to keep these desires and feelings shoved deep down is becoming the biggest struggle of all, though. The urge to reach out and brush a hand over his forearm will overpower you, and you’ll catch yourself a moment away from your fingers stretching out towards him before clenching your fist up tightly at your side. There are two sides of your personality endlessly battling your will to ignore him in every instance.

You’ve always been a hopeless romantic, never truly content to wade through life by yourself. In the past, on Earth, this never worked in your favor with the opposite sex. Every chance at romance a failed travesty. You constantly long for the comfort of another person’s body pressed tightly against yours. You yearn to have the affection and attention showered upon you which you rarely received as a child, but with the intention to return that affection tenfold. You wish to have a friend by your side to share your life with. You want a true partner, someone to take care of you as you take care of him. As a natural caregiver from a broken home, you’ve always longed to have a family you can nurture and love freely as your own. A family entirely of your making, comprised of people you trust and respect.

Apparently for most guys this had been “too much”, leaving you to float in and out of uncomfortable situations with foolish men not worth half of your time. Not even sexually.

Embarrassingly, you’ve never slept with anyone who had the ability to make you reach an orgasm. You used to blame yourself, thinking that your self-consciousness was causing your body to freeze up in the presence of another. But as the years went on and your confidence in the bedroom grew, you’ve still never found a partner to achieve this triumph over your body. Because of this, you’ve also never been able to create a deep enough sexual connection with another person for any relationships to even stand a chance. Sex is one of your favorite things in the world, but you’ve never actually been able to enjoy it in the way you need to most.

You can’t help but think that Mando knows his way around a woman’s body, and your secret, almost nightly fantasies of him finally fixing this long standing problem for you are absolutely maddening.

And so the two sides of you wage war with one another daily. Some days you just want the Mandalorian to throw you up against the ship’s wall and fuck you until you don’t know your own name, and others you find yourself thinking that you want two of you to take the kid for a nice scenic hike should you stop on a good planet for it. You walk a very fine line between debaucherous wretch and hopeless romantic.

The fact remains, however, that you are still completely out of place in this galaxy. Your eventual departure and the eventual departure of the kid are the two main reasons that you usually force this silly, frivolous way of thinking aside. Both of you are temporary passengers on Mando’s ship, and you know that you’re already in far too deep with how attached you are to the kid. The day he leaves the Razor Crest, should that happen during your time on it, will very likely rip your heart completely in half. And you know damn well you will be just as broken-hearted if you are the one to leave first. Odds are things are bound to go back to normal for everyone on board the ship at some point, and getting attached to the Mandalorian on top of it is only asking for more trouble than you think you’re prepared to handle.

This, on top of the fact that he’s very clearly a private person to begin with, is why you stop yourself every single time you feel the urge to ask him something about himself. No matter how badly your curiosity wants to take over, you shove it deep down inside just like the rest of your infatuation with him. Besides, its not like he’d be able to answer questions like, “Hey Mando, what’s your favorite pizza topping?” The bounty hunter wouldn’t know what a pizza was if you made one for him yourself in the poor excuse of a galley.

Fuck. Now you could kill for a pizza.

*****

Similarly, Din is harboring struggles of his own behind that beskar helmet of his. Particularly in regards to the fact that you don’t ask him anything about himself. Ever. You are quite literally the most curious person Din has ever met, asking him various questions almost daily.

“How does the hyperdrive actually work?”

“Hey Mando, is the next quarry a human or some other kind of species?”

“What did this one do to end up with on a bounty on him?”

“Mando, what planet in this galaxy has the most moons? Mine only had one. It’s so cool to see multiple moons in the night sky like on that first planet. I’d love to see like six all at once.”

“What language do they speak here?”

Din is always willing to answer you, never once denying you the information you seek about the galaxy you now reside in. He never talks down to you or tries to make you feel foolish for asking, but instead tries to explain what he can to the best of his ability. The galaxy can be dangerous, life in space can be dangerous, and the more you know about your surroundings, the less Din needs to worry about you getting yourself into trouble.

One would think that this eventually gets old for Din Djarin, but it’s quite the contrary. It should annoy him. Really, it should. Yet it doesn’t. Your questions don’t pester him in the slightest. He enjoys answering you, getting to share his knowledge of the universe with you. It’s never a constant thing, and you never bombard him with too much of it all at once. Your queries are never anything other than thoughtful, drawing from a place of respect.

It usually only happens when you come across something you genuinely don’t understand, when you’ll look up at Din with those big, bright eyes filled with mystified splendor. He’s powerless not to answer you when you look at him like that. Din can’t help but find you beautiful, your sense of childlike wonder adding an extra layer of softness to your already impossibly exquisite features. It’s that same childlike wonder that also allows Din to see things that he’s always taken for granted in a new light.

He is not without questions of his own, however. Whenever you say, do, or wear something from your home world, Din cannot help but ask you about it. This planet, this Earth, you’re from seems to be just about the strangest place in the universe, and Din has seen some strange things in his heyday. The cultural differences alone are beyond him, let alone the primitive technology he’s seen you tote around the ship connected by a short wire to little white buds in your ears which you call “headphones”. He’s still getting used to the way you speak, the odd phrases you constantly spout off, but you’re usually able to get your point across to him. Din’s own growing curiosity about you is beginning to be somewhat uncontrollable.

Din is starting to consider you a friend worth getting to know.

Which is why it bothers him once he starts to realize that the one thing you’ve never asked him a single question about is himself. He’s not stupid, it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out. He’s even sure he’s caught you stop yourself from saying something to him on more than one occasion, and its nagged at him for several days after.

He knows how thankful he should be that you’ve never once pried into his personal life, but for whatever reason Din wants you to pry. Even though Din is ever the sensible and logical man, and he knows that it shouldn’t effect him in the slightest, it really, truly bothers him. Drives him slightly crazy, even. You’ve lived on the ship for a full month now, and still you ask about every kriffing thing in the galaxy besides him.

Din lets this whole thing go for another few weeks, as long as he possibly can, until he finally decides to stop driving himself mad and just put an end to it once and for all.

But in the meantime, his attraction to you grows.

The Way has no restrictions on sensuality despite the popular opinion of most beings. It’s simply seen by his people as a means to an end. A necessary aspect of life that, if not properly addressed, causes distraction and sloppiness. Both things that a warrior cannot afford, for his or her very life depends on the ability to focus in the face of battle.

Though the culture heavily consists of foundlings and there is very little need to procreate, most adult Mandalorians do eventually take another Mandalorian as a mate. If not simply as a way to deal with these natural urges effectively and for companionship. Din did have an adolescent fixation with one of the older girls in The Tribe, early on in his days with the Mandalorians, but even that had been fleeting. There is no denying that Mandalorian women are all beautiful in their own right. Strong, independent women whom Din would trust in battle without a second thought.

Hypocritically and embarrassingly, however, Din has never been able to bring himself to be attracted to another Mandalorian enough to see past the beskar helmet. This fact has always caused a deep sense of guilt within him, and a small amount of shame. It should be considered to be an honor to have a woman of such caliber at his side, but that’s not what Din most craves late at night when he’s taking care of himself in private.

No, Din wants to see gorgeous, thick hair that his fingers can get tangled in. He wants to see beautiful, lust filled eyes looking up at him with need. Those same eyes slipping closed as breathtaking facial features contort in moments of pure ecstasy brought on by his touch and his alone. Din doesn’t want the rough hands of a warrior on his bare skin, but the gentle and comforting caress of silky, delicate fingers. Soft lips grazing his neck.

Din also secretly craves to be completely nurtured by someone, to be taken care of in a way that he never has before.

Mandalorian women cannot provide these things for Din, and he cannot expect someone to be only ever be attracted to his helmet if he can’t find one attractive on someone else. He can’t even provide a potential partner with a kiss, one the simplest pleasures in the galaxy. Din’s lips have not touched another person’s flesh since he swore the oath and placed the beskar upon his young head. He’s not even sure he remembers how to do it. This is one of the many things that has always gotten in the way when it comes to women, so in recent years he’s resolved to not even bother anymore. Din Djarin is prepared to go it alone until the bitter end.

When your eyes meet his though? Even with a barrier of beskar between the two of you, the way you look up at him with such admiration in your eyes throws him for a loop nearly every time. That old way of thinking begins to melt away. Perhaps Din doesn’t want to go it alone, not all the time at least.

But... you’re inevitably going to leave. If you can find a way back to your bizarre home planet, you’re going to go and Din will likely never see you again. Just like the kid will leave him one day too. So he resolves to shove his growing desire for you so far down that he cannot feel it anymore. He’s convinced himself that he can be numb to it just like all the other times he’s had to be, until he eventually forgets about it all together and moves on with his miserable life.

*****

It’s another normal, uneventful evening in space. You’re sitting on an overturned crate, bouncing the kid up and down on one knee while Din is preparing something to eat for the three of you. This has been the unspoken evening ritual for the better part of your time on the ship, since the evening when you happened to walk in on Din attempting to keep the kid and the cat from playing too roughly with one another on top of trying to make food. He’d been obviously flustered and overwhelmed by the situation, but wouldn’t ask you for help. So you had just scooped the kid up, stroked the cat on the head, and silently pulled up a crate. He’s never once requested it, but you’ve done it every single night since.

Both of you secretly love this routine. In fact, if he is to be completely honest with himself, its Din’s favorite part of the day. Cooking a hot meal for the group a is such a simple thing, but more and more it begins to feel so... domestic. More domestic than anything Din has experienced since being a child, well before he became a foundling and subsequently a Mandalorian. It dredges up very early, blurry memories of Din on his own father’s knee while his mother makes their supper. The roles are reversed here, but the sight of his foster son sitting happily in your lap as he fixes dinner is enough to create a steady warmth to grow beneath his beskar chest plate, and he’s beginning to have a hard time trying to push it away.

As for you, at first this had been frustrating. On Earth you considered yourself to be an excellent cook, but out in the galaxy you have no idea what you’re doing when it comes to food. You miss Earth food a great deal, but its undeniable that Mando is culinarily talented. Even with the meager ingredients he’s able to pull together, he somehow always manages to come up with something far more delicious than anything you’ve been able to pull off. The kid also seems to agree, usually trying to clamber his way up to sneak more servings for himself even if he’s already had several to begin with. Food could have easily been a necessity for survival, not something Mando ever sought to take pleasure out of. You’re immensely glad that’s not the way he sees it. Usually your mouth waters at the mere thought of his cooking.

On this particular evening, you’re standing next to the Mandalorian rather than sitting on your crate. The kid is being bounced on your hip with the little silver ball he likes to steal from the cockpit. Mando has pretty much given up on taking it away at this point. The kid is holding it up to show it to his father, while saying something he clearly feels very strongly about in his nonsensical language of bubbling toddler-speak.

Din’s head tilts down from watching you bounce the child, to watch his son “talk” to him instead.

“Really?” Din says genuinely down to him in response, making an exaggerated face in spite of the kid not actually being able to see it, “You don’t say.” The little green boy smiles and coos back in delight. Din enjoys this mindless baby banter, but finds himself wondering out loud, “I wonder when you’re going to start talking, kid. It’d be nice to know what you’re saying one of these days.”

“How old is he anyway?” You ask, not looking up from the baby wiggling around in your arms.

Din responds immediately, almost casually, “He’s 50 years old. That’s why I took the bounty on him in the first place, I had no idea he was a kid.”

You turn your head up so fast that you’re sure you hear a bone in your neck crack, “50?! How is that even possible?” Your eyes scan over the tiny green thing and you can’t possibly fathom it.

“His species lives a lot longer than ours. He’s still considered to be an infant regardless of his age. This little womp rat here will probably live to be hundreds of years old,” Din explains, gently poking a finger on the child’s head.

You laugh then, shaking your head back down to the child on your hip. “And you can’t talk yet, nor can you wipe your own ass? You’re lucky you’re so adorable, little green bean.”

As Mando turns back to put the finishing touches on the meal, you keep your head tilted so that you can look at him from the corner of your eye. It isn’t lost on you that he’d called it “our” species, referring to the both of you being human. In a rare moment of feeling cocksure, you suddenly say, “So you’re a human under there after all, huh Mando?”

Din’s head jerks over to look at you, his eyebrows raising beneath the helmet. Still not really a proper question about him, but it’s formed enough like one to get his attention.

“What species did you think I was?” He counters seriously.

“That was a joke,” you say, suddenly feeling awkward. You worry that you’ve irritated him now, so your attitude becomes slightly dismissive as you turn to face away from him. “I figured you’re human, or at least humanoid. You’ve got five fingers on each hand,” you say nothing more on the subject.

Because your back is to him, Din’s eyes cannot help but land on your nice, firm backside. Truth be told... his eyes, deep brown and lusty beneath the beskar, do that a lot more than he’d readily admit. You’re wearing a black pair of what you’d once called “yoga pants” and they are... distracting to say the least.

