#din djarin x force sensitive smut | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

myownwholewildworld · 14 days ago

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THE WAY TO A GREAT WIDE SOMEWHERE

↪ a the mandalorian x beauty & the beast crossover

main masterlist | read on ao3 | easter eggs pairing: beast!din djarin x f!reader. summary: cursed to spend the rest of his days in Mand'alor, Din Djarin faces a threat that may break his peace: you. -or- a retelling of the beauty and the beast story. a/n: HAHAHA *manic laugh* HI! this has been a long time coming now. first and foremost, i'll start by saying that this whole brainrot was inspired by this beautiful moodboard by the very talented @almostfoxglove, please go see it because it's the main reason i wrote this fic. i have gone crazy trying to link both worlds so i hope some of you see/understand the easter eggs. feel free to come screech at me if you like it because i have been screaming into the abyss for weeks now. love you all, take care! <3 x warnings/tags (beware spoilers): 18+, mdni. set after the events of S2. grogu is BRIEFLY mentioned. if you're a SW purist, this ain't your fic, my friend. the stockholm syndrome is stockholming. beast!din. a fair bit of smut (you know all the usual warnings). sensory deprivation. kinda dom!din. monster fucking (this is a BATB crossover after all, sorry). death of a secondary character. reader is a blank slate. alternating pov. no use of y/n. italics means it's spoken in mando'a OR it's the beast's pov 👀 THIS IS THE WAY. w/c: ~24.3k. (HAHA SORRY) divider by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end 💖

11 ABY

“Take it with you. Don’t let anyone hav―” your father choked on his last words, a chesty cough wreaking havoc in his damp, bloody lungs. “It’ll take you to where you need to go. Find it. And destroy it,” he muttered as his grey eyes, crowned by bushy, white brows, bore into yours.

In your hands you held the device that had been passed down every generation in your family. It had been commissioned by Tarre Vizsla himself over a thousand years ago when he created the Darksaber ― a Pillio star compass to find not a physical location but his most valuable possession. For almost a millennium, your family had been the guardians of it.

And for as many centuries, your Jedi ancestors had been looking for the Darksaber after they had stolen the star compass from Vizsla. That Jedi blood was far too diluted now, just a remnant of what your family once was since none of you seemed to be Force sensitive. But the mission remained despite the passing of time, not so much the reason behind it.

Since your birth, this was all you knew: the thrill of the chase. Never settling down anywhere, never creating bonds with anyone outside of your tribe. You all were wanderers ― nomads who made home of no world. You knew no other life. It was what it was.

The Jedi star compass fit perfectly on the palm of your hand ― it was circular and slightly bigger than a locket. This one though was different, special even, because it was made of beskar, a metal alloy from Mandalore.

Your fingers caressed the lid, tracing the astromeridian lines with the tips, feeling each groove. Undoing the aurodium clasp, you opened the compass to find a plasma-encased supraluminite lodestone, perfectly centred. The plasma in this specific one, however, was not of a shimmering blue, but a deep, stagnant black. Its magnetism was so strong it buzzed, emitting a low vibrating noise.

You tapped the stone with your thumb, and the vibration pierced through your flesh and bone, travelling up your forearm and dissipating into your body before it reached your chest. You quickly removed your thumb, taken aback by the intensity of it all, eyes slightly widened.

“But father, you heard them. It’s already been destroyed. It’s over,” you whispered, tears trespassing the waterline of your tired eyes.

“They lie. Never trust one of them. Those power-thirsty ra―,” he coughed, pressing the wound that stained his clothing to stop the bleeding. You covered his hand with one of yours, the other still holding the compass. “I know we were close, we had to be. Promise me you’ll keep looking.”

“I promise, father,” you hushed, repressing the sob that threatened to tear your throat.

You laced your hand with his, unbothered by the blood, as you watched his eyes become dull, opaque and dead. His lungs exhaled the last breath while the grip of his hand on yours loosened.

You remained there for a few minutes, pain and grief gnawing at you, knelt by his deathbed, tinkering with the Pillio star compass. With your mother taken from you at childbirth and now your father perishing to an enemy, you had no blood relatives left. You were alone, stripped from the comfort of family.

You still had your tribe, but your connection to them was circumstantial. You grew up in their midst, but always felt like an outsider, a misfit who people felt forced to interact with because you were “the daughter of.”

It didn’t matter anyway.

You might not have known why your family kept on looking for the Darksaber, but now you knew why you had to search for it. It was your father’s last wish and that was enough reason for you.

“We must go,” Ashton’s voice reached your ears, but not your brain.

When you didn’t respond, he slowly approached you, kneeling by your side.

“Hey, I know this is hard, but we are really running out of time,” his firm arm wrapped around your waist to help you stand up.

Your knees trembled like a newborn qartuum but managed to stay upright on the soles of your feet. Taking a deep breath, you nodded.

“We need to leave Nevarro. It’s just a matter of time until our covert is discovered. They’ll come looking for him,” your head tilted in your father’s direction, voice flat and emotionless now. Stretching your back, you put distance between you and Ashton. “You find somewhere safe in the Outer Rim to lay low for a while. I need to see this done once and for all.”

“This what, exactly? You heard the same thing I did. Gideon crushed it. It’s over. We can finally live our own lives, find a home, settle down,” he muttered, a gloved hand looking for yours yet not finding it. He sounded so hopeful.

“I know what we heard. But my father… he thinks― thought it may be a ruse. I have to try, Ash. I can’t just leave this life behind, as if everything I’ve done has meant absolutely nothing,” you replied between gritted teeth, frustrated.

“Don’t waste any more years of your life on a wild goose chase, please. Let’s go back to the others. We can―” his hand finally found yours, lacing your fingers.

You looked down at your intertwined hands. It just felt odd, out of place even. Ashton was nothing more than a brother in arms to you.

You shook your head no, pulling your hand from his, breaking the contact, and looked at him directly in the eyes.

“No, Ash. There’s no “we” here. You do what you must, and so will I, simple as,” you rejected the unspoken offer, seeing the hurt consuming his blue eyes.

“What makes you think you can do this alone? Thousands of people have tried for centuries,” he quickly tried a different tactic, but his reproach unfazed you. “Let me come with you at least.”

“No. Our people need you to lead them into this new lifestyle, Ashton,” you refused, not even giving his proposal a second thought. “And you just made it clear, this is not the life you want, but it’s the one I do. Now go.”

Ashton pressed his lips together in frustration, gobsmacked by your bluntness. He’ll be fine, he’ll recover, you thought to yourself when you saw the pain of your rejection finally dawning on him.

“Have it your way then,” and with that, he left.

The compass weighed heavy on your hand and in your heart. But you couldn’t afford distractions nor being delayed by people. Not this time.

19 ABY

Weeks turned into months. And months into years. Eight, to be exact.

The passage of time was unfaltering, but so was your determination. Despite the many dead ends, the several disappointments and the near misses, you never stopped looking for the Darksaber.

There were days, however, that it all felt like an impossible task, that you truly believed that Moff Gideon had destroyed it. You couldn’t accept it though, not when you had spent eight more years hunting it down. It still had to exist. Right?

It was hard keeping the spirits up with no company to hear you vent your frustration. You had started talking out loud to yourself, your voice bouncing off the metal walls of your spacecraft.

Some days you regretted rejecting Ashton’s offer. The man had been nothing but kind to you, loyal too. You had your suspicions about his true intentions, but you never really saw him as anything more than a friend. You hoped that after all this time, he would have found someone who reciprocated him. Ash was a good man and deserved better than what you could have offered him. What you both wanted were two completely different things, incompatible ― he wanted a quiet life, you had preferred an adventurous one.

Given the same option today, however, you were not so sure of what you would have chosen.

Toying with the star compass, you looked through the windshield of the cockpit. Jumping through hyperspace at the speed of light always put you at ease ― the flashing of light as you passed through it left a rainbow of blue hues. The static noise was so calming, you relaxed into your seat.

Your attention returned to the device on your hand. Opening it again, you eagerly watched the metal semicircle twinkle, reflecting off the colours from the Hydian Way. It had not moved for a while, so you had set the course in the direction it pointed towards.

Unsure of the way it was taking you to, you had learnt to just let it take you where it pleased. Like a bantha following its herd on the vast, arid lands of Tatooine, your life for the past eight years had been reduced to following the hands of the star compass, and nothing else. And now, like every single time before, you would wind up in the middle of the great wide somewhere. Or nowhere.

Even if your eyes hadn’t been lazily transfixed on the lodestone, you could not have missed the louder buzzing it was emitting. You rapidly sat up on your seat, your thumb hovering over the stone while your heart jolted up to your throat. As the humming increased, the black plasma inside swirled and radiated a white, shimmering glow.

Only once had you seen it do something like that before, right before finding out that the Darksaber was supposedly destroyed by Gideon. You thought yourself so close to your objective in a stroke of sheer luck, you all had rushed towards the direction it marked and found absolutely nothing.

With blood drumming in your eardrums and heartrate spiking, you faced the panel of your starfighter and touched a few buttons in a trained dance of movements. Then you pulled a lever, and a sudden jerking motion stopped the spaceship on its tracks, easing out of hyperspace.

Back flattened against the back of your padded seat, you squinted your eyes to see where you were. It took you a good moment to recognise the worlds in front of you. But that couldn’t be, made no sense at all. Furrowing your brows, you looked down at the scope in front of you.

No, you were not mistaken. That was Mandalore and one of its moons, Concordia. The compass was vibrating so loud now, you had to close the lid to contain it. Did a double take on the scope, then back out to space.

You knew the story of what had happened here fifteen years ago ― Mandalore had become uninhabitable after the Night of the Thousand Tears. The Empire had made sure of it by brute force and unfair use of fusion bombs and rays, which reportedly left the surface of the planet crystallised and its atmosphere poisoned. No one who had ventured had ever returned, or so the legend went.

The compass hummed louder, still pressed between your hands, as if compelling you to decide, and to do it now. It couldn’t be that the Darksaber had found its way back to its homeworld. It completely defied common sense, the laws of space itself.

Concordia, on the other hand, was more promising, you thought. The best choice out of the worst possible options. Safest too. Probably.

Setting course towards the moon, the spacecraft slowly trudged forward. A loud sputtering sound coming from the thrusters almost made you jump, quickly followed by the incessant beeping sound of an alarm.

“Thrusters stabilizers compromised. Negative power couplers overheating,” the robotic, monotonous voice advised you.

Then your astromech droid, a yellow trimmed R3-D3 unit, started screeching so loud through your headset, you had to remove them.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed, taking complete manual control of the helm.

If the couplers didn’t cool down, you only had minutes until these completely overheated, causing an explosion.

Weighing your options, you let go of an expletive. Mandalore was closer, but you feared that the moment you entered its atmosphere, your starfighter, and you inside it, would combust to death. Concordia was further, which meant the possibility of exploding before reaching it was very high.

You were fucked either way. Both were evils, none the lesser.

“Alor (boss), something has entered the atmosphere,” Nau’ul, his protocol droid, announced in perfect Mando’a, with a metal finger pointing out the window.

Din’s brows knitted together, not that anyone could see with his helmet on. His attention drifted to the direction Nau’ul was indicating. The wrinkles between his eyes pronounced as his head tilted.

A small spaceship had breached the atmosphere of Mand’alor, appearing through the greyish clouds with a burning tail following it as it rapidly plummeted towards the surface, leaving a smoky halo behind.

With muscles tensed, Din got up from the chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to catch a better glimpse of the type of aircraft that dared to break his peace.

It couldn’t be the New Republic, and he hoped to hell it wasn’t an Imperial ship either. Everyone thought Mand’alor was a thing of the past, a barren planet harbouring no life.

He had thought so too before finding himself adrift in space, injured within inches of his own death. Crippled as he was, his Razor Crest survived the bumpy ride and even bumpier landing, all thanks to the droids aboard. The same droids that had managed to nurse him back to health. Or, close to, anyway.

Through the visor of his damaged helmet, Din eagerly saw the spaceship disappear between the dense foliage and slab stones, nearby the Mines. He waited and hoped to see a column of dense smoke towering above the vegetation, but that vision never materialised. There had been no crash, at least not a major one. Which meant that, whoever was commandeering the ship, had probably survived.

“Fuck. Where’s Mrs. Kri’gee?” he turned around to face Nau’ul.

The protocol droid lifted his arms above his head, running towards the door, panicking.

“Mrs. Kri’gee! Mrs. Kri’gee! Where are you? You’re urgently needed! Report immediately!” the high pitch tone of his robotic voice almost pierced his eardrum.

Din stuck a gloved fingertip in his ear canal and wiggled it to ease the pressure building up in there. Nau’ul was too dramatic and too loud for being a mere droid.

He had not even turned the corner into the main hallway of his decrepit abode, that Mrs. Kri’gee appeared in front of them. Nau’ul got the jumpscare of his life, one of his hands landing on the metal breast piece where a heart should be had he been truly human.

“Mrs. Kri’gee reporting, jatne vod (sir),” replied the IG-series assassin droid, one of her hands flying to her temple to salute him. “How can I be of service?”

“We seem to have visitors. Follow me, gedet’ye (please),” and with no further ado, Din walked almost blindly through the maze of corridors, then down the lift, until the cold breeze greeted him.

The temperature outside was almost freezing, especially in winter. This winter was chillier than usual too, so Din and his droids only came out when it was strictly necessary. Even after all this time, it still surprised him how glacial it was out there. With not even a tiny patch of skin uncovered, Din could still feel the biting cold clinging onto his beskar armour, seeping in through the smallest nook it could find. It could clutch around the bones easily, freezing you in place in a matter of minutes.

Not that he could tell the difference anyway, considering how fucking cold he felt under his skin. How icy it was inside of him, a never-ending snowstorm waging war on his numb heart.

Perhaps he shouldn’t hurry ― if he slowed down enough, and with a bit of luck, the unwanted guests might perish to the unforgiving cold of wintery Mand’alor.

With Mrs. Kri’gee on his heels, Din moved through the terrain as if he was one with it. After many years, he knew the topography as if it was the palm of his hand. Where he could step and where he couldn’t. What paths to avoid at specific times, and which ones were safe to hike, always mindful of the creatures who had withstood the Great Purge.

He might not have many things, but free time was definitely one of them, which allowed him to explore this world he had called home for the last eight years. There weren’t many pastimes in Mand’alor when he was the only human inhabiting it. Maybe that was why he had renamed the droids with more human-like names, to feel less lonely ― only if he could truly feel something.

The emptiness within him had only grown with every passing year on the planet. The curse that ran through his veins had slowly overtaken him, leaving an ever-growing void in his chest. Din could not remember the last time he felt anything ― joy, contempt, happiness, anger, hope, despair. Nothing.

He was an empty carcass, a non-sentient monster merely existing. Sometimes he wondered what the point of it all was, not because of an emotional response but because of pure boredom. But then his eyes would fall on the source of his misfortune, a brutal reminder of how he came to be where he stood, and the lingering questions would vanish. This was the way, his way.

And if that wasn’t enough, he also had to deal with the other side of the coin.

Din trudged along the faded path, now overridden by vegetation, to the Mines. His magnetised boots helped him find his footing more than once, sharp and loose rocks making it difficult to remain vertical. Mrs. Kri’gee, on the other hand, had no issues whatsoever.

Fifteen minutes later, they reached their destination near the Mines, close to a cliff. The lush bushes and thick trees blocked the sight at first, but Din found the perfect spot to stalk the unwelcomed visitors. Down on his knees and through a gap between the leaves, he made out the shape of a T-65B X-wing starfighter ― a pretty old one, at least twenty years old. It could have well served during the Galactic Civil War.

The starfighter could only carry the pilot and an astromech droid, which meant he only had to deal with one sentient being. Could have been worse, Din thought. The prospect of being found didn’t sit well with him though, unsure of why this person had found themselves stranded in Mand’alor, out of all the fucking planets in the Outer Rim.

The Mandalorian tilted his head, trying to get a better look at the person on the other side of the ship ― they were sat on a flat rock with their back towards him, knees propped up, elbows placed on them and crouched forwards. Din stuck his head out just enough to look over their shoulder, good eye squinting ― there was an astromech droid lying in front of them. By the looks of it, it had been fried to death, still sparkling and smoking a little.

Mrs. Kri’gee laid low behind him, still but ready to accept a command. Din waved a couple of signs to the IG-series assassin droid, and it moved silently, gracefully as a loth-cat, to reposition itself northwards, facing the target.

The Mandalorian kept his fist closed, indicating Mrs. Kri’gee to wait, when he saw the person standing up, removing their helmet and taking in a deep, exaggerated breath. It was the side profile of a woman in a bright orange spacesuit, human as far as he could tell. Din’s eyebrows furrowed under the visor, confused as to what could possibly have guided her to this inhospitable planet.

Perhaps he had been alone for too long, only the droids keeping him company for almost a decade, but the sight of you unsettled him. Had he been able to feel something, he was sure an uncomfortable weight would have grounded his stomach.

Kaysh cuyi mesh’la (she is beautiful), he thought ― a simple, objective observation a man could make with only half a vision.

Your hair shined even when the sky was gloomy; your big, bright eyes sparked with frustration; your plump lips fell into a flat line before smacking them with disapproval at your wasted andromech droid. Your fingers curled into your hips while one of your feet tapped the crystallised ground underneath nervously.

“Well, I’m not dead yet, so I guess the air is breathable,” you talked to yourself out loud, sounding almost disappointed. “Stinks like a swamp though, ugh.”

That was a good observation from your part. Stupid, but good. What was your plan if it wasn’t? Suffocating to death? Bit reckless if you asked him. And yes, the sulfuric smell coming off a bog nearby was not great, but there were worse places in Mand’alor to find yourself in. He knew damn well.

He eyed you for a little longer, Mrs. Kri’gee lying in wait. He didn’t need to kill you yet, first he needed to find out why you were here and if you were part of a larger group ― if there was a remote possibility of someone looking for you, he had to know.

Din signalled to Mrs. Kri’gee to come out of hiding but to not attack yet. And so she did promptly. The droid walked out in front of you, startling you so bad you almost fell backwards.

“Identify yourself,” his droid asked you.

You snorted, hand slowly moving backwards towards the blaster pistol in your holster.

“You identify yourself, you little piece of― metal,” you bit your tongue back.

“Nicknamed Mrs. Kri’gee by my Alor. IG-11 assassin droid. Serial Number 730X21G. Manufactured by Holowan Mechanicals in 1 ABY. First assigned to―”

“Alright, alright. Whatever,” you scoffed, fingers curling around the grip of your gun. “What is a droid like you doing here anyway?”

While you were distracted chatting to Mrs. Kri’gee, Din had come out of his hiding place, heavy boulder on hand. Stealthy as a predator, he raised his arm above your head and smashed the rock against your skull with no hesitation at all.

You plummeted to the ground instantly, rendered unconscious in a split second. Towering above you, Din walked around your body and crouched down in front of you. His gloved fingers moved a few strands of silky hair out of the way, following the tiny stream of blood dripping down your temple. The wound wasn’t too bad ― he was sure you’d survive the blow.

“Pick her up,” he commanded the droid, who willingly complied.

In a matter of seconds, Mrs. Kri’gee was carrying you over the shoulder, as if you were a light sack full of gloomroots.

What a banging headache. You were barely able to string two thoughts together.

Eyelids heavy, you did your best to open your eyes. It took you a couple of attempts, but you finally got there. Vision still burry, your pupils widened to adapt to the darkness surrounding you.

The room you were in was all rough, square edges. It reminded you od the inside of a spacecraft with all those panels on the walls. Here though, the cables were hanging out of the electrical panels, snapped and peeled. The scarce futuristic, metal furniture dotted around was broken and upside down everywhere ― the whole space was derelict, abandoned.

It has to be, because this is Mandalore, you suddenly remembered where you were before you lost consciousness. And how did you faint, anyway? How did you get here? Was it the freaking droid?

With a pitiful groan, you tried to reach the back of your head, where the pain was radiating from. To your dismay, your hand didn’t budge one inch. Confused, you looked down and around you, only to find a sturdy syntherope tethering you to the chair you were sitting on.

“What the varp!” You exclaimed, fighting the fetters to no avail.

You rubbed your hands together in the hopes to loosen the grip and slide one hand out, but whoever bound you, had tightened the rope really well. Did that stop you though? No, not one bit. You tried and tried and tried until the skin on your wrists was raw.

You were in the middle of attempting to break free when the creaking noise of the door made you still in place, half hoping to see the assassin droid.

Instead, a Mandalorian walked into the room, and you immediately ceased your endeavours. With a droid you could deal, but with a sentient being… and even worse, a Mandalorian out of all the fucking possibilities.

By the shape of his armour and predatory gait, you could tell he was a man, around five feet twelve. He wore a black body stocking covered by different metal pieces ― vambraces, shoulder pauldrons, breastplate, thigh and shin guards, and kneepads were all made of unaltered beskar. The shiny patina indicated that the alloy had been polished but not painted, as most Mandalorians would have them.

But what struck you as odd was his helmet. Manufactured with the same polished beskar, a black visor protecting his eyesight, you noticed the big crack that ran diagonally from the bottom left, all the way to his right temple. The transparisteel of the visor had also been damaged. It all had been welded back together, albeit by a novice hand.

You stiffened your back as he approached without exchanging one word. Your gaze followed his every movement, wary of the man in front of you. Your tribe instilled on all its members a gut-churning hatred for Mandalorians, although such strong feeling never really deepened within you.

Always mouthing your curiosity, your constant questions as a child were never well received by your tutors. Even your father had a hard time convincing you to hate someone irrationally. It just wasn’t in your nature to hate for the sake of it.

However, the Mandalorian in front of you… well, that was a slightly different story. The bastard had kidnapped you and had the guts to stop in front of you, arms folded, and head tilted. As if you just happened to be there, disturbing his peace.

“Release me now,” you demanded, narrowing your eyes as you leaned forward on your chair. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

A stony silence ensued, leaving you wondering if he was mute.

“Why are you here?” His voice was distorted by the speech scrambler integrated in his helmet.

Repressing a taunting jeer, you stared him right in his eyes ― where you assumed they were, anyway. When he didn’t respond, your eyebrows scowled.

“Are you, like, for real, man?” You couldn’t hide your incredulity. “It’s obvious I don’t want to be here. I didn’t mean to land on this forsaken planet. For all I knew I was about to die, I thought it was uninhabitable! I actually meant to go to Condordia―”

“Why would you go to Concordia? You’re not Mandalorian. Obviously,” he interrupted you, his hand waving up and down in front of you almost scornfully, pointing out your plain clothing.

“I― Well, that’s none of your business, actually. Look― Sorry, what’s your name? I didn’t catch it before you kidnapped me,” you asked with a pinch of rancour tarnishing your voice.

“I haven’t kidnapped you,” he quickly replied defensively. “Just Mando.”

“Okay, Just Mando. Look, you let me go and we both can pretend none of this ever happened. I go on my merry way and you― well, you stay here, doing whatever it is you do,” coming to think of it, you also had questions. You cocked your head, “What are you doing here anyway? When did Mandalore’s atmosphere become breathable again? I thought the planet was completely ruined after the Great Purge.”

“For considering yourself a hostage, you sure ask too many questions. And it’s none of your business, actually,” he snapped back throwing your own words at you with a snarky edge to his voice. “You and the whole universe think Mand’alor is unliveable, and it will remain like that for as long as I live, at least,” his tone turned sombre. “You ain’t going anywhere, I’m afraid.”

His last words shocked you. What did he mean you were not going anywhere? Of course you were. You couldn’t stay here; you had a mission to complete. And Just Mando didn’t seem to be the best company either, the man was so dispassionate you were sure he had a pole up his ass.

“Wait, wait, hold on one varping second. Let’s not rush into making stupid decisions, shall we? I get it, you want to be left alone for all eternity, don’t want anyone to disturb you. I won’t tell a soul you’re here, I give you my word,” you stumbled over your words, panicking at the perspective of not leaving this planet. “Please, I can’t― There are people looking for me,” you lied.

You had not been in touch with your tribe for weeks now. And by tribe, you meant Ash. He was the only one you had been communicating with over the last eight years. Life had been hectic, and you were never the best at keeping in touch.

“Then I’ll kill them if they come looking,” he shrugged, matter-of-factly.

“Wow, okay. Calm down. No need to threaten my people,” you tried to diffuse the situation, although Just Mando seemed pretty calm.

“And just so you know, I’ve just come back from where you landed. I’ve destroyed your engine and the navigation console, so you ain’t going nowhere,” he unfolded his arms, lacing his gloved fingers on his back, quite the measured gesture.

You glanced up at him incredulous, mouth agape while your lungs emptied. You were stranded here, forever, with him. The magnitude of his words had still not dawned on you, when a faster thought made its way through to the surface.

The star compass. Had he found it? Had he destroyed it too? Not that it would be useful here, but it was the last memento you had of your late father. Not that you could ask, anyway.

“Why… why would you do that?” Your trembling voice almost gave way to desperation as you leaned back against the chair.

You blinked fast to tame your feelings, all bravado leaving your body soft and boneless. For once you were speechless, your eyes searching for his under the damaged visor. But you only saw your reflection on the transparisteel, his pose not budging at all.

“Please, Mando. Tell me you’re lying. Tell me my X-wing was not the only way out of this forlorn planet?” You begged, a dense knot forming in your throat, collapsing your airway.

“It is. It was,” he corrected himself. “I can’t let you leave. I don’t trust you nor your word. This way, I make sure you have no other option than staying here for as long as you live. Death is the only way out of here.”

You deflated on the chair, looking at him in disbelief, almost unable to breathe. Although his voice was warped by the modulator, there was no emotion in it. He spoke as if talking about the damn weather, not like he had just clipped your wings forever ― literally.

“I― What… Why are you behaving like a fucking monster? Don’t you have feelings?” There was no edge to your question, you were past subtleties now.

He shrugged again, unbothered.

“‘Cause I am. And I don’t,” was his cryptic answer before turning on his heels and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

The door slammed behind him a bit too forcefully for his liking ― a reminder that he would need to ask Ca��nara to grease the hinges. Din then put the latch down to ensure the door could not be opened from the inside.

Without another thought in his mind, he turned around and almost crashed into Nau’ul.

“Master?” asked the protocol droid, dubious, one finger lifted in the air to draw his attention.

“What?” he replied, exasperated. Din just wanted a moment alone ― that conversation had burnt the last energy he had reserved for socialising. If it wasn’t because he could harbour no feelings, one could say he was socially drained already.

“Since the girl is going to be with us for quite some time, I was thinking that you might want to offer her a more comfortable room…” Nau’ul suggested.

The damn droid was more human than he was. Din had not even thought about moving you a different place within his derelict fortress. He had made the once royal prison his home, suspended off the ceiling of Sundari’s bio-dome, or what remained of it. A suitable place for a worthy character like him.

Din just stared at him, weighing his words. Did he have to care about the needs of his captive? She’s not my captive, just a… lifelong visitor, he quickly corrected himself.

“Then again, maybe not,” Nau’ul quickly retracted, dropping his hand to one side, mistaking his silence.

Fuck, I should have thought that, not the droid, he almost reprimanded himself. After so many years in his self-imposed exile, Din had really lost all touch with his humanity. Solitude, along with the curse that plagued his veins, were to blame.

With a grunt, he turned on his heels, unbolted the door and walked right back in, coming to a halt behind you with just a few strides.

“What are you doing?” you asked in a small voice, sniffling.

You had been crying and were now trying to hide it, show him you were unbreakable. He should have felt like a dick but didn’t. Couldn’t, really.

He knelt behind you and removed his vibro-knife from one of his pockets. The blade hummed, vibrating, when it got activated and Din cut you loose, restoring the blood flow to your hands.

“I’ll show you to your room,” was his only explanation to your question.

“My room? But I thought…” the doubt in your words slightly angered him. A fleeting feeling.

Anger? That’s new, he thought, eyebrows momentarily furrowing under the helmet.

“You wanna― you wanna stay here?” he muttered, teeth almost gritting.

“No,” you hushed, wide eyes looking up at him when he walked around the chair to face you.

Unsettling.

“Then follow me.”

Turning on his heels, Din made his way to the door, hoping you would follow. And you did, possibly because you had nowhere else to go.

The royal prison was a cross-shaped structure with several floors. Most of it was completely abandoned, except for the last two levels where he had accommodated himself in this senseless life he lived. The height gave him vantage point, with a good view of the surrounding buildings and further afield.

If it was for him, he would live between wreckage and filth, but his droids had made it their purpose to make the prison somewhat liveable. Not that he cared.

Din looked over his shoulder for one second to see you rub your wrists, eyes focused on the floor. Red lines were imprinted on your skin and for a brief second, he wondered if he had secured the syntherope a bit too tight.

Oh well.

He walked you all the way through a maze of corridors until you reached an elevator which was already waiting to take you up. Din stepped in and then to a side ― it wasn’t too big, but there was enough room for the both of you without having to invade each other’s personal space. You reluctantly followed.

The minutes dragged; the silence heavy although he did not find it unbearable. By the way you fidgeted with your fingers, he knew you did. Despite your discomfort, Mando did not open his mouth ― better getting used to it now, he didn’t want you to think he was the talkative type.

Then a ding announced your arrival to the top floor, and you almost let go of a relieved sigh. Din glanced at you sideways but didn’t catch much of your expression ― you were on his righthand side, and his right eye was completely blind.

The floor was well illuminated, clean and free of debris. It was well looked after, pristine almost. The corridors were empty, giving the whole place a very diaphanous appearance. As you walked by his side, he pointed out a few rooms you might want to make use of.

Arriving at an intersection, Din took the east corridor, ignoring the opposite one deliberately.

“What’s on that corridor?” you asked curiously.

You were too damn perceptive. Too perceptive for your own good.

“The west wing is forbidden,” he grunted abruptly, a growl even, stopping in his tracks to face you. “Forbidden,” he repeated slowly so the words, and the threat in his modulated voice, would sink in.

His reaction took you aback, but he could see you subduing your fear. You would not let him see it ― how scared you really were. You might not want to show it, but he could sense it.

The thought of you sniffing around the west corridor should make him panic, but his reaction was a mechanical one ― once upon a time, he would have cared excessively, worryingly even, if you discovered what he was hiding. Now, however, it wasn’t that he didn’t care but couldn’t.

The reason behind it, the reason why his emotions had become sterile and why a beast lurked beneath his skin, was stashed away in the west wing.

And it was his life mission to prevent anyone from finding it.

When Just Mando opened the door to your new cell, you were pleasantly surprised to discover it was an actual bedroom. The walls were still polished stainless steel slabs, so it wasn’t the coziest place ever, but it had a double bed with fresh linen, a nightstand, a wardrobe, a chest and one single chair. Everything was immaculate white, not one speck of dust in sight. There was another door that you assumed would lead to an ensuite bathroom.

You entered the small room and walked towards the bed. Opened the drawers of the furniture not really hoping for anything, so your eyebrows furrowed when you discovered they were packed full with clothes. Weird, but good.

With a little jump you sat down on the bed, testing its springs and overall comfortability. It was strikingly soft and smooth like a cloud, beckoning you to lie flat on your back and drift away to your dreams. You were not expecting that ― seeing how the rest of this floor was decorated (it wasn’t), you thought there would be one single spartan bed which would be hard as ironstone.

You were even amazed to see a floor-to-ceiling window. An actual, big, massive window that faced the outside world. And there were no metal bars covering it. Incredible, really, that he would trust you with one. Not that you were planning to escape, considering how desolate the planet was ― where could you go? Nowhere.

Looking up, you saw Just Mando leaning against the doorframe, arms folded while his biceps flexed against the fabric of his body stocking. He had been watching you the whole time you were inspecting the room.

Suddenly you felt the weight of his eyes on you and that made you feel skittish. You couldn’t see them, but you knew his sight would be intense, drilling and thrilling. What did he look like under that helmet? Would his expression be as impassible as his tone? Did he really not care at all or was that a façade he could afford because you couldn’t dissect his face?

“So… can I come out of my room? Or are you going to lock it too?” you asked tentatively, hands laced on your lap, challenging him with the soft curve of your raised eyebrow.

“It’ll stay locked until I know you can be trusted with freedom,” he straightened his back, hand on the doorknob.

“You call this freedom? Wow, okay,” you paused, letting that spoken thought sink in. “Is it because I asked about that corridor?”

Just Mando stilled under the doorframe, head cocked. Unknowingly, you bit your bottom lip, your teeth massaging the plump pillow underneath.

He didn’t answer.

You had had enough years of silence, the quietness of your cockpit being your only companion. Only broken by the fleeting moments when you met civilisation, you had unintentionally craved that connection. You just hadn’t realised it until you were faced with the possibility of being accompanied by someone for the rest of your life.

Even if that someone was… well, him. Guessed you would have to make do.

“You’ve already condemned me to live here with you, Just Mando, for-fucking-ever. You’ve destroyed my ship, so it’s not like I can go anywhere, can I?” you pleaded with him. “This whole planet is already my personal jail, don’t make it even smaller or I’ll go crazy.”

In your begging, you had gotten up and cut the distance between you. The tips of your shoes bumped into his weathered, leathered boots. He didn’t move, not even one inch ― completely unbothered by your proximity. Your face was so close to his helmet, the steam of your breath almost fogged up the transparisteel of the visor.

And, for a second, he seemed to consider your petition. Or so you had liked to think. You measured each other up, no one giving in or up.

“Until you can be trusted,” Just Mando remarked. The Mandalorian was the first to finally retreat, taking a step back into the hallway. “It’s up to you how long that takes.”

Flabbergasted, you looked at him in disbelief.

And then he shut the door. The click of the lock quickly followed.

Hours had gone by until you heard the door unbolt.

A different droid, an astromech one, greeted you.

“Beep boop, beep!” it happily chirped.

Luckily you knew enough Binary to unsderstand that it said, “dinner is served”.

“I don’t get it. I’ve already had dinner. Don’t need to be here,” Din complained, arms crossed at chest level, manspreading on a chair in the dining room.

“Try to be understanding, sir. The girl has lost her freedom,” Mrs. Kri’gee almost reprimanded him.

“Least you could do is keep her some company, Alor,” Nau’ul chipped in.

Din scoffed, irritated. And such irritation surprised him. He shouldn’t feel anything but a void in his entrails.

Nau’ul picked up on his unusual display of feelings as quick as he did.

“Master… Have you thought that perhaps this girl could help you break the spell?” the protocol droid ventured, almost stammering towards the end when Din snapped his head back to look at him.

If looks could kill, Nau’ul would have dropped dead.

“Fucking nonsense. You heard the witch, the spell she cast,” Din muttered, jaw so clenched it almost hurt him. “Stop looking for solutions and just accept it. After eight years, you should have already giving up your futile hopes.”

“Someone has to keep the spirits up around here. Depressing enough as it is,” the droid retorted.

“If you allow me, Master, Elsbeth’s exact words were, ‘until you find your maker once more’, and that is up to interpretation,” Mrs. Kri’gee added.

Din remembered very well the cursed that Morgan had spitted in his face before he took possession of the Darksaber and sunk it in the witch’s belly.

I condemn you, Din Djarin, to an eternity of loss, Of emptiness, apathy and thorns. At full moons you will be at your worst, With nobody to keep you warm. You shall walk this Galaxy alone, Until you meet your Maker once more.

They still resonated inside his head, clear as the pale ale in the jug in front of him.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow. You’ve been ignoring it for years, but I fear that if you do nothing about it, well…” Nau’ul voiced his worries, hands twisting ― a very human-like gesticulation.

Mando had spaced out, not listening to one word. He only snapped out of his trance when the door creaked, announcing Ca’nara’s and your arrival.

The bags under your eyes were screaming for some rest, which apparently had been evading you. He had given you enough hours alone to get some sleep and freshen up, so why hadn’t you? If you looked so miserable, that was entirely down to you, not him. Of that much he was sure.

Din straightened his back, sitting up properly, while Nau’ul rushed off his feet to serve you the food the droid had prepared. With a flourish of his hand, he presented you with his creation.

“It’s tiingilar, a Mandalorian stew of meat, vegetables and spices. It’s hot, very hot, be careful,” the protocol droid warned you.

From across the table, Din could have sworn he saw your eyes watering, then you blinked a few times, grabbing the spoon.

“Oh my stars, how many spices have you put in here?”

“Oh, you don’t like spicy food?”

“Well, I do, but it smells so spicy, I’m about to cry, phew!” you swept along your waterlines with your index fingers, making a point.

“Alor prefers it this way. I can prepare something else…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll eat it. Thank you…?” You dragged your words, looking for a name.

“Nau’ul,” he replied. “Anything you need, please ask.”

And then all three droids disappeared from sight, leaving you both alone in the dining room.

You glanced up from your plate, eyeing him above your spoon while you blew on it to cool it down.

“Are you not eating, Just Mando?” you raised an eyebrow, inquiring.

If Nau’ul was still in the room, Din would have snarled at him. Instead, he folded arms again and shook his head no.

“I’ve already eaten,” he explained dully.

He couldn’t―wouldn’t―remove his helmet in your presence, or anyone’s. Not even his droids had seen his face in all the years they had been together. Din had been raised to follow the Mandalorian Creed and even though he was no longer part of the Bounty Hunters’ Guild, he still believed. It was intrinsic to him, to who he was. Or had been. The only thing that kept him true to himself.

“Because you can’t remove your helmet in front of me. Right?”

Din tilted his head in surprise. He did not expect you to know that. Were you acquainted with the Mandalorian culture? And if so, why? You were not one, he could tell. But what were you? Your accent was a mixture of different ones, so he could not pinpoint where you originated from.

“This is the Way,” he found himself saying. It had been a long time since those words last escaped his mouth. “Where are you from?”

“Oh, from here and there, everywhere and nowhere…” Then you took the first spoonful of the stew and started coughing almost instantly. “Fuck, this is spicy,” you whispered, tears in your eyes, as your hand lunged forward to eagerly down the drink.

Din almost smiled at your severe reaction. The corners of his lips began to curl up but quickly dissipated, his own body fighting against such act of rebellion.

“So you’re a nomad?” He asked with certain curiosity in his voice, while he leaned forward to pass you the jug full of ale to top up your drink.

“Yes. I don’t have a homeworld. I don’t even know where I was born, we moved around so much my father didn’t even remember,” you went on almost absentmindedly, pouring the beer in your glass. “What about you, Just Mando?”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘Just Mando’? It’s just Mando,” as soon as he said it out loud, he understood the joke. He pressed his lips together, slightly amused. “I see,” he mumbled.

You laughed as if it was the best joke ever. The warmth in your laughter was vivid, hearty, compelling. Like a melody it filled the air ― suddenly the room was not as bare as before. As cold either.

“So? Were you born here in Mandalore, Mando?” the smirk coiling your lips told him you were teasing him.

Din debated whether to open up or not. Whether to tell you the truth or a lie. But Nau’ul was right, if you were to spend the rest of your lives together, lying was not a good start.

“I was born in Aq Vetina, but was raised in Concordia,” was his succinct answer.

Your eyes unsuccessfully searched for his under the visor. Din could tell you wanted to press him, get more information out of him, but that was as much as he was willing to share today.

“Eat up. It’s going to get cold,” he urged you, wanting to leave so he could be alone.

“So bossy,” you whispered to yourself, rolling your eyes to the back of your head, before attacking the tiingilar.

Nine weeks later

You turned to the next page of the book on your lap, your mind completely captivated by the story of the pages in front of you. Books were scarce in this day and age, but Mando had managed to salvage a few after years of rummaging through the rubble. This one in particular was a storybook for children ― a story about a Mandalorian fighting the Mythosaur down in the Mines.

You were immersed in it, curled up in your bed with a thick duvet and a few pillows around you. Your room was not bare anymore ― you had decorated with a few trinkets you had found in your day trips to the outside world, with Mando as your guide. The fear of the first week had slowly eased, giving way to a new sense of comfort.

Forgotten was your thirst for freedom. With the passage of time, you learnt that Mando was not joking when he first said death was the only way out. And since you didn’t want to die, you slowly had embraced this new way of life. You had made friends with the three droids and had really tried to form sort of friendship with Mando.

The Mandalorian was a tough nut to crack. He was not keen on showing emotion, so much so you even wondered if he was capable of feeling anything. You had noticed that, many a times, he relied on Nau’ul to show him how he should act or react. A droid teaching a human how to be human ― unfathomable. Perhaps all these years alone in Mandalore had taken its toll on him.

And so you liked to think that you were somewhat helping him reconnect with that side of him you thought long gone. By ‘helped’, maybe you meant ‘forced’, but Mando had thrown you in this situation, so now he had to put up with you.

The door to your room opened suddenly, startling you so bad you almost threw the book at Mando.

“One of these days you’re gonna give me a heart attack. Don’t you know how to knock?” You screeched, hugging the storybook to your chest and burying yourself under the duvet ― you were only wearing a shirt and your underwear.

“Are you not ready yet?” you had grown used to the exasperation in his voice.

“Ready for what? It’s only half seven in the morning, Mando!”

“You wanted to visit the Living Waters in the Mines and see for yourself if it really is a Mythosaur’s lair, remember? Since you don’t believe a damn word of what I say,” he scowled, still under the doorframe.

“Oh, shit! You’re right!”

How could you have forgotten? You had been insisting for over two weeks now, and only yesterday did he capitulate. You were no Mandalorian, so shouldn’t be in such a sacred place, but you managed to convince him that it would do literally no harm to anyone if you visited.

In your excitement, you jumped out of bed, forgetting you were half naked, and looked for some clothes to put on.

“I’ll… I’ll be waiting in the parlour,” he muttered and disappeared into the hallway.

Ten minutes later, you were outside, on your way to the Civic Center. As you approached this new-to-you, unprobed area, the destruction around you made your stomach churn. The Great Purge and then years of neglect painted a gruesome picture in front of you. Inside was even worse, although you couldn’t see much considering how dark it was.

You followed Mando diligently ― he had been here before, so you trusted his instinct. You stepped where he did and remained silent while you descended into the ground.

After a few more minutes, a humid, warm cave appeared in sight. There were massive pillars holding the crumbling ceiling, and piles of debris everywhere. Stairs led a path to the Living Waters below.

“This is beautiful,” you mumbled in awe, looking around you.

The place was eerie and silent as a tomb. Seeing it with your own eyes, now you could understand why people would believe in the existence of a mythological creature.

There was a plaque on a stone nearby and you got closer to read it. However, the writing was in Mando’a, so you cocked your head to look at Mando.

“What does it say?”

He walked towards you and stopped right behind you. His proximity sent a warning shiver down your spine. You ignored your body’s reaction, focusing on the words you didn’t understand.

“These Mines date back to the Age of the First Mand’Alor. According to ancient folklore, the Mines were once a Mythosaur lair. Mandalore the Great is said to have tamed the mythical beast. It is from these legends that the skull signet was adopted and became the symbol of our planet,” he relayed, his voice ricocheting between the bare walls.

“And you are sure you’ve seen it? Mandalore the Great lived, what, hundreds of years ago? In all that time, you’re telling me, you’ve been the only man to witness the rise of the beast?” One perfect eyebrow raised into your forehead, a smirk curling up your lips, as you taunted him.

Although you couldn’t see, you liked to imagine the frustration distorting his features. Lately you had wondered who the man under the helmet was, but you knew you would never find out. Mando took the Creed very seriously, too seriously.

“I did,” he replied concisely. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me.”

“And what were you doing in the water anyway? It does not look very inviting.”

“I had to redeem myself,” you could tell he hadn’t mean to tell you that, because he nervously adjusted his posture.

“Why?”

You were like a loth-wolf with a bone ― you wouldn’t let it go that easily.

“I had broken the Creed and had to atone for it,” his voice lowered, uncomfortable with the topic.

“How did you break it?”

“Will you ever stop asking so many damn questions?” he growled, evading your probing.

You lifted your hands up in the air in a peaceful gesture, but not without a subtle grin on your mouth. You loved driving him crazy, it was one of the little fun you could have in this place.

“Alright, alright.”

You bent down to grab some flat stones off the ground and practiced your stone skipping skills. That was until Mando’s big hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you mid-throw.

“Stop that, you’re going to awaken the beast,” he snarled, pushing you close to his chest a bit too forcefully.

“Oh, come on. Gimme a break, Mando. There’s no Mythosaur, you must have imagined it.”

“There is and I didn’t,” his grip loosened, and you took the opportunity to throw another stone. “Fucking quit that attitude now,” he warned you, grabbing you by both of your wrists, your hands flush against the beskar breastplate.

Your pelvis was sweetly pressed against his, your thighs touching his. Even with the beskar pieces, you could feel all his edges, his― Shit. His manhood resting just above where slick heat was gathering in your core.

You laughed to release your own tension ― your head snapping back, exposing your neck to his eyes.

“Oh, wow. You’re serious,” you managed to say between laughs, ignoring how close you were to him. Ignoring how wet your pussy was.

“Of course I am. You don’t unders―”

The sound of water abruptly moving forced both of you to look in the direction of the pond. Something enormous had risen, taking up the whole airspace, and water cascaded down its sides.

You froze in place, your mind rushing to come to terms with what you were seeing, as you looked at the gigantic figure towering above you. The water kept falling, so you couldn’t really make the shape of the monster underneath. But in that moment, you knew Mando had not imagined jack shit. The Mythosaur was real. Very real.

Mando pushed you back and put himself between you and the imminent danger. Above his shoulder, you saw horns sticking out and a big pair of eyes staring you down. Its skin was covered in scales and small horns, giving it a very reptilian appearance. The Mythosaur was massive beyond comprehension, and you could not, for the life of you, visualise it being tamed or, worse, ridden.

Time stilled and so did the beast. Its eyes were transfixed on you ― no, on Mando. As if they were measuring each other up, as if they were communicating somehow. Since that was impossible, it was obvious you were imagining things.

Before any of you could react, your heart pounding manically and your breath hitching, the beast went back down below the water level, and a massive wave dashed towards you. Within a matter of seconds, the Mythosaur was gone, and you and Mando were soaked to the bones.

Mando reacted before you did, turning around and forcing you to walk back.

“Let’s go, now! Move!”

In the safety of your bed, after a hot, steamy shower, you let your mind drift back to the moment in time where Mando had held you close to his chest earlier that day. How your body had unwillingly behaved to his closeness, how you ached for him to reach below your hips, right between your thighs…

With a soft moan, you gave in to the desire that had been pooling low in your belly for a while now. Your fingers dipped under your underwear, finding that sweet bundle of nerves in your wet slit. Your index tapped at your clit a few times until you stroked it ― electricity shooting up your spine.

That felt so good, you did it again and again and again, while your brain came up with different scenarios where Mando was giving you hell. With half-lidded eyes and lips parted, you smothered the beating nub with your thumb, two other fingers finding the entrance to your pussy and submerging in your wet heat.

You picked up a relentless pace, imagining they were Mando’s thick fingers, as the first orgasm in a long while started to build up inside you. Your own hand made you whimper, teeth sinking in your bottom lip so hard you almost drew blood. Your back arched involuntarily, stroking your pulsing clit more harshly now, your fingers reaching further in.

The squealing noise of the door opening alarmed you, your orgasm evaporating into thin air. You just about managed to remove your tantalising hand from your panties and throw the duvet above you. Panicking, you looked at the door.

Mando was under the frame, so still you thought he was a statue. You had tried to conceal what you were doing, but the rigidity of his posture told you he had seen enough.

Your cheeks reddened, your face on fire at the realisation of being caught masturbating. By none other than the protagonist of your wet dreams.

“Mando! I told you to fucking KNOCK!” You screamed at him from under the quilt. “You can’t just walk in like that!”

When you didn’t hear the door close ―because you were not expecting an apology from him―, you peeked above the duvet.

The Mandalorian had not moved one inch, and you really feared he had become immobile forever. But the tent on his groin showing through his body stocking told you otherwise.

And then he walked into the room, closing the door behind him. It was the first time he had trespassed the doorframe, you noticed. Butterflies filled your stomach and your lungs as he approached the bed you were lying on, your widened eyes looking for his unsuccessfully ― always unsuccessfully.

Mando didn’t say one word as he removed his gloves, coming to a halt by your side with his shins pressing against the bedframe. When they dropped to the floor, your eyes drifted right up at him, searching for clues, anything that could be crossing his mind.

His naked fingers were the first time you saw his skin, a bit of him. He was real, and he was right in front of you, caressing your cheek. You found yourself closing your eyes and leaning on the palm of his hand ― a tender gesture amidst your unresolved sexual desire.

Mando tilted his head, and you understood. An unspoken petition that you willingly granted. Driven by your lust, you scooted over to the other side of the bed, making room for him, dragging the duvet with you.

“Nuh-uh,” he clicked his tongue as he knelt on the mattress after having kicked his boots.

He yanked the duvet off you, exposing you to him with just your shirt and underwear.

You leaned back against the mountain of pillows and looked at him doe-eyed ― then your sight followed his right hand as it landed on your pubic bone. You pressed your lips into a fine line, swallowing a moan at his touch. His fingertips traced your wet slit over your panties.

“What were you doing, hm?” he husked, his long finger dragging against the garment.

“I, uh… well…” you stammered, unable to look for the words.

“Were you touching yourself?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded.

“Were you close?” a sliver of care transpired through his modulated voice.

“Yes,” you cooed.

“Sorry, mesh’la (beautiful). Let me help you with that,” he offered at the same time his fingers dunked under the waistband of your panties.

You melted into the mattress, audibly moaning, when he stroked you. Your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure his fingers were expertly working on you, sliding through your slit a few times, from your thudding clit to your dripping hole ― your clit hitching between his fingers every time he traced them back up.

He worked your flesh with his bare digits, and after a few minutes, his index and middle fingers went back down to your hot entrance. He tempted you with the tips but didn’t go in ― you were tiptoeing on the precipice of your pleasure.

You whimpered, annoyed.

“Please, Mando―”

“Din. Call me Din, mesh’la,” he hummed, the tip of his finger circling your entrance.

“Please, Din,” you blurted out, eyes flying open and transfixed on his visor, begging.

You let go of a pitiful groan when Din―you liked how his name rolled off your tongue―finally gave you what you wanted, what you needed. Two of his thick fingers dove in your seeping pussy, slightly parting your walls in preparation―hopefully, if you were lucky―for his dick.

First slow, then a devilish rhythm his fingers imparted on you. The orgasm quickly built up again, Din’s dexterity beckoning you to climb to the hilltop. And you did, you let yourself feel all the pleasure he was giving you until it was too much, your clit raw and overstimulated by his precise thumb. You reached the top of the mountain and jumped into the abyss underneath. The wave of your climax washed over your, drowning you ― your cunt spasming around his fingers while your knees pressed together.

When you opened your eyes again, all tearful due to immensity of your frenzy, you were relieved to find that Din had released his throbbing erection through the zipper in his body stocking―you didn’t have the patience right now to unclasp all the armour pieces, you needed him now.

The sight of his engorged dick made your mouth water. The girth and the length of it should have made you flinch, but instead it made your pussy wet itself a bit more. It had the perfect size to fill your insides to the brim. Din’s hand moved up and down on his shaft, slowly pumping himself although he was already hard.

