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

itsjuststardust · 18 days ago

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Heaven in Hiding - Chapter 19: First Light

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Chapter Summary: You can’t say things like that.

Word Count: 11,734

Author's Note/Chapter Warnings: This is what I consider a “well-rounded” chapter. There is fluff. There is flirting. There is plot. There is a sprinkle of angst. Half of it is complete and utter filth (seriously, chapter warnings here, the first half of this is basically porn, but there’s plot too!) I hope you enjoy it… for the plot… 😈

🎵Chapter Soundtrack🎵 comes from the song 'First Light' by Hozier.

MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY

Chapter 19: First Light

His eyes snapped open at the feeling of a sharp kick to his shin.

“Alaina,” he grunted, grabbing her right leg to hook back over his to prevent her from kicking him again.

She mumbled something incoherent in her sleep and tried to kick out with her leg again, but he held the limb against his leg and tried to soothe her dreams by rubbing his hand up and down her bare thigh. Her muscles twitched and spasmed against him as she faced whatever she was dreaming about. Din continued to rub her thigh, periodically stopping to massage the muscles under him. When her brow furrowed in distress, he snuck his left arm under her to hold her tightly to his chest.

After another minute, Alaina’s bad dream seemed to fade. Her distressed face went slack, and her body relaxed into his embrace.

He looked outside and saw the sunrise beginning to creep over the horizon, lighting the landscape in its soft pink light. He tried to fall back asleep, but he was a bit like the kid. When he was awake, he was awake.

Speaking of… Din looked back at the alcove and smiled at the kid still sleeping soundly in his hammock.

His helmet rolled back as he looked at the sleeping blonde in his arms. The pink rays of the morning light spilled into the hold, illuminating Alaina’s honey-blonde hair in shades of pink and gold. He was stunned at the beautiful, glowing creature sleeping in his arms. He couldn’t help himself, and his hand left her leg to slowly tug the blanket down to reveal her body inch by delectable inch. He took her all in, appreciating how ethereal she looked bathed in the pink morning light.

They didn’t get to see one another last night, but Din thought it was perfect at the time. They were both on the same level, no helmets or blindfolds, just them.

The arm under her body flexed, and his hand splayed out to cup her breast. Her skin responded instantly to his touch, breaking out in a layer of gooseflesh, and he could feel her nipple under his calloused hand pebble and harden.

But now that he was looking at her in the fresh morning light, he realized that while last night was perfect, it wasn’t comparable to being able to see her. To be able to see her with her mouth hung open in ecstasy, to be able to see her soft, sweet cunt up close, or being able to watch where their bodies connected…

His free hand moved from the blanket to return to her thigh, skating up the skin in the middle.

But this wasn’t Sorgan. This wasn’t them saying goodbye. This was their beginning. There would be other opportunities to explore in the dark, in the light, on other planets. There would be more mornings to wake up like this. Sleepy mornings where he woke up hungover from pleasure.

His knee bent between her legs, and he opened her up, allowing his hand to slip up and his fingers to run through her folds. Alaina mumbled and shifted briefly at the contact but didn’t wake at his touch. Din let his fingers hover briefly at her entrance, flexing his fingertips so they grazed the soft skin beneath them. As he continued his quiet explorations, he closely watched her face, anticipating her to wake up at any moment. But when her face remained slacked in sleep, he flexed his fingers, sliding the roughened pads through her center until he found that sensitive bud hiding inside.

Alaina mumbled something and shifted but still didn’t wake up.

He skated his fingers around her a couple of times, and when she still didn’t wake up, he drifted down to her entrance and slowly eased his finger inside. Her soft channel was warm, and when he dragged his finger slowly out only to push the digit back in at the same languid speed, he felt her body respond as the wetness increased with each slow pump he gave her.

Din was honestly (pleasantly) surprised to find that Alaina hadn’t woken up yet. She was such a light sleeper that she usually startled awake, at least briefly, at the slightest sounds or movements. So, for Din to have this moment to have her to himself so early in the morning was a treat.

He added his index finger to join his middle inside her heat, and when his knuckles scraped her folds, he rocked them against her clit as his fingers curled and stroked inside of the velvet sheath they were embedded in.

“Mmmm,” Alaina hummed in her sleep, and the bridge of her nose scrunched together.

His arm holding her back against his chest tugged her back to him, and his hand danced across her chest, his fingers dragging and skating around her erect nipples, standing at attention and straining for his touch in the cool morning air. When he twisted his fingers, still slowly driving deep inside of her, Alaina moaned and rocked her hips into his hand.

He kept his slow, tortuous pace, but when her hips rocked back into his and rubbed against the hard-on straining for her through his sweats, he couldn’t help but rock against her ass, seeking friction to help alleviate his growing discomfort. When she let out another moan in her sleep, he used his hand that was still slowly pumping between her legs to pin her ass against his erection, unable to stop himself from rutting against her.

“Mmmm, Din,” she hummed his name as her body started to writhe against his hand, seeking her own pleasure even in her sleep.

Dank farrik, she was moaning his name in her sleep now?

“Din,” she whispered again, and he watched with a sinful smile as her eyes fluttered open. “Din?” she asked sleepily and moaned when he brought his thumb up to rub her clit. “Din!” she gasped as she came alive. “Wh-what—”

“Good morning, Tranyc,” he murmured, and his smile grew when her lust-filled emerald eyes looked back at him.

Her mouth opened as if to say something, but it dropped open, and her eyes closed when he hooked his fingers inside of her, finding that soft spot deep inside of her that he’d categorized as far back as Sorgan as one of her spots. He propped the leg with hers on top of it up so he could open her up more for him now that she was awake. Her eyes screwed closed, and she struggled to catch her breath, but when his other hand went to pinch her nipple and roll it between his fingers, her eyes flew open.

“Din,” she moaned and tried to turn, but he held her back firmly against his chest as he increased the tempo of his thrusts, but still paused just long enough to apply extra pressure to that spot inside of her, forcing quiet gasps from her each time she took him to his knuckles. “Din, I wasn’t—I thought this was a dream.”

“Not dreaming, Alaina,” he murmured, and the hand fondling her chest left just in time to clamp down over her mouth before her cries woke up the kid. “I need you to be quiet, Tranyc,” he said, tilting her head to look up at his helmet. You don’t want to wake the kid up, do you?” Alaina’s eyes widened, and she frantically shook her head. “Good girl,” came his quiet praise.

Alaina’s hips jolted at the praise, and he could feel her gasp into his hand.