Din curses lowly under his breath, vexed with your reluctance to talk to him about himself. He starts to play into it like he always does, pushing his irritation to the side and letting it go, telling himself its ultimately for the best not to get too close. But then you shift your footing and he watches as your ass shifts with it, rippling over to the left with the lightest of jiggles. Something within him shifts as well, and Din decides right then and there to just get the hell on with it. He sets the cooking utensils down and reduces the heat, before moving towards you.

You’re fully aware of every movement behind you without needing to turn around. You can sense Mando turning the heat on the food down before coming towards you. When you feel the height of him just a foot or so behind you, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The warm sensation returns low down in your belly, and your palms begin to moisten slightly. You’re not sure whether to face him or not. Deciding on the latter, you keep your back to him.

His modulated voice hovers about six or so inches above your head, “Why is it that you never ask me anything?”

That warmth in your belly becomes a steady heat at the sound of his voice. Squashing that down as best as you can, you sit the kid down on the floor and spin back around to face him. You’re very used to speaking to the helmet by now, and you see yourself raise an eyebrow in its reflective surface. You’d heard the way he’d asked it, but you decide to play dumb, “I ask you stuff all the time, Mando. I just asked about the kid a second ago! Sometimes I worry that it’s actually annoying.”

“If it was constant it would be,” he says honestly, head tilting ever so slightly to the right as his forearms cross just over his abdomen. “But, no. Not annoying. I know how... different this galaxy is for you, and it is a dangerous place. The more you know, the less I have to worry about saving your ass from something you could have prevented yourself.”

That head tilt to the right is most certainly a sign of him smirking under there, you’re willing to bet your Bowie t-shirt on it. And your knees wobble a little at the sound of his voice making a passing mention of your ass. If only he knew how deeply your depravity ran, of the things you’ve fantasized about him doing to your ass.

Face flushed, you force yourself to recover, “So what’s the deal then, chrome dome?”

He retorts evenly with, “You ask me about everything under the stars aside from, well, me. I’d like to know why.”

That’s not really what you’d expected at all, and it leaves you floored for a quick moment. So he noticed how hard you’d been trying to avoid that particular subject after all. You think about it earnestly before looking right in the visor, once again hitting your mark without even knowing it.

“You’re obviously a very private person,” you say, gesturing up to the helmet, “I may not understand that, but I can respect it. It would be wildly inappropriate for me to bombard you with personal questions. I’m your guest and since I may very well never find a way to make it back to my home world, I’d rather not overstay my welcome on this ship too quickly.”

Din’s head doesn’t move, but his shoulders soften slightly. “That’s...” he trails off, considering what he’s about to say next, “kind of you, to respect my privacy. I appreciate it, but you don’t have to be afraid to ask. You’re a curious woman, so I’m sure you have your questions. If you get too personal or if you do bother me too much at once, then I reserve the right not to answer you.”

You look up at him through thick lashes while your parted lips form into a small, shy grin. Din feels it then, something that had been long dormant within him before the day you came into his life. Pure, unadulterated, desire.

It stirs low inside of him like one of Nevarro’s lava pits, boiling steadily and beginning to crack at his once steely reserve. This is certainly not the first time a reaction like this has spurred within him, but this is by far some of the strongest attraction he’s ever felt towards another person. Din’s had a handful of encounters with women of various species over the years, and perhaps even felt a substantial sense of attraction to a few of them in his younger days, but never anything nearly so powerful as the aching, desperate need he feels when he looks down at you.

Then you reach your hand out towards him, towards the beskar pauldron on his right shoulder and your mouth opens as if to begin speaking. He quickly assumes that you’re about to ask him about the armor itself, what it’s made of. Technically still not an actual question about him. Downtrodden and genuinely disappointed, Din begins to prepare himself to begrudgingly explain the beskar to you, until you bypass the pauldron itself to trace a tentative finger over the signet there instead.

You delicately run the tip of your index finger over the mudhorn skull, looking up at him to meet the visor with that look of wonder Din is so powerless against. He might as well be tossed into a sarlacc pit right in that moment. He’s done for, even if he doesn’t realize it yet.

“What’s this represent?” You ask softly, running your finger up the length of the long horn. “I’ve wondered about it since we met. I can tell it’s the skull of an animal, but does it mean something special to you?” You chuckle a little, casting your eyes down to the symbol again, “We have an animal that kind of looks like this on Earth. It also has a horn on the end of its snout but not quite so huge. It’s called a rhinoceros.”

“Rhinoceros,” Din repeats the foreign word slowly, stumbling over some of the pronunciation. What an odd name for an animal.

You laugh brightly at hearing the word on his tongue, grinning up at him, “Rhino for short. I assume that this thing is probably gigantic in comparison to the thing on Earth, just like a lot of things in this galaxy seem to be.”

“It’s called a mudhorn,” he says simply after letting you ramble, “I had to kill one in battle, so it became my signet. My clan insignia, clan Mudhorn.”

You feel a pit in the bottom of your stomach form at that. If clan means the same thing out here as it does back on Earth, then he’s referring to his family. Does Mando have some family back on some planet that he’s never mentioned? Swallowing the lump in your dry throat, and though the childish part of you doesn't even want to know the answer, you ask him, “How many people are in your clan?”

But then Mando scoops the kid up as the little bugger runs between the two of you, and the helmet again fixes on you as he says, “Just two.”

Your heart just about turns to pudding within your chest right there. It’s all you can do not to clutch a hand to your collarbone and make a noise of endearment. The kid is truly all the Mandalorian has in this world? And one day he’ll inevitably have to give the green toddler up if they ever find his own kind? The muscle pumping blood through your body both swells and breaks for Mando all at once.

Deciding not to press your luck and that one question is enough for now, you’re satisfied with this new information about your mysterious cosmic companion for the time being.

But then he surprises you by saying, “If you’d like to join me up in the cockpit after I take my meal, I could tell you more about it.”

You’re sure the surprise is evident on your face, but you smile regardless, “I’d like that,” is all you can say.

No one speaks after that. He portions out a bowl of food for the three of you and hands you yours, making you feel nervous as your hand brushes against his glove. You thank him for dinner and he nods in a silent welcome before quickly making his way up to the cockpit. You’re a giddy mess as you scramble to deposit a protein pack in Jupiter’s bowl and situate yourself with the kid to eat your own meals. You’re so wound up that you barely want to eat, but force yourself to do so anyway. You let the kid have what you can’t finish.

Up in the cockpit the helmet drops to the ground with a loud thunk before he’s even in his seat. Din has never eaten so quickly in his life.

Within five minutes he’s calling down to you that you can come up when you’re ready, and in a gesture you know all too well at this point, his gloves appear from the opening in the ceiling for the kid. He passes his empty bowl down, and you thank him for supper as you then pass the kid up to him in exchange. You have to excuse yourself to the fresher to pull yourself together before joining them upstairs.

When you eventually do make your way up to the cockpit, you take your usual seat behind and to the left of the Mandalorian. He turns the pilot’s seat to face you while the kid sits in the other passenger seat, too happily occupied by the silver ball to notice the adults’ growing tension in the tiny control room. Mando could be making stupid faces under that thing for all you know, but you’re willing to bet he’s fixing you with some sort of serious look. It causes you to squirm in your seat, flushing as you look away from him shyly.

Even on Earth, there had never been a single, solitary man who had this much of an inaugural effect on you. Mando’s got steady a hold over you already, and you’re pretty sure you’re reaching that point of being willing to do literally anything to be close to him. You suddenly find yourself desperately wanting to take care of him in some way, to show some sort of affection in the way you know best.

“Would you like to hear about the mudhorn?” Din asks, looking from you to the kid. Does he want to tell you the truth about the kid? Din’s pretty sure he can trust that you are who you say you are at this point, and that you harbor no secret ill will towards the child. You’re not going to suddenly turn him in to the Empire. Hell, you probably still don’t even understand what the Empire used to be, let alone what the shambles of it are now.

When he looks back to you, you nod in the affirmative, “Only if you want to tell me.”

You’re surprised by his willingness to tell you this story, and you’re equally surprised by how long he makes the act of telling it. Mando is a man a few words generally, and this is the most you’ve heard him use his handsome sounding voice in one sitting since the two of you met. Usually you’re the one doing the talking, telling long winded stories. But because he is a man of few words Mando chooses them very carefully, and so he’s able to paint a fairly clear picture in your head of the events which led to the mudhorn. Kuill and the blurrgs. Finding the kid, returning to the Razor Crest to find it scrapped by Jawas, chasing said Jawas down and having them demand the egg of a mudhorn in return for the ship’s parts. Then he tells you about getting his ass handed to him by the mama mudhorn, nearly dying in the process, before the kid saved him.

“What do you mean the kid saved you?” You ask, incredulously looking over at the toddler as he still continues to suck on the silver ball and babble to himself. “Is that some kind of metaphor for, like, what you were missing in your life?”

“What? No, not like that.” Din says with a shake of the head, though something in your words rings true for him in the back of his mind. “The kid, he can do things. Has... abilities.”

Again you look to the child, and your jaw drops open, “Like he’s got superpowers? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Hey, watch the language in front of the kid,” Mando says sternly, “He can do things with his mind. You need to know about it incase he ever does it in front of you. Usually it’s a defensive thing, but I’ve also seen him use it to cause trouble.”

You gloss over the thing about the kid for a moment, focusing instead on the light scolding you’d just received. He hadn’t been rude about it, in fact the dad-like way he’d said it makes you smile. “I thought you guys don’t even have that word in basic,” you say, laughing.

“You say it enough that I was able to gather it’s inappropriate nature from the connotation in which you use it. What does it mean, anyway?” He asks, curious.

Embarrassed slightly, and not wanting to think about the way you’d love to hear him say that particular word to you, you shake your head. “That’s an adults-only explanation... So back to the little superhero over there?”

“That’s all. He used his magic powers or whatever they are to stop the mudhorn from charging me, and I was able to kill it. We retrieved the egg, and I got my parts back.” Mando replies, and you still can’t wrap your head around that tiny thing having abilities.

It’s not that you don’t believe it. You’ve been sucked through a man-made black hole in your grandfather’s basement and ended up stranded billions of light years away from home. Of course you believe it, you just don’t know how that could come out of something so precious and innocent.

“Well that’s certainly not what I thought you were going to tell me,” you breathe out with a shake of the head, “I’m shocked.”

The Mandalorian actually laughs a little beneath the beskar, “Imagine my shock. That thing was floating off the ground. Poor kid slept for nearly a full day after.”

“Poor fella,” you say, standing to scoop the kid up for an embrace. You begin bouncing him back and forth while making your way to stand beside the pilots seat as Mando turns it back to face forward. “It’s hard work protecting your dad from big, scary mudhorns, huh?” The kid just babbles up at you, and you hand the silver ball over to Mando so it can be screwed back into the shift.

“What happened after that?” You ask, wanting to know everything about him now that you know he’s willing to tell you.

“That’s a story for another time,” Din says while reaching with his right arm to screw the ball in. The injury in his shoulder from the previous week flares up then, causing him to hiss out, “Dank farrik,” under his breath.

You can’t help yourself, “Language in front of the kid, Mando.”

“I deserve that,” he says, still hissing in pain as he slowly pulls his arm back with a groan, opening and closing his fingers several times.

“I’m kidding. Are you okay?” You ask, genuinely concerned for him.

He nods, “Pulled my shoulder hunting the last quarry. Still sore.”

You set the baby back down on the passenger seat and return to Mando’s side, “That was almost a week ago, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’ll be fine,” Din says somewhat curtly. He’s had worse.

“Well it doesn’t help that you’ve been sleeping up here for well over a month. That can’t be comfortable,” you suddenly feel incredibly guilty for having taken his bed, “Please take the cot back tonight, I’d hate to see you make it any worse. I’ll find somewhere else.”

“No,” he argues again, “I’ll be fine.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “So the men in this galaxy are stubborn too, huh? And here I thought it was just an Earth thing.”

Din doesn't know what to say to that, so he says nothing, which elicits an exasperated sigh from you. He suddenly feels your hand on his right pauldron for the second time that night, but this time it begins to pull. His own hand flies up to catch yours and the helmet snaps up at you while the leather covered fingers around your hand apply a light amount of pressure. This is the most he’s ever touched you.

“What are you doing?” He asks, halting your movements.

“Relax,” you draw out the word, “I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. You need that shoulder rubbed, and I can’t do that for you with your armor on.” Feeling rather brave, you bend to hover your head beside the helmet, placing both hands on the pauldron and pulling lightly at it again. You drop your voice down an octave, softly saying, “Let me take care of you, Mando.”

Those words again leave Din at a loss for any of his own, and his hand melts back down to his lap. He doesn’t stop you when you pull his pauldron off completely, setting it down carefully on the seat you usually sit in. He lets you do the same to the vambrace on his forearm, using his other hand to help you get it off. His entire right arm suddenly feels so bare without the beskar, in spite of still being covered in layers of clothing.

“Can you take the cloak off too?” You ask nervously. This is quickly becoming uncharted territory.

