#din djarin body guard fanfiction

[weirdsociology]

Distractions (The Mandalorian, E)

Title: Distractions (6.6k)

Series: Part one of Creed, a non-linear series about Din Djarin and his favorite... distraction. 

Description: An artifact from the Mandalorian's past leads to trying something new - and remembering the past.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, sex toys, fingering, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, oral sex, penetrative sex, implied violence, spit, a touch of size kink, light manhandling, very mild D/s in all directions because we love a switch in this house, no betas we die like men, canon what canon

Tropes: hurt/comfort, idiots with feelings, angst but it all works out in the end, the helmet stays on

Author's note: I blacked out, I don't know what happened, and frankly I'm embarrassed that the first fanfic I've written in 20 years is kind of fluffy and not significantly more insane. This little offering is canon timeline-agnostic; I just wanted to give our armored dumbass a happy ending. Please don't think this reflects my personality, I am spiritually covered in the blood of my enemies at all times. Also there is one small bit of truth from my personal life in here and I'll give you a hint: it wasn't flashbangs, it was bayonets. This one is for @tarabyte3 who got me excited about what fanfiction can do again.

***

Sometimes, it's hard to sleep in hyperspace. A ship this old doesn't have the automated circadian rhythm programs that dim the lights according to species preference, and all the daylight bulbs are second-hand, their blueness dimmed by repeated use. Darkness is in plentiful supply, but that's only half the equation of an artificial night. You do your best, careful to check the time reads on the navigational display, and adhere to a schedule as much as you can. It helps give structure to long periods of transit, and you know that ten years from now, your body and mind will thank you for being careful to guard their rest.

The Mandalorian, by contrast, doesn't have a diurnal cycle as far as you've been able to tell. His sleep patterns are pure anarchy, having nothing to do with mood or physical need. Sometimes he'll spend a week getting no more rest than a few brief, truncated minutes on the ground after trekking in harsh terrain. Sometimes you'll go looking for him after a quiet stretch in flight and he'll be in the bed he calls his rack, completely dormant for the next fourteen standard hours. You don't know how he does it. He lives like someone who fully expects to die before their body has enough years to register protest - which on the one hand makes you anxious, and on the other you find it hard to blame him for.

Still, despite all your attendance to regularity, there are nights - times - when you can't sleep. Especially when you are headed past the Outer Rim, and the length of travel means nothing to do except read and watch holovideos you've already seen and eat stale food and exercise in cramped, artificial repetition. Nothing new to look at, nothing new to do.

Which is how you end up awake at this hour, dressed in nothing but your bandeau and shorts with goosebumps pebbling your legs as you lean over one of the big crates in the cargo bay. You're digging through the thermoplastic case that holds the Mandalorian's personal possessions, looking for one of the old holonovels you're sure he has stowed, when you find it. A smooth, round black cylinder with a cap on each end. At first, you suspect it's yet another esoteric firearm - but then why isn't it in the weapons locker above?

Curious, you gingerly remove the cap from one end. Life on the ship has taught you to be cautious about any unfamiliar object. You don't know if it's normal Mandalorian living style to have to shove aside a mountain of electronic flashbangs when looking for clean blankets, but it's certainly normal for this one.

What's inside isn't like any weapon you've ever seen. The cylinder is filled with something soft and yielding, silicone or plastisilk you think, and it gives disconcertingly when you brush a thumb over it. There's a small bore in the middle about the diameter of your finger, but the polymer feels like it would stretch. It's textured near where the cap would fit, small ridges inside and a gentle flowering of protuberances around the borehole. Almost like -

You stand up, unsure whether to blush or laugh, and snap the cap back on. You've certainly found something new this time; something that might help break the monotony of space travel if you approach the topic - and Mando - correctly. If you're right there should be something else nearby, something that would make this a little more... usable.

There is. A discreet bottle, neatly wrapped in plain paper.

You take cylinder and bottle and step out in the corridor from the bay, checking the location of your fellow crew. Mando is not in his rack or the lockers, which means he's in the cockpit. The Child is in his usual nest. It's late, and the kid should be asleep for a long while yet. You jam the - the toy, you suppose - and the bottle into one hand and climb your way up the ladder, half appalled at your boldness and half delighted at the thought of making your Mandalorian squirm for once. You're secretly hoping to catch him out, tease him with the evidence of his private sexual habits, a friendly nip around the edges of his Creed. 

"Look what I found," you say as you approach the pilot's chair. His head is turned away from you, bent over something in the navcomp, his long legs in front of him as stretched out as they can be in the small space. He hums an acknowledgement and takes a moment to finish entering something before he looks over his shoulder. You offer the cylinder to him flat across your palms, like a knight offering a loyal blade, which you hope is both funny and at least a little charming.

It doesn't work. He's still looking at you. You wave it in front of him instead, resisting the urge to waggle your eyebrows. The helmet drops to consider the cylinder, then you. "I'd forgotten I had that. Where did you find it?"

You stop, hands still outstretched. "Forgot-- your crate in the cargo bay, but... is this what I think it is?"

Mando can't raise his own eyebrows at you, but his chin twitches upward in the way you've learned to interpret is the same thing. "Do you think it's a cock sleeve? Because it is."

"Is that what you call it?"

"I've always been less concerned about what to call it than how to use it," he says. He's fully turned to face you now. The conversation is not going as you imagined. You flush and he gives you an appraising look, taking in your half-undressed state.

"Isn't that... Against your Creed?" How does he do this. How does he always turn the tables. How is it you're the one quailing under the calm scrutiny of his helmet. You'd meant this as a good-natured ribbing, not a come-on, but suddenly you're picturing what you were decidedly not thinking about earlier - Mando, years ago, alone in his rack or fresh from a hunt, with his beskar still on and his arming jacket rucked up, screwing the toy down onto himself with his fist. The thought makes heat pool between your legs. It also makes you a little melancholy. Suddenly you want to fuck him and hold him in equal measure.

"You weren't always here, you know," he says calmly, honest and unembarrassed as he is shockingly honest and unembarrassed about everything to do with sex. He reaches for you, captures your wrists, pulls you further into the cockpit and down into his lap. You thrill as always at his casual possessiveness, his desire to be close. At the breadth of his shoulders under your hands. "The Creed isn't against pleasure, only distraction. Sometimes it's more distracting to make your body suffer than to give it what it wants."

"Like me?" you ask. It's a joke that once would have stung, an echo of your first night together - you are nothing to me but a distraction from my work - but it's an old wound, long since rubbed over by the smooth edges of time and shared affection.

An amused huff through the modulator. "Like you," he agrees, and though the helmet dampers every inflection you now know, where once you only imagined, the statement is fond.

***

You'd been traveling together for months, a reluctant passenger paired with an unhappy custodian. It had been weeks since the first time the tension between you rose to the breaking point, pulling his hands to you like a gravity well. You were now fucking the Mandalorian regularly, enthusiastically, and, at least to you, inadequately. Regardless of how well you took him, how perfectly he fit when he slicked and stretched his way into you, your heart hammered the same rhythm: no room, no room. His attitude toward you had made that abundantly clear. There was no room for you in his life, on his ship, in his Creed. You were his... distraction. That's all.

You mostly ignored it. When you were working or hunting, you barely thought about it. You pushed the thought down and stored it away to keep from slicing yourself on its sharp edges. But there were moments when it pressed forward again, tumbling out of the drawer of your heart in disarray. The Mandalorian was behind you or over you or under you and you were crying out the name you knew him by even as your blood rushed in your ears demanding more. Not more sex, not more of the heavy punch of his hips against you or the feeling of his hands in your hair, but more of him. You wanted him. You wanted everything.

You wanted to know what it kriffing meant when he called you his distraction.

And sometimes, after you had been fucked within an inch of your life and left lying on your bunk or still pressed against the weapons locker, it hurt a breathtaking amount.

You were pretty sure the Mandalorian was not unaware of how he affected you. Beyond that first epithet which became routine, he was not intentionally cruel. Away from the heat that flared between you and his resentment at his own inability to ignore it, he was considerate and distant and respectful. Unfailingly polite. You loathed every moment of it with a growing bitterness that threatened to replace food and sleep. It reminded you of the time you'd run into a recruiter after she’d turned you down for a job. Sorry kid, you had your chance to convince me and you blew it. Except Mando, being Mando, had never given you a chance at all.

It was worse when you fucked. For weeks, you had resolved over and over to put an end to his careful handling of you. Better an angry rebuttal or cold silence than... whatever this pitiful halfway connection was. Next time he approached you with that weight in his step or crowded you into a corner, too close, you would force his hand. You knew that was the time to do it, when you had his full attention and the bargaining chip of your body. You'd seize his wandering gaze and stare into the helmet: "Why do you call me a distraction?"

You had told yourself this a dozen times. But his practiced fingers were already slipping inside you and all you could do was whine as his modulated voice, sounding not quite human, breathed a word that meant nothing to you in your ear: Mesh'la, mesh'la, mesh'la.

***

You had entreated him to show you how he used it, before you joined his crew. Before, as he drily puts it while running a gloved hand up your thigh and teasing along the waistband of your shorts, he had a far superior array of options. Now you're mostly naked in the dim light, seated between his spread legs, his helmet tipped against the headrest as he leans back. You're watching the arched column of his throat, watching his gloved fingers wrapped around the cylinder and most of all, watching his thick cock disappear into the plush expanse of the toy. He's hard but not fully erect, probably because you refused to touch him until you got to see him touch himself. Not that you needed to threaten - you both know that Din, and it's Din now, in the privacy of the cockpit with both of you partially undressed and warmth radiating from him, will deny you nothing where his body is concerned. Except, of course, his face.