You lifted your hand towards his manhood, and he removed his to let you touch him ― for a second you were fascinated by the soft swaying of his cock. Then you wrapped your fingers around it and Mando grumbled, sitting on his heels, manspread for you as a tasty offering. He was a sight to see ― knelt and sat on his heels on the mattress, fully clothed, helmet on, armour hugging his body, and his erection peeking out through the zipper, leaky and throbbing just for you.

Giving him a few pumps, you looked up at him with a smirk. And before he could complain or stop you, you came closer to him and gave the plump head a lick, then sealed your lips around his leaking glans.

The groan that bubbled up his throat spurred you on to bob your head down, taking half of his pulsing length in your mouth.

Din’s hand tugged at your hair abruptly, pulling you off his twitching dick.

You glanced up at him confused.

“I can’t―I don’t think I can take a blowjob without blowing my load, mesh’la. I need to fuck you now,” he was honest with you.

It was understandable. He had been stuck here for at least eight years, which meant that he had not laid with a woman for at least as long. You would have lost your mind too if someone hadn’t touched you in that time.

“Come on then, fuck me, Din,” you mumbled, laying back down on the pile of pillows so your upper body was propped up.

You spread your legs, making room for him. Din swiftly shifted, dragging himself into position.

It was a fucking sight; one you had been dying to see. And he was finally there, all cozy in between your thighs. He parted your legs, resting the back of your knees on his shoulders. He pushed your panties to a side, leaving you completely exposed.

You couldn’t see, but you knew his eyes were focused on the prize―your damp, puffy folds, clit twitching and hole begging.

“Been wanting some pussy for a while now,” he confessed in a grumble, head tilted back when the tip of his veiny cock slipped up and down your damp furrow.

“Here I am, take what you need.”

How altruistic of you.

His mushroom, precum-covered head caught on your slick entrance and Din bucked his hips a little, only the tip smoothly going in. Your heartrate spiked, your walls imploring for the full length of him to clench on. And then, Din thrusted in harshly, pushing his cock in down to the hilt in one smooth jolt. You both howled in unison at the intrusion ― his a deep, guttural moan, yours a high-pitched one.

Mando held onto your knees on his shoulders as he started with the slow sway of his hips impacting on the back of your thighs, building the perfect pace. His dick dragged along the right spot inside you as he jackhammered you into the pillows, another orgasm gathering in your core. Din’s rhythm became frantic, frenzied, to the point where he had to let go of your knees and lean forward, his hands holding onto the rattling headboard.

Mando fucked you hard, drilling you like a man starved. You could feel him stuffing you full, his hard dick disappearing between your swollen, greedy pussy lips. Reaching up, you held onto his arms above you, fingers wrapping around his elbows. Your body rocked up and down on the bed below him with the force of his unrestrained charges.

Your cunt couldn’t take it anymore ― it contracted around his girth, announcing your second climax, which quickly overtook your senses. With stars in your vision, you wailed his name, now fisting the bedsheets as you came, a never-ending wave making your twitch under him uncontrollably.

“Fuck, I… Fuck,” he growled, his hips bucking and stuttering erratically at the sight of your fucked-out expression.

He was close, you knew by the way his dick constantly pulsed inside you ― he just needed a bit of prodding. That was your signal to clench your walls around him, squeezing him as hard and snug as you could, clamping on his thudding cock, never wanting to let him go.

That was his undoing ― you felt Din’s warm, thick spend painting your inner walls, his steely cock convulsing with the last waves of his release.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Din between your legs, his dick still buried inside you as it softened. The inside of his visor was fogged up and you doubted he could see much.

“I didn’t mean to come inside, I was gonna pull out―”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off. He didn’t need to worry about that.

His helmet tilted, but whatever question lingered in his mind, he didn’t ask.

His thumb lightly pressed your relaxed clit with gratitude, massaging it softly, before he pulled out and your pussy released his shaft. That gentle stroke ignited your nerve endings, slowly coming back to life. His thumb then went down, gathering the cum your pussy was releasing, and shoved it back inside you.

You bit your bottom lip to stop a needy moan.

“Wanna go again?” you asked, grinning. Offering.

Din laughed. He fucking laughed. You had never heard him laugh before.

“Sure do, but I need a minute, mesh’la.”

Every night for the next two weeks Din found himself stranded in the corridor leading to your room, like a lost, thirsty man looking for water in the harsh desert of Tatooine.

The internal struggle was always the same ― he shouldn’t seek you because, after all, you were his prisoner. You were stuck here with him because he had forced you to, giving you no other choice. Sure, he had not imposed his presence on you―quite the opposite, in fact―but it still seemed wrong to take advantage of you like that.

But then he would see you come out of your room, almost as if you knew he was marooned there, and would approach him with caution. Willingly you would take his hand and lead him to your nest, erasing any doubts he could have about your eagerness. You were as keen as he was ― fucking had become an entertaining pastime. And a calming balm for the beast within.

It was the same dance every night, without failure. And tonight had been no different, except for the hushed “I want you so badly, Din” that had dropped from your parted lips as you rode the last wave of your orgasm, a blissful expression softening your features.

As he stood outside of your door, back towards it, Din wondered what you had truly meant. Was it just a benign slip of tongue or was there something else behind it? He hoped for the first, because he couldn’t afford the second.

Feeling something―anything―was out of the question. Even if he wanted to, didn’t matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t. Elsbeth had cursed him to an eternity of apathy, and it had worked ― over the curse of the last eight years, Din’s feelings had dimmed, diminished and then disappeared, while his inner monster became more powerful, feeding off his emotions like a leech sucking blood out of its host. Mando had tried to feel to keep the beast at bay ― would even make the droids try to anger him in silly competitions, but the dull sense in his chest just grew bigger and bigger, like a tumour rotting his entrails.

Din couldn’t remember what happiness felt like ― he had a barren wasteland for a heart. So cold were his insides, he even thought all his organs were covered in beskar. That was what brought him back to your room every night ― your warmth, how it would seep through the cracks of his skin, warming up a part of him that he thought dead.

Tonight, he had allowed himself to really feel your body against his ― helmet still on of course, you both had been stripped naked for the first time, your skin rubbing his, heating him up. Whether he would admit it or not, he craved you. Yearned for your warmth.

With a shake of his head, his feet finally unglued from your doorstep and sauntered towards the west wing. A single light at the end of the corridor twinkled, snuffing out the moment he stepped below it.

He swung the door open to a room he had not visited in a very long while. Din preferred to pay no mind to the source of his emotional detachment, but Nau’ul’s words had been nagging him for weeks now, an annoying reminder scratching the back of his brain.

“It dims more and more every day, Alor. The Darksaber is losing its glow.”

He had to see for himself.

The room should have been dark if it wasn’t for the light the Darksaber’s blade emitted. Din trudged towards the display stand in the middle of the empty space, where the Darksaber rested under a glass case. Two metal, U-shaped pins held the Darksaber upright.

An electrifying, white glow encased the black blade, but it was certainly fainter than what he remembered. Significantly fainter. It had taken him a few years to understand that the Darksaber was the vessel of his curse ― as his feelings dwindled and the beast grew fonder of control, so did the light of the Darksaber. He was not sure though about which one caused the other to wither away.

As he stared at it, Din pondered what would happen the day the light from the Darksaber would flicker away. Morgan had died before he could fully understand the idiosyncrasies of his malediction. At first, the frustration of the unknown had only driven him mad, especially when the full moons would bloom on the night sky, leaving him at the mercy of his curse.

The first time he had transformed, bathed by the white light of Concordia, Din thought he was dying. The burning sensation, the bones breaking and fusing back together, the stretch of his skin, the blood becoming cold in his veins and his mind spiralling out of control… He hadn’t died, but he sure wished he did. Only at dawn was he able to gain back control, so exhausted he just laid on the dirt near the Civic Center for an entire day before finding his way back to the royal prison.

Only with the insight of time did he decide it did not matter. The end was the end, and if that was the way, then he would greet it.

Din sighed, his eyes dry under the helmet. Looking around and knowing himself on his own, he carefully removed his helmet, wincing in agony, and placed it on top of the glass case. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose in an attempt to clear his mind, one hand resting on the glass.

Eyes shut for a long minute, he ended up fluttering them open. His reflection greeted him ― a terrible, gruesome sight, a face he almost didn’t recognise anymore. The scar that ran from the left of his chin diagonally to his right temple had distorted his features ― his chin slightly dented, the left corner of his mouth raggedy, the flesh on his upper left cheek mildly sunken around the scar, his crooked nose even more angular and his split eyebrow giving him a permanent frown. And then his right eye, completely blinded with a white discolouration covering his iris and pupil.

He could still feel the blade of the Darksaber melting his beskar helmet as Morgan pressed it against him. It hadn’t completely cut through the Mandalorian alloy, but the fire filtering through had burnt his skin, leaving an everlasting imprint on his face.

Din remembered the heat, the panic building up and the sizzling sound of his skin as it thawed like ice under the sun. The smell of burnt skill still haunted him sometimes when the helmet became too overwhelming.

The damaged tissue was thick but extremely sensitive ― every time he pulled the helmet off his head, the fabric inside would drag against the scar tissue, making him flinch in pain.

Shaking his head to release his mind from such memories, Din stared at the Darksaber for longer than intended, lost in his train of thought. For the first time in ages, he wanted to know if the curse could ever be broken.

Until you meet your Maker once more.

That had a pretty definite sentence to it. Death was the only way out.

“I didn’t see you last night,” you mumbled, repressing the need to add an ‘again’ to the end of your sentence.

You had noticed that there were certain nights when Mando would vanish, wouldn’t visit you at all. You wouldn’t see him in the morning either and if you asked any of the droids, they were as evasive as their master.

You still didn’t know why and every time you prodded him about it, his answer was…

“Had stuff to take care of.”

You sighed, pressing your lips into a thin line. The idea of slapping him had its appeal.

“Are we still going?” you quickly changed subject, not wanting to be disappointed with him today. “I’ve not really asked you for anything in the three months I’ve been here.”

You watched his gloved fingers drum on the metallic surface, helmet tipped to one side as he considered your words. You wanted to believe that in the time you both had spent together, Din’s undaunted façade had softened a bit. His replies had become less snappy, his posture slightly more relaxed, and his hands way more caring as they canvassed your skin every night.

An invisible force had been towing you towards him, his gravitational pull irresistible. Din Djarin was a challenge to you, a puzzle you had started putting together. He strived so hard to remain indifferent, it was now an exciting game to make him feel. The only downfall? You were falling for him. Perhaps him being the only man to walk this planet had something to do with it, you had no other options. Also, you knew that fucking the brains out of each other every night would eventually lead you here.

Considering that you had a lifetime to spend on this world, letting yourself feel for Mando was something you could afford. And even if he didn’t want to show it, you were positively sure he was not as apathetic towards you as he let on.

“Alright. I don’t see the harm,” he accepted.

You mumbled a “yes!” with a smile crooking your lips as you pushed the chair back to stand up.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

You rushed out of the room to run to yours and change. The winter was receding, but the cold was still bitter and nippy, so you decided to put on appropriate gear. A few minutes later, you darted towards the lift, where Din was already waiting.

Couldn’t help yourself, you had to smile at him, the softness of your grin reaching your eyes.

Din cleared his throat, face facing forwards to avoid your orbs meeting his.

The way down in the elevator was soundless, but you had grown used to his silence treatment. The short journey to the crashing site was as tranquil as the trip down the lift. Mando was truly a man of few words.

When you caught a glimpse of your T-65B X-wing starfighter, you overtook Din and ran towards it in excitement.

“Careful there! The ground is slippery, you’re gonna―”

Before Mando could finish his warning, you recreated what his next words were going to be: you slipped on an icesheet. Waving your arms so you wouldn’t lose your footing, you ended up falling face first. You managed to partially stop the fall with your hands. The rocks underneath slashed your winter trousers, cutting your left shin.

By the time Din had gotten to your side, you had already stood up.

“You okay?” he asked with worry in his voice.

You nodded, smirking at the preoccupation he was showing.

“Yeah,” you lied. If he knew you had hurt yourself, you would be turning around and returning home empty-handed.

“Be more careful, will you? The ship ain’t going nowhere,” he snarled once he knew you were fine.

You rolled your eyes at him before strolling to the aircraft. Your old X-wing had seen better days ― the glass of the cockpit was smashed; vegetation had grown over the body. Moss covered most of it, painting it green instead of white. When you peeked inside the cabin, you realised it was flooded, all electrics wet. It was truly done for ― if you ever had any hope of leaving this planet, it would not be aboard your X-wing.

Din stood watch as you foraged for the item you were here for. After a few minutes, you located the star compass under the seat in the cockpit, drenched. Looking over your shoulder to see where Mando was, you opened the compass and water leaked everywhere. The black lodestone was static, unmoving ― maybe it just needed to dry off. Despite how damaged it was, you hoped it would still work. You were not planning on using it, obviously, but it was a reminder of your old life, one that now seemed very far away.

You couldn’t say you missed your previous life. The constant travelling had taken a toll on you in the last few years, having almost lost sight of searching for the Darksaber. Now that your feet were back down on the ground, gravity keeping you centred, this new life was not so bad after all.

“You found it?”

“Yeah!”

You quickly clasped the lid back down and jumped out of the cockpit. Perhaps you had lied to Din about what you were really looking for, but something in you told you not to tell the truth. So, when he asked you that morning why you wanted to go back to the shipwreck, you simply lied, telling him you were looking for your family’s locket ― a relic that had been passed down for generations.

The object was small enough to pass for one. You waved it at him quickly, not really showing it to him, before you shoved it in one of the pockets in your vest. Luckily Din didn’t ask for it, otherwise he would have realised it was made of beskar.

“Let’s go back then.”

“You’re bleeding,” Din’s fingers grabbed you by the elbow, yanking you back before you crossed the door to your room.

You looked down, having forgotten about the wound on your leg. You shrugged, downplaying it.

“It’s nothing, I’ll just take care of it now.”

“Like hell you are,” he growled with clenched teeth while dragging you inside.

He only let go of your elbow when you were by your unmade bed. Din stopped right in front of you, hands on hips. He nodded to you, commanding you to remove your trousers so he could see.

Your eyes rolled in frustration and clicked your tongue.

“It’s fine, Din. Don’t worry about it,” you dismissed him with a wave of your hand.

“I’ll decide if I have to worry or not.”

And, without prompt, he pulled down your trousers in a swift movement, leaving your legs bare. You huffed but let him help you out of them and remove your boots. Mando signalled you to sit on your bed and so you did. Din knelt in front of you, grabbing your hurt leg by the ankle until your heel was resting on his bent knee.

He inspected the wound for a minute after having removed his gloves. His fingertips burnt your skin where they ghosted over it.

“It’s not too deep, just a scratch.”

“I told you it was nothing. You have some unresolved trust issues, Din,” you joked, slightly leaning back with the heels of your hands flat on the mattress.

You couldn’t see but knew his eyes squinted under the visor.

“I’ll go get something to clean it. Wait here.”

Mando walked out and you took the chance to remove the uncomfortable coat. A minute later, he had returned with a clean rag and a small container with lukewarm water. He knelt in front of you again, grabbing your leg, and dutifully cleaned the wound.

You couldn’t help but sigh at the feathery touch of his fingers on the back of your knee. His proximity was enough to lighten your need for him. Also, being only in your underwear and a shirt while he was knelt between your legs did not help at all. Your imagination was already running wild ― and so your legs parted slightly, almost involuntarily.

Din’s attention shifted from the wound to your core. He tried to hide he was being distracted, but the helmet kept tilting to one side so he could have a better look at where your thighs met.

You chewed on your bottom lip, slick warmth pooling in between your legs.

“Din,” you hushed his name, your hand searching his so he would stop cleaning the wound.

The Mandalorian didn’t need much prodding after that. He towered above you rising to his feet, his hips at your eye level. You knew he was hard already, so couldn’t ignore the call of the siren.

With rigid steps, he walked towards the chest and placed the container dow. He scrunched the rag so the water dripped back into it. Soon enough, he was in front of you again, clean rag on hand.

“Do you trust me, mesh’la?” his modulated voice was low and husky.

You nodded vehemently.

“I want to try something different this time,” he murmured, the rag twisting in his hands. “But you gotta promise me you’ll behave for me.”

“I will,” you promised, breath hitching in anticipation.

“I’m going to blindfold you and remove my helmet. But I have only two ground rules: you can’t take it off and you can’t touch my face. At all. No excuses. Are we clear?”

A rush of lustful excitement ploughed through your veins. You found yourself nodding again, your neck hurting.

“Use your words, cyar’ika (beloved).”

“Yes. Crystal clear, Din,” you mumbled, widened, almost adoring eyes staring at him. You hadn’t missed the endearment term, although he seemed to not have noticed.

“Good,” he curled one finger at you.

You sat back up, hands laced on your lap patiently waiting as Din blindfolded you with the damp rag. He secured it with a very tight knot on the back and made sure three times that it would not go anywhere.

“If you break your promise, I’ll have to kill you,” the threat was very real, not even a hint of joke in it.

Your mouth went dry and your clit irremediably pulsed ― your pussy was already wet and warm for him. You shouldn’t get off on a death threat, but apparently Din could reduce you to a slick mess just like that.

“I-I won’t remove it. You have my word. Please.”

“Be a good girl for me and lay down on your back,” he commanded you and you happily obliged.

Your heartrate spiked as you heard Din discarding the beskar pieces over his body stocking. Maybe you were too eager, but he was taking too damn long. Then a hissing sound told you his helmet was gone.

This was fucking torture. You wanted to see him, to see the face of the man who made you wet with just a few words. It was cruel of him to impose something like this on you, such a prohibition. However, you understood what his Creed entailed and respected it.

Hated yourself right now for respecting it, but you did.

Din placed his hands on the back of your knees and lifted your legs up, the soles of your feet resting on either side of his naked hips. The warm palms of his hands caressed your ankles, massaging them briefly, before travelling up your calves and inner thighs, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

Unceremoniously, his fingers curled around the hem of your panties and pulled them down your legs; you couldn’t see but were sure he had thrown them away.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly the moment his hands landed on your knees and pulled your legs apart. You squirmed, knowing he was devouring you with his eyes.

“Din, please, just―” you whimpered, moany and needy, anticipating.

“Shush. Don’t be so impatient, mesh’la,” he chastised you while stepping back.

That was the first time you listened to his real, manly voice. It was deep and raspy, surly yet sweet.

Your feet, no longer supported on his hips, dropped to the ground.

“Go on your fours,” he talked you through the position he wanted you in as you obeyed. “Now lean down, rest that pretty face of yours on the mattress for me.”

With your perky ass up in the air, you felt very exposed with your inner thighs pressed together and framing your swollen pussy like a pretty picture just for him.

One of his fingers traced your wet slit and you had to stop yourself from wiggling your hips until his finger was partially inside you.

“Look at her, all drippy and puffy for me. She knows what’s coming, doesn’t she? That’s why she’s so fucking wet,” he hummed, shuffling behind you.

You couldn’t see him, but you were damn sure he was on his knees at the feet of the bed.

Din placed his hands on your ass cheeks and parted them, the skin in your sticky furrow stretching while his thumbs caressed your labia. Your cunt was on full display, and you could feel the cold air of the room against your damp, sensitive skin.

“At last, I can claim her as mine,” Din whispered, his hot breath fanning on your pussy now, sending shivers up your spine.

You moaned, finally understanding what was coming.

He didn’t keep you waiting. Din’s tongue lapped your whole pussy in one go and your entire body trembled at the wet touch, his beard prickling your skin. Covering your mouth, you swallowed a pitiful whimper while your eyes rolled to the back of your skull. Mando’s broad hands squeezed your ass, grounding you, as he leaned forward again to drink from the fountain of your pleasure.

His tongue dipped in your creamy slit and stroked it slowly, deliberately loitering around your clit, but never really paying it much attention. He kissed your swollen lips, making out with them as if they were your mouth, the tip of nose intimately caressing your perineum. With the help of his fingers, he splayed open your quivering cunt, your hole accessible to the apex of his mischievous tongue.

Din licked you for minutes on end, ignoring your pulsing clit on purpose. The tension inside you coiled almost uncomfortably, so intense it would snap at any given moment. His devilish persuasion was relentless, more so when he would introduce his tongue in your very core.

You bucked your hips against his mouth, grinding. Desperate.

“Din, please, please, here,” you begged, slipping one of your hands down your belly and in between your legs.

You parted your slippery pussy lips, your clit hitching between them, showing him exactly where you wanted his goddamn tongue.

“Here, please,” you insisted, teary-eyed, at the edge of your patience.

“So impatient, mesh’la,” he chuckled behind you, still on your fours for him.

Finally, his lips latched onto your clit, and you whined out loud, pure elation running through your veins at the sweet suckling of his mouth. His teeth grazed the sensitive nub, and you saw stars behind your eyes, head slightly tilted backwards as you mewled until your throat felt raw.

Din sucked on your clit harshly at the same time two of his thick fingers found their way to your oozing hole. You screamed a resounding “fuck” at the perfect intrusion. The combination of his tongue and his digits were more than what your nervous system could take. Lick, pump, lick, pump ― the perfect rhythm making your toes curl, your pussy clench and your clit set ablaze.

The whole pussy-eating-from-the-back situation was too much ― his fingers ever so tantalising, you surrendered. Rubbing your cunt against his mouth, you moaned his name as the best orgasm of your life almost rendered you unconscious. You came on his mouth while Din just sipped from you, drinking all your discharge as if it was the last drops he would ever taste.

You could only hear your heart beating in your eardrums, all your senses overwhelmed. You were so out, you had almost forgotten the rag blindfolding you.

“You’re gonna come again for me, mesh’la,” only then did you realised his fingers were still inside you.

You panted, gathering your thoughts.

“I don’t think I can,” you mumbled, entranced.

“Oh, you can and you will,” he groaned, accepting the challenge.

And with that, his wicked lips pressed against your cunt, and he started all over again. As it turned out, he was fucking right. His tongue and his fingers were working you so well, there was no way you could resist. However, this time, there weren’t two fingers stuffed in your whole, but four. Your walls were so outstretched it should have been painful, but it wasn’t ― he had made sure to get you ready, pliant under his dutiful care.

“I wonder if you could take him. Bet you could,” Din whispered in a moment of respite.

“Huh?”

All thoughts dispersed when the second climax spread across your entire body, leaving you exhausted; a pitiful, sweaty mess on the bedsheets.

“Turn around and lay down. I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” the crudeness of his words should have made you frown but instead you smiled, completely blissed out.

Din made good on his promise. On your back and with your legs parted, you heard him moving around until he was between your thighs. Then he leaned forward, his hands on either side of your shoulders to keep his weight off you, and his hard shaft dove inside your cunt with no resistance. When he bottomed out, he snapped his hips back and then forth, until he was rutting into you like a man on death row.

Your hands held onto his back, your nails digging in his skin. You wanted to move them up and sink them in his hair so badly, your palms were itchy with longing. He had said you couldn’t touch his face; he hadn’t said anything about his hair. Hoping he wouldn’t notice your intentions, your hands drifted up his back, arriving at the nape of his neck.

So close to burying your hands in his hair, so fucking close…

“Don’t,” he growled at you, the snapping of his hips against yours unforgiving. “The fucking audacity. I. said. don’t. fucking. touch,” he punctuated every word with deep, sharp thrusts.

You winced and gasped at the depth of his dives, your mouth shaping a perfect O, back arched off the mattress below you. Every stab of his dick kissed your cervix, and you just couldn’t stop moaning uncontrollably. The mild pain quickly blossomed into ecstasy; your skin electrified with pleasure.

Suddenly you felt his mouth ghosting over yours; his unfiltered, gruffy grunts were music to your ears. You reached up, wanting to steal a kiss from him to taste his lips for the first time, but he slithered back.

“You don’t respect boundaries, do you?” Din rumbled.

His voice should have had a tinge of anger, but instead it sounded… amused?

“You have had a taste of me, it’s only fair I get something in return, Din,” you bargained breathlessly, but got no reply. “Please?”

Imploring for a measly kiss from your captor while he kept on fucking you. That had to be a new low in your book.

You couldn’t see him as he jackhammered you into the mattress, but knew he was debating. Whatever inner debate he had, the side you were banking on won.

“You keep your hands on my back at all times. Yes?” One of his hands moved to your neck, his dextrous fingers wrapping around your throat. “Or I’ll―”

“Kill me. I know. Elek, Alor (yes, Master),” you whispered in Mando’a, breath hitching.

His mouth came crashing down on yours, teeth colliding in a very messy kiss. His tongue sought yours with fervour and sucked it into his mouth. He tasted like you.

You couldn’t help but moan in midst of the sloppy kiss, your heart finally content at his small yet meaningful surrender. The grip of his hand around your neck softened but didn’t dissolve, adding another layer of excitement to his unabating thrusts.

“Gar serim, cyar’ika (that’s it, beloved). You’re so good, so fucking good for me. Warm, tight pussy always ready for me when I need her. She never disappoints,” he maundered, your brain spiralling with his praise.

Praising your cunt, not actually you, but you would take anything he would give you.

A few minutes later, the breathy groans of your making out along with the squelching sounds of your lust filled the air, quickly followed by the loud moans announcing your climaxes. Your cunt clamped on Din’s dick―a promise you’d never let him go―and he blew his load inside you. The tackiness of his cum filled your insides as his cock pulsed one last time and his lips pecked yours.

Din dropped to your side, panting with exhaustion, and you just laid there pondering all the decisions that had taken you there.

You’d never let him go.

When the fuck did that happen?

“How long does winter last here?”

“A good part of the year, around six months,” he replied dryly.

He was aware of the fact that you had been trying to get words out of him for the past week. Make conversation, talk about his story, his past, his interests. See if there was any common ground between you. But Din couldn’t bring himself up to actually share personal details.

And every time you tried, and he would dodge your attempts, he would see the disappointment painted across your face. And every time, something unknown would uncomfortably stir within him. He suspected you had started to harbour feelings for him ― and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t reciprocate you. Didn’t want to break your heart.

It was his fault, really, for seeking you out every night. You were so giving and him so greedy, he just mindlessly took what you offered without giving you anything in return except for a few orgasms and a good time.

“What did you do last winter? Bet it was boring being home with just the droids…”

Din knew very well what answer you were expecting: It was. Your presence has been a great improvement. You make my days―and nights―more bearable.

But instead, he shrugged.

“Dunno. Kept myself busy with stuff,” he muttered frugally.

He kept on walking before you, making the way back home after a quick stroll around to breathe some cold, fresh air.

The Mandalorian did not expect to be attacked by a snowball, which hit the back of his helmet. He quickly turned around.

“What the hell are you��?”

Before he could finish his question, you hit him again with another snowball, dead centre on his visor.

“You are such a prick, Din Djarin,” you snapped between gritted teeth, patting another snowball between your gloved hands. “Would it actually kill you to be a bit more open, hm?”

This time he saw the attack coming and was able to duck, avoiding the next snowball.

“Are you mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad, you fucking idiot!” you yelled at him, trudging forwards with another snowball on hand. “I’m mad for you, but either you’re fucking blind or you’re a cold-hearted jerk.”

Little did you know he was actually blind in one eye, but it didn’t seem to be the time to point it out.

The sudden love confession caught him off guard. You were not supposed to say that. You were not supposed to feel that way, not for him.

Din remained calm as you cut the distance and tried to smash the fourth snowball on his covered face. His fingers gripped your wrist before you were able to do so.

“You’re just confused, mesh’la. All the sex is blindsiding you, but you really don’t feel anything for me,” he reasoned.

You looked at him as if he had slapped you and took a step back.

“Of course, because you, the freaking Tin Man with a dead heart, know better than myself how I feel. Un-fucking-believable, honestly. Go fuck yourself, Din,” you scoffed, pushed him to one side and walked past him.

Din saw you disappear through the sliding door, while he stood there in disbelief.

What the fuck had just happened?

You kind of expected Din not to show up at your door tonight, but his absence in your bed stung either way. Sure, you had told him to go fuck himself, but now with a new―horny―perspective, you would prefer if he fucked you instead.

Infuriated with him, yourself and the situation, you sat back up on your empty bed. You reached for the drawer in your nightstand and opened it, grabbing the star compass inside. Fidgeting with the aurodium clasp, you wondered why the fuck Din didn’t open up. After three months and a half with him, you had thought you had been able to break through his armour ― the figurative one, not the real one.

Every time you tried to talk about your relationship with him, Din would shut you out or wouldn’t even engage in the conversation at all. He was more stubborn than a falumpaset, and that was saying something. Despite his indifference, you believed that, deep down in that cold, dead heart of his, he cared for you. Maybe he didn’t love you, but at least cared for you.

You didn’t even know if you loved him, anyway. Infatuated was, most probably, more accurate, you’d like to think. Most days you pushed that thought to the remotest corner of your mind, not wanting to consider it. Because, after all, you were his prisoner ― you might forget it some days, but the reality was that Din Djarin was your captor. So maybe it wasn’t love ― perhaps it was just a survival mechanism. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Amid your pondering, you almost didn’t realise that the hands of the compass had moved, and the lodestone was humming, the plasma inside slowly swirling around. Your heart jolted in your ribcage, almost dropping to your stomach, when you finally paid it attention.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, jumping out of bed.

You had hoped it would work once it fully dried, but you were not expecting it to be actually functioning. It seemed to sense the Force emitted by the Darksaber, but that couldn’t be possible. If the Darksaber was here, in Mandalore, Din would know―would have told you. Right?

No, he wouldn’t have.

With that thought in mind, you put on some more decent clothes and cracked open your door. Carefully, you peeked in the corridor to confirm the coast was clear. It was close to midnight, so you hoped everyone―Din and the droids―would have gone to rest.

Tiptoeing through the hallway, you followed the path the star compass was pointing to, only to find yourself in the west wing after a few minutes. You knew you shouldn’t be here, but the compass hummed louder, vibrating on the palm of your hand, as you turned another corner. Looking up from your family’s relic, you saw a door at the end of the hallway.

“BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEEP BOOP! BIP! PIP!” Din’s astromech robot, an old R2-D2 unit, screeched at you loudly, skidding and coming to a halt in front of you. It even had a red light flashing at you.

You almost threw your heart up there and then, the little robot giving you the biggest scare of your life.

“CA’NARA!” you told him off as your heartrate slowed down. “Fucking hell, you almost killed me, little devil.”

“BEEP! PIPIPIPI!” the droid beeped at you, going around you in circles.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, sorry!” you whispered, “I-I’m a sleepwalker!”

Ca’nara seemed to calm down, only for Nau’ul to appear in scene.

Great, fucking great.

“Ca’nara, what’s going on?” the protocol droid turned the corner, almost bumping into you. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

“I- Uhm, I was just telling Ca’nara that I’m a sleepwalker. He literally just woke me up. I didn’t mean― you know I cause no trouble, Nau’ul,” you pleaded with the affable droid.

“Of course, of course,” he took a couple of stiff steps back. “What’s that on your hand?”

Fuck. You looked down, coming up empty with a lie.

“I don’t know. I literally just woke up, I don’t know where I got it from,” you stammered a bit, but the droid didn’t pick up on it.

“I’ll take it. Alor will know what it is and where it belongs,” Nau’ul extended his hand towards you.

If you didn’t give it up, it would arouse suspicion. So, unwillingly, you passed it on to him.

“Where’s he?” the question slipped your tongue before you could refrain.

“Alor is… indisposed, miss. He needs to rest,” he replied cryptically as you both walked back to the main corridor where your bedroom was.

“Indisposed? Is he sick? Is he okay?” you instantly worried.

“He’ll be better in the morning, fret not,” he paused in front of your room, and you opened the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Nau’ul,” you mumbled before closing the door behind you.

What a varping disaster. Nau’ul had confiscated your star compass, which meant that Din would eventually see it. If it came to it, you were not sure what you would do. And you still didn’t know what was in that room, why the compass had gone crazy as you approached it. But you had a pretty good idea. Chances were, the Darksaber was on the other side of that door at the end of the west corridor.

Sighing, you sauntered towards the big window in your room. Two perfectly aligned full moons dominated the night sky, their white, sparkly glow bouncing off the walls. It was a beautiful sight.

Something in the path below caught your attention. A metallic reflection. Your eyes drifted down just in time to see Din running towards the Civic Center, as if a thousand ghosts were on his heels.

You frowned, confused. Where was he going at this witchy hour? Wasn’t he sick?

A scary thought formed in your head. Were you under attack? Had Ash come looking for you after several weeks without returning his messages?

Heart pounding with worry, you darted to the door and then the lift. Whatever threat was coming, you would face it with him. With such resolution in mind, you followed his trail.

Your concern for him skyrocketed when you arrived at the Civic Center and saw nothing but pieces of his armour scattered around. You snatched the shin and thigh armour off the steps to the main door, only to look up and find more bits spread around the entryway.

This made no sense at all. Why would Din dispose of his armour? Something was wrong, very wrong, but you were not under attack.

You gathered all the armour pieces in your arms while calling his name but heard nothing except the whistling of wind passing through cracks and crannies.

Suddenly, you felt the need to look down the stairs to the Living Waters. A hunch rooting in your core, wrapping around your heart. Then a faint, painful growl came from underneath and all your senses flared alive.

What was Din doing down there? In the Mythosaur’s lair?

Panic hiked up your throat as you hiked down the stairs, the animalistic snarl louder now as you drew nearer. At the bottom of the steps, eyes fixed on your shoes, you dared to glance up.

His armour fell from your arms on to the ground, clattering. You were not prepared to see what you found.

Din was half curled up on the floor, naked and dragging himself towards the water. Only he was way bigger ― almost seven feet tall, his body much more muscular with chiselled, blueish veins across the whole of him, hands big as paws with his nails digging the dirt underneath.

You took a step forward, catching a better glimpse of him. Then you truly saw ― his skin had a viridescent tint to it and had started to scale. Rugged lumps raised from the skin on his back, tiny bones protruding through. No, not bones ― small horns, like those of a reptile.

Not like a reptile. Like a Mythosaur. Only smaller than the beast you saw a few weeks ago.

With a guttural bellow, he removed his helmet, throwing it to on side as he crawled towards the rippling water. His head was crowned by thick, short, greyish curls ― exactly what you had imagined.

“Din?” you whispered, taking a precautious step towards him, one hand extended in front of you to appease him.

His head snapped around at the sound of your voice.

You gasped at the sight of him. What first struck you was the scar across his face, one that would perfectly line up with the mended crack on his helmet. It ran diagonally through his rugged features, distorting them and hugging that crooked nose. His teeth seemed slightly pointier too. The next thing you noticed were his blown, bloodshot eyes with pupils as big as his sclerae.

Not eyes, one eye ― the right one was completely discoloured, covered in a white sheen.

He still looked like Din, but… not really.

The vision in front of you should have scared you. Even more so when Din stared at you, and you saw nothing in his expression ― he didn’t recognise you. Whoever, or whatever, this was, he wasn’t the man that had kept you company for the last few months.

Logic dictated you should run in the opposite direction. Instead, you propelled forwards towards him, knees skidding on the dirt and landing by his side.

The warm touch of an alien hand grounded him for an ephemeral instant. The bitter cold crawled under his scaled skin, rejecting the heat like a limping animal avoiding the helping hand of a human.

He snarled, creeping back and away from you, as if your mere proximity was a threat to him.

Because it was.

“Din, I’m here, let me help you,” you besought, dragging your knees towards him again.

He didn’t know who Din was. Where he was or had gone. Did he ever exist? The Beast didn’t know―didn’t care. So he growled again, but his futile attempt didn’t keep you at bay. Guessed you had a death wish, only that could explain your blatant refusal to his rejection.

Both your hands fell upon him, like warm blood spilling and enlivening his senses. For once the cold running wild through his veins minimised, giving way to a hot flush that was foreign to him. The sudden warmth surprised him ― but what shocked him the most was how soothing it was, how easy was for him to crave your touch. A primal need.

The Beast had forgotten what warmth was, having been cursed to a lifetime of coldness for as long as he could remember. Crazed by this newfound feeling, he slowly sat back up on the ground, eyeing you like a predator watching his prey.

Your hand reached up to him to cradle his cheek and the Beast closed his eyes, that warm feeling running down his neck, wrapping around his dead yet beating heart.

“You’re so cold,” you mumbled as you cut the distance some more, your chest nudging his side.

Another heatwave flashed through him ― your warmth beckoning, your body too inviting. He wanted to dive in, to let your warmth surround him, make him surrender. He craved it so bad, so fiercely, the Beast bowed down to sink his forked tongue in your mouth ― unannounced, unrequited.

You moaned at the intrusion, your hands lacing on the nape of his neck, and that only spurred him on. He gave in to your warmth and gave up his restraints. Growling, he plundered your mouth as he forced you down onto the ground.

Towering above you, his tongue slipped out of your mouth to graze your neck, and you shivered under him. Biting your chin, he returned to your lips to kiss you, to suck out your warmth to replenish himself. Like a leech he drank from you while his rough, broad hands roamed your body.

“Din,” you mewled.

He didn’t like this Din whose name you were moaning. So he kissed you, not wanting to hear it again and tugged at your clothing. Impatient, he almost tore your garments apart and only relaxed a little when you were completely naked beneath him.

Pressing his bare body against yours, he revelled, soaking in your heat. But there was a part of you that was hotter, and he could sense it ― like a tracking fob, he pursued the warm feeling as he slithered down your frame.

The heat pulsing from between your thighs called him home, hypnotising. You pressed your knees together and he snarled, his sight darting to your glassy, dreamy eyes, silently distraught at your denial.

He leaned down over you to graze one of your nipples, smothering it raw to show you what he could do to you down in your balmy core. His demonstration worked, because the next time he coaxed your legs apart, you showed no resistance.

So down he went on you, fingers splaying out your puffy folds to display the focal point of his desire. Like a thirsty animal his bifid tongue darted out and swept the length of your damp slit in one slow, sweet sweep. He howled into your pussy, besotted, his arms wrapping around your thighs as he devoured your seeping cunt. Warmth poured from your clit, and he latched onto it rather harshly, finally finding the beacon that reeled him in.

“Fuck, that― Mhmm,” whatever you were going to say died in your lips as a moan hitched in your throat and your body trembled.

A rush of liquid fire met his tongue, and he accepted your offering as your thighs quivered around him ― the strength of your release eased slowly, but his tongue didn’t.

His fingers found the warm cave he needed to nestle in. But before he could do that, before his brain got fucked out into oblivion, he had to prepare you to take him. He massaged your leaking entrance one digit at a time until you were sweetly stretched around four of his fingers.

You whimpered with the first pump and slowly you eased into it, into the feeling of being full to the brim. He licked and flicked your throbbing clit, the hot nub driving him wild. Your inner walls tightened, announcing another climax, and he pulled it out of you with his fist still immersed in your pussy.

Once you came down from your high, the Beast unburied from between your thighs and loomed over you. Your half-lidded eyes and fucked-out expression only made him harder, hotter. He hungered for the moment your bodies would connect; the moment he would finally feel only warmth running through his veins. The moment the cold was forgotten, albeit only fleetingly.

The tip of his cock nudged at your pliant entrance, and he trailed the head up and down your dewy furrow a few times. Your eyes blew open the moment he poked at your hole, parting your flesh, and you looked down at his dick kissing the mouth to your cave.

“Din, I don’t think― Oh, holy FUCK,” you mumbled something uncoherent afterwards, head tilted back and your teeth sinking in your bottom lip as your pleading metamorphosed into moaning.

His whole frame blanketed yours as he supported his weight off you by placing his forearms to either side of your head.

Slowly, inch by inch, he buried himself in you, suffocating heat radiating from where you two met. He growled, an animalistic bellow bubbling up his throat as he felt your walls swallowing him, sheathing his throbbing cock. And when he was fully embedded in you, buried almost down to the hilt, you whined as he remained still ― your walls adjusting around him. He was maddened by the warmth of you.

Only when he felt you relax around him, did he start pumping in and out of you. His mind went blank as his sight transfixed on yours and your foreheads touched, another bridge between you. The Beast rutted into you, first paced, then madly, as he stared into your soul. Your body rocked up and down underneath him, your back arched so your nipples caressed the bare skin of his chest.

The movement of water behind him made him look over his shoulder. The Great Mythosaur had resurfaced, only the top of his head and his eyes were above the water table. Watching, ever present and lurking. Eager. Wanting.

He growled at him, a warning to back the fuck down ― he wasn’t sharing you; you were all for himself and himself only. His exclusive prey, no one else’s. With a low rumble, the Great Mythosaur disappeared under the water, and he refocused on you.

Tension built up at the base of his spine, his cock pulsating so hard it was difficult to ignore it any longer. And then your pussy clenched around him as you orgasmed once more, and that inevitably milked him dry ― both of you moaning in unison as ropes of thick, white cum painted your inner walls, leaving a lasting imprint in your core.

The Beast panted above you ― all coldness deserted from his body, destituted by your unique warmth.

He sat back up, his engorged cock leaving your entrails. Through the daze in your eyes, you looked at him with a satisfied grin. As you sat up straight, you lifted one hand towards him, softly placing it on the center of his chest.

“Come back to me, Din,” you begged, and all hell broke loose within him.

The pain, the shearing pain, blinded all his senses as his bones snapped and rearranged again. His jaw clenched to stop the agonising screams hiking up his throat. Din hunkered down as his body adjusted back to normal size.

As grievous as it was, it was over very quickly. Too quickly. He had not fully transformed into the Beast, which meant easing out of it was not as traumatic.

What was traumatic was the sudden landslide of overwhelming feelings taking form inside him. Almost a decade of apathy meant years’ worth of emotions repressed ― emotions that would emerge to the surface if given the opportunity. And whatever you unleashed within him, flooded his brain and his heart.

A myriad of sentiments rushed through him ― joy, anger, hope, disappointment, serenity, desperation. All at once, a cacophony bursting his eardrums. So loud were his emotions, all boiling together inside him, his thoughts were drowned. He couldn’t think ― panic was setting in.

Din panted as his arms and legs trembled uncontrollably, lungs vacating all oxygen in sharp exhales. His ears rang and his heart threatened to climb up his throat and run. Eyes closed shut, he grasped for control.

“Din, I’m here,” your hands slid on his back, grabbing him by the shoulders.

A soothing balm taking many of his worries away. Your palms smoothing out his skin felt like an anchor. One he desperately tried to hold onto.

Through the fog of his anxiety, he saw you knelt by his side, hugging him close. Naked as he was, a sweaty patina clinging to your skin. Although Din had not been in possession of his own body, he had been relegated to the background and had been witness to everything that happened. Forced to watch him take you.

He felt sick to his stomach.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control him, I just―,” he wheezed as he sat back up.

Your soft eyes sparkled, a faint smile curling up your lips. Your fingers snaked through his hair, combing it back.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Din,” you hugged him tighter, reassuring, kissing one of his shoulders.

“Are you hurt? Did I― did he…?”

“I’m completely fine. A bit… sensitive and raw. But in a good way,” you added with a faint chuckle.

The comforting caress of your hand rubbing his back and your lips brushing the skin on his shoulder made him believe you.

Even though the look in your eyes had not changed, he could see the questions dancing in your pupils. Questions you were holding back, but that would eventually spurt out.

Your free hand reached for his left cheek, and he almost flinched at the proximity. Your thumb had come too close to the scar, sending a shot of pain down his neck. But he didn’t lean back away from you. Instead, Din stilled under your touch.

“I knew you’d be gorgeous underneath that helmet,” you whispered, your mouth close to his.

Din grunted, taking your compliment as an offense. Why were you mocking him? He knew how he looked ― he didn’t need you making fun of him for it.

And why was he upset? He shouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Your tiny fingers wrapped around his wrist when he reached for the helmet nearby. You yanked his forearm until his eyes met yours.

“I wasn’t joking. I mean it, Din. Truly,” you husked, hand again on his cheek and thumb too close for comfort.

He couldn’t see a sliver of jest in your features. You were deadpan serious. And that scared him.

Din looked away, coming to terms with the flaring emotions. Emotions. Even the unspoken word tasted weird on his tongue.

You moved away from him to quickly gather your clothes and put them on. Then returned to his side with his armour and clothing.

“Let’s go back home, Din. You look knackered,” you mumbled, kneeling by his side again.

Din didn’t reject your aid when you helped him get dressed again. Taking the helmet between your hands, he bowed down his head so you could put it on for him.

His body ached in places he didn’t even know could hurt ― all the restructuring his bones had to endure always took a physical toll on him. So much so, he needed your help to stand up ― his legs felt like those of a newborn humbaba.

But today… today it also took an emotional toll on him.

He really was exhausted.

You probably needed time to process what had happened tonight, a whirlwind of questions and doubts battered around in your mind. But you didn’t want to leave Din alone, not when he looked so fatigued, a moment away from breaking.

Walking down the silent corridor beside him, arm draped around his waist, you went past your room. You had never been to his and hoped tonight would be the night where he would let you spend it by his side.

Hand heavy on the handle, you pushed it down and the door swung open. You didn’t know what to expect and, somehow, the bareness of his room did not surprise you at all. The metalwork on the walls had been painted black and the furniture was sparse. A massive bed with black bedsheets dominated the room.

Despite the monochromatic theme, it felt cozy, inviting even. Dragging him towards the bed, you gently pushed him down on to the mattress and knelt in front of him to remove his boots.

“I can do it,” his words slurred.

“I know. But let me do it, please,” you muttered, throwing the shoes to one side.

Din hummed in agreement, so slowly you unfastened all the beskar pieces again. Removed the vest underneath and unzipped his body stocking down the side, helping him out of it.

There was something extremely intimate about undressing him. Not with a deprived end in mind, but a caring one.

I could do this forever. Only if you’d let me, the intrusive thought didn’t startle you. Because it was true.

Last, you placed your hands to either side of his helmet to pull it up. By pure instinct, his hands darted up to yours to stop you from uncovering his face.

“It’s okay, Din,” you reassured him softly.

Din crooned again, arms falling to his sides, surrendering, and you took it off, leaving it on the nightstand.

You could truly get used to this; you’d never tire of looking at him. His rugged features, although distorted by the nasty scar, were pleasant. His soft, brown and white eyes, the aquiline nose, the moustache blending in with the beard, the strong jaw. You only saw beauty, no beast.

Mando let himself fall backwards and you stood there by the side of the bed, unsure of what to do with yourself.

He decided for you.

“Stay, please,” he purred, half asleep by the time his head touched the pillow underneath.

He didn’t need to say more. Removing your clothes, you joined him under the bedlinen with a smirk.

The first lights of the morning filtered through the big window in Din’s bedroom. You had been awake for an hour now, but he had been so peacefully sleeping, you didn’t want to disturb him.

A tangled mess of limbs you were, your legs intertwined with his while your right cheek rested on his bare chest. Your left forearm was splayed across his abdomen, the tips of your fingers mindlessly caressing his ribs.

Pressing a kiss to his left pec, he stirred under you, slowly coming out of his slumber. You hugged him tighter, an easy smile surfacing.

“Good morning,” you husked when he looked down at you with just his left eye open, lips slightly curled downwards.

His addled expression made you snicker as you kissed his jawline.

“Morning,” he hushed back once his brain registered your words.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better. Everything hurts, but I’m okay.”

The arm of his under you moved, bringing you closer to him in a half embrace.

“I know you have questions,” he said a few moments later.

“Understatement of the year,” you joked, lifting your head slightly up to rest your chin on his chest. “Is now a good time?”

“Might as well,” his reply was accompanied by a smirk.

“You didn’t transform fully last night, did you?”

Din shook his head. “No, just halfway. I think your presence stopped it from happening.”

Did that mean that you could soothe the beast? That you could help Din in a way that really mattered? The mere possibility filled your belly with butterflies.

“And, well, the most obvious one… How?” you emphasized the last word.

“A witch cursed me before I killed her,” you looked at him quizzically, eyebrows raised, and he sighed. “A man by the name of Moff Gideon had someone I held dear under his grasp. A kid I was fond of,” he paused to gather his thoughts while your breath hitched at the name of Moff Gideon. “I fought Gideon to free him. I won, but he had backup I did not see coming. A witch named Morgan Elsbeth. She came to his rescue and I ended up killing her. Her last breath cursed me to an existence of apathy and becoming a beast. Guess it worked,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “That was eight years ago and ever since then, my ability to feel has been dying out while the beast has only gotten stronger.”

Your head spun with so much information, you almost felt dizzy. Did Din fight Moff Gideon? Was it his halo you chased eight years ago?

“Is that how you got the crack on your helmet and the scar?” you ventured, heart pounding.

“Mhm,” was his only reply. “How I lost my right eye too.”

The helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest alloys in the Galaxy. Only a weapon strong enough would be able to melt it. But you couldn’t push him for more details, or it would be suspicious.

And did it really matter? Did you care that much about the Darksaber? Yes, you had spent your whole life looking for it; yes, you had promised your dying father you would finish the mission. But that felt like a lifetime ago.

“What was the kid’s name? What happened to him?”

“Grogu. He is Force sensitive, he went to the Jedi for training,” he pursed his lips, and your fingers smoothed out the crow’s feet around his right eye.

“You miss him,” you hummed, your fingertips tracing imaginary lines on his skin.

“I didn’t think I did. Till now,” he confessed, stirring under you. “I don’t know, it’s weird. Since last night I have started to… feel again. And it’s overwhelming.”

Your heart did a little jump against your ribcage. If he could feel now, did he feel for you?

You were too scared to ask, so didn’t.

“Maybe the curse is fading?”

“Maybe,” he said back, sounding unconvinced. “You hungry?”

You nodded.

“I’ll go get something. Bet Nau’ul has prepared a feast. Whether it’s edible or not, I don’t know.”

You chuckled at the joke and moved off him so Din could get up. In silence, you watched him dress, his back muscles rippling with every movement.

Yes, you could get used to this.

Fuck the Darksaber. Fuck everything. You just wanted to live your life. With him. Here, in Mandalore. Only if he’d let you.

It was selfish of you to think this way, but Din’s curse had become your blessing.

Every night since you discovered his secret, you’d go to his room and spend the hours of darkness with him. He would reluctantly take the helmet off, but each time you would reassure him he couldn’t scare you away, that what he thought he looked like didn’t matter in the slightest. And you meant every single word. In your eyes, he was perfect just the way he was.

There was still the issue of his Creed forbidding him, but you wondered if it was more habit than anything else.

And every full moon, you would follow him down to the Mythosaur lair to let him take you, excitement running through your veins every single time. You knew you shouldn’t enjoy it but allowing him to fuck you in beast form was exhilarating. Even with practice you had still not been able to take him fully ― his cock too big to bear. It was worse when you attempted a blowjob on him ― your jaw almost dislocated. But you were more than happy to try, obviously.

And of course, it helped him regulate, which was the most important point of all. He had told you he didn’t feel as cold either. Even if his body was hot to the touch, Din had explained how his organs, his blood, felt like icicles. Ever since the beast had had a taste of your warmth―Din’s words, not yours―it seemed like his feelings were slowly crawling back.

That had been interesting too. After so many years spent numb, Din had had a bit of trouble dealing with his emotions. Sometimes they were extreme, out of proportion even, but he was learning how to manage them. Although most days felt like one step forward and three back, especially when it was a touchy subject such as love.