“Look at you, sweet thing,” he murmured, keeping the pace the same but increasing the force of his strokes between her legs. Alaina moaned into his palm, and her walls clenched around his fingers. “My clever girl. Look at you being so good for me.” Her eyes widened, and he could feel her winding up. “You’re not gonna cum until I tell you you can cum, understand?” Her green eyes darkened in lust, and he bore down, pumping and grinding his fingers inside of her. “I said—Do—You—Understand?” he asked, punctuating each word by slamming his hand against her.

She nodded her head and moaned into his hand.

“Good girl,” he purred, and with one last thrust of his fingers, he hooked them inside of her heat and began working them against her soft walls in a frantic massage.

Alaina was slowly losing the battle, and she stared up at him with pleading eyes, unable to take a breath as his fingers worked inside of her. Her cunt was clamped so tightly around his fingers that he didn’t think he would be able to withdraw them from her until she came.

“Do you want to cum on my fingers, Tranyc?” Alaina nodded desperately into his hand. He hummed at her eagerness. “Cum for me, sweet thing,” he ordered, swiping his thumb against her clit.

It was instantaneous. Her face drew together while her walls cinched impossibly tighter around his fingers, and he watched as her climax crashed into her. Her velvet walls spasmed over his fingers while her body shook against him, all while she screamed into his hand. His helmet turned, taking in her body, noting everything. When he made it to where he still had his hand inside her, it was just in time to feel her walls flutter over his fingers before she gushed over his hands, drenching his entire hand down to his wrist in her juices, and he couldn’t stop the moan that ripped from him.

When he finally pulled his head back to look at her, he was greeted by a pair of sated, unfocused emerald eyes looking back at him as she came down. She looked like she was a thousand clicks away as her body stopped convulsing one limb at a time.

The sun had shifted higher into the sky since he first had awoken and came in at just the right angle to shine over her face, lighting her eyes in a kaleidoscope of various shades of green that made him lose his breath. He swallowed the rush of emotions that threatened to wash over him because he couldn’t believe this was his, that she was his.

That this could be how every day begins.

As the last flutter of her muscles left her, she melted into him and the cot, and he released his hold over her mouth, and her breathless pants filled the quiet hold of the Crest. Din pulled his arm out from under her, and her back followed his arm until her top half was lying flat on the bed while her bottom half and her legs were still twisted against him.

“Goo-d—Good morning,” she whispered, smiling up at him.

“Good morning, Tranyc,” he murmured, leaning down to tip his helmet up to capture her lips in a kiss. He couldn’t help himself. And it came with the bonus of muffling her cry when he finally pulled his fingers from between her legs. He turned his head from her and sucked her juices clean from his fingers with a moan of pleasure before he slid his helmet back in place. He smiled at the pink blush that took over her cheeks and down her neck.

“I’m naked,” she mumbled with a blink.

“Mmmhmmm,” he hummed. “Have been for several hours now.”

Her blush deepened, and her eyes slid from his helmet to the alcove, where the kid was thankfully still sleeping. It was the least the little green cock-block could do for him after yesterday. “He’s still sleeping?” she asked.

He looked back to the kid still snoring away in his hammock and nodded.

Alaina’s eyes shifted to something more mysterious, and she shuffled quietly on the cot until she reached her feet to stand next to it. Din stared up at her, awestruck at the side of her bare body just standing before him, but it was her hair. The disheveled mess of wavy golden curls cascading down her back to her waist picked up morning light and made her appear like a glowing goddess.

“Come on,” she whispered, wiggling her fingers for him to take her hand.

“Where are you planning on going, mesh’la?” he asked, leaning back to rest against the inside hull of the ship. “You’re naked,” he reminded her.

“I know,” she whispered. “And now, I’m going to go outside. You know, I just thought it might be nice to warm up in the sun. Naked.” She gave him one last sultry look before she turned and sauntered away from him, swaying her hips as she walked out of the ship.

Din blinked, not expecting her to walk out of the door naked. With one last look back at the kid, he scrambled to get off the cot, kicking the blanket off his feet before he became even more tangled to prevent the white-knit blanket from winning the battle and sending him toppling to the floor.

“Alaina,” he whispered, shaking the blanket off his foot before trotting after her. “Alaina!” he whisper-yelled as he stepped onto the ramp. He didn’t have to look far for her; she was standing on the ground off the side of the ramp, smiling innocently. “Tranyc, what are you doing outside?”

She shrugged, but her smile was still plastered across her face. “It feels weird being in there doing… things when Grogu is basically in the room with us. I thought we might like some privacy.”

He stepped off the ramp and rolled his eyes when his bare feet sank into the mud left over from yesterday’s storm—the things this karking temptress could make him do. “And now that we’re outside, in the mud,” he paused to emphasize his displeasure, which only broadened her smile. “Just what kind of things do we need privacy for?”

Alaina rested a hand on the center of his chest and walked him until his back was pressed against the outside hull of the Crest. “I think I’m going to miss the sunrises the most,” she murmured, using her index finger to draw random patterns across his chest while she spoke.

He hummed in agreement, but he wasn’t looking at the sunrise. He was looking at her. Din gathered some of her hair over her shoulders, appreciating the way the honey-blonde hair soaked in the pink morning light. “We need privacy to appreciate the sunrise?” he murmured, playing with one of the golden curls.

Her emerald doe-eyes blinked at him, and he watched dumbly as she slowly sank to her knees. Alaina kept her green eyes focused on him while her hands ran up the top of his thighs until they found the waistband of his sweats. He sucked in a shaky breath as her delicate fingers grabbed onto the black elastic sweats and began to pull them down his thighs, only stopping once his cock was freed from its confinements. Alaina refused to break eye contact with him even as she grabbed his shaft in her hand and slowly stroked him.

“Alaina,” he rushed out. He was frozen in place against his own ship. He couldn’t even move his hands. He could only stand there, looking down at her green eyes while her thumb swiped the bead of pre-cum leaking from his tip. “Alaina,” he whispered when he watched her lean forward but was struck silent when her pink lips placed the most delicate, innocent kiss on his tip. With her eyes still looking up at him, she leaned forward, taking his head inside her mouth. “Fuck!” Din growled and clenched his teeth when her tongue circled his head.

Alaina opened her mouth, releasing him from her warmth, and her eyes dropped to study his cock, bobbing eagerly in front of her face. Her knuckles came up to brush the underside, petting the engorged vein there and traveling all the way down until she made it to his base before she gripped him tightly in her hand, forcing a static gasp out of his helmet. His cock twitched in her hand, and she watched it bob in front of her for a moment before she angled him up and leaned in, taking the flat of her tongue to lick the vein from her hand back up to the tip.