His cock is stirring to full attention, and you suspect it has more to do with your rapt gaze on him than his own ministrations. It's a novelty for you to watch him for once. The way you two fuck, he normally has the better view, pulling back to see your cunt swallow his length and hear you moan in gratitude. He likes to watch you touch yourself while you're speared on him, chasing your own orgasm as you clench. He likes to see your thighs tremble when you ride him, and your face when he makes you come too much. "One more, mesh'la, one more for me, let me see you," he'll croon, as one hand worships your sore clit and the other bats away your arm as you try to bury your face in the crook of your elbow. Din likes to watch anything that shows him how good he makes you feel.

Your Mandalorian might be on to something, you decide. Watching certainly has its appeal. You can hear the soft slide of the toy, see the tension in his forearms and his stomach even through his tunic, his breath through the helmet fast but even. He looks gorgeous like this, a warrior half-undone for your enjoyment. You slide the palms of your hands up his thighs and run them lightly along the bare skin peeking through where he's partially shucked himself of armor and clothing. His breathing alters a little, hitching as your skin makes contact with his.

"How does it feel?" you ask, watching the steady rise and fall of the cylinder. You idly trace a finger up his groin and along the sensitive skin just under his sack. He hisses, and you twitch in response to the noise you know so well, your cunt giving a little spasm as if to remind you of its needs.

After a moment, Din answers your question. "Tight, but not warm. Better than nothing but... Like a ration bar when I have a meal right in front of me," he adds pointedly, and one booted foot slides between your folded knees, leather rubbing along the seam of your sex to make his point clear. "I like that you like looking at me, but we could have bought a mirror instead. I could be fucking you in front of it right now."

Your cheeks warm as you think about it: Din, arching over your back, holding your chin, making you watch your own face as he nudges the head of his cock into you. You don't know how you'd feel staring at yourself like that, but your cunt twitches again, letting you know that more important parts of you fully approve of the concept. The helmet has dropped back down. He's observing your reaction. You file the idea away for later. "I like seeing you like this, though. Did you really never use it after you met me?"

A chuckle. "Oh, I used it. Before... when you were first here. I used it so much I think I did permanent damage."

A little shiver of heat winds up from the base of your spine. This is new information. But he's not done. "Which is why I should be allowed to show you how much I appreciate you, not this plastic junk." He makes a show of slowing down, grinding up into the toy and letting out an exaggerated groan. You know he's still watching you closely, waiting for his cue.

You give him a wicked grin. "Sometimes... it's more distracting to make your body suffer than give it what it wants." Din groans for real in response, but you have other things on your mind. "Back before... when you... were you thinking of me?"

He makes an uninterpretable noise. "Oh no, mesh'la, I wasn't thinking of you. Only of your hips. And your hair. And your tits. And your ass. And your cunt, and if I could get you wet for me, and what that pretty mouth would look like around me, and how you'd sound when I put my cock down your throat."

"... Fuck," you say breathlessly. What started as a flutter has become an aching, empty pulse. "Fuck, Din," and you lean forward, bringing your face almost close enough to nuzzle where he's still sheathed in the toy, breathing in his scent. It has the unintended effect of driving the tip of his boot further into you, a solid mass pushing on the thrumming bundle of nerves between your legs.

When you first started doing this, he said very little to you. You could read nothing in his body except desire and frustration, both of which he extinguished in the furnace of your sex. Later, after Mos Eisley, when anger was no longer the single note of your shared existence, he talked to you constantly. The man of few words outside the ship became the man of many words when he was buried inside you. He told you what he was going to do to you, what he wanted to do to you, how good you felt and what you did to him. He talked like he was trying to construct a gilded cage of words you wouldn't fly away from. You had been dumbfounded by the change, shy and unsure, unable to find a way to reassure him you had already stooped to his lure. Part of you was afraid that if he knew the truth - that you'd have him any way he wanted, silent or talkative or babbling in Tuskan sign - he would stop. He hadn't, but the stream had slowed. More deliberate, less frantic. Somehow even more indecent.

He's being indecent right now, timing the strokes of the toy with his words. "I wanted you every morning and twice at night." Down. "I couldn't think - could barely shoot straight." Back up. "I wanted to bend you over the crates and fuck you until you felt the same." A slow slide back down. "Fill you up with me until you cried, until you knew you were mine, until that sweet cunt wouldn't want anyone else." Up, until just the tip of him is still out of sight. He's losing his even tone, the modulator turning gasps into static. "And then I did fuck you, and it got so much worse. You let me pull you open and put my cock in the hottest, wettest place in the galaxy and-- are you really going to come on my boot instead of letting me fuck you?"

You come to with a little start, pulled aware by the abrupt shift in subject. There's dampness under you, and you realize you've been rocking back and forth on his boot, rubbing the folds of your cunt against the worn leather, and moaning into his lap while he talks. It feels so good to be here, sitting at his feet as he strokes himself for you, hearing the jagged details of your shared past transformed by pleasure. The scruff of the boot against you, the bite of a seam into your tenderest flesh, the smell - steel and old smoke and hot sand - so uniquely Mandalorian it has you panting for him.

"Din," you breathe. "Stop -- stop. I want to feel you."

That's all it takes. The toy is gone in an instant, he's off the pilot's chair and dragging you upright and his half-bare hips are against yours, crowding you into the console. His cock is painfully hard against you, already smeared with precum and the lubricant that makes someone of his size using a toy like that even possible. You realize with dizzy delight that this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you without preamble, pushing his way in, making you feel every inch of his invasion. The pleasurable burn of your cunt adjusting to his girth will be revenge for making him use the toy - a revenge he knows you will enjoy.

More leather, this time at your mouth. The feel of his glove as he curls his fingertips under your chin. "Spit," he commands, and you do.

"Good girl. Now turn around."

***

It was after the first time he'd had you in the cockpit that you'd found the courage to ask. It had already been one of the worst days of your life, what more was there to lose? You were so numb there was no cliff you wouldn't jump off, no risk you wouldn't take. If you asked and the answer was indifference, well, it was just one more pain to add to the litany: your cracked lips, your shredded feet, your bruised ribs, your bloodied hands. And soon, maybe, your broken heart.

Mando had left, as he always did, after you were done, leaving you on the steel floor mostly naked and entirely without the desire to stand on your own. You told yourself that you would simply sleep there, if you had to, rather than getting back up on your cut soles. After all, you'd slept in worse places recently. Though you'd meant it to be fierce the thought sounded pathetic even to you.

The sound of boots climbing up the ladder interrupted your self-pity. Mando had not only come back, he had come back with a box: the medkit he kept in a crate in the cargo bay. He knelt beside you on the floor and started to lift you to him, one hand on your back and one hand under your knees. It was close and familiar in the worst possible way, like the fuck wasn't, and you made a hoarse inhuman noise and tried to kick him. You slammed a broken toe into a beskar vambrace instead and then you screamed for real.

He was patient with you and you hated it with every aftershock of white-hot rage in your body. You struggled even once he managed to get you up in his arms. After a bad moment where you thought you might actually try to bite him, he stopped attempting to haul you down the ladder and dropped both of you into the pilot's chair abruptly instead, pulling his hands away like you'd burned him. "Hey, it's me, just me, the one who's on your side," he'd said, attempting a touch of humor, and strangely it was the buzz of the modulator, so unlike the voices you'd been hearing for the past few days, that had incrementally slowed your galloping heart.

The medkit was in reach and at first he was gentle but even that was too much. You pulled away without leaving the chair, putting distance between you and that damned helmet. All you wanted was to rest, except you were afraid of what you might have time to think about if you did. There was a tense minute as he resumed his work with gauze and tape and bacta spray, but even in your exhausted state you somehow felt him make the decision to stop trying to be tender. He took your cue and bandaged you with impersonal efficiency, like you were a soldier in his regiment or a fellow Mandalorian. It made his touch tolerable, and you were so tired you almost resented him for it.

By the time he was done, you were nearly asleep. You heard the click of the medkit closing and, calmer now, a little more returned to yourself, braced for him to lift you down the ladder. But he surprised you by making no move to get up, resting his hands on his legs, around you but not on you. You could tell he was waiting for something but not what. Maybe it was something from you, but you were all out of give. It was his turn.

Another moment of silence, then momentary confusion as you both spoke at once:

"I have to tell you so--"

"Mandalorian, why are you--"

He stopped. You pressed on. "Why are you always calling me a distraction?" Your tone was flat. You sounded like you could be asking about the price of power cells.

The helmet twisted. This was clearly not the direction he expected your post-coital, post-triage conversation to take. "Because you're distracting."

You thought anger might be the only thing keeping you upright. "Not good enough. What the fuck are we even doing here? Why did you come after me? You told me we were done, that you didn't owe me anything. You could have left me there and pocketed the bounty for yourself. They would have let me go once they convinced themselves I didn't have the information.” A lie, but he doesn’t need to know that. “That doesn't sound like I'm just a distraction."

"I said you're distracting, and you are. That's different." You were sure he was being pedantic but your tired brain couldn't keep up with Mando at his most evasive. "You're not just a distraction. I don't make a habit of coming back for-- distractions."

Coming back for was a polite euphemism for the amount of killing Mando had done in the past few hours. None of it mattered to you if he was doing it because of his damned Creed. Maybe none of it mattered at all. Maybe you had kept your mouth shut for nothing. Your chest hurt and you had no idea if it was because of your ribs or because of your heart. You kept going.