You had tried, but Din was still of the idea that he couldn’t truly feel ― that this was just a glitch, a shortcut, but not the real thing. And because of his stupid theory, he didn’t want to hear you say anything about The Matter. You had seen how much he had improved, how much better he could deal with everything, and yet he wouldn’t listen to you in that respect.

You rolled your eyes, still thinking about it, as you trekked through the mud. It was a crispy morning, but the cold had started to recede. Poor Ca’nara had a faulty retractable third leg ― the inside mechanism was getting jammed regularly. You had decided to be proactive and walk to the landing site of your X-wing, in the hopes that some parts of your astromech droid were salvageable. An extremely long shot, yes, but you had to try at least.

In full armour, Din sauntered towards the dining room, where the three droids seemed to be conferring about something.

None of them heard him coming, and Nau’ul startled dramatically when he saw him.

“Oh! Alor! What― Uh, do you want something to eat?” he asked, looking at Mrs. Kri’gee and Ca’nara nervously.

Din frowned, suspicious of their jumpy, evasive behaviour.

“No, I’m fine,” he mumbled as his eye caught a glimpse of something shiny Nau’ul was holding, trying to conceal it. “What’s that?”

“Ah, this? Well. You see, I― It’s― Nothing really. I don’t really know what―” his stammering was riling Din up.

He was a damn droid, not a fucking human. How could Nau’ul get edgier than himself? Unbelievable.

“Give,” he extended his hand towards the droid, palm up, and curled his fingers with impatience.

The three droids shared weird looks, but Nau’ul finally handed him the object.

Din turned around the metal item and as soon as he did, he recognised the beskar. Brows knitting, he inspected the grooves and quickly identified them as astromeridian lines. This was not a simple object; it was a Jedi star compass. Confused as to how this came to be in the possession of Nau’ul, Din unclasped the compass and lifted the lid.

His breathing hitched and his heart skipped a beat. This was not any star compass; this was the star compass. One that all Mandalorians believed to be a myth. But the black plasma in the lodestone didn’t lie. In his hand he was holding the very same star compass that Tarre Vizsla had commissioned to keep track of the Darksaber in case it ever got stolen.

“Where did you get this?” he snapped, fingers clutching the device tight.

“I― Well, it’s complicated. I thought―”

“It’s hers, isn’t it?” he interrupted.

The memory of that day trip to your ship came back to him. A locket, you had said. Bullshit.

Nau’ul nodded.

“How long have you had this?”

“Weeks, Alor. I did recognise it from the lore I knew about House Vizsla, but we didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. She’s doing you good, Master, you’ve improved―”

“Unnecessarily? Are you for fucking real, Nau’ul?” Din replied angrily, teeth gritting.

Without expecting an answer, he turned around and stormed out of the room.

You were kneeling on the ground, elbow’s deep in the core of your old R3-D3 unit, trying to reach a hidden screw, when you heard heavy steps approaching.

“Good you’re here, I can’t get to this screw. I’ve been at it for five minutes now. Can you try?” you asked Din, who stopped inches away from your back.

When he didn’t say a word, you turned around and glanced up at him.

He radiated tension through every pore, his posture stiff and shoulders squared. Eyebrows furrowed, you got up, cleaning the palm of your hands on your trousers.

“What’s the matter, Din?”

“This. Why did you have this?” his voice transpired how mad he felt as he handed you an object you quickly recognised.

The star compass that Nau’ul had confiscated from you weeks ago. You had assumed the droid didn’t know what it was and hadn’t bothered to show it to Din.

Your eyes shot up to where you knew his were.

“I can explain,” you reached for him, your fingers wrapping around his forearm.

“You better start talking now,” even if he hadn’t backed away from you, he felt so distant.

Your mind raced and your heart galloped inside your chest. You could lie your way out of this situation, but you didn’t want to. You loved him, and nothing else mattered. He would understand. Eventually.

“Din, listen to me, please. I’m not gonna lie to you: it is exactly what it looks like. My family, my tribe― we are trackers. Have been tracking the Darksaber for generations. I was raised to hate your people, but the message never really sunk in for me. Our purpose was to find the Darksaber and destroy it,” you explained while he remained deadly silent. “That was why I was travelling through the Mandalore system. I was tracking the Darksaber. I was going to Concordia, but I ran into technical problems with my X-wing and had to divert here. I think― I thought it was there.”

Until that night you sneaked out to the west wing. You had been caught before you could confirm your suspicions but were pretty sure that was what Din was hiding in the west wing. The reason he wouldn’t let you be anywhere nearby.

“But now you know it’s not in Concordia,” he finished for you.

You nodded.

“But I don’t care for it anymore, Din. Once I figured you likely had it, I made a choice. I chose you,” you whispered, closing in on him until your bodies met. “You have to believe me.”

He didn’t talk at all. Silence strung between you, dense and worrying, like a rope wrapping around your neck, forcing the oxygen out of your lungs. You didn’t want to panic, knowing that Din probably only needed time to think, to digest and ruminate.

Minutes went by and your grip on his forearm loosened. You were ready to take a step back, give him some space to process, when Din finally spoke in his modulated voice.

“I believe you,” a wave of relief washed over you, “and I choose you too.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach and then climbed up your oesophagus. It was beating so hard, so fast, you were seconds away from passing out.

He chose you.

Before you could throw your arms around his neck with pure elation, Din took a step back and one hand reached towards the back of his belt. Confused, you followed the movement of his hand, a deep wrinkle burrowing between your brows.

Din presented you a black hilt, waved it a little, and then the black and white blade appeared, humming very loudly, although dimmer than what you expected. Your eyes widened at the sight of the Darksaber ― the item your whole family had been searching for, right there, in front of you, an inch away from your fingers.

Lifting your right hand, you reached for it.

Suddenly, a firing sound broke the silence and, inexplicably, Din leaned forward towards you, the Darksaber dropping from his hand.

You held him by the elbows, not understanding what was happening, as his hands grasped for you. Then a second firing noise uprooted a painful groan from him while he almost dragged you to the floor.

“Din? Din!” you whispered, on your knees with him in your arms, as your hands roamed his body.

You felt the warm blood before you could see it and panic settled in fast. He was profusely bleeding from two gunshots on his back, right below the beskar piece that covered his six.

“No, no. Wait. What―” you sobbed as Din groaned, his consciousness drifting away.

You were losing him fast, and you didn’t even know how.

“Are you okay? Is he dead?”

A male voice came from behind a tree near the cliff. A voice you had not heard in a long while, but quickly recognised.

Ashton.

Blaster still pointing at Din, Ash had frozen several meters away from you. What was he doing here? How did he get here unnoticed? Why? Fucking why?

But none of those questions left your mouth, gutted as you were, holding onto Din, worried he would slip away from you. You couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, overwhelmed as you were.

Din stirred in your arms, and you saw the panic reflected in Ash’s eyes as he cocked the blaster in Din’s direction again. There was no time to think, to beg, to ask him to leave. To tell him you loved the man he was intent on killing.

So you did the only thing you could do. Your fingers found Din’s blaster in his holster, lifted it up, pointed to Ash, and shot.

The light beam flashed before it hit dead center between Ash’s eyes. He stumbled back and fell into the abyss behind him. And just like that, you had killed the only friend you had known.

You should have doubted your actions, but you didn’t. It all happened too quickly, and you had bigger worries than having killed one of the few people you cared about. Like losing the love of your life.

Dropping the blaster, you rushed to remove Din’s helmet.

“Din, please, just hold on. Please, stay with me. Please, don’t leave,” you screamed and cried, hands trembling and pressing on the wounds on his back.

His eyes fluttered open, only a tiny slit ― his gloved hand reached up, cradling your cheek.

“Cyar’ika,” he could barely talk. “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum (I love you). Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“No, no. NO. You ain’t saying goodbye. No,” your words slurred as your sobs intensified, your heart breaking into a myriad of tiny pieces.

You removed the glove of his hand to kiss the palm, your tears streaming between his fingers. Yours wrapped around his wrist, holding him there.

As you cried your eyes out, you noticed the Darksaber humming louder, almost deafening, and its light shining brighter. Its vibration called you, hearing your name inside your head. A Force deep within you awakening, beckoning you to touch it. A need as basic as breathing.

Through teary eyes, blinking fast, you gave in ― you grabbed it.

An electrifying sensation ran through you, all your muscles coiling at once. Your mind spiralled out of control, for a moment losing track of time and space. The Force was so intense, so primitive, you thought you would be obliterated by its magnitude.

When you could finally open your eyes, the blade had dimmed considerably and then it completely snuffed out. Your cries had not stopped though, so loud you almost missed Din’s voice.

“Mesh’la,” he rasped, trying to straighten his back, “you― you’re Force sensitive. You’ve used the Force of the Darksaber to heal me.”

Your wet eyes darted to him and then his wounds. Or where the wounds had been but no longer existed. Mouthing a gulp of air, you instantly dropped the Darksaber to hug him tight, crying louder than before.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. We’re okay,” he hushed, comforting you.

“I love you, Din,” you mumbled in the crook of his neck, relief running through you loosening your taut muscles. “Don’t you fucking dare die on me again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Din chuckled, one hand smoothing out your hair.

“Noted, cyar’ika.”

Cradling his handsome face, you pressed a kiss to his lips. Salty yet sweet. You kissed him again, looking for the solace of his tongue.

The wind carried some words you barely made out.

“Maker met.”

Four full moons had come and gone, and the beast was no more.

Din’s curse was broken. For good. Forever.

You couldn’t have asked for anything else. Anyone else. You loved him and he loved you back ― he had shown you many times. Right as he was showing you now.

Your lips brushed his tummy right above his belly button, leaving a trail of kisses as you found your way back to his mouth. Din was laying on his back, his rough hands caressing the back of your thighs as you kissed his scar and then his right eye, lips soft as a cloud.

He didn’t flinch anymore whenever you touched the sensitive skin or his blind eye. Instead, he sighed, as if your caress was soothing, calming. As if you could take away the pain he felt sometimes.

You sat back up on top of him, straddling his hips as his mushroom head hitched in your entrance, his hands compelling you to impale yourself. But you didn’t ― not yet.

Instead, you leaned over a bit, taking the helmet off the nightstand. It was heavy. Curious to know what it felt like, you put it on. The padding inside was soft, your face snug. It was slightly claustrophobic, but also comforting. Weird.

“It suits you, cyar’ika. You should consider taking up the Creed,” he mumbled, eyes full of desire, of yearning. Of love.

You chuckled and stirred your hips above him, the tip of his cock going in ever so smoothly.

“For you, I just might, Din.”

@baronessvonglitter @bishtrouille @natalieispunk @iknowisoundcrazy @almostfoxglove

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bits-and-babs · 1 year ago

Text

✧ 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 ✧

with one week until october, i've decided it's time i return to writing. i've planned out a release schedule for a kinktober celebration, and hope that i'll be able to complete it this year ! please enjoy, i can't wait to release work for you all again ! ღ

from the 1st - 31st i will be posting one smut fic a day with different prompts featuring different characters. all fics relating to this event will be tagged kinktober 2023. this masterlist will be continually updated as i go.

minors dni: please note all writing in this event is not suitable for minors. if i find minors interacting with my work, you will be blocked.

content tags: please be mindful of the content tags on my fics. each fic will have it's own separate cw section, detailing any sensitive or triggering content. i give ample warning, so if you don't like do not read. all fics will be written as f!reader.

tagging: i will be tagging my usual taglist for the characters I write each day. if you wish to be tagged on each day of kinktober, please sign up via the taglist below.

navigation blog rules taglist

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ─

OCTOBER 001.

camgirl | simon 'ghost' riley x camgirl!reader summary: a new client sends a request for a solo-cam performance. his lack of detail and scarce details leave you unprepared. cw: f!reader, sexwork, dirty talk, breast-play, m & f masturbation, use of sex toy, use of honorific 'sir' but no real power dynamic.

OCTOBER 002.

touch starved | din djarin x reader summary: the child has been getting in the way of you and mando spending time together. after weeks without your touch, he's finally reaching his limit. cw: f!reader, needy din, slightly ooc din to fit the theme, begging, oral (m receiving), cumming early, reference to f oral.

OCTOBER 003.

phone sex | johnny mactavish x reader summary: on leave, johnny can't resist pestering you while you're at work. or perhaps he just can't resist you... cw: f!reader, sexting, dirty talk, voyeurism(?), begging, masturbation (m & f), orgasm denial, inferred voyeurism. this one made me blush.

OCTOBER 004.

aphrodisiac | grand admiral thrawn x reader summary: grand admiral thrawn has a unconventional way of convincing neighbouring planets to pledge allegiance to the empire. cw: aphrodisiacs/sex pollen vibes so dub-con, fingering, cum eating, political mind games.

OCTOBER 005.

clothes on | joel miller x reader summary: trapped inside a wardrobe whilst hiding from infected, joel ups the ante of survival. cw: f!reader, threat to life, mentions of gore, quiet or die kind of vibe, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie, autassassinophilia – arousal in the fear of being killed.

OCTOBER 006.

nipple piercings | captain john price x reader summary: three months into your sas training course, chief directional instructor captain john price drills you on cold-water-shock survival. cw: f!reader, cold water shock, power imbalance (recruit x directing staff), secret relationship, breast/nipple stimulation, unprotected sex, p in v sex, cream pie.

OCTOBER 007.

incubus | maul x reader summary: a bizarre creature comes to visit your dreams, promising to satiate the desperate yearning of your body that it sensed across the plains of the force. cw: incubus! – somnophilia and dub-con by default, size kink, rough sex, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cream-pie, choking, breath play, use of pet name ‘dove’

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐎 —

OCTOBER 008.

roleplay | könig x reader summary: as with all of your bedroom antics with könig, you plant the seed. but when he finally succumbs to your devious plan, you struggle to withstand the heat. cw: roleplay hostage situation, faux attack, faux disregard for partners comfort (konig cares a lot though, i promise) oral sex (m receiving), rough oral sex, face slapping, rough deep throating, swallowing.

OCTOBER 009.

witch!reader | din djarin x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 010.

cheating | captain john price x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 011.

breeding kink | grand admiral thrawn x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 012.

caught sex | joel miller x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 013.

morning sex | john mactavish x reader summary: cw:

OCTOBER 014.

hate sex | oberyn martel x reader summary: cw:

𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 —

tbc...

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #spooktober #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #john soap mctavish #john soap mctavish x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #star wars #star wars smut #mwii smut #thrawn #grand admiral thrawn x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou smut

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djarincore · 11 months ago

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To Touch Darkness

summary: Din is possessed by the darksaber, forcing all of his darkest fears and deepest desires to manifest in a way that threatens to consume you.

pairing: haunted!din djarin x f!reader

word count: 4.8k

warnings: dark, dubcon, biting, blood, oral (f and m receiving), hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, possessive behavior, name calling, dirty talk, breeding kink, breath play, degradation, unprotected PIV, manhandling, mainly smut, please read tags carefully and do not read if anything could be potentially triggering!

a/n: there's something so sexy about an emotionally closed off man who gets possessed and all those locked up feelings surface in the worst way possible and he becomes obsessed with his desire hehe

There was something wrong with Din.

You wanted to believe in logical explanations. Grogu was gone, training with Luke Skywaker and shrinking your clan of three to two before you could process your goodbyes. The Razor Crest was ashes—the only home the two of you had known for the years you’d been together. And Din’s creed was broken, leaving him an apostate with an uncertain future. Not to mention he was now in possession of an incredibly powerful weapon, the darksaber, and he didn’t even want the responsibility of its power.

The world was crashing down around him; it made sense for him to change.

But, you were wrong—so very wrong.

Your slow realization began the first night without Grogu. The two of you had gone back to Tatooine with Boba Fett and Fennec Shand, finding an inn to stay at before planning your next moves.

Exhausted, as you laid on your side in bed together, his bare hands wandered over your skin, hot and needy, his mouth trailing down your neck in search of the spot that made you melt beneath him. He knew it well, having spent hours ravishing you in the dark of his bunk long before Grogu was ever in your lives.

You craned your neck to face him with a frown. Maybe now wasn’t the best time; after all, you both just lost a son. “Din, I don’t think-”

With better access, his lips sealed yours in a passionate and frenzied kiss as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your pants.

“Need you,” he grunted, yanking your pants down along with your underwear, “Now.”

“But, Din,” you attempted to protest, but it died on your lips when his hand pulled your thighs apart and another wrapped around your waist. His rough palm came in contact with your clit and a finger ran up your folds. You shuddered and gasped when he ground his palm against your clit, urging you to grind against it. You could feel him growing stiff against your ass as he rutted against you.

It was unlike him to be so desperate; Din was all about calm and collected control. When the two of you were in bed together he would never fully lose himself to his desires, a part of him always held back, too afraid to hurt you. His hands would only ghost the column of your neck, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of your skin but never sinking in and taking what he wanted.

But, you were tempted by that locked up part of himself, by what he could do and how well he could ruin you if he’d just give in.

Both your emotions were running high from your newfound loss; you slowly allowed yourself to succumb to the pleasure he offered to forget your feelings for a night.

Din turned you on your back and his lips returned to your neck, trailing down the slope and through the valley of your breasts. You moaned when his tongue ran over your nipple, building it up to its peak and then moving on to the next, teasing lightly with his teeth.

His finger worked over your clit, massaging circles around it until you were writhing and soaked. He cursed as he stuffed two fingers into you without warning, curling his fingers in your heat. “So tight ‘n wet for me.”

You cried out, shocked by the sudden feeling of fullness. You weren’t quite used to how rough he was being, the words he spoke. As much as you loved his praise and gentle whispers, you couldn’t deny how wet you became from hearing the rasp in his voice or the way he commanded your body with rough touches.

You shifted your hips to adjust to his fingers, but he clawed down on your thighs, forcing you open.

“Stay still,” he growled.

You struggled to comply. Hips jerked in response to his thick fingers pushing and pulling through your slick heat. You whimpered his name, curling your fingers around his bicep. You could feel the tension in your belly building.

Din huffed, his fingers slipped out of you and he manhandled you onto your stomach, propping you up and ready for him.

Your eyes widened. He never liked taking you in this position, said it was too impersonal. He always wanted to see you, kiss you, watch as your face twisted with pleasure, to see your eyes open again and know they were filled with love.

He leaned over, pressing himself against your pulsing heat, allowing you to feel just how badly he wanted you. He whispered low in your ear, rough and heated, “What’d I say, mesh’la?”

“S-Sorry,” you panted, pushing against his cock. You were throbbing, aching to be filled again and again.

“Think you can take me yet?”

You only nodded into the pillows, too distracted by the rustling of his pants sliding off and being discarded somewhere in the corner of the room. His thick cock dragged against your entrance, soaking in arousal.

“I need an answer,” he demanded, pulling your face from the pillows. He cradled your jaw. The tips of his fingers trailed down to brush against the column of your throat.

“Yes! Please, Din,” you begged, pushing your aching cunt against him.

When he slid in, molding you around his cock, you clung to the pillow and moaned. He grunted once he was all the way in, already pressing against that perfect spot that made your entire body tremble. He just knew your body all too well and when he began grinding into you just the way you liked, you nearly fell apart with a cry.

“Such a good girl,” he groaned when you opened around him, adjusting his grip tighter on your hips to control you. His thrusts started shallow, allowing you to adjust to his size, until you begged for more. “Ready, cyare?”

“Yes, please, I need it,” you mewled, rocking your hips back.

The first heavy thrust nearly pushed you against the headboard. He continued at that pace, drilling into your tight cunt. The slick dripping between your thighs was messy and your walls fluttered around him, pulling him deeper until he was groaning and snapping his hips harder.

You swore you were going to break. The angle was different; he was pressing against you in all the right places, filling you to the brim. The building pleasure in your stomach grew and grew. His hand wandered away from pressing bruises into your hip and brushed against your swollen clit.

You jerked away with a pitiful yelp, but his other hand held you down, moving from your hip to the back of your neck once again, pressing your face into the pillows.

“You’re okay,” he soothed. “Doing so well for me.”

“Ah, Din, feels so good,” you whimpered, sinking deeper and deeper under the waves of pleasure as his finger continued moving on your clit, sending strong pulses throughout your body. It rocked you to the very core until you threatened to snap.

The fingers around your neck pressed gently, reminding you he was there, completely in control of your pleasure. The added pressure only served to bring you closer to your climax.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you managed through your breathless pants.

With a few more thrusts of his hips, you shattered completely with a sharp cry, squeezing his cock until he followed soon after. You rode your highs together, his chest against your back and his mouth to your ear, whispering praises.

As you eased yourself onto your stomach, Din slipped out but continued to hover over you, ghosting fingers up and down your spine to soothe you.

“Did I hurt you?” His concern and guilt took over his exhaustion. Two hands roamed your body, tracing the marks and bruises he created.

You cut off his on coming apology, “I’m fine, Din. I-I actually liked it.”

“Really?” His fingers pressed into your skin. “Are you sure?”

You laughed, turning over to grab his head and pull him down, attacking him with a flurry of kisses all over his face. “I’ll say it one more time—I’m fine, Din.”

Din pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, cradling your cheek in his palm. “You won’t leave, right?”

Your brows furrowed. It was a sudden question, but you had a feeling you knew what brought it out. “No, Din.”

A shadow passed over his eyes, so quickly you swore you imagined it.

“You’re mine?”

Your worry faded into a chuckle. “Last time I checked, we’re married. Of course, I’m yours forever.”

Din pulled you into his chest, an arm draped over your waist, his fingers pressing into your back. He peppered kisses over each splotch of color along your neck. He was clearly satisfied with your answer.

As you drifted off, you faintly heard a whisper.

“Mine forever.”

Din’s behavior only declined after that night. He rarely allowed you to leave his side or wander too far out of sight, claiming it was better this way, safer.

Who knew what kind of enemies he had made after capturing Moff Gideon? There were people after him; they were enemies shrouded in shadow and ghostly whispers he couldn’t explain, but they were there—he was sure of it.

And the only place you could be safe was by his side as he viciously tore his enemies apart. Bounties were no longer given the choice to be taken in alive.

You witnessed Din slice a man’s hand off with the darksaber simply because he grabbed your hand as he begged for his life. And when you asked him why he’d done that, he only shrugged and polished off the darksaber’s hilt.

“He touched what’s mine.”

His words burrowed into your skin for weeks to come.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Every time he held the darksaber you wanted to shy away. The ominous glow surrounding its dark void pulled you into its haze and clouded your rational thoughts.

His words were no longer spoken with adoration and devotion—there was only obsession. He needed you, craved you so desperately. His frenzied hunger consumed you every night. He was rough, needy, as if every second you weren’t wrapped around his cock would turn him into a starved beast. You were never without splotches coloring your skin, never without his touch burning onto every inch of your body.

And you craved him all the same, falling into his arms when he opened them. The need was insatiable, almost painful. To be without him created an ache deep in your heart, a pounding in your skull, and throbbing desire for him to be buried in your weeping cunt.

So, you continued to follow him because you loved him and needed him.

He often talked about Mandalore, not just when it came to bathing in its waters to be redeemed but reclaiming it, becoming its rightful ruler. You didn’t understand where the desire came from. He was so adamant about giving the darksaber to Bo-Katan after winning it from Gideon, not wanting anything to do with the responsibility.

His determination led the two of you to find the Armorer, hoping she’d give him the support and guidance he needed. When you ended up on Glavis, where the Armorer and Paz set up a new forge, you were glad to see them.

It almost felt normal. For the past six months all you knew was Din. Seeing familiar faces brought back a sort of clarity in your mind; the world was more than just Din.

That night you laid with Din in a bed offered by the Armorer in the new covert. You stayed up, haunted by your thoughts. Your recurring dreams, more like nightmares, were plagued with panic and danger, blood and death.

The nightmares started after Din’s change in character and always surrounded him, whether it was him washed in the blood of his enemies or lying in a pool of his own.

Fresh air would do you well. You had to untangle yourself from Din’s arms. Carefully, you slipped his arm off and rolled yourself out of his grasp, replacing your body with a pillow. He didn’t stir and you crept out of the room without a sound.

You hated stumbling around in the dark. Before things with Din began to change, you had no problem with it, but now it felt suffocating to be trapped in the darkness.

The new covert was smaller, made up of narrow walkways with no railing. One small misstep and you’d tumble over into the abyss. A small part of you wanted to turn back, stay with Din where it was safer, where he could protect you, but that thought shrunk the longer you walked down the familiar path toward the forge.

The light in the room beckoned you inside. Paz was sitting on a bench cleaning a few blasters with a rag.

“Come in,” he invited, not taking his focus away from his task.

You slipped into the room and sat on a bench situated against the wall.

“Trouble sleeping?” He asked.

“Sort of,” you said. It was odd to be alone after so long by Din’s side. You almost felt empty.

After a long silence, Paz finally spoke.

“The darksaber is dangerous,” he spat. “The apostate should have never brought it here. It craves power and control. It draws strength from fear and desire.”

You sat, dumbstruck. You felt a moment of clarity, something you hadn’t felt in weeks. Were you truly so blind to the darksaber’s influence over your mind and body? But it all made sense—the lust, the possessiveness. The darksaber was to blame.

You missed Din, the man he used to be and the life you had.

“There has to be a way to help him, right? We can take it away, destroy it,” you spouted off.

Your speech was growing frenzied, your mind desperately raced for solutions to fix a problem you didn’t understand.

“We have to help him,” you begged. You stood and rushed to Paz, grabbing his arm. “Please-”

“What’s going on here?”

Din appeared like a ghost at the edge of the shadowed doorway. Darkness seemed to consume his outline, pulling him further into the abyss.

You slipped your hands from Paz’s arm and stepped away, afraid of what Din might do if you clung to him longer. The sound of the darksaber igniting and echoing screams rang in your ear.

“Nothing,” you were quick to say, but Paz thought differently.

“You’ve changed.”

Din’s low, dark chuckle made your shoulders tense. Confidence seeped in his stance, his posture lax and head cocked. “Have I?”

“You scare your own riduur, brother.”

“She’s not scared.”

Paz stepped in front of you, shielding you behind his large body. “You do not get to decide that.”

With your face no longer in his sight, the confidence slipped into rage. “Stay away from her,” Din growled.

Paz shifted his feet, igniting his vambrace shield. The tension began to rise as both men reached for their weapons.

“Din, stop,” you demanded, stepping from behind Paz. You didn’t want bloodshed—you just wanted him to be free. “We just want to help you.”

“Come here,” Din commanded.

The feeling was undeniable. The heavy push toward him forced your feet toward him. Though your mind wanted to fight it, your eyes gravitated toward the darksaber clutched in his fist. It screamed and called for you, distorted and clear all at the same time.

“Din,” you begged, as if his name would be enough to rid him of the darksaber’s curse.

“I did not ask.”

Like metal grinding against metal, a trilling noise reverberated in your skull, calling you to him with more than just words.

“You do not deserve that weapon nor your riduur.”

Paz’s harsh words were enough to push Din into igniting the darksaber. A pitch black saber with a glow of white and a hollow ringing as it raised, the sight brought a tremble in your legs. The confrontation would only end one way if you didn’t defuse it.

“They belong to me.”

It was like Din’s voice was not his own.

“The darksaber was forged by my ancestors. It does not belong in the hands of an apostate.”

“Then come get it.”

The threat was evident in his words. A new challenge for the darksaber was approaching, one that would only end in death to mark the true keeper of its power.

Paz stepped forward. The ringing became louder, unbearable.

“Stop!” You threw yourself in the middle, arms outstretched. “That’s enough!”

You carefully stepped toward Din, hoping your wavering smile would make him sheath the darksaber and forget Paz’s words. “Let’s go to bed, okay?”

Din grabbed your arm and tugged you away. When Paz stepped forward again to follow, you stuck your hand out to shoo him away. He had the best intentions, but you didn’t want to see him dead.

When Din returned the darksaber to his belt, the ringing didn’t stop. You wanted to run, but you wouldn’t leave Din to be consumed by the darksaber’s influence.

Din dragged you back to your bedroom; the silence was tense. His grip around your arm burned and he squeezed until you let out a whimper. “He’s turning you against me, trying to take what’s mine.”

He threw open the door and pulled you inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

“It wasn’t like that,” you whined, clawing at his hand. Maker, your head was pounding. “He only wanted to help.”

“Help?” He scoffed. His other hand came to grip your jaw, his nails digging into your cheek, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “Don’t fucking lie to me. Just admit you want to leave me too,” he all but roared.

It was fear speaking. His hand trembled as he held you. Like a caged tiger lashing out.

Your eyes burned as both of his grips tightened. “No,” you managed to squeeze out of your puckered lips. “Never.”

“Prove it.” He released you with a shove, sending you tumbling to the floor, and sat on the bed. He began to unbuckle his pants.

You stared at him wide eyed, slightly dazed from the fall. He was never this rough or demanding, even when he was buried deep inside your cunt, taking you over every flat surface available.

“Don’t sit there and look dumb.”

His words brought you back. Your legs clenched and shame flooded through you.

It wasn’t right. You were supposed to be convincing him to get rid of the darksaber, not getting aroused when he threw you around with impressive strength.

Your head was screaming; the pounding against your skull made you fear something would burst out of it. You couldn’t focus.

You needed to…

Your hands were on him. You freed his cock easily and got to work without a second thought. You just wanted to—needed to—please him.

Stroking his thick cock with your hand, your thumb brushed over the weeping tip and smeared pearls of precum over him. You felt saliva begin to pool on your tongue as you leaned forward to take him into your mouth. Your lips wrapped around his cock, taking as much as you could until you reached halfway. You stroked the rest of him with your hand.

“That’s it,” he sighed, a hand reaching to press against your skull to guide you.

Your head bobbed, tasting the saltiness of him on your tongue. You moaned when evidence of your arousal began seeping into your panties. You attempted to shift your hips and angle your heel against your core to give yourself some stimulation. Your clit rubbed against your heel, a weak pressure but managed to send a shudder through you.

When Din sensed you were more interested in getting yourself off, he forced you down his cock until you choked. Tears pooled in your eyes as you tried not to gag. Your hand clawed at his hip, begging for air.

“Take it,” he ordered, his voice nothing but a harsh bite. He could feel your throat fluttering around him perfectly—a mouth made just for him.

You blinked away your tears and tried breathing through your nose.

“You want to come so bad you’re going to fuck yourself on your heel? Heh, what a naughty little slut,” he said, clicking his tongue.

You nearly jolted at that word, eyes widening. It was always mesh’la or cyare; on rare, gentle nights it was riduur—never slut. Your brows furrowed, but he paid no mind.

His hand guided you along his length, deep and quick. His breaths came ragged as he used you. He pulled you off at the height of his pleasure, biting back a groan.

“Get up,” he demanded.

You gripped the bed for support as you stood on weak legs before his seated figure. The throbbing in your core grew stronger when his hands came to slide up your waist, beneath your shirt, to cup your breast, running both thumbs over your hardening nipples.

“This is mine,” Din rasped, pinching one of your nipples until you yelped. Another hand trailed down, slipping into your panties and cupping your leaking cunt. “And this is mine. Every fucking inch of you belongs to me.”

He dragged a single digit through your folds, gathering your arousal on his finger before dipping into your warmth. Your hands flew to grip his shoulder pauldrons when he began moving his finger and grinding his palm against your clit.

“There is no running from me,” he growled. He ripped his hands from your body and stood in a mass of intimidating silver armor. “I’ll make sure you remember that. Take your clothes off.”

You were pushed on the bed before you could blink and Din was removing the rest of his armor and clothes. Each plate clashed against the floor, the sound of anticipation. You followed his orders, quickly shedding off your clothes, revealing yourself to the cold night air.

By the time you were naked, his helmet was all that was left. He revealed his face, finally. The eyes you loved were void of any emotion other than lust. Dark eyes scanned your body as he stalked toward you and slipped onto the bed.

Laying flat on your back, you awaited his next demands. It would be wise to listen. There was no telling what kind of beast you’d unlock with one wrong move, yet you were shamefully eager to discover it.

When he knelt between your legs, devouring your glistening pussy with his starving eyes, he pushed your legs wider, bending your knees up toward your chest.

Din lowered himself onto the bed without tearing his gaze from your cunt. He wet his lower lip before kissing along your inner thigh.

“Stay.” Was his only command before he dove into your sweet cunt. He dragged his flat tongue slow up your slit and against your clit.

You held onto your trembling legs, pulling yourself open for him, as he delved into your folds. He devoured you, using his hands to spread your lips wider as he fucked you with his tongue, eating you like he was starving.

You clawed at your knees, trying to keep your legs open, as breathless pants slipped through your lips. Your orgasm was approaching fast and if he didn’t let up or give you a break, you’d come all over his face.

Maybe that’s what he planned. Once he began to rub your sensitive clit, ignoring your whines, you knew it was over.

“Ngh, Din,” you gasped, giving up on holding your legs when the overwhelming rush of your impending orgasm flooded you. Your legs locked around his head, fingers tugging his hair as your hips moved to reach your high.

“That’s right,” he moaned into your cunt, encouraging you to ride his face further, clawing your thighs.

You met your peak with a sharp cry, grinding against his face as his tongue lapped up your release. His hunger was insatiable; he cleaned any drop of your arousal that leaked from your cunt. When he finally emerged, he swiped his thumb over the corners of his mouth and sucked that off as well.

“No one else can make you feel like this, huh?”

You caught your heaving breath. “No one.”

Hands slotting beneath your knees, Din spread you open once again. Your body was still shuddering, sensitive, when he slotted himself between your legs. His cockhead caught against your opening and you groaned, still twitching from the aftershocks of your orgasm, “W-Wait, Din.”

“Quiet,” he growled, grabbing your neck. His hand squeezed, cutting off your breath, leaving no room for any more argument.

The usual loving gaze he kept was gone, gentle hands and loving gestures, replaced by something darker—a locked away desire bubbling to the surface.

You hated how much his voice and his complete control made your body tremble. You needed him to satisfy you.

He entered you without another warning, forcing himself into your cunt despite the resistance of your tight walls. He didn’t give you the chance to adjust to his thick cock filling you.

You yelped, clawing at his arm. The lack of oxygen and his rapid thrusts made your mind spin. There was nothing but Din as darkness crept into your vision—it would only be him forever.

“Gonna fuck a new baby into you,” he grunted.

That would have given you pause if you weren’t so caught up in bliss, trapped in the haze of pleasure he gave you. You only moaned, words were lost to you, your tongue nothing but a heavy mass.

“You want that, don’t you?” He cooed, “To be swollen with my kid. You’d never be able to leave my side.”

He released your neck and you gasped for air, grateful with each breath you could gulf down. His hand slid down your chest until he reached your stomach and pressed down; he could feel the bulge of his cock moving inside you.

“Right here. Feel that?”

The pressure from his hand brought tears to your eyes. He was relentless—he fucked you until you cried, helpless under his strength. Your body was nothing but a doll for him to break and mold beneath his touch.

Your sobs were silenced by his lips, rough and heady, devouring every gasp and cry. You tasted blood, felt the sting of your lower lip from where he bit. Din trailed kisses and sucked marks onto your neck as you writhed beneath the attention you were too weak to deny.

His hand slid lower, his thumb grazing your sensitive clit. You came without warning, arching into his thrusts and clawing at his back with a sob.

He continued, unphased by your cunt clenching around him, allowing you to ride out your high to the point of almost painful overstimulation.

Your chest heaved, begging for a break he would not offer. Your legs fell limp against the bed. “C-Can’t,” you choked.

It was too much, too sensitive. And when he hit that perfect, spongy spot inside you, your back arched with a violent cry escaping you.

“You can take it,” he encouraged, hands slipping beneath your thighs to push them to your chest, spreading you wider and letting him go deeper. “You’re gonna be good for me, yeah?”

All you could do was nod through his punishing movements as he worked closer and closer to his release. He muttered breathless promises until they trailed off into nothing but grunts and groans.

“Give me another one.”

“Maker, I could stay buried in you forever.”

He was lost, taking all the pleasure for himself as you laid there whimpering, twisting your hands around the sheets or running them down his back. You ached all over, but you could feel another climax building, twisting inside you.

Din cursed, the harsh groan came before he sank his teeth into your shoulder. You weren’t sure if you screamed or not, too consumed by your orgasm and him filling you. Your hands desperately clawed down his back the deeper his teeth dug.

“D-Din,” you stuttered weakly, eyes falling heavy under the pain; your face twisted.

He let you go after his teeth made their mark on your skin, a sign for anyone else foolish enough to challenge him for you. He pulled your limp figure close to his chest and held you in his arms until your breath evened.

You were fading, succumbing to your exhaustion and his warm embrace. Though there was a thought floating around in your meddled brain, something important.

Din shifted inside you, not pulling out yet. You could feel the mixture of your cum stuffed inside of you and slowly leaking between your legs. It was just the two of you, lost in the aftershocks of your orgasms.

Whatever the problem was, it must not have been important if you couldn’t remember—it could be dealt with…eventually…you just…wanted to…sleep.

Lulled by the sound of vibrations, like a strange ringing, you slipped into a deep slumber, wrapped in Din’s arms, and were pulled into darkness.

Nothing was wrong.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader smut #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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decembermidnight · 1 year ago

Text

Ner Mircet'ad (My Slave)

Summary: The Mandalorian breaks into the Imperial safehouse where you're held captive and kidnaps you to use you as his slave... and you're not complaining. Kinktober 2023 special

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: no plot - just smut, 18+ mdni, CNC, kidnapping, handcuffs, use of gag, bondage, dom!Din, sub!reader, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (m receiving), tease and denial, edging (m and f), creampie, cumplay, degradation kink, Mando'a speaking kink, dirty talk, face slapping, glove kink

A/N: Happy Kinktober! Here's my contribution! This should have been a fantasy of the reader in another story but I got a little carried away and it became its own oneshot. I'm feral about how it turned out. See below for Mando'a translations. I hope you enjoy it!

Divider: @saradika-graphics

You only saw him a few hours before, when he entered the Imperial safehouse where you’re held captive, forced to work as a scientist at the facility.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him - tall, broad shoulders, mysterious, a dark and raspy voice that made you melt in an instant. You have heard he’s one of the best bounty hunters in the outer rim. He acted disdainful towards the Imperials, pointing his rifle at them as soon as he perceived a hint of menace.

You looked at him completely entranced the whole time, devouring him with your eyes. You noticed he tilted his helmet towards you more than once, and felt his hunter gaze scouting your figure as he barely paid attention to the Imperial officer talking to him.

When he left, you felt the urge to immediately go touch yourself.

You locked the lab door behind you and slipped your hand in your panties. You sighed when you reached your slit and felt you were drenched at the mere thought of him. You started circling your fingers around your swollen clit and rested your head against the steel door behind you. Your mouth let out a groan too loud and instinctively your free hand went covering it to muffle how much thinking about the Mandalorian warrior was getting you off.

You let your body slide down until you were kneeling on the floor with your legs spread open. You thought of how hot his masculine voice would sound moaning your name while you’d be on your knees sucking his cock. You circled your clit in a frenzy, trying to be as silent as possible, but the wet noises of your arousal were betraying you. You thought of his heavy, thick body on yours, of how hard he’d fuck you, of him panting in your ear. Those thoughts drove you over the edge and felt the hot spark of the orgasm setting you aflame. You squeezed your eyes shut and had to hold your breath as that hot wave of pleasure was traversing your whole body, reducing you to a weak, trembling mess collapsed on the lab floor.

The very same night he comes for you.

He breaks into the safehouse, exterminating everyone in it, mercilessly, using his huge rifle, and then he opens the door to your room and finds you there, laying in your bed, still half asleep, scared and disoriented by all the noise, dressed only in a light nightgown.

In a second he is on you, his heavy armoured body is preventing you from moving. You do not even attempt to resist him, you stay completely still and carefully observe every action he does.

He’s holding both of your wrists in the tight grip of one of his hands, as the other one rummages in his utility belt to take out handcuffs, which he immediately uses on you.

You feel a tingle of excitement as his fingers slowly loosen their grasp and start to lightly trail down your naked arm, until they reach your neckline, where they delicately pull the fabric of your dress down to free one of your breasts.

He admires your hardened nipple, tilting his helmet sideways as his middle finger gently brushes it, drawing circles around it. You sigh at the tender touch of the leather against your sensitive skin, and when he hears that sound, his inscrutable visor immediately jerks towards your face, to look at your aroused expression.

To your disappointment, his hand stops touching your nipple, goes back to his utility belt and takes out a piece of cloth with which he gags you - not because he needs to prevent you from screaming and pleading for your life, no. You immediately realise that he’s turned on by it - treating you like one of his preys, hunting you, kidnapping you, making you his. The thought of it gets you more and more aroused the more this unspoken, borderline wicked dynamic plays between the two of you.

He then picks you up from your bed and carries you on his shoulder like his trophy through the dark, desert streets of Nevarro, all the way back to his ship, where he lays your body down on the cold steel floor and fixes your handcuffed hands to the bottom rung of the ladder leading to the cockpit.

He kneels before you and rips your thin clothes off with his hands, rabid and longing, making you gasp in arousal at that vulgar display of strength, and looks at your naked body and at the marvellous way it responds to him, so eager at the thought of being owned by him.

When his hands start to touch your body and you feel the leather of his gloves against your skin, you let out a deep, muffled moan and pathetically try to follow his movements with your body, craving for more contact.

He indulges on your breasts, tender and soft, groping and squeezing them. His touch is unexpectedly delicate, and you carefully follow it with your eyes, seeing the way he makes you simmer as he takes all the time he wants to reduce you to a whimpering mess.

He plays with your nipples, feeling how hard they get with just the brush of his fingers circling them, making them hard and stiff.

Use me. Use me. Use me. You beg for him with your muffled voice and body language.

His hands then trail down to your soft belly and round hips. He caresses and squeezes your feminine curves, longing for the moment when he'll finally dig his fingers into them while using you for his pleasure.

You can’t help spreading your legs for him, letting him have a look at your glistening core, already so wet for him, warm and inviting. He lets out a low, guttural hum when he sees how yearning and desperate you are for his touch, knowing his painfully slow teasing is working wonders on you.

His fingers trail so close to your wet folds, and the whimpering noises you make are absolutely pathetic as he taunts you, softly brushing your inner thighs and outer lips without touching your most sensitive spot yet. Your breathing gets laboured as he gets close to your clit and barely brushes it, teasing you, making you stutter with a brief, imperceptible touch, only to proceed down your slit and slide two fingers inside of you, making you arch your back in pleasure, moaning as loud as you can as you clench around them.

"You like this, don't you?" he asks as he takes out his fingers, completely soaking wet. He seems so pleased as he admires the leather of his gloves glistening in your arousal.

"Go on. Taste yourself on my fingers." he ungags you as he pushes them inside your mouth.

You obediently suck his fingers, gently licking them with your tongue, tasting the salty of your arousal, the bitterness of the leather and the faint metallic taste left by his guns. You look at him with lustful eyes right in his visor as your tongue swirls around his fingers, letting him know with your gestures that you'd suck his cock any time he wants, that all you care for in the galaxy is just to give him pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction, thinking of the way your sweet mouth will welcome his cock, how far it'll go into your throat, and how badly he wants to cover your pretty face in cum.

He takes out his fingers from your mouth and gags you once again. After that, he stands up and goes to his well-stocked armoury, taking some ropes out and coming back kneeling between your legs. He spreads them even more open, to the limit, and enjoys the view of your achingly needy cunt, drawing a few circles on your clit with his thumb, driving you insane as he looks at you whimpering and rolling your hips towards him.

He starts by tying each of your legs to the same ladder where your hands are, so that it’s impossible for you to close them. After that, he patiently wraps a rope around each of them, tying your thigh and ankle together, immobilising you, so you’re always available, at his mercy, any time he wants, and the thought of that gets you even more aroused. You’re drenched by now, you feel your sleek coating your inner thigh and dripping on the floor below you. Maker, you've never been this wet in your life, ever.

He looks at your helpless body, trailing his gloved fingers on your inner thigh, making you feel leather against your skin once again, rejoicing in the fact that you can’t move, making you quiver with lust as he smirks under that damn helmet seeing that you are so wet for him. He sees the way you react to his body, to his dick, to his touch, and Stars, he is so turned on by that.

He unfastens his utility belt and unzips his pants to finally take out his big, thick cock. It's throbbing and veiny and its tip is deliciously red and glistening in precum. You mewl just looking at it, feeling your walls clench in anticipation.

He immediately starts sliding it painfully slowly between your folds and it’s fucking debilitating after all of that excruciating teasing. You arch your back while moaning hysterically, begging for more as your eyes uncontrollably cross as you try to keep your gaze on his tip teasing your aching cunt. He keeps rubbing, keeps rubbing it on your clit and you feel so close already, and right when your body starts shaking in preparation for the imminent orgasm, he stops, taking it away from you, and starts stroking himself at the sight of you - so desperate for his cock, getting off from your agony. He gropes the soft flesh of your thighs and keeps giving himself pleasure in front of you. You can barely hear him panting under the helmet and oh, damn, he sounds even hotter than you’d imagined. It's such a pleasurable torture to be forced to look at him without being able to do anything, to hear the wet sounds of him fucking his fist so close to you when you wish you were the one who makes him feel so good.

He gives one last squeeze to his cock, letting a drop of precum out, then he slides his tip inside of you, making you roll your head back, sighing at the feeling of having him inside of you, finally.

When he feels how welcoming and hot you are, he groans in pleasure. His raspy voice makes you clench around him. He feels how tight you get when your muscles clench, and he lets out a barely audible curse.

He takes it out and immediately slides it back in, just the tip, just to play with you, to tease you, to get you on the verge of your orgasm and who knows, maybe he won't give it to you. You're at his mercy, you have to accept anything he's willing to give you. Will he make you come? Will he fuck your pussy, or will he just tease you like that indefinitely, leaving you crying and begging for him, as he gets off in your frustration, covering your body in his cum?

He goes on tormenting you like that for what feels like forever. A long, pleasurable torment where you desperately beg for him to put it back in everytime. Your whole body is shaking at the cruel game he's playing with you.

You wonder what he looks like. You bet he's handsome and he's smirking sadistically under that helmet, getting off from your desperation. His body exudes sexuality and confidence, his voice is deep and sensual - he is hot for sure.

He puts his tip in one more time, but now he's pushing all his shaft inside of you, and he's looking at your tearful eyes and how they widen in wonder when you feel him sliding slowly inside of you - deep, so deep, like you've never been fucked before, making you feel owned, marked, his property, his. He knows how good his cock is making you feel and that you'll never be fucked this good by anyone else in the galaxy.

He can't help sighing at how tight you are, and he sounds so hot when he does. You're so wet, the obscene sounds of him sliding in and out of you fill the hull of the ship. He's grabbing your legs, thrusting deep and slow, his head leaned back, completely sinking into the pleasure that is fucking you, controlling you, owning you.

When he picks up the pace, he starts cursing in a foreign language, gasping and groaning at the way your walls clench around his cock.

“Bid pel bal piryc par ni.” he growls in between sighs. He sounds even hotter when he speaks what you assume is his native language. There's something about the way that ancient language of warriors sounds that fits him and his husky voice so well. You don't understand a word, but you can tell by how pleased his voice sounds that he's praising you and the way you feel around him. You too are enjoying his cock so much. Maker, the pleasure he is providing you with is one you’ve never felt before. You’re forced to take him in any way he wants, completely subjugated by him and his desires, and it’s so perverse and thrilling that you’re already addicted to it.

You feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he thrusts into you, hitting your clit at just the perfect angle, building your pleasure gradually, until you feel on the edge - your breathing is getting laboured, your body starts to shake, you’re just there… but he takes it out and you feel like you’ve been robbed of air from your lungs.

You're so desperate, your whole body is shaking, your handcuffs rattle against the ladder behind you in protest and you let out cries. You must look pretty pathetic to him, who is enjoying the sight of your desperation and the sound of you whimpering by viciously stroking his cock in front of you, letting you see and hear how wet you've made it, his helmet is cold and won't betray any emotion. You can only arch your back and roll your hips begging for him to put his cock back into you.

When he's satisfied and has seen you beg for him enough, he slides it back in, the both of you moaning at the same time at the feeling. He immediately picks up his rhythm and grips your throat in his hand, forcing you to look at him while he’s choking you.

"Mircet'ad." he growls as he thrusts into you. "Ner mircet'ad" rasps again.

You look at him, not sure about what it means, but his voice is hot like lava against your skin as he speaks that foreign language.

"Yes, that's what you are. Do you know what it means? I want you to. It means slave. My slave. Ner mircet'ad. That's the only way I'll be calling you."

He made a point of what you are to him - nothing more than a sex slave that he will use when he comes back after his hunts, to let off steam after catching his quarries. Bounty hunting is tough, and you'll be his relief, something warm and giving always waiting for him with open arms and legs and that will make him feel so, so good any time he wants. His Mircet'ad. That word keeps echoing in your head and you drench yourself at that thought. He feels the way you're spasming around him and how aroused that made you.

"Do you like being called like that, little whore? You like being used?" he wraps his hands around your throat even tighter.

You nod as you look at him with needy, lustful eyes.

When he sees that, he goes crazy and just starts jackhammering you, digging his fingers in your hips as leverage, making you lose control over your mind and body, completely overwhelmed by the way he's fucking you brainless.

"What a fucking slut. Feel how wet you get when I call you my slave. Fuck, you’re such a whore. Wanted to fuck you so badly since I saw you. Do you think I didn't notice the way you were looking at me, whore? Made me walk out of there rock hard, thinking of the things I'd do to you. Gonna fucking wreck your pretty cunt. You feel so good, ner mircet’ad." his voice alone could make you come, and you both feel the way your pussy reacts to him, uncontrollable spasms of excitement that further add to the already overwhelming pleasure, hoping he maintains that promise.

He takes it out again when he feels you're on the edge. And again, your body begs for him. You know he's enjoying seeing his slave begging for him.

"Fuck. Killed so many people to fuck this little pussy. Let me enjoy it. Let me hear how much you want my cock." he pants as he looks at you.

Your back arches and you let out desperate moans as the hand wrapping your throat grips your jaw instead, blocking your face in that position, letting him look at your face.

"Beg for it like the needy slave that you are." he lowers the gag from your mouth.

"P-please, please put it back in. I want your dick inside of my pussy. Please, I need it." you let out in a pleading voice on the verge of tears.

"Hmm. Go on. What do you want me to do to you?"

"Anything you want. I am your whore. I'm here to please you. I want you to wreck me and fill me with your cum. I want to come on your dick so badly, so fucking badly, please! I want you to make me scream until I beg you to stop. I want to give it to you any time you want and hurt for days. I want you to use me, please! I want to be your slav-"

He slaps you in the face, stopping that flow of obscenities from coming out of your mouth.

"You are my slave." he snarls as he grips your jaw tighter, bringing your face so close to his helmet. You look at him right in his visor, so heavily aroused by the rough way he's handling you, asserting his dominance and ownership. You are his slave. His slave. The thought of it sends a thrill of arousal down your spine and turns you on so much.

"What a filthy little mouth you have. Let me use it before we're done." he growls as he takes a good look at you.