He could feel him rigid and throbbing in her hand, glistening in the morning sun from her saliva, and just when he thought that nothing could top that image, Alaina’s emerald eyes lifted to find his lurking behind his helmet. Her hand started pumping his length in her grip.

“Are you enjoying the sunrise?” she asked. Her voice was sweet, but her smile was absolutely sinister.

Not able to trust his words, Din just nodded—the sunrise. There would be no other sunrise that would ever compare to this one.

“Good,” Alaina smiled, and then her eyes fluttered closed as her head descended over him.

“Oh, fuck,” he growled out through clenched teeth. He had to slam the palms of his hands against the hull of his ship to keep himself from grabbing her by the head and slamming his cock down her throat.

Her mouth and lips worked slowly up and down his rigid length. Her tongue glided under him with every bob her head made, driving him wild. When Alaina attempted to sink down to meet her hand still gripping the base of his cock, she stilled and hollowed her cheeks as she sucked and pulled herself off him. When he saw the small string of her saliva connecting his tip to her lips, Din let out a low groan. His hips rocked involuntarily to seek the warmth of her mouth again.

Her hand that was still gripping him started to pump his cock again, and this time, Alaina started twisting her hand, changing the angle and allowing her to spread her saliva evenly over him. “You’re too big,” she commented, frowning at his cock with a contemplative look on her face. “I don’t think I can fit all of you in my mouth.”

“Alaina,” he breathed out, bucking into her hand. “Tranyc, you can’t say things like that right now,” he groaned.

Her eyes slid from his cock back up to his helmet, and he had to gulp down the embarrassing swell of feelings rising inside nervously. “I’m sorry,” she said, blinking up at him innocently. “Is this not good for you?”

Some kind of high-pitched, embarrassing groan escaped him, and he had to clench his fists at his sides. “You can’t honestly be asking that,” he said, trying to get his breathing under control.

“I want this to be good for you,” she whispered, swiping her thumb over his slit on her next pass, forcing him to shiver. “You always make sure I feel good. You’re… experienced… and I’m… not,” she finished, looking nervous.

“Alaina—”

“I was with a boy once in school,” she started, cutting him off. “We had been dating for a while, and I had offered to… ya know,” she said, moving her eyes back to his cock, dangerously close to her mouth.

“Not really sure now is the right time to discuss our past experiences,” he panted through clenched teeth.

“But I want to make sure that you’re happy. I’ve never done this for anyone before. I want to do it right. For you,” she finished, looking back up at him with those karking doe-eyes.

“Don’t tell me that idiot turned your offer down?” Now may not be the best time to discuss their previous experiences, but Din couldn’t believe that Alaina had never—

“Oh, he didn’t. It just never happened,” she clarified. “We were kissing, and I slid my hand in his pants, and the second I grabbed him… it was… well, over.”

A surprised bark of laughter left him, and he realized too late that Alaina took that as him, laughing at her when she let him go. “No,” he whispered, grunting through the loss of contact. “Don’t—Not laughing at you, Alaina,” he said, shaking his head. “Does it look like I’m not enjoying myself?” Alaina opened her mouth to argue, but he shook his head again. “Alaina, not laughing at you, mesh’la. I just…” he tapered off and sighed. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen,” she muttered, her cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment.

Seventeen. Maker. “Alaina, as someone who was previously a seventeen-year-old boy at one point, if you—If someone as perfect as you came up to me and offered to do anything with me, you wouldn’t have even been able to get your hands down my pants because it would have been over for me at just the offer,” he said, chuckling.

Alaina’s blush burned hotter, and she looked down to hide the embarrassed smile that graced her face.

“Alaina, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, mesh’la. You—This is perfect. Don’t be embarrassed. You can practice on me to your heart's content whenever you want,” he sighed, leaning back against the ship. Alaina’s emerald eyes flicked back up to look at him, and he took his right hand to play with some of her golden curls with his fingertips. “I’m yours, Alaina,” he whispered.

Her hand gently stoked his cock again; her grip was so light that he almost couldn’t tell she was touching him. Din groaned and rocked his hips into her hand, seeking more.

And she did.

The head of his cock bumped into her waiting tongue, and he hissed as her lips closed in around him, bringing him back into the warmth of her mouth again.

With his back propped up against the hull, Din’s helmet banged against the Crest, forcing his gaze up off the woman currently working her mouth and hand in tandem over his cock before he collapsed to the ground. He watched the sun breach the horizon.

His helmet fell back down to Alaina, naked, on her knees in front of him with her mouth hinged open as she worked her mouth over him. The hues shifted from pink to a muted orange, illuminating the silver grass and Alaina’s hair in soft copper hues. This may be their beginning, but how often would he get to have her like this? To have her on her knees, stark naked and pliant, while she sucked him off with the sun turning her into a glowing goddess.

His fist slammed against his ship when her teeth came out and gently scraped over him. The sound startled Alaina. Those karking emerald eyes snapped open and looked up at him, and he grabbed the top of her head with his hand, encouraging her to keep going. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, lost to the feeling of her mouth.

Her eyes closed at his touch, and her tongue circled his length as she slid down, taking him down until she reached her hand that had returned to his hilt. His eyes fluttered closed, and he bit down on his bottom lip when he felt his tip bump against her throat. His torture didn’t end there, though. Alaina seemed to struggle around him, with her mouth full of his cock, and then she swallowed around him, squeezing him between her lips.

“Fuck!” he rasped and grunted when he felt her hand grip him tighter before she increased the tempo of her head as she bobbed up and down him. “That’s it,” he whispered, taking the hand that was resting on top of her head to grip her hair as his hips slowly started to rock into her mouth. “That’s it. Fuck, look at you taking me so well.”

He could feel her smile around him. His hips jolted when both of her hands came to rest on either side of him, gripping and encouraging him to continue to thrust into her. When he moaned, she responded with a hum of her own, and the vibrations from her hum forced a growl from him.

“Fuck, Alaina,” he growled, gripping her hair tightly to hold her head in place while he began to take over, slowly pumping her mouth full of his cock, careful not to go too hard and overwhelm her. “That’s it. Stars, Laina,” he murmured.

At the sound of her name, Alaina’s emerald doe-eyes opened found his behind his helmet, and hummed again.