"It makes no difference if I'm a distracting fuck or something worth coming back for or a kriffing bantha, Mando. I'm still..." Exhaustion made you blunt. "I'm still against your Creed."

He made a noise that could have been agreement, or negation. "The Creed is not against pleasure. Or companionship. Only... distractions." He sounded like he was reading out of a textbook. You'd heard it all before. You had wrung everything out of him you could about his Creed, because you wanted to find somewhere to fit. That was all he'd ever said.

He surprised you again. "Distraction is a-- it's not easy to describe. It's not as simple as wasting time or effort. Distractions are... things that pull you from your orbit without returning value, like a comet disrupting a planet's path around a sun. Too many and you begin to drift away from the tribe, the Creed, the things that make you a Mandalorian. You lose yourself chasing what streaks past you, already gone."

That little speech was probably the most words you'd ever heard Mando say at once, and there was too much there for you to process in your wasted state. You latched on instead to the thing that seemed most personally insulting, given how you'd been spending your time the past few days. "Maker, Mando, do you think that's all I am, a comet? That you'll turn around one day and I'll be gone? Do you think I did-- what I did– what we did– for fun? Do you think that's all you are to me?"

There, you had said it. Or at least implied it. Your cortisol response gave one last death rattle and suddenly you found you could sit up a little straighter, could feel your pulse in your throat. Your feet ached.

There was a long silence. 

Then the Mandalorian sighed, and in that sigh was more defeat than you'd ever heard after a hunt gone wrong. The sound seized you and squeezed your breath as it stuttered in your chest. When he spoke, it was low, tired, and edged with brutal honesty. "No mesh'la. I don't think you're a comet. Not after... today."

And that, somehow, was what did you in: his surrender. The first acknowledgement of what you had endured for him and what you'd done together and what it meant between you. You dropped your face into the filthy duraweave of Mando's shoulder, not caring if you caught the edge of beskar beside it. Something boiled up in you and you weren't sure what it was, only that you snapped your mouth closed hard over a noise like being struck and fisted your hands in his tunic. All the fear you'd put aside came slamming in, the torrential wave presaged by an empty beach. You drove yourself as close as possible to your Mandalorian and shook as though a blaster bolt had found its home in your brain after all.

When you knew where you were again, you found you had shifted - or he had shifted you. You were curled between his legs, your arms still around his neck, your face against where his cheek would be in the cruel parody of a kiss. You froze for a moment, anticipating the helmet to feel hostile against your lips, but it was only Mando, the smooth silver of him that you'd come to know and expect. With sudden resolve you drew back an inch or two, away from the spot where your  mouth left a sliver of fog. Your heart beat in your ears, marching steadily onward toward its inexorable conclusion. You had always known what you needed to do for both your sakes', and now you even thought you knew the bargain that could make it bearable.

"Mando," you whispered. "If that's the way it is, I wouldn't... I would never ask you to go against your Creed. I couldn't."

The warrior under you was so still you feared he might not respond at all. Then he blew out another long breath and put his hands around your waist, impossibly solid against you. It was the second time that night he'd reached for you with gentleness and, leaning against him, you could nearly imagine what it would be like to feel safe again. It would have been so easy to sink into shared delusion. But you owed him something more.

"I couldn't," you said again. "You couldn't. We could never-- it would never be right between us. I don't want that." You were certain you were crying by then, silent tears racing down your cheeks. "But please... I'm not ready yet. I'll leave tomorrow. Please, please... just give me tonight."

The hands on your waist spasmed, gripping you so hard that for one deranged instant you thought he might throw you down on the steel and fuck you all over again. He did the opposite and hauled you painfully upright, stood you in the tight space between his knees and the console. You winced when your abused feet took your weight. His own posture and the set of his shoulders told you absolutely nothing. He was still holding you like a lifeline.

"No," he said. After everything you'd done it was absurd that one word could make you want to crumple to the floor again, but you stayed upright, nails digging into the console for support. "I won't give you just tonight. I know you. You walked into that warehouse for me. You were so afraid for me you couldn't be afraid for yourself. You bled-- you killed-- because you hoped it would buy me time. I know you. Now you're offering– this. I refuse. You're not a Mandalorian, but your courage puts ours to shame. Who would I be if I returned your loyalty so little of my own?"

"Mando, what are you saying?" You were so numb with exhaustion that you weren't sure you had it in you to hope. You tried to keep your gaze steady, but you knew your eyes were wet.

"Stay with me," he said quietly. You did crumple then, your knees turned to water, and only his grip still on you kept you standing. "Stay with me, and let me prove my honor to you."

"Yes," you breathed, and that was all he needed. He hauled you to him, pulling you down, until your chest was pressed to him as he ran his gloves frantically over your neck, your shoulder blades, your hips. You rested your forehead against his, against the blood-warm beskar, and waited. You wanted nothing more than the feeling of his hands on you but you were so tired. "Will... will the tribe understand?"

A pause. He slowed, but did not stop, tracing soothing heat across your body. The blank faceplate tipped up to gaze out at the desert night. "Some will. Some won't. It doesn't matter. How I feel about you can't be against the Creed any more than my helmet. You can't turn a thing against itself." His head was still turned away, looking past the canopy to the starless sky outside. "You aren't a distraction from my Creed, mesh'la, and you never have been. You're part of it. You make me a better... a better Mandalorian."

His hesitation did not go unnoticed. You heard what he didn't say: a better man.

***

The problem with having sex in the cockpit is that when you want - no, need - to lay down afterward there isn't quite room for both of you between the chairs. Also, the floor is that textured, anti-slip steel they use for gantries, which pokes uncomfortably into bare flesh. You end up squashed together, half on top of your Mandalorian, letting his still partially-armored back take the worst of your combined weight as you roll on to your side and throw one leg over him, pillowing your head on his pauldron. It's not ideal, but after the three orgasms he pulled out of you with as much dedication as he'd ever chased down a bounty, you don't really have a choice. Going down the ladder in your current state might actually be the thing that kills you.

Din is still breathing hard from his own climax, sought only after he'd made you so sensitive that he'd had to put a callused palm over your mouth to keep you from shrieking and waking the Child. He'd started, as you thought he would, by pulling off your flimsy shorts and shoving the thick head of his cock into you with no preparation other than telling you to bend over the console and stay quiet. You'd cooperated, knowing that the position put his mouth conveniently close to your ear, and were rewarded with that smooth modulated voice telling you he was going to make sure you never made him use a toy again, never want his cock in anything but you. He told you he was going fuck you so thoroughly you'd beg for him to let you come on his cock. He'd started rough, his pace matching the coarseness of his words, and you'd bitten down your whimpers at the stretch. 

But Din knew you far too well to let you off so lightly. Fast had turned to slow and deep, caging your hips with one forearm while skillful fingers lightly circled your clit, never giving you quite enough pressure to get you where you ached to go. Then you had begged, and he'd almost given in: pulled out of you abruptly, replacing his cock with three fingers after ripping off his gloves. You'd come so hard Din had groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him, your legs trembling uncontrollably, but even that wasn't what you were hoping for and he knew it. He'd coaxed you to a second orgasm by turning you around and crudely shoving his knee between your legs, making you ride the textured cuisse on his thigh. He'd insisted you work for it, rubbing yourself against him and leaving streaks of arousal on the beskar, and that was less satisfying still. Only after you'd gotten yourself off did he ask you what you wanted, and by then you were so needy, so desperately raw and sex-drunk, that all you could do was whine, "You-- please, Din-- you." The sound of his name seemed to shred whatever last bit of composure he had left, and he'd pressed into you harder than ever as your hand dropped to provide the friction you'd needed. You'd come apart with him buried deep, your cunt gripping him like a vise, and he'd followed not long after, your name on his lips as his cock twitched and softened in you.

The nice thing about steel floors, you decide, is that they're easy to clean. You can feel Din dripping out of you and you're pretty sure you're going to leave a wet spot. You’re also pretty sure that the cylinder rolled under one of the consoles and is still jammed there, but that's a problem for later. You pull yourself even closer to him, enjoying his warmth in the shared quiet, watching the strange false light of hyperspace dance outside the canopy.

You don't notice that Din’s turned his helmet to you until he speaks. “Another 26 hours and then we’re off this boat.” He sounds relaxed, pleased both with your current configuration of tangled limbs and the prospect of no longer being confined to the ship. “Felucia is a jungle world. Plenty of frogs for the womp rat to chase.”

You grin. “Or eat. How long are we staying? Are we dropping in somewhere civilized or staying off the radar? And who are we even after? You didn’t show me the puck yet.”

“Off the radar, and this one’s a solo job.” You start to protest, but he stops you. “Really. The contact says he’s holed up in a cave in the middle of nowhere. We’ll set down in the nearest open spot, then it’s half a day overland to the hideout. No point in you coming, nothing for you and the kid to do but get wet and feed the gnats.”

After space travel, a hike doesn’t sound unpleasant, but you know he’s right. There’s no reason to go to the extra trouble of packing supplies for two more when it’s a straightforward retrieval. At least you and the Child will get to explore your landing site. You can do your work outside in the open air, and if all goes well, Din will only be gone a day or two.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’ll come back, right?” It’s only half a serious question. You trust your Mandalorian. You’ve trusted his competence and drive and ability since the moment you met him, and have learned to trust that his desire to return to you is real. Still, you always ask. It’s a private ritual between you, something soft built over top of hard truths. 