"Damn you're pretty. Wanna ruin this beautiful face. Look at these perfect lips. Can't wait to see them wrapped around my cock." he says while tracing your lips with his thumb.

He positions himself over you, with his dick right in front of your face and you can't help elongating your neck towards it, sticking out your tongue to lick the salty slick of your arousal from its shaft, making him grunt as he feels how hot and velvety your tongue is.

"Yes, yes, lick it. Feel how wet you've made it, ner mircet'ad." he slides his wet cock inside your mouth and you welcome it, brushing it with your tongue, tasting yourself on him, adoring it.

He gasps at the feeling and goes on sliding all of his length in. You take it in greedily, keeping your gaze on his visor. He pushes it in your throat without resistance on your side. The Mandalorian is amazed at the way you take his cock.

"What a greedy whore you are. You want it all, don't you?"

You moan at that, sending vibrations to his cock, making him throb and choke a sigh as his hand grips tight to the ladder.

He loses it completely at how obedient you are and starts thrusting into your throat, making you feel used like an object for his own pleasure - you can feel by the way he's panting that he's loving it… and you are, too. When he takes it out it’s completely drenched in your saliva, and he grabs you by the hair and looks at you.

"Ner mircet'ad, I knew your mouth would be perfect. You take my dick so good. All of it, deep in your throat. Good girl, you deserve to be fucked so hard." he praises you, then he positions himself once again kneeling in front of you, lifting the gag over your mouth.

He grabs his cock in his hand and slowly slides it back inside of your desperate, throbbing cunt, letting you feel every inch of him.

"Oh, fuck, you take it so good" he lets out in a low, pleased whisper.

He immediately starts to rail you once he's buried deep inside of you, making you uncontrollably moan and tremble.

"Bet you never had a cock this good. No one's ever fucked you like I am right now. Gonna give it to you anytime I want, and you'll be taking me like the fucking whore that you are, ner mircet'ad." he buries his cock deep inside of you and he stops, as he’s close to his own orgasm this time. He’s panting and shaking as he grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, towering over you with his broad figure. You can see the outline of his biceps from under the thick layers of duraweave and Maker, it's such a delightful view. You roll your hips against his so as not to stop stimulation, moaning provocatively. It’s so good, you don’t want him to stop just now.

“S-stop it.” he grunts as you keep moving your hips, disobeying him, getting even more aroused by the way his voice sounds when he's restraining himself.

“Fuck. Greedy slave, you want all of my cum, don’t you? You want me to fill you up and drain me, to be my cum slut, huh? If you k-keep moving like this I’ll - I’ll - fuck” he lets his dick slip out of you with the very last inch of self control he has left. His whole body is trembling and he is panting as you beg for him with your muffled voice.

“Fuck, you’re a temptress. An insatiable slave. A fucking cocksucking, cum addicted whore. Stars above, if you want it so badly, I’m gonna give it to you. You make me want to fuck you so hard and fill you so deep. Damn, take it.” he puts it back in and starts to rail you at a debilitating rhythm, making you shake your legs out of lust and roll your eyes because of the pleasure.

"Shit. I'm so close" he grunts as you look at him with pleading eyes, making your handcuffed hands rattle on the ladder.

"Do you want me to make you come, mircet'ad?"

You frantically nod your head.

"Yeah - bet you did. I will make you come. If you ever make it out alive from my ship, I wouldn't want you to say that the Mandalorian didn't satisfy you. It would be bad, wouldn't it?"

You keep nodding your head, feeling your cunt throbbing with need and lust at the thought.

"Get ready, I know you're close."

The angle at which his cock is hitting your clit is sending you to heaven, just as the thought of him restraining from his own orgasm to give one to you first.

"Let me hear you. Let me hear how fucking good I'm making you come" he finally frees you from your gag and you can finally let him hear your desperate, loud moans.

A few more thrusts of his thick cock inside of you and you feel the devastating force of the orgasm blazing through your body, making you burst. Finally, after a never-ending edging torture, he lets you come. From the position you're forced in, with your legs completely spread open, the power of your orgasm seems even more shattering than ever, nothing like you've ever experienced before. You can feel your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his cock, making him grunt as you let out the hottest, headiest moans he's ever heard.

"Fuck. F-fuck. How can you feel so good?! M-maker you're tight. Fuck. Killing me. G-going to fill you. Fill you with my cum. N-now. My slave. F-fucking mine." he snarls and fills you with his hot load, his cock pumping it deep and hard inside of you as you groan loudly and sensually and won't stop looking at him. He tries to muffle his own moans by gritting his teeth, and Maker, he sounds even hotter when he gives up, letting those heady moans out, losing control, wholly abandoning himself to that overwhelming pleasure. He grips tight to the ladder with both of his hands, preventing his body from collapsing on yours, burying his cock deep inside of you as you both slowly come down from your high.

“I’m your slave.” you softly whisper in your post orgasmic haze, smiling.

"Ni gar mircet'ad" he teaches you. He trails his fingers on your mouth and you kiss them sweetly, looking at him in the visor.

“Ni gar mircet'ad, Mando” you repeat in a sweet, tender voice.

“Gar serim, ner mircet’ad. So fucking hot when you speak Mando’a to me.” he lightly wraps his hand your throat once again.

"You too." you reply.

"Oh, you like it when I speak Mando'a to you?" he lets his hand trail all over your body, making you sigh when it stops between your legs and starts rubbing your clit.

"Yes. So hot. You're so hot." you go on praising him in between moans as he picks up the rhythm of his fingers.

"'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere. Come for me again on my fingers." the sound of his dark voice, sweetly whispering those words while touching your clit drives you wild and you can't help obeying his order, coming again after a few rubs of your clit, so unbelievably aroused by that. His visor is locked on you, on your eyes that uncontrollably cross and roll because of the pleasure, on your mouth letting out filthy sounds of pleasure, all while he keeps speaking his native language throughout your orgasm, encouraging you.

"'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni."

After that second orgasm you feel completely debilitated and just collapse, exhausted but so, so satisfied.

When he slips out of you, he enjoys seeing your exposed cunt slowly leaking his cum out, wrecked and still spasming in aftershock. He uses his cock to gather all the seed that escaped from you and push it back inside of your hole. When he’s done, he looks at you in the face, his cock is still hard.

“Will you clean it for me, mircet'ad?” asks gently as you have already opened your mouth wide open for him.

“Good girl.” says as he slides his cock in your mouth. You taste both of your orgasms in your mouth and hum, sucking it avidly and licking it clean.

“Damn you’re perfect” says as he tucks his softening cock back into his pants.

"So hot when you come for me. Taking my cock like a hungry whore. I will keep you here on my ship. You'll be my slave. No one except for me will ever lay one finger on you. You belong to me now. You're my property.” he tells you as he frees you from the handcuffs and ropes. You swear you are so tired you could fall asleep right there, right now, but he picks you up in his arms and lays you down in a cot - his cot, you will learn later.

Translations:

I have used mandocreator.com as reference.

- Bid pel bal piryc par ni = So soft and wet for me

- Gar serim = Yes, that's right

- 'lek, ner aikiyc mircet'ad, k'olar tug'yc par ni bat ni cere = Yeah, my desperate slave, come for me again on my fingers

- 'lek. 'lek. Jate, ner mircet'ad. Bid mesh'la. K'olar par ni. = Yeah, yeah. Good, my slave. So beautiful. Come for me.

225 notes · View notes

theetherealbloom · 3 months ago

Text

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

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

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

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NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face.

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion. The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction.

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him.

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well.

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring.

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you.

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear.

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint.

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces@avengersheart@lunatic1012@keepingupwiththeskywalkers@mxltifxnd0m@syviiss@luckyzipperscissorsbat@avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil@n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin #din dijarin fanfiction #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x empath!reader #din djarin x forcesensitive!reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian #the mandalorian rewrite

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oscarseyebrow · 1 year ago

Text

Hurricane: Chapter One

Pairings: din djarin x force sensitive female reader Rating: explicit. 18+ (later chapters will contain explicit smut) Word count: 9k Warnings: canon typical violence, mention of death of enemies, description of injury, reader being captured, slow burn, enemies to lovers. later chapters will include pregnancy and a brief mention of the death of a parent. A/N: while being on a hiatus, i decided to rewrite this fic as it had completely changed direction from where i began and i wasn't happy with it. i hope you all enjoy the new version as much as i've enjoyed writing it again and this time, i will tell the end of their story! i also want to give the biggest shoutout to @the-scandalorian for your time, your patience and your constant support. thank you for being the best beta and a wonderful friend 💖 Series masterlist | Masterlist | Taglist

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Heavy boots pound relentlessly, their rhythmic thuds echoing through the twisted, uneven terrain of the forest. They never falter or break their stride, propelling you forward. Each step interrupts the eerie calls of creatures in the night, a cacophony of sounds that sends shivers down your spine. Like sinister fingers, the branches snap, scrape, and snag, viciously clawing at your clothing and skin as you desperately try to outrun your pursuer.

He’s close. Closer than ever before.

This is what it has come down to, a deadly game of cat and mouse, an unrelenting chase where every move determines your fate. Time had become a blur, lost to the dark abyss that had inked over your surroundings long before you ventured into it. The very darkness you hoped would grant you cover now seems to conspire against you, mocking your latest attempt to slip away unnoticed.

Over the months, you had encountered many hunters on your trail. At first, it had seemed almost effortless to elude them. Your abilities granted you an undeniable advantage—speed, agility, and an unwelcome connection to the Force. None of them had stood a chance against you; their end had come before they even knew what was happening.

But this hunter was different, tenacious and unyielding in his pursuit. He closes the gap with every twist and turn, narrowing the distance between you. Your name, once a mere whisper in the wind, now reverberates with an ominous promise as he tracks you to your last known location.

His strength is palpable, his determination unbreakable. And now, here you are—heart pounding in your chest, consumed by a single instinct: to run. You push against your limits, desperately seeking an escape from the predator hot on your heels.

A red, searing spark slices through the darkness, a fleeting flash from a blaster. The acrid scent of burnt air mingles with the sound of splintering bark, a tree beside you left scarred in its wake. Instinctively, you tuck into a tight roll, narrowly evading the next shot.

A bead of sweat trickles down your forehead, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The fine line between life and death stretches taut before you, and you refuse to grant him the satisfaction of being the one to sever it.

You’re back up on your feet as another surge of raw energy courses through your veins. Each stride is a calculated leap, nimble and agile, clearing any obstacles that threaten to halt you in your tracks. The thicket becomes denser, the branches clawing at your flesh with renewed vengeance, as if conspiring to slow your progress and grant him the upper hand. Yet, you continue in silence, the wave of adrenaline numbing your senses, shielding you from the pain of their grip.

Finally, when your feet clear an uprooted tree, you deliberately drop to the ground. Fingers gripping your blaster tightly, the safety disengaged, you force your racing breaths to slow.

In the stillness that envelops the darkened forest, you listen intently, attuning your senses to the silence around you. You push beyond the pounding of your heart, further still, and that’s where you notice it. An absence of sound. The weighty silence settles like a suffocating blanket, shrouding both predator and prey. The thunderous thud of his heavy boots has ceased, mirroring the stillness of your own.

Pressing your back against the rough bark of a fallen tree, you draw a deep breath, steeling yourself. This is who you are, a fighter, a survivor. You’re equipped with the skills to get out of this situation—you had been taught well under the Empire.

For a fleeting moment, you close your eyes. The world around you teems with vibrant life; pulsates with an energy you can’t resist. You tap into it, harnessing the power that had gotten you into this whole mess.

Given the situation, it’s difficult to focus, but still, you try. You reach out in an attempt to grasp any help the Force has to offer. Despite the struggle, you find what you’re looking for—a flickering presence that doesn’t belong here—The Mandalorian.

Suddenly, a sound breaks the silence—a rustle, a snapping twig—your gaze darts toward the opposite direction from where you had sensed him. It seems too distant to be him. Could the Force have misguided you? Was it possible for the Force to be wrong? It had been so long since you were able to use it properly, to truly call upon your connection to it…maybe you weren’t interpreting it correctly.

You ignore the guidance offered to you through the Force and place your trust solely in your surroundings. Deep down, you know he’s close. Yet, you dismiss the pull of your gut instinct and opt to slip away.

It’s now or never.

Your body presses low to the ground while you move silently. Damp leaves and thick mud cling to your front. Every sense in your body sharpens—the scent of the mossy ground beneath you, the sting of sweat mingling with the scrapes on your skin. Your entire being fixates on survival, pausing for a second to reach out to the Force again to check your surroundings.

Nothing. There are no sounds that don’t belong to the eerie symphony of the darkened forest—no thundering beskar, no trace of movement or breath. Absolute stillness. Slowly, you rise, surveying the moonlit area for a moment before you propel yourself toward a narrow gap between two gnarled trees.

Freedom beckons, so tantalizingly close. Just a few more strides, and it would be right there, within your grasp.

Then, it happens.

It hits you with the force of a cataclysmic collision, expelling all of the air from your lungs. The Mandalorian emerges from behind the tree, anticipating the impact, his solid frame poised to absorb the force of your body hurtling toward him. For just a split second, there’s a feeling of complete weightlessness before you collide with the ground. You’re down, but not defeated. Swiftly shifting your weight to the left, you avoid his grasp and deliver a quick kick to his knee, causing him to crash down beside you.

Synchronized movement unfolds, an intricate dance of opponents keenly aware of each other’s every move. You fire first, only for him to dart out of the way with a lightning-quick dodge, your shot barely grazing the corner of his chest plate. The ricochet momentarily shatters your focus, panic creeping into your core as you begin to grapple with the consequences of your misjudged shot, while the Mandalorian seems to register surprise at your near hit.

Undeterred, he launches once more, but you’re too quick. You take evasive action, executing a roll, your fist connecting flawlessly with the side of his ribs as you raise again. He’s winded. His modulated groan reverberates in the air and allows you a second to recover. But he’s not far behind. Now back on your feet, you parry his relentless attacks, the rhythm of the battle pulsating between you.

Neither relenting nor yielding, every fibre of your being fights for your survival while he fights for credits that will no doubt buy his next meal. This can’t be how it ends for you. You’ve endured too much to be taken down by a mere bounty hunter.

Grunts and groans puncture the air as blows land on both sides. His attacks are measured and deliberate, his reach surpassing yours. But you’re much quicker. Amidst the chaos, you sidestep his lunging assault, seizing his arm and leveraging the momentum to hurl his heavy frame to the ground. You’re almost proud of yourself until he retaliates and sweeps your legs from beneath you. Gravity pulls you down once more, your head colliding with his armour and causing an explosive burst of light to engulf your vision.

Your focus wanes, slipping from your grasp. You blink, once, twice, and then he has you.

“Stop fighting,” he demands, breathless yet commanding, as he pins you to the ground and traps your arms with his knees.

At that moment, you note the stark contrast between his voice and your expectations. He sounds different. His voice is devoid of emotion, yet soft. Distorted, yet strangely velvety. Gasping for air to desperately refill your lungs, you both engage in a silent struggle, your eyes fixating on the impenetrable visor of his helmet. It reveals nothing and yet you can sense it, the energy radiating from within. He holds no satisfaction in completing this job. After the relentless chase, you expected a triumphant gloat to be concealed within that mental shell. But it’s not.

Tilting your head away from his gaze, your fingers strain where they’re pinned to your sides. You have a vibroblade, nestled securely in the strap around your thigh. The tips of your trembling fingers brush the handle, its coldness a stark contrast against your clammy palm.

“Fuck you,” your words escape in a breathy whisper as you launch your next desperate attack, but it’s anticipated and effortlessly countered. The last thing you see is his helmet descending upon you, followed by a resounding thud. Darkness falls, consuming all your senses.

The cat has caught the mouse.

***

A gentle swaying motion and a caressing breeze coax you back to consciousness. In that fleeting moment, you could be anywhere–weightless atop the tranquil surface of a serene lake, bathed in the warmth of the sun. It kisses your skin, filling you with a sense of serenity you rarely experience these days. It has been an eternity since you felt such freedom, devoid of burdens. In this relaxed, suspended state, you are liberated, free. If you were to extend your fingertips, you could almost feel the cool water cascading over them, your body gently rocking in its embrace.

And so, you reach out, anticipating the familiar sensation. But instead, an icy chill seizes your hand, a sudden heaviness grips your being, and your limbs refuse to respond. Panic surges, robbing you of the tranquil calm that had momentarily embraced you. A searing pain lances through your side, jolting you awake.

Gasping, your eyes snap open as you struggle to make sense of your disorientated surroundings. Gone is the water, the lake, the radiant sunlight. Instead, you find yourself suspended upside down, a tattered cape fluttering behind the imposing figure of heavy boots.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Fuck.

You’re alive, but your freedom is gone. Your hands are bound, your body hoisted unceremoniously over a rigid shoulder. You have a choice to make: do you submit and face your fate or continue the fight? You’re exhausted, your body bruised and aching…do you have anything left in you to fight?

This can’t be the end.

With gritted teeth, you clasp your hands together, summoning every ounce of strength you have left. They fall upon the man’s back with a resounding force, a desperate attempt to break free from his grip. Yet, his armoured form barely registers the impact, beskar shielding him from the brunt of your attack.

“Put me down!” Your voice is cracked and dry but overflowing with defiance as you writhe and strain against his strong grip.

He tightens against your struggles. It’s the only response you get and you find it ignites a new flame of determination from your darkest depths. You shift your weight, aiming to unbalance him. For a moment, you think it works. He staggers, offset by your attempt but whether through your own effort or his loss of patience, he eventually drops you to the ground in a graceless heap.

It’s then that the full extent of your exhaustion becomes clear: muscles ache, bones protest, and the pulsating throb in your head spreads outwards to the point you find yourself closing your eyes and applying pressure to the area where the Mandalorian had headbutted you.

The asshole. If you were to survive this night, you knew there would be a shining bruise there come the morning.

You attempt to push yourself up to your knees, hoping to make it to your feet. It’s not to be. A mud-coated boot gives you the smallest shove and you end up rolling onto your back, defeated once again.

You close your eyes, attempting to steady your breathing amidst the waves of pain. When you open them once more, you find him standing above you, his head slightly tilted against the backdrop of twinkling stars. This isn’t the time for distractions, but you can’t help noticing the way his beskar illuminates beneath the reflective glow of the moonlight.

“I can bring you in warm…” his voice breaks the silence, presenting the first option to you before taking a deliberate pause. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

His hand gestures toward the ominous presence of his blaster, and right beside it, tucked into his belt, is your own. Moments tick by, and he remains motionless above you, an enigmatic statue frozen in time.

Without a single word, your decision is made evident as you sit up. The Mandalorian reaches down, his gloved hand gripping your wrist restraints, and effortlessly hoists you to your feet. He leads the way, his strides pulling you along until you fall into step beside him, surveying your surroundings. The forest is now all but gone from sight in the darkness, and you see that you’re closer to the outskirts of town.

You trudge across the uneven terrain, contemplating the different outcomes that await you. None of them are hopeful. One thing is clear in every scenario: you can’t outrun or outfight this bounty hunter. So where does that leave you? A surge of frustration courses through you, angered by the situation you have allowed yourself to fall into. Anger bubbles beneath the surface, and so, you unleash your next attack with words instead of actions.

“Did they send you to do the job the others couldn’t?” you ask. “How many did it take before they brought you out? Five? Six? I lose count of how many I’ve had to kill.”

Still, he remains silent as your steady voice taunts, probing for a reaction. He refuses to give you the satisfaction of acknowledgement. His message is clear: you’re wasting your breath.

Undeterred, you press on, uncaring whether he answers or not, “Did they have families? Were they your friends?”

Nothing. Resolute silence.

It only angers you more. You twist your arms, attempting to free your restraints from his grasp as you pull away from him in a bid for freedom. The man follows, his muscles tensing beneath the armour to keep his grip on you as you fight against him and finally show the first cracks of panic.

“I swear to the Maker and all the Gods above, as soon as I get out of these restraints, I’ll make you regret every second of this. Do you hear me?”

If he does, he doesn’t answer you, so you raise your voice, “I said do you fucking hear me?”

“Yes, I fucking hear you,” he grits and pulls your body closer to prevent you from flailing around.

He’s frustrated, you can feel it. It oozes from him like a thick, suffocating smog. There’s a moment of silence between you and he chooses to wait, allowing you a few seconds to calm down before he speaks again.

“I’m not the only one looking for you, but I am the only one willing to take you in alive. So are you going to let me get us out of here, or are you betting on your survival against the other hunters with your hands bound and no weapons?”

You despise the way his voice calms you. You want to fight, want to pull free and run in any direction possible. But there’s something that keeps you there, your eyes trained on his visor as you look for any hint of the man beneath the opaque glass. This is about survival, and being captured alive gives you a lot more options than being brought in dead.

You hate to admit it, but he’s your best option right now.

No more words are exchanged for the remainder of the journey. The crunch of gravel beneath your boots announces your arrival at the town’s entrance. A palpable silence blankets the air, unsettling in its weight. The energy shifts inexplicably, and both you and the Mandalorian tense in response. His grip on your restraints tightens, his hidden gaze scouring the surroundings, mirroring your own vigilance as you search every corner, every shadow.

With each step you take through the small town, windows shutter and people retreat from the streets. You swallow, feeling a sense of warning through the Force. And then you see it—the swift leap from one rooftop to another. This time, you’re the fortunate one, reacting swiftly. Your hands twist, seizing the bounty hunter’s wrist and yanking him out of harm's way as blaster bolts rain down upon you.

Why are you saving his life when he is so willing to hand you over for someone to sacrifice yours? It’s a clear calculation—he needs you alive, fighting with him instead of against him. This is how you both get out of here, alive. It’s a mutual understanding as you drag him to safety between two buildings.

Everything seems to happen in a blur, time accelerating rather than decelerating as it had in the forest. He releases his hold on you, shielding your defenceless form with his own body as a blaster bolt ricochets off his armour. Before you have a chance to react, his blaster is in his hand and he shoots down the attacker from the roof.

You turn, catching sight of another hunter charging toward you. With your hands bound, your only option is to rely on your perfect timing as you deliver a swift kick to the front of his knee and destabilize him with a sickening crunch of bone. It’s followed by a loud scream of agony as he doubles over, right into an uppercut from your restraints which sends him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

With a quick glance over your shoulder, you see the Mandalorian occupied with three other hunters. Now is the moment, and without any hesitation, you flee in the opposite direction.

Your footsteps echo loudly between the tall buildings, alerting those close by of your location. It’s not a smart move, goes against all of your training, but desperation propels you forward. Your path weaves through the labyrinth of twisting streets and finally, you pause, finding a temporary hiding place to catch your breath.

The pain continues to pound inside of your head, everything becoming so loud; blaster shots across the street; the yells of the pursuers being taken down by the Mandalorian. If they’ve found you this easily, you know those who work at Moff Gideon’s command won’t be far behind. Up until now, you’ve been able to play it smart, always staying one step ahead of them all. But your first mistake is proving likely to be your last.

You need to calm down. Breathe. Focus.

Every nerve ending in your body seems to come alive–you have to go, you have to run. The Force all but screams it at you, encouraging you to slip out into the street once more and take off in a slightly different direction. Swiftly taking a right turn, you hear the resounding crack of a blaster shot pierce the air. You veer left, evading two more shots. A body plummets from a nearby building, their weapon sliding along the ground. You react on instinct as you thrust out your bound hands and use your pull through the Force to snatch it into your grasp in one fluid motion. Though you’re not at the best advantage to aim, you find a way to make it work.

Gunfire and thudding sound through the streets as you engage in a fierce battle, skillfully manoeuvring through the chaos, instinctively ducking and sprinting at precisely the right moments. This isn’t a mere stroke of luck or chance–it’s a testament to your abilities, the Force, a result of countless encounters you’ve faced throughout your life.

Once again, silence descends, and you become acutely aware of your ragged breaths as you struggle against your burning lungs. You don’t have long. Seconds, maybe. You sense the Mandalorian’s energy drawing nearer. You sense him to your right, searching the street parallel to your own. Pushing a little further through the Force, you should be able to pinpoint the precise source of his energy, but you don’t have time. He seems close enough for this to work.

You step out, blaster aimed, expecting to come face-to-face with him at the exact moment you both step out into the open.

Except, he’s not there.

“What…” you breathe.

Confusion clouds your focus as your eyes dart around, desperately trying to calculate how you got it wrong. You were so sure you had the advantage, so certain of his location and the speed at which he was moving. Not once had it occurred to you that he may have also known your exact location, waiting for you to make the first move.

“No…” one simple whisper slips from you, laced heavily with dread as the beskar-clad figure emerges from the shadows.

He quickly disarms you, throwing your new-found blaster aside as his chest rises and falls in sync with your own accelerated breaths.

“Nice try,” his voice holds a hint of smugness at your apparent disbelief.

He readjusts his grip on your restraints, tugging forcefully and causing you to stumble as you dig your heels in, desperately attempting to resist his pull. Undeterred, he continues striding forward.

“I saved your life,” you try. “You owe me.”

Silence.

The rhythmic thudding of his boots is your only reply.

“I’ll take you to other bounties. I know where to find them,” you try bargaining. “You’ll get payment for food and fuel, and you’ll have more credits than you’ll ever be able to spend.”

He doesn’t appear to be interested. Your attempts are a complete waste of time.

“Please…” Your tone softens in your attempt to appeal to him without the bullshit. “Please don’t take me in. You have no idea what they do to people like me.”

He says nothing.

***

Underneath the scorching sun, a day of silence stretches out before you. Mando, as you have taken to calling him, pauses only briefly at a roadside vendor to buy a drink for you, his caution preventing him from staying any longer than necessary. Now that other hunters have caught wind of your whereabouts, he insists on keeping a low profile…as low as a shiny tin-can-of-a-man is able to.

As the day wears on, the sun gradually descends towards the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the landscape. With each agonizing step, the fatigue in your feet intensifies, while the searing pain in your wrists serves as a constant reminder that you need to find a way out of your restraints. If Mando harbours any concerns for your well-being, he conceals it well. But then again, why would he care? To him, you’re nothing more than a contract that promises credits.

Throughout the day, you find your thoughts wandering to who exactly he will be delivering you to. Will it be the New Republic? The notorious Bounty Hunters’ Guild? Or perhaps he would hand deliver you to Moff Gideon himself.

Somehow, you doubt the latter.

You walk together until the land becomes vast and barren with very few discernable landmarks in sight. It’s here that Mando comes to an abrupt halt, catching you off guard. Towering boulders provide convenient cover, but more importantly, smaller rocks offer a place to sit and rest after hours of relentless walking. He turns his head slowly, surveying the area and once satisfied there are no immediate threats, he finally turns to look at you. Despite not being able to see his eyes, you feel his gaze from behind the inky-black visor. His eyes fix you in place while he decides his next move carefully.

“We’ll wait it out here until dark.”

It’s a logical decision and one that resonates with familiarity. You understand it far too well, slipping away under the cover of darkness, hoping to evade detection. With a slight nod of your head, you silently show your understanding.

Exhaustion weighs heavily on you as you finally ease yourself down to rest on one of the weathered rocks. Every muscle protests, throbbing with aches in places you never knew existed. The events of the past day have taken an undeniable toll on you, leaving you feeling as though decades have been added to your battered and bruised body.

“Do you think you could remove these for a little while?” you ask, a touch of vulnerability lacing your words.

Mando subtly shifts his weight. It offers a glimmer of hope, a sign of the smallest crack in his resolve. You maintain the helpless facade, testing the waters a little more.

“Where would I go? We’re in the middle of nowhere and I’m too exhausted to fight you. Even if I tried to run, you’d catch me before I took a single step away from this rock.”

You feel his conflict, and while your lips desperately long to curl into a smirk, you force yourself to frown deeply and wince while flexing your fingers slowly. There’s no faking the hiss of discomfort that follows when the metal bites a little deeper into the raw skin beneath the bindings.

“Fine,” he sighs. “But try anything and you’ll be back in these until I hand you over…got it?”

You nod. Mando doesn’t move. He’s waiting for you to say it. You find yourself gritting your teeth as you bite back any snide remark that begs to claw its way out: he won’t be able to get you back in these things once you are out of them. But you play along, letting him feel as though he has the upper hand here while you bide your time.

“I understand.”

Mando steps close enough to you to work on releasing the binders from your wrists. His presence becomes palpable. You smell the scent of the forest intertwined within the threads of fabric beneath his armour; the subtle fragrance of the well-worn leather of his gloves, a testament to the countless battles he must have fought. Beneath his flack vest, a faint musk clings to his skin, a lingering trace of his relentless pursuit. In a different situation, this combination of smells would be alluring, drawing you closer with a desire for familiarity and comfort. But in your current predicament, they serve only as a reminder of your capture.

A prickling sensation tingles across the broken skin that had been hidden beneath the unforgiving grip of the binders. The gentle touch of the evening breeze carries a coolness that both soothes and aggravates the tender area. As Mando stands before you, there’s an unexpected pause, almost as though he contemplates the discomfort that has been his doing. His gaze lingers for a fleeting moment, revealing a flicker of empathy. You watch him with interest, seeing a glimpse into the depths of his guarded nature. And then he remembers himself: he retreats into his stoic demeanour and turns away from you to settle onto a rock across from yours.

Only slivers of daylight remain as the final light of the day starts to give way to night. You know you’re on very limited time: once the sun completely descends and darkness falls, you’ll be on the move again. You have to do what you can to make yourself valuable enough to save. This isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself captured; you know how this works.

“So, you’re a Mandalorian?” you begin.

Your question carries across to Mando and you watch the way his helmet tilts ever so slightly, showing that you have his attention.

“It’s not often you see Mandalorians these days…I’ve only ever met one before. Very different to you, though. Whew, she was a talker.”

“You’ve met others like me?” Mando asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Hook, line and sinker.

“Only once…” you trail off, observing the way he hangs on your every word. “At one time, she was very powerful. She had a whole following of Mandalorians. But…things happened and her followers found a new leader–don’t worry, she was still alive when I left…a great fighter, though. You Mandalorians sure are equipped with some fancy accessories.”

“Who is she?”

At this, you simply smile at him and shrug a little before turning your head away, pretending to lose interest in the conversation that he has fully immersed himself into.

“I’m afraid that information stays with me,” you confirm and then glance back over at him with your follow-up. “Whether I take it with me to my grave is up to you.”

***

They had found you.

Following a brief respite and hours of relentless travel shrouded in darkness, the hunters had, at last, closed in on your location as the first faint glimmers of daybreak began to paint the horizon.

Your boots pound through the dew-covered grass as Mando’s footfalls echo in sync with yours, an urgent rhythm as you both try to put as much distance as possible between yourselves and the chaos that unfurls behind you. The ship is so close. A beacon of hope in the early morning sunlight, its gleaming exterior promising escape.

A rapid beeping pierces the air, growing in intensity with each passing second. You know exactly what that is, and so does Mando. There’s a split second of shared recognition of the impending danger, and in a swift, instinctive motion, he propels his body towards yours. The impact takes you down to the ground, his sturdy frame protecting you just in time as the explosion reverberates through the air and unleashes a powerful shockwave. Mando’s armour absorbs the brunt of the debris, shielding you from it. As soon as it passes, his body is gone, allowing you to regain your bearings.

It’s hard to focus. Your ears ring, your head swims. Somewhere amidst the muffled chaos, you hear Mando’s voice, urgent and commanding. Time seems to stretch on, distorting reality as you blink and shake your head in a desperate attempt to clear your brain and focus.

“Come on!” Mando yells.

With a determined effort, you push yourself up onto your knees, only to feel a firm grip on your hand. One of Mando’s gloved hands clasps yours, pulling you upright again. The strength of his grip steadies you, allowing you to find your balance.

“Take this,” Mando pushes something cold and heavy into your hand. You drop your eyes to see your blaster and even in your disorientated state, it’s a surprise. “Now run for the ship. Run!”

One last burst of energy, that’s all you have to give. With a nod, you wrap your hand securely around your blaster and start your sprint for safety. Blaster bolts pierce the air around you, crackling and pinging on impact with the ship as they ricochet in every direction.

The Mandalorian follows your trail of disturbed grass. His pace is slower–hindered by the shots he turns to fire at the hunters–but he’s not too far behind. He’s close enough to deploy the ramp, within distance to shout for you to take cover and as he thunders up behind you, he fires a few more shots to slow them down.

“Take down as many as you can,” he gets out between his ragged breaths. “Then hit this button when I say—it will close the ramp as we take off.”

With that, he’s gone, leaving you alone, staring at the button for the ramp.

Time seems to slow as you stand there, torn between the decisions you have to make: do you stay and trust this man to help you, or do you jump out as you close the ramp? He wouldn’t be able to stop you during take-off.

A heavy frown clouds your features, intertwined deeply with conflicting emotions. The Mandalorian has gotten you this far. He has kept his word of protecting you. Were you going to betray him after he had quite literally put his life on the line to save yours?

Your trembling fingers rest against the button, ready for your cue to press it.

Who were you kidding? You’re not going to press it.

You’re not conflicted. You owe this man nothing.

A third plan forms in your head and you draw in a slow breath as a flicker of determination sparks a new fire deep inside of you. This is self-preservation. It isn’t personal.

His command travels through the hatch from the cockpit, his instruction clear as the engines rumble their signal of take-off.

“Press it now!”

You don’t.

You stand and watch the hunters approaching, almost close enough for you to execute this plan.

“It’s not working!” you lie, edging your words with a beautiful act of panic. “I’m pressing it, and nothing is happening!”

Within seconds, boots thud overhead and then a blur of beskar jumps down through the hatch. Mando makes no use of the ladder in his hurry.

“What do you mean, it’s not working?”

The stakes are high. You have one shot at this and you can’t fuck it up.

“I’m pressing it and nothing is happening!”

Mando steps closer to the panel as you take a small step to the side, creating the perfect line-up of his body with the ramp. Your decision has been made, fueled by desperation and the hope that, in the end, this would all be worth it.

You draw in another steady breath and let it out slowly, focusing on the hunters as they approach, waiting for just the right moment as Mando’s thumb hovers over the button.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur quietly.

His helmet snaps around to face you. You don’t need to see beneath his visor to understand the exact moment the disbelief hits him.

He has no time to react. With the hardest kick you can manage, you send him tumbling down the ramp and into the clutches of the hunters below.

***

It doesn’t take long before you bring the ship down into a controlled landing. The hisses and whirs are accompanied by your muttered curse as you sigh and rest your head back against the pilot’s chair. There’s a sense of regret forcing its way in. You know deep down that returning to the room you have spent weeks hiding out in is a gamble. You’re risking everything to come back here. But you can’t leave without what little belongings you have left. Their worth outweighs the danger. They hold more than material value; they hold the key to your survival, the last traces of your past. They’re all you have left of your life before and the risk to retrieve them will always seem worthwhile.

With closed eyes, you reach out for the Force, seeking solace and insight. You search for a glimpse of the path that lies ahead, for a warning of any danger that awaits you if you leave the safety of the ship. But as the Force welcomes you, it withholds the answers you need. Instead, it offers something different, something unexpected. A current pulses through your connection, a bright energy that has been absent for so long. It seems as though the Force has chosen to reveal a different path to you and you push further in an attempt to see more.

Another Force user, closer in proximity than you’ve felt since you were a child. Their light is pure, untarnished by the pull of the darkside. Hesitantly, you push yourself up from the chair and look around the cockpit. For now, you’re alone, but there’s a persistent pull that beckons you to search further through the ship.

You don’t have time for this, you remind yourself as you climb down into the hull. There is a very angry Mandalorian looking for you. He would find you and when he did, he would no doubt kill you for what you had done: you crossed him, stole his ship.

No, you were becoming distracted, your connection to the Force seeming to drop like radio static on an out-of-tune channel. You breathe slowly, regaining your focus and allowing the pull to guide you as you come to a set of small doors. Whatever it is you’re able to feel is on the other side, alert and waiting, aware of your presence.

You’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting when you hit the button, but you’re taken aback by the large, glossy orb-like eyes that stare up at you. It’s something small, green, and rather peculiar-looking. Large ears perk up and it tilts a small head, curious at the sight of you. You’re not the Mandalorian that owns this ship. You’re not supposed to be here.

The realisation happens like the toppling of dominos and your stomach plummets: a Mandalorian, a Force-sensitive child.

These were the two Moff Gideon had been looking for. They had to be.

What were the chances of finding another Mandalorian bounty hunter with a Force-sensitive child in his care?

You step back, head reeling and heart pounding. This discovery, this child, could be your ticket to redemption, a chance to be welcomed home by Gideon. You can’t deny yourself a moment of envisioning what that would look like, offering the innocent life you’ve stumbled upon as a testament to your unwavering loyalty. You can almost hear his praise, see the way his lips curl into a knowing smile as he opens his arms to you…no.

You would never go back there. You couldn’t.

Panic sets in as the last fragments of your control slip through your fingers. All that’s left is vulnerability, exposed like a raw nerve. You sever your connection to the Force and this child, knowing that nothing good would come of it. You’re losing—the odds are stacked against you and in your panic, you slam your hand repeatedly against the control panel to seal the doors to the cot once more.

You have to go. You have to get as far away from this child as possible, you have to leave behind the last flickering chance of reconciliation with Gideon. The safety of this child outweighs any opportunity for absolution, you know that deep down. It doesn’t make the choice any easier though. It bares down upon you as you flee from the ship, having already wasted too much time.

In the cover of your room, dried mud cracks from your boots, crumbling and joining the tapestry of unidentifiable stains on the floor. You had paid over double the credits for this dismal sanctuary, the owner’s vow of silence now a hollow promise in hindsight. The bounty hunter had tracked you down regardless.

As you pace, the floorboards groan underfoot, protesting the burden of their existence, while the peeling paint on the walls reveals grime and more stains below. You could have chosen a more upscale haven, a place where unsavoury memories weren’t woven into the current lodgings, but anonymity was your greatest ally.

You need to calm down. You have to think about this carefully.

Amidst the storm of panic threatening to engulf you, you have to remind yourself of the important facts. A single close call had shaken your resolve, but you were still clinging to your advantage, a precarious lead in this deadly chase.

Drawing in a deep, measured breath, you quiet the clamour of thoughts echoing through your mind. You sift through the chaos, grasping only those that will serve your survival right now. Everything else, you would deal with later, once safely away from the bounty hunter.

Your pacing ceases. Your hands find solace braced against the small table before you. As you lower your head, your gaze studies the small collection of possessions resting there–a few additional blasters, a clean outfit, and a meticulously crafted helmet. It was a gift, given to you by someone you had cherished deeply; someone you had respected and looked up to.

What would he say if he could see you now?

He had given everything for you. He had taught you, trained you, tried to guide you, and for what? Since his passing, you had chosen every wrong path that strayed so far from his teachings that you could barely recall them these days.

A soft, ragged breath escapes your lips, carrying with it the weight of the situation as you move one of your bruised and blooded hands to rest against your helmet. Oh, how you long for his counsel. You would give anything to hear his wisdom and witness his ability to navigate even the biggest problems with unerring precision. Deep down, you know what he would say. Keep fighting.

A swift shake of your head brings your focus back into sight and you begin to gather up your belongings. Methodically, they find their place within your bag, which you wear with a wince as it settles into a tender area of your shoulder. Everything you hold dear now fits within a single bag, not counting the arsenal of weaponry you securely fasten into their rightful place. Some had been lost during the chase, but you still had more than enough for another encounter, if one should arise.

With everything you own in tow, you stride toward the door, prepared and determined to escape from the planet and continue your life of being on the run. However, your journey is abruptly halted within a second of the door sliding open. Cold beskar collides with you, knocking the breath from your lungs as you’re unceremoniously pinned against the opposite wall, belongings now strewn across the stained floor. Your hands desperately grapple his arm in an attempt to ease some of the pressure restricting your airways. But he doesn’t budge. Mando has learned the hard way, and he refuses to allow you even an inch of movement.

One of his strong arms presses across your collarbones, keeping you in place while the end of his blaster jabs underneath your jaw, causing a cold stillness to settle across your writhing body.

“If you’ve laid even one finger on him…”

The limited space between you is fraught with tension, disturbed only by the sound of the safety catch being disengaged. It’s a noise you’ve heard countless times, but this time, you find yourself beginning to panic as you hear the tone of his voice. It’s devoid of the stoicism you had become familiar with, and instead, it carries an undertone of desperation, an element of urgency that cuts through you and warns you of Mando’s intentions if he doesn’t get the answers he wants.

Your lips part as you try to struggle again, gasping for air so that you can answer him.

“I…I…I can’t…” your voice is strained in your attempt to draw in a breath.

Mando’s arm is suddenly gone, and so is the support of the wall as you’re hurled away from it. Aching bones are met with the abrupt, unwelcoming force of the table as you stumble against the edge of it. Pain explodes from your hip, sending a shockwave through your body and you finally crumple to the floor.

Every muscle tenses, every instinct screams at you to react, but your limbs feel strangely unresponsive as you drink in the precious air, your lungs greedily accepting the offering.

What you first perceived as aggression now takes on an entirely new face as he advances toward you. Fear, palpable and potent. It’s a fear of losing something precious, something that he holds most dear: the child.

“I didn’t touch him!” Your words erupt from you, your own panic saturating your words.

You scramble backward, your hand instinctively extending as a feeble barricade against his approach.

“I didn’t touch him,” you repeat. “He’s safe, I swear. He’s on the ship.”

A heavy silence descends upon the room, tense and thick with contemplation. From behind the visor, you feel Mando’s gaze fixed on you, unwavering and inscrutable. You sense his hesitation and observe the way the tight ball of his first slowly unfurls. This isn’t a man easily deceived, but you think he believes you. He accepts your truth.

He bends and retrieves your helmet from the floor, silently studying it as he turns it in his hands. You wonder if he understands it, if he can sense the triumphs and losses it has seen. His gloved fingers run along the helmet’s contours, feeling the subtle grooves and indentations that give the dark metal its distinctive character.

“Who are you?” Mando finally asks.

His helmet tilts fractionally and you know his eyes are now on you again.

“I’m someone who can take you to Moff Gideon.”

Every muscle in his body freezes at that name. You have him right where you need him, and when all you’re met with is silence, you continue.

“I’ll come with you. I won’t fight you. Then you can decide if you’re going to turn me over…or let me help you. We have a common enemy, Mando, and—”

“Stop talking,” he cuts you off.

“Instead of fighting each other, we can help each other. You want to find him, and we can–”

“There is no we,” his voice is firm.

He leaves no room for misinterpretation as he closes in on you again.

“Give me your hands.”

With a heavy sigh, you hold them out and close your eyes as the binders pinch at the raw skin around your wrists. What did you think he was going to do? You had crossed him, fed him to the wolves and stolen his ship.

He picks your bag up from the floor and hoists it over his shoulder then takes hold of your helmet in one hand, your restraints in the other, and walks you out of the room.

You needed a new plan.

***

The tranquil azure light of hyperspace dances through the hatch from the cockpit, bathing you in the smooth glow. Since your return to the ship, the bounty hunter had spent most of his time up in the cockpit and you welcomed the silence that had settled in his absence. It gave you the space you needed to reflect on the chaotic sequence of events that had led to this moment; you, sitting on the cold, metal floor of the hold with your back against the sealed cargo crates.

There was a lot to think about.

Occasionally, a terse command from the cockpit breaks the silence of the ship. You pick up on words such as “no” and “stop that”, which only seem to be met with coos and soft babbling. The child’s voice, innocent and almost oblivious to the tension that lingers in the air.

During the hours that follow, you drift in and out of uneasy sleep. Each time, fragmented dreams are interrupted by the vessel’s subtle tremors and the soft cadence of Mando’s footsteps as he periodically checks on you. The rhythmic thuds of his boots become almost imperceptible until, at last, he descends from the cockpit once more. With the child asleep above, you can only assume he has time to focus his attention on you again.

You blink, focusing your gaze through the dimly lit hold as you watch him take a seat on the crate across from you.

“Here,” he murmurs and extends a flask toward you.

Bound hands make it challenging, but you manage to take it and consume nearly its entirety in desperate gulps. The cold liquid caresses down your parched throat and helps to soothe the dry, scratchy sensation. You contemplate wiping your mouth on the back of your dirty hands, but upon closer inspection, you pause with the realisation that they are still stained with dirt and blood. Much like your torn and tattered clothes, they bore witness to the battles you’ve endured with the man sitting opposite you.

“Thank you,” you finally speak, voice croaking with the lingering dryness the water hadn’t been able to soothe.

He offers a brief nod and maintains a steady gaze through his visor. You have piqued his interest, despite the way he fights against it.

“Do you have a name?” you ask after a prolonged silence.

“Mando is fine,” comes his reply. “Where did you learn to fight like that?”

For the first time since he joined you, you avert your eyes and focus on the wall behind him. By now, you have mastered the art of silence and elusive answers as a way to reveal very little of yourself under interrogation.

“I’ve worked for many people,” you reply flatly.

Mando sighs at the lack of depth to your answer, as if he had expected something a little more from you.

“How did you find other Mandalorians?”

Your gaze returns to him as he asks his next question. He tries to hide his desire for knowledge, and his yearning to discover others of his kind. It resonates with you on a deep level. You understand his desperation, having experienced it yourself. The longing to connect with those who share your story, your origins, your essence. Yet, you’re aware of the harsh reality; the Jedi had mostly been killed and any who survived had vanished. Mandalorians were but a scattered few, their presence so sparse in the galaxy that they barely existed at all.

“As I said,” you shrug and immediately regret it when a sharp pain jolts through your shoulder and upper arm. You desperately try to hide the wince, but it flashes across your face quicker than you’re able to fight it. “I’ve worked for many people.”

He sighs heavily. You know this man is smart enough to know when he is fighting a losing battle. You’re tired, you’re hungry and there’s not an area of your body that doesn’t ache. You’re in no mood for his questions.

Mando moves to stand, his own groan of discomfort audible through the static of his modulator. You’ve both taken quite the beating and you can’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction that you’re not the only one struggling.

“Do you…” He begins and then trails off as though still processing his next question. “Do you want to get cleaned up?”

That was quite unexpected.

You raise your eyebrows slowly, suspicious of his endgame. It’s almost as if he picks up on your hesitation because he quickly clarifies.

“I’ll go back up into the cockpit. You can use this area…and the fresher is right there,” he nods in the direction of a small opening in the corner.

“I…uh,” your eyes dart back over to him, still somewhat suspicious. “That would be great…thank you?”

You’re not entirely sure why it comes out as a question. With an edge of hesitation, you twist yourself just enough to hook your arm over the top of the crate so you can use it to pull yourself back up to your feet.

“Could you take these off?”

You hold up your hands, bringing your binders into view. This time, it’s Mando who hesitates. His helmet has a subtle tilt while he considers your question and your previous actions.

“No,” he states firmly.

“No? How do you expect me to clean up when I can’t use my hands?”

He shrugs. He stares straight at you and shrugs.

“I warned you not to make me regret taking them off last time.”

Your stare hardens into a glare so fierce, you’re almost sure it could melt his precious beskar armour. The tension in your jaw sets your teeth into a tight clench as your fingers unintentionally begin to curl into fists. He sees your festering frustration and chooses to defuse it.

“You see that?” Mando asks and points to something over your shoulder. You turn your head slowly, spotting the carbonite chamber over the far side of the hold. “That’s where you’ll end up if you so much as think about pulling another stunt like you did earlier. Consider yourself lucky you’re standing here with your wrists bound. Get cleaned up or don’t, the choice is yours.”

You say nothing. It takes every fraction of your control not to laugh at that. Lucky? You’re far from lucky right now.

You want to get cleaned up, you really do. But your stubbornness keeps you rooted to the spot, your eyes continuing to burn a hole through the front of his visor to keep him on edge. You’re unpredictable, he knows that. It’s how you have managed to slip through so many attempted captures. So while you understand his need to protect himself and the child while you’re on his ship, it doesn’t stop you from being pissed off about it.

Still holding your silence, you cross to the fresher and turn to close the door. There is no door. All that sits on the wall is a broken control panel, the functional buttons long gone.

You sense his heavy gaze lingering on you as you turn on the water and watch the way it cascades over your fingers, a brief respite to wash away the layers of dirt and dried blood caking your skin. Glancing up, you meet your reflection in the small mirror, and a heavy sigh escapes your lips. The evidence of the gruelling confrontation is marked across your skin in the form of vivid, darkening bruises. Scratches, trophies of your frantic battle amongst the branches, streak across your cheeks.

You try to cup the water, attempting to bring some relief to your battered face, but each attempt fails. The water slips through the gaps in your bound hands, unable to keep hold of it in their limited position. Your frustration snaps as you slam your hands down against the small sink. Simultaneously, an agonising surge of pain courses through your arm, causing a small cry to escape you before you’re able to muffle it. Everything about this is humiliating. He stands watching you, a silent witness to your struggle.

You should have fought harder. To the death, if you had to. You had given in too easily and allowed yourself to be captured. What would Gideon say if he could see you now? Something tells you that you won’t need to wait long to find out. Once Mando hands you over, he will find you.

“Here, let me help,” Mando’s voice–albeit softer now–startles you from the small doorway.

“Why?” you snap. “So you can feel better about yourself? So I can thank you for taking care of me after you fucking captured me?”

You don’t give him time to answer. His silences are too long and you’re done with them.

“You did this,” you shove him with your other arm, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps from the doorway. “You did this. You asshole. You fucking asshole. You should have put me in carbonite and been done with it! You…You…”

You reach to shove his chest again but this time, he grabs hold of your hands and keeps them pressed against his chestplate.

“You asshole,” your voice cracks.

The wind has been taken out of your sails and your head lowers, defeated.

“Are you done?” he asks, his voice still calm and quiet.

Your silence is the only answer he gets and when you don’t pull away from him, he lowers your hands and releases your binders. Not for the first time that day, your senses are filled with him. You think you would be able to identify his smell anywhere now; well-worn leather, polished armour, a musk on his skin. It takes you back to hours earlier, when he had first removed your binders and stood so close to you.

“Can I see your shoulder?”

You nod and help him with removing your shoulder pauldrons. He takes each one in his gloved hands and places them down carefully, treating them with the respect he would show the pieces of his own armour. Each time, he waits for you. He keeps his hands at a respectful distance while you unclasp your shirt. He turns his helmet to allow you some modesty as you slowly slip your arm free so he’s able to feel around the area when you tell him he can.

No further words are exchanged. He simply follows your lead, as though he is beginning to learn your movements. He has studied you, memorised your fighting pattern, and watched your decision-making processes. In the hours you have spent together, both in and out of combat, he has started piecing together the parts of you he has seen.

He removes his dirty gloves and sets them down beside your pauldrons. With your eyes still lowered, you note the inky tones of his bruised knuckles and the way his fingers flex almost nervously at being exposed under your gaze. It’s the first part of him that you have seen, the first glimpse of the person beneath all of his armour.

“Turn around,” he instructs.

Very slowly, he moves his hands toward your shoulder and it catches you off guard. It’s not his actions that surprise you but rather the warmth of his touch as his fingers gently seek out the tender area he had seen you struggling with earlier. Everything about him had been cold and frigid; his voice, his posture, his overall demeanour…yet his warmth, unexpectedly coursing through his touch, reminds you of his humanity.