Din complies, taking he beskar off of his left arm as well before handing all of it over to you. You set everything down so gingerly that Din can sense how much you respect his armor just from the delicate way you handle it. “Thank you. For being so careful with that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of messing it up. What’s this stuff made of anyway? It’s lighter than I expected it to be.”

“Mandalorian beskar. It’s one of the most indestructible substances in the galaxy, and weighs less than most common metals.”

“Like vibrianium! Heh, that’s awesome,” you laugh.

“Let me guess. Earth thing?”

“You got it.”

Din is too lost in the idle conversation to realize how bare he truly is at first, but this is certainly the most exposed he’s ever been around you. As you’ve been talking, everything on his torso aside from the thin, long sleeved undershirt and his gloves have been simultaneously removed and placed in the passenger seat. He finds himself wondering how he suddenly let it come to this.

Maker, it’s been so long since he’s been touched. His stomach is doing strange things inside of his body, his skin tingling all over.

You are similarly wondering the same thing, as you look down and get the tiniest glimpse of skin on the back of his neck. A small sliver of flesh tucked between his shirt collar and the base of the helmet. It appears to be tan, which should suggest that he’s naturally so. You highly doubt he has ever laid half naked in the sun just to vainly darken his skin tone, but that’s a sight you’d surely love to see. That little bit of skin nearly breaks you, but you ignore it.

Coming to stand directly behind the pilot’s seat, you instruct him to lean forward slightly and he complies. Your hands come to rest on either of his shoulders, and you suddenly catch a whiff of that scent from the cot. His scent. You breathe it in, and begin knead in your knuckles into his back. You start in near his spine and push both up and out, when a loud noise that sounds almost pained escapes him. You can see your own surprised expression in the silver reflection on the back of his head, moving your thumbs to rub circles into the base of his neck, just below the exposed patch of skin.

“Are you okay?” You pause to check on him

“Keep going,” he grunts out, and so you do.

You work at his shoulders for a good five minutes, focusing extra attentiveness on the shoulder he’s having trouble with. He makes noises here and there, but other than that you both stay fairly quiet. After you’ve given his shoulder enough attention, you work both of your hands slowly down his right arm. Your thumbs press into the knotted bicep, then the tricep, and Mando’s usually tense body practically liquefies into the seat under your grasp.

“Has anyone ever done this for you?” You ask seriously, making your way now down to his tight forearm.

“No,” Din says after a moment, groaning when you hit a particularly sensitive knot, “Never-gah-had anyone offer.”

“Never? Their loss,” you say, pulling his arm up towards you to stretch it out straight. He lets you guide him easily. “Does your hand hurt as well?”

Mando nods, and without prompting you kneel down beside him to get at a better angle and begin tentatively undoing the strap of his glove. Your fingers stall around his wrist as your eyes meet the visor, wordlessly asking for his permission for what you’re about to do, and he nods again. It hitches in your throat slightly, but you take a deep breath regardless to prepare yourself to cross this next line.

Tugging at the clay colored tips, you begin to gently pull the glove from his hand. The skin revealed beneath the leather is the same tan as the skin on the back of his neck, solidifying your theory that this is a natural occurrence. The knuckles are slightly dry, with small scars resting in between some of the rough peaks of bone and dark hairs dusting the fleshy terrain. The glove falls to his lap as you remove it completely, examining each finger carefully before flipping his hand entirely so you can examine his palm. All the usual lines and finger prints are there, and there’s an old burn scar just below his thumb where his wrist and palm meet. It looks like the initial wound had been a nasty one. You run your own thumb over it and look at the helmet again.

“How did you get this?” You ask.

“Don’t remember. Have so many that I lose track,” he replies.

“You have nice hands,” you say casually, not surprised when he says nothing in return. Instead you make yourself focus on the work, pressing into the palm and making your way up each finger with equal attention to each digit. His thumb pops when you unintentionally pull on it just the right way, and his entire body jerks forward a little.

This goes on for another few moments, until your own hand begins to cramp up on you. You pull it back suddenly, cracking your middle finger with a low hiss before yanking on your own thumb and spinning your wrist a few times.

“You okay?” Mando asks, sitting up slightly to look at you.

“Yeah just my hand cramping. I may need to call it quits,” you say, beginning to pull away before he stops you. For a moment his bare hand is just holding yours, and your mouth begins to severely dry up.

“Wait, let me. This hand?” Mando says, and you simply nod, dumbstruck. He quickly pulls the glove off of his other hand, and begins kneading both of his bare thumbs into your palm. “So soft,” he murmurs to himself, though you can hear him clear as day. Neither of you address it.

“Good grief,” you mutter as he hits the sore spot below your thumb, holding back a moan.

The Mandalorian mimics the same way you had massaged his hand, working his way slowly up each one of your slender fingers until he reaches the painted nails. It’s over in a matter of minutes and you eventually pull your hand back to shake it a few times, wiggling your fingers. When the audacity of what just happened occurs to you, you cannot help but blush. You’re still kneeling down beside Mando, looking up at the helmet bashfully.

“Thank you,” you say, casting your eyes back down to his unconfined hands.

Din doesn’t even consider the next thing he does. Involuntarily, his right hand reaches out to run over your hair, moving some of it out of your face. “Likewise, ner burc’ya.” he says lowly.

Puzzled by hearing him speak what is obviously another language, you look to him for an explanation. “What does that mean?”

“It’s Mando’a for ‘my friend’,” he says in a tone that brings heat to your cheeks.

Then he pulls away to begin replacing the gloves over his hands. You’re disheartened slightly both that he’s no longer touching you and to see his mesmerizing skin disappear once more. You cannot help the sudden longing you feel to see more of it, and in very particular places.

“How’s your shoulder?” You ask, standing to grab the suddenly tired looking kid and bring him over to the Mandalorian, knowing full well how much Mando likes to hold the kid as he falls asleep. This has never been discussed between you, but you know it to be true.

“Better, still not great,” Din says honestly, reaching for the increasingly sleepy toddler.

“I think you should sleep in the cot tonight,” you insist again, “and I’m not really willing to take no for an answer.”

Din looks up to where you stand beside him, fixing him with a pointed look. He knows it’s probably not worth arguing, and he does miss being able to lay out properly. “What about you?”

You wave him off, “I’ll make due, isn’t that what you said to me? You deserve a good night of sleep too, Mando. Especially if there’s another quarry only two days away.”

Din decides that you have a point, and nods, “Fine. Just for a few hours.”

Your eyes roll unceremoniously, “For fuck’s sake, sleep for as long as you need to.”

*****

As Din climbs into the cot later that night, the smell of you is completely overwhelming. Even with his helmet on, your natural aroma is so distinct. Some of your things are strewn about inside, as you’ve clearly made yourself at home over the past several weeks. There’s the small bottle of that strange black liquid you like to decorate your nails with, as well as a dark purple garment you wear almost daily. You’ve told him it’s called a “hoodie”. Though you’ve managed to make it seem more comfortable with the addition of a pillow and blanket, everyone on the ship is aware that a real bed would be far more preferable.

The kid would usually already be asleep in the hammock above Din’s head by now, but you’d suggested letting him sleep in the pram for the night so that Din could get some sleep of his own without interruption. So once the door slides shut behind him, he’s completely alone. Din normally just sleeps with the helmet on for fear of not wanting to be woken up off guard without it, but something makes him slide the thing off of his head and place it in the storage net hanging on the back wall next to your backpack, soon followed by his gloves. He’s without his boots already and still without the beskar on his torso, all more suggestions of yours. You’d sternly told him you expected him to get as comfortable as possible, and so Din complies with this demand.

Your scent is one of the most wonderful things Din has ever experienced. Without the helmet on, his sense of smell is assaulted by you. He can’t help himself as he lifts the black blanket up to his uncovered face, inhaling as much of you as he possibly can. When his head hits the pillow he also can’t help but to nuzzle his nose into the soft fabric, breathing in your essence as if it is the very oxygen his body needs in order to live.

Din falls asleep clutching your purple hoodie to his chest, while thinking about how soft your hand felt in comparison to his.

When he wakes several hours later, Din takes one last instant to enjoy the aroma around him without the barrier of beskar. His dark eyes slip closed while he savors the moment, before replacing the helmet to its rightful perch on his head and making his way out of the cot to find you and the kid. His boots are waiting for him just outside, so he slips those on as he looks around. There’s no sign of either of you anywhere on the first floor of the ship, not even the cat.

Din climbs up to the second floor to look for you, the cockpit door sliding open with the usual swishing sound. The overhead lights have been dimmed to nothing, so the only real light is coming from the various illuminated buttons up front. At first he walks in far enough only to notice that the empty pram is in the kid’s usual seat, and his beskar is still where he’d left it in yours. He stops right in his tracks once he gets far enough inside to actually see you, his chest swelling almost painfully at the sight before his eyes.

You’re curled up in the pilot’s seat at an angle that has got to be doing horrendous things to your back, one leg tucked underneath your ass while the other is propped up on an area of the control panel without any actual controls. The kid is sleeping soundly on your chest, his ears turned down in a relaxed position with his head turned to face towards Din’s direction. A green fist is curled up tightly in your shirt, while the kid’s little mouth hangs open and the tiniest bit of drool escapes out the side and onto the fabric.

Also sleeping soundly, you’ve got your head of wild hair leaning back into the seat’s headrest as your own mouth hangs open a little. One arm is draped protectively around the kid, and the other dangles uselessly off the side of the armrest. Din’s cloak is draped around the two of you as a makeshift blanket, and the cat is curled up into a ball of fluff on your lap, just below the kid. One of Jupiter’s tawny eyes opens to look skeptically up at him, before she closes it again and readjusts her sleeping position.

The image of this, the emotions it stirs within him, leaves Din’s head nearly ringing from the intensity of it. This quiet moment of serene hyperspace dancing in the background of his ship, of his home. You, easily most beautiful woman he’s ever met, holding his sleeping child to your breast. His cloak draped around the two of you, almost symbolic of what this little group is slowly beginning to mean to him.

A whisper of a thought begins to prick at the back of his mind then. A dangerous, self destructive thought which can only lead Din Djarin down a path of heartache should he let things get out of hand.

Once he hears his own voice murmur the words inside his head, he realizes that things were already well out of hand when it had only been him and the kid. Now, with the addition of you in the equation, it’s actually becoming quite the complicated situation. Din is now in a very treacherous new land, the thought echoing once more through his mind before he pushes it as far away as he can.

Don’t want them to leave...

*****

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trashquisitor-shirozora · 1 year ago

Text

I saw the thing. Both of the thing. The two things. Those things. Star Wars things.

RIP Luke Skywalker's relevance post-OT, we hardly knew ye.

[spoilers and shit below the cut]

I mean... the first two episodes did their job? They certainly felt like a typical Star Wars, whatever your definition of Star Wars is. It just feels like these people at the top have no fucking idea what to do with the galaxy post-Empire and pre-First Order. Like, there is no obviously Big Bad Fascist group of baddies that our plucky underdog rebel heroes have to fight. The enemy is not clear as bright fucking day. What is the enemy? What are we fighting? Is this why we're plundering the depths of the EU and overwriting EU!Thrawn with Disney!Thrawn? Is this why we're turning the New Republic into an uncaring out-of-touch wannabe Galactic Republic/Empire?

There are many, many places where the Volume is painfully obvious and it is incredibly fucking distracting. Personally, Peter Jackson's LOTR trilogy and the POTC trilogy really sold me on the possibilites offered by the marriage of practical FX and CGI. I've never been convinced by the "gimmick" that James Cameron's blue cat people promised, and seeing how increasingly terrible and cheap and fucking greedy the Hollywood studios have become since then has me convinced that we're fucked. I still want to one day get a job in entertainment design but I am increasingly gritting my teeth and side-eyeing the state of things.

There has to be better way to paint non-human skin tones onto actors right. The lack of emoting also really frustrated me. I hope it's just people settling into their roles but I also don't know the sequence in which they shot their scenes. It's just... I felt nothing. I lied. I felt something for Sabine's lothcat. I get Ahsoka at this time being aloof, distant, cold, closed off, but everybody else? I didn't feel it. Maybe from Skoll and Hati, our non-Jedi Norse wolves. Nordic? I don't fucking know.

Someone please explain to me how Sabine is suddenly a Padawan, an ex-Padawan, and now a Padawan again. I never saw Rebels but I know enough canon to know that Padawans are supposed to have some kind of Force sensitivity? Why is Ahsoka deciding who to take in as a Padawan? I thought she left the Jedi Order before she became a Knight? What the fuck is going on? Is she just... making up the rules now since there isn't an Order of people to say, "Hey, maybe don't"? Or is she just picking up where Ezra and Kanan left off? I don't know Rebels and it is midnight; I sure af am not going to decide to read summaries of everyone right now.

Sorry to Luke who either never blipped on Baylan's radar or was just that unimportant to him. Somehow. Sorry to Cal, though I don't even know if he survived to see the Empire's fall.