You think of the times he’s left you. To work a job or on a hunt or sometimes just for the cold, hard recesses of his mind where you cannot touch him. Once, although you try not to remember it, for a black and shaking depression that terrified you both. Most of all, you think of that night, on Mos Eisley. The crunch of sand under his boots as he turned away. The glimpse of beskar through the door. The feeling of his hands on your battered ribs. His voice, very tired, I don't make a habit of coming back for distractions.

"Of course I’ll come back, mesh'la." You’ll never not thrill to Din’s electronic baritone calling you beautiful. "How could I do anything else? You're part of my Creed."

***

series masterlist

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 36

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy folks!

Welcome to my bi-weekly fic rec list! This is everything I read in the last two weeks. There's some seriously amazing shit on this list, y'all. If I counted properly there are 9 fics, two of which are series.

All info provided by the author unless it was blank, in which case I filled it in.

Punish me, Officer Djarin

Din one shot by @beskarandblasters

You've been thrown into an imperial prison for anti-empire speech. During your sentence, a new prison guard is hired, Officer Djarin, and you take a liking to him.

f!reader, reader is able-bodied, canon divergent, uneven power dynamic, brat taming, degradation (scumbag), fingering, vaginal sex, creampie, his glove in your mouth lol, no use of y/n

To Tell You the Truth

Ezra series by @concussed-to-pieces

Our story begins in the Green, after a certain meeting that culminates in an explosive Truxican standoff...

Survival, Worldbuilding, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Healing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Extreme Duress, My First Work in This Fandom, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Past Abuse, Feelings Realization, Artist Reader, Reader is a prospector, Outer Space, Sharing a Bed, Roommates, Mutual Pining, Vaginal Fingering, Praise Kink (if you squint), Religious Terms used improperly, Catholics H8 Me, Remember, no man's penis will heal you okay, and fanfictions are not research, But I'm an indulgent fuck so it's okay, Vaginal Sex, big dick energy, Eventual Smut, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Just get it all in there, adoration, Very Flowery Terminology, Happy Ending

Sanguine

Ezra one shot by @marisferasiop

since being turned as a boy into- whatever liminal state of cryptid he is now- Ezra has walked this earth ageless and alone, never finding his place or a partner for long. He interrupts your meal in the city one evening, and brings you home to strike up a deal; feed from him, alone, and keep one another safe from discovery. The fact that he finds his purpose under the soft graze of your teeth and home between your thighs is a nice side effect.

lots of blood, smut, soft yearning sweet boy Ezra, mapuche mythology and monsters, schmoop. Ezra is a subby little sap in this.

Routine

Frankie one shot by @endlessthxxghts

Frankie makes a new routine for himself to help with his mental health. In that routine, Frankie stumbles upon you.

POV switching - stops towards the end, then POVs are combined. Friends to lovers. Slightly scared and reluctant friends to lovers. Slow burn. Canon divergent to Frankie’s Triple Frontier storyline (No history of lady or child for Frankie). Brief mentions of South America and Frankie’s mental health. Brief therapy talk. Overthinking!Frankie, but Reader comforts and reassures him. He’s not insecure the entire time, promise lolol. Hints of angst, but this is me we’re talking about — always will be a happy ending here🫶. No physical description of reader besides coffee shop uniform (no size descriptions used) - any descriptions are neutral, no adjectives to describe (purely things like “your thigh” etc.). No use of “y/n”. SMUT heheheh (making out, cunnilingus + fingering, unprotected P in V sex + cumming inside, breast worship/titty sucking).

Go Your Own Way

Javi P one shot by @schnarfer

Loving you isn’t the right thing to do

1979 Texas, very toxic relationship, sort of enemies to lovers if you squint a bit, absolutely no happy ending for our fuckboy Javier, no descriptions of reader except she has hair and there are outfit references, no specific ages mentioned in 1979 but they would both be early 20’s, Cheating/infidelity mentioned, smoking (OF COURSE), mention of drinking and drugs, two mentions of vomit, the good stuff? we’ve got flirting, kisses and smut; protected PIV, oral (f receiving), fingering, very light dirty talk, couple of light slaps, pet names (cariño, baby), Javier POV, I’ve tried to remove any overt British-isms but some may have slipped in, probably a bit of canon divergence, as well as wild historical and geographical inaccuracies but we’re going for vibes, yeah? and a note, we’re always Fleabag coded here.

Some fools fool themselves

Javi P one shot by @freelancearsonist

You were meant to be a mission—an insider that Javi could wring information from on some of the biggest names in the trade. It didn’t go to plan, but maybe that’s not so bad.

Rated MA for unprotected p in v sex (don’t do this irl pls), oral (m receiving), throatfucking, handjobs, creampie, spanish dirty talk (both javi and reader - translations in footnotes), reader has female anatomy and uses fem pronouns, reader wears a bikini, smoking/nicotine use, cheating (reader is married this is the mob wife fic you all asked for), kind of angsty but mostly just porn with the slightest sprinkling of plot for ✨flavor✨

The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

Marcus P one shot by @whataperfectwasteoftime

I am a visitor here. I am not permanent.

angst, breakups, mentions of Teresa x Patrick Jane

Cabuorir

Oberyn/Din/Reader series by ToricTailor (AO3)

You would have torn the heavens asunder to stop it.

Fix-It, That's Not How The Force Works (Star Wars), Get This Man A New Ship, Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, Reader sandwich, Force-Sensitive Reader, Polyamory, DVP, more

I want it, I got it

Joel one shot by @beskarandblasters

Joel gives you unlimited access to his credit card to shop online while he eats you out.

reader is able-bodied, no outbreak AU, porn with little plot, no age specified for reader, reader sits on Joel’s lap, established sugar daddy relationship, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, squirting, pet names (angel, baby), no use of y/n

Happy Reading!

[corydora-writes]

Earnestly Yours

Din plans something special for Y/N.

"I pledge myself to your happiness, my starlight," Din said vehemently and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Pairing: Din Djarin x plus size F!Reader. You are in an established relationship.

Warnings: mentions of body insecurities

A/N: This is the first fanfiction I've written in over 8 years. What I visualize doesn't write well on paper, sadly. So, this is my first attempt back, and I welcome constructive criticism and good feedback, too.:)

You continue walking on the path Cara had sent you to in the secluded forest. You didn't realize how time flew by until you noticed the sun had gone an increment down though it still peered over the horizon. Your boot stepped on the crunchy foliage that you found oddly soothing. It helped to distract you with the short 10-minute walk. You made it at the end of the path, and you admired the beautiful field of wildflowers surrounding the area, a picturesque view to behold. But Din was nowhere to be seen. You walked further into the field and turned to look at every angle.

"You look beautiful, my starlight."

You heard a familiar modulated voice behind you. A wide smile formed on your face, and you turned around to look at him. He was standing five feet away from you. You and Din made your way to each other until you were only a few inches away from each other, your gazes fixed on each other. He extended his gloved hand to your cheek and caressed it.

"I missed you," you say softly.

"I missed you, cyar'ika."

He extends his arm out for you to grab, and you put your arm around it and get closer to him.

"I think Cara gave me the wrong directions. I don't see a seller around here."

"It's 20 minutes away from here, but I just wanted to meet you here first. I didn't want you walking alone." He admits.

It heartened you to know there was someone who would stand by and make sure you were safe, guarded against anyone who would hurt you. You hold his arm tighter.

You both make your way to the unknown destination, and you admire the scenery and Din's presence.

He asks about your day, and you tell him about the trip to the cantina and the market and how adorable Grogu looked with his floral crown. You also say to him about the nice older man who gave you the bouquet.

"Hmm," Din manages to utter, and you sense a hint of jealousy.

"This man," begins.

"-is old," you say and laugh. "How was your bounty hunt?"

He loosens his arm from you and takes a moment to respond, and you wonder if you were to blame for his new demeanor. You frown at the thought and let your arm fall to your side.

At last, he responds. "We went after a group of thieves who owed a cantina owner in the upper east money."

"Sounds like an easy hunt for the Mandalorian and Cara," you say.

"It was," he responds coldly.

The conversation ceased for a couple of minutes.

"We're almost there," he says.

You can hear what sounds like a stream. You decide to listen to that to distract from the awkwardness of the situation.

"I'm sorry if I intruded too much," you utter, unable to hold it in.

Din halts and looks at you.

"What do you mean?" He looks at you with open curiosity.

"I asked you about your bounty hunt, and you didn't seem to like that much." You were unable to meet his visored gaze.

"Y/N..." he grabs your hands to his chest. "I am a di'kut. You rightfully misunderstood my silence. I--can you trust me for five more minutes?"

You nodded but now were completely confused at the situation.

He let go of your hands and continued walking, but he quickly grabbed your hand and intertwined his gloved fingers with yours. You felt the familiar warmth emanating from his gloves.

The stream was louder, and you glanced at the flickering glitters of the water.

"What a peculiar place for someone to sell spare parts," you said what you were thinking out loud.

Din laughed.

"We're here."

You turned to look at your surroundings. You saw a quilt laid on the ground in front of the river with flowers spread around it. It was magical, but you were still confused.

"But Din, the Razor Crest-"

"Is fine. It doesn't need any maintenance."

You arched your eyebrow at him.

"Hope you don't mind a short getaway," he said, and you can hear a smile form from his tone.

"You planned this?"

He nodded. "Your question back there about the bounty hunt caught me off guard. I hadn't prepared a lie."

He caressed your cheek affectionately. "I hate lying to you or omitting anything from you. You did nothing wrong," he reassured you.