A hiss escapes your lips as your breath catches when his thumb applies pressure to the most sensitive point, coaxing an involuntary flinch from you.

“Sorry,” he’s quick to apologise. “Try and keep still. I need to feel around this area.”

The cold that radiates from his beskar is a stark contrast to the warmth of his hands and despite the discomfort they cause when he moves your arm slowly to assess the movement you have, his touch is not unwelcome on your skin.

No. You have to stop that thought right there.

“I can’t say for sure, but it doesn’t seem like anything is broken. Could be a torn muscle. It’s probably going to be tender for a few days.”

You nod, signalling your understanding as he helps you to slip your arm back into your shirt. Your mind bounces between the way his hands felt, the warmth they brought to your skin, and the way he had mentioned a ‘few days’ so casually in his assessment of your shoulder.

Did that mean there was still a chance for you to make yourself valuable enough to not hand over?

“I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. Do you…do you want some soup?”

You can’t help yourself. You lift your gaze, unable to hide the half-amused, half-confused expression from your face. This is a funny little dynamic you have going on, one of threatening violence and offering soup. At this, you begin to smile.

“Soup would be great.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x reader #mando x female reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #hurricane series

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marshymallo · 8 months ago

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FIC RECS: 「 star wars 」

this list is subject to change every time i find new works to add to the collection

「 Sweet Berries ~ Din Djarin x Fem!Reader 」

Synopsis: A child finds you at your fruit stand and you can’t help but to fall in love.

「 Little One ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+, AGE GAP, ANGST

Synopsis: It’s been years since Obi-Wan has last seen you. But the Clone Wars are finally over and he’s back on Coruscant. If only you weren’t so lovely...

「 Why is the Girl Here? ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader 」

WARNING: EVENTUAL SMUT 18+, PART 1 TO “THE LOCKED DOOR” SERIES

Synopsis: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions. Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic. There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic. As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

「 Dove ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi x Fem!Reader 」

WARNING: CONTAINS (DUBCON) SMUT 18+, AGE GAP, PART 2 TO “THE LOCKED DOOR” SERIES

「 Focus ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi x AFAB!GN!Reader 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+, PART 1 TO THE “WHAT’S A JEDI CODE?” SERIES

Synopsis: Obi-Wan starts to notice how you pay a little too much attention to his lightsaber training and decides to take it upon himself to help you focus.

「 Sneaking Around ~ Obi-Wan Kenobi x AFAB!GN!Reader 」

WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT 18+, PART 2 TO THE “WHAT’S A JEDI CODE?” SERIES

Synopsis: You and Obi-Wan have the pleasure of meeting up again the next day after another council meeting, the likes of which he always seems to be busy with. He doesn’t waste any time, however, and decides there’s no better place to hang out then a very public alleyway, until he’s inevitably pulled back into his ever present meetings. Being a Jedi is hard work, after all.

#mae’s recs #din djarin x reader #obi wan x reader

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penvisions · 10 months ago

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of beskar and kyber {chapter 13}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Shadows and light play across your mind and feelings as you reveal more about your past to Din. Propositions made and discussions about what to do next as things back on Nevarro spiral as a result of Din's defiance of an organization he took part in for years prompt you both to evaluate everything you've become to each other.

Word Count: 12.6k (!!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, language, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past sa trauma (non-descriptive), anxiety, confessions, illusions to the pull of the force, allusions to past violent tendencies of both reader and din, brief mentions of death, allusions to order 66, reader has a lot on internal monologues in this one, nightmares, bad dreams, anxiety, outbursts, emotional turmoil, readers shares more of her violent past with din, sexual content, sexual intimacy, body worship, fingering, sexual themes, argumentative language

A/N: returning to this fic with a beast of a chapter that traverses so much. it's the longest one i've written yet and i am so excited to share it with y'all. i sincerely hope y'all like everything i poured into this. please let me know what you think?

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Water gently splashed against the side of the tub, bubbles sticking to the porcelain, small waves created by the movement of Din’s hand as it trailed down your navel. Fingers eliciting tingles of pleasure as they smoothed over soft skin slick with the oils added to the water not even a few moments ago. You gasped, head thudding back against his broad, bare shoulder as the tips of them brushed over course hair before slipping between your folds.

Your nails dug into the skin of his thighs, mindful of the healing wound there, his bronze knees bent up and cresting over the water, caging in your wriggling form nestled back into him. Your hips bucked as his fingertips ghosted over that exciting bundle of nerves to stroke down toward your fluttering entrance. Water sloshing at the sudden disturbance. He groaned, deep and gravely right into your ear, the helmet hiding little of his arousal as he carefully rubbed around it. You clenched, body feeling how close he was and needing to be satisfied.

His index finger hovered over you, a silent question and you whined out a needy sound. Not caring if it was desperate, your fingers gripped him tight, and you bucked your hips to get him closer. He circled your entrance, once, twice, three times. Pleasure rocked through you, a fire blooming to life in your core.

“Din, please,” You panted, unable to catch your breath between the heat of his body, the heat of the water and steam surrounding you both, the heat he was stoking in your very nerves. A hand shot out of the water and scrabbled at the back of his helmet; fingers slippery with bubbles.

His thick finger slid in easily, between the water and the slick that was surely tainting the water you were both partially submerged in. The hand he had curled around your middle was reaching up to cup a breast covered only in sweet, scented bubbles and you moaned. Low and guttural, the stretch so unlike anything you felt before. Almost sweet in a way that it had never felt before.

He crooked his finger, nudging it deeper inside and grazed against a soft spot that had white sparking across your vision. A keening whine sprouted from you, loud in the marbled room. He stilled for a second, reveling in the way you felt around him, clenching him tightly. There was no discomfort, with you feeling so completely safe and protected.

“That’s a good sound, mesh’la.” His raspy voice was close, the bottom of his helmet hooked over your shoulder. He carefully pumped his finger into you, trying to go slow in case it was a stretch that overwhelmed you. But you huffed as you moved against him, the palm of his wide palm rubbing at you in a way that stoked the fire licking at your nerves.

“M-more, please. Linibar or'atu, copad at aalar or'atu be gar.”

Need more, want to feel more of you.

Your words were a quiet plea on shaking breath, a heavy exhale as he gave you what you wanted, slipping a second finger in alongside the first on his next plunge into the silky, wet heat of your core.

Back arching, pressing you impossibly closer to him, feeling the hot line of him as it nudged at you from behind. You whined out as his fingers stilted and he flexed them, stretching you out to see what felt good, what lit you up even more. They crooked inside of you and brushed against something that had you crying out, that same spot from earlier, he rubbed at it deliberately. Stomach lurching, the flames that had been slowly smoldering sparked across the entire expanse of your body.

“Ha-ah, Din, gedet'ye vaabir ibac tug'yc!”

Please do that again!

Your hips bucked into his hand, urging him desperately as you felt a tightening form low in your stomach. He remained still save for the crooking of his fingers once more and you moved against him. The water licking up the sides of the tub at your rushed movements, bubbles inching higher up both your overheated bodies.

His fingertips hit that spot on each thrust as he pumped his fingers in a steady rhythm, arms muscles tensing as he wrapped himself around you completely. The fire crackled and you cried out as pleasure tingled all the way to the tips of your fingers, heart beating hard in your chest. Your vision was blanketed in white sparks, and you clenched them shut and tried to catch your breath. Din’s hand worked you through the aftershocks, his palm hot against your skin where it brushed against you.

“Clenched so tight around me, mesh’la.” He rumbled into your ear, his hand gently moving away from you. He rested it low on your stomach, taking in the way your muscles jumped underneath his touch as your fingers around the back of his helmet pulled him closer. Your lips pressed to the column of his neck, tongue darting out to taste the exposed skin there.

He moaned a guttural sound at the feel of you marking him for your own, the hot swipe of your tongue giving way to a gentle nip of teeth. You felt him twitch against your backside and you shimmied back to press against him, loving the velvet softness of the hot line he made against your skin.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” He said softly, despite the thrumming in his own body, the sinful sounds falling from your lips, because of him, for him, having worked him up.

“Need to touch you now, it’s your turn.” You slipped away from him with a hush of the water, turning in his grip. The tub was only so big and you nudged at his knees, still cresting up over the water’s surface to lay flat where your body had just been. You held tight to the curve of his shoulders, moving to straddle the width of his hips. You could hear the crackling of him sucking in a deep breath through the modulator as you settled over him, hovering.

“San…”

“I know I don’t have to, cyar’ika.” You leaned your naked chest to his, the soft hair decorating his chest tingling against your hardened nipples and you tossed your head back. Chin jutted up, it exposed your throat to the man so close, his hands loose around your waist tightening and pulling you flush against him. A strangled noise fell from your open mouth as his cock bobbed up and nudged at your core hovering so close to him.

“Din,” You panted, fingers splayed on his neck, reaching up towards the bottom of the helmet. He paused, his fingers so tight around your hips, and you realized how he read that. The desperate plea of his name coated by the velvet caress of your voice. The sultry glaze to your eyes as you stared directly into the dark visor that covered his own.

“I don’t want you to remove it, just..just want to feel, but…but I understand if that’s a line you need to draw. I respect you, I respect your Creed. I’ll keep my hands to myself if you aren’t comfortable.”

His hands snapped up to grip yours tightly, bringing them up to the underside of his helmet, the seal deactivating as he moved a thumb to press something along the space beneath his chin. A hiss filled the air and your fingers twitched in his as he guided them to press against the skin just below the cool beskar. Your fingers reached toward his jaw, where the stubble of his facial hair was peeking out from underneath. It was rougher than the hair on his chest, similar to the coarse hair that was a dark shadow beneath the water. You settled over him fully just as your fingers splayed over his jaw, feeling both patches at the same time and letting out a low whine as the silken skin of his cock settled against your slippery folds.

You felt the groan that fell from him in your bones, so close to you, impossibly close.

“Dank ferrick, mesh’la.” Din growled as he slumped back into the wall of the tub, his hips bucking up suddenly. You had no fear of him breaching your comfortability, of crossing a line that had been talked over. You trusted him, you felt so safe with him. And it felt like nothing you’d ever known before, so enraptured by someone and comforted in their presence. It felt like the ocean inside you that had been choppy for as long as you could remember was beginning to settle.

Din’s hands were tight around your hips, helping you to move against him, guiding your motions as he thrusted up to slide against you. Your soft, slick folds nestled over the length of him, creating a channel of friction that was too much for the man. His breathing hitching as he chases his own high, another one flaring quickly in your middle to match him.

He didn’t last long, the drawn out groan of his peak rumbling through you, the modulator no longer hiding the deep baritone of his voice in a veil of mechanics, but unfiltered for only your ears to hear. He bucked up, body twitching as you felt him throb between your legs. The water turning murky from his spend around you both. As he canted his hips to keep you close, you felt the head of his cock nudge at your fluttering entrance and pleasure ripped through you. Keening, the waves crested in a delicious feeling that took over your body.

It was a few moments before you came back to yourself, body limp as you leaned all of your weight against the temptation of Din below you. Forehead nuzzled into his heaving chest. Letting your body move along with the way his own moved as he came down from his own pleasure. His arms were now wrapped around your back, holding you to him, his head knocked back against the tile lined around the tub.

All you could whimper was his name, a small sound more breath than voice.

“I’ve got you, mesh’la,” He spoke softly, voice back to that modulated mockery of what you knew his deep, velvety voice actually sounded like now. “Fuck, mesh’la, you did so good for me.”

“W-wanted to.” You placed a kiss to where you could feel how fast his heart was beating. A delirious giggle sprouting from deep within you.

The room was soft, from the carpet plush at your feet to the bedding atop the large bed, to the blanket thrown over the back of the couch and the one in the crib that had been delivered to the room right before your arrival. It was quiet, the faint neon lights of the city blurred behind drawn curtains in the middle of the night.

Din was asleep beside you, safe inside the covers while you struggled to catch your breath as you had been jarred into consciousness from a bad dream. Silently, you slipped from the bed, leaving the warmth of him behind. Silent tears were cascading down your face, the fear and loss of the dream too much for you to handle and your mind had decided to pluck you from the pain of it just as the figure of your guardian had fallen in front of you once again.

Feeling raw and exposed, you slipped on your cloak that had been draped over the back of the couch in the living room. The door to the bedroom left cracked behind you as you walked over to the crib to find ad’ika staring up at you with big eyes. He quietly cooed as he reached out for you, his little claws gripping you tight as you lifted him up and cradled him close to your chest.

Settling into a corner of the couch, you dragged a blanket over both you and just sat there, not bothering to turn on a light lest it wake the resting man who was snoring slightly. You hadn’t seen him so relaxed since meeting him, something about the comforts of the booked room easing his anxieties and paranoia of always having to look over his back, always be on alert. Even if the reason you insisted on getting the room was to throw off a tail. You wondered when the last time he slept so soundly had been, when the last time you had been before your mind decided to remind you of why it was such a rare occurrence.

A small hiccup sounded and you looked down to see ad’ika clutching to you tightly, his own little mind playing tricks on him and bringing up things from the past. You let him curl a claw around a few of your fingers and brought it up to place a gentle kiss atop it. Emotions and energy flowed between you both, flashes of harsh light and the echoes of blaster bolts and the hum of swinging lightsabers sounding in your mind. He had been just a child too, when it all happened. When the only life you both had known had been ripped out from underneath you.

You thought back to the way Akiz would hold you in a similar way, to help ease your mind when nightmares plagued you. And for all the bad that occurred in your life, for all the things you had to endure, you were glad to be here in this moment to mirror his behavior for the small being cradled close to your chest. His other claw was laid flat on your chest, over where your heart was hurting. Trying to calm your breathing, you tightened the crossing of your legs beneath you both and closed your eyes.

“It’s okay, ad’ika. I’ve got you, I swear it.” You whispered to him as you tried to concentrate, meditating second nature. After a few moments, he looked up at you, his own breathing had calmed to copy yours, feeling the deep inhales and exhales of your body he pressed up to. He seemed to work himself up again, thoughts plaguing him, pushing memories of his own into your mind that were coated in fear, hitching your breath as they hit you at full force. The faint images in your mind’s eye as he had experienced the very same thing you had, a new perspective to the traumatic occurrence. Little brow furrowed and deep wrinkles in the green skin there, you chuckled lightly as you tried to smooth them out. “We’re safe, we got out. We made it out, ad’ika.”

He cried out softly, tensing in your hold. Trying to gather yourself enough for him through the haze of emotions and memories he was flooding you with, you gently rocked him. Hushing him quietly to ease his worries. His breathing evened out from the fast staccato it had taken on and the clenching of his eyes relaxed as you focused on sharing the feeling of warm water, the soft noise of cresting waves, the feeling of gliding through water on a board that you had crafted with our own small hands so long ago. Good memories from your childhood, the things you missed from it that felt like another lifetime.

A coo pressed into your neck and then a small giggle as you shared with him a memory of feeling so completely free, swiftly moving through a tunneling wave. The colors of the water illuminated by a blinding sun dulled to emulate the lights that surrounded the ship during hyperspace travel. All soft blues, tinged greens, soft white.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” You whispered, trying to keep the calm murmuring low as he relaxed under your attention. You nuzzled your forehead against his smaller one, letting him feel the calming thoughts you were pushing through the connection, hoping it was doing more good than just blanketing the harsh reality of your lives. “Let’s breath and focus, okay? We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.”

You didn’t hear the soft steps that moved across the plush carpet of the room or catch the glint of the dulled city lights reflected in the beskar that peeked through the opening of the door behind you.

“Mesh’la, I’ve drawn a bath for you.” Din’s voice was low, baritone close to you and you startled from where you were still cuddled into the corner of the couch. Slumber dissipated like a leak from your mind as your thoughts got staticky with anxiety at being caught unaware as you sucked in a deep breath through your nose. Ad’ika was asleep in your arms, eyes cracking open at the sound of the armored man’s voice. He jostled with the force of your jumping nerves as you flew from the couch, skin alight with the instinct to push up and away until you realized that you weren’t in any actual danger.

“Kriff!” You settled the small form in your arms down on the couch, still wrapped up tight in his blanket.

Leaning down to do so, you could feel the pull of your back muscles for your choice in sleeping arrangements. Din has stepped back calmly, not showing the fast beating of his heart or the guilt he felt at scaring you. You dotted on ad’ika, making sure he was okay and not at all alarmed by the rather abrupt awakening you both just had. Din’s hands came to grip your own, his gloves gone.

“I’ve got him, you’ve been up with him all night. I set fresh caf and one of the books from your bag out for you.”

Moments later, you were submerged in a perfect imitation of the bath you had drawn the night before.

Thoughts swirling like the cream you had poured into the cup of caf resting on a board spanning over the tub, securely nestled around the lips of it. Taking a sip, you leaned back onto the waterproof cushion fastened to the end of the tub, back muscles relaxing as the liquid warmed you from the inside out while steam wafted up from the hot water surrounding you. True to his word, Din didn’t disturb you, giving you a moment to yourself.

Warm arousal sparking through you as your body recalled the sensations from the night before. The feel of his strong body pressed against yours. The way he had curled his arms around you, the way he had thrusted up against you, dragging his hard cock through your folds, head stroking that bundle of nerves, pulling a second release from your worked up body while he chased his own. Hands recalling the feel of his thick curls tight in your fingers as you pulled on them, the feel of his jaw underneath them, the softest brushing against his lips before he had softly asked you to stop.

Guilt flared up at the pushing of his boundaries, at the closeness you both shared between bare bodies, but the recollection of how soundly you had both slept right after, curled into each other far outweighed it and you found peace within yourself. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, it had been…it had been euphoric to feel so safe with him in that way.

You hummed into the ceramic of the mug, taking another delicious sip. Leaning forward you placed the drink back on the board and took the moment for what it was. An easy morning with the two beings who meant so much to you in the other room, setting up breakfast before the day started.

The ship was silent as Din guided it through the space around the planet, preparing to jump into hyperspace. A relatively small planet he had picked out for the next stop, unsure of an overreaching plan but knowing that it was best to move. Especially now, having gained a tail in the marketplace. You had both spent a good amount of time going over the interior and exterior of the ship to ensure that no tracking beacons had been fastened to the aircraft. Even if the display on the man’s cuff hadn’t told him of the doors opening while away.

Just to be safe, to be cautious.

On alert and on guard for a majority of both your lives coalescing into an easy routine of ensuring complete safety when returning to where it was deemed home for the time being. Because that’s what the ship was to the man seated in front of you, his broad form filling out the pilot’s chair. And it was quickly developing into that for you as well, the bond between you both allowing for you to feel like you could share in his sentiments even more concretely.

The toggle he switched didn’t yield any change on the screen and you could hear the resounding sigh from the man but it didn’t sound as an alert for a message popped up. You prepared to leave the control room, knowing that some aspects of Din’s life were still unknown to you, not wanting to breach his privacy even if it was a simple message sent to his ship. But it was intended for him and him alone. It could be personal, it could be professional, but either way: you wanted to show respect for him in any way you could.

He must’ve clocked your movement, because his shoulders stilled from maneuvering his hands over the control panel and he turned in the chair to glance at you.

You offered him a tired smile, picking up the bundle that was a fast asleep ad’ika in some blankets in the third chair. The marketplace stop for supplies before returning to the ship had tired him out after his sporadic sleep the night before.

“Going to lay him down in my bed, let him sprawl out and he’ll wake to the lights.”

“Messages to me are messages to you. Unless they contain information on where the covert has relocated. But even then, I believe you’re entitled to that should you want to know. You have history and a connection with the Mandalorian culture and people.”

“But I am not Mandalorian myself, Din.” You reached out a hand to rest over the pauldron atop his shoulder. “It’s not a problem, I’ll leave you to it. Going to organize and see what supplies we have and make a list.”

You were about to cross the threshold when the voice of a man Din had last encountered back on Nevarro. The very one that had run him off world with the concentrated efforts of the entire Guild he had once been employed by. His helmet lifted slowly from where he was focused on the panel in front of him toward the hologram message as it displayed itself from another panel.

“My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive.”

Anger and frustration boiled in your stomach, filling you with negative and ill intentions as you turned on your heel in the threshold of the door. The figure of the man who had shot at you, who had wounded you, who had caused such a huge fight to erupt in the face of a personal vendetta he held against Din’s actions to save ad’ika formed to play the transmission. People had died, people had fled, the city had taken damage and destruction not only physically and so many individuals had been affected by the very man’s choice to move against Din in an orchestrated attack.

“You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we could call it even.”

You couldn’t help the snarl of your lips as you took in the smug way the man’s displayed form settled his hands over his hips, seemingly unnerved by the way he had fired at you. Nearly taken your life and gotten Din caught. Nearly caused all three of you to be taken captive.

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild.”

“He should’ve thought of that before he even let them set foot there.” You growled, voice low and threatening as you felt your emotions spike. Din’s visor turned to you fully, taking in the way the ends of your loose strands had begun to float, harnessed by the lack of control you were exhibiting in your worked up state. The visage you created, standing there in the semi-darkness of his control room with a bundled up child in your grip and a hard look decorating your features was formidable. Someone he would have to track and observe before moving against. Someone who would fight until they couldn’t anymore, until someone was dead and the conflict was no more. Your eyes flashed with the brightness of the transmission playing out, making him pause as he thought he caught something else in your eyes for the barest hint of a second. He turned back to view the transmission your eyes were glued on.

“We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out.”

“He’s going to ask for your help.” You strutted forward and pushed the pause button on the panel without asking. The displayed figure frozen in a stance with his arms crossed and a hard look about his own features. “He’s going to ask you to risk yourself after attacking you and causing the covert to lose members and relocate.”

“He can do whatever he wants. That doesn’t mean-“

“You’re going to help him, I know you. I know you feel at fault for what happened, feel the need to right the wrongs that have sprung up because of your decisions. You worked with him, with the Guild for years, you feel an obligation to help them. Especially if they ask for it.”

“You don’t think I should.”

“No.” That same glint shone in your eyes despite the transmission no longer playing and it made the man seated beside you pause. Your entire demeanor so unlike your normal one. He had seen you be harsh in fleeting instances, more in response to something he had harshly said or done when first meeting you, in the way you had interacted with Xi’an and Mayfeld. The way in which you had cut down that thug back of Sorgan, the scratches you had left on Callican’s neck. Hints of an attitude and allusions to violence you were capable of that he had yet to see fully unleashed. It didn’t worry him, nor make him afraid, but it did make him pause. Cara had been right when she had seen your weapon for the first time: you were strong. Capable of doing so much damage with a simple twitch of your wrist. The ability to harness such a power as the Force and wield a weapon that could cut through anything made you dangerous. Even if he knew you wouldn’t use it against him or ad’ika.

“I’ve lived my life hiding and running, because taking them on and truly eradicating the threat was too much of a challenge.”

All he could do was nod, letting you know that he heard you and would take your words into account before he allowed the rest of the transmission to play out.

“If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize. Both of their prizes.”

You roughly pushed the pause button again, heart thudding in your chest.

“Din…” You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, only guessing at what the man on display was about to reveal. Something you weren’t ready for anyone to know, a part of your past you tried to forget and shove down to never be thought of again. You could feel the weight of his gaze on you, feel the black visor trained on you so directly that it nearly branded your skin. “He has my file, he has the ability to find out anything and everything about me if he’s the leader of the Guild. He- he knows who I really am.”

“And who are you?” His voice didn’t hold any accusations of malice, it was even in tone, telling you he was willing to listen to what you had to say. That he wanted to hear what you were willing to share with him.

“Someone who had trained with their top forces in order to infiltrate their ranks and get intimate details of how they operated until they were found out.” You exhaled heavily, aware of how tightly you were holding onto the blankets that were swaddled around ad’ika’s form. Your fingers going numb with the force of your desperate attempt at keeping your mood from spiking anymore. “Someone who did it to save the only person who ever looked out for them.”

“Akiz.”

“He had been injured beyond general medical procedures at the time, but the Empire…they had the means and equipment that could save him. I was offered an ultimatum, and I took it. I did it for him, I turned to them for him, bid my time and learned everything I could while he recovered.”

“You said he died protecting you.” Not an argument but a statement, a recollection of what you had told him of your beloved guardian through teary eyes.

“He did.”

A moment passed with no response before Din pressed play on the control panel, giving you both a moment to grapple with the truths you just revealed.

“You are in possession of one of the most sought-after bounties they’ve commissioned for. And a person of their ranks who betrayed them and destroyed an entire fleet of ships in her attempts to flee found alongside it. I had no idea when I handed you that last puck, commissioned by her mother. The officials here found it and her name was given to me to say to you, the truth about her revealed to me to allow me to understand the severity of the issue here. Return to Nevarro. Bring the child and woman as bait. I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection.”

You watched the stoic expression of the man as he delved out the information and his idea of a plan so plainly.

“Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and the woman. I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism.”

A heavy silence followed the end of the transmission, Din’s visor trained on you holding the child tight in your grip. It followed you as you finally made an exit to lay ad’ika down in bed, roving over your back in a way that made you feel utterly and completely exposed.

You were in the hammock that was strung up in the hold space, the remainder of the day spent traveling somewhere that Din had chosen to guide the ship towards. He had left you and ad’ika to your own devices, opting to stay secluded in the cockpit for the day. No doubt going over everything from the transmission and dissecting your admission. You hadn’t eaten but had made sure the small being in your care had been fed and washed before laying him down for the night.

Din would come down eventually and you didn’t want to impose yourself on him. You should’ve told him before, but he had assured you to take your time with sharing things about yourself. Understanding all too well that certain parts of both of your pasts were harder to share than some. Not borne from unwillingness but of shame and fear of how it would reflect the decisions each made once upon a time.

His steps were nearly silent, but you could hear the hush of his cape as he moved about. Your breath puffed out as you turned in the hammock, facing the wall and adjusted the blanket over you to cover you completely. A possible interaction lighting up your body with an anxious hum. He had been so quiet after your confession. You knew what the Empire did to his people, how they manipulated the very trajectory of his life. How, years later, they did the exact same thing again. Endless attacks on innocent people and powerful cultures alike in their path to controlling the galaxy how they saw fit. And to find out that you had served them? That had to have hurt him.

It had hurt you to admit it. To reveal that part about yourself that brought you nothing but shame and regret, even if it was done with good intentions to save the life of someone important to you. And they had lost their life in the end regardless. A mistake that would haunt you every time your emotions flared, and the pull of the Force took hold of you.

Din’s presence was close, having descended the ladder. You could feel the way he moved about the space busying himself with making a meal before bed. The domestic sounds lulling you into a half- conscious state.

A hand encompassed your own with a gentle tug, but you only mumbled out something incoherent.

“Mesh’la, let’s go to bed.”

“’M comfy.” Was your rather muffled reply as your face was pressed heavily into the pillow beneath you.

The silence allowed for you to slip deeper into your slumber, the figure of Din not disturbing you in the slightest. But he must’ve felt differently, his mind heavy as he tried to decide what to do, what would be the best course of action. His words were quiet, though his tone held an honest admission.

“I don’t fault you or judge you for the things you did. For the choices you made…I wanted to thank you for telling me.”

“Wanted to.” You mumbled back, brain moving slow.

A squeeze to your hand was the last touch of him before he retired to his quarters, letting you sleep where you lay.

Sorgan was a beautiful sight once again as Din directed the ship toward the planet. Telling you of his plans to pick up Cara in hopes of her wanting to and being able to help with the ask from the transmission. It had been a long conversation in the early morning, you waking to the darkness of the hold and moving to the cot alongside the resting man. He had told you of his plan, of his worries about the task. But it was a mutual agreement to take it on.

He had assured you that you would remain unharmed and by his side. That he was doing it to ensure a safer future for you and ad’ika. You brought up the argument that this may not be the only surviving ranks that still operated, but that it was likely ad’ika’s life was known about only by those that sought after him. But it was the move to make, you had agreed with him on that. Promising him that you would make sure they were both safe, that they would be your top priority in the face of conflict.

You hadn’t gone into town with Din, opting to stay behind and stick close to the ship. A trek in the trees to help keep your head level and your emotions in check. Basking in the plush atmosphere and abundance of greenery that you loved so much, had always loved so much. Ever since your first time seeing such a landscape when you were younger and on the cusp of beginning your journey to who you were now.

The pull of your lips was a genuine one as you recalled the memory of a wider smile, a gloved hand holding yours and leading you off of a ship, murmured words of comfort from a man who you trusted with your life. One who trusted you enough to take back to his home planet and show you the ways of his people once yours had been threatened and attacked. It had been a difficult conversation for you, him telling you that it was dangerous to return to your own planet. Serenity flowed through your veins as you felt close to the man who had saved you in countless ways, even when you couldn’t save yourself.

The feeling and memories of him in the trees you brushed your hand out to feel the leaves against your palms. Comforted by the way they all felt the same even if they were scattered on different planets, a part of you that you sought after even after banished yourself to a desert planet as a punishment for the things you had done, the choices you had made.

“Well, hey there, cyar’ika.” Cara’s voice greeted you as you left the protection of the trees and walked into the clearing where Din had landed the ship. She was beside Din, ad’ika choosing to move toward you while they both waited for the ramp to open and settle to board the ship. Her smile was dazzling as she took in the easy way you moved about, no longer worried about upsetting or triggering Din’s instincts to chase. No longer closed in on yourself and only a shadow of a person. You walked as his true equal now and it was a world of difference. “Don’t you look well rested.”

“Hello to you too,” You returned her greeting with a nod of your head and leaned down to scoop of adi’ka, his grabby hands too much of a cute display to ignore his silent request to be picked up. He must be tired from the walk, his legs so much smaller than Din’s, his gait less of a strut and more of a waddle. You nuzzled your nose against his tiny one in greeting. Aware of her eyes watching you, taking in the simple outfit of form fitting pants to the cape you wore over your shoulders, hair braided and pulled back out of your face as it looped behind your head and was pinned securely in place.

“Did burc’ya make you walk the whole way there and back?” You cooed, relishing in images he was pushing into your mind of his visit into town. Proud of him for picking up the skill you had been sharing with him, to make it easier to understand the things happening about him and for you to know what he was asking after less of a guessing game. You laughed as he pushed the feeling of excitement he had felt at watching Cara fight with another patron in what had to be a bet. “He’s a big ole meanie, isn’t he?”

“Don’t listen to whatever he’s telling you, he wanted to walk the whole way. Fussed when I tried to pick him up.” Din defended, though there was no harsh tinge to his words. If you could guess, you would say the man was smirking beneath his helmet, enjoying in the teasing banter.

“Is that right, wanted to show Cara here that you were big and strong, huh?”

You sidled up beside them both, following them up the ramp and into the ship.

Cara’s voice carried down from the control room to the hold, where you were tidying things up and ensuring that nothing was out of place to make the ship feel cramped with more than two average sized people aboard. You did leave out the current piece of chainmail you were working on though, not wanting to disrupt the pattern you had decided to try your hand at.

“He alright up there alone?” The woman asked as she followed Din as he made his way down the ladder, the cabinet that he stored his weapons in opening with the press of a button on his vambrace. His easy answer had you shaking your head, knowing he was about to eat his words. Ad’ika was anything if not mischievous, finding things to get into at a moment notice.

“Pick one.” Din instructed her, wanting the woman to be as prepared as you and him both for the upcoming conflict.

“Do you trust the contact?” She picked up and weighed the feel of a few pieces, her eyes finding your own at the table where you were working on hammering rings of metal together with concentration.

“Not particularly. He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business.”

“Not too fond of how he fired an actual bullet at me.” You muttered as you leaned in close to make sure the closures were secure before moving onto the next line of your work. The memories of that injury stirring in your body, phantom aches sprouting forth. It had been harsh, the recovery from such a wound, but if it hadn’t been for Din, you wouldn’t even have made it up from the floor of the ship. You felt the weight of Din’s visor on you and looked up to share a look with him. A silent confirmation that you were still okay with the decision to face the threat head on, with following his lead.

“So then why are we going?”

“I don’t have a choice.” You wanted to interject, but let the man speak plainly. Knowing why he was choosing to do what he thought was necessary. What was for the best, should it all play out according to plan. “You saw what happened on Sorgan. We had a tail on the last planet before we came to you. They’ll keep sending hunters. The kid will never be safe until the Imp is dead.”

“And you’re okay with bringing him back there?”

“Not really.” His voice lilted, his emotions obvious as he revealed how hesitant he was to take both you and ad’ika so close to danger, too close to those who were actively hunting after you. “That’s why I’m bringing you.”

Anymore of the conversation was cut short as the ship began to roughly jostle. Alarms sounding from the cockpit where they had left ad’ika alone. You easily looped the last ring on the row you had begun a few moments ago and set it in the crate designated for your work and tools. Clasping it shut from your seated position didn’t work as your hands couldn’t find a steady hold. Your hands scrabbled against it as the ship continued to warble in its course, no doubt the culprit of ad’ika messing with the steering.

“We need someone to help watch that thing.” Cara’s voice was stern, worry evident.

“San tries her best, but he is a handful. Especially if we’re going into enemy territory.”

“You got anyone you can trust?”

You were just entering the cock pit to let them know you were going to lay down for a moment, when you spied the coordinates Din was punching in.

“Arvala-7?” You turned from the control panel displaying the route of travel that Din had programmed into the system. There was a never-ending replacement of the plush, rich landscape that brought you so much comfort with that of harsh winds and gritty sand that spanned for miles and miles. So unforgiving in the way that the land simply was, no thought for nourishment or refuge to visitors. A far cry from where you felt you belonged but always found yourself returning to. A darkness shadowing over every beam of sunlight that you tried to bathe yourself in.

“Yes, but…”

“No.”

“You won’t have to disembark.”

“Burc’ya n-no, please don’t take me back there.”

“I’m not taking you back, I made sure that compound was destroyed. We’re just going to see if he’ll be willing to help.”

Ad’ika was whining, uncomfortable with the heightened emotions in the small room. He could pick them up from you and Din both, the confusion of Cara making the scene into something he didn’t like.

“I don’t- what’s going on?” Cara seemed surprised to see you openly upset, still getting used to you speaking unprompted, of moving about as comfortably as you did about the ship. She had spied the room behind the cockpit, done up with a cot and a trunk for storage of personal possessions. Your bag set atop it along with a pile of neatly folded clothing. Though the bed was made and untouched save for a smaller blanket thrown over the top. Suspiciously the perfect size for ad’ika’s little form.

The touch of your presence was noticeable all over the ship, from the hammock in the corner of the hold, to two pillows atop the second cot nestled into a small space that was undoubtedly Din’s personal quarters, to the open crate of metal working tools and pieces of chain mail in variant states of completion. You had folded yourself into the space, his space, and the two of you seemed to be on equal terms compared to when she last interacted with you both.

It could be noted that you both didn’t stray too far from each other, you from either him or the small creature of the child. A soft-spoken name for one and a comfortable, easy-going rapport with the other.

“The person who helped me last with him is on the same planet I found San.” Din spared a glance over as Cara, not willing to take his eyes off of you completely, you were so tense he worried for the soreness that would follow if he could get you to relax.

“We need him, you know this. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“What’s a bunch of sand and red rock gonna do to you, cyar’ika? C’mon, you got me and Mando to watch out for you, no one is going to take you. I’m pretty sure the tin can over there would fire on someone if they so much as looked at you.”

“Would you want to go back to the place where you were drugged, tortured and taken advantage of? Used as a plaything for anyone and everyone?” You couldn’t help but snap, emotions jumbled and intertwined so tightly underneath your skin. Too overwhelming and difficult to separate in order to think properly. The mess of them prompting you to reveal in plain words what you normally would only allude to when asked. Din’s motions of going through the contents behind a panel below the controls halted, a crackling sounding from the modulator as your words settled in the air. Cara, similarly, dropped into your normal perch behind the pilot’s chair. At a loss for words, knowing whatever they chose to say would be the wrong thing.

You didn’t wait for their attempts at a response, instead crossing the small space and entered your quarters. Overly sensitive in the wake of memories of your past guardian found in the soothing embrace of the forest.

This was a bad idea, this was a monumentally bad idea. It didn’t matter how much faith and confidence you had in everyone’s abilities. Going back to the place that you had experienced such negative emotions was potentially triggering. You could already feel the pull of the Force when just seeing Greef Karga again, and that had only been a hologram transmission. Not even the real, physical form of the man who had shot you and nearly killed you for not reason other than simply being abord the Razor Crest.

Fear overriding everything else, self-preservation in the most selfish of ways rooted deep in your very being since you had last run from the very same people commanded you to be handed over now. You would apologize later, for your harsh words, but right now you needed to be alone. You needed to meditate and concentrate, push back the pull you felt so strongly inside of you.

Faint sounds of the pair of them could be heard as they moved about, Din rustling in the crate of errant machinery and parts he kept aboard the ship. You wondered what he was looking for, what he was doing but you felt too raw to face either of them. Their voices a soft murmur as you sit in the middle of the small space and try to focus on the push and pull of the Force all around you.

“So…”

“Don’t start.” Was Din’s simple response, knowing he was about to get an earful from the smirking woman sat across from him at the makeshift table. He had a spare bin placed atop most of the surface, tools and other parts surrounding it while he worked on a making a crude impression of the pod that ad’ika had been found in. While he knew you had only been teasing, you had been right In your observation of the small child being tired from his trip into town to fetch Cara. He was too small to be without transportation aid and the protection it would allow him.

“She seems like a completely different person. It looks good on her.” Cara lifted the mug in her hands to take a sip of the steaming caf she had made. The set up looking extremely well kept and stocked, everything neatly labeled in clean script. She hadn’t been able to read any of the words, Mandalorian, but had known that Din wouldn’t choose to spend his time with such a small thing as organization. It had to have been you who took the time to do it. “You did the right thing, not finishing her job.”

“She’s an admirable travel companion.”

“Is that all she is?”

The armored man didn’t respond, knowing what the ship looked like, what is allowed for other people to read into. He had no shame about the nature of his relationship with you, but he wasn’t sure if you would take kindly to him speaking about it plainly with the woman across from him. While he was comfortable in her presence and they were more than acquaintances at this point, he had firsthand experience with seeing how you interacted with people who seemed to know more about you than you cared for them to. He wasn’t about to break your trust, just as he wished for you to not break his own with you.

“Now I know why that lovely widow wasn’t an option.” She pointed a thumb over her shoulder to where the door to his quarters was open a crack, allowing her a view of the two pillows atop the cot only big enough for one person.

“Cara.”

“San is a gorgeous woman, Mando.” Din’t hands froze as he recalled the way your face bloomed when overwhelmed with pleasure. He shifted his hips, feigning reaching for a tool just out of his immediate grasp, adjusting himself as he felt a jolt of heat between his legs. “It looks like she’s really adjusted to life here on the ship. With you. Takes care of things.”

“She fights and does her far share of the hard labor, though she doesn’t know a kriffing thing about flying or anything beyond basic mechanics.”

“And you find that endearing, don’t you?”

“She has other skills.” He stated, a slight defensive. It was easy for people to take a glance at you and see only what you allowed them to, he had done so himself when first meeting you, taking you as a quarry all those weeks ago. But Cara had seen you fight, for a moment, surely she hadn’t forgotten that so easily. He did know why he felt the need to remind her that you were more. Perhaps it was a protective manner, to rekindle the knowledge that you were skilled, that you should be treated with respect, though he knew logically that the woman across from him did and you were both on good terms with each other.

“I’m sure she does, it takes a lot to survive on your own. Especially if she was on the run for as long as her puck had described. Her own trauma would’ve been enough to take a normal person down, but she’s strong. And the way she took down that raider? It was as easy and breathing for her, even in recovery. She makes armor too?” A hand reached out to inspect the contents of your haphazardly shut crate. A nearly finished piece of chainmail in the form of a shirt was folded over the lip of it and she carefully extracted it. An impressed hum fell from her lips as she took in the care and attention your gave to the piece, the rings closely knit and fastened tightly together. “Good quality armor.”

“Family business, it’s how she’s been helping to contribute. Sold a few pieces for a few thousand each.”

Cara let out a low whistle, eliciting a giggle from ad’ika as he swung in the hammock in the corner.

Placing the piece back into the crate, she spied the open notebook you used to scribble in. The pages were folded and bent, most likely as a result of it not being clasped and she could make out the drawing you had done of a masculine figure. Keeping quiet so as to not garner Din’s attention, she reached for it and took in the broad frame that took up the page entirely. Notes and measurements in a language that wasn’t Basic nor the Mandalorian she was beginning to recognize.

“Any idea what she’s written down here next to what is obviously a drawing of you?” She turned the notebook in her hands to face Din, the black of the visor whipping up as he realized what she held in her hands.

“Put that away, I don’t think she knows it’s out here.”

“I wonder how she knows what you look like underneath all that armor.” A knowing smirk lifted the corners of her lips as he turned the book back toward her. It wasn’t a graphic sketch, by any means. Din’s form clothed in light attire, though he was without his armor in it. Ruffling through the pages, she discovered it was more of a workbook than anything else. More notations and sketches for pieces you had worked on or wished to create. She closed the notebook with a snap, winding the string around it to secure it closed and placed it back into the crate. Contemplative in her silence.

“She’s worried about the Imps.”

“It’s not my information to share.”

“We’ve all had run ins with them, even after they were ‘defeated’,” She used air quotes around the word, knowing full well that there were pockets of them still operating as if nothing had changed. Case and point with what was happening on Nevarro. Such an expansive and all powerful crusade didn’t just fizzle out, too many factions and people of power who knew how to lay low and bide their time to show their hands. “But she seems…extra cautious.”

“You’ll have to talk with her.” Din continued to work on the project laid out before him.

True to his word, Din hadn’t pushed you to disembark from the ship when they landed on the barren, desert planet. A simple announcement to let you know that they were going to close the ramp after themselves that you hadn’t responded to. They were gone for a long while, no doubt laying out the situation to Kuiil and allowing him time to ask questions and make his decision with as much information as they could provide to him.

When the ramp lowered, hours later, you emerged from your quarters. There was a lot of stuff set out at the bottom of the ramp, supplies and a very still Din. Cara was the first to begin moving items aboard and you looked around the general landscape that was visible to you before you moved to help her. A nod shared with Din was all you could manage, though you were sure it was obvious you had been crying.

“You’ve grown, flourished into something admirable.” Kuiil’s voice called to you as he fastened a harness around a few of the blurrgs he had corralled into a small pen. He looked over to the armored man, an unreadable expression that prompted you to follow his gaze. “You didn’t turn her in, you made space aboard your ship for her to live her life. As an equal.”

“I did.” Like it hadn’t been one of the most life changing things could provide for you. Heat bloomed in your chest as you slowly made your way down the ramp. A deep breath in and heavy exhale before your boot settled in the sand beyond the metal.

“Do you have experience with such creatures?”

“No. sir, but other herd species that have been domesticated in much the same way.” You reached out a hand for one of the blurrgs to inspect. The breath hot on the exposed skin of your fingers, the force of it ruffling the cape that covered your body.

“It took this one a few days to learn how to mount, do you know how to ride?” Kuiil nodded over toward Din, a soft smile adorning your lips as you tried to picture the easily annoyed man try to tame the creatures enough to allow him permission to mount. He must’ve been thrown off a few times, creatures like them picking up on emotions as easily as breathing.

“Yes.”

“We will be using them for travel, we should see if they are easier for you.”

“Do they have names?”

“They do not, but they are all very understanding in nature if you aren’t hiding from them.”

“Hmm, will be you a good girl and let me try?” You cooed at the creature, willing to try but not wanting to be thrown off in much the same fashion you were imagining they had done with Din. Carefully entering the pen, with the Ugnaught close on your heels, you approached the creature with steady hands.

It took a few moments of the creature backing away from you and then coming back before they allowed for you to grip a hand around their harness. Once you did, you pulled yourself up and planted your backside firmly in the seat atop their back. She quickly took off, racing around the pen with jumps and hops that you weren’t sure was an attempt to buck you off but to see how well you could handle riding.

Keeping your balance was easy, despite the creature’s efforts to truly test a new rider, your grip tight on the reigns in your hand. Focused on allowing your body to roll with their movements, cape billowing out with every move. After a good while, the creature deemed you okay and began to simple trot around the enclosure.

With a wide smile, you clicked your tongue and guided them back to the post where Kuiil fastened her back up. Your heart stuttered as you realized Din had leaned up against one of the posts with his arms crossed over his broad chest to watch, the glint of the setting suns playing off of his beautiful armor.

Kuiil remained close by the creatures, offering them soft murmurs of comfort as the ship traveled. Surely, they hadn’t ever been aboard such a craft if their anxious rustling was any indication. But they were behaving for the most part, taking to it well with the help of their beloved handler.

Taking over the entire makeshift table, Din and Cara were interlocked in a game of arm wrestling, a cheeky comment from the former shock trooper resulting in the challenge. They were in a stalemate, small grunts of exertion puffing from both of them the longer they tried to overpower the other.

“I got you, Mando.”

“Care to double the bet?”

Suddenly, Cara was gasping, soft grunts waning out as she could no longer seem to take in a breath. Your head shot up, looking over to where ad’ika was secure in a newly constructed replacement for his pod. A small claw lifted up and his eyes clenched shut in concentration was all you needed to know as you quickly pushed up from your seat and moved toward him.

“Nayc, ad’ika! Nayc!”

He didn’t seem to hear you, as Cara let go of the hold she had on Din and her fingers scrambled at her throat. Din’s attention shifted from her, mind recalling the similar way that you had done something similar with Xi’an, to the child. He jumped up, closer to him than you were. He lifted him up from within his makeshift pod, words quick.

“No! No, no! Stop!” Concentration broken, the child gladly accepted Din’s hold and fastened his claws around the man’s arms. “We’re friends, we’re friends. Cara is my friend!”

“That is not okay!”

“I’m so sorry, cyar’ika! He must’ve been trying to imitate me, I didn’t know he was able to concentrate in order to do that!” You were crouched beside her, hands gently caressing her arms as she sucked in deep breaths and tried to fight off the dizziness that had taken over.

“Very curious.” The Ugnaught approached the child with a stoic face, taking in the events with reverence.

“Curious? It almost killed me!” Cara shouted out, understandably upset and worked up.

“He doesn’t realize how strong he is, he’s still learning how to wield it.” You tried to placate her, knowing it wasn’t much.

“The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense. Though what it is, I don’t know. But what it does, what you both do. This…this I’ve heard rumors of.”

“What? When you worked for the Empire?” The accusation was harsh as it flew through the air.

“When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude.”

“Yet somehow you walk free.”

“Hey! We all need to calm down. Yes, he walks free and so do I. Working with the Empire doesn’t make us horrible people.” Items in the cabin began to float, the panels on the walls shaking with the emotions you were feeling, crates jostling in their secure holds against the walls. The agitation of immediate judgement from someone who had been wronged just as much as you had by the very people you had been forced to submit to. She had only been so lucky they didn’t have anything to hold over her and force her to turn to them. Loss was loss, but manipulation was easy for those who had obvious weaknesses to exploit. All of it cruel, no comparison worse than the other, only more heartbreaking.

Silence fell at your loud words; voice elevated to try and take control over the situation. Both Cara and Kuiil turned to you with shock playing across their features, your words revealing more about yourself than you cared to admit. But in order to corral the situation, you had decided to defend the Ugnaught by voicing your own similar experience. Letting him know that he wasn’t alone in the suffering he had endured.

Cara tore her arm out of your light hold, though you had stood up when she had in the heat of the moment. It stung, her rejection in wake of your words, but you understood and moved to give her some space.

“I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes.” As he spoke, voice strict and leaving no room for argument, IG-!! Approached from where the droid had been standing guard by the creatures secured in the back of the space. “Do not cast doubt upon that of what I am nor whom I shall serve.”

Breathe held, you worried for another round of accusations to fly, but Din took control of the situation, not wanting the conflict on his ship among people he recruited for a job that required working smoothly alongside each other.

“Tell you what. I could really use your craft work right now.” Din settled ad’ika back into his makeshift pod, admitting that he had thrown it together quickly, that it wasn’t the best work but what he could manage with what supplies and parts were available. The child cooed and gurgled, seemingly unaware of the tension he had caused with his protective move against Cara. “Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?”

“I shall fabricate a better one.” Kuiil turned to point an accusing finger toward a still seething Cara across the space. “Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one’s hands.”

The moment passed, tension easing a bit as the Ugnaught began to move about the space to collect things for a new pod. You opted to stay down in the hold with him and ad’ika, giving Cara some space after everything.

“I didn’t know they had taken you prisoner.” Cara’s voice was soft, almost hesitant as she approached where you were seated at the makeshift table with one hand wrapped around a steaming mug, the other reaching into the new pod where the child gripped it tight with his tiny claw. “You only mentioned your mother holding you.”

“It’s not something I generally broadcast.”

“I didn’t mean to yell so loudly, it’s just that- that power really unnerves me.” She sighed as she settled into the same chair she had been in earlier, before everything had become complicated and personalities had clashed.

“It unnerves me too, the only surviving rumors and stories are all steeped in the shadow of the Empire. I know the truth of those powers, the origin stories and the people who used to wield them for the good of the galaxy. I’m one of the very few alive, even now after so long. But none of that matters when they’ve been wiped out and their stories erased in favor of those to instill fear. It doesn’t matter that the Empire has been eliminated down to sparse bases of operations and high ranks clinging to the echoes of power they once had themselves. They destroyed so much, they still do.

I was given an ultimatum, much like Kuiil. And I don’t regret taking the easier road, even it if did land me in the midst of the very people who took everything from me before they fell.” You wiggled your hand from ad’ik’a, his grip loose in his sleeping state.

She whispered your name, unsure of what else to say in wake of such an admission.

“But it’s okay, because it got to me where I am now. Aboard this ship as a free woman. With this little guy to look after so the same things don’t befall him. With…with ner kar’ta.”

You both sat in a comfortable silence, the conflict of earlier not forgotten but mended over. Sharing stories of what had happened during your time apart over a simple meal. IG-11 helping you to prepare enough for everyone and ensuring you they would clean up afterwords while everyone indulged. She had offered to take Kuill a plate while you took one up to Din. Both of you reaching out to bring everyone back together in the effortless way that food was capable of.

Hours later, you retired for the night. The day having been a long one. Another of travel ahead. You had offered Cara your own quarters, should she wish for a bit of privacy to rest. She had taken up your offer with a smug look tossed over to Din as he made his way to his own, though she didn’t make a comment other than to thank you for your kindness.

“Thank you.” You mumbled into the crook of his neck, nose pressing into the warmth of his skin. He was fully dressed but he had removed the cowl about his neck to rest easier atop the bed. Hesitant to undress further with two other passengers aboard the ship, despite his trust in them. Similarly, you had stayed in your outfit, only removing your boots and gloves in order to lay down for the last bit of travel toward Nevarro. “I was…afraid earlier. There are some things that- trigger me in a way and I would rather not face those things if I can help it.”

“Triggering.” One of his arms rested over you, bringing you flush against him. The armor wasn’t the most comfortable to rest against, but the feeling of him breathing beneath it helped to ease your mind all the same.