Among the bipedals who speak Basic, Morgan Elsbeth wins the award for "Most Interesting Character" because Diana knows how to chew up her scenes and has the charisma to keep me interested. I don't recall she was ever revealed to be a Witch in her Mando episode. But now she is? What? Why?

The baseline world development of the Corellian shipyards fucking kills me. I know nothing about Lothal from the show so I can't say shit, but from what I've seen of the city itself, it's so.... clean. CG clean. "We can't let people know we live here" clean. The Volume was screaming into my eyes on Arcana, and I can't believe the fucking planet is called Arcana.

But what is the reason why Sabine put away the parts of herself that are Mandalorian? Is it so that we can see her floundering and struggling and letting her hair grow long while she tells everyone to fuck off? Is it so that we can then see her saw off her long hair a la Mulan (or Kanan, I guess) and become a Mandalorian again? I... I don't have any emotional investment in this. I didn't see Rebels, therefore I don't have any actual emotional investment in this. It's just, cool CG, lightsabers whee, classic Star Wars-ish music to yank at your heartstrings, droids, magic, the Force, Force shit, more lightsabers, pew pew, wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee. And people I only recognize because of the Galaxy of Heroes games, fandom osmosis, and cursory skimming of the Star Wars wiki. If I was a true outsider who knew the bare minimum from previous D+ shows, waht would my investment level be?

Is anyone surprised that Andor keeps showing up in these conversations? I want to rip my hair out and scream at people who hate the discourse because they say people just want more shows exactly like Andor (grimy and dark and grimdark with no Jedi and no Sith and no pew pew space fights and no bzzzzzzzzzzt lightsabers and all politics and politicking and hard decisions made by morally gray characters either trying to survive or trying to see the Rebellion survive) instead of the campy unseriousness with color and bad CG and silliness and pew pew space lasers and shit. I just want more shows made with love and care and a basic understanding of storytelling. There's a difference between telling a story and telling a Star Wars story. The Felonious Showrunners are telling you a Star Wars story full of Star Wars. Did you see the Star Wars? Look at the Star Wars. Listen to the Star Wars. Feel the Star Wars. Yes, I get it, but are you also telling me a story? Is this all really just a buildup to Thrawn returning to the galaxy to take control of the Imperial remnants to make a second Empire or some shit like that? And as always, does it really matter when Thrawn and Ahsoka and Mandalore didn't have ANY impact on the galaxy or the fate of the New Republic and the First Order in the ST?

Fucking hell, looked up serial vs episodic because I forgot the terms and then deleted the entire paragraph because what's the point l o l. Look, the problem for me is that this show relies on working knowledge of Rebels and also The Clone Wars so that we can understand who these people are, what their history is with each other, and where they're coming from when the Norse wolves sprung a witch from her cell. I don't have the time or energy to do any of that, so I don't... I don't care. Who are these people? Explain them to me. Tell me why I should care without assuming I already watched the other shows. All we had of Andor is Cassian Andor, who dies at the end of Rogue 1. Yet somehow we got to see all these new faces emerge and bloom and keep rising or dying for the sake of the nascent Rebellion. We got to know who the fuck they are, what the fuck they do or did, what their relationships are to each other, to the Rebellion, to the Empire, to Cassian. We got to see and hear what they believed in and why they fight or don't fight.

You don't need the 3 episodes of fleshing out Ferrix or any of the characters integral to a story arc. You already have the settings and the people. You already have the history. It would take a lot less work to introduce who they are, what they did or do, how they relate to each other, what they won and lost . It just... it just feels so damn shallow and half-baked and stiff and light like cotton candy.

I think if not for Andor, these first two episodes of Ahsoka would be perfectly acceptable in the Star Wars D+ series pantheon. But Andor is fucking Spiders Georg and fucked over people's expectations of what a good Star Wars show is and can be.

ACTUALLY. WHY NOT TELL THOSE OF US THAT AREN'T FAMILIAR WITH THE DISNEY STAR WARS LORE WHO THE FUCK THRAWN IS, WHAT THE FUCK HE DID, AND WHY WE DON'T WANT HIM BACK. Oh he's the last of the Imperial Grand Admirals - so what. Moff Gideon is beneath the likes of Vader and Tarkin and Thrawn and he did a lot of fucking damage. Andor showed us very clearly what kind of power and damage the ISB can do. So how much more damage can Thrawn do if he did come back? What kind of threat is he? TELL US HOW DANGEROUS HE IS TO THE NEW REPUBLIC. TELL US WHY MORGAN IS TRYING TO BRING HIM BACK. FOR HER OWN AMBITIONS? TO HELP OUT THE OTHER IDIOTS HIDING IN THE DARK, LAUGHING AT GIDEON CLONING HIMSELF IN A PATHETIC GRAB FOR POWER? COME ON. TELL ME SOMETHING.

Anyway, sorry to Luke Skywalker who's stuck on Ossus fucking around with Artoo and a bunch of spider droids, locked out of some greater story about an apathetic former Padawan and her own Mando Padawan looking for a lost Jedi while also trying to stop a blue man from returning to the galaxy. Maybe he never should've returned to Star Wars and stayed a grumpy old Jake who died all alone on some fuckoff island.

Let's see what the next episode will bring! At least it makes great background noise while I do other things.

#rambling thoughts #it's late and i'm tired and deeply meh about things #ahsoka critical #ahsoka show spoilers

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multi-fan-dom-madness · 1 year ago

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Good morning 💙 hoping to request a little smutty bit from you about my beloved Hardcase (although I’d ecstatic about any trooper) using the prompt ❛ look at that pretty expression. i always knew you could make one. ❜

Thanks!!

hiiii friend, thank you so much for your patience! the muse has finally decided to visit me tonight, and while this is quite short, I hope it hits the spot! and I hope I did your man justice <3

Pretty Face

Summary: You do love taking your time with Hardcase.

Warnings: 18+ minors scram; gn!reader, unprotected penetrative sex implied, teasing, can be read as either a pussyjob or as frotting

Word Count: 318

not often I use the full set of dividers! but a big thanks as always to @dystopicjumpsuit for these beauties

You roll your hips in languid, lazy motions, in no rush to chase your high. Not yet. The slow build of pressure in your core is delectable, but the pinch of Hardcase’s brow, the parting of his lips, the hazy look in his eyes is enough to feed your lust. It’s not often you get to have time together like this, alone in your shared apartment, but for once you don’t feel the need to hurry. You want to take your time with him. And, judging by the two high spots of color on his cheeks, broken only by the thin blue tattoo, Hardcase is enjoying this, as well.

Bracing yourself on the taut, flexed muscles of his stomach, you tilt your head at him with a coy smirk. “Look so good under me, Case,” you coo. “Made for me.”

He breathes out a chuckle. “Think I’m the lucky one here, babe. You look great from this angle.”

Warmth flutters in your chest and settles in your heart. Rocking your hips a bit faster, dragging along his hard length just a bit harder, you both moan softly at the added friction. Hardcase lets his head fall back onto the soft pillow, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His hands smooth over your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, as he helps guide your movements across his cock.

When you reach down to fondle his balls, his face twists in pleasure, eyes screwing shut and brows creasing together, mouth falling into a near-perfect “o.”

You hum in satisfaction. “Look at that pretty expression. I always knew you could make one.”

“K-Kriff you,” he says, laughing. “Actually, no, kriff me, please.”

“Your wish is my command,” you say with a smile. You lean down to capture his lips in a passionate kiss, mouths moving feverishly together as you notch his cock at your entrance and take him inside you.

Ragu: @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickix @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @lem-hhn @thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831 @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl @originalcollectionartistry

#hardcase x reader #clone trooper hardcase x reader #clone x reader #rhiwrites #rhiplies #the clone wars #tcw x reader

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prolix-yuy · 1 year ago

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Hello honey 💕 As promised, here I am submitting my request for the 500 follower celebration!

The list of prompts is amazing. I truly had a hard time choosing one, but after Chapter 2 of Both Side of the Door I need to know what happened between Mando and X'ian or I'll will never be at peace again. So I'll go for Heartbreak of betrayal with the two of them, hoping that you'll give us an insight into their relationship.

Ren's crew sees Mando as a sort of traitor, but I really can't see him act like that (as leaving Quinn behind) out of the blue. So who betrayed who? Who betrayed first? How? Why? And most importantly, what the hell happened on Alzoc III? S1E5 left us with so many questions. I need answers 🤯

Ma Chérie! My wonderful @amban-rifle! I have to start this off with an apology. I have held onto this ask for SO GOSH DARN LONG. This is from my 500 Followers Celebration OVER A YEAR AGO. I'm so sorry have kept you waiting but holy heck, what an ask! The drama! The complications! The holes in canon we all struggle with! Plus addressing one of the most confusing and complicated off-screen "relationships" many of us x Reader writers ignore. I wanted to do it justice, and it took a bunch of research, gorging myself on other Star Wars content, and staring off into space while that Spongebob meme of my brain being on fire danced in my noggin. But! It is here, finally. And for being so patient, it's an absolute monster.

Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader, Din Djarin x Xi'an

Summary: The Mandalorian has shared many secrets, but his greatest one is buried in shame and blood.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical-type violence, allusions to sex work, rough sex throughout, oral sex (m receiving), gagging, voyeurism, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), anal sex, creampie, choking, degradation, threesomes, semi-public sex, cuckolding, blood and descriptive gore, character death, genocide (what a tag that was to write), suicidal thoughts, a fuckton of angst, The Helmet Stays On and it's a Big Deal, a very toxic relationship dynamic.

Notes: This one was an exercise in researching and complicated storytelling, but now that it's done I am over the moon with how it came out. I know that the Din x Xi'an pairing is not many people's cup of tea, but if you want my take on how it came about and what I think happened to give us The Prisoner, here's it all as best as I can surmise. I'm staying as canon compliant as possible because it's fun to connect a bunch of dots, but obviously this is all speculation with some liberal fudging of timelines.

Takes place after Both Sides of the Door, with much of the story set pre-S1 and spoilers for S1 Ep6 The Prisoner. Our Reader character makes an appearance at the beginning and end, so she'll still have a place in this interlude. The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's "Bloodstream" and if you want to know where my mood was for most of this, that song is a good place to start.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

After you retire for the night, Din contemplates telling you about the other woman who left marks on his life. Omera was easy; wrong place, wrong time, and no right time on the horizon. And if he was truthful with himself, maybe no right time ever. He could have loved her, loved the way she cared for him and allowed a softer life for himself. There are times when he lies in bed and wonders what a world like that might look like for him.

It’s…difficult.

Even thinking of a little plot of land, a space all his own tied to the earth of a planet, makes him yearn for the skies and space that surround you three on the Crest. He could never truly root in soil, so used to being a seed on the wind. There would always be bounties to chase, duties to fulfill, missions to complete.

Right?

And if he digs even deeper, he might find the clearest truth hidden among the memories.

His heart belonged to you longer than even he knew.

There were times when he let others touch it. Omera’s hands held it gently, too kindly for him to accept. And to keep it, she would need him to lift the helmet, the one thing he could not give her. Being a Mandalorian is all he knows. So he took his heart with him, and he’s sure she’s better off without it.

But there was another who reached into his chest with claws and teeth and left him bloody from her affections. One he tries not to dwell on as long as he can. A time in his life that brought more shame than any other, misted in blood and sex and credits.

He wants to share more of his world with you. You deserve to understand exactly why he is the man he is today.

But he does not think he can tell you about Xi’an.

“Got something special for you, Mando,” Karga says when he settles across the table. “You’ve been requested by name.”

Din cocks his head, one hand drumming restlessly.

“That’s new,” he says. He likes playing mysterious for Karga, embodying all that a Mandalorian is supposed to be, even when some days he feels like a small child wearing his buir’s armor. At least it hides the worst of his apprehension, impassive helmet masking how his eyes constantly dart around the room, legs tense and ready to spring.

“Ranzar Malk. Leads a small team of mercenaries.”

Din tips his head back, folding his arms over his durasteel cuirass.

“Didn’t think you liked sharing the spoils,” he drawls, watching Karga carefully. The man laughs, sipping back some spotchka and winking at a woman sitting at his bar.

“I don’t. I like my work without middle men. But they bring in very, very good credits. A percentage is more for both of us than the handful of riff-raff I could offer you.” Karga leans forward, elbow coming down and speaking lower. “They want the reputation a Mando can give their team. Help them get some bigger and better jobs. You lend them your striking silhouette, and you’ll be in enough credits to buy a whole suit of beskar. And my cut will be…barely noticeable.” The sly smile Karga schools off his face lets Din know it’s a lot more than unnoticeable, but the job intrigues him.

“What kind of work is it?” he asks. Flashes of memories play at the corner of his mind - Mandalorians coming down from on high to save him, droids shredded in their wake.

“Malk and I have a strict ‘no questions asked’ policy. You do the work, you get paid.”

Din rolls his shoulders, fingers itching to grab onto something solid and deadly.

“How long do they need my…reputation?”