You grabbed his hand that caressed your cheek and kissed it.

"You did all this for us?"

He nodded. "We haven't had time to spend alone... so with the help of Cara and a few villagers this morning, we were able to set this up."

You look at him with an enamored gaze and wrap your arms around him.

"This morning was long and arduous, cyar'ika. Each second was painful in your absence."

His words that escaped from the low timbre of his modulated voice renewed your vigor.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a gentle kiss on his helmet where his lips would be, more or less.

He sighed in relief and let out a soft laugh, and he pulled you closer to him, his hands pressed gently on your waist. His touch, his words, and his actions made you feel beautiful and desired. Your insecurities and the voice in your head that tried to convince you that you couldn't be loved for not being a smaller size decimated at your feet. It was just you and the man you loved.

"I can hold you in my embrace for eternity," he began, "but I want to show you around."

You let him go and laughed and made your way down to the dome across the river. He opened the door for you, and you entered to see the room filled with hundreds of exotic flowers and plenty of petals on the floor that led to a path that followed to the... bed.

A flush of color bloomed on your cheekbones, and you couldn't meet his visored gaze. The hair on the back of your neck prickled, and your face burned under the weight of his regard that was so intent that he might as well have been touching you. You never shared an intimate moment such as this, and you wondered if today would be your first.

He put his hand to rest on your waist and pulled you closer to his side.

"I hope you like it,"

You let out a small squeal of delight. "Din, I love this. Everything is perfect. I love you."

Din ran the tip of his finger lightly over your bare hand. There was so much affection and regard in that simple gesture, and you will never tire of it.

With a broad smile, you and Din hastily made space on the quilt laid on the floor outside. You both sat next to each other and relished the scenery, just enjoying the sound of the streaming water that happily hit the rocks.

"I want you to see me," he broke the silence. His words were uttered slowly as if he pondered the import of each word.

You glanced at him, completely mystified by his meaning.

He raised his hands to grasp the rim of his helmet, and you immediately stopped him before he could remove it.

"Please, don't," you pleaded with him. "I promise you on all the stars above that I can go my life without seeing you, Din. Don't break your Creed for me."

He immediately turned your palm up, and both his hands gripped yours tightly.

"Would you love me more if you saw me?" His tone dejected. "I'm afraid you'll decide to leave me one day or that you'll tire of being with someone you can't see."

You felt the warmth of his grasp, and you felt slight trembling. He was nervous.

"I'm absolutely all in, Din," you said with a sincerity that was heartily felt. "I love you, and nothing, not even your Creed, will make me love you any less. Hell, you loved me when I thought it impossible. You loved my every perceived insecurity. You loved me when everyone else dismissed me. I love you, and I love you, I love you. I can spend all night here telling you every reason why I love you if that would make you believe me. I don't need to see you." You looked at Din, your gaze filled with adoration, and you smiled so sweetly at him.

He closed your hand into a fist and put them gently on your side. Then he continued to lift his helmet until you saw him. You sat there, your eyelashes fluttering in utter surprise. Your breath rasped, and your heart pounded.

His alluring brown eyes met yours for the first time.

"Y/ N," he said finally. Your name sounded like a caress when he uttered it.

But you sat there still silent as a stone, yet your gaze was still fixed on the handsome man sitting in front of you. You were mesmerized at the man you loved who stared back at you without the barrier of his helmet.

"Mesh'la," you whisper and smile at him. He lets out a shy laugh, and you go on to reach his face, but you feel something slip from your grasp.

You can still feel Din looking at you as you look frantically under your surroundings to see what had slipped. Maybe you were a nervous wreck and losing your mind, but then from the corner of your eye, you see a glint next to the basket—a ring.

You pick it up and look at it, now realizing that Din had put it inside your hand when he gripped them.

"Din..." you don't know what to say.

"You gave me something I never knew I wanted," he observed you. "Our aliit gave me purpose and stability."

With his exposed index finger, he traced your lips. He finally leans forward to you and presses his lips against yours.

After some time, Din breaks away and looks at you. Your face is flushed and hot. Your surroundings suddenly felt impossibly intimate, and you could not draw a full breath.

"What does this mean for you?" You manage to ask. "As Mandalorian, I mean."

"I spoke to the Tribe. They like you, Y/N, and they approve of us. They reassured me that being with you does not make me a dar'manda." His thumb slid across the inside of your wrist in a gentle caress. "The Armorer forged this ring with a part of my beskar for you," he said as if attempting once more to cast any doubts you might have. "I want you to be my riduur, my wife. I want to bind my soul to yours."

You are overwhelmed by your emotions, and tears begin to collect.

"I want to build a marriage like the one my parents once had... and I will always protect you and Grogu with my life."

You let your tears that had been collecting stream down your cheeks.

"If someday you decide that you want a bigger aliit, then..." he didn't finish, and you had the impression that he was blushing, but you understood what he meant.

"Yes," you say. "I'm yours."

The simple statement stole the breath from his lungs, and he looked at you with an enamored gaze. He put the ring on your finger, and then he pulled you in closer to his embrace.

Your heart leapt when you titled back your head and offered your tempting lips to him. His mouth was soft. Din brushed his lips against yours as though he would memorize their outline. His thumb moving across your chin in a caress that threatened to melt your very bones. His other free hand stroked your back, the same masculine hands that had protected you so many times during bounty hunts, the same hands that were so loving with his every touch. Your enthusiasm fed his own passion as nothing else could.

You had certainly never loved a man with such vigor that your heart ached so at the very sight of him.

When at last his mouth lifted, setting you free, you let your forehead drop to his shoulder, and you listened to the undisciplined force of his breathing.

"I pledge myself to your happiness, my starlight," Din said vehemently and pressed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

You held his hand and smiled benevolently. You vowed to encourage him, love him, welcome him home always. Your riduur, whom you swore to buoy when his spirit faltered, was earnestly yours.

[elionwriter]

Since I'm not sure I want to write new, full Fanfictions right now (I'm already working on a Good Omens one) I'm just gonna post some Star Wars/ Dinluke headcanons and prompts and ask you guys if you want me to flesh them out.

PART 1:

Their meeting and the events on board of Moff Gideon's light cruiser change things quite radically for both Din Djarin and Luke Skywalker. On Din's side, without the child actively in his care he is left without a proper goal and without a proper path. He can't go back being a simple bounty hunter, mostly because the ones he did it for are gone...

So what now? He always knew he would do anything to bring Grogu's mission to a proper end but he never actually thought of what would happen after. Nor did he immagine that it would leave him so shattered, broken and lonely.

Is it stubborn denial that his business with the child is over that makes him investigate further about the matter? A part of him wants to believe that yes, yes it is, but something about it just doesn't sit right with him. As Dr. Pershing is brought back as a prisoner to New Republic forces he is thoughtfully interrogated about his work and his part in the operations of the empirial cell. The man doesn't give his interrogators a hard time, answering everything as honestly as he can, but doesn't seem to know much afterall. Din can't help but feel somewhat sorry for him: he was taught cloning engineering by the last Kaminoans alive, apparently another species the Empire had decided were better off exterminated and forgotten after fulfilling their purpose. Except they hadn't, not completely, and now experts on the subject were even more rare than beskar. The Dr. was one of them and his knowledge and capacity was the only thing keeping him alive after the empirials sought him out. Whether or not he had any real sympathy for the imps was rather irrelevant and they were his one remaining shot at doing his actual job (there wasn't really a high demand for clones nowadays). He followed Moff Gideon's orders but he knew that the orders were actually coming from much higher up. Who was pulling the strings and what they ultimately wanted, he didn't know. They didn't trust him with those informations. All he knew was that they needed him to create a body with the kid's life expectancy and his M count. They had kidnapped and experimented on other force sensitive children but none of them seemed to have Grogu's qualities and were disposed of. When the guard told him to stand up to be brought back to his cell, the doctor looked at Din and asked "Is the child safe?" "Yes, he is." Answered the mandalorian and the other nodded exhausted "Good, that's good. Thank you." Din nodded back to him and watched him leave.

The only reason Din had been allowed to follow the interrogation was obviously Cara Dune, which had delivered Dr. Pershing and Gideon to the authorities. Cara was however busy talking with someone he didn't know, another woman, a very elegant and majestic one at that. He couldn't help but notice the friendly and intimate tone the conversation seemed to have. Cara later introduced her to him as senator Leia Organa -Solo, a legend of the Rebellion and the Princess of Aldeeran. Suddenly the two's steadyfast bond became very clear. Apparently, the Senator found the story about the two prisoners extremely distressing and had already "her best man" look into it. She spoke very kindly to Din and, as a true politician, thanked him for his services to the Republic. Din quickly changed subject and asked if Moff Gideon had revealed anything more useful than the doctor.

As expected, Gideon hadn't been as collaborative and hadn't spoken a word since he was brought in. Something in his demeanor, however, had definitely shifted and below the ever guarded and secure facade there was worry. 'That's the face of a man in deep shit! We aren't the ones he's scared of though, one can only guess what makes a guy like him fret like that...' said Cara without bothering to hide her worry.

That was the reason why Din, in the little breakes he stole from the collaboration he had fallen into with Bo-Katan and the other mandalorians, kept searching for answers. The something or someone that scared Gideon had to mean danger. And if there was danger out for Grogu it would ALWAYS be his business.