“Yes,” he grunted through the vibrations as his hips continued to roll into her head. His left hand came to join his right on top of her head, and his hips snapped against her mouth. Alaina moaned around him and dug her nails into his hips. “Yes, that’s it. Gonna make me cum all over that mouth,” he groaned as he lost control of his hips. With his hands gripping her hair, he started moving her up and down over him as he started eagerly fucking her mouth.

Alaina’s hands slid from his hips up to rest against the sides of his abdomen, holding on to him while her mouth took him. She brought her teeth back out, so with every thrust inside her mouth, they scraped against the sensitive skin pumping inside of her. Din struggled and gasped to contain himself, but it was too late. The coil that had been slowly winding snapped and broke.

“Lainaaa,” he growled in warning, but her mouth hollowed around him, and she hummed over his cock. He could feel his cock twitch, slapping against the top of her mouth. He tried to pull her head off, but her hands gripped his abdomen and hung on.

His pleasure started to release in a low, drawn-out moan, and his eyes clenched shut, trying to hang on for just another moment to enjoy this—here—them. All of it. He wanted to catalog every feeling of her mouth humming and sucking eagerly around him. But his mental list was brought to an abrupt end when her tongue circled his throbbing member, and when it moved to lick at his slit, he gasped and held her head over him as he spilled into her mouth.

Alaina flinched against him, and he pulled his hips back, letting him slide from her mouth and into his waiting hand. She opened her eyes to look up at him, and his mouth hung open at the sight of her on her knees before him with a dribble of his seed leaking from her mouth and down her chin. He gripped his still pulsing cock in his hand and pumped it through the last dregs of his release as he spurted what was left across Alaina’s chest until he was spent and soft in his hand.

They stayed like that in the first morning light of the day as Din Djarin struggled to come down from his high. Maker, that was… she was…

“Perfect,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to wipe his seed off her chin with his thumb. “You don’t have to ask,” he panted. “That was better than good, Laina. You’re fucking perfect.”

Alaina’s blush flushed all the way down her cheeks to her neck, to her chest. She tried to look away, but he held her chin firmly in his grasp, stopping her.

Din shook his head, “Don’t be embarrassed. Not by that.”

“I like watching you lose control,” she murmured, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head when he heard her admission. “You’re so quiet and stoic most of the time, but when we’re like this… It’s like you can’t hold anything back. You talk—a lot. Like, to the point where you start to babble, and it’s adorable,” she finished with a shrug. “A very sexy, adorable, don’t worry,” she added, biting her bottom lip. “And you call me Laina, and Tranyc, and sweet thing, and I… I like watching you lose control. It makes—” She stopped to shake her head. “Nothing. I just like it.”

“It makes—what?” he asked.

“It’s nothing,” she smiled.

Din shook his head and rubbed his thumb across her chin again. “Tell me,” he ordered.

It was Alaina’s turn to gulp this time, and her eyes widened nervously. Her words came so quietly he almost couldn’t hear her. “It makes me feel powerful,” she admitted. “I don’t remember the last time I felt powerful,” she whispered. “But when we’re like this… you make me feel powerful.”

He blinked and was surprised to feel a tear slip from his eye. A single, solitary tear of sadness mixed with pride for this woman.

“Come here,” he murmured, moving to help her up off her knees so she stood in front of him again. “Can I tell you something?” he asked, keeping his voice quiet and calm in the morning air, continuing when Alaina nodded. “I have a bit of a thing for powerful women,” he told her, tugging her closer to him. “And, Alaina Corra, you are the single most powerful woman I’ve ever met. What you’ve endured. What you’ve survived… Even five years ago. Maker,” he groaned. “You remember our chase in the hold?”

“Yes?” she answered, scrunching her face in confusion.

“You beat me. A ballerina beat me. Even with your witchy sorceress powers, I should have been able to beat you easily. But I didn’t. And you pinned me in my own ship, and I’ll never forget how proud you looked when you looked down at me and said, “Remember me, Mandalorian. Because I am the woman who beat you.”

“You remember that?”

Din nodded, “I remember that. I also remember you calling me a karking Imp shortly after. I was so worked up I had to lock myself away in the storage room up top, across from the cockpit, so you couldn’t hear me fucking my own hand, remembering how it felt to have you pinning me.”

Alaina blushed, and he grabbed her in his arms and hugged her to his chest. She returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around his torso as she nuzzled the middle of his chest. “Thank you,” she murmured.

He hummed and raised one hand to hold her head against his heart. Din held her, noting absently that the sun had passed over the trees and was well into the purple and blue swirls of the galaxy around them.

This was a moment. They would leave tonight and head toward their next destination, and moments like this would be fewer and farther between. But right here, right now, he had her.

“I feel it too,” she whispered against his chest.

He smiled and stroked her head, taking in the sun one last time before he pulled away.

“I guess it’s time to get ready and start packing up,” Alaina said. She was smiling, but he could hear the sadness laced in her words.

He hummed in begrudging agreement. Din grabbed Alaina’s hands and stepped closer to the ramp, peeking his helmet around the corner to eye the womp rat. “The kid’s still asleep,” he commented with a smile.

“We should probably get him up. Don’t want him to sleep too long and not be able to get him back to sleep tonight.”

“We probably should,” he agreed, unable to drop his smile.

“What?” Alaina asked, and his smile grew at the confusion on her face. “Should we let him sleep longer? Were you thinking about synching the Crest’s time up with our next stop so Grogu is used to the time change?”

He hummed and shrugged his shoulders. Din dropped her hands and took his hands to her hips, sliding them back until he was palming her ass, and pulled her tightly against him. Alaina squeaked and squirmed in his hands, but his grip held firm. “Actually, I was thinking that your legs are covered in mud,” he started. Alaina’s head dropped to see her shins and their feet caked in mud. “I think it would be wise to use this time while the kid is asleep to clean ourselves up.”

“Wise?” Alaina asked skeptically, raising one of her eyebrows at him.

He nodded and used his hands to pick her up. Alaina’s gasp transitioned to a quiet giggle. She wrapped her legs around his waist and gripped his shoulders, massaging the tense muscles under them.

He brought his forehead down to nudge hers. “And I’m going to count just how many more times I can make you feel powerful before the kid wakes up,” he told her, dropping his voice an octave.

Cleaning. Laundry. Inventory. Stocking. Reorganizing…

Alaina didn’t care. Well, she did care. She just couldn’t find it in her to be annoyed by her to-do list from Mando.