“Din, my sabers, they’re white.” You whispered into the shared darkness.

“Mesh’la, I’m trying to follow you, but I don’t – I don’t know much about your culture whereas you know so much about mine.”

“I’ve only heard of one other person who carries white sabers.” You took a deep breath, your heart thudding as you tried to calm yourself. He needed to know, you needed to share with him something to help him understand what exactly was at stake with this conflict. “White sabers have been purified. It means that the person who wielded them went to great lengths to find balance within themselves.”

“Because they were not always so.”

“Exactly…”

He didn’t ask you what color they used to be.

And you didn’t tell him that they used to glow as red as the ones in your nightmares.

Gearing up and getting the blurrgs ready for when the ship landed took a collected effort. Between you, Kuiil, Cara, and the IG unit, it was easier but still took some time. The four blurrgs aboard the ship were ready to stretch their legs, restless after having been cramped up for nearly three days of travel through hyperspace. You had calibrated your vambrace to connect with Kuiil’s handheld comm link. The pod he constructed for ad’ika complete and able to be controlled with either yours or Din’s cuffs.

The blurrgs steps clanged as the creatures made their way down the ramp, lining up in a loose formation in front of the man who had reached out to ask for aid.

Greef Karga was a tall man, his clothing neat and put together. Save for the damage done by Din’s blaster over the left breast of his leather coat. You held a hand to your lowest rib on the left side of your own body, feeling the phantom pain of a since healed injury at the man’s hand. There were three Guild members collected behind him, all sporting their own preparations.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando. But things have gotten complicated since you were last here.”

“It appears that introductions are in order.” The man looked over the line the blurrgs created in front of them. Cara and Din flanking the closed and secured pod. Kuill beside the armored man and you on to the right of him. “It seems we’ve both provided a security detail.”

The man’s eyes roved over you all, taking in the way you were simply listening and letting him ramble on in his greeting.

“I recommend the shock trooper guards the ship. These lava fields are lousy with Jawas.”

“She’s coming with me.”

“But the town is now run by ex-Empire.” Karga made an imposing figure with his hands rested on his hips. “If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they’ll all get their hackles up.”

“She’s coming.” Din insisted simply.

“At least cover your tattoo. No need to flaunt it.” He acquiesced. His attention turned to you, the gazes of those behind him following as well. “I see you’ve brought this lovely lady back here, you are looking wonderful in your healed state. That was a nasty business the last time we met, I can only offer my apologies for firing upon you.”

“Apologies not accepted.” You frowned, not liking how he was talking with such disregard for the seriousness of the situation. As if it was all some game or show he was fronting for, not truly concerned with. He balked at your dismissal, his own frown marring his features.

“Surely you must understand that I was merely doing my job as leader of the Guild, Mando here was running off with a quarry he had already handed over. Possibly two, because we both know he had no true intentions of handing you over either. You were simply in the vicinity of such a misguided act.”

“Surely you must understand that not everyone buys into your overly straightforward and charismatic act. It’s simply something that people have the right to be cautious of.” You head crooked to one side, words falling and hitting the man right in his chest. Your eyes locked with his. Behind him, the other bounty hunters reached for their weapons, hands hovering over them as they looked you over. Not outwardly threatening but your words hinting at more than a pretty face or simple quarry sought after by her mother. You had no doubts that Karga had either told them of your involvement with the Empire so they were to keep an eye on you or he hadn’t and kept it simple to avoid any complications with the plan.

“Ooh, Mando, I do like her. Not afraid to speak her mind now that she’s got you to protect her, huh?”

“I’d be more wary of what she’s capable of, I’ll shoot but she’ll make sure you aren’t breathing.” Din spoke up, wanting to hurry this along. But he knew the man standing before him, how he liked to draw things out. Read what he could from long interactions with people. Choosing to ignore the rather heated comments from you both, the man opened his arms in exasperation.

“Now, where is the little one?”

Everyone watched as Din controlled the pod to move out of the line, up toward Karga. As it opened, revealing ad’ika inside and wide awake, your hands twitched around the reigns in your grip just as Din moved a hand to hover over the blaster holstered to his thigh.

“So this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about.” You watched with untethered focus for any signs of discomfort or ill intent as Karga lifted ad’ika with gentle hands from within the pod. “What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head.”

He gently placed the child back into the pod, but your grip remained tight on the reigns, tension taut in your body. You didn’t trust him, you didn’t trust the men behind him, you didn’t trust this entire situation. But it was Din’s call and you would follow his lead.

“Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all.”

With the pod safely between Din and Cara once again, you exhaled a heavy breath.

“The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light.”

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taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal @moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @beskarandblasters @feral-ferrule @bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77 @picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker

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gingerlurk · 1 year ago

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 3: The End

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Summary: You and the clan of two regroup.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), canon-typical violence, eventual smut/filth, post season 3, canon-typical violence, Reader is: a rich runaway, a badass, hinting at being force-sensitive. uhhhh please advise if there's more to add here thank you

A/N: The end??? (It's not the end.) Chapter 1, Chapter 2, A03. Thank you for reading!

You don’t get far before colliding with another platoon of bandits, who descend from a different grate to land in your path out of there. This time though, Mando doesn’t try to shove you anywhere or order you to stay back. He simply nods to you and moves into motion.

It’s kind of hot. And you let that soar through your blood as you move side on to a trio and make a violent dance around them. You drop one after the other, finishing the third just as he’s shouting a frustrated slur into your face.

Looking for the next opponent, you spot something and your blood runs cold.

From the corner of your eye you glimpse a huge foe advancing on Grogu, who has hung back from the fray. The child has a tiny arm raised with his eyes shut tight, afraid and defenceless. You don’t even check what Mando’s doing, just surge toward him.

‘No!’ you cry, throwing yourself forward and spear tackling the hulk away from him. In your haste you miscalculate. The two of you tumble a few times. You manage to kick his blaster away. But before you can right yourself, the attacker has pinned an elbow under a gargantuan knee. Agony shoots up your arm. He grabs your other hand and gives it a harsh twist. You clumsily try to kick to connect with head, with chest, with anything.

The man on top of you snarls and draws a vibroblade, moving to hold it to your throat. You have a fraction of a second to panic about it carving into you. But the man’s weapon never reaches your neck. Instead, he gives a yelp of fear and lifts his whole body off of you before careening to the side, slamming into the wall.

You’re dumbstruck for a second, sitting up and spotting Grogu again, arm outstretched toward you. Then you roll across the floor and straddle your opponent’s hips, taking up his dropped blade and making to ram it into his chest.

His arms shoot up and grab your wrists, pushing back with incredible power. You lock your knees into his sides and lean all your weight onto the hilt. He grunts in pain but just keeps the shivering tip above his sternum. You’re losing strength. Your torso starts to rise as he pushes you away from him and you feel him planting his feet on the floor, about to throw more weight around than you know you can withstand.

You’re about to give out, exhaustion dragging at you. But then you feel it; the smallest touch at the back of your mind. It feels like something tender and strong is making connection with a presence at the edges of your consciousness, awakening it and nudging it into action.

It spreads without your volition, swimming into your limbs and you barely have to push yourself as the blade begins to sink again. Your prey’s eyes widen in shock, then terror. Mirroring yours. Then the blade drives home. He shudders and falls still.

The presence pulls back, back up into your skull and fades from your awareness. You turn behind you, as if it had taken a path there, and once again see Grogu. Calm, attentive, watching you like he’s seeing right through you.

You stare back, thoughts racing and chest heaving.

‘Grogu!’ Mando’s voice. ‘Ahead!’

Grogu looks past you and you whip your head around to see a goon not ten steps away, pointing a blaster straight at you. Your cry of ‘N--!’ is cut off when the weapon flies from his hand and skitters down the hallway. He has enough time to make a ‘Huh?’ of confusion before you’ve wrenched the blade from the chest below you and hurled it straight into his neck. He paws at it as he topples over.

The blaster lands within arm's reach of Mando, who takes it up and quickly finishes the final two squad members, who’d been in the middle of trying to bind him with lariats.

The tunnel is still again.

Your mind, on the other hand, is a cacophony of questions and fears. What the… fuck?

Dazed, half coherent, you watch Mando move to Grogu and kneel by him. ‘Great job, kid,’ he’s saying. ‘You did great.’

‘What?’ you gasp. He turns to you and freezes. You realise you’re still astride a dead man and quickly rise on shaking legs, relieved to only stumble a little as you make the few steps to the two of them. Mando stands as well, lifting the child in his arms.

You look between the two of them. And, unable to think past it, say again, ‘What?’

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, though his voice is strained, like he’s barely keeping it under control.

It focuses you though, and you shake yourself before looking up. A huff of relief.

‘Yeah, think so,’ you say, rubbing your elbow. ‘But uhh…’ you look back at the site of your little skirmish. ‘Can’t really explain what happened there, to be honest.’

Din hums, seems to be gathering himself as well. ‘Grogu…’ he holds the child comfortably in one arm. ‘He’s very special. I can explain more, but we should get moving again.’

Can you explain what I felt? You think. Explain how Grogu helped bring something into me?

‘Right,’ is all you say. ‘Let’s go then.’

The rest of the path is clear. When your party gets back to the ship, you’re expecting Mando to power up and head back to the base, unleash an assault, chase down his bounty. But as you all pile into the cockpit, he immediately starts engaging protocols to break atmo. You lean forward.

‘Aren’t you going back for Cephalopod, or whatever his name is?’ you ask.

‘Cephlate,’ he spits. ‘And no. This was a mistake.’

‘But—’

‘I said no!’ You can’t help your recoil, it’s so harsh and he’s so furious.

After a moment, you sense him schooling his anger, growing calmer as the Crest swings around to meet its course across rocky ridges, which fall away to become tiny wrinkles in the landscape.

‘Another day for that leech,’ he says. Again, you can’t tell if he’s addressing you or not. But then, ‘I’m sure there will be a puck for each of those brutes,’ he gestures behind you to the two goons, still laid out on the landing, groggy and subdued. ‘We’ll head to a nearby outpost I know and I’ll take them in.’

You just nod, feeling a little petulant that he should be angry with you. You’d helped.

But you lean back and watch the planet fall out of view, noticing the smallest tilt to the Crest’s yaw. That’s something you can help with at least.

The two thugs you’d single-handedly taken down did find a tidy reward, and the local law assured Din they’d communicate any intel they gleaned about Cephlate and his doings. It’s little enough to satisfy his simmering frustration.

When Din spots you on his return to the ship, his jaw actually drops. He cranes his neck up, then further.

‘What--?’ He calls. He doesn’t know what else to say. You’re hanging from the underside of the starboard wing of his ship, having jerry-rigged some sort of harness and strapped yourself into it. A panel hangs open and your arms are reaching into the load columns.

‘What!?’ He calls again, louder.

You lean your head back, push a pair of goggles – where did they come from – up and look at him upside down, braid dangling.

‘Oh hey!’ you call, unperturbed. ‘Sorry, I thought you’d be longer and I could get this done for you before you got back. It won’t take much more t—’

‘What are you doing?’ He barks.

You look at him like it’s bleeding obvious.

‘That traction port threw out the alignment – didn’t you notice?’ He had noticed, and it wasn’t that bad. He’d made a note to take the Crest in when he could; she’d still fly, dank farrik. You watch him as he broods on your question. Then you turn back to your work. ‘Well, it was driving me nuts, so I thought, why not? Plus, another way to thank you.’ You look back over your shoulder at him.

Thank him? She doesn’t have to thank him. It was his fault. His arrogance and idiocy almost got her ki—

He cuts off his thoughts. You’re looking at him still, now a hint of uncertainty in your brow. To be fair, he’s standing stock still with irritation radiating off him – it’s not directed at her but how would she know that? He lets his shoulders drop, sighs.

‘How long will you be?’ he asks. You brighten instantly.

‘About another half an hour?’

‘Fine.’ He marches into his ship.

He slumps in his chair. Everything about you is burning him up. He stews in silence until Grogu joins him. The kid hops onto the control bank and turns to look out at you, visible from the window, higher up and facing away, engrossed in your task.

Din glances over and then back at his console.

Without really giving it too much thought, his hand nudges the console’s screen. It lights up and the view of the cockpit’s camera angle winks to life. He hesitates, wondering if he’s violating your privacy, then dismisses it – it’s his ship – and scrubs through the recording.

He leans in to watch.

She’s settled on the floor at the rear, the control pad for the door in her hands as she fiddles with it. (Din glances back over his shoulder, it’s in its rightful place. He’ll have to find out what she did to it.) He scrubs forward to a point when she stands and fits the pack of wires and circuitry back into place. Then she freezes, poses as if listening intently, and lunges to the front to look outside.

(From this view, he can see her face clearly, and it conveys fear. His hand clenches into a fist where it sits next to the screen.)

She moves back to the door and punches at the button, presumably bringing the emergency lock online. (Smart.) And then she waits, standing tall and breathing evenly. Unfortunately, as they learned too late, the Crest’s lockdown was no match. (Why had he been so fucking foolish. He’s glaring at the screen, waiting for the inevitable invasion.)

The first to enter is a tall brute. He appears alone and his stance shifts from ready-for-a-fight to downright lecherous the moment he clocks her. He crowds into her space, wasting no time attaching a gnarly hand onto her upper thigh. He’s talking and leaning right in her face, squeezing the hand and shifting it to her ass. (The fist by the screen tightens so hard that knuckles crack and the leather glove groans.)

But she seems to be letting him get close, shifting her feet to be aligning with his and allowing herself to be pulled in. Then (to Din’s utter disbelief) she reaches her arms up to grasp his shoulders and climbs him like so much rigging. She lets his groping hand balance her as she leaps up to plant both feet at his hips, raise her torso over his head and swing forward, tipping over his shoulder in a breathtaking flip.

She lands at his back, hands still dug into shoulders, and converts the momentum into a throw across herself. Completely taken off guard, the guy ragdolls, somersaults and lands hard on his ass. He doesn’t get a chance to right himself as she meets his jaw with a savage kick that snaps his head back. He flops backwards and is still.

A second figure rounds the corner a moment later, hurling what looks to be a bolas. It flicks around her wrists, jerking her body sideways. But she doesn’t even break momentum as she spins around to meet his outstretched arms.

She makes use of the confined space to shift and twist around him, he flails and recoils as his shoulder and knee joints are assaulted and his head is bashed against walls and panel edges. Only one blow from him manages to connect, a sloppy backhand hitting her face (that explains the cut lip) but she doesn’t slow for a second.

The grunt finishes collapsed against the rear landing. She steps through the cockpit door and stands in front of him, saying something. The lolling figure talks back and she pounces on him, straddling his hips and drawing back before landing a ferocious double-fisted smack to his face. His hands fly up and he shouts something at her. She strikes him again and he goes limp.

Glaring at the screen, Din watches you somewhat clumsily bind the hands and legs of the two invaders before dashing out of shot, on your way to intercept with him. To free the Crest.

He cuts the feed. Something potent and searing that he can’t put into words gnaws away inside him.

Not long later, you step back into the hold, wiping grease from your hands and arms. You look surprised to see him waiting there, leaning against a storage locker. Coming to a stop in front of him, you offer a small, unsure smile. It pokes at the embers and Din straightens up, readies his few words.

‘I… have to apologise,’ he says. ‘For putting you in danger.’

The surprise returns, you start to shake your head but he pushes on.

‘And here,’ he holds out a small stack of credits. ‘The reward. You earned it.’

Your gaze softens as it drops to his hand, held out and wavering slightly. He wills you to move before he goes and blurts out something stupid. Just in time, you raise a hand. But instead of taking the credits, you push his hand back towards his chest, stepping into his space a little.

His lungs seize and he hopes you can’t hear his strained exhale of surprise.

‘No need for apologies,’ you murmur, looking up at him, eyes tender and yet boring straight into him. ‘And you don’t have to give me this.’ You look down at the credits. A moment so taut stretches between your stilled figures, Din is afraid what will happen if it snaps.

But you step away just in time, again. He makes to protest, huffily going to push the bundle back to you.

You hold up both hands, then let one rest on the wall of the ship.

‘Spend it on the Crest,’ you say, smiling wide. ‘She deserves it.’

Din’s whole body is set alight. It’s all he can do to bring the stack of metal back into both hands to finger nervously at their edges while regarding you steadily.

‘Okay,’ he finally says. ‘Thank you.’

You nod, expression turning a little sad. He’s unsure why until you say, ‘So, what happens now?’

Oh, it’s time to move on. He doesn’t want to, not for anything.

He looks around. ‘I need to reorganise a few things here before we make the jump to your home system. Is that okay?’

You once again give him your warm, small smile.

‘Of course.’

In the golden light of dusk, you both stand facing out onto the shimmering landscape. Mirages form and fade as the sun of this moon system rapidly sinks into the horizon. A swirl of breezy air makes its way into the entrance of the Crest.

It had been a genuinely companionable few days. Mando had moved quietly about his vessel, doing god knows what but letting you adjust and tune whatever you wanted to lay hands on. He’d let you take his small cabin to rest in, insisting he was just as comfortable in his cockpit.

You visited the nearby settlement for meals and he’d made surprisingly casual conversation as you and Grogu slurped broth and crunched on kabobs.

He’d also told you more about Grogu and the Force, mystical and mysterious powers you’d scant heard of in your rich schooling. The kid seemed shy to share it with you again though, and you don’t broach what you’d felt down in that tunnel with either of them, fearing its meaning.

Instead, you’d opted to teach the kid an old game from home – defend this ‘home tree’ and spot your opponent before they snuck up and stole a branch. His giggles of delight, shrieks of triumph and burbles of outrage soon became your favourite sounds.

But now there was no more prep to do and it was time to get going. Home.

You shiver a little in the evening air but don’t make to move anywhere. You can’t seem to will yourself out of this moment.

Mando doesn't move anywhere either, but for once, while you are the one who is content to stay in silence, he seems to be willing himself to speak.

And sure enough, eventually, ‘I could use someone like you on the Crest.’ He says it quietly, maybe hoping you won’t hear, but you turn an ear to him and he sighs. ‘I do not get the time to work on her like I used to, with—’ he gestures to where Grogu’s little hatch sits open and the kid snores away inside.

You stay quiet. You don’t know what to say.

‘And I now know you could take care of yourself, and even, even defend him, if it ever came to it.’

For some reason, that really cuts you deep.

‘I would pay well,’ he pauses. ‘Well, not like what you are used to probably… Uh, I am more offering a chance to see around a bit. That seems to appeal to you…’ He trails off.

You don’t know what to say. You know what you want to say. But you know what you actually have to say. It makes you abjectly miserable.

And gods, his nervousness is so charming.

Giving into the chill a little, you wrap your arms around yourself. You order the words in your head carefully before speaking.

‘Have you… perhaps neglected to consider the extremely large payday awaiting you on my return home?’ you say, staring hard at the last slivers of light on the horizon. Golden shards piercing the encroaching blackness.

‘I can find other lucrative work,’ he says. ‘Especially with a dedicated ship mechanic keeping her true.’

He’s missing your point. Another beat while you assemble more words.

‘Perhaps then, consider what such a large payday implies of my Uncle’s want to have me returned? By any means necessary, if I recall?’

He actually goes to speak again, like there’s any argument to be made.

‘And besides,’ you barrel on, now ready to rip the plaster off for good. ‘It’s my family. I’ve put them through enough. There’s, there’s stuff there I should be taking responsibility for. People I, I owe it to, to be present there. Gods! He actually wants me back--’ You stop with a choked off gasp. Breathe, compose yourself dammit.

‘Don’t, don’t get me wrong – that all sounds so wonderful. But I just… I have to go back.’

To his everlasting credit, Mando simply straightens, gives you a nod of acquiescence.

‘Okay then, we should head in. It will become cold soon.’

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#the mandalorian #din djarin #grogu #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian and grogu #mandalorian fanfic #starwarsedit #pedro pascal #themandalorianedit #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you

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thedaughersofferrix · 2 years ago

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A New Purpose (Chapter One: Beskar, Blood & Babies)

(work is not nsfw, but this blog is generally intended to be 18+)

synopsis: you’re an ex-rebel fighter struggling to adjust to no longer fighting against the empire and instead having to build from it’s ashes. to combat the overwhelming sense that you need to do something, you've dedicated yourself to wiping out the imperial remnants that still cling to the underside of the new republic. that changes when you meet a socially inept mandalorian and his adorable baby, who are running from imperial remnants.

tldr: an ex-rebel, a mandalorian and force-sensitive baby walk into a bar and nobody else walks out.

pairing: din djarin x fem! reader

content warnings: blood, injury, canon typical violence, slow burn, like really slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, potentially smut in the future, reader has personality/backstory, little to no use of y/n, not-so-thinly-veiled anti fascism

word count: 3.1k

a/n: i have plans for this being a series but we’ll see. takes place after s2 but has nothing from mandalorian s3 and changes stuff from the book of boba fett. essentially a rewrite of the story. also din still has the razor crest bc no way two human sized people are fitting into that starfighter comfortably

prev. next.

The day you first met the Mandalorian is a memory scorched into your brain.

It was the same day you awoke to the taste of iron thick in your mouth and a Klaxon blaring in your head.

You were disorientated, grappling to readjust your eyes to the light as your body communicates to your mind the pain you were experiencing. Blood, dark and dried, stained the side of your face. Memories flooded your thumping head; you saw images of how you got yourself here.

Ah, that’s right. You were trying to suffocate the last sparks of the fascist, tyrannical regime that previously had total control of the galaxy.

The Imperial remnants were a blight to the New Republic and it felt like you were one of the only people acknowledging this.

The world had come a long way from where you’d been a few years ago, but the longer you sat through the changed world, the more it felt like the same shit in a different pile. They just didn’t know how to progress from being the underdogs. When you’ve been fighting against something for so long, it’s hard to finally pick up the pieces and start building things again.

Bluntly, the New Republic was in disarray. The Rebellion cut the Empire into millions of tiny pieces. Some of them were crushed by the weight of the New Republic, and others were buried in the ground and grew in the shadow of the New Republic’s struggle. It didn’t take long for you to decide things needed to be dealt with, quickly. And it was, well, easy. Fighting against Imps always was. It felt right and every move they made just felt like justification for fighting even harder.

But you’d gotten too cocky. You realised that after waking up in an Imperial cell.

The cells of the Imperial remnants are no different to the cells of the Empire themself. You’d know, because now you’ve been in both of them. They are desolate, bleak and empty. You just barely have what you need to survive, cramped less than a foot from where you lay. Slowly, and with great protest from your aching body, you sat up.

Pain in your head and the trail of dry blood on your face reminded you of the force at which that security droid had struck you. Numbness in your lower left abdomen meant you’d likely received a blaster shot to this area. One that had been poorly tended to, so that you’d still be just about clinging to life the next day so that information could be… extracted from you.

For a few seconds, you let yourself rest. Your limbs received five glorious seconds of doing absolutely nothing. How long had been since you’d been able to have those five seconds? Maybe you never had them at all actually. The five seconds did nothing for the throbbing pain in your head, however. A klaxon loudly declaring there was a problem prevented that.

But your five seconds of rest ended and you staggered to your feet despite the discomfort. Alright. Time to escape.

Once you’d been told that you were naively hopeful, that you needed to learn when the odds weren’t in your favour. Fucking ridiculous. That’s what hope is; perseverance in the face of unlikely odds. And things were shaping up to be quite unlikely.

You patted yourself down and cursed under your breath. Of course, they would strip you of everything on your person, even the beaded bracelet worn on your left hand. No point in dwelling on what you don’t have. It’ll be in your hands again soon. Quickly, you stumbled to the bars of your cell, you craned your neck to get a perspective on your surroundings. Yep, typical Imp-style prison block. Child’s play, frankly. See, there’s a trick to Imperial locks. Most prison locks.

The mechanism is made to only be opened remotely, inputting a command into a terminal. As such, the lock itself is not made to be opened physically, by force or by a keycard. The creator for that reason added a thin gap to prevent the mechanism from overheating. All you need to do is slot something thin and metallic into the crevice and it pops open like a chest in the hands of a greedy spacer.

You removed your right boot and pulled off the sole, shaking it roughly until a data disk clattered onto the ground. After reassembling your boot and slipping it back on, you snatched the data disk and moved to the cell door. Before slipping it into the thin gap, you took a glance from one side of the hall to another.

No guards, not even other prisoners. Whatever had gotten them so riled up must have been a real doozy. Now was not the time to question good luck.

The clunk of the lock coming undone sounded and you slipped the data disk into the top of your boot. After taking another careful glance to make sure this wasn’t some cruel trick, you slipped out.

With quick, careful steps you made your way down the hallway, stopping to try to discern the sound of something other than that fucking klaxon. You slipped from hallway to hallway, around the corner after corner and there was no one. Your mind flicked through the potential threats that could dignify such an all-hands-on-deck response.

And suddenly you heard it— hard, heavy footsteps and the clanking of something metallic. It didn’t sound like a stormtrooper; they were all plastoid chaffing against their body gloves. Great, so it was probably someone of a high enough ranking to wear something more durable.

You were unarmed and at disadvantage from a practical standpoint. Though, a lack of weapons had rarely if ever stopped you in the past. Even in your afflicted state, you were confident you could take down this Imp in what you pressured would be all-black with a fluttering cape.

You pressed against the wall and slowed your breathing to become as unnoticeable as possible. Then, you tackled them.

Easier said than done you realised fast. They were well-built and broad and their armour was definitely not an Imperial issue. Still, with the surprise, you managed to knock them off their feet.

A low grunt escaped them as they hit the ground ass-first. Immediately, you grappled for their weapon. Unluckily, your hand made contact with the blaster at the same moment theirs did. You still had the advantage, though, the mental preparation for combat— so you just fucking yanked it. The blaster fell into your hand and you brandished at their head, aim trained and hands steady and— wait.

That armour, that steel. Beskar. A Mandalorian?

The Mandalorian takes advantage of your pause and kicks one of your legs out, sending you and the stolen blaster in your hand toppling to the floor.

You hit the ground and you hit it hard. You were winded on impact and no doubt aggravated your already painful injuries. The Mandalorian scrambled for his blaster and you found your voice again as he picks it up.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you croaked as he aimed his blaster at you. “I didn’t- I thought you were an Imp.”

“I’m not,” comes his enlightening response.

“Clearly,” you muttered, shifting to sit up. The blaster’s sight is trained between your eyes. “Where are the cells?” he demanded. At first, you don’t respond, your hand resting over your abdomen to support the weakened part of your body.

“I said—” he stepped closer, voice now dangerously low, “—Where are the cells?”

“Hey buddy, I’m not exactly in tip-top shape at the moment, if you want information out of me you need to give it a minute.” The beskar helmet covered his face completely, not even a cursory glance at the visor gave you an inkling of emotion. You had to assume he was annoyed with you. “I don’t have time for this—” he dismissed, fingers moving to pull the trigger.

“I’ll bring you to the damn cells!” you shouted. His finger froze.

“You know where they are?”

“Just escaped from one.”

He gestured for you to move. “Show me. Now.”

The walk, or rather hobble, back to the cell block you escaped from was less than pleasant.

You were in desperate need of a stim, bacta spray or even a sip of med nog, anything to quell the hurt plaguing your body. The Mandalorian didn’t seem to care as he was silent while watching you limp along the hallways, hand on the wall to steady yourself. He did not comment on your heavy breathing, visible injuries or shaking legs. Evidently, he didn’t give a shit.

“Here,” you breathed as you turned the final corner. “This is it.” He breezed past you and inspected the cells. His body language was tense as he came across empty cell after empty cell.

“These can’t be all the cells,” he insisted. “Where are the others?”

“Look, these are the cells they put their prisoners in. Unless you want to go to the maximum security—”

“Take me there.”

You blinked at him. “Are you a moron? Who knows how many troopers they have standing guard down there? Go yourself.”

“I don’t know where it is, you do. So take me there or die here.”

Honestly, you considered just letting him kill you then and there. But you were in an Imperial prison and you’d sooner live, suffer and potentially take one of them down with you than die quickly and never get to teach them a lesson. You sighed and it came out as a shaky exhale. “You really know how to charm a girl, huh?” you muttered, turning yourself around and beginning your trek. He watched you quietly.

“C’mon now, don’t ask me to bring you somewhere than sit with your foot up your ass when I try to lead you there.” He scoffed under the mask and it came out raspy and harsh thanks to the helmet. Your body was getting used to the ache invading your sense and walking became somewhat easier at that point. The silent trip to the elevators was a little bit more manageable that way.

When finally inside the small steel box leading you to what you could only assume would be your death, you pulled your shirt up to have a look at your wound. Your skin was scorched and irritated. The lack of feeling told you some nerves had been damaged and you weren’t excited to imagine how your muscles and bones beneath the charred skin were faring. The Mandalorian’s head turned in your direction, just enough to catch sight of the injury. He stared for a few seconds and then turned back to the door.

“Can you give me a blaster?” That had him turn his head back to you pretty quickly.

“No.”

“What? I’m bringing you down to the most protected level of an Imperial prison and I can’t even have a weapon to defend myself?”

He goes quiet, like might be considering it. Then he says simply, “No.”

“Alright then, you better fucking protect me or else good luck getting back out of this place.”

“I got in, I think I’ll get out just fine.”

You snort. “If you got in, they know how you got in. And they’re expecting you to go back out the same way. If you don’t want to die, you’re not going to let me die.”

Before he can rebuke you, the elevator doors open and a shot is fired directly between the two of you.

You throw yourself to the side, hiding behind what little cover the walls provide and the Mandalorian does the same. Of course, they knew. They were waiting for you. Well, for the Mandalorian more likely, but if he died, you’d follow soon after.

“You wanna give me a blaster now?” you yelled at him. He didn’t respond, simply pulling the blaster from its holster and readying himself. He swung out from the cover and fired precise shots directly at the heads and chests of the troopers. The blaster fire that did hit him simply rebounded off his beskar. It takes only a few seconds for him to clear the five or six troopers who were standing ready.

“No, I don’t want to give you a blaster now.” You scoffed. Cocky bastard.

“The maximum security cells aren’t far, but we’re going to be meeting some resistance.”

“I can handle it,” he asserted. You nearly laughed.

But he certainly handled it. The second a stormtrooper was within range, they were shot down. He barely flinched each time a shot collided with his beskar. And he did, admittedly, keep you safe. Well, he was sort of protecting you by killing them.

“These doors,” you told him. “They’re locked with MLC-50 Magnolocks.”

“Can you slice them?”

“If I wasn’t half-dead. I don’t have the energy for it,” you admitted, slumping against the wall. "Do it now,” he commanded. You gave him a sharp look. “You’re fucking lucky I got you this far, Buckethead. Don’t make me regret it any more than I already do.”

“I need you to open the lock,” he said, sounding more… desperate. “Please,” he added, for good measure. You shake your head and he made a noise of annoyance as he turned away.

“Hey wait!” you began as you finally got a good look at his weapons. “Is that- Is that a beskar spear?” The Mandalorian turns back around. “...Why?”

“If it’s beskar you could probably break the locks open with it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted my help. Use the spear, open the lock, no slicing needed.” He pulled the spear out and considered the lock for a moment. He looked between the two.

“You try to open it with your mind? Fucking hell just stab it!”

In one swift motion, he rammed the spear into the magnalock and electricity crackled wildly, before the door slid open. “Told you,” you said, grinning. He didn’t even spare you a glance, just walked right into the cell. He looked around, turned swiftly on his heel, and moved to the next door. He repeated the action until the second last door, at which he stopped.

The sound of footsteps filled your ears. “Hey, tough guy,” you called. He didn’t reply. You shifted back onto your feet and began stumbling over to him. “Tough guy!”

“I think he’s in here,” is all he told you. “Well that’s great, get him out quick, we’re not going to be alone for long.” Still, the Mandalorian didn’t move.

“Maker above, move!” You looked behind you as the sound of footsteps became increasingly loud. Rushed and heavy, definitely stormtroopers. “Why are you hesitating?!”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly, which floored you for a moment. And then you heard the sound of a muffled voice escaping through a mask filter. He might be hesitating, but you wouldn’t be. You snatched his blaster from his holster and he panicked, reaching to grab you until you fired a shot at the stormtrooper rounding the corner. “Open the door!” you ordered. This time, he listened.

The beskar spear punctured the lock and the door slid open. You nearly missed the tiny squeal of delight that came from the other side as you fired off at the stormtroopers approaching. Your arms struggled to keep the weight of the blaster as steady as you’d normally have it, but it was enough to fire killing blows. "Hurry up!” you barked at him.

The Mandalorian steps out, clutching… a baby. A small, green and admittedly quite adorable, baby. You’re not sure what you were expecting but… yeah. It wasn’t that. You realised your strength was failing you, you tossed him the blaster, which he somehow caught. The final few troopers went down smoothly.

“Fuck,” you hissed, laying back on the ground. “You’re gonna… You need to help me move.”

“You-”

“Please!” you cut in. “Just help me and I’ll get you and the baby thing out, I promise. Just… please.”

Maybe he took pity on you or he just knew he didn’t have any other option, but he resigned to offering you an arm. You essentially climbed up him until your weight was resting uncomfortably on his shoulder. “Tell me where to go.”

You instructed him as you battled for consciousness, all the while the baby looked at you with its massive eyes and tilted its head cutely in confusion.

“Here, here. That panel,” you told him. The was still a small gap where you’d pried it off with your multi-tool and— fuck. You don’t have your gear. There’s a moment wherein you consider making him go get your things for you. Just a moment, though, because your head is thumping, your side is numb and somehow your bones are aching and right now you need to pass out.

It’s a bit of a manoeuvre to slip out through the way you came in and most of it spent weakly crawling behind a thick wall of beskar and muscle, but you made it. The Mandalorian hauled you onto his ship. That was nice. You expected him to sit you down outside the base and let you die there. He prioritised the baby, setting him down in his floating cot before grabbing at your arms.

“Tell me a place,” he commanded.

“What?” you rasped. “A place, tell me the name of a place, and I’ll bring you there.”

“I don’t…” You had to blink hard to not submit to unconsciousness. “Just, listen for a second, okay?” He went quiet. He looked back at the Imperial base, then back at you. He nodded. “Him—” you carelessly gestured in the general direction of the baby, “—the Empire want him, yeah?”

“What are you—”

“Listen! They’re trying to get him, am I right?” The Mandalorian nodded again.

“I know them, I can avoid them, keep him safe— keep both of you safe. You just give me some gear, get me away from here and I’ll do it.”

You rendered him speechless with that.

“We’ll talk more about it tomorrow or something, but right now, you need to give me something so I don’t die.”

“Tomorrow?” he parroted.

“Yeah, I’m not available for negotiations right now,” you informed him, with half a smile. He didn't seem amused by your attempt at levity. “Okay,” you sighed. “I’m going to pass out now.”

“You're going to what?”

And then darkness clouded your vision and you slipped out of consciousness.

NEXT CHAPTER.

#din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #grogu #star wars #star wars x reader

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lovelessdagger · 2 years ago

Text

Starlight - Chapter Thirty-Two: An Image of Perfection

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC, Din Djarin x OFC

Rating: Mature

Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Smut

Warnings: Explicit Language. Horror. Angst. Suicidal Ideation. Medical Horror. Nonconsensual nonsexual touching. Panic Attacks. Torture/Whump. Imperialism. OC only chapter. Feminine despair

Words: 8.3k

Summary : “It’s better she die now, killed away from him and in such a circumstance to guarantee he never mourns her. Never spares a thought aside from regret and with all feeling lost but bile in his throat.”

A/N: Yell at me, I’m not even sorry. I had Mitski on repeat while writing this.

Starlight Masterlist Here

Read Chapter Thirty-One Here

Read on AO3 Here

“When beginning my studies under Mistress Nala Se approximately twenty years ago on Mount Tantiss, there were two primary objectives,” Doctor Pershing tells Moff Gideon. The Imperial enters the private study where the girl continues to lay—once again unconscious on the surgical table. “To perfect successful cloning of Force Sensitives, and somehow, enhance preexisting DNA for something not unlike a super solider. Under your payment and generosity,” he chuckles, “These efforts have been continued by myself and my colleagues in the years since. So far, as you know, results have been null. Until, now.”

Gideon approaches the girl, lifting and letting her arm fall. “Explain them to me.”

“Every test I have sent of the Inquisitors, genetics are entered into an Imperial database. In the past when sampling was collected from Project Harvestor for example, it would be for identification purposes. Now, per your request we merely hold it for study. When there is nothing extraordinary it’s erased.”

“Get to the point.”

“Of course. Regardless of what we do with the sample, it’s always run through in case of possible matches to what we already have. Now, matches aren’t uncommon. Some appear with links to Jedi lineage from those captured by the Inquisitors of the past. Others to criminals, Senators on rare occasion.”

Pershing approaches the girl, correcting her position. He presents the datapad containing the report to Gideon.

“What you see here is a model of a typical DNA strand. In humans at least, we can quantify half being from the mother, half being of the father. When a match appears in our system it links to whatever half is represented. Generally when a link is found to… a Jedi for example, it is a percentage. Reproduction was frowned upon in the religion, they’re typically a relative through some design. Cousin, shared aunt, grandfather. A match such as child to parent never happens. It’s thought to be impossible. It’s part of my job to understand the possible and impossible.

He swipes, chaining the screen. “This is a model of her DNA. What has been flagged is a direct, perfect link—“ he swipes again, a third labeled stand appearing, “to this.”

Gideon takes the tablet, his hands almost shake. “You’re certain?”

Doctor Pershing nods. “As the night is dark.”

“How?”

“That is the question of the hour, and it’s not where shock ends either.” Pershing takes back the tablet, continuing to scroll. “If we take a closer look,” he says. “There are several mutations, and coincidentally none have negative affect on the girl.”

“What are they?”

“Most are unknown currently, but her health is perfect. No conditions, no… misshapen organs. In fact I would say her quality of life is improved. Lung capacity, strength, heart.” Pershing clears his throat, guiding Gideon down the table. “What do you think of her?” He asks. “Physically. How do you perceive her?”

“She has an ideal build,” Gideon offers. “Decent height, weight. Excellent strength.”

“And of the face?”

“Attractive.”

Pershing snaps his fingers, moving to her head. “Yes!” he says. “She’s attractive.” He cups her jaw from behind, raising her head. “Ideal distance between features, plump skin, free of blemish. Perfect teeth, nose, lips. All her proportions… flawless. This is with no evidence of surgical work. But the question comes, who does she look like?”

Gideon shrugs. “No one I would recognize.”

“Now who doesn’t she look like?”

“I see your point.”

“Moff Gideon,” Doctor Pershing says. “The shock of this girl, it shouldn’t come from the link found. Were it just the one, the answer would be clear. We could call her a clone, like the many I’ve seen and seen be created before. That is not the case.”

“Then what is it?”

“There remains a link unfounded, and that simply cannot happen through natural reproduction. That is impossible. I’ve seen many clones start, live, fail, die. Millions of samples have been created in my career alone. None turn out to be force sensitive by chance, and as we’ve seen there are extreme difficulties with the intervention of high M-Count blood. It is of my belief that this girl is genetically engineered. Every part of her, mutations, genetics, appearance. It’s all been preselected and implemented to perfection.”

Moff Gideon looks to him, air caught inside. “She’s a strandcast?”

“She’s a miracle.”

---

“Would you say you have a soul?”

Primitive, is one way to put it. Insulting, is another. This little shoebox of a room—white and sterile, twenty paces from one end to the other. The space is relatively dark, three of the five overhead lights blown out. One remains over her, and one above the door—a clunky gray thing needing to be manually opened and closed.

Unwillingly, Lumina lays in the sole interrogation chair of the room, arms and legs bound by metal straps, leather for her waist. The wires and machines from the doctors study followed her here, heart rate slow, steady on a monitor to her left. An IV and a sedative run down her arm that she cannot feel.

The world is warped and she cannot create, much less comprehend thought. Her muscles have the strength of jelly. Her head falls against the board of the chair and she must breathe through her mouth to receive her necessary oxygen.

It’s like she’s drowning.

Throughout random intervals of the day a sporadic changing of the doctor and a bobbling medical droid enter the room, signaled by the prison-like buzz sounded by the door. The droids says nothing to her as it checks her vitals, only repeating the numbers to itself.

The doctor does not share its silence.

In her sleep, he’s conducted a vanity cleaning. Wiping her face and hands free of blood. This is known through the bound hours spent staring into the reflection of the pane of one-way glass directly across.

She looks insane, though how much of a departure that is from her usual appearance is a thought she won’t dwell on. Circles run dark under her eyes, hair knotted and frizzy. Her clothes have dried to her skin. They’re stiff and smell of mildew.

The doctor encourages the stare. He tells her about the experience of becoming self aware and realizing the state of her reality. Realizing the she is in fact human. Whatever that can mean.

He always asks how she is, if she’s slept at all. All she can do is sleep, the drugs in her system don’t allow for consciousness longer than two hours at a time.

She doesn’t say this.

He has a habit of taking her chin between his fingers and tilting her head from side to side. He always apologizes for touching her so intimately.

He asks her questions, simple ones requiring one word answers. He never mentions the name Vader, he doesn’t ask how she escaped the Death Star, he doesn’t care. He asks about her favorite color, what time of day she prefers, if the room is too hot or too cold for her liking.

She’s yet to answer any of it.

There have been times where he comes with an IT-O unit. The black orb circles her, rod posed for an electrocution that never comes.

They refuse to torture her.

Instead, audio of Imperial propaganda plays into the room on a twenty-four hour loop. It’s the same combination of tracks she’d heard as a child.

“After the betrayal of the Jedi, Chancellor Palpatine rebuilt the failed Republic into the Galactic Empire,” the female voice says, soft like were saying a fairytale.

The Emperors voice comes in after a second of static. “In order to ensure the security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire! …For a safe and secure society,” he says.

“You have been chosen to lead the Empire into glory,” the girl continues. “The Empire depends on you.”

A flashlight blinds, inches from Lumina’s face. It waits until her left pupil is entirely dilated before moving to the right.

“Do you understand the concept of soul?” Doctor Pershing asks. “Do you understand that you are alive right now?”

“Yes,” she answers.

“Do you want to be alive?”

Her tongue smacks to the roof of her dry mouth, chewing on air. She feels rancid.

“Cui ogir'olar,” she answers.

“I’m afraid I don’t recognize that language,” Pershing says. “How many do you speak?”

She repeats words in her head, counting on her finger for each one remembered.

Ge’tal, red. Tal, blood. Kyr,amur, kill. Kyrayc, dead.

A scanning flash of red light passes over her face. “Do you find learning new things easy?”

Lumina’s head falls against the rest, closing her eyes.

“You exist to serve the Empire,” she says in time with the recording. “You are nothing without the Empire.”

“It’s late,” the doctor concedes. “You’ve had an eventful day. We’ll continue in the morning.”

“The Empire needs you.”

She’s left with no one but herself.

“You need the Empire.” ---

“I am going to present to you a series of images,” Doctor Pershing says. “There is no need to be vocal if that is not a wish. The monitors on your head will capture your neurological reaction.”

In the hologram, each picture is tinted blue and fuzzed with static. They skip on a perfect interval of three seconds. It is the same planet assessment given to her as a child. A basic intelligence quiz.

In her mind, she answers perfectly.

Coruscant.

Lianna.

Corulag.

Lothal.

Naboo.

The exam pauses here.

“I looked over your supporting documents,” Doctor Pershing says. “You mentioned how Naboo felt familiar, do you wish to expand on that? What is it particularly about Naboo that you enjoy?”

With no answer he continues.

The images change to sentients, different species, officers she would be required to know. Inquisitors now long dead. He stops on the profile of a human male.

An Inquisitor, estimated age, thirty.

“You’re suspected to be thirteen when it happened,” he says. In the corner of her eye, she catches the line of her heart monitor quicken. “Do you remember the events leading up to the incident? From what I understand, you claimed to have acted in self defense. It’s quite unusual that a child of your size would be capable of such an attack.” Then, “Do you regret what you’ve done?”

Once more she is silent.

The slideshow continues as normal, more familiar faces appearing. Tidhel, Petiko, their friends. Neri, Relena—the latter etching a particular frown on Lumina.

When a blond appears—one of unfortunate interest—the corner of her mouth twitches. She can’t help the laugh that comes, the long awaited break of sanity—bold, cackled. She runs out of breath, gasping.

“Comments?” Doctor Pershing asks, more than startled himself.

“It’s the boy savior,” she almost sings, defeated.

“Have you met him?”

Her head shakes. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

“Why is that?”

Inside the projector its lightbulb shatters, concluding the exam.

---

Dreams are flashes of events already passed. She can’t stop seeing Din’s face, staring. He screams at her, she hears every word she made him say, and all the ones she didn’t.

Either way, all observations made are true.

What’s worse is she would do it again. Not the lying or secrets, but the manipulation. She’d make him say those things a million times over if she had to. Convinced she’d never survive any longer under his affection.

It’s better she die now, killed away from him and in such a circumstance to guarantee he never mourns her. Never spares a thought aside from regret and with all feeling lost but bile in his throat.

She craves to be another mistake. It’s all she knows.

Deep in unconsciousness Lumina wants nothing more than to sleep in the bed she’s made. To not wake.

One way or another her mind drifts to the Child. Lost and alone. She doesn’t spare a moment to debate if Gideon is right in his statement that she is blame for his taking. She now accepts guilt with no jury.

She’s always been at fault, why should this be different?

If she cannot rectify the sum of her twenty plus years of life, she can at least fix this.

She will reunite the Child and the Mandalorian.

And then she will be content to be nothing.

---

Waking up, Lumina jolts upright, panting. The room spins for bit, lights dizzying. She tries to wipe her face, but both wrists remain shackled.

The doctor sits across from her, chair cushioned. He carries a datapad, and one lamp powered on atop a small table.

“Look around,” the recording says. “You are weak. You are nothing special. Everyone is waiting for you to fail. Are you going to let that happen?”

“You’re awake,” Doctor Pershing says. “Excellent. Welcome back.”

He grabs a cup she hadn’t noticed before, placing it to her lips. She peers inside to the still water. He encourages her to drink, and she does.

“You’re very special,” he tells her. “You need your strength. It’s important you stay at peak physical ability.”

“What happened?”

“You had a negative reaction to truth serum. You fell unconscious the moment it entered your veins.”

“How long was I out?”

“Around five hours.”

Regretfully she does have Vader to thank for that. Regular endurance training meant going over every trick in the Imperial handbook. Multiple times. Psychological drugs are hardest to combat, Sith or not. Best to shut down, avoid the torment, deal with the aftermath.

“While you were unconscious, I took it upon myself to further examine your psychosis; hallucinations, delusion, mania, paranoia. Medication can treat this.”

Her eyes close, audible breath through her nose. “I’m not crazy,” she whispers.

“You should have no shame in it. Profound trauma, such as you’ve received, at a young age is a known factor to an onslaught of psychological disorders.”

Lumina scoffs, forming into a chuckle. “You’re a clone engineer. Not a shrink.”

“Yes,” Pershing agrees. “But I have studied the psychology many clones. It is essential to understanding how to best improve production. What I mean to say is, I want to help your…” he motions to her, “Current state.”

“If you want to help, you’ll let me go.”

“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. Not yet at least.” He sets the cup back on the table. “I’ve come to realize I’ve never gathered a proper name for you. According to my documents, you’ve used plenty in your life. Is there a preference of one over another?”

His foot taps the ground, powering on his data pad. “Let’s see here… Midnight? That’s quite pretty. Nebula, Estelle… I see you have a preference for names related to space,” he chuckles. ”Do you enjoy stars?” Doctor Pershing pauses before his next words, setting the tablet down. “You’ve met someone named Star before, is that correct?”

Reality comes back together.

“What” Lumina asks. Her brows push together, nails biting into her palm.

“From what I understand, you two were great friends. It’s quite upsetting, what happened.”

“What happened…” she repeats.

“You killed her,” he says.

“No—”

“They found you with her body. You killed her. There is no easier way to phrase it. Killing the Inquisitor… Star. Those were not directives given by someone else, were they? You wanted to do those things.”

“He deserved it,” Lumina says.

“Did she? You were both children, I can’t imagine that’s justified.”

She’s quiet, scrunching her face. “It was an accident,” she whispers. “I didn’t want to do it.”

“So why did you?”

“I don’t know…” She’s slow, quiet. “She was my friend. I don’t know what happened—we were practicing and— she couldn’t breathe.“

“And she died.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened after?”

“I was put in solitary for—for months I don’t—“ Lumina’s breathing quickens. “They put me in this room and—there were lights on the walls but, the wiring was bad it wouldn’t turn on.”

“How do you know the wiring was faulty?”

“I felt it.”

“The wires?”

“The energy. It couldn’t pass through. It was trapped. I wanted to help it but nothing worked. I got so upset and—“ She stops, swallowing the air. “And I remember I was—I was—and no one—and and then it all turned on—”

“The lights?”

“Everything. It kept flashing and turning on and off and on and then it all broke. The door opened and I tried to run but… they sent me back with the others and acted like it never happened. I tried asking and… no one listened. All anyone wanted to talk about was her. And not that she was dead, that somehow I was the one who did it. They said I was crazy, and they never locked me up. It never happened.”

“And…” Doctor Pershing clears his throat. “What do you believe?”

Lumina’s face goes blank, sorrow wiped in a second. Her head tilts, body leaning forward. “I know what I saw.” She laughs, passive. “My whole life these things have always happened to me. Things no one can make sense of, and instead of trying, they say I’m psychotic and I’m not— I’m not crazy. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“I think we should take a break,” Pershing says.

“I’m not crazy!” She laughs again, a sudden stop with lips pressed together. “Nothing is real,” she whispers. “None of this is real!”

She hears her own heartbeat in double time, muscles tense and spasm. A lingering effect of the serum.

The voice of the shadow returns, laughing in her ear.

“I’m afraid it is all very real,” Pershing tells her. “What you need is rest.”

“Just tell me what you want,” Lumina pleads. “Tell me what he’s making you do. What does he want? I’ll give it, just—make it stop. Please.”

He looks from the girl to the data pad, and back again. ”Make what stop?”

“Make him go away.”

“Who?”

The light overhead flickers.

She cries at the ceiling, eyes pinched shut.

“Star received her name from being the star student, is that correct? Is that where this name of yours comes from? Star—“

Lumina lunges forward, held back by the straps. “Finish that and I rip out your throat,” she growls. She heaves every breath, sweat beading on her forehead. “I have sat through all your stupid tests. I’ve had no food, no water, you force to lay in my own filth for days. Fine. I don’t care if you want to strap me here for the rest of my life. Do it. If anyone says that word to me, I’ll kill everyone on board and save you for last. Do you understand me?”

“I,” Pershing stutters. “Yes, yes. Yes. I apologize.”

“Get out,” she mutters. “Get out!”

The buzzer sounds, and two stormtroopers open the door from the outside. The doctor leaves, and the room is committed to darkness. ---

The next day Doctor Pershing acts as if it never happened. He doesn’t give her a name.

“I spent time ruminating over your story with the lights,” he says in place of his usual greeting. “Something similar happened in the cargo hold before you came. I have a theory.” Pershing reaches for the lamp, still on the table. “And if I am to prove it, I will need your cooperation.” He grabs under the shade then presents his hand holding the lightbulb.