That's when he realized who the princess' "best man" was. Luke Skywalker had apparently been searching for answers too and it's during one of these occasions that they newly meet. They have a common goal and pupil to protect but very diverse skill sets and areas of expertise. That's why on the hush-hush they agree to meet occasionally when either of them seems to have some new information or lead. Neither of them properly introduces to the other, there's really no need for that, and their partnership remains for some time elusive at best. Din is a naturally secretive and private man, the Jedi on the other hand, seems to have become it, a necessity rather than an inclination. Luke doesn't ever bring Grogu along nor does he mention him, after assuring the other that the child is safe and well. Din doesn't ask. And yet, the most restless one of the two about it is the Jedi. Just like Luke can feel Din's ever present affection and sense of duty toward Grogu, Din can sense that the other is very uneasy on the matter, like two parts of him are constantly battling over something. Again, he doesn't ask.

Despite all this, however, their relationship is far from strained. There is a mutual and instinctive trust and respect between them and it becomes quickly very clear that they work well together. During the nights they have to camp or during the trip in hyperspace the two talk. They discuss about their dying creeds, their principals and beliefs, fighting techniques and recount some of their old adventures. After a while, they open up enough to discuss of their situation and daily challenges and earnestly seek the other's opinion and advice on how to face them.

Din learns that Luke is still a figure on which the New Republic sometimes relies upon, even if only for extremely delicate situations; that he spent the last few years travelling throughout the galaxy looking for lost Jedi artifacts and knowledge, hoping to learn how to best bring the order back to life for new generations of force users (expecially his young nefew); that during said travels he always made a point to help those in need and right wrongs where he saw them; that he still found himself dealing with loose ends of the Empire.

On the other hand, Luke learns of Bo-Katan's quest to reclaim Mandalore; of Din's search for knowledge and history on a culture that should be his own but that he progressively realizes he knows very little about; of his uncertainty on where he stands both with his creed and his peers and the aggravation of the dark saber which he is currently the wielder and protector of.

They feel for each other. No, they understand each other. Even as words completely fail to reveal the most critical parts of these conversations. What they do understand is this: nothing seems to make anymore any fuc****ng sense in their lives! That everything was much more simple when they were just a bounty hunter and a farm boy.

It's not that Din doesn't want to find other Mandalorians and help his people. He and Bo-katan may not always see eye to eye, but they both made extremely clear how loyal they are to their creed. It's just that Din doesn't know anymore if he still has a right to that title and to the armour he wears, if everything he was taught was a lie or not. He broke a lot of rules for the child and can't decide if that is for the best or not.

Luke, on the other hand, can't decide what to make of the Jedi teachings and contradictions he has collected. How can he act like expected and pass on lessons he himself isn't really sold on. It was his family and his ties that kept him alive and safe from the dark when facing the Emperor and his father, but it was also attachments and the Jedi's taboos that had damned his father to begin with. Should he encourage the complete detachment the old texts preached about, should he too talk only of light and cast a shadow on everything that didn't fall in that limited range of the force? But most importantly: should he keep his young apprentice from his beloved father and pointedly ignore the warm flame the mandalorian had effortlessly lit up in him?

Luke can't help but notice that when he slips and gets a bit too close, a bit too intimate and touchy with the other man, the mandalorian doesn't push him away and seems to answer this boldness with an awkward, shy breathlessness. While a part of him knows, Luke doesn't allow himself to hope or acknowledge that flicker in his chest might be mutual.

[certifiedskywalker]

Trust Me (Part Two) - Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

After escaping Moff Gideon, you and Din Djarin set out to find the home planet, the blood family, of the Child. In your escape, you revealed powers akin to the Child and your past as a padawan learner of the Jedi Order. You swore to yourself only to use your skills when absolutely necessary. Yet, it seems the time has come again where you must lay it all on the line to save the man you love (and the Child of course).

AN: Second part to my Jedi-Bounty Hunter!Reader x Din Djarin one shot. Happy Fanfiction Friday!

PART ONE

“Coruscant?”

You took a long, deep breath before nodding. “Yes.”

Din leaned back, his helmet knocking against the hull of the Razor Crest with a dull, metallic ‘clang’. You didn’t need the Force to sense his hesitance: it written clear in his body language. In his tightly clasped hands you could see his nervousness. In his focused gaze, which you couldn’t see, you could feel him gauging your expression. You were nervous too. Coruscant, your old life there, however brief, felt like a dream, a nightmare.

“Din, I think it’s our best chance.” You were desperate to break the silence. Biting back all you wanted to say, you looked over at the Child now asleep in his makeshift cradle. “His best chance.”

“I believe you,” Din replied, “I trust you. I don’t trust Coruscant. It’s an ex-Imperial Core World. The Clone Wars started there.”

“The Jedi Temple might hold the star maps we need,” you insisted. You hadn’t yet shared with Din you many encounters with Master Yoda or that you even knew other beings of the same species as the Child. You had already told him so much, perhaps too much. The less he knew the safer he would be.

“This Temple was most likely destroyed by the Empire, if what you say is true.”

You nodded, too deep in thought, in memory, to reply. The Temple on Coruscant has been sacked like every other Jedi Temple the Emperor could find. Even so, there was a chance that something remained and that, whatever the something was, it could be of help. All you had to do was get there, ideally in one piece, and find it.

“The place will be crowded, messy,” Din’s voice cut through your swirling worries. “It would be risky. Do you think it’s worth it?”

For a moment you swore you could feel the heated wind of Nevarro against your skin. Flames licked at your face and you wondered if Din felt the same thing. You wondered if he felt the tether, fire forged, between you. You had only felt a trust so strong once before; and you Master had died for it. You were willing to do the same.

“Yes.”

Din pushed himself off the hull, his cloak flapping slightly with the sudden movement. “Then we set a course to Coruscant.”

You watched as Din ascended the ladder up to the cockpit. The sound of his thudding boots reminded you of your own heart beat; like a piece of you had gone with him. In reality, all of you was left in the belly of the Razor Crest. You turned your eyes over to the Child who was still sound asleep, his little nose twitching every so often. Yes, stopping at Coruscant would be worth it if it meant that the Child might go home.

Wherever home was, you thought. You leaned back against the wall and closed your eyes. A sigh slipped past your lips as you prepared yourself to travel back to the only home you had ever known.

“You sure you want to carry him?” You eyed the bundle strapped to Din’s chest. A large, green ear suddenly popped out of the sling-sack. Seconds later, a giggle sounded from the carrier and two green hands reached up towards Din’s helmet.

“Why?” Din tucked the Child’s ear back into the carrier strung across his chest. “You want to carry him?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight and the teasing tone in Din’s voice. It was so rare to hear him so...happy? Ever since you had known him, the Mandalorian had been stone-cold and serious. Only once you and Din got friendly did you see him for what he truly was: a good man. You had known that in your heart before you even knew his name.

“You do tend to fall often,” you said with a grin. Din stood there, the visor of the helmet trained on you and you could feel him smiling. “I’m just thinking about the baby.”

Din shook his head and you felt your heart soar. He carefully plucked the Child from the sling and lifted the carrier from off his shoulders.

“I was just joking-”

“But you’re not wrong.”

In that moment, you and Din saw the same thing: him lying on the ground of the burning cantina as you healed him. There was no denying he had a been badly beaten during that fight. You could never forget what it was like, the power pulsing in your finger tips and then seeing the color of Din’s eyes. Brown, dark in the fire light, but soft.

“Alright,” you said, taking the sling from his extended hand.

Once you had it resized and fashioned comfortably over your shoulders, Din stepped forward. The Child, upon seeing the sling, reached out towards you. His three-fingered hands, so eerily akin to Master Yoda’s, seemed to pull you close to him. Soon enough, you could feel Din’s body heat radiating from under his body suit and armor. 

“He wants you,” Din observed. You felt a lump from in your throat at his words. Was it hope that maybe he meant a different ‘he’? Maybe Din meant himself? You wished he did but there were somethings that not even the Force could make clear.

Simply, Din slipped the Child into the sling across your chest. You weren’t even watching the Child who cooed with delight as he snuggled close to your chest. You were far more intrigued by Din’s gloved hands and how close they were to your body. How tempting, how enticing it was; you almost found yourself leaning towards the Mandalorian as he manipulated the wriggling Child.

“Comfortable?” At his question, you realized he had finished situating the Child and you glanced at your chest. Snug as ever, the little green creature was almost perfectly hidden inside the sling. 

“Any more frogs and he’d be too heavy for this,” you said half-heartedly. Your mind was still lost in the idea of Din’s hands on you.

 Evidently, Din had his head somewhere else too. Before you could go over the plan, Din was scoping out his weapons stash. He pulled two twin blasters from the rack and tucked them into holsters that were slightly obscured by his cloak. He was preparing for the worse.

“You need one?”

You were suddenly reminded of the cooled metal hilt of your lightsaber. Since the destruction of the Order, you hadn’t dared to use it. Activating it would have thrown you right into an Imperial Prison. No, it would have been a death sentence. Even now, you were wary.

“Can I have the DL-44?”

Wordlessly, Din handed you the heavy blaster pistol and the accompanying holstering. Careful as not to knock the Child out of the sling, you strapped the holster to your waist and slipped the gun inside. The weight was familiar, almost soothing. It was a reminder that you were still alive where other Jedi, other padawans, weren’t as lucky.

“So the plan,” Din began. You nodded and shifted to face him. Looking into the visor of his helmet gave you some comfort as you recited the scheme. “Hitch a ride to the lower levels of the Temple.”

“Stopping a few sectors away,” Din added. He crossed his arms over his chest and part of you wished he was still carrying the Child.