Alaina Corra couldn’t ever remember feeling this deliriously happy in her life.

If it were possible to be any happier, she felt as if her body would just float away and join the stars.

Mando—Din, she corrected with a smile, made her feel powerful thrice more in the fresher, and the third and final time showed her just how powerful he was as well.

He showed her with his mouth, fingers, and with his… well, she stopped to blush at the last memory. Din pinned her in the corner of the shower, holding her legs to his hips while he drilled into her just how powerful she was. Only Alaina had one trick for him up her sleeve. She took the Mandalorian by surprise when she was able to take her right leg and demonstrate some of her flexibility by dragging her limb up his side until her calf rested on his shoulder. The new angle her move provided turned the bounty hunter feral, and the man held her calf to his helmet as he growled and rammed himself frantically inside of her until Alaina was positive he split her in half as she convulsed around him while they both came powerfully.

Even now, hours later, she could still hear their shared screams echoing around the shower.

“Stop.”

Alaina blinked out of her daydreams and blushed again when she realized Mando had caught her slacking off. “Stop what?” she asked, trying to go back to reorganizing the two large crates in the hold.

“Stop looking like that, or we won’t be able to leave on time,” he growled, returning to running his diagnostics and doing some minor wire repairs. “I just spent five minutes soldering my gloves because I got distracted by you blushing.”

“That sounds like a you problem,” she teased. “Hey, that storage room up top,” she said, changing the subject. “Is it full, or is there room for some more stuff? What if we shuffled some things around and moved the food and kitcheny-type stuff up there? Make it like an actual kitchen. Would free up this crate for some more stuff and maybe free up some more room for a bigger bed for us at some point.”

“Stop.”

Alaina rolled her eyes, “What now?”

“You can’t talk about beds,” came his gruff reply.

“I can’t even talk about beds?”

“Not if it is associated with you being in that bed,” he grumbled. “Besides, there isn’t room up there.”

She frowned at his casual dismissal of her suggestion. “There’s no room now, but what if we made room?” she tried again, pouting a little.

“I said no,” he replied, holding firm to his answer. When he turned from his wires, Alaina went into her pout and even blinked at him, hoping to change his mind. “Stop,” he growled, pointing at her.

“It’s my face,” she argued, unable to keep the pout as her smile slowly crept back on her face again. “I can’t just stop my face,” she continued, poking her tongue out at him. “Not unless you want to cover it with your helmet so you can’t see it.”

Mando stared at her, frozen until his soldering pen slipped from his fingers and fell to the bottom of the access panel he’d been working at. “Osik,” he grumbled, thrusting an angry finger in her direction. “You can’t say things like that!”

Alaina laughed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Say things like hiding my face so you don’t have to look at me? Gee, Mando, I’m flattered,” she deadpanned.

With a deep, calming breath, Mando tilted his helmet to look up at the ceiling, counting in a language she didn’t know under his breath until he finally exhaled and returned his helmet to her. “It’s not the action of covering your face, mesh’la. It’s what you suggested I used to cover it.”

“Your helmet?” Alaina asked, feeling her eyebrows raise in surprise. “Really?” she giggled, and Mando nodded back at her. “Interesting. Sooooo…” she drew out, stepping closer to him, closing the distance between them. “You like that idea?”

“Alaina…” he threatened.

She took another step closer to him. “You like the idea of seeing me like I see you?” she asked, scrutinizing his helmet. “Of course, if you want the full experience, you’d have to be under me—”

“Out!” he yelled, cutting her off with a point to the open ramp that led to where Grogu was playing.

Alaina’s mouth dropped open, but the guff of a laugh and not indignation came from her mouth. “You’re kicking me out? Mando—”

“Alaina Corra,” he growled, closing the distance between them to stand intimidatingly over her. “I swear to the Maker that if you don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop.” Alaina couldn’t help the evil grin that spread across her face. “I’m serious,” he warned. “If you thought the kid locking himself in the cockpit was going to traumatize him for the rest of his life, that won’t even compare to what will happen if he sees me spreading your legs in positions legs should not be put into while I take you right here, right now,” he panted.

When Alaina’s lips quirked, his helmet cocked adorably. Sometimes, he was too easy. “For clarification, in this scenario, am I wearing the helmet, or—”

The noise that escaped his helmet was not one she had heard before. His barked order, “Out!” came out as a combination of frustration, laughter, and desperation. His large, gloved hand rested on her shoulders, and she giggled when he gently shook her. “Karking hell, Alaina,” he muttered. “We’re on a timeline. We have to be on Dietes in fifty hours. Rhoam agreed to host us and already said he needed help with something, but we need to be there to be filled in on the job. We don’t have time for this—I don’t have time for this. Please, I’m begging you. Go do something—anything else.”

“Poor, stressed Mando,” she pouted, raising a hand to pat the side of his helmet. “Alright, I’ll find something else. Maybe Grogu and I will have another lesson before we leave. Let me know when you can tolerate my presence again,” she said, laying on the guilt.

“Hey,” he murmured, and Alaina felt his fingers dip into the back of her waistband to pull her back into him. “You know that I—You—I—”

“Din,” she whispered, interrupting his stuttering attempt at an apology. “I know, okay? We’re good. Sometimes, it’s fun to watch you get all worked up.”

She couldn’t help but smirk when she heard a strained grunt escape from under his helmet. “Out,” he ordered flatly, swatting her butt to push her toward the ramp.

Alaina giggled and turned to head back inside, earning her an irritated head tilt from the Mandalorian.

“What part about outside don’t you understand?”

Alaina smiled sweetly as she passed him on the way to the ladder. “You said something else, so I’m gonna go do something else in the cockpit,” she told him with a smile. “Besides, the laundry won’t be dry yet, and I’ve already prepped and organized the food. Grogu seems content for now. I’m gonna sweep and clean up top it if you’re done up there. Might take a crack at the closet up there, too. See what kind of atrocities are hiding in there.”

“Fine,” Mando grumbled, waving her off as she climbed to start cleaning the higher level. “Wait!”

Alaina frowned and looked down the hatch to see Mando scrambling after her.

“Stay out of the storage closet!” he ordered as he climbed the rungs to join her.

“Mando, I’m not scared by your mess,” she sighed. If Mando was so nervous that he had to chase her up here, then she could only imagine how packed full he had the small space.

“Alaina—Alaina, wait—”

“Is it that bad?” Alaina laughed. “We’ve quite literally seen each other at our worst. I’m just gonna take a peek. See how bad of a pack rat you are,” she finished, pressing the button to let her in, and turned back to stick her tongue out at Mando, who sighed at her.