In caution he places the glass in Lumina’s hand. She rubs her thumb over it, warm to touch.

“I want you to turn it on,” he says. “Holding it, just like that.”

“What?”

“There is enough energy inside of you to turn on this lightbulb. I would like to see you do it.”

“Inside of me?”

Doctor Pershing grabs the tablet, he presents the screen with a labeled line. “All sentients carry some form of an energy field solely by living. If we look at a spectrum, humans emit electromagnetic radiation on the lower end here,” he says pointing. “Your levels—“ his finger moves up the line, “—are here. This should be fatal, and yet here you are in perfect health.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Physical health at least… I’ve noticed when you are upset, electrics fail.” He points to the ceiling and says, “Lights are a frequent victim.”

“I don’t break them on purpose.”

“I know. However, upon my further inspection, I’ve discovered you indeed don’t break them. Take the projector from the other day, for example. When it occurred, I believed you only shattered the glass. That is not true. What you have done is provide a voltage so high, the filament burns out and explodes. That,” Doctor Pershing says pointing to her, “is the result of chaotic energy you provide.”

“And… how am I doing that?” she asks.

“I theorize you absorb nearby energy and release it. The issue is, you don’t know have control.” He takes her hand, setting down the lightbulb with the other. “If you are cooperative in my testing, I will help you master this ability through science. I’ve told you from the start, I do not want to hurt you, and I have remained true. You can trust me.”

Lumina pulls her hand away, wiping it on her soiled pants. “Is that what Gideon wants?”

“Moff Gideon does not know, and I do not plan on informing him. The study will remain between us. I give my word.”

She scoffs. “And why should I care for that?”

Clearing his throat he says, “Because I believe everything you’ve said. Who else can say that? Help me in my studies,” he whispers. “You are everything I have been waiting for. Allow me the honor of not just becoming my subject, but my partner as well. We could accomplish extraordinary things together. Not to mention the betterment to your situation it would cause. What do you say?”

Lumina sits in silence, cringing at the lazy use of the muscles in her hand.

She spits at his face. “Eat my shit.”

---

Gideon visits later that day. He comes with a league of four troopers who never point their guns away. Lumina stares at the red dot on her chest.

“I see your patient is comfortable,” he tells Pershing. “How are the tests coming along?”

“She continues to be uncooperative,” Pershing replies. “Her heart and oxygen also continue to decrease to alarming levels. I fear the worst if proper care is not taken. Food for instance I believe would benefit her greatly.”

“Is she actively dying?”

“No.”

“Then she will learn that nourishment is a privilege here. She can eat when she complies.”

Part of Lumina wants to respond, tell the doctor not to worry. That she’d been kept in isolation for far longer than some odd days without nutrients. She’d sooner die from exhaustion than starvation.

Of course she says nothing. Watching Gideon pace the room, hands behind his back, examining like he understood.

“I should have you killed,” he says, sparing her a glance. “Doctor Pershing has more use for your body than your mind. But I’m not as generous as he is.”

“You made me a promise,” Lumina coughs. “I would’ve helped you.”

“No you wouldn’t. You see, unlike your precious Mandalorian, I’m not that gullible. You never had intention to rejoin the Empire, that much I could see. You’ve lost yourself. I was correct in my assessment. You are nothing but a scared child without your father to protect you.”

“I could tear this whole ship apart if I wanted,” she pants.

“Is that so? Because from where I’m standing, you can hardly stay awake.” He frowns, bending to match her eye line. “You’re like nothing I’ve ever seen before,” he whispers. “It’s an accomplishment how beautiful you are, even like this.”

“Touching,” Lumina scoffs. “But I just got out something serious. Rather not rush into anything else so soon.”

“Once your programming is reestablished, you will become everything I dreamed of.” Gideon steps away, positioning himself behind the control unit of the chair.

“My programming?”

“Children in the Harvestor Project are conditioned to be incapable of acquiring a sense of self,” Pershing says, stepping beside him. “They form a dependance on direction, but curiously, you’ve always had a mind of your own. Your purpose since creation was to serve the Empire. To obey, to not act out of turn. However, independence is where you excel.”

“You’re defective,” Gideon says.

“I’d argue she’s more deviant,” Pershing counters. “She understands the rules, her position, what’s expected. From our time together I’ve discovered the circumstance isn’t from a flaw of conditioning. Rather, something she consciously denies.”

“She wouldn’t be the first needing reprogrammed.” Gideon flips the main switch on the control board, and rods release from the ceiling to circle her.

Lumina peers above, a flood of panic entering her eyes in a second. It leaves just as fast, replaced by coldness. “You really think shocking me is the best idea when I’m hooked up to half the room?”

“Have no fear. We have no intention of harming—” Pershing attempted to reassure.

Gideon raises his hand, commanding silence. “I can handle the asset from here.”

“Sir, I must protest. If she receives electricity—“

“Doctor Pershing, I believe you have another subject to care for, no? It isn’t wise to leave children unattended for long periods of time.”

“Children? What are you doing to him?” Lumina bites, pulling against the restraints. “If you hurt him, I swear—“

“The Child is in good hands,” Gideon tells her. “Far better than you are, certainly.”

“Where is he?”

“You have far worse to worry about currently. Doctor Pershing you are dismissed. Be sure the door is closed on your way out. Sound tends to travel.”

“I am going to ask you a series of questions,” Gideon says after he leaves. “You will answer truthfully. If I feel you are lying or you are uncooperative, I will ask until I am satisfied. Answer enough, you’ll be rewarded.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Lumina says. “When I get out of here. You’re dead.”

“When you are released…” Gideon muses. “All of this will be nothing more than a distant memory.” He shrugs. “A bad dream. Let’s begin.”

---

Lumina’s first meal is a serving of exactly three items. One slice of toast with egg, one bowl of sliced fruit, and one cup of water. The items are fed to her by a protocol droid. She eats all but the egg, flopped on her plate with a broken yolk.

When she is finished the droid exits, the horrid sound of the door buzzing again. She can’t say she’s resentful for the meal. Though nothing extraordinary, she’d forgotten she was hungry at all until the smell wafted through the room.

This did however pose an interesting and certainly humiliating predicament of what should be done after digestion has run its course. They have yet to allow her a wash… other bodily needs be dammed.

“Inquisitors are stronger than Jedi,” Lumina mutters in time with the tape. She stares at her reflection, the image getting worse with each day. She yawns, “Inquisitors have purpose. You will have meaning.”

The door sounds again, metal slab pulled open. The usual IT-O unit floats in, forked rod waving about.

“I had one of you as a pet when I was younger,” she says to it. “Called it Itchy. Dad let him poke me when I acted up. I think I’ll name you…” Trailing, she follows it around the room. “Scratch. As tribute.”

“Maker, you’re pathetic.” The voice comes from outside, feminine, Coruscanti oddly enough. It’s overly modulated, static breaking at the end. The owner walks in, tall and dressed head to toe in black. She wears a mask over her face, and a uniform Lumina could never mistake for anything other than that of an Inquisitor.

Her lightsaber must be hidden… behind the cape maybe.

Lumina gasps. “Scratch you could’ve said you brought a friend,” she chastises. Her gaze bounces between the two before settling into the chair. “My stars, a real Inquisitor. I have been waiting for you to show up since I got here. You people really know how to edge a girl.”

The Imperial stalks to her, a foot away from the base of the chair. “How in the Force did you survive?”

Lumina blows out air. “You’ll have to be more specific, but if you mean after Rebels won, I fulfilled my dream of letting men look at me half naked for money. It was exhilarating.” She stretches her neck, knuckles cracking in her fist.

The Imperials walks away, to the control panel of the chair. “You put on quite a show yesterday,” she says. “Certainly entertained me.”

“Well some of us have to have fun here. Haven’t you heard? I’m apparently—“ Lumina laughs, “—Clinically insane.” Her eyes narrow. “You are real, aren’t you?”

The mask looks up. “As real as you are.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“Good.”

One by one the restraints on Lumina’s limbs and torso unlock. With the chair in a vertical position, she falls on her knees. Hands slap the floor to break her fall.

“If we’re jumping right to the execution,” she says. “I hope you people manage to actually keep me dead this time.”

“Get up,” the Imperial tells her. “We’ll have to act fast before they notice you’re gone.”

“What?”

“Get up,” she repeats, hauling Lumina to stand by the arm. “Can you walk?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

The Inquisitor grips the bottom of her mask, pulling it off with a mechanical hiss. Underneath reveals pale white skin and blue eyes that match ice. “I’m an old friend.”

Lumina’s jaw drops, eyes blown wide. “Ghost?”

“It’s good to see you Killer.”

---

Moff Gideon’s light cruiser is different to other ships Lumina’s had the misfortune of being on. The skeleton crew onboard makes the ship which holds hundreds feel eerily empty. Her footsteps sound in time with Ghosts, marched side by side.

Granted, Lumina is noticeably less graceful, stretching her legs to keep up. This was far easier when they were the same height, now being towered over.

“I don’t understand,” she says. “You’re alive.”

“Yes,” Ghost answers, turning a corner sharp. “I am. My question,” she starts, looking down at Lumina, “is how we all watched you die thirteen years ago… and here you are.”

“I didn’t die,” Lumina says. “I fainted.”

“Vader said your heart stopped. He carried you out himself.”

“I was in a coma. He kept me on his ship until I came to. Everything else followed.”

Ghost hums, short and paired with a huff. ”Did you know he would take you?”

“No. How could I?”

Her gloved hand closest to Lumina clenches. “Aren’t you lucky then.”

“Hardly.”

“People would kill for what you got,” Ghost tells her. “They did. You had greatness handed to you. You never had to work for it.”

“I worked plenty.”

“You lived in a palace with servants and private training from one of the greatest Sith in the galaxy. You became legend without anyone knowing who you are.”

Lumina frowns, tilting her head. “What are you doing here? And I don’t just mean here, I mean why are you working for the Empire? Palpatine ordered all Inquisitors be terminated two years after I left. That included the school. You made it out, why come back?”

“You may have found lesser living to be—exhilarating was it? But some of us believe in serving a higher purpose. We were humiliated before given a chance to prove ourselves. Don’t you find it interesting the Empire began to lose against the Rebels once we were cast out?”

“I can’t say I ever connected the two.”

“Of course not.” She stops their walk, leaning with her back against the wall of the corridor. “Inquisitors were the best weapons the Empire had. One of us against a fleet of them, who wins?”

The hypothetical needs no contemplation.

“You make a good point,” Lumina says. “But I actually served in the war, skill wouldn’t have saved you from the Death Star’s fate. Either of them.”

“You made it out.”

“I have an uncanny inability to die, believe me I’ve tried. Besides, the Rebels had Jedi on their team as well.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ghost groans, rolling her eyes. “If I have to hear name Skywalker one more time—“

Now Lumina gags, her eyes doing the same. “It’s better you don’t say it at all. I understand your frustrations, if it weren’t for Blondie I’d have actually gotten somewhere in life.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Emperor,” Lumina smiles, “gave my father a choice. Continue with me as his heir, or the street rat. My death, the story you’ve all heard? It only exists because Vader had preferred a son.”

“He gave you up?”

“Happily.”

“That’s devilish.”

“I know.”

“It’s quite admirable.”

Lumina nods. “I know.”

“He ruined your life,” Ghost says, tossing her mask from one hand to the other. “Do you ever want to get back at him?”

“Being able to kill him myself is all I’ve dreamed of for ten years now.”

“Why don’t you?”

Lumina shrugs. “He’s an intergalactic celebrity and the poster boy for this ridiculous New Republic. I’m a Sith legend with debated existence. Our paths don’t cross. Besides, I was in hiding until… fairly recently, and I’ve had more pressing matters to attend to than find a wannabe Jedi with a bad haircut.”

Ghost snorts. “It is horrid isn’t it?”

“I’m at least grateful he never wore that stupid little braid they all have. I’ll get to Blondie eventually, right now I have a couple other names on my list I have to cross off.”

She almost misses the way Ghost’s eyes flash wild, brows raising in intrigue. “Care to divulge?”

“For starters, I’m not a fan of your boss.”

“Gideon?” Lumina hums. “He is not my boss, it’s insulting to imply so.”

“Then what is he?”

She smirks. “A pawn. In reality, we’ll soon have no further use for him. He will be disposed of and we will continue onto the next until perfection is reached.”

“You know,” Lumina says. She runs a hand through the top of her hair, cringing at the tangles. “You’ve mentioned we quite a bit, you’re the first Inquisitor I’ve seen in years.”

Second.

The other grins, pushing herself off the wall. “While you were busy playing Coruscant’s local tramp and—I’m sure, wallowing due to your sad pathetic life—“ her arms stretch out, walking backwards “—I took it upon myself to rebuild.”

Lumina follows, scowl present. “I hold the record for most kills in the history of any single Underworld syndicate member.”

“Weren’t you the one who called keeping track of kills cheap?”

“Not when other people do it for you.”

“Yes well, I’m sure common thugs were quite the challenge.”

“I put Red Axe on the map,” Lumina argues. “What have you done?”

Ghost shrugs, turning to walk proper. “I met God,” she says. “I wasn’t impressed.”

---

“A few years ago I heard some idiot defector talk about Vader having a child,” Ghost says at the end of their walk. She guides Lumina inside a dark room, small blinking lights the only vision. “They say that watching you die was the only time Vader looked human.” She plays with the central computer system, the main hardware in the rooms center activating. “That he carried your body out himself, just like he did then… I think you’re the only person he’d ever been remotely compassionate towards.”

It showers the room in in blue, screens on the wall turning to a static fuzz.

“He’s the one who found and brought me to the Academy in the first place,” Lumina says, looking around. “It was always the plan to take me in. I don’t know if you can watch over a kid for that long and not care about them.”

“Even Vader?”

“He always wanted a family.”

“We were family once.” With a changing output of frequency, Lumina cringes. “I always knew it was you, from the stories. You always—You’d keep to yourself, but when lessons were over you never stopped. You never gave up. I never doubted you were alive,” Ghost says, closing her fist. “I spent years looking for you. Did you ever think about me once?”

“No,” Lumina admits, with no inflection of emotion. “I was told you were all dead. There was no point in thought after that.”

Ghost nods. Her posture changes, her slightly slumped shoulders turning straight and stonelike. “I knew I’d find you again, just as I promised. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

”Moff Gideon says you’ve been resisting since you arrived. I thought you’d be excited to return,” she says, looking down at her mask. “To finally be free again.”

Frowning, Lumina steps forward, now directly behind. “It’s hard to feel anything these days.”

Ghost turns sharp, facing her. “I wanted to give you a gift, to welcome you home.”

Lumina raises a brow. “Gideon’s head on a stake?”

“Not yet,” Ghost smiles. “But soon.”

In a projected hologram, a list of numerical names scroll in aurebesh, followed by numbers and locations.

“What is this?” Lumina asks.

“My army,” Ghost says. “Our army. This is every Inquisitor I have recruited into the Empire. Their designations, and the location they were found.”

“You put together a band fifteen Inquisitors?”

“It was sixteen. Blaze was once a part of the cause. Unfortunately he went missing some months ago. I assume he died.”

Ah.

“His weakness was most disappointing. Now, Law and Fortune are of the last of our class.”

“Fortune was on Raxus?”

“Gambling if you can believe it,” Ghost says. “Luck holds a different name with her.” She reaches into the hologram, expanding profiles to display mugshot like photos. “Her prediction accuracy has exceeded tremendously since last you knew her.”

“That’s useful.”

“I’ve tried my best to ensure we have only human recruits,” she says. “Though with limited options I’ve had to settle.”

Ignoring the comment, Lumina asks, “You’ve done this all yourself?”

“Yes. When I met Moff Gideon there were only a few of us. Thanks to him we’ve more than tripled in numbers.”

“Does he run testing on everyone?”

“Yes. It’s a part of our agreement.”

“Agreement?”

“In exchange for my access to unlimited Imperial data and resources, I grant Gideon favor and an opportunity to examine every Inquisitor I create.”

“So you allowed him to treat me the way he has been?”

“No,” she denies quick. “You are not an Inquisitor, and I certainly did not create you. Had I known they’d keep you locked up—they’ve disgraced you.“

Lumina nods, pursing her lips. “You act like the Grand Inquisitor.”

“It’s a role that suits me, don’t you agree?”

“It is what you’ve always wanted.”

“It was on the list.”

“You don’t wear the pendant,” Lumina says. “You bare no signifier at all.”

“I’ve had no one to bestow me the title,” Ghost says. “A position like that is given and earned.”

“Well who’s in a position to do it?”

“You of course.”

She almost chokes. “Me?”

“You are the chosen one,” Ghost tells her, looking over. “The natural successor to lead us. You are—“ she mocks a bow of her head, “—our great Lady of the Sith, after all.”

In truth it comes with a feeling Lumina isn’t sure she can become accustomed to. “I’m not sure I agreed to that.”

Ghost’s eyes roll, and the reflection of the hologram within them. “I have come to the understanding that you entertained a new lifestyle, briefly. One more… intimate than regulation allows.”

“It meant nothing to me.” She’s too quick in the response, bitten like venom.

“I thought so. Now, I have no qualms if you only sought pleasure. But to lower yourself to the likes of a Mandalorian, I knew you could never demean yourself in such a way.”

“You realize they are warriors, don’t you?” Lumina asks. “I would think you’d find their valor formidable.”

“Mandalorians exist through reactionary fear of Jedi. Any group who finds Jedi a difficult opponent earns no respect from the Empire. I say their planet was destroyed for good reason.”

“Being?”

“To eliminate weakness, and make way for something stronger. ”

“Your Inquisitors?”

“Our Inquisitors,” Ghost corrects. “They’ve been waiting for you to lead. They all think you’re a god, their chosen messiah.”

“What do you think?” Lumina asks.

She takes a moment before answering, “I think you’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

“And what would that be?”

“A chance. They’re yours if you’ll have them.” She stops on a profile of a young girl. The data beneath lists as no more than eighteen in age. Her stare is blank, soulless.

“Does that include child soldiers?” Lumina asks. “She’s far too young.”

“She’s capable.”

“She’s a kid.”

“So were we,” Ghost counters. “CF-802 comes from outside the Academy and already holds her own against members.”

“If she’s from outside the Academy, how did she end up here?”

“The same way we all did,” Ghost offers. “She was found.”

“Stolen,” Lumina corrects. “Children of the Academy were taken, not found.”

“Taken to live free of mediocrity,” Ghost laughs. “Found to have purpose. You shouldn’t get lost in semantics. You say Lord Vader found you. How do you know you weren’t taken as well?”

“That is what he told me.”

“And that, my dear sister, is what we tell her. Her and all the other outsiders. I call them The Lost,” she says. “It’s what they were before joining. They’ve been under our training for years. You’ll see them to be the most obedient and hungry. There’s nothing they wouldn’t do. They will obey your every command, no questions, no arguments.”

“I still haven’t agreed,” Lumina says. “I’m not the same as I used to be.”

“Yes, you’re stronger.”

“I’m slipping,” she bites as a whisper. “Everyday I feel myself get weaker. Physically, mentally. And it isn’t as if Gideon’s been any help to me.” Her hands turn to fists. “It’s like I’m being buried alive everyday inside of myself. It’s harder to stay awake, to breathe, to think. I’m in no position to lead anything, much less an army.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“They say I’m a maniac.”

“Good. We all are.” Ghost takes Lumina’s hand, placing hers on top. “The Empire rests on your shoulders. It has for years. Are you so willing now, once the control you’ve always wanted is yours, to deny your destiny? Don’t you lay your loyalties to the Emperor?”

“Of course I do,” Lumina mutters. “I always have. But I refuse to play nice with Gideon after what he’s done to me.”

“You don’t have to play nice, you have to play smart. If you’d prefer to return to your cell and stay in treatment until you die, fine. If you want to get even, you’ll stay in the game.”

“What do you mean?”

“Gideon wanted to bring you in peacefully, that’s why he hired you in the first place. I don’t know what happened the day contact should have been made, but it scared him. He overreacted, correct, but only because you scare him. They say you’re crazy? Be crazy. Scare him so bad he’ll never think of hurting you again.”

“How?”

Shrugging, Ghost says, “Make him think he got what he wanted. Answer the doctors questions, commit yourself to serve. He has ego, he won’t doubt you for a second. Then, when the time is right, we strike.”

“Or, you can get me out now. You help me make a plan to end him once and for all.”

“Possible. Although…”

“What?”

“I overheard Moff Gideon tell Pershing that… Well, I couldn’t make sense of it, but he said that once you comply, that he’ll reunite you with a child?”

“A child?” Lumina repeats, color fallen.

“Yes. What does he mean by that?”

Her head shakes, brushing sweaty palms on her thighs. “Where do you keep the rest?”

“The rest?”

Pointing to the list of Inquisitors, Lumina says, “The other children you train, the ones not yet ready. If I’m to be in charge I need to know every detail of operation. Where are they?”

Ghost looks at her, a small tilt in her head and a smaller tight-lined smile. Her tongue smacks the roof of her mouth. “You should get back to the room. If anyone notices you’re gone the whole ship will be on lockdown. They’ll kill you on sight,” she informs. “Besides, if we’re to do this right, you shouldn’t be out of uniform regulation. No one will take you seriously looking or smelling like death.” She takes Lumina’s arm in her own, hooked by elbows. “Don’t worry, there are excellent tailor droids onboard. When the time comes, they’ll make you perfect.”

---

“Flowers,” Lumina says on Doctor Pershing’s entrance. Retied to the chair, not a hair is misplaced.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve asked why I liked Naboo. Naboo has flowers.”

“Flowers?” he repeats.

“Someone showed them to me once. I never knew they existed, and when I saw them… it was like seeing a piece of myself.”

---

To her own regret, Lumina is thinner than she last remembers, staring at the reflection of her wet body. Her arms wrap around her back and front, gently pressing the space of flesh between. She spends ages examining every piece of herself as she rubs in lotion.

Nothing is ideal, but it is a welcomed sensation to be free of filth.

If that.

She takes extra care at her scars, her hand running up her arm until her shoulder is reached. She gathers her hair in her hands, lifting it above her head until it falls again.

Slow, she dresses in the simple undergarments left on the counter. She turns on her toes, eyes never leaving herself.

Gideon’s obsession with her appearance mimics all that she’s received before. He behaves like Neri Kelli, the soft inconspicuous touching, the gentle words filled with poison. The first time Neri saw her he wouldn’t let her out of his sight for a whole day.

At the time she thought nothing of it.

Vader became invested in her appearance the moment she began to grow into her own. Mandatory haircuts disappeared until it reached her just past her shoulders, regulated to stay at the exact length. Too short to tie up, just long enough to get in her way.

He decided she should practice balance and strength through dance and gymnastics. On days he’d bother to watch her progress, critiques focused on her landings. He held a perfect vision of exactly how she should look.

Like it came from memory.

Every meeting they had, he would begin by staring. He’d watch her kneel, and even when she could stand he would say nothing. At times he instructed her to close her eyes, and he’d continue to watch.

It stopped when Boba first gave her a scarf.

Vader hated her eyes, they were the last things he’d want to look at. Now they’re the first anyone notices.

Why wouldn’t they be?

She grabs from the inside of a cloth bag, set by the sink, laying its contents down one by one. The protocol droids were kind enough to follow her every instruction for her uniform, down to the placement, length, and color of zipper.

The base of her dress is a catsuit, the fabric hugs her body and the zipper rides down half the front. Its high collar and long sleeves leave only her hands, feet, and head exposed.

She dresses from the top down. Metal pauldrons double layer painted black with red trim. The color repeats on her arms, one an accented durasteel vambrace, hollowed for a knife to fit. The other wrapped in cloth from elbow to wrist. She pulls on leather pistol garters around her thighs, tall boots to match.

“A kama?” The droid asked while Lumina watched the holographic image of herself dress. “Those haven’t been in style since the Clone Wars. Might I instead recommend an overcoat with a longer train?”

“Make sure the kama is made of armorweave,” Lumina told it. “With a storage case on each side.”

The piece belts around her waist, falling even over her hips.

Stepping away, Lumina takes in all that she is—and all that she isn’t. In truth she never found herself particularly attractive, never mind beautiful. She’s only seen her bruises, her blood, her scars.

But now… perspective shifts.

She looks like a fighter, a leader. It’s as if the dying part inside of her stopped, reversed. She can’t say it bothers her, in fact it’s the opposite. It’s what she should have felt playing dress up in Canto Bight.

She realizes she doesn’t know how to not be pretty.

It’s uncanny, standing in what she’s been told is her prime. Freshly picked, collected in ripeness. Fallen.

She stands enjoying the fruit without shame.

And in turn, releases that very thing.

Ghost waits for her outside the door, oblivious. She’ll never know how this feels.

Lumina invites her in, opening the door with a flick. She says nothing as host, tying her hair back.

“You clean up well,” Ghost says, stepping beside her. She pins the Imperial symbol to Lumina’s chest. “I have something for you.”

“What is it?”

“You’ll enjoy it.” From behind, Ghost presents Lumina with her lightsaber in open palms. “I wanted to get you one like mine,” she says. “But you’ve always been different, why stop here?”

“Gideon took this from me,” Lumina says, grabbing the hilt. “I thought I’d never see it again. Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Ghost says. “It’s your right.” She steps back, examining Lumina in full. She smiles. “Now you’re perfect.”

“Almost,” she corrects, pulling on leather gloves. “Something’s missing.”

“What?”

Lumina leans into her reflection, nose inches from the glass. She pulls away. “How soon can I get contacts?”

----

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Fruits of Sin

Taglist: @lexloon @jay-bel @xsadderdazeforeverx @spideysimpossiblegirl @sarahjkl82-blog @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny

#mandalorian fanfiction #Mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin x OC #din djarin x original character #Din Djarin x Original Female Character #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x ofc #Mando x oc #Mando x original character #mando x original female character #Starlight

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the-mandawhor1an · 7 months ago

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Wolke's Masterlist

For all of my other works »click here«

» Click here to be added to the tag list «

Guided by the stars, connected by the force (Ongoing Series) - Din Djarin x OFC

illustration by @kenobiwanx

Wolke’s thoughts: I'm keeping most of my ramblings from the masterlist for now. The TLDR: This was a daydream, turned into a fic, into a roleplay, and now back into a fic that I'm publishing. It'll take a while.

Pairing: Din Djarin x original female character

POV: 3rd person, past tense – For now it'll be written mostly from Maia's perspective, I might sprinkle in some 'omnscient observer' paragraphs here and there.

Synopsis: [Story begins right at The Mandalorian: Chapter 8] Din is on the lookout for a Jedi to take the little green troublemaker off of his hands. The lightsaber-wielding, slightly larger troublemaker he stumbles into on Nevarro might not be the Jedi he was looking for, but he is definitely the Mandalorian the pretty brunette has been searching. Will she finally find out what is so special about this man in silver armor?

Tags: 18+ content, MDNI! Age gap (11 to 12 years, OC is 28/29) soulmates trope, force sensitive main character, fluff, romance, hurt/comfort, ... (more will be added as story goes on)

Chapter overview:

Chapter 0: [Flashback] The escape

Chapter 1: The ally

Chapter 2: The crimelord

Chapter 3: [Flashback] The stranger

Chapter 4: Two suns

Chapter 5: [Flashback] The hunter

AU interlude - Prey

Chapter 6: The past

Chapter 7: The present

Somewhat related solo works:

Chapter 8: Revelations part 1

Chapter 9: Revelations part 2 - coming soon!

Chapter 10 coming in December

Ask game - Maia's favourite memory

6 month roleplay celebration – Commission + Drabble

Fanarts:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

I still can't believe that doodles of Maia exist already. Feels unreal.

Additional notes:

As this is the first tumblr-specific project formatting might be off. I will try to make it as pleasing to the eye as I can

Headers and dividers might be edited as an after-thought

@zaddymandalorian will probably beta all or most of these chapters

Content warnings will be listed for each chapter – the whole work is considered 18+! Some chapters will be SFW but you will need to read all to understand what’s going on

I am not yet sure about how to handle smut – I really enjoy reading filth but when I write it, it tends to be “less vulgar” than what tumblr is used to; but this is a thought for the later chapters any way

Well well after some time on Tumblr... I'm sure this doesn't even count as a slow burn

Oh, and for the sake of it being mentioned somewhere: Not an English native; I have been exposed to it for just about two decades by now though

While I might not be artistically gifted enough to draw fan arts, you have the permission to do so – please tag me if you do! I also have commissions of this pair in the pipeline, so stay tuned for that

I do cosplay – you might get a glimpse or two of what Maia looks like in my mind

Of course: Feedback is appreciated. Even if it's just a string of emoji

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics unless otherwise specified

#Wolke schreibt #gbtscbtf #masterlist #din djarin fanfiction #original female character #mando fanfiction #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x original character #din djarin x ofc #din djarin x original female character #the mandalorian x ofc #mando x ofc #mando x original female character

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everythingfan589 · 2 years ago

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A Work In Progress

Chapter 24: Right Behind You

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, fluff

Word Count: 5.9k

Masterlist

“Ah, shit.” With a thud, another piece to the puzzle with no guide falls to the cockpit floor.

You’re a mechanic at heart. You pull apart everything around you and put it back together in your head. The galaxy is an endless void of inspiration, full of ships that can jump through space and time, bikes that never touch the ground一and yet you can’t put together this stupid lightsaber hilt.

“Need help?” Din sounds amused, which only fuels your frustration from the floor of the cockpit. Legs crossed with seemingly a million pieces of metal sprawled in an unorganized mess around you.

“No. I don't need一shit一I don’t need help. Ahsoka said I can figure this out. So I can一maker一why can’t I figure this out!” You groan as another piece comes loose and leaves your energy gate wide open.

The pilot chair spins around to reveal the mess of you to Din. When he doesn't say anything you look up and watch as his helmet tilts to the side.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“How am I looking at you?” He sounds genuinely interested, the amusement in his voice invisible to anyone but you.

You just stare back for a moment, eyes burning into him as if the answer is written on his helmet before swatting the air with your hand.

“She said it’s like an engine. I know engines. I should be able to get this.” You mumble as you pull the entire hilt apart for the millionth time, nimble fingers pulling the tiny crystal from the chamber and holding it up. “It’s you. You’re the problem.”

“Talking to rocks. I’m pretty sure that's the first sign of something.” Din teases, which snaps your attention back to him.

“Don’t test me, Djarin.” You point at him with narrowed eyes but the threat doesn't carry a fraction of intimidation.

Turning your attention back to the scrap metal in front of you一your brain begins to map out the pieces of machinery like a hologram only you can see. Pieces moving into place behind your eyes without touching a single thing. It’s an engine. A tiny engine fueled by a tiny crystal.

If it’s like an engine, it requires the necessary modulation circuits and energy gate to keep all that energy inside the structure. Otherwise, you’re going to blow up everything within a three-mile radius upon ignition.

Eyes flicker back and forth like words on a page as you finally put your hands to work. Assembling the emitter matrix to go along with your energy store.

Din studies your brain hard at work, tongue poking out just slightly, mindlessly as you concentrate. The beautiful brain that builds things from scratch and can identify every part of a machine just by looking at a couple wires.

It might not be clear, if not to him then especially not to you, but he absolutely marvels over you. Everything about you leaves him in a constant state of wonder.

He watches as the skin between your brow slowly knits together in frustration until you finally put the pieces down again一a little too rough.

“I don't get it.” It’s not like you to not understand something. You hate that you can’t figure it out.

“Leave it. Come back to it later.” He offers一but in some way he understands your frustration. This comes naturally to you一as naturally as firing a blaster is for him. If someone handed him a new blaster and he couldn't hit a target, he’d be pretty frustrated too.

“I can’t一”

“Get over here.” His tone doesn't leave room for you to protest.

With a slight huff, you stand from the floor of the cockpit. Walking over to him, careful to avoid stepping on any of the small pieces of metal on the ground.

The moment you’re past balancing on your toes, Din reaches forward to grab your hip, pulling you down into his lap. Spinning the chair around to face forward, he taps the console and a map of the outer rim bursts to life.

“Pick somewhere to go.” He nods at the hologram. You would be melting over the way his thumb rubs back and forth on your thigh if you weren't so confused.

“What?” You turn to look into his visor. “But Gideon?”

“We don't have the manpower for Gideon. Plus we don’t know where he is.” Din’s thinking realistically again. You remember a similar situation when you first went up against the Empire一you barely got out with both your lives.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

“This is different. Laying low is our best option.” His voice is firm, trying not to be dismissive but needing you to know he won’t budge.

“Din.”

That’s not going to work this time.

“Pick.” His gloved hand reaches up and gently holds your chin between his thumb and finger, turning your head to the front console again.

“I don’t know, Din.” You try not to whine一but the last thing you want is to lay low, find a place you and the kid are happy, only for it to be taken away again.

“What about there? It’s terrestrial. Farming communities. You both like farms.” He suggests with a slight shrug.

“Low population hasn't worked for us so far. We need a city. Millions of people to hide between.” You begin to cycle through possible planets, holo shifting to show the various possibilities.

“No.”

“Why not?” You slump as you hit yet another brick wall.

“Cities have higher police presence. Bounty hunters. Empire.” The word sounds like venom on his tongue, and you don’t blame him, the mere idea of the empire puts a bad taste in your mouth.

“The Empire is everywhere. In a city, we have the opportunity to blend in.”

As much as you prefer the life of solitude, somewhere green and quiet to spend your time, it’s not proven to be sustainable. Din must realize this because he remains quiet for a moment, helmet turned away in thought一before he tilts his head in defeat.

“I guess it could make us stand out less.”

“I hate to tell you this, shiny, but you’ll stand out anywhere.” You lean back into him with a smirk which makes him sigh in feign annoyance. He reaches around you to control the holo, map shifting as he cycles through planet summaries.

“Coruscant has big cities.” You shrug and his chest moves sharply into your back when he huffs.

“We’d practically be handing ourselves to them.” He continues to move the map at a rate you can’t even keep up with until it stops. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”

“Where's this?” You look at the planet he settles on and begin reading.

“Mid rim. Ord Mantell.”

When you said you wanted a populated planet一you meant a couple million.

Ord Mantell has a population of four billion. There is no way the empire can find you here. At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you pay for a hangar to park the Razor Crest under a fake name.

Din didn't want you leaving the ship first, or interacting with the, as Din saw him, suspicious hangar manager. But, the hangar needed to be paid for and you stick out a lot less than the large man covered in beskar.

“How long’ll you be staying, sweetheart?” The manager asks from behind the separator.

“Uh, yeah一so, not entirely sure about that, but we’ll be一I’ll be happy to pay any compensation for your time, resources, and…uh…discretion.”

At your fumble, the man simply raises his brow boredly before clicking something in front of him and sliding a piece of paper under the window.

“Sign here…Miss Fairk Nyame.” He drawls the half-assed name you came up with on the walk over to the counter.

Yeah一not your greatest of ideas but it’ll do.

It wasn't long after that you found a hotel to check in, the city swarming with travellers made the establishments easy to come by. It also made Grogu blend in a lot more than you thought he would. Most people not sparing him a second look一probably assuming he was some kind of pet they’d never heard of.

It’s a downgrade. Living in the slums of a city, held up in a hotel room with thin walls. You honestly would prefer Tatooine一which is saying something.

“We can move around,” Din says as he drops the one duffle bag that carries enough for all of you on the bed in the centre of the room. “We don’t have to stay here forever.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s alright.” You try to put an optimistic look on your face as you walk over to the bed, letting Grogu hop from your arms and onto the relatively soft mattress.

He instantly crawls up to the top, pulling the blankets back and crawling under them一a little bump moving around under the covers.

“He’s obviously made himself at home.” You watch as he burrows himself into the middle of the mattress, still under the covers. Din has approached you now, taking your hand in his and rubbing his leather-covered thumb over the top of your hand.

“You know,” His voice is low now, pulling your eyes away from the Grogu bump. “This is the first time in a while we’ve had an actual bed.”

“Mm, you’re right.” So close to him now you have to arch your neck to look up, you can’t help the soft smile that pulls its way across your face.

“It just seems like a shame to waste it.” He shrugs, feigning complete innocence but you catch on instantly.

“Such a shame.” Just as you’re about to reach your arms up to wrap around his neck, a concerning sound growls through the room, making all three of you jump一the little bump under the covers going still.

You look down, realizing your stomach just decided to make it known that you have not eaten since yesterday’s Crest rations. Sheepishly, you look back up at him, heat rising in your cheeks but Din just chuckles一chest plate rattling under your fingers.

“This can wait.” The smirk in his voice evident.

“Food?” You try not to sound too hopeful, but he chuckles anyway.

“Food.”

“Hey, Grogu.” You turn to the bed where the frozen bump remains. “Food.”

The bump instantly starts moving down toward the end of the bed, shuffling under the covers until he comes to a dead end一blanket tucked in under the mattress. With a laugh, you bend over to untuck the blanket and allow him to come up for air.

“Now he listens.” Din mutters, unamused but you laugh for him, scooping the hungry child up into your equally hungry arms.

“He has his priorities. I admire that.” You joke as Grogu babbles, likely about the food he was just promised.

“Right.”

“This is almost like a date.” You smirk at Din from across the table before sneaking a glance over at Grogu who swallows a slice of appetizer bread whole. “Almost.”

“It can be a date…if you want it to be.” His voice carries a shimmer of hesitancy一like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“Then I should have worn a dress,” You tease, but you honestly do wish you were in something nicer than an old shirt and brown leather. “Though, I guess it would’ve made me stand out too much.”

“You stand out no matter what you wear.”

And just like that, his voice is confident again. The words crystal clear and not a single strain of doubt or reluctance in them. It’s a fact to him一the way he sees you一and you can’t help the warmth from rising in your cheeks.

“So would you.” It’s quiet, but you allow the same tone to slip past your lips.

“Oh, yeah?” He continues the light banter, but you know he’s questioning you under the helmet.

“I could pick you out of a crowd. Without the helmet.” The claim is bold, but you full heartedly believe it.

“What makes you so sure?” His helmet tilts slightly in interest.

You pause to consider your answer. Under the stare of his visor your chest urupts in warmth but you don’t feel pressured.

You’re confident you could find him in a crowd of hundreds. Something about the way he holds himself is unmistakable to you. His very presence grounds you. Despite the fact you only know the shape of his features, never having seen the bridge of his curved nose or the plump of his lips一you would know him. That you’re certain of.

“I know you.” You settle on confidently. “I would know you.”

He seems satisfied with this because he goes quiet. You can only picture the soft expression his certainly beautiful face is making under the helmet.

When the food finally comes, you can hear the rumble in Grogu’s stomach一or maybe it was yours一considering the kid ate the entire complimentory bread basket it was likely yours. The moment the food is placed in front of you and the baby, the two of you dig in.

There is a part of you that feels bad for Din sitting with nothing in front of him, but you’re too distracted by the hunger you feel and the food currently correcting it that you can’t seem to remember long enough to care.

“Good?” He asks, amusement evident.

“So good.” You take a breath from shovelling the food in your mouth. Grogu hiccups in agreement as he eats in a less graceful fashion than you.

You dwell in the normalcy of the moment. Eating dinner as a family. Music played by a live band in the background that has your foot unconsciously tapping under the table. You don’t even realize your whole body is moving slightly in your seat. An effect of the food or music you don’t care to know.

What you don’t know is that Din feels the exact same way. Watching you mindlessly wiggle in your seat as you eat, the melody carrying through the cantina to match. The kid babbling away to himself as he eats. It’s perfect.

Until it’s not.

Din has felt the side-eyed glances since the two of you walked into the building一not unusual by any stretch一in fact it’s expected from the three of you. But until this moment, they were just that. Harmless side-eyed glances of curious bystanders. He feels it shift in his bones一instantanious.

Too focused on glancing around the large cantina for any possible threat, he almost misses the approach of a protocol droid一almost.

The droid stops in front of you and lowers a fancy drink by your plate.

“Oh, sorry, I didn't order this.” The droid’s lifeless eyes just stare back at you as if you spoke a language outside of its protocol. “This drink isn’t mine.”

“This beverage is on the house.” The droids speaks while you look down at the bright red liquid, pink dust around the rim of the glass一it does look appealing.

“Who sent it?” Din clearly doesn't appreciate the gesture, venom the droid can't recognize poisoning his words.

“This beverage is courtesy of the house of一” Without letting the metal disturbance finish, Din stands and grabs the protesting child.

“We’re leaving.” He jerks his head to the side, signalling you to follow him.

“O-Oh, okay. What about the crib一” Confused, you push yourself out of the booth to follow him, walking around the droid.

“I mean this planet. We’re leaving.” His hand not holding the child lands on your back to guide you out of the crowded cantina.

“Why? What happened?” You look around nervously but before he can answer you, your path is blocked by a number of relatively large patrons. The sudden intrusion has you backing up slightly, shoulder knocking into Din’s chest.

“Move. I’m not going to ask again.”

Din is physically smaller than most of the patrons surrounding you一you clock five of them一their large frames allowing them to be cocky. But the power Din conveys with just his voice should have been flagged a warning.

“You should stick around. Let your girl enjoy the music.” The one face-to-face with Din seethes through his teeth while the others eye you and the kid closely. While the music still plays, you can feel the energy of the building shift.

Without saying anything further, Din moves Grogu across his chest until he can place him in your arms and push the two of you behind him.

“I said I wasn’t going to ask again.” He tilts his head in that certain way you know promises violence.

The large man pauses for a beat before smirking.

“Grab ‘em.” He flicks his chin in your direction, but before any of the others can make a move, Din has thrown a bone-crunching punch up into the man's jaw. Audible gasps can be heard from the surrounding observers as the crack of bone can be heard.

It’s almost humorous as the music picks up in tempo, nervous breathing from the band speeding up the adrenaline-inducing song.

The beast of a man roars in pain and frustration at the punch as the others take the opportunity to jump on Din. With the child in your arms, you fight the instant urge to leap to his aid一fortunatly he seems to be alright. Fighting all of them simultaneously appears almost effortless on his part, only the occasional hiccup in his form while focused on one allowing for another to slip through.

It’s only when one of the five directs his attention toward you stepping backward that your fear shifts from Din to yourself and the child.

Every step you take backward clears the crowd a little more, no one stopping to help, only parting the sea of people一allowing the monster to approach.

You hold out your hand to push him back with the force on instinct一but the moment you lift your arm to initiate the action you realize it’s stupidity.

He’s almost on you now. The slow stalk of the cocky individual drawing out the fear.

It’s when you hear Din call out your name that you risk a glance over his shoulder.

“Run! To the ship! It’s Gideon!” He yells as you find him in the crowd一just as he throws something to the ground he swiped from the belt of one of his attackers.

The small object slides across the slippery floor in your direction before hitting your boot and coming to a full stop.

The flickering red light of the tracking fob greets you.

The cantina is too loud to hear the beeping, but you know it's there. Taunting and obnoxious.

Smashing the fob with your heel, you look back up at the patron directly in front of you. Without so much as lifting your hand, your eyes throw daggers at him一specifically his throat.

His large hands grab your arms, so tightly you know it’s going to leave bruises. But after a moment, the stone expression fades from his face and replaces itself with a pale one as his windpipe constricts itself.

Dropping his hold on you and crumpling to his knees, you take the opportunity to run around him.

“Go now!” Din yells at you but you hesitate.

“I can’t just一”

“GO!” Despite everything telling you to stay, you know the sound of his voice, you know you have to run.

So you do.

It’s dark. It’s crowded. And you got lost about ten minutes ago.

You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears as your pace slows from a run to a frantic walk一weaving your way through the crowds of the busy city. Everyone has become a threat as you try to appear calm and not like someone trying to escape. The thing is that you are. You are trying to escape and the fear is keeping you moving.

You shouldn't be worried about Din. The trained Mandalorian is fully capable of taking on a couple of assholes in a cantina一but this has become more than that. Those were bounty hunters. Staked out in that cantina as if they knew you were going to be there.

But that’s impossible…right?

Mind scrambling while the crowd continues to thicken and constrict your movements, you ignore the shoulders bumping into yours and the sounds of a thousand voices blending together.

You have to get to the ship. That’s your goal. Din will meet you there一you keep telling yourself一and then you’ll jump to hyperspace and be out of danger. Easy.

Except for the fact that you don’t know where the Razor Crest is.

As you turn, continuing your hurried pace, another shoulder bumps into yours一large and nearly knocking you off your feet. Turning with the blow to gauge your target, it’s not a man you recognize一but you recognize the shape of the tracking fob blinking on his belt.

“Hey!” He grunts as he identifies you the exact second you place him.

Snapping out of the initial shock, you turn tail and run. Sprinting through the crowds of people going about their day. Bounding through the lives of those who don’t care why you’re running. The backstreets are so used to crime and chaos that your frantic fleeing bats, not one eye.

There are landmarks you convince yourself you recognize一that speeder repair sign一the balcony wrapped in lights一are you going in circles?

You hear the man yelling behind you一running at a speed nearly matching yours despite the crowd. Spotting a dark alley just to the right of you allows you to slip to the side just as he runs past一dissolving into the crowd ahead.

Backing up into the darkness of the alleyway, you try to catch your breath.

“You okay?” You look down at the baby in your arms. “That was a lot, sorry about th一”

A firm hand wraps around your arm and you leap into action一elbow striking back at lightspeed to fend off your attacker. They’re just as fast. Holding you still with their other arm while you attempt to kick their legs out from under them.

White hot anger shreds through you and you punch. You hit. You struggle as they wrap around you and the kid to hold you still.

“It’s me! It’s m一hey一stop hitting m一it’s me!” The familiar timber of Din’s voice pulls you up for air and you freeze before melting into his arms. “That’s it. There you go. It’s okay.”

“Shit, Din.” You shove your face into the fabric of his neck as he holds you. Grogu crushed between you but not seeming to mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re fine. One guy almost got us but一” He suddenly pushes you back from his chest, helmet looking you up and down quickly.

“Did he touch you?” His voice snaps with a venom you’ve only heard a handful of times.

“N-No, I got away. It’s okay.”

His shoulders slowly untense at your words but still hold the same weight. The weight of being on this planet for less than a day before being found. The weight of the galaxy becoming smaller, not just every day, but every minute you try to hide.

“We have to get back to the ship.” He says while looking around the darkened alley for any idea.

“Yeah一but we don’t know what we’re up against here. Every time we turn, there are more bounty hunters than before. We have to consider the fact that they’ve probably already called the Empire. Gideon could be on his way right now一” Trying to be the voice of reason, you do nothing but spiral yourself thinking about the desperate situation you find yourselves in.

“Yes, yes, I know that.” Din snaps you out of it before grabbing a blanket from an endless line of drying clothes between the two buildings. It’s damp, but it’ll have to do.

Wrapping it around your shoulders and pulling it over your head as a hood, he looks you up and down and nods. Then, taking Grogu from your arms, he lowers him into the crib he managed to get while escaping the cantina.

“We keep the shield up. You keep your hood up一head down.” He explains to you before hesitating. “I…I stand out too much. Especially beside you.”

“I don’t want to split up again, Din.” You grab his arm desperately, sick of constantly being in danger and at a blaster's mercy. Worrying about where he is and if he’ll make it back.

“You can slip through the shadows like a civilian, okay? I’m going to be right behind you. We’re too exposed together. Whatever bounty they put on you and the kid will have them on alert for a Mandalorian.” He explains, but at the feeling of your tightening grip on his arm and the look on your face that threatens to rip out his heart and turn it inside out一he lifts his hands and holds your head tenderly.

“I’ll be right behind you. I promise.”

Lowering his head, he presses his helmet to your forehead gently, eyes closing under the helmet with yours as you both take one selfish second just to breathe.

Finally pulling away, you both turn to Grogu sitting politely in his crib.

“You stay inside, alright, kid?” He explains to him firmly. “We’ll be home soon.”

Tapping a control on his arm, the shield closes over his little head, concealing him inside. Turning back to you one last time, he squeezes your arm gently.

“Go.”

And with one last desperate look, you step back into the crowd and blend with the swarm一crib floating safely at your side, not a single inch of distance between you.

You keep your head down with one hand on top of the crib. Keeping the same pace as the crowd around you, the only goal getting back to the hangar in one piece.

You know Din is following behind. Close enough to see you一even if just with his helmet's heat sensor一but far enough away that even if someone spotted him一they wouldn’t notice you.

Despite the sea of people一you seem to be the only one in distress. It almost angers you. That these people can live their lives however they want. That they don’t have to run without a promise of relief simply for existing.

Most people live in fear. You’re not naive. The Empire has created a galaxy of terror and control that doesn’t seem to have a rival. People have adapted and made due. That’s where you find envy. You can’t do that. You can’t make do.

You have to run.

Only at this moment, you can’t. You have to make pretend and blend in with these people. Walk through the crowds like you’re not fleeing for your life. Keep a steady pace so as not to attract attention.

When the hairs start standing up on the back of your neck, the lengths of your arms一you almost let it pass as the nerves you have been feeling during this dangerous walk to the hangar. A logical conclusion一until you take into account the growing frequency of screams from the surrounding streets. The pace of the crowd picking up as panic starts to spread.

Alarm bells ring in your head. This is not normal. You’re the one on the run, so why are people screaming?

You finally do the thing you were instructed not to do.

You look up.

The dread doesn't creep in like a shadow as the sun goes down. It washes over you like an unforgiving mountain hiding even the promise of eventual light.

The giant ghost of Moff Gideons' light cruiser flickers in the night sky as dozens of bombs drop into the atmosphere.

Your frame is paralyzed in the flowing crowds. People running for their lives as you stay firmly rooted in place. The irony of it all escapes you. The sudden parallel of your life stopping just as theirs pick up.

As the bombs approach, you notice that they don’t hold the shape you would expect a typical bomb to be. Even one designed by the Empire.

Closer, and closer, until you realize一

“Hey一Hey一we have to go now! Hold on!” Din is beside you now, somehow finding you in the chaos of the crowd, but your eyes are glued to the approaching threat.

“Din, those aren’t bombs…”

“I know. We need to go.” He wraps an arm around your waist and grabs the crib with his other, firing his jetpack to life without waiting for you to snap out of it.

The moment your feet lift from the ground, you latch onto him like a lothcat一ground dissolving beneath you.

Flying at seemingly top speed horizontal for the fastest route of escape, you tuck your face into his cowl, the wind harsh on your skin but the least of your worries.

Until everything falls apart within the window of a mere second.

“Shit, shit一”

Impact. Red. Explosion. Deafening. Fire.

You barely register Din's voice before you’re falling.

Hundreds of feet from the ground, freefalling into the moving sea of bodies. Survival mode activated, your hand outstretches beneath you and pushes up一the force mimicking a safety net一catching you and lightening what could’ve been a mortal fall.

Feet hitting the ground firmly as you land in a crouch一you look up as one of the bombs executes the same action, mirroring you as you look up.

It’s no bomb.

You imagine it's worse.

A stormtrooper with no heart, painted black, eyes glowing red. A reflection of destruction.

Your ears are ringing so loud you can’t hear the screaming anymore. The current of frightened bodies splits down the middle, a stage for you and the shiny black threat to witness each other.