“Yes. From there we climb. The Temple shouldn’t be guarded, not anymore. But just in case, we’re taking a side entrance.”

“You still know where it is?”

You smiled, “of course I do.”

“Then we cut through the Temple to the-”

“Archives, or what’s left of them. The Empire confiscated most of the forbidden texts.”

Din shifted on his feet as if he felt an uncomfortable draft. You knew why; according to the Forger, the weaponsmith Mandalorian on Nevarro, you were an enemy sorcerer. Your Master, Stass Allie, had been vague when she covered the Jedi-Mandalorian conflict. All you had known was that the Order wasn’t in their favor. The idea of ‘forbidden texts’ set Din on edge. When you first heard about them as a youngling, you were uneasy too.

Why would the Jedi keep something so taboo so close?

There wasn’t anytime to dwell on the past. There was too much wide open and undiscovered to not move towards the future. Finding your voice, you continued to recite the final stages of the plan.

“Hopefully, there will be something on Master Yoda, about his home that could lead us to the little one’s family.” You pulled the fabric of the sling just far enough back to sneak a glimpse at the Child. His large, dark eyes met your gaze and, despite the nerves in the air, the Child seemed subdued. As if he could sense some shifting in the Force; a turning of a tide.

“Thanks,” Din said, his voice so low it was difficult to hear him above the noise of Coruscant's lower levels. 

You saw the flash of shining credits fall from Din’s hand to the driver’s before the speeder fled the street corner with a roaring ‘whoosh’. In the tailwind, a chill overwhelmed your senses. The Dark aside was still tucked away in parts of the planet, unseen but lingering nonetheless.

“Hey.” You jumped as Din placed his hand on your shoulder. A cry, muffled by the sling, came from the Child. The noise was enough to ground you; to remind you of all that was at stake. Looking up, you met the visor of Din’s helmet and nodded.

“Hey.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

His hand was still on your shoulder and, for a moment, you let yourself lean against his touch. It would be so easy to just go back to the Razor Crest and run into the depths of the galaxy. You could have each other, together. You could leave all of your past behind.

“I-I…”

A loud siren cut you off, pulled you back into the present. Flashing lights in your eyes turned violent like blaster bolts. The clunking of passersby’s foot falls and groaning of poorly constructed speeders, in your ears, became a familiar march. Your heart began to pound as the long lost echo of Clone trooper boots pulled you back into battle. Fearful, you turned your gaze out towards the bustling air ways, trying to see where the Imperials were hiding.

“Y/N? Y/N?” 

There was a quick squeeze on your shoulder that yanked you back to the present. A small coo sounded out from the sling across your chest and, when you met the Child’s big eyes, you found yourself embarrassed. Despite all of Master Allie’s training, you were not prepared for the scars that the war left behind.

“Sorry, sorry,” you reached a hand down and let your finger brush against the hilt of your lightsaber. It was an old habit, one you thought you lost long ago, but it still made you feel safe. “Let’s get moving. It’s not safe out here.”

You started to carve a path through the bustling underground. Silently, you wormed your way down alleyways while Din followed close behind. For a few precious seconds, it was as if you never left Coruscant; that the Jedi Order was still standing and you were a padawan again. You and fellow younglings had used these same paths after sneaking out for a midnight adventure. Everything was better then, despite the war; you were happy.

When you saw the polished stone, now age stained and graffitied, of the Jedi Temple, that lingering iota of joy disappeared. 

You stopped in your tracks and Din stood still at your side. “This is it.” “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, walking over to the lower wall of the Temple. 

Bright colors from the paint stood out against the white foundation beneath. You saw scrawls of ‘Ruin the Empire’ and ‘New Hope’ sprayed in janky lettering; farther down, you saw a small picture of a Loth cat. The hues of purple used looked fresh, probably only a few rotations old. People were still visiting the Temple after all this time. Carefully, you traced the shape of the portrait’s big ears trying to get a sense of who left this behind.

Just before you could close your eyes, a green hand poked out and touched the face of the Loth cat. The Child leaned out of the sling and chirped at the sight of the graffiti. His small palm pressed against the wall and you saw his eyes close. The Child’s body began to tremble within the sling.

“What’s happening?” Din was suddenly at your side. Worry laced his tone but your eyes never left the Child. You were in awe. So much power condensed in his small being.

“The Force,” you murmured in a rush. “He can feel everything that happened to the Temple. Every life that passed through it’s doors, the Jedi, the-”

Sharp and piercing, a cry ripped through the air around you. The Child’s face screwed up in pain as he screamed out. Your heart began to pound in your chest and you pulled the Child’s hand from the Temple wall. In a split second, you could feel it too, the pain and the fear. Order 66 had stolen everything the Jedi ever stood for in one fell strike.

“That was too loud,” Din said, his helmet turning as he surveyed the alley. “We need to get inside and out of sight.”

“Follow me then,” you said. Quickly, once the Child was once more secure in the sling, you led Din down the length of the alley. Muscle memory as your guide, you twisted about the winding way to the Temple’s hidden entrance. Your feet knew exactly where to step; your eyes, where to look. Everything had changed but, at its heart, your home was the same.

Only, not every inch had remained unchanged.

“Blast it! The door’s blocked!” 

You stopped and glared at the crumbling stone. During Imperial rule, you had heard of the atrocities, the debasement the Emperor had ordered against the Temple. Even after destroying the Jedi, he had to tarnish their memory too. When you looked up, you saw that the once great, twin spires had fallen. What remained was now a barrier before you.

“Do you have any charges?” You asked, hoping that Din, despite showing you his face, kept up with the other Mandalorian customs. Namely, the love of all things bombs and weapons.

“Too loud,” Din shook his head, “it would draw attention. Is there any other way in?” 

You met the dark visor of his helmet and you could feel his heightened nerves. “I don’t think there is an-”

“Who’s there?” A crackling, tired voice shouted out in the darkness.

You and Din spun around, though Din moved to stand in front of you. His arm reached out and gently nudged you so you were completely hidden behind his back. Your mind was much too muddled with emotion to reach out with the Force, to read the source of frightening voice. Instincts would have to do for now.

“We’re lost,” you sputtered.

“We’ll be out of here, we don’t want-”

“You want inside the Temple. Hasn’t been open in...years...since the decommission.”

Din didn’t take his focus off the limping shadow as he asked, “the decommission?”

“The Clones,” the voice croaked, “left to rot after the owners of this Temple were killed. The traitors they were.” You cringed at the word ‘traitor’; it stung like a thousand lashes from a vibroblade. Some still believed the Jedi were to blame for the War, for everything.

“Do you know a way inside?” You turned your eyes to Din at his question. He was just as desperate as you were when it came to getting the Child somewhere safe; but trusting this...person…

You didn’t need the Force to know it wasn’t right.

“Do I? Do I?” The shadow stalked closer and closer until it, he, stood under a flickering lamp post. Under the dim and flashing light, it was hard to make out any definitive features. With all of the harsh lines and spots of age in his face, the man looked as if his face were made of hundreds of others. “Of course I do!”

He smiled as he spoke, though it was a near-toothless smile. What teeth were left were yellow and crumbling. Dark brown eyes, almost the same color as Din only more pale, shown out from under his ragged hood. Whoever he was, he was impossibly old, ancient.

“Come, follow me, solider.”

The man stumbled past you and Din, mumbling to himself as he went. You eyed him warily before looking to Din. 

“‘Solider’?” A chill rolled over your shoulders. It was an echo from a past that had reared its head once before. Only, you couldn’t place how it was familiar. 

“I’m watching him,” Din said lowly, as if he was reading your thoughts. “I won’t let him try anything.” 

Din paused for a moment, just looking down at you. Before you could question him, his hands reached out and pulled your long coat a bit more over the sling. At the pressure, the Child cooed softly before settling back to sleep. You smiled to yourself before remembering where you were. 

“I know you won’t.” 

Somewhat satisfied, Din turned and followed the old man further down the alley. You watched him go before following after him. Barely, just ahead of Din, you could see the man hobbling through the grime that had gathered around the Temple’s bottom. Despite his trembling steps, the old man knew way around. Another chill came over you and you shuddered.

“Neither will I,” you added as you sped up your pace to fall in beside Din. 

You and Din followed the hunched form of the old man until another door came into sight. It wasn’t from the days of the Old Republic or the Jedi Order. The dark metal of the door was clearly Imperial, although the key pad was damaged. Wire hung from the panel, clearly sabotaged by some looter or vagrant. 

“Here it is,” the old man said, extending a frail hand towards the door. Din crouched beside the door’s control panel and pressed a few of the remaining dials. 

“It’s fried,” Din said as he continued to work.

“Let me see, brother.” On thin legs, the man leaned towards the control panel and works with Din. He pushed his hood back to reveal a head of grey hair. There were bald patches here and there, from what you could see; you were surprised he had any hair at all. 

You stood idle as the old man and Din worked at the panel. Spark flew from the wires every now and then. As you waited, another stroke of coldness fell over your shoulders. You were pushing your luck, staying on Coruscant to begin with. There was no time to waste.

Carefully, so Din and the older man couldn’t see, you raised your hand only slightly. You closed your eyes, splayed your fingers and waved your hand; motions you had followed like a ritual so many years ago. As your open palm swayed to the side, the door slide open with a rough, grating sound. You opened your eyes and let your hand fall to your side quickly.

“Oh, something clicked,” the old man cheered. He waddled past Din and through the door, leaving you alone with your partner for a moment. Din looked at you and you could feel his raised brow from underneath his helmet. 