When her head turned back to inspect her next project, her face scrunched in confusion.

“There’s nothing in here?” she asked, turning to look back at Mando. When he didn’t say anything, she turned to look back into the empty closet.

It wasn’t as small as she remembered, especially now that the crates that used to be inside were gone. Some kind of black wooden rack was propped up against the wall, and another black wooden pole stretched the wall to her right and hung from the ceiling, but that was it. Not only was it basically emptied out, but it looked as if the room had been scrubbed clean.

Alaina turned back to Mando, “I’m confused.” She would have thought that the Mandalorian standing before her took a shot to the chest by how quickly his shoulders slumped. “You said this was full of stuff. It’s empty. Why can’t we make it a kitchen?”

He shook his helmet at her and turned to head toward the cockpit. Alaina watched as he shuffled around momentarily before turning back and walking toward her, holding her green velvet cloak. It was a tight fit with him wearing his armor, for him to squeeze past her in the threshold, but once he was inside the small room, he tossed her cloak over the pole hanging from the ceiling and turned to look at her.

She blinked at the armored man as they stared at one another before she asked, “You made a coat check?”

“A what?”

Alaina huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Make it make sense,” she asked, pointing to the room he was standing in.

“It can’t be a kitchen… because I’ve been cleaning it out… for your room.”

Everything grew quiet after Mando said those words… your room.

“M-my room?” she asked, resting her hand over her chest.

“Surprise,” he shrugged.

Alaina felt her mouth fall open, and she stepped back inside to take it in again.

The room was small, but then again, it was previously a closet. Like the rest of the ship, it was rectangular-shaped. It spanned the width of the Razor Crest and was maybe three or four meters deep, with another access door to another room she didn’t even realize existed.

“I started working on it the day we landed,” Mando started, holding his position on the other side of the room. “I got most of it cleared out when you did your first lap around the lake. Worked on the rest when you were off with the kid.”

Alaina couldn’t form the words or even respond; she just stood there with her mouth open.

“Um, this,” he stopped to turn to the wooden rack propped up against the wall and moved it to lay flat on the floor. “It’s not much, probably on the same level as the cot, but it’s a little bigger—”

“You built a bed?” she whispered, raising her hand to cover her mouth.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s basically just a bigger cot,” he shrugged.

“Wh—” she tried to start but struggled with finding the right words. “I—”

“I know it’s not much, but it’s the only space on the Crest that works,” Mando continued when she couldn’t. “It will look more like a room when you set it up how you want it. You can hang your clothes here,” he told her, pointing to the pole hanging from the ceiling. “And the new bed frame will hold your mattress on the cot and the bedroll from the alcove to fill it out the rest of the way. We can find something better—”

“Stop. Just—I—better?” she questioned him in disbelief, staring at everything he’d done for her. She took in the clean room and noted that he’d fashioned the bed frame and pole from trees milled from the forest, making it all that much more special that they got to take a piece of this beautiful place with them when they left.

“It’s not much, but when we landed here, I knew you’d be with me until we found some place for you. I wanted you to have your own place to get away.”

“Mando—”

“And now that you’re staying… I mean… you don’t have to stay—”

“Din,” she whispered and smiled when using his given name made him stop rambling and stare at her. “It’s perfect.” Alaina walked to where Mando was standing, wrapped her arms around his waist, and turned her head to rest on the center of his chest. “Thank you.”

Mando’s arms engulfed her, and if it weren’t for his massive arms, Alaina was sure she would have floated away.

“Better than a kitchen?”

Alaina snorted and squeezed him tightly. “Yes! It’s a bedroom! You made us a bedroom!”

“This is your room, Alaina,” he murmured. “I want you to have your own space.”

The tears that she had been holding back spilled over and down her cheek. A room… her own room… Mando—Din made room for her on his ship. He made a place for her in his home.

“You’re crying,” Din murmured, pulling her head away from his chest to wipe the tears off her face with his glove. “You don’t have—”

“Happy tears,” she interrupted him. “Happy. I—Din, you made space for me in your home,” she smiled. “I haven’t had a room of my own in over five years… You didn’t have to do this.”

He shrugged—shrugged. Oh, this man…

She beamed up at him, “Thank you. I only have one question.” His head cocked, and she couldn’t stop the giggle that came whenever he did that. “If this is my room and my bed… where are you planning on sleeping?”

His chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, and Alaina returned her ear to his chest and closed her eyes as she soaked it in.

“Wherever you’ll have me, Alaina.”

“Picture it in your mind,” Alaina spoke, keeping her voice even and calm as she walked Grogu through his mental exercises.

The smooth black stone they’d brought back from the lake with them sat between them on the downed tree trunk where they usually sat to eat dinner in front of the fire. Grogu sat across from her with his eyes closed in concentration as he tried to lift the stone. He hadn’t fallen asleep yet, anyway. Hopefully, after a day full of running outside and working on his mental exercises, he’d fall asleep shortly after they took off tonight.

If Alaina was being honest, she was having a difficult time concentrating on their meditation exercises and was sure Grogu could pick up on her nervous excitement.

Movement from behind her grabbed her attention, and she smiled when she saw Mando doing his last-minute inspections on the outside of the Crest.

Her smile grew as she thought back on the last day—how it started this morning, how Mando surprised her with her own room and promised to reward her later in said new room if she promised to let him finish his pre-flight checklist before they took off tonight…

As if sensing her gaze was directed at him, Mando stopped at the foot of the ramp and turned to look back at her. When he caught her staring, he cocked his helmet, and Alaina blushed. When he started to walk over to where they were, Alaina diverted her gaze and returned her attention to her student.

“Picture it in your mind, Grogu,” she continued, ignoring the Mandalorian for the time being. Grogu’s ears perked up at his name, and Alaina grinned. “You can do it with your favorite toys. You can do it with something boring. It’s just a rock. Picture it in your mind.”

Alaina watched the rock, but nothing happened.

Maybe she was missing something—some step she skipped over in her teachings that she’d forgotten from her lessons with her mother. Grogu was obviously talented. He could make objects he liked float with his powers. She just needed to figure out how to get him to focus when it was something he didn’t care for.

Mando’s boots stepped into her vision, and she smiled when she felt him come sit behind her on the trunk. He straddled the trunk and scooted up behind her until his thighs bracketed hers, and his larger body loomed behind her.

“Who’s distracting who now?” she whispered.