Without the adrenaline harnessing your focus, you’re pretty sure you would be knocked unconscious right now一the explosion that knocked you out of Din’s arms should have.

Din. The baby.

Without turning your head一knowing the droid is zeroed in on you一you look around frantically. They were hit by the explosion too. Grogu is in the crib which means Din probably dropped him. He could be anywhere in this crowd if not with Din.

The dark stormtrooper stands, drawing your attention back. Following its lead, you rise from your crouched position. It walks forward like a soldier bred to carry out one task. One purpose.

You know you’re caught. They know you’re here so why put yourself at a disadvantage?

Hand shooting up一you stop the droid in its place. Feet planted firmly in the ground, its mechanical head looks down at its metal legs rendered incapable.

It’s a struggle. Holding the droid in place. You don’t know yet the damage you sustained in the explosion一likely a head injury一defenatly a concussion at the very least. Holding this force of a machine requires more than you’ve given at your very best.

It starts to move. Spilling through the cracks of your weakness with unmatched strength. Slowly, but it’s moving. Toward you, despite the energy you’re putting into holding it still. The invisible binds you created around it fraying. Morphing from chains to a single thread.

You can’t hear yourself yelling. Screaming as you give it everything inside you to crush it. To destroy this thing that threatens your very existence. The existence of your child一the child you can’t find because of this一this thing.

White hot anger rips through you, bursting out like a tidal wave一

It bursts like a firework before your eyes.

Pieces of the machine fracturing in front of you until it's nothing but spare parts on fire.

The relief sends you to your knees. Energy wiped out of you. But before your knees can hit the stone of the street一cold metal wraps around your throat.

It doesn't just restrict your air一it cuts it off entirely. Ripping any shred of resolve from your lungs before turning you.

Face to face with the shadow of death in the form of a second dark droid.

You do the only thing a person can do while held above the ground by their neck. You grab its arm, trying to pull yourself free一legs kicking to find solid ground一with no avail.

You feel yourself go. Colours creeping in through the edges of consciousness.

The ringing in your ears grants you mercy for one second一one second to allow Din to call your name through the crowd.

A vibroblade is slammed into the joint of the droid's shoulder一

Din.

But, it doesn't react一not so much as a flicker of disfunction. It simply turns its head towards him and uses its other hand to backhand him in the chest. It sends him flying backward, his jetpack the only thing to counter the blow and catch himself. Sending him back toward you.

You can’t tell if the flickers of blue light are from your impending unconsciousness or Din’s whistling birds.

Din unleashes everything in his arsenal一one after another against your attacker. Desperately trying to get the metal claw around your neck to let go before it takes you away from him.

Finally, the droid seems to recalculate its overriding objective一the metal around your neck suddenly lets go一dropping you to the ground in a nearly unconscious heap.

It turns fully toward Din, gauging its new threat.

You can hear him calling to you一pleading with you一you figure he needs your help when really he just needs to know you’re alive. The unconscious frame of your body looking too close to death.

You manage to roll onto your back, even that nearly takes everything out of you.

Looking up at the dark sky一polluted by light so no stars can be seen一leaving behind only the shadow of Moff Gideon’s ship mocking you.

Then, through the impossible darkness, something catches your eye.

One of the dark troopers flying back up toward the ship. If your thoughts were fast enough, sharp enough, you might have made sense of it quicker.

It was only when you noticed the flicker of white in contrast to the darkness that you put it together.

That’s the crib.

Your baby's crib. Flying a thousand feet in the air一climbing by a hundred every second you watch.

Desperate, you try to pull yourself from the ground一looking back over at Din一you realize the fighting between him and the droid has stopped.

It’s stopped everywhere. All droids come to a halt.

The droid's distraction allows Din to use the beskar spear he was once using for defence to spear the droid through the neck一severing connection from the head to the rest of the body. It crumples to the ground.

Then all at once一dozens of what once were thought to be bombs shoot back up into the air. Purpose gone一purpose already nearing the ship.

“Din! DIN!” You cry as you pull yourself from the ground, watching as they disappear into the sky. He’s on you in a second, hands grabbing your arms and trying to get you to look at him一but you can only look up.

“Look at me! Hey! Look at me!” You can hear his voice crack一unable to hide the absolute terror in his voice.

“They have him! They have him! You have to go get him!” You cry, pointing at the sky as he follows your gaze. One hand wraps around the back of your neck, giving a slight squeeze to your cheek一a reminder to him that you’re alive before shooting up into the sky.

He follows close behind them. Flying up into the darkness of the night sky.

But the droids can fly into space一out of the planet’s atmosphere where the ship waits patiently. Din’s jetpack can only take him so far. His helmet can only do so much when faced without oxygen.

He feels the tug of gravity trying to pull him back down一the resistance on his jetpack becoming more difficult to counter. He can see the crib now, heat sensor in his helmet confirming his boy is inside.

In the arms of a droid.

About to hand deliver him to Moff Gideon.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #slow burn #fluff #action #force sensitive reader #jedi shit #a work in progress

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theetherealbloom · 8 months ago

Text

THE SILVER LINING — CH. 5

Chapter Five: Closing In

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Word Count: 10k

A/N: I swear I don’t mean to take months to update! I get sidetracked so often by random things and other obsessions. I’m at a point with this story where I get lost with the timeline so then I have to reread what I wrote (try not to cringe at my writing) and then continue on writing the next chapter. Usually, I’m very organized with my outline so I don’t lose track of where I am plot-wise, but Star Wars is— it truly is something else. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! We’re one step closer to the season finale. Love you guys :>

Song: De Selby (Part 2) by Hozier

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OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – EVENING

It had become apparent to you that Din was touch-starved, even though he never openly admitted it. You could trace the progression of his need for physical contact, starting with subtle gestures like a comforting touch on your elbow or a gentle squeeze of your hand in public. These small interactions held unspoken messages of affection, revealing a side of Din that he rarely showed to the world.

His tactile expressions of intimacy grew more pronounced over time. Your heart skipped a beat the first time he cupped your face, his gloved hand warm against your cheek. The tenderness of that touch spoke volumes, carrying a depth of emotion that words couldn't quite capture. It was a silent promise, a reassurance that you were not alone in this unpredictable universe.

One memory stood out vividly: a day when the three of you found yourselves in a cantina on an outer rim planet. The credits Din had earned were put to practical use, securing supplies and a decent meal for all of you. While Din went to order drinks, you focused on the child, ensuring he was comfortable and fed.

Amid your care-taking, an unfamiliar man appeared, his presence casting a shadow over your booth. You regarded him with skepticism, raising an eyebrow as his words dripped with overconfidence.

"Can I help you with something?" you responded, your tone laced with a mix of caution and annoyance. The stranger's attempt at flirtation was as transparent as the space beyond the cantina's windows.

"What's a pretty girl like you doing all alone in a place like this?" he purred, his words dripping with unmistakable intent.

Suppressing an inward sigh at the sheer predictability of his approach, you let a subtle, sarcastic smile curve your lips. The galaxy had taught you to navigate these situations with a mix of wits and composure.

As the child cooed beside you, curiosity evident in his innocent eyes, you shifted your gaze back to the stranger, his overconfident demeanor oozing from every pore. Your reply was measured, tinged with a hint of dry amusement, "Clearly, I'm not alone and occupied, so if you could leave, please."

Undeterred, the stranger continued with his advances. "C'mon, baby, don't be such a priss. I'll show you a good time."

You were on the cusp of rising from your seat, ready to firmly reiterate your point when a sudden shift in the atmosphere seized the cantina's attention. It was as if the air had changed, thickened by an invisible tension. The chattering voices seemed to hush instinctively.

Amid the palpable silence, Din materialized like an imposing guardian. His presence radiated authority and raw power, his Mandalorian armor reflecting the ambient light, turning him into an almost mythical figure. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade, sharp and unyielding, "She said leave."

The room held its collective breath as the stranger's bluster crumbled in the face of Din's command. The confrontation became a silent battle of wills, one that spoke volumes without the need for further words. The stranger's retreat marked a victory for the indomitable force that Din embodied, leaving the cantina in stunned silence.

Your gaze shifted from the defeated stranger to Din, who stood there with an intensity that both reassured and electrified the room. His unspoken declaration of protection wasn't lost on you, a testament to the bond forged through shared trials and unspoken connections.

And then, with a swift shift, Din's demeanor transformed. His grip on patience loosened, and his actions spoke volumes where words had been unnecessary. In a heartbeat, he had seized the offender, the loud crack of bone echoing through the hushed cantina as the stranger's resistance was brutally halted.

Your breath caught, a sharp inhale of surprise and a hint of awe, as the resounding crack of bone filled the air. It was a stark punctuation to Din's swift and decisive intervention, a thunderous echo of authority that cut through the cantina's previous cacophony. The clatter of utensils and the discordant symphony of bowls added to the jarring chorus, a testimony to the power that had just been unleashed.

The stranger, once so assertive, now resembled a scurrying insect, his escape marked by a trail of spilled drinks and overturned stools. He disappeared into the crowded haze of the cantina, no longer a contender in this silent duel.

Throughout this confrontation, Din's gaze remained unyielding, a force of nature that had momentarily swept the establishment into a hushed reverence. As the patrons bore witness to the unassailable might he wielded, their earlier bravado had crumbled into hushed awe.

With the situation resolved, Din's attention shifted back to you, and that deep, unspoken connection that had been nurtured through shared challenges seemed to shimmer in the charged atmosphere. His gloved hand gently found yours, prompting you to rise from your booth. You cradled the child securely in your arms, his innocent eyes bearing witness to this display of protective strength.

“I could have handled it,” you spoke, your voice soft and understanding, and Din nodded, a faint hint of gratitude in his voice. “I know.”

A beat passed between you, the atmosphere laden with unspoken words. Then, Din continued, his words tinged with vulnerability, "I could not just stand there and do nothing," he said, “I would... the things I would do to ensure you and the child are safe.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the weight of his unspoken commitment hanging in the air. It was a promise forged in the crucible of their shared experiences. A vow to protect and cherish, even if it meant confronting the darkest corners of the galaxy.

You blinked, your gaze filled with understanding and affection. With a gentle hand, you reached out, placing it over his heart, and whispered, "I know. I would too."

To your surprise, he was the first one to initiate the hug. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, drawing you into an embrace that felt surprisingly warm beneath the cool, unyielding exterior of his beskar armor. You still held the child in your arms, creating an intimate tableau of unity. Surprisingly, the hard plate of his chest was comforting, the armor a symbol of his steadfast protection. In his embrace, you felt safe, secure, and trusted, as if nothing in the galaxy could harm you as long as you were in his arms.

Maybe that's why you two ended up where you are now. In the passing days and nights, your connection deepened, communicated through silent reassurances by the simple touch of an elbow or the light squeeze of his gloved hand. Din seemed to always find a reason to be near you, seeking excuses to touch and hold you, even if only for a brief moment.

There were times when you would prepare food for the three of you, and Din would just watch from a few steps away. Despite the helmet, you could feel his gaze as he observed you move around the small workspace, heating the food. You would glance over your shoulder to smile at him, and his heart would flutter wildly.

In those moments, you could see the shimmering outline of his silver aura mixing with shades of reds and maroons, a silent testament to the emotions he kept hidden behind the beskar helmet.

The nights in the cramped bunk leave you no room to move, but you find it surprisingly comfortable, curled up together. The baby sleeps soundly in his hammock nearby, his tiny breaths filling the small space with a sense of peace.

During those nights, Din often surprises you with unspoken acts of service. He'll quietly slip out of bed, leaving you wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, and return with a cup of hot caf. He never says a word, but the gesture speaks volumes, warming not just your body but your heart as well.

Sometimes, he'll softly hum a lullaby, a hauntingly beautiful tune that you've never heard before. The melody dances in the air, soothing both you and the baby, creating a bond that goes beyond words between the three of you.

As you lie there, nestled in his arms, you can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, you've found something exceptional in the vast, unforgiving galaxy.

The peace the three of you had found seemed almost too good to be true. It was a fragile tranquility in a galaxy filled with chaos, and you knew deep down that it wouldn't last long. Still, you couldn't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, you could carve out a small sanctuary for yourselves.

But as you entered the flight deck one day and saw the look on Din's face, you knew that the serenity was about to be shattered. Concern etched your features as you asked, "What's wrong?"

Din didn't immediately reply. Instead, he pressed a button, and a flickering hologram message of Greef Karga materialized before you. His gravelly voice filled the cockpit, delivering a message that sent a chill down your spine.

"My friend, if you are receiving this transmission, that means you are alive," Greef Karga's hologram began. "You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even. A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here, and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown."

The weight of those words hung heavily in the air, and you exchanged a knowing glance with Din. It seemed that your past had come back to haunt you again, and the peace you had briefly tasted was slipping through your fingers like grains of sand from Tatooine.

Greef Karga's hologram continued to flicker as he outlined the dire situation on Nevarro. His gravelly voice held a tone of urgency as he explained, "They have imposed despotic rule over my city, which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while. You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize."

The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on you and Din. It was clear that this was no ordinary mission; it was a perilous gambit that carried immense risks. Karga's proposal hung in the air, the unspoken words echoing loudly in the confined space of the Razor Crest.

"So, here is my proposition," Karga continued. "Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange, and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have your name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism."

The concern in your eyes didn't escape Din's notice as you voiced your doubts. "This has to be a trap, Din," you asserted, your voice tinged with worry.

Din nodded in agreement, his thoughts mirroring yours. "Possibly."

A small, determined smile graced your lips as you continued, "We're gonna need help... from our friends."

As you glanced at the sleeping Child, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on both of you. It was a decision that would determine the course of your future and the safety of the innocent life in your care.

After a brief moment of contemplation, Din made his decision clear. Without uttering a word, he steered the Razor Crest toward the coordinates Greef Karga had provided, the ship leaping into hyperspace. The die was cast, and a treacherous path lay ahead, but the bond between you and Din, and the allies you had made along the way, offered a glimmer of hope in the darkness of uncertainty.

SORGAN, 9ABY – DAY

The Razor Crest soared over the lush tree canopy of Sorgan, its engines humming like a contented beast. As the forest gave way to an open area, Din carefully brought the ship down, landing with the grace of a seasoned pilot.

Exiting the ship, you and Din followed a worn path that led to a common house in the distance. The atmosphere was different here, far removed from the cold metal of your ship. It was a place where the rustic charm of Sorgan had found a home.

Inside the common house, the commotion caught your attention. A sizable crowd had gathered, their voices mixing with the clatter of glasses and the low hum of conversation. At the center of the room, a makeshift boxing ring had been set up.

You and Din approached the ring just as Cara Dune, faced off against a male Zabrak fighter. Cara’s movements were swift and calculated, her strikes a testament to her combat prowess. The Zabrak, equally skilled, proved to be a formidable opponent. Each of them tethered to a laser that crackled with energy. The makeshift boxing ring suddenly felt smaller, the tension palpable as the combatants engaged in a fierce battle.

As the bout reached its climax, Cara executed a flawless maneuver, pulling the Zabrak in with the tether that connected them. The Zabrak, caught off guard by her sudden tactic, found himself unable to escape her grasp.

With a swift and decisive motion, Cara forced the Zabrak to tap out, his admission of defeat ringing through the air as the laser tether fizzled out between them.

Cara's triumphant grin illuminated her features as she basked in the adulation of the crowd, her chest heaving with exertion from the intense match. With a playful twinkle in her eye, she extended a victorious finger, punctuating her declaration to the assembled spectators.

"Pay up, mudscuffers! Come on. That's mine, thank you. All right, thank you," Cara exclaimed, her voice carrying over the din of the cheering crowd. In response, several patrons begrudgingly reached into their pockets, producing credits to settle their wagers.

You, Din, and the Child entered Cara's line of sight, drawing her attention away from the crowd. Din's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the noise of the common house as he addressed her directly.

"Looking for some work?" Din inquired as he broached the subject with Cara and you all decided to take a seat and have a drink as you discussed the situation.

"It's a straightforward operation," Din elucidated to Cara, his voice low and measured. Leaning forward, he rested his left forearm on the table, his gaze unwavering as he outlined the details. “They're providing the plan and firepower. I'm the snare.” Meanwhile, you tended to the Child who fussed beside you, keeping one eye on the conversation.

"With the kid? And her?" Cara inquires, casting a glance your way.

"That's why we're reaching out to you," you respond softly, meeting Cara's gaze.

Cara sighs, weighing the risks. "I don't know. I've been advised to keep a low profile. If anyone runs my chain code, I'll be in a cell for life."

"I thought you were a veteran," Din remarks, his silver helmet catching the light as he speaks. The defeated Zabrak fighter drops a credit on the table and nods at Cara, who offers a smile. "Come back soon," she calls after him.

"I've been a lot of things since. Most of them come with a life sentence," Cara explains, her expression serious. "If I so much as board a ship registered to the New Republic, I'm—"

"We have a ship," Din interjects, his voice firm. "I can take you there and back, and there'll be a handsome reward waiting. You can live free of worry."

"I'm already free of worry, and I'm not in the mood to play soldier anymore," Cara says, taking a sip from her cup. "Especially not for some local warlord."

"He's not a local warlord," Din interjects, his voice low and with a growl. You finish the statement, your tone was distant, eyes glazed. "He's Imperial."

Cara takes a deep breath and offers a small smile as she nods. "I'm in."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

"Does your contact need to vet me?" Cara leans against the side of the cockpit panel, her arms crossed. Din shakes his head. "Doesn't know you're coming."

Cara raises an eyebrow. "Really? That could be a problem."

"It won't. But if it is, that's his problem." Din shrugs before exiting the cockpit. You give the Child a gentle pat as he sits beside you, then follow Din down the ladder and to the weapons locker with Cara.

"Is he alright up there alone?" Cara asks, nodding towards the cockpit.

Din nods. "Yeah." He opens the locker, the doors hissing as they slide apart. Gesturing to the array of weapons, he adds, "Pick one."

"Do you trust the contact?" Cara inquires, brows raised as she sifts through the locker's contents, a grin playing on her lips.

Din lets out a sigh. "Not particularly," he admits, his tone tinged with a hint of wariness. "He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business."

"So then why are we going?" Cara questions, her tone laced with curiosity as she glances over at Din.

"I don't have a choice," Din responds, his voice carrying a weight of resignation. He pauses, then reaches out to pull you closer to his side, anchoring you against him as he leans against the ship's panel. "You saw what happened on Sorgan. They'll keep sending hunters," he continues, his gaze steady. "The kid and her... they'll never be safe until the Imp is dead."

"And you're okay with bringing them back there?" Cara asks skeptically, a hint of concern coloring her tone. You frown slightly, your expression conveying a sense of determination as you respond, "I can take care of myself."

"What about the kid? We need someone to watch that thing," Cara remarks, gesturing towards the Child above in the cockpit. Din nods in agreement, acknowledging the need for a trustworthy guardian. "Yeah."

"You got anyone you can trust?" Cara inquires further, her gaze shifting between you and Din.

You feel Din's thumb brush over the exposed part of your hip, a comforting gesture that sends a subtle warmth rippling through your body. He hums softly, his presence enveloping you in shades of silver and grey, a reassuring aura amidst the uncertainty of the moment.

Suddenly, the ship begins to rumble, Cara stumbles, her hands reaching out to brace herself against the wall. Meanwhile, Din swiftly pulls you closer to his body, a protective instinct evident in his actions. With a gruff huff, he releases you and heads back up the ladder.

You and Cara follow Din up the ladder, only to find the Child meddling with the controls, causing the ship to thrash and rumble. Din takes charge, settling into the pilot's seat to stabilize the Razor Crest once more.

"We really need someone to watch over him," you remark, holding the Child securely in your arms while Din nods and agrees, “Yeah.”

MOISTURE FARM, ARVALA-7 — SUNSET

The Razor Crest settles on the desolate planet of Arvala-7, its rocky surface bathed in the warm hues of the setting sun. As the ramp lowers, you step out alongside Din and Cara, the hovering pram carrying the Child trailing close behind.

Your eyes fall on the Ugnaught Din mentioned, a figure named Kuiil, who greets you warmly as you make your way to his home. With a nod, you duck your head to enter the tunnel-shaped structure, eager to get to know Kuiil.

"It hasn't grown much," Kuiil remarks, his eyes fixated on the Child.

Din nods in agreement. "I think it might be a Strand-Cast."

Kuiil shakes his head slowly. "I don't think it was engineered. I've worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly."

"I had a dream recently," you begin, your voice soft but earnest. "A creature like him named Yoda appeared to me… this little one is likely to be one of his kind."

Din listens intently, his gaze underneath his helmet fixed on you as you speak.

"It’s why I followed you, at first," you continue, turning to face him. "Because the last time the Empire had Force Sensitive children…" You trail off, overcome with emotion. "I just couldn’t leave him there."

Din's gauntleted hand gently clasps yours, emanating a comforting warmth that sends a tender sensation coursing through your veins. You feel a soft flush rise to your cheeks as you meet his gaze, the visor of his helmet lending an air of mystery to his expression.

Kuiil clears his throat, his gaze shifting between you and Din. "You and Din make a formidable pair," he says with a nod, his tone carrying a note of respect. "A union like yours brings strength and unity in uncertain times."

A flush of embarrassment warms your cheeks, prompting you to avert your gaze momentarily. However, Din's firm grip on your waist draws you closer to where you sat, anchoring you in his reassuring presence.

Meanwhile, Kuiil turns to Cara with a playful glint in his eye. "This one, on the other hand," he remarks, "looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora."

You gesture toward Cara with a smile, introducing her to Kuiil. Cara responds with a nod, her own smile reflecting the camaraderie in the room.

Kuiil's eyes settle on Cara's arm, where the telltale tattoo of a Dropper catches his attention. "You were a Dropper," he observes, prompting Cara to raise an intrigued eyebrow. "Did you serve?" she inquires the Ugnaught.

Kuiil settles onto a stool, his expression taking on a thoughtful cast. "On the other side, I'm afraid," he admits. "But I'm proud to say that I paid out my clan's debt, and now I serve no one but myself."

As Kuiil speaks, the room is suddenly interrupted by the mechanical steps of an approaching figure. You glance toward the entrance and see an IG-11 droid entering, carrying a tray of steaming drinks. Instantly, both Din and Cara spring to their feet, blasters are drawn, their defensive instincts kicking in. Meanwhile, you remain seated, a mix of confusion and curiosity etched on your face.

The IG-11 droid, its metallic voice crisp and clear, breaks the tension with an unexpected offer. "Would anyone care for some tea?"

Kuiil, ever composed, raises a calming hand towards Din and Cara. "Please lower your blasters," he urges, his voice steady and assured. "He will not harm you."

"That thing is programmed to kill the baby," Din asserts, his voice tinged with anger as he keeps his blaster trained on the IG unit.

Kuiil interjects calmly as IG-11 places the tray on the table in front of you, "Not anymore. It was left behind in the wake of your destruction.”

“I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness.” Kuiil recounted to you and you listened intently.

"Reconstruction was quite the challenge, but not impossible," Kuiil reflects, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "It had to learn everything anew. This is not a task for mere machinery. It demands patience and repetition. Day after day, I nurtured its growth with care and affirmation. And as its experiences expanded, so did its personality."

Din remains skeptical, his tone betraying his doubt as he inquires, "Is it still a hunter?"

"No," Kuiil replies firmly, "but it will defend."

As the IG-11 droid offers, “Tea?” Cara grabs the cup and takes a sip while you exchange glances with Kuiil, sensing the sincerity in his words reflected in the warm hues of the sunset. With a reassuring touch, you rise from your seat and place a hand on Din's outstretched arm, gently guiding down the blaster. "He speaks the truth," you affirm softly. "It’s okay. We’re okay."

Reluctantly, Din secures his blaster back into its holster, his tension easing slightly as he acknowledges the reassurance in your words.

"I've encountered some difficulties," Din admits as he approaches Kuiil, who is tending to the Blurrg.

Kuiil emits a thoughtful hum. "Seems like you've been managing quite well. Especially with her support," he remarks, nodding in your direction. You're engrossed in play with the Child, introducing the little one to the droid, while Cara observes with interest.

As Din watches you, bathed in the warm glow of the setting suns, he can't help but marvel at your radiance. Your smile outshines even the brightest stars in the galaxy. In that moment, he feels a profound sense of gratitude for having someone like you by his side.

A warm sensation stirs within Din as he watches you laugh at something the Child finds amusing. The primal urge to claim you as his own surges within him, an instinctual longing he struggles to suppress. Beneath his helmet, his jaw tightens as he fixates on you, momentarily lost in the intensity of his emotions. When you glance his way and offer a smile and a wave, his heart swells with longing, yearning for a world where he could have you all to himself, free from the burdens that weigh upon you both.

Swallowing hard, Din tears his gaze away, attempting to regain his composure. "That's not... that's not why we're here," he insists, his voice tinged with an edge of determination.

"I assumed as much. There must be another reason for your return," Kuiil observes with a knowing hum.

Din's voice carries a low, earnest tone as he addresses the Ugnaught. "I need your services."

"I'm retired from service," Kuiil responds, his voice measured.

Ignoring the subtle refusal, Din presses on, his words tinged with a hint of desperation. "I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught.”

The Ugnaught, displeased by Din's persistence, harumphs. "I have a name. It is Kuiil."

Din's gaze remains unwavering as he makes his request clear. "I require someone to protect the child, Kuiil."

Kuiil shakes his head, his resolve unwavering. "I am not suited for such work. I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol duties."

Din's voice grows firmer, his tone resolute. "No. I do not want that droid anywhere near him."

"Why are you so distrustful of droids?" Kuiil asks, his tone curious yet skeptical.

Din's response is matter-of-fact. "It tried to kill him."

Kuiil nods, understanding. "It was programmed to do so. Droids are not inherently good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them." He looks to Din, hoping to impart some sense to the Mandalorian.

Din's voice carries a distant gravity as he speaks with a serious tone. "I've seen otherwise."

"Do you trust me?" Kuiil's gravelly voice breaks the silence, his gaze steady on Din.

Din nods thoughtfully. "From what I can tell, yes."

"Then trust my work. IG-11 will join me," Kuiil asserts, his tone resolute. "And we do it not for payment, but to protect the child from Imperial slavery."

A weight seems to settle on Din's shoulders as he exhales softly. Kuiil's continues, "None will be free until the old ways are gone forever."

Din takes a moment to consider, his mind churning with the implications. Finally, he meets Kuiil's gaze and nods. "Okay."

"The blurrgs?" Din queries, a hint of confusion in his voice as Kuiil starts to walk away.

Kuiil pauses, turning back to face Din. "And the blurrgs will join me as well," he affirms, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Kuiil turns once more and continues on his way, leaving Din standing there with a contemplative expression. As he disappears from sight, his parting words linger. "I have spoken."

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

After securing the blurrgs in the Razor Crest's cargo hold, Din takes control of the ship's controls, steering it towards Nevarro. With the ship set on autopilot, you and he descend the ladder into the cargo hold, where the Child sits in his hovering pram, eyes wide with curiosity as he emits a soft cooing sound.

As you assist Kuiil with feeding the blurrgs, your attention is drawn to the sounds of grunting nearby. Slowly turning, you find Cara and Din engaged in an arm wrestle, their muscles straining against each other in the dim light of the cargo hold. Despite the intense competition, they appear evenly matched.

As you observe Din's impressive display of strength, a flutter of excitement stirs within you, mingled with a hint of something more intimate. His determination and power are undeniably captivating, igniting a subtle thrill that courses through your veins.

"I got you, Mando," Cara declares with a huff, her voice laced with determination.

Din's response is confident as ever. "Care to double the bet?" he challenges, his voice resonating with a subtle intensity. You catch a glimpse of his gaze behind the visor, sensing his determination.

Intense heat rises to your cheeks at the sound of his gruff grunt, the raw energy of the moment heightening your anticipation. You’ve been buzzing with anticipation for weeks.

But the heat fizzes out as a moment of panic grips you as Cara struggles, her hand dropping abruptly from the arm wrestling match. It startles both you and Din, prompting him to rise to his feet with urgency.

As you rush over to the Child, you hear Din's firm voice addressing the little one. "No! No, no! Stop! We're friends, we're friends. Cara is my friend!" he asserts, his tone authoritative.

Stretching out your hand, you tap into the Force, attempting to gently ease the Child's grasp on Cara. Gradually, the tension dissipates, and you release your hold on the Force, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. Eager breaths escape your lips, leaving you slightly winded from the unexpected exertion.

Cara gestures toward the Child and voices her concern, "That is not okay!"

"Hmm. Very curious," Kuiil remarks, his gaze shifting to you and the Child.

"Curious? It almost killed me!" Cara exclaims, her alarm evident.

"The story you told me of the mudhorn now makes more sense," Kuiil adds.

"Mudhorn?" You interject, your curiosity piqued. You glance over at Din, who has now moved closer to you, checking to ensure you're okay as you still catch your breath from the ordeal.

"What is it?" Din inquires Kuiil while keeping you close by his side.

"What it is, I don't know. But what it does, this… This I've heard rumors of," Kuiil replies.

Cara shoots the Ugnaught a skeptical glance. "What? When you worked for the Empire?"

Kuiil stands his ground, his tone resolute. "When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude."

"Yet somehow, you walk free," Cara retorts with a scoff, rising to her feet. But Kuiil remains unfazed. "I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon what I am nor whom I shall serve."

As the swirling colors of intense emotions overwhelm your senses, you feel a surge of turbulence within. It's a challenge to maintain composure, especially given your empathic abilities.

Sensing your discomfort, Din's demeanor softens, a rare glimpse of tenderness shining through. In a voice touched with kindness, he addresses Kuiil, "Tell you what. I could really use your craftwork right now. Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?"

Kuiil acknowledges the request with a nod, his expression solemn. "I shall fabricate a better one. Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one's hands."

With purposeful movements, Kuiil sets to work, the hum of machinery filling the space as sparks fly from the welding gun. Meanwhile, the Child observes with wide-eyed curiosity. Feeling Din's comforting touch on your lower back, he guides you back up the ladder toward the cockpit.

You move to take a seat on a nearby chair, but before you can settle, Din swiftly pivots from his pilot chair. His strong hands encircle your waist, pulling you onto his lap in a single fluid motion. You emit a surprised yelp as you find yourself seated sideways, legs draped over his, and your head nestled against the cool surface of his beskar pauldron. Instinctively, you loop your arms around his neck to maintain your balance.

"Din! Cara could walk in any second," you whisper urgently.

He responds with a nonchalant hum. "She won't mind."

"But—"

"You seemed winded earlier, using your..." Din's voice trails off as he adjusts a few controls, and you finish his thought, "The Force?"

"Yes," he confirms.

You release a sigh and reach up to lightly touch the side of his helmet, wishing you could see beyond the reflective visor. "Din, I'm alright. It just took me by surprise. Later, I'll speak with the kid about using the Force responsibly. It's something we need to ensure he understands."

As you utter the word "we," something ignites within Din's chest. The notion of you wanting to stand by his side, to be integrated into his clan, strengthens his need to claim you as his own, to initiate the formal courtship.

With a gentle movement, he leans his helmet closer, as he uses his left gloved hand to hold the back of your neck, bringing your forehead to rest against his. The warmth of your skin contrasts with the cool touch of his beskar armor. You instinctively close your eyes, sharing a moment akin to the gesture known as the keldabe kiss.

You emit a soft sound, unable to suppress it as you sense him gently squeeze the back of your neck, expressing his desire to draw nearer. Din gruffly murmurs, "Soon, Cyar'ika. Soon."

"You better be fully clothed in there, I'm coming in!" Cara's voice echoes through the ship before the doors hiss open and shut, signaling her entrance. She finds you still seated on Din's lap, a sheepish expression on your face.

Wide-eyed, you attempt to slide off Din's lap, but he pulls you closer in a tighter grip. Your embarrassment intensifies, your cheeks burning as Cara smirks at you. Wanting to hide, you bury your face between Din's neck and shoulder, the heat of the moment igniting a mix of desire and embarrassment throughout your body.

Cara meticulously cleans her blaster as she addresses both of you, "So, we're heading to Nevarro?"

Din, still seated with you on his lap, engages in the conversation, "Have you been there before?"

"No," Cara responds, settling into her seat with the blaster and a rag in hand. "We lost a lot of our forces there. The city's dug in pretty deep. No cover when you drop in. It stayed in Empire control 'till the end of the war.”

Din nods in acknowledgment. "The warlord we're taking out was an Imperial officer.”

Cara's curiosity piques. "What station?"

Din turns his chair, keeping you snugly in his hold, as he explains, "Hard to tell. No insignia anymore.”

You attempt to wriggle out of his grasp once more, but his arm around your midsection keeps you firmly in place.

"We took out the safehouse when we snatched the kid." Din continues, his tone grave. "More Imps have reinforced since.”

Apologies for the oversight. Here's the revised text, retaining the original dialogue:

"There's something more going on," Cara remarks as she begins to clean a different rifle.

"Maybe. We'll find out more when we land," Din replies, his gaze fixed on the controls.

The doors hiss open, and IG-11 steps inside, its robotic voice announcing, "I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?"

"I'm not hungry," Din says flatly.

The IG-11 leaves.

Cara's chuckle echoes lightly in the cockpit. "You got a real thing for droids, don't you?" she teases.

Din's voice remains monotone as he responds, his helmet reflecting the dim light. "I got a real thing for that droid."

"The Ugnaught said he rewired it," Cara mentions, her tone casual.

Din shakes his head, his expression hidden behind the helmet. "That droid was designed to kill things. I don't care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature."

Cara's departing words linger in the air as she heads back down to the cargo hold, leaving you and Din alone once more.

A hushed quiet falls between you, the hum of the ship's engines filling the space. You break the silence, the words catching in your throat. "We need to get ready..."

Din's voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "Just let me hold you a little longer, Cyar'ika," he murmurs, his tone laden with affection. You meet his gaze, feeling a warmth spread through you, and with a quiet nod, you reply, "Okay."

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DUSK

The Razor Crest descends into a desolate corner of Nevarro, the distant hum of its engines fading as it settles on the uneven terrain. Your pulse quickens, the rhythm echoing in your ears as you adjust the cloak robe to conceal your lightsaber, keeping it out of sight.

The four of you dismount the ship, perched atop blurrgs, and spot Greef Karga approaching, accompanied by three other bounty hunters including a human, Nikto, and a Trandoshan. He strides toward your party, a mix of urgency and caution in his steps. "Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you were last here,” he says, coming to a halt a few paces away.

As he surveys the group, Greef Karga remarks, "It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we've both provided a security detail," His gaze shifts to Cara. "I'd suggest the shock trooper stays back to guard the ship. These lava fields are swarming with Jawas."

"She's coming with us," you assert firmly.

"But the town is now run by ex-Empire. If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they'll all get their hackles up," Greef Karga argues, attempting to dissuade you.

"She's coming," Din insists.

Greef Karga grudgingly relents. "Fine," he seethes, then relents once more with a resigned sigh. "Fine." Gesturing to Cara, he adds, "Just cover your tattoo. No need to draw unnecessary attention."

"Now, where's the little one?" Karga inquires. Din activates a button on his bracer, causing the hovering pram to glide forward, its hatch hissing open. Greef Karga leans in to inspect the Child, drawing uneasy gazes from the group. Fingers hover near blasters as tension mounts, and you clench your jaw.

"So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about. What a precious little creature. I can see why you didn't want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head," Greef Karga remarks, lifting the Child briefly before returning it to the hovering pram. Din swiftly closes the hatch with another press of his bracer, bringing the pram back to his side.

As the group prepares to embark on their journey across the lava fields of Nevarro, Greef Karga lays out the plan. "Well, I'm glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all. The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank, then make our way into town at first light," he explains. You nod in agreement as your group rides the blurrgs, ready to traverse the treacherous terrain.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — EVENING

As the group settles in for the night, a campfire crackles, casting flickering light on the surrounding faces. You find a spot on the ground, seated cross-legged like the others. Positioned between Din and the Child, Kuiil patiently feeds the young one while you quietly finish your meal.

Across the fire, the three bounty hunters sit, their faces illuminated by the dancing flames. With a keen sense, you observe them, your empathic force powers awakening to perceive shades of darkness and red, hinting at hidden motives and deceit.

As you unconsciously shift closer to Din, preparing to whisper your observations, Greef Karga's voice cuts through the quiet night. He gazes at the Child, remarking, "I guess the little bugger's a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king's ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie."

"Let's go over the plan again," Din interjects, brushing off Karga's comments.

“We three enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him,” Greef Karga explains matter-of-factly, as if it's the simplest thing in the world.

Din quickly follows up, “Tell me about his reinforcements.”

“They're all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, poof, they'll all scatter,” Greef Karga replies nonchalantly.

“And what if they don't?” You press further.

“They will,” Greef Karga asserts confidently.

Din shakes his head, “That's not good enough.”

Greef Karga sighs heavily, “If, for argument's sake, a few of them don't realize that I'm their best path to alternative employment and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters, along with that battle-hardened shock trooper, and your Jedi will cut down anyone who bucks.”

“I’m a medic, not a Jedi,” you mumble with a clenched jaw.

“How many will there be?” Din asks Greef Karga.

“No more than four,” Karga replies as he rises from his seated position, heading over to the large piece of meat roasting over the campfire. He reaches out to grab a piece, confidently stating, “He travels with, at most, a Fire Team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong.”

However, his confidence is shattered as a large beast emerges from the darkness. It's a species of winged, predatory reptavians native to Nevarro. With a large wingspan, scaly and dry skin, and a dragon-like appearance, these reptavians have a pointed snout, a mouth filled with sharp teeth, and two brownish eyes.

One of the reptavians swoops down, sinking its teeth into Greef's arm, eliciting a pained grunt from him. Chaos erupts as blaster fire fills the air, echoing against the rocky terrain. Each member of the group takes aim, firing at the winged assailants with precision.

With swift movements, the Mandalorian secures the Child in his hovering pram, shielding the youngling from harm. Meanwhile, you ignite your lightsaber, its vibrant purple hue casting an eerie glow in the dim light. Swinging it fiercely, you fend off the winged creatures with determined strikes.

Amidst the commotion, a blurrg and a Trandoshan bounty hunter fall victim to the creatures' relentless onslaught. As one of the reptavians swoops down to snatch another blurrg, it meets its demise in a barrage of blaster fire, falling lifeless to the ground. Unfortunately, in the chaos, a blurrg is accidentally struck by friendly fire.

After the Mandalorian's flamethrower repels the winged creatures, a tense silence settles over the group, broken only by the occasional groan of pain from Greef Karga. As the dust settles and the smoke clears, everyone remains on edge, waiting to see if the creatures will return.

Moving swiftly, Kuiil rushes to Greef's side, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow. "He's hurt badly," Kuiil announces, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. Ow!" Greef insists through gritted teeth, his bravado failing to mask his discomfort. You kneel beside him, your focus on assessing his injury. The deep bite mark left by the reptavians catches your attention, and you speak with authority, "Hold still."

"They got you good," you murmur, your focus still fixed on the deep wound.

"How bad, Cyar'ika?" Din's voice comes from behind you as you work.

"Bad. The poison's spreading fast," you reply, urgency lacing your tone as you inject Greef Karga with a pen, hoping it will slow the venom's progress.

"So this... This is how it happens," Greef Karga says between labored breaths.

Cara rolls her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"I need another medpac! Got any other medpacs?" you urgently call out.

“Anyone? I'm guessing that's a ‘no’,” you say with a huff, frustration creeping into your voice. You glance back at his arm, noting the venom's continued spread. “It's still spreading. This isn't working.”

“Get this thing outta here,” Cara exclaims, prompting you to realize that the Child had approached unnoticed.

Observing the Child, Kuiil interjects, “Wait.”

The Child extends his tiny green hand and places it atop Greef Karga’s arm. With a wince, Karga cries out, “He's trying to eat me!”

You sense it too—the subtle hum of the Force emanating from the Child. With each focused use, the Child begins to harness his abilities, channeling them to gradually heal Greef Karga’s arm, leaving no trace of a scar. Witnessing such skill from one so young fills you with awe; Force Healing of this magnitude is exceedingly rare. A collective exhale fills the air, each member of the group seemingly sharing in the astonishment of witnessing such a miraculous feat.

NEVARRO, 9ABY – DAWN

As the sun begins to ascend, casting a dim light across the rugged landscape, the group presses onward. Smoke billows from the small volcanic vents scattered throughout the rocky terrain of Nevarro. An uneasy silence envelops the group, with Greef Karga's companions forging ahead, leaving you, Din, Cara, and Kuiil to tread quietly behind on foot, the Ugnaught trailing along atop the last remaining blurrg.

Cara speaks softly, directing her question to both you and Din. "You think they're having second thoughts?"

Din responds in a hushed tone, his voice barely audible. "Could be. I need your eyes."

"I'm watching," Cara confirms with a nod.

An hour later, your group arrives at the outskirts of Nevarro, with Greef Karga leading the way and you, Din, and Cara close behind. "I guess this is it," Greef Karga remarks, gazing out at the view. But something tugs at your gut, a feeling that something isn't right.

Before you can react, Greef abruptly turns around and fires at his associates, sending them collapsing lifeless to the ground. The sudden violence startles you, Din, and Cara. They swiftly unholster their blasters, aiming them at Greef Karga, while you grasp your saber hilt, activating it in readiness to deflect any blaster fire.

Din and Cara keep their blasters trained on Greef Karga, who raises his hands in surrender. "There's something you should know," he confesses as he ensures that both the bounty hunters are truly dead and kicks away their blasters. "The plan was to kill you and take the kid. But after what happened last night, I couldn't go through with it."

Your brow furrows as you listen to Karga's plea. "Go on," he continues, "You can gun me down here and now, and it wouldn't violate the Code. But if you do, this child will never be safe."

Cara grits her teeth and shoots Karga a scowl. "We'll take our chances," she asserts firmly.

"The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?" Greef Karga reasons, causing Cara to grow more agitated. "This is ridiculous," she tells Din.

"Perhaps you should let him speak," Kuiil interjects calmly, while you maintain a steady gaze on Greef Karga.

Karga points out, "Listen, we three need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him and then you two…"

"No," Din interrupts firmly.

Cara clenches her jaw, her blaster aimed at Greef Karga. "Let's just kill him and get outta here," she suggests, her frustration evident.

You feel the Force connecting you through your empathic powers, sensing the true colors of Greef Karga. Taking a deep breath and deactivating your saber, you speak up. "He's right."

Din lowers his blaster, while Cara hisses in disbelief, "What are you doing?"

"As long as the Imp lives, he'll send hunters after the child," Din explains to Cara, who responds with a warning, "It's a trap."

"Bring me," Din suddenly interjects.

"What?" you exclaim, taken aback, while Greef Karga echoes, "Bring you?"

"Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I'll kill him," Din states with determination, and Karga nods, “That's a good idea. Give me your blaster.”

As Din hands over his blaster, it prompts you to protest as you take a step closer to him. "No! Hold on, it should be me. Bring me instead," you insist.

Din begins, "Cyar'ika—"

You sharply turn your head to face Greef Karga. "Do they know?"

Greef Karga begins to respond, but you cut him off, your voice tense with urgency. "Do. They. Know?"

"Yes," he confirms.

"Okay," you swallow, your mind racing through the options and landing on a decision. "You bring me in. Say that Cara captured me and convinced Mando to trade me instead of the Child." You then hand over your saber hilt to Greef Karga who pockets it.

"No. Absolutely not. You are going back to the ship with Kuiil and the Child," Din interjects, his tone firm.

"But without her or the Child, none of this works!" Karga exclaims, trying to reason.

"I’m going with you," you assert, stepping closer to Din. As he meets your gaze through his visor, you see the conflict in his eyes. He starts to protest, but you cut him off with a whispered plea, "I am going with you, and there is nothing you could say to convince me otherwise. We face these things together." You reach out and touch the side of his helmet, feeling the cool metal beneath your palm as you press your foreheads together. "Let me be there for you, like you were for me. Please."

Din hesitates, visibly conflicted. Finally, he lets out a shaky exhale. "Maker help me. Fine, fine. But you listen to me, alright? When I tell you to run, you run. Got it?"

You nod, determination in your eyes. "Okay."

Din grunts out his plan. "Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. Once you're inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors."

"Here's a comlink," Kuiil says, handing Din the device. "I will keep the child safe."

Kuiil looks at Cara and advises, "Don't forget to cover your stripes."

"Let's go," Din nods, prompting everyone to prepare. He turns to you, offering a pair of silver binders. You secure your hands in front of him, feeling a flush of embarrassment at the familiar sensation of the cuffs.

With a click, your hands are bound, and he asks softly, "Not too tight?"

Feeling playful, you respond with a cheeky grin, "You could make it tighter."

There's a warmth in his chest, almost like laughter. His mouth quirks into a smirk. "Cyar'ika, you are going to be the death of me."

You freeze, sensing the shift in his demeanor beneath the helmet. It's almost like awe or something.

"What?" he asks, catching your reaction.

"You're smiling, I can tell by your voice," you note, smiling yourself. Your eyes meet the visor of his helmet, and his skin prickles with awareness.

Suddenly, he wants you a lot closer. In his lap. Straddling him, maybe. Your hands in his hair, and his in yours. But there's no time for that. You clear your throat, breaking the moment, and gesture toward Greef Karga, who is waiting for the other pair of stun cuffs to restrain Din.

Din regains his composure, walking over to Greef Karga to be cuffed. As he does, Cara conceals her tattooed arm with a cloth, and Kuiil picks up the Child from the hovering pram. With your group heading in opposite directions, you hope fervently that everything will go according to plan.

NEVARRO, 9ABY — DAY

Greef and Cara escort the bound Mandalorian, you, and the hovering pram toward the town. At the gate, they come across two scout troopers riding 74-Z speeder bikes.

"Chain code?" one of the Scout Troopers demands, eyeing Greef Karga suspiciously.

Greef nods toward you and Din. "I have a gift for the boss."

The Scout Trooper repeats, "Chain code?" with insistence. Reluctantly, Greef retrieves his card and hands it over.

The Scout Trooper scans Greef's card. "I'll give you 20 credits for the helmet," he offers, eyeing the Mandalorian's helmet.

Greef lets out a fake laugh. "Ha-ha! Not a chance. That's going on my wall."

Din leans in to Karga, whispering, "On your wall?" Greef shoots him a pointed look. "Go with it."

"Go ahead," the Scout Trooper says, returning Greef's card. The group proceeds forward into town.

Cara gives Greef a sharp look. "You said four. There are more than four troopers."

Greef explains quietly, "Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse."

Cara suggests, "Slip him his blaster."

Greef shakes his head. "Not yet."

You approach the cantina's entrance, Greef Karga announcing, "Here we are." As the door slides open, the once bustling space is now eerily empty, save for the watchful eyes of the stormtroopers stationed inside, their presence unsettling.

Greef nods towards the troopers. "You see? Four." He then leads you and Din towards the Client, gesturing towards both of you. "Look what I brought you. As promised."

The Client moves closer to Din, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of Din's beskar chest plate. "What exquisite craftsmanship. It's remarkable how beautiful beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans."

Your expression twists in disgust as you watch the Client touch Din's armor. Then, the Client's attention shifts to you, his hand reaching out to grab your face. You meet his gaze with a defiant glare as he remarks, "Ah, the Jedi. Word travels fast whenever your kind is spotted." His tone drips with disdain. "What a waste."

As the Client releases your face, you feel a surge of revulsion. Sensing Din's simmering anger, you brace yourself.

"Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?" the Client proposes to Greef Karga, who accepts with a nod.

An RA-7 protocol droid sets to work at the bar, preparing drinks for Greef and the Client. Gesturing towards a nearby booth, the Client invites, "Please, have a seat."

As you take your place, the Client begins, "It's regrettable that your people suffered so. Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable."

He turns his attention to Din. "Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire enhances every system it touches." You let out a derisive scoff, prompting the Client to continue, undeterred. "Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside." He gestures towards the window. "Is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos."

You grit your teeth and suppress a retort, sensing the Client's emotions swirling before you, a dark maelstrom of black and red hues.

"I would like to see the baby," the Client requests.

Greef Karga clears his throat. "Uh... It's asleep."

"We'll all be quiet. Open the pram," the Client insists, narrowing his eyes. You swallow nervously, feeling a sense of unease. But before the situation can escalate, a stormtrooper approaches the Client and murmurs something discreetly. The Client stands abruptly. "Don't think me to be rude. I must take this call."

A stormtrooper sets up a holoprojector as the Client strides over to it. Under the table, Greef Karga discreetly unbinds his restraints, while Din swiftly does the same for you, his hands deftly removing the cuffs. "Give me the blaster and her saber hilt," he instructs Karga, his tone firm.

"You get one shot," Greef Karga reminds Din as he hands over your saber hilt. Din passes it to you with a determined nod.

Cara leans in close, her voice barely a whisper. "This is bad. You said four."

"Well, there are more. What can I tell you?" Greef Karga replies quietly.

A tense moment hangs in the air, and you sense a shift in the atmosphere. Before you can react, gunfire erupts from outside the cantina, catching everyone off guard. The shots strike the Client and his stormtroopers, sending them sprawling to the ground. Instinctively, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef dive behind a nearby table for cover. Amidst the chaos, the RA-7 protocol droid is caught in the crossfire and falls to the ground, incapacitated.

Taking cover behind various pillars, you, the Mandalorian, Cara, and Greef cautiously assess the situation. Through the shattered windows of the cantina, a line of death troopers becomes visible, their ominous presence sending a chill down your spine. As if that weren't enough, an Imperial Troop Transport rolls onto the scene, unloading a squad of stormtroopers, further escalating the situation.

"Four stormtroopers?" Cara scoffs, her expression darkening. "This is bad."

The Mandalorian quickly contacts Kuiil via comlink, his voice urgent. "Kuiil? Are you back at the ship yet?" After a tense moment of silence, he presses, "Are you there? Do you copy?"

"Yes!" Kuiil's voice crackles through the comlink.

Din wastes no time. "Are you back at the ship yet?"

"Not yet," Kuiil replies.

"Get back to the ship and get the kid out of here. We're pinned down!" Din's command is sharp and resolute.

The roar of engines interrupts the chaos, drawing your attention outside. An Outland TIE fighter swoops into view, its retractable solar collectors gleaming in the sunlight. The Imperial officer emerges from the cockpit, clad in full black attire, his cape billowing dramatically in the wind. His voice carries over the commotion as he declares, "You have something I want."

"Who's this guy?" Cara asks, her confusion evident.

"You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not," the officer asserts ominously.

"Kuiil, are you back at the ship yet? They're onto us!" Din urgently tries to reach Kuiil through the comlink.

No response.

Din attempts again, growing increasingly desperate. "Kuiil, come in!"

Still, there's silence.

"In a few moments, it will be mine," the officer threatens, his tone dripping with menace.

"Kuiil! Do you copy? Kuiil!" Din's voice echoes with urgency.

"It means more to me than you will ever know," the officer adds, his words sending a chill down your spine.

"Kuiil! Are you there? Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil, come in," Din pleads desperately.

"Kuiil? Are you there? Do you copy? Kuiil? Kuiil!"

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