Karga leans back and sweeps his hands wide.

“As long as you want. Open contract.”

Din considers the offer. Mercenary work has never been too lowly for a beroya, but he’d never done any. Mostly small-time criminals and shakedowns in return for credits. But if the money is as good as Karga makes it sound, it could help the covert ten times over.

“Deal.”

“You must be the Mando.”

The voice is snarly, raked over a steel timbre. Din turns to see a barrel-chested, long haired man with a thick salt and pepper beard to match. His face is folded into a smile but the light of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Extending a short-fingered hand, he pumps Din’s gloved one vigorously.

“Karga said you were in need of reputation,” Din says, cooly delivering the lines he practiced on the flight to this no-name hangar in Outer Rim rubble.

“And what are you in need of, Mando?” Malk says, eyeing him with blatant curiosity. Din had planned for this question during his supply run. The covert wasn’t to be named, the last of a culture eradicated. So why was he still traveling, wearing the helmet if he’s not of an unseen world?

“Target practice,” is the dry answer he gives, leveling the helmet at the shorter man. Malk raises an eyebrow before a conspiratorial smile splits his lips.

“I like you, Mando. Man of few words. You’ll get along with the other chatterboxes I run with.”

Malk leads him to a hangar pad, small ships in various levels of disrepair scattered across the peeling floor. A sharp whistle brings three people into view, two purple Twi’leks and a human man.

“My crew,” Malk says proudly, gesturing for them to come closer. The female Twi’lek saunters over with a swing in her hip, the heavy forehead-first stride of her companion close behind. The human throws a grease-spotted towel onto a box of tools and comes to an exasperated stop in front of Malk.

“Can’t believe you shelled out credits for a tin man. I could have put a bucket on and we’d be just as well off,” the man says. His face is Malk claps him on the shoulder.

“Varlo,” Malk says, nodding to Din. He gives a polite tip of his head back. Varlo rolls his cold blue eyes and turns on his heel. His jaw is sharp and squared, matching his lithe frame as he climbs back into an open access hatch. The male Twi’lek approaches Din, soft footwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Qin,” he offers before Malk’s introduction, nodding his head at the amban rifle slung across Din’s chest. “Is it true weapons are part of your religion? Or is that all bedtime stories?” His smirk is condescending, not even veiled. A simmer of annoyance bubbles in Din’s veins but he tamps it out.

“Among other things,” he says instead, earning a sardonic smile and a handshake from Qin.

“All weapons?” the female Twi’lek says at Din’s elbow, running her fingers up the length of the rifle’s barrel. Din twists away, visor meeting the sparkling challenge in the Twi’s eyes.

“My sister, Xi’an,” Qin interjects as she circles Din with roaming eyes. She hisses at him, raising Din’s eyebrows under the helmet, before sharply switching to high-pitched giggles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done.

“Ohhhh, Mando, we’re going to have fun,” she says, finally coming to rest at her brother’s side.

Din should have walked away in this moment, saved himself a lot of pain and heartache and blood. They were volatile, waiting for a spark to burn everything around them, and Din was only more kindling.

The jobs were easy to start. Wealthy benefactors needing a little extra muscle to get their way. A handful of runaways returned home. One exceptionally smooth jailbreak. Din’s presence gave them a leg up on jobs, but his skills were where he became integral. Combat all done with the efficiency and proficiency of a Mandalorian, but flying was where he excelled. The Razor Crest, in her infancy when he first shook Malk’s hand, was a deadly bird under Din’s touch. Scrambling signatures aside, with Din piloting it was a ghost on the astral winds.

It also became a strange cramped home to the five of them while they traveled. After complaints of too many credits spent on lodging, Malk casually inferred that the Crest could be a better home base. “We’re in it more than out most days,” was his dry reasoning, and with four people staring him down Din agreed, pangs of discomfort pushed to the back of his mind. It made sense, after all. The Crest was a cargo ship. Might as well fill it with cargo.

So between jobs and screaming dogfights in the sky, the mercenaries found themselves within the durasteel walls. Hammocks strung along the hold allowed for sleep, belongings mixing and melding to become communal. There was comfort in that for Din. Individuality beaten out of him in training, he preferred not knowing who liked what ration bar or whose ‘fresher items littered the floor.

In that crush of company, however, he did learn about his family in arms. Not enough to urge him to reveal more of his own past. All of them lived in the present, their histories an inky shadow they let drag behind and paid no mind. He learned instead of their present, trial and error and observation his best tools.

Malk’s connections were far-reaching and unsavory, most bounties questionable in nature but not enough to turn down. He would choose jobs no one wanted, ones that were especially difficult or carried the highest price. A name for himself was the greatest goal, clawing for prestige in how fast, how deadly, how accurate the team could be. Din sometimes caught a feral glint in his eye when they returned, deed done. The crazier the escapade, the more he gloated in cantinas or to his associates. Rarely lifting a finger himself, he worked logistics and timing, connections and credits. And when the job was done, it was only his name that ever hung in the air as they walked away richer.

Varlo was quiet, calculating and cruel. Din thought the standoffishness was a front until he watched the man more closely and realized it was born of a distinct lack of empathy. He could not be bribed, or swayed, or bewitched. While Malk made connections and laid the groundwork, Varlo was the front man on foot. He could talk his way in, execute the seven councilmen sitting at a table full of secrets, and wipe the blood from a particularly valuable one before taking it as insurance. His carefully crafted armor of failsafes and blackmail let him sleep easy every night, no matter the strain Din might feel at the events of the day.

Qin was the strength of the operation. Not bulky like a Devaronian, but leagues stronger and more agile than his body could betray. With enough blaster cover he could incapacitate, maim, and kill anything in his path with his two hands. That surety in his body extended to his place in the world. His smile was always knowing, always scheming something behind the fangs. Time spent across from him could pass pleasantly - Qin could spin you a tale from thin air, wrestle someone into gasping submission, or share silence all in turn - but once he left there was the distinct feeling that he gained more than you meant to give.

And then there was Xi’an. Qin and her relationship was manic on a good day, volcanic on a bad one. They snapped at each other constantly, enough that Din stopped trying to understand if they were mad at each other or simply passing the time. Where Qin was strength, Xi’an was stealth. Her steps made no sound, the silvery whistle of her knives the precursor to bodies on the floor. The delight she took in her own prowess turned Din’s stomach more than once. Brutal hisses and snarls giving way to raucous laughter and almost childish giggles raised the hair on the back of his neck. She was competent and brash, and Maker help anyone who said no to her.

Behind all of them was Din, standing silent and glorious. His helmet parted crowds, murmurs and rumors following the swish of his cape. They wondered why he was running with this bloodthirsty lot, a member of one of the greatest warrior cultures. He let them guess. With his contributions his covert would grow, and one day the children - maybe even his children - would be able to stand in the sun on a world that they called home.

Until then, he hunts.

Din manages to maneuver the delicate balance of this crew living on his ship for over a month before tensions rise. A week without work has made everyone snappish and riled. Malk is hidden away in the cockpit making calls so Din has to remain with them, arms folded as Xi’an needles at Qin. His lip curls into a snarl, and Din braces for a brawl.

“Treating me like your baby sister isn’t going to make the men think you’re tough,” she hisses, sauntering by Qin and circling Varlo. “They don’t care about blood when it comes to close quarters, long hours, pent-up frustration.” She walks her fingers up Varlo’s chest, stroking her pointer along his leather jacket. “Care to blow off some steam?”

Varlo skirts around her touch, dropping down on a crate and leaning back.

“Hard pass, I don’t dip into crazy,” he spits out, Xi’an’s mocking smile chased by a wink of his own. For someone who barely experiences emotion beyond curiosity and satisfaction, he’s good at faking it. With a turn on her heel, she approaches Din instead.

“Ever felt the touch of a woman, Mando? Let someone polish your beskar?” she trills. Din keeps his posture loose, tilts his helmet and sighs.

“Quit dicking around, I’ve got something,” Malk says as he drops down the ladder. “Decommissioning factory has had some thefts. We’re doing short-term security until we catch the guilty party.”

Xi’an backs off, slumping down across from her brother as Din moves to set the Crest’s course. Out of the thick air of the cargo hold he can finally breathe.

He’d wanted to rebuff her, brag about the women he’s brought to the heights of pleasure with just his fingers, but it’s a dangerous path to wander in the barrel of rocket fuel the Crest has become. Shifting his hips in the pilot seat, he thinks back to the last time he fucked his frustrations into another person.

A Togruta, maybe? Or was it that sassy brothel worker?

(a girl on a desert planet that stopped time)

A shiver climbs his spine but he bats it down. In any event it’s been too long since he’s indulged in a soft body. He’ll take care of that after this job, ease some of the stress buried between his shoulder blades. It might make all of this strange arrangement more palatable.

Droids. It had to be droids.

Not the fact that the factory was decommissioning battle droids but that some were going missing, not turning up in the junk pile to be scrapped. The workers didn’t give two shits about it, but because the battle droids were so powerful and dangerous they had to have their chips pulled out and documented for the New Republic. Too many missing chips led to this group striding in like conquering forces.

The first night is uneventful, Din passing patrols with Varlo and Xi’an. Varlo looks at him like another droid, the cold boredom on his face inexplicably boiling Din’s blood. Xi’an’s constant prowling only makes it worse, still determined to crack his stoic demeanor. He’s tired the next day, body running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Malk offers him caf that he refuses. He doesn’t like lifting the helmet in front of them.

The second night the issue comes into sharp focus. Not theft, but escape. A droid spray painted in yellow stripes enters the facility to reactivate its brethren. For what purpose they don’t know, and Din doesn’t care. Putting the droid in his sight, muscles tight around the amban rifle, Din squeezes a lifetime of pain behind the trigger.

A cloud of dust. No more droid.

He thought that would satisfy the roar in his chest, but back in the Crest he’s more of a caged animal than before. Malk tells them to enjoy a day on-world, and Varlo and Qin follow him out to the industrial maze of the city. Din knows he needs something tonight, a fight or a fuck or both, so he gathers enough credits to cover his proclivities and makes to leave the ship.

“Where are you biding your time, Mando?” Xi’an’s voice purrs in the low light of the cargo hold. She’s draped over a storage crate, inspecting her nails and flashing a devious look at him when his visor turns. “Going to finally lose your virginity?”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe the constant pressure on all sides, or the neverending sniping at his expense. He knows it’s a mistake the moment he opens his mouth.

“Been a long time since I called myself that.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash up to the visor. It spikes in his stomach.

“I find that hard to believe, Mando, with all the…” She waves her hands around her head, pulling a serious face that she can barely keep on. He should stalk off, leave her to pouting and him to pounding into something softer and sweeter than whatever this was.

But it’s been too long, and he’s itching for confrontation in a way he’s never desired before.

“I’m good with my hands,” he says, one coming up to rest on his belt buckle, tilting his head to the side. Xi’an lifts off the crate, circling him with the serpentine swish of her gait.

“Oh I can believe that. Seen you with those weapons, your ‘religion.’ Man who keeps them that well cared for must be attentive in…other ways.” She slinks around to stand in front of him, dragging her eyes over the broad expanse of durasteel on his chest, flaking paint and silvered scratches. She walks her fingers down his chest, stopping at his trim waist. “But that doesn’t mean you know how to use this.” Her hand flashes out to grope at his crotch but he snatches her wrist, jerking her hands up as she squeals. For a moment he thinks it’s in pain, but the glint in her eyes and the flash of tongue between her fangs reveals it’s excitement. Releasing her, he moves to exit the cargo hold and find something, anything, to calm the rushing of his blood.

“Oh Mando, come on, wait,” Xi’an pleads, skipping back in front of him and adopting an apologetic expression. “We’ve all been cooped up here too long, rubbing each other the wrong way.” This time her hands glances down his side, nails lightly scraping along his hips before she drifts them feather-light over his cock. The electricity of her touch burns in his groin, filling him quickly. “Let me make it up to you, Mando. Rub you the right way this time.”

“This is…not a good idea,” he grits through his teeth, common sense screaming at him to leave, but the many-toothed monster that lurks in the back of his mind drools at the feeling of her fingers getting bolder, now stroking her palm over his stiffening cock. The helmet tips back a fraction as Din’s eyes flutter, excuses melting back into the delicious heat of her touch.

“The best ideas are the bad ones,” she teases, sidling closer to him. Her breath is hot on the edge of his cowl, soft little sighs zinging down his spine as she swipes her thumb over the clothed head of his cock. He tries to suppress the groan but it comes out a whine instead, spurring her on more. “You could use some release. Let me suck your cock, Mando. I’ll trade you for a kiss.”

This is a monumentally bad idea and his survival instinct kicks in just before the monster waiting in the darkness claws his way to the forefront.

“The helmet…stays on,” he grunts, backing up a half step. She rolls her eyes but triumph lives there now.

“Fine, fine, your precious Creed. Then how about I give you a hand, and next time I’m in need of one you return the favor?”