Instead of a verbal reply, Mando’s arm snuck around her waist and yanked her body back against his, making Alaina aware of something just as stiff and rigid as his beskar armor pressed against her backside.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, bringing the arm around her waist to join his other hand as he rubbed them up and down her arms.

“Not the only one,” she murmured back, grinding herself between the hardness pressed against her.

Mando pinched her arms, and she had to bite down on her bottom lip to keep from giggling. “Is your lesson not going well?”

Alaina sighed and leaned back against him. “I can’t figure it out. Grogu will move objects that he likes, the ball, his frog, the wooden blocks, so I know he can do it.”

“He’s just being stubborn,” Din whispered, going back to massaging her arms.

“But what if I’m missing something?” she whispered, staring at the green toddler sitting across the stone from her with his eyes closed. “I keep going through the motions but can’t figure it out.” She sighed and shook her head. “One more time,” she whispered to herself. “Come on, little one,” she cooed, tapping the stone. “If this was your silver ball–”

“His silver ball?”

Alaina’s face flattened, and she shook her head when Grogu’s eyes shot open when he heard Mando’s voice. “Quiet you,” she scolded the Mandalorian. “Don’t listen to him,” Alaina continued, returning her attention to her student. “Come on, let’s do it together, yeah?” she suggested, offering her hands for Grogu to grab.

Instead of grabbing her hands, Grogu got up and waddled across the log to sit in her lap. Alaina tried to give him a serious look but caved when the kid smiled at her and cooed.

“Fine,” she breathed out.

“Push over,” Mando murmured behind her.

Alaina smirked and jabbed her elbow back at him to be quiet. “We’ll try it this way. One more time, little one,” she said. Grogu nodded at her and then returned to the stone in front of them. With a deep breath, Alaina closed her eyes and tuned out the landscape around her. “Let it fade away, Grogu. Let it all just fade away until it is just you and the stone,” she continued, keeping her voice calm and even.

She inhaled and breathed in the moon around them and then let it out in a slow, constricted stream, remembering her exercises as a child and how she used them to help settle her nerves before a performance. With her exhale, everything faded away: the moon with its silver and lavender grass, the sounds, the Razor Crest, and even Grogu in her lap, Mando holding her against his chest disappeared. All that was left was her.

Alaina hovered in the black purgatory of her mind, finding calm in the darkness that enshrouded her. This is where she usually stopped. No matter how hard she tried, only pain greeted her from this point forward.

When she was a small child, her powers came so naturally that she sometimes moved things without even knowing she had. Her powers only amplified when her emotions swung in one direction or the other. In an attempt to teach her to control her powers and emotions, her mother began their lessons at an early age. She remembered being young and not understanding why she didn’t get to go to school with the other kids her age… but now… knowing what she knew… Alaina could only feel for her mother, who just wanted to ensure her daughter’s safety, especially if Mando’s assumption was correct—that her mother had brought them into hiding there.

The familiar quiet hissing noise of her powers trapped in the recesses of her mind could be heard. They were muted and quiet, but they were there.

Her mother had told her to imagine her powers as something physical, an object or an animal she could connect with and control. Young Alaina saw her mother as a superhero of sorts. How could she not? Her mother could move objects with her mind and was a talented marksman with her serpentine dagger. Young Alaina wanted to be just like her. Alaina already knew that her mind could move things, so the only thing left was having a serpentine weapon of her own. “I’m going to pretend that my powers are a snake,” she’d told her mother proudly. “Then we can both have snakes!”

“My daughter, who screamed in terror the first time she saw a spider, is going to imagine a snake is living inside her head?” her mother teased and tickled her until Alaina squealed.

But there was no one Alaina Corra wanted to be more than her mother, Iliana Corra.

And so, that is how she learned. She constructed her snake—A fanned rawl like her mother’s dagger, with emerald green scales and eyes like theirs. In time, Alaina learned her powers by training the serpent in her mind. She taught it to remain coiled asleep until she needed it. Once awoken, the rawl would slither out of her mind to wrap around her heart before moving to wind around her arm, thus giving Alaina her powers. Eventually, she learned to control her powers and the fanned rawl she imagined them as became a part of her.

Until it was taken from her.

There were some things that she had blocked out from her five years held captive by Penn Pershing and the Empire. Whether she blocked them out intentionally or they were so terrible, her mind blocked them for her; some memories were just lost. However, she would never forget waking up in the med bay after her first premonition or fit ended in a massive seizure. She would never forget waking up screaming in agony because there was an empty chasm in her mind. The one thing that had been with her since she was a child, the one thing that had been so integrated into her that she couldn’t remember what it was like without having the emerald green fanned rawl be a part of her, was just gone. And the only thing that was left where the serpent-shaped form of her powers used to rest was just pain. Excruciating pain.

When Pershing was able to figure out what his test subject was trying to tell him through her pained screams, the doctor panicked. Alaina wasn’t allowed a moment’s peace as he immediately initiated a series of tests with no regard to the agony she was in. After days of trying to work on returning her initial powers, something inside of Alaina snapped. Later, she learned that the snap was, in fact, another seizure. She remembered waking up again disoriented and confused. Alaina would have never thought she would be thankful for anything involving Moff Gideon, but when she eventually came to, it was to the Moff dressing down (screaming) at Penn. His reasons may have been selfish; she was their only test subject at the time, but he saved her life that day.

Of course, Alaina resented him for it as the years went on, but if he hadn’t been there to stop Penn, she likely would have died on his table, which meant that she wouldn’t be here. Now.

If Moff Gideon hadn’t intervened that day, Alaina Corra would have never made it. She never would have learned that the Mandalorian, her bounty hunter, was maybe more like her mind’s hallucination version than she realized. She never would have met Grogu. She never would have learned the name Din Djarin. She never would have made it to a moon so beautiful that she could only describe it by comparing it to what she assumed heaven looked like.

In the void of her mind, the hissing from her lost emerald green fanned rawl grew louder.

With that thought, Alaina opened her eyes to face her mind's dark, empty void. She waded out into the darkness, gathering each terrible, unpleasant memory and saying a silent prayer of gratitude for them. They still hurt, but she never would have made it here without them. She closed her eyes as she held them in her hands and took a moment to pay her respects to them, and then she let them go.

Alaina opened her eyes and watched them float away like a balloon into the ether. She watched the balloon’s tether float before her, taunting her to pull them back to her, but she took a step back.

She no longer needed the pain.