“We needed to get inside,” you said in a poor attempt at being nonchalant. Din saw through you and simply walked into the Temple after the old man. You followed suit and shut the door behind you. When you turned around, you were thrust back into the past.

The walls were pristine. If you hadn’t known about the Empire’s cruelty, you would have thought they went through the effort to preserve the Temple. 

“I can take it from here,” you said, nudging your way to the front of the pack. 

“You two mapped the place out? Impressive,” the old man chuckled. 

You glanced over your shoulder and met his eyes. In the light, it was hard to fathom how the man was still alive. There were scars on his face and his cheeks were hollow, so hollow that his sun-worn skin hung like a Hutt’s jowls. He looked like a walking skeleton wearing a leather suit. You put on a half-smile to hide the cold grip of fear on your heart and nodded. 

“You could say that.” 

Effortlessly, you navigated through the remains of the Jedi Temple. Parts of the structure were refurbished to suit the Emperor’s taste. The hallway to the Archives was in ruins. Boulders had been placed in the corridor to make it all the more difficult to get through. Without stopping, you began to climb. The Child, now awake in the sling, seemed to enjoy the movement but stayed quiet. You imagined it was because he could sense what had happened in the Temple all those years ago.

“Wait up,” Din shouted. 

You glanced over your shoulder to see him helping the old man through the rocks. With your climb paused, you took the opportunity to catch your breath. On a deep inhale, you felt something claw at your throat. It was nothing painful but more like there was a leash around your neck tugging you in hopes to get you moving again towards the Archives door that was now in your sight. 

“I’m going ahead,” you called out over your shoulder. 

Without waiting for a reply, you began to carve a path down to the door. You could barely hear Din’s comment as you moved as you were much too invested in getting to the stores of Jedi knowledge within. 

When you reached the stone door, still as ornate as ever, you stopped. Tears welled up in your eyes and a shaking breath fell from your lips. With a trembling hand, you reached up and pressed your palm against the door. It was cold beneath your finger tips, untouched for years.

“I’m home,” you whispered. A whimper escaped from the Child and pulled your attention back to the present. “And you’re close to it, little one. At least, I hope.”

“There’s no control panel.” Din’s voice made you jump. Turning around, you gazed at your Mandalorian partner as he stared up at the huge doors. “How do you get in?”

“Only the Jedi could get inside,” the old man said from behind you, “and the Sith.”

Your blood ran cold at his words and you moved to face him. “How do you know that?”

“I saw it with my own eyes.”

Suddenly everything started to make sense. 

“Solider?”

The man turned his gaze from the door to you. His unruly grey brows furrowed as if there was something pressing on his mind. Those dark eyes, so distant but familiar like a memory, and the accelerated aging; the decommission; how could you have missed it?

“You were a-”

“A Clone,” you answered before Din could finish. Immediately, your hand brushed your long coat aside and your fingers wrapped around the hilt of your lightsaber. In one smooth action, the saber activated and you took a defensive stance. The colored light bathed your face and the cramped confines of the hallway. The old man’s eyes widened with recognition….and fear.

“A Jedi!” The same instinct that allowed you to grab your lightsaber drove the man’s hand to his side. His tattered cloaks, matted with dirt, offered some give and before you could blink, there was a blaster in his grip. “Good soldiers follow orders.”

“Whoa, hey,” Din moved to stand between you and the man, his hands raised. “What’s going on here?”

“The Clones killed us, the Jedi, every last one.” Fury rushed through you like never before; Master Allie would have been disappointed in you. “After they worked for the Empire and hunted survivors! Like animals!”

“Step aside, solider!” The man barked at Din. His frail hands were shaking as he tried to hold the blaster steady. “The Jedi must die.”

“No, no! Put it down!”

“He won’t listen, Din,” you snapped, your vision blurring with tears. “He’s made this way. Clones were met to kill.”

Before Din could counter, the sound of a blaster fire ripped through the air. You gasped, the last sound you heard before a deafening silence. Time seemed to slow. Smoke filled wafted before your eyes. Yet, you felt no pain. The Child didn’t cry out but Din, crumpled to his knees.

You screamed but you couldn’t hear yourself. All you heard was the wind against the plasma of your saber as you moved to strike. You didn’t hear the cry of the old Clone or the ‘thunk’ of his body when his body hit the floor. All you felt was pain and anger. Everything the Jedi warned you against was lodged in your chest as you knelt beside Din.

“Y/N…”

“I’m here,” you whimpered. Your tears fell freely now. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Din coughed behind his helmet, “you were trying to tell me.”

 You wiped at your face and looked at his wound. The blaster bolt had struck him in his abdomen, right between the two plates of beskar there.

“We need to get back to the ship,” you said, lifting Din to his feet. “C’mon.”

“The Archives, the Child. It’s his best chance-”

“His best chance is with you, Din, alive. We’re not arguing about this.” You ushered Din up and helped him keep his balance. Fear was still pumping through your veins and you were only just catching your breath. “Only a Jedi can open it anyway.”

You pulled one of Din’s arms over your shoulders and began to walk with him. He was limping and you silently hoped he wouldn’t pass out before you made it back to the ship.

“Aren’t you a Jedi?”

You did not have an answer, an answer that you felt a true, for him. Instead, you went silent at Din’s question and did not speak for the entirety of the walk to the Razor Crest.

“Lay back,” you murmured, helping Din into the cot. 

The Mandalorian grunted as he reclined against the uncomfortable matress. As you eased him down, the Child let out a whimper. His tiny green hands were reaching out and you sighed heavily as he tugged at your shirt.

“He wants to help you.” Gently, you pulled the Child out of the sling and set him on the cot. Din held up a gloved hand to stop the little creature but you grabbed it. You intertwined your fingers with his and let the Child look at Din’s wound.

“Don’t he’ll-”

“I’ll help him help you. Don’t worry.” 

Your eyes still stung as you moved your free hand over to the crimson splotch on Din’s undersuit. The Child was already reaching out towards the wound, his large eyes closing as he channeled the Force. As you mirrored the young one’s pose, you prayed that the Force would still be open to you despite what you had done. You pushed aside your doubt and let the Force pull you back into its’ fold, its’ forgiveness.

A minute later, Din’s wound was healed and the Child was passed out. You settled the green creature into its’ makeshift cradle, safely tucking it under the covers. Coruscant hardly ever got cold. The action was to ease the ache in your chest and that alone. When you turned around, Din was sitting up on the cot, his hands pushing his helmet off his head.

Cropped, dark waves spilled out from under the beskar in a sweaty mess. Din’s tanned cheeks were flushed with exertion but, when he met your gaze, the tiredness melted into concern. He didn’t have to beckon you over. You could see the invitation in his eyes.

As you moved over to the cot, it felt as if your limbs were made of carbonite. They dragged, heavy, almost behind you until you sat down at Din’s side. Without waiting another second, you leaned into him. Din’s arm wrapped snugly over your shoulder and he held you close. For a fleeting moment, you let yourself be at peace.

“I’m sorry,” Din said softly. His voice, even laced with guilt and pain, was a comfort. A reminder that he was still alive and that you too were alive.

“Why are you sorry? I was the one…” You trailed off and lifted your head from Din’s shoulder. Some part of you wouldn't allow you to meet his eyes.

“You kept saying you were alright, that you could handle this, being back here.” Din raised his hands in a gesture to the bustling Coruscant outside. “You weren’t...I could...I felt that you weren’t but I let you do it anyway.” Tears welled up in your eyes once more. “You trusted me, Din, and I let you down.”

“No,” Din pressed his head against yours, “Y/N.”

“You’re right. I thought I could handle it but...it all came rushing back. The Temple...and then the Clone, I-I…” Your whole body began to shake and Din pulled you close.

“You didn’t know, Y/N.” Din was trying to be gentle, careful with your breaking heart but his kindness only reopened an old wound. “You didn’t know, ner kar'taylir darasuum.”

“We didn’t, Din! We didn’t know!” You pulled away from his embrace and met his eyes. Dark and deep, all you saw was a man that wanted to make your hurt stop. “My master,” you sniffled, trying to pull yourself together, “she used to say ‘you can never trust someone without looking into their eyes’ that the eyes never lie and we-we looked into the Clones’ eyes and saw friends. Then they betrayed us...killed us!”

The sobs took over then, but Din didn’t mind. He pulled you close to his side until there was no space between your body and his. He pressed his lips to your forehead, small, ‘barely even a kiss’ kisses that, like the Force, brought their own sort of healing. 

At some point, you both fell onto the cot, curled up with one another. At some point, you stopped crying and you let yourself melt into his touch. Din busied his hands with your fingers, played with them gently, and then your hair. At some point, he took off his gloves and his finger tips rubbed softly as your scalp. He stopped for a moment and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes.

“What?”

Din watched you quietly for another moment. “The Force, can it...is it fate? Does it push people together?”

“Like you and me?” You asked, your voice was a low rasp from crying. Din nodded against the small pillow he was using. You had rested your head on his chest.

“Like you and me.” With his words, it felt like all the weight that the Clone Wars, the Jedi, and the Empire placed on your shoulders lifted. “Can it?”

“I think it can,” you murmured and Din gave you a tender half-smile. 

You curled closer to Din and let the quiet rest around you. Din did not ask why you did not answer his question about you being a Jedi. You did not tell him that you weren’t sure what you were anymore. All that you did know was that you and the Mandalorian were meant to stick together and that had to be enough. You could let your past die and look towards a brighter future as long as Din Djarin was in it.