He struggles to take in a full breath, her fingers now wrapped around him and adding just enough pressure to spark in his pelvis and surge into his chest. He nods, fists clenching, as Xi’an’s smile breaks across her face.

“Oh Mando, how long have you been wanting this?” she purrs, sliding down his body to rest on her knees. Alarm bells sound in his mind. It’s too out in the open, too vulnerable. If Varlo or Malk or Qin, Maker forbid, came back he’d be caught and probably gutted. But the lap of her tongue along his waist as she opens the plaquet of his pants dissolves the worries into heady arousal as the monster he’s suppressed so long rears to life.

“Kriff,” he curses, tilting the helmet down to watch her pull his flushed cock out of his pants, thighs flexing when she coos over it.

“So you’ve got the goods to back up all that swagger,” she sing-songs, looking up at him through her lashes as blood pumps loud in his ears. The arousal he’s feeling is unlike his usual encounters. In those he’s simmering even when his frustration is at an all time high, his pleasure delayed in favor of watching them writhe and gasp with the force of the orgasms he pulls out of them. It gets him harder than anything else. But now, looking down at someone who makes his blood boil at any given moment, his libido is at a roar screaming at him to fuck and bruise and take. The force of it makes his heart pound, unfamiliar and exciting.

“If you’re only going to look at it, I’ll go somewhere else,” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. It does the trick, her smile sly before she licks a long path from base to tip. The shudder is involuntary, a hot wet mouth not something he usually seeks out. He prefers a dripping pussy to bury his frustrations in but the power this position yields makes all the lewd cantina talk he’s scoffed at come into focus.

“Patience, Mando,” Xi’an lightly scolds, but the thin wire of restraint he was still holding onto snaps. One large hand palms the back of her head, fingers digging into the edge of her head wrap for leverage. Her eyebrows lift in surprise just before Din presses his hips forward, breaching her lips with the head of his cock. He groans at the slick heat and the brush of her teeth over the ridge as he thrusts shallowly against her tongue. He thinks he sees a wrinkle of anger in her brow before her eyes flash with vengeance. She wraps her lips around him, sucking his head.

“I’ve had enough of waiting,” he grits out, pulling back a fraction before sliding in deeper, pressing her further down his shaft. Her hands come up to his hips, fingernails digging in as a warning. The sharp points of pain focus his arousal, the mix with pleasure intoxicating. “You wanted it so karking badly, you….take it,” he growls, his thrusts deepening again as she takes him even further. Hissing around his intrusion, teeth come down enough to scrape along his cock just shy of unpleasant.

“Oh no you don’t,” he punches out, his other hand pinching her jaw to force her mouth wide. The lack of resistance drives him down her throat, a loud gag heaving her chest. The sound shocks his system, pulling back quickly as drool drips down her chin with her gasps. Uncertainty falls heavy over his libido now.

“Are you…?” he starts to ask, but Xi’an yanks him back to her face, pumping his cock quickly with the thick saliva she’s left on it.

“What’s the matter, Mando? Afraid of a little mess?” she taunts before swallowing him down again, the rough gags of her throat beginning in earnest. He can feel her spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls as she rolls them roughly in her hand. It’s nothing he’s ever felt fucking a woman before, frustration and anger burning him inside out. He palms her head again, thrusting with her own bobbing rhythm as she hums around his cock. His hips pump, thighs clenching, stomach quivering at the onslaught of sensations driving him closer and closer to his high. Hazarding another look at her, she laughs around his cock before pulling off.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy to make you fall apart…” she begins to say, but Din shoves his cock roughly back into her mouth.

“Shut up,” he pants, fucking into her face in earnest. His orgasm is on the brink, body convulsing around her prone form as the monster ruts and chases his end selfishly. His teeth are clenched so hard he tastes blood, puffing air through his nose and snarling behind the visor. Vision red around the edges, his control is long gone as he fights her sharp nails and encroaching teeth and wild eyes. The tiniest voice begs him to stop, to look at what he’s doing, but when he sees her kneading at her mound over her pants, bucking her own hips in time with his punishing thrusts, everything lets go. He cums with a bellow, holding her there as his spend empties into her mouth. He gasps, sweat rolling down his neck and spine, the helmet almost suffocating with the heat trapped inside.

When he pulls out Xi’an gasps and the gravity of the moment makes him stumble back. Tucking himself away he watches her cough on her knees, white streaks of his cum dribbling down her face to drip onto the durasteel floor. Once she catches her breath she looks up at him, and in her flashing eyes and feral smile he realizes something dark and devastating.

He wants to do it again.

Striding past to slam open the cargo bay doors, her roughened voice calls after him.

“That’s one on the books for me, Mando. I’ll come calling soon enough.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.

Xi’an is right. It doesn’t take long for her to come to him.

A simple job gone bad, the target fleeing into hyperspace too quickly to follow. Xi’an had been seducing him in a flashy racetrack before he fled. Din had followed as her backup, watching her writhe on the target’s lap and whisper in his ear. Every now and then her eyes would flash to Din, holding the expressionless gaze of the visor as she guided another man’s hand to knead her breast.

He told himself it wasn’t supposed to affect him. He didn’t care what she did, or who touched her. The scene from that night played in his head wrapped in nausea and regret. No partner he’d ever laid with drew out that much uncertainty and self-loathing, and he wasn’t keen to return to it.

But her curves still called to him, now straddling the mark’s waist. Familiar stirrings pulled up hard against disgust as he pushed the ravenous monster back down. It had gotten louder, fiercer after taking his pleasure so brutally. It screamed to take her again.

All of her work led to nothing. The target caught Varlo stalking up to apprehend him and make a quick exit. Even with four highly skilled mercs after him his resources won out. A faster ship, quicker access to his speeder. He was just within their grasp when he blasted off and into the atmosphere.

Xi’an shrieked her frustration into the air as the team re-entered the Crest. Malk confirmed there was no point following. They’d try again when he showed up at whatever gambling circuit he fancied next. She couldn’t stop prowling the ship, head down, glaring through her lashes. Varlo got a few sharp swipes for giving away their plan, but he threw up his hands and moved into the engine bay to let her cool off. Qin reclined in his hammock, watching bemused as she tried to self-soothe with no luck.

“Mando!” she finally hisses, jerking her head sharply as she strides past him and out of the Crest. His shoulders stiffen instantly, her brother’s hot stare branding his back. Hazarding a look back, Qin’s raised eyebrow and smirk make his face burn. But he still follows.

Xi’an is around the front of the Crest, leaning against the landing gear and seething. Din comes close, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes rake over the helmet, snarl less playful and more agitated.

“I’m cashing in your debt, Mando,” she says, whipping her belt out of the loops so quickly it cracks. Din’s hands tighten on his, stance faltering.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmurs, bracing for the impact of his words. They land hard on her skin, quick steps bringing them chest to chest.

“I don’t give a flying kark what you think. I gave you my throat to cum in, it’s your turn. Give me your cock.”

Din balks, trying to disentangle from the swirling vortex of rage, but her hands are small and quick to grab at the fabric around his neck.

“Or you can give me something else, Mandalorian. Show me your face if you won’t fuck me,” she snarls, grabbing for the edge of his helmet. He yanks her arm away, but the other tries just the same. He snags it in his fist, whipping his head back when she tries to knock the helmet off. Both wrists captured he pushes her back, pinning her against the landing gear. Her hips jerk against his own, legs kicking at his shins. Some blows land, leaving dark reminders for days to come. Her bared teeth and hissing finally push him to pin both of her hands with one of his, the other coming to firmly wrap around her throat.

That finally stops her, eyes fluttering as he puts just enough pressure on her windpipe to quiet her. Hips rolling against his hardening cock, he leans in to crowd her against the durasteel mechanics.

“Is this what you want?” he husks, removing his hand from her throat to shove into her pants. The fit is tight, his thick forearm and vambrace stretching the waistband, but his skilled fingers cup her hot cunt. Even with the gloves on he can find her clit, roughly circling as she gasps and rocks against him. “Needed this attitude fucked out of you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, hooking a leg behind his thigh to pull him closer. He yanks his hand out of her pants and pushes slick-soaked leather between her lips.

“Take them off, or I won’t,” he growls, waiting for her teeth to tug his gloves off his fingers. She stares at the tawny skin, all the silvery lines cross-crossing his knuckles and fingers. He tries not to dwell on this, on how she’s already pushed him past what he knows he shouldn’t do. Jamming his hand back into her pants he buries two fingers in her wet cunt, setting a fast and firm pace that has her crying out against his overwhelming hold. The monster snarls inside him, salivating at the prospect of rucking her pants down and…

“Mando, need your cock, need you to fuck me,” she whines, just short of begging. It knots his stomach that she knows how much she’s making him lose control. The rhythmic slap of his palm on her intimate flesh has him full and hard, grip tightening as he feels her walls spasm around his flexing fingers.

“Cum like this first and I’ll see if you deserve my cock,” he rasps, buying himself enough time to calm his raging libido a fraction. He shouldn’t fuck her, shouldn’t let this go on any longer than it already has, but his body is thrumming, snapping and snarling into her as she beckons him to let go, to find something blinding in her soaked cunt.

Her orgasm clamps down on his fingers suddenly, the raw shriek making him clap his hand over her mouth. The loss of his hands pinning her wrists gives ample opportunity to rush open his pants and find his weeping cock. A few well-placed strokes has his rational mind dissolving into the single-minded concept of fucking.

He bends her over the landing gear, tearing her pants down over her ass to expose her glistening pussy. Normally that sight makes his mouth water. Instead he tugs on his cock a couple times to prepare.

“Hurry up, Mando,” Xi’an whines, arching her back higher to present her hole to him. He pushes her chest down hard, a whoosh of air escaping before he sheaths his cock in her tight pussy. The momentary ecstasy of his slick entrance washes over him, planting both hands on either side of her head. His first thrust punches a moan from her lips, followed by a litany of curses and whines as he snaps his hips fast and hard. The loud smack of skin pulls out a thin moan of his own.

“Karking Maker, Mando, you feel so good,” Xi’an croons, a momentary lapse in vitriol. It makes Din chuckle as he grunts at her wet clutch.

“This all you needed? A cock to make you bearable?” he teases, angling his hips to drill into a spot inside he knows will make her scream. She gathers air before he shoves his sticky fingers into her mouth, pinching her jaw open as he penetrates her here too. Everything is dripping and liquid and hard and soft at the same time. His own orgasm is fast approaching, a roar in his ears that he chases with fervor.

“Gonna cum again,” Xi’an gasps around his fingers, slamming back against Din’s thrusts as she chases her own end. Two people so far inside but so far apart.

Din dutifully reaches between her legs and pinches her clit, sending her toppling over into a shuddering orgasm that clenches his cock so hard he has to pull out and cum all over her other tight hole. Lightheaded and heavy-limbed, Din tries to regain a semblance of control over the situation.

This is just returning the favor.

This won’t happen again.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

Shuffling back, he uses his bare hand to scrape his cum off her ass and flick it on the ground. Xi’an pulls her pants back up as Din tucks himself away and turns to stride back into the Crest.

Stepping outside looking to be without a care in the world is Qin, licking Jogan fruit juice off his fingers as he discards the peel on the ground. Din’s whole body locks up, fight or flight response screaming at him to get away.

“Get a good eyeful brother?” Xi’an singsongs behind Din, walking past him to re-enter the ship. Qin mock-glares at her as she passes and saunters away. When his eyes land back on Din he waits for a fist or a blade to connect with his flesh. Instead Qin just shakes his head with an amused expression and follows his sister.

Dread lands heavy in Din’s belly. His grip is slipping and he’s not sure whether he’ll hang on or fall into something even harder to climb out of.

That was the last time, he says to himself as he leaves a freshly fucked Xi’an in the ‘fresher.

This time it’s over, he says as he splatters his cum on her tits.

Never again, he promises after he spills his load into her tight asshole, cursing to the Maker about how good she feels choking his dick.

He tries over and over to stop it, to tell her no, but every time she whines and needles and baits until he can’t help but bury his frustrations in her body.

It’s been months since he joined Malk’s crew, and the spoils of their missions were fat in his pocket. He knows he should sneak off to the covert, give them the credits needed to keep them safe. Or to Karga, pay him his cut of whoring out his Mandalorian. It itches in the back of his brain, the duties he’s supposed to be performing.

Instead, he ignores Karga’s messages on his holo. He spends the credits on upgrades to the Crest and Corellian whiskey and brothels. The last is in a desperate hope to rid him of his addiction to the purple Twi’lek plaguing his bed.

She stalks his days and haunts his nights, rarely away from each other. It makes it easy to let her straddle his waist in the tiny cubby of a bed and ride him until he’s dripping out of her. Sometimes she follows him when they’re on-world to the places where he spends his credits. The first time he caught her he made her watch as he fucked a plain but skilled prostitute. The following times, she joined him in his debauchery.