Her chest flared warm, and she hugged the two bonds wrapped protectively around her. The two most unlikely bonds had formed between her: a green fifty-year-old alien toddler and a Mandalorian.

She no longer needed the pain.

She just needed them.

“What do we sssaayyy?” an unfamiliar voice hissed.

Alaina spun around and smiled at the sight of her fanned rawl behind her. It wasn’t as green as she remembered it being, its scales a duller green, and its eyes tired, but it was here. The rawl was dented and damaged like her, but it had returned to her for the first time in years.

One cautious step at a time, Alaina approached the serpent coiled on the floor. The closer she got to it, the louder it hissed and defensively coiled itself tighter.

“It’s okay,” she whispered, hoping to soothe it, but her voice made the snake raise its head and his and spit at her in warning. The warning also came as pain in the form of the familiar headache that came when she attempted to use her powers. “It’s okay, it’s just me. It’s been a while,” she continued talking to it, keeping her voice even and calm, ignoring the pain. “I’ve missed you.”

She moved to sit next to the rawl and noticed that the green serpent was coiled around the black stone she had been working on Grogu with. She looked between the snake and the stone and slowly stretched her arm out to grab it.

The strike came without warning. Her former serpent watched her hand reach for it and lashed out in a quick viper strike before coiling itself tighter around the black stone.

Pain flared everywhere inside her mind, and she instinctively brought her hand back to her chest. “Hey!” she seethed through the pain, but the snake hissed in response. “Come on, it’s me,” she tried to console it and held her hand out for the rawl to inspect.

The snake looked at her hand, and then its upper body uncoiled. It rose to bring its head level with hers, and emerald eyes locked on emerald eyes.

“Hi,” she said through gritted teeth, not sure how long she would be able to hold the pain at bay. The snake started swaying its upper body as it continued its inspection of its previous counterpart. Alaina wondered if she was so different that it could no longer recognize her.

Alaina was about to accept that this was all the progress she would make and cave to the growing, throbbing pain. She was already dreading the headache this much progress would cause when the fanned rawl moved, and she froze. She watched in disbelief as the rawl rested its head on her hand and slowly wound and slithered its way up her outstretched forearm until it reached her elbow and stopped. Green eyes stared at green eyes. She didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare upset this precious moment.

The serpent broke eye contact and turned to look back at the stone before returning its eyes to hers.

Alaina nodded and reached for the stone with her hand. The pain amplified around her, but her serpent coiled tighter around her arm, encouraging her to keep going, so she did. She pushed through the pain, clenching her teeth in determination. She was so close.

After what felt like hours of struggle, Alaina’s fingers grazed the top of the smooth, black stone that Grogu had picked from the shore, and the shroud of darkness began to disappear from her mind. It blew away like fog until she was back sitting on the downed tree trunk with Grogu and Mando sitting in front and behind her, and the former fanned rawl of her powers coiled around her forearm.

She rasped out a laugh at the sight of the black stone floating in front of her face. She wasn’t in her mind. She was on their moon, and the stone was floating.

“You did it,” she rasped proudly.

“Alaina,” Mando whispered from behind her, squeezing her waist between his hands. “Alaina, it’s not him.”

Her eyes glanced down to find Grogu still sitting in her lap, but his focus was on her, not the stone. The smile fell from the toddler’s face when a drop of blood landed on his head.

“I did it?” she rasped, bringing her eyes back to the black stone still floating before her.

She could feel Mando’s hands move from her waist to rub up and down her spine.

Tears filled her eyes, unable to believe it.

Alaina looked down at the fanned rawl still wrapped around her forearm and went cold.

“Alaina?” Mando’s question sounded alarmed, likely sensing she was distressed.

Alaina couldn’t answer him. Her focus was on the fanned rawl staring back at her. Gone were the familiar emerald scales and eyes. Instead, her rawl was now a striking shade of blood red. Its scales, its eyes, even its fangs were now red. The serpent stared back at her, and Alaina realized neither recognized the other.

She hadn’t expected it the first time but expected it this time. The rawl struck again, aiming for her face. When its red fangs pierced her skin, it felt like lightning had struck inside her mind. She doubled over with a scream and had to hold her head between her hands for fear that it might shatter from the pressure.

She had expected pain from this exercise but hadn’t anticipated anything like this. She could feel the venom from the red-scaled imposter of her former powers seep into the cracks and crevices of her mind, fueling the already raging wildfire inside.

“Alaina!”

Mando’s cry sounded miles away as if he were shouting at her from the other side of the lake. The lake, she thought, wanting nothing more than to wade into its green waters and let them cool down her scorched mind and body.

“It burns,” she whimpered, clutching her head tighter.

“Alaina,” Mando barked, and she forced her eyes open at the sound of his distress. “Hey, there you are,” he whispered.

Alaina squinted at the brightness of the late afternoon sun shining in her eyes and looked around, confused, only to find herself lying on the ground. Mando’s silver helmet hovered over her, and she could feel his rough leather gloves holding her head between them. Grogu was standing behind her head, gripping nervously onto her blonde hair. Her head dropped to the side, and she came face to face with the black stone that had fallen to the ground beside her.

“I did it,” she said through clenched teeth and tears.

Mando’s hands directed her head to look back at him. “You did,” he praised, pinching the bridge of her nose with one glove and shoving a torn-off piece of his cloak to apply pressure with the other. “You did it,” he repeated, nodding his helmet at her. “Maybe you could not do it again for a while.”

Alaina tried to laugh at his request, but it came out as a cry of pain instead.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he murmured. “We’ve got you. Tell us what you need.”

“It burns,” she cried and could now feel tears streaming from her eyes as quickly as the blood streaming from her nose.

Mando’s hands left her face in an instant. She watched the orange-tipped gloves fall to the ground beside her before his tanned hands returned to her face, only to flinch once he immediately made contact with her forehead. “Kriff,” he cursed, moving his hands to her cheeks and neck to continue his assessment. “Alaina, you’re burning up.”

Alaina wanted to roll her eyes but didn’t dare for fear of worsening her pain.

“Okay, I’m going to try and move you,” he warned, burrowing his hands under her shoulders to scoop her up.

“Nooo,” Alaina moaned in pain as he began to lift her from the ground.

“Shhhh, it’s okay,” he whispered, bringing her body up against his. “I’ve got you, Laina.”

Alaina’s eyes fluttered closed in relief when she came into contact with his cold, beskar armor. She melted into the silver armor and relaxed further when his helmet came to rest against her head. Screw the lake. She had her own personal Mandalorian ice cube