He tells himself it’s the last time every time, but the fire always returns. The itch under his skin. The monster that roars under Xi’an’s sharp nails and sharper tongue batters the inside of its cage and howls until Din can leave more marks on her skin. It’s feral and bloodthirsty. Definitely unhealthy.

He still can’t stop.

The bounty they lost finally turns up in a swanky hotel on Coruscant. Xi’an goes to complete the job, her cover not blown enough to approach the target again. Words and drinks pass between them before his hands are groping her beneath the table. They slink away together, Din’s helmet following their heat signatures. The man’s crotch is white fire, but Xi’an’s registers no hotter than her body temp.

Couldn’t even get her wet. He’d have her blazing by now.

Din waits for the signal to apprehend the target outside the closed hotel room. Long minutes tick by, Din’s imagination spinning wildly as he imagines the man’s fingers in her pussy, licking her clit like he can never do, spitting in her mouth like he sometimes imagines with a frightening tightness in his groin.

A trill sounds. Time for action.

Din bursts in, blaster pointed ahead of him to take in the lewd scene. Xi’an is naked on the bed, the target thrusting into her from behind. Her face is bored until she sees Din enter, lax posture trading for silky and sexy.

“What the kark-!” the target shouts, hands shooting up in surrender.

“Took you long enough, Mando, I had to put up with this paltry cock for much too long,” she sighs, arching her back and presenting her heavy tits between her arms.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” he rasps, modulator hiding the strain in his voice. Xi’an tuts, shaking her head.

“This is my mission, Mando, and I get to decide that.” She cocks her head at him, backing up against the target.

“Does it make you jealous, knowing he’s inside me right now?” she purrs, circling her hips to elicit a choked gasp. Din’s hand tightens on the blaster, forcing his posture to be neutral.

“You did what you had to,” he grits out. Xi’an shrieks out a laugh.

“I didn’t have to fuck him. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what you’d do when another man tries to cum inside me.”

Din’s arm begins to shake, and the monster snarls inside him. Mine, it roars. My fucked up little thing to break.

“What are you going to do, Mando?” she taunts, rolling her hips on the terrified man’s cock.

“What you want.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash in triumph.

“I want to bring him in cold.”

Din shoots a blaster bolt between the man’s eyes, toppling him over and onto the bedroom floor. Xi’an wastes no time crawling to the end of the bed and turning around, round ass in the air.

“Fuck him out of me, Mando.”

They pull orgasm after orgasm out of each other with a dead man on the floor. His blood stains one corner of the bedding, crimson as regret. When Din has her splayed out below him, tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts into her abused pussy, she croaks out a request.

“Take it off.”

He stills inside her, fire in his veins replaced by ice cold clarity.

“No.”

Xi’an snarls at him.

“Show me the face of the man that’s fucking me, Mandalorian.”

His hand comes up around her throat, a warning squeeze rougher than the ones he normally doles out. She quiets, but he has to flip her over to drill out his last orgasm. The disdain on her face is too much.

Seventeen missed holos from Karga. Shadows that follow him when he strides through town. And yet Din can’t pull his head above water. The light get fainter every time. During one mission he freezes in front of a snarling attack massiff and for a blissful moment wonders if its bite would kill him if he bared his throat. Varlo fells it instead, giving Din a confused look as they return to the Crest.

“You been sleeping, Mando? You seem off.”

Din bristles, stride widening.

“Don’t pretend that matters to you.”

Varlo shrugs, veering off to speak to Ranzar. The anger masks the anguish until later that night, when Din begs for the thoughlessness of sleep.

“Need some company, Mando?” Xi’an asks, like she does most nights.

It’s better than guilt, at least.

It’s not long after Xi’an’s hunt that Qin climbs up into the cockpit while Din is piloting. They just entered hyperspace, the streaks of light soothing Din. The quiet sinks into his bones, contrasted against the dread of re-entering the cargo hold. The air is thick with boredom and potential energy waiting for a spark.

He’s turning to leave, find somewhere to escape for a few more moments of peace, when Qin clears his throat. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it with folded arms. Din stills, a standoff between the two men. He was wondering when he might have to endure this conversation.

“Whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Qin starts, right to the meat of the matter. Din respects that he doesn’t pull punches. “You need to figure it out soon. You may be having the time of your life fighting…and fucking.” He sneers at this, making Din’s face scorch under the helmet. “But the longer she thinks something is going to come out of it, the worse it will be when you tell her no.” Qin shifts to stand chest to chest with Din. They’re close in height but in this moment Din feels small and sacrificial.

“She doesn’t like being told no. I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

He has. The helmet is the symbol of his refusal, and Xi’an seethes at it. More than once he’s had to pin her hands down, too bold in her touches. Some days she playfully grabs at the lip, pulling him down to her level, but doesn’t let go quick enough for Din’s liking. Other times she lays her hands on either side and it feels tender. Her eyes soften, and Din wonders if there’s a hurt girl under all the posturing that wants proof that he cares for her.

He’d told her once, as they laid in a post-coital tangle. The Creed, the helmet, why it meant so much to him. He didn’t speak of the covert, or of any other Mandalorians. They both have their own secrets.

“It’s a symbol of my fidelity,” he said. Xi’an lifted up on one elbow and studied the sharp lines and curves of the helmet, fingers tracing the impressive profile.

“How beautiful it must be, to have someone so devoted,” she murmured. “What a gift.”

It’s one he can never give her, and she can never forget it.

“If you aren’t planning on giving her what she wants,” Qin husks, leaning in with a steely gaze. “Don’t drag it out. Make it professional.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the weight of his words now on Mando’s shoulders. Qin has never been kind, but his ultimatum is a balm to Din’s anguish. He needs to end it. If he believes her to have any gentleness underneath her posturing it would be cruel to continue. There is no room in his devotions for her.

The monster inside his chest finally soothes, curls into a ball and sleeps.

She doesn’t take it well.

“You want this to stop?” she laughs, lounging against a tree. Din had deigned to tell her away from the others, wanting privacy and space for her anger to hit a flash point.

“We’re professionals. This is too messy,” Din says, keeping his voice as even and calm as he can. Her face changes from incredulity to anger.

“This isn’t over just because you get a crisis of conscience.” She pushes off the tree and stalks towards him, suspicion coloring her demeanor. “Did my brother say something to you?”

That’s a trap he’s not going to walk into.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Din says, holding his ground as she comes chest to chest, much like her sibling. How alike they are in their ruthlessness.

“Of course you can. You’ve got a perfectly good cock and talented fingers and some Maker-blessed stamina. Plus you’re filthy,” she purrs, raising goosebumps on Din’s neck. “What else does a girl need?”

Din tilts his head, watching her closely as he sees the shroud of the lie settle.

“The helmet,” he sighs, exasperated. His words hit the target. Xi’an’s features twist, shocked out of her feigned nonchalance.

“You’re ending this over a stupid little symbol?” she spits out, circling him like a prowling loth-cat. Din tenses, tempted to follow her path but knowing she’ll take advantage of it. He prepares for a blade.

“I won’t remove it for you. And I’m done fighting you trying to do it yourself.”

There’s a moment where he sees the hurt girl he’s trying to spare. It’s quickly raked back with fury. She hisses, digging her fingers into his cowl and yanking him backwards. He stumbles to his knees, his cape now wrapped around her forearms as she cuts off his air .

“All your morals and high ground as you’re spilling as much blood as we are, Mando. Defiling my body as you pray to your Creed. You’ll be crawling back to my cunt in no time, and I’ll slit your throat before I let you make a fool out of me.” Just as his vision begins to darken she releases her hold, letting painful lungfuls of air back into his chest. One boot kicks him square in the back, and he topples forward into the dirt.

“You’ll regret this, Mandalorian.”

She storms off to the Crest, leaving him gasping and coughing. He wishes, not for the first time, that he never shook Malk’s hand, never let them onto the Crest, never let Karga talk him into this.

He wishes for time to stop, to take back everything the last months had carved out of his soul. For a bed, and a soothing touch.

(where is she now? Could she ever look at him the same way, after all he’s done?)

“New assignment,” Malk calls down, a groan of relief lifting the mood in the hold. “Big yield, and even bigger hush money.”

Qin grins, jostling his sister as Malk descends to them. She nods, listless since their argument. Din prefers that to the rage. It still pulls at a confusing feeling in his chest, something akin to regret.

“Where we off to? I’ve been itching to get out of this karking morgue,” Varlo gripes, taking the holopad from Malk.

“Cleanup effort on Alzoc III. There’s some mines infested with a local species the mining company needs cleared out. Not sentient, but territorial. Mando, need you in the air. Varlo, running logistics. Qin, Xi’an, you’re with me doing ground work.”

Din rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. A big haul should set everyone up for a good while. Improve spirits, and maybe give him the boost to break away from this group that only becomes more hostile by the day. His silence will cost him, but with enough credits he may be able to buy himself back into the covert, and the Guild’s good favor.

Alzoc III it is.

The planet is icy and hostile, vast snow-swept tundras and sharp peaks slicing up into the permanently gray skies. The harsh weather eats up heat from the outside in, the Crest’s life support systems working overtime to keep the interior above freezing. Din had to pull out a heavier flight suit, the other crew members donning furs and goggles in preparation for the mission. Xi’an had taken to glaring at Mando any time he was in the room, so he’d stayed in the cockpit for most of the trip. Malk had scoffed at him, standing behind the pilot’s chair as Din maneuvered them out of hyperspace.

“Women problems, Mando?”

Din did not deign to give him an answer, but Malk persisted.

“Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. A man of your experience should be more careful,” he says, clapping a hand on Din’s paudron. He tenses, but Malk releases him quickly after and heads into the tense hold with a snicker under his breath.

Din can’t wait to have the Crest to himself. Months of close quarters were making him itchy with tension, a constant frenetic thrum under his skin that he can’t even fuck out now. Varlo’s company would be silent at least. Plus a simple point-and-shoot mission has its appeal. The rest of the dossier states that the mines are overrun to the point that they can’t send in crews to extract the planet’s precious commodities.

Varlo plots a multi-stage assault; Malk, Xi’an and Qin would place bombs at mine entrances and pick off anything that could tip off the plan. Once at their sniper posts, Din would aerial attack the mines from above, detonating the bombs and dropping his own payloads to collapse strategic parts of the tunnels. The mining company provided blueprints, and designated the choke points that would create the least amount of cleanup effort for them after the fact.

In retrospect, when Din’s nightmares push into this shadowy period of his life, it was so well thought out it should have made him pause. They didn’t need highly skilled mercenaries, they needed bodies to carry out this plan. What the company really bought was silence, and anonymity.

Din circles the Crest just out of range of the mines, waiting for the go signal from Malk. Varlo lounges in the jump seat, occasionally speaking through his communicator. Din doesn’t much enjoy conversing with Varlo, so of course this is the time he decides to be chatty.

“So, was she purple like…all over?” Varlo says, raising the hackles on Din’s back.

“You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d love to tell you,” Din replies calmly, banking a little harder to the left than he means to. Varlo chuckles low in his throat, his gaze burning into Din’s back.

“I mean I could, but it’s more professional curiosity. I’m surprised she hasn’t gutted you in your sleep yet.”

“Mando, time to shine!” Malk’s voice rings from the Crest’s holocomm.

“Roger,” Din murmurs, the muscle memory of his training kicking in as the Crest dives into the valley. Everything that’s plagued him for months - the loss of control, the cloying atmosphere, Xi’an’s magnetic push and pull - all fades into the background when he’s flying. His shoulders loosen, grip on the controls firm but relaxed. The lift and dip of the Crest is a familiar dance, lapping waves on a beach he’s never visited but somehow always knows.

Then the first explosion appears through the transparisteel, and he dives into action.

The entire assault lasts maybe a quarter hour. Each explosion triggered by Malk is timed with another bomb Varlo releases out the cargo doors. The more powerful weapons hit their mark, miles of tunnels collapsing with shifting snow to fill in the depressions. Sometimes a small group of moving creatures - barely perceptible - burst from an entry, and the on-ground team quickly eradicates them. Din isn’t even sure he feels the cold creeping into the ship, too wrapped up in the warmth of a skill he’s honed for decades being used to its utmost ability.

“That’s it, Mando, we’ll bring her down to pick up the rest at the hanger pad.” Varlo indicates a vast stretch of buildings, no doubt some shipping operation, with a generous landing zone. Din wonders how much trade must happen on this desolate planet, and how pitiful their price must be compared to the credits the company rakes in.

Once landed, Varlo leaves to speak with their contact and provide a final report. Malk gets the payment, but he’ll be a little while traipsing across the frozen grounds. Din takes the lack of anyone on his ship as a brief moment of respite, checking for any potential damage and wandering through the cluttered living space. His annoyance at the mess is less than usual, the silence after a job well done vastly improving his mood.

Deeper in the ship checking on engine function, Din hears a clatter. His shoulders slump again. He’d hoped for a little more peace and quiet before they returned. Trudging out to the cargo bay, he’s met with an even stranger sight.

Varlo left the cargo door open, the windbreak from the surrounding buildings keeping the elements at a minimum. Instead of the crew ascending the ramp, two furred creatures freeze just inside the warmth of the Crest. The larger one puts its body between Din and the smaller one, four black pearl eyes locked on him. His hand itches to grab his blaster, absolutely certain these are the creatures infesting the mines. They’re supposed to be hostile, ferocious and powerfully strong. He might be able to take one, but two could be a problem. He steels himself for a charge, but the larger one holds up one long-clawed hand, three fingers spread in the universal symbol for wait.

Din stops, confusion and a cold pit of dread opening in his stomach. The larger creature looks back at the smaller one, stroking its face as they make high pitched chirps and buzzes at each other through strange tubular mouths. Their fur is matted white and gray, easy to blend in on the tundra, as they tower taller than most bipedal creatures Din has encountered. The brief conference concluded, the larger creature rummages in its fur.

Din snaps his hand to his blaster, unholstering it in a flash to point at the creatures. The smaller one squeals - Din swears it’s in terror - and the larger one whips its head up to look at Din. It stills, one hand now held out overflowing with baubles. Din’s blaster falters as the creature takes a tentative step forward, offering lustrous milky pearls. His throat closes up, but his training keeps his weapon on them. At his lack of movement the creature looks back at the smaller one, urging it forward. It holds their faces together, foreheads touching as plaintive whines cut through the air. The pearls transfer, and the larger of the two urges the smaller forward.

Din can’t breathe, chest banded with horror. The littler creature holds out the offering, clicking and chirping as the larger one waits back. It’s all too clear to a man who lost his family in a war he did not understand what this transaction is, and what the consequences of his actions means. He drops the blaster, stepping towards the creatures. They shrink back in fear, but the little one still holds out shaking hands, pearls dropping to clink on the durasteel floor.

“I…” he says, heart hammering in his throat. The larger one - the mother, he thinks - raises its head with something like hope.

“What the kark?!” Varlo shouts, ascending the ramp. Din tries to speak, to explain that everything has gone so wrong in a handful of moments, but Varlo’s blaster is already out.

Three bolts, loosed with deadly efficiency, and the smaller creature falls, pearls scattering on the floor and rolling away. The shriek of the larger creature will haunt Din for years, as clear as the day he heard it when he finds another pearl lost in the ship.

“No!” Din screams, but Varlo is already turning to the charging creature. Three powerful swipes knock him down, blood spurting into snow, before he fells the creature with another series of blaster bolts. Then it’s just Din, gasping amongst the gore. Sobs wrench his throat, hot tears running down his cheeks as he shakes on his feet.

“Fuck, Mando…need…kit,” Varlo gasps. The creature cut him deep, flashes of white bone peeking through the layers of flesh. Blood dribbles from his lips, teeth stained red as he struggles to breathe. His voice is faraway and tinny, but Din’s body answers. He walks numbly to Varlo’s side, kneeling beside the man’s mutilated body.

“They were sentient,” he says, and the horror blends into anger, one hotter and more encompassing than any he’s ever felt.

“Get me a Maker-damned bacta shot!” Varlo burbles, a rough cough spraying blood on Din’s chestplate. He’s not sure when he decided to slit Varlo’s throat, but one moment he’s alive, the next he’s laid out with unseeing eyes, the messy slash of a vibroblade mimicking the brutal claw marks.

He doesn’t remember moving the creatures’ bodies, laying them down on the icy ground outside the Crest.

He doesn’t remember what he tells the others when they return. Xi’an and Qin stalk by, barely affected. Malk chews the inside of his cheek, staring at Varlo’s corpse for a few moments before entering the Crest.

“Split is four ways now. First come first serve to his things. We take off in 5.”

Din doesn’t recall where his body was during takeoff, or once they got into hyperspace. The events play like a holovid missing an actor, feelings and sensations eerily absent. He thinks he piloted them off world, attributed to muscle memory. He remembers a conversation, but not with who, or why it began.

“The species was sentient. They tried to barter to get on the ship.”

“Mando….”

“One attempted to sacrifice itself for the other. An animal can’t do that.”

“We got paid not to ask questions.”

“That wasn’t a mission. That was genocide.”

“You’ve done worse, Mando. We all have.”

Except that wasn’t true. In the song of Din Djarin, this would always be his greatest sin.

One tip to the New Republic was all it took. A set of coordinates and a date and time. Malk wanted to gamble and whore after Alzoc III, and Qin and Xi’an had no qualms. Din only sat silently, the days since the genocide bleeding into one another. Xi’an had tried to tease him about it - seems like you lucked out against those claws - but his cold turn of the head and quick exit quieted her tongue.

He waited for them to leave, credits in hand, before reporting their whereabouts to the New Republic garrison. He conveniently left himself and the Crest out, detailing his crewmates’ crimes and exactly where they would be. Then he laid low, waiting for enough time to pass so as to not arouse suspicion.

He would not see Qin or Malk for many more years, though he’d hear of their escape from some Guild contacts. Not much could hold either of them for long. Xi’an didn’t leave him so quietly.

“Karking traitor!” she screams, leaping on his back outside of the Crest. A blade sinks into his shoulder, ripping a cry from his lips. She pulls it out and drives it back in his bicep, his hands scrabbling to throw her off. She gets him two more times before he crushes her against the Crest’s hull, knocking her grip loose. His left arm is screaming, blood pouring down his fingers.

“After all we did for you, you turned us in?!” Her knife hits home again, swinging to stab into his calf and the meat of his thigh in quick succession. Din disarms her, skittering the knife away, before landing a blow in the center of her chest that, with a little more force, could have stopped her cruel heart. She lies gasping on the ground, eyes wide and wild as they look at him towering over her. For a moment that uncomfortable feeling pulls at him again, something like regret and remorse and a mourning of what could have been. It weakens him enough to kneel down, body screaming.

“I’m sorry…” he tries to say, the next words lost in his turmoil. Sorry for starting whatever fucked-up thing they had between them? Sorry for not being able to give her what she wanted? Sorry for how it was destined to end?

Another blade sinks into his side, ripping down as she screeches.

“You are nothing but a traitor, Mandalorian. Betrayer of your allies, of your Creed. I hope your Maker-damned helmet ends up in the gutter with your corpse.”

He yanks the blade free, head dizzy at the realization that much of his blood is on the ground instead of inside him. He puts one hand around Xi’an’s neck and squeezes down. She’s out in seconds, dragged to the hangar entrance for the New Republic guards to find. Safe or not, he takes off with the Crest and manages to close up enough of his wounds with the cauterizer to stop the bleeding, burnt flesh singing his nostrils. He blindly dials in coordinates for Nevarro, barely staying conscious through the jump. Once autopilot kicks in he dips into darkness.

The Guild takes him back. Begrudgingly. He pays his dues and offers them the pearls the creature spilled across the hold. Their value surprises him, almost annoyed he didn’t save some for himself, but the thought of his own pockets lined with treasures given by the dead chills his blood. He leaves them all with Karga, and waits for the distrust to fade from his face.

The covert welcomes him back with disapproval. His wounds spare him for a few weeks, sequestered from the rest of his people. It makes him ache, the obvious disappointment of his alor and the wariness of his fellow Mandalorians. The rumors swirl about where and why he was gone so long, why their beroya would betray them. He takes his penance, every blow and setback and humiliation. It is no worse than how he punishes himself.

When he returns to the Crest, tucked in the back of a trusted hangar, the mess strewn about the hold claws at his throat. He removes every memory of those months, setting belongings and refuse outside the cargo doors for scavengers to pick through. Even his own personal items make it into the pile, the memories attached to them too painful.

He cleans the ship top to bottom. No more hammocks strung from every corner. No more constant noise. No more ever-mounting tension. Just durasteel and silence.

It takes a full day to bring the Crest back to pre-Malk condition. The darkness surrounds Din, and after weighing the pros and cons of returning in the night he closes the cargo door. Shuttling open the small cubby sleeping space, he crawls in and settles on his side. The door slides shut with the lights dimming soon after.

Din lies there as his body slowly quiets, his armor digging into his sore shoulder, tender ribs and neck. Piece by piece he removes it, laying the shining examples of his honor beside him. The helmet is last, and it’s the first time in months he’s been able to breathe without it inside his own ship. The pillow is measly under his head, but he sinks down with a sigh. Arms tucked into his chest, knees pulled up to his stomach, surrounded by the walls of his ship and nothing else, he lets himself mourn the deeds he’d done. It will be far from the last time, but this is the rawest, the most painful as he let the shame grip him. Once exhaustion wins the hums and whirrs of the Crest lull him to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about Xi’an. It’s a lie of omission - you never prod him on his past, and he rarely asks about yours. There’s no reason to dredge up pain. If you want to offer something you do, and if you truly ask him he’ll offer pieces of his own. But you’re not swapping stories around the fire. So he sees no reason to tell you.

Until one day, he does.

It was the perfect sandstorm of triggers. A child snarling at her brother, then squealing out a laugh that cuts through his head. The singing of blades through the air as some men toss them at a target. A purple Twi’lek between you and Din, reaching out a hand to clap your shoulder. Din’s hurried steps bring him to your side in record time, helmet tilted down in challenge but the Twi just looks at him curiously and takes a step back. Your own brow knits, a bag of supplies in hand.

He tries to center himself back on the Crest, busying his racing thoughts with jump calculations and messages to contacts about the Jedi. It works until you climb up to the cockpit, leaning against the console as he turns his attention to you.

“Bean found something in the ship, I thought it might be important,” you say, holding out your upturned palm.

A pearl.

He thought he’d found them all, but the child’s nosiness unearthed one last bloody memory. He freezes, hands tight on the console.

“Been holding onto some treasure?” you tease, but your face is uneasy as you sense the tension in the air. “I’ll put it somewhere safe, maybe we can barter it…”

“No,” Din rebukes sharply, snapping the visor to you. Your eyes widen, chest curling in on yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly, hand closing around the painful object. Din slumps, leaning forward and hanging his head.

“I’m sorry, it’s…nothing good will come of that. It was bought with blood,” he says quietly.

“So are most things on the Crest,” you say, wrapping your arms around your middle. Din heaves in a breath.

“Not the same kind.”

And so he tells you the story of Ranzar Malk and his employment, of the acidic crew and the six cloying months he spent with them. Of Xi’an and her allure, and the pain it caused. Of Alzoc III. Of the pearls.

You listen in silence, watching as Din relates his darkest story. The shame burns his skin, eats at his stomach, sours his tongue. How can he possibly redeem himself in your eyes after this? Would you ever look at him the same again?

Once he finishes, and the quiet of the ship pervades, you move to stand between his parted knees. Two hands settle on his shoulders, and without reservation he wraps his arms around and lays his head just below your breasts. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of your breathing cools his pain.

“Have you seen any of them since?” you ask. Din huffs out a sigh.

“Malk hired me for a job a few months back. Didn’t tell me the mission, just relied on a debt being repaid and the Crest still flying.” Din shifts against you, considering leaning away, but your firm hands keep him held to your chest.

“Was it bad?”

“We were rescuing Qin from a prison ship. Xi’an was there, set me up to be killed by the new team. I left them there.” After the draining retelling, he can’t bring himself to extrapolate on the tense reunion.

Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.

I did what I had to.

Oh, but you liked it.

You were hired to do a job, so do it.

Isn’t that your code?

Aren’t you a man of honor?

“Thank you for telling me,” you finally say, stroking your thumbs along the line of his shoulders. “That was…difficult. To tell, I’m sure. It was hard to hear.” Din fists your shirt, squeezing his eyes closed at what will surely come.

“You made decisions and you’ve suffered the consequences of them.” You cup the back of his neck through his cowl. “And if you think I haven’t made a terrible decision about who to trust, I have stories I can share. Later,” you say, lightness in your voice. It makes Din lean back to look at your face. If you could see his, you would know his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and wet, as you stroke the sharp lines of his helmet. You’re the only one he trusts to touch.

“Did you think I would hate you for this?” you ask, and Din’s nod is barely perceptible but you feel it. “You’ll surprise me, and terrify me many more times Mando, but you’ll never drive me away. The galaxy is only shades of gray.”

He lets you hold him for a time, hands soothing on his worn body. Your acceptance doesn’t heal him. By now he’s not sure anything will. But it balms the wound enough to breathe easier.

It’s the beginning of letting himself know you, and be known by you. When you say that your best friend taught you how to skip rocks, he asks how you met her. When you look on in wonder as he dresses a piece of game, he explains how his buir taught him survival hunting. And when the child wraps his tiny claw around Din’s thumb and he strokes it gently, you ask him if he has a son somewhere.

“No,” Din answers, the child warm in his arm and your body close enough to coax into his, if he would dare let himself want it. “But the Creed states the importance of caring for foundlings, and raising warriors.”

You hum and smile, turning back to your task, and for a moment much longer than fleeting, Din lets himself wonder if this is what a clan is supposed to feel like, and when it grew from two to three.

END

Interlude 2 of the I Think of You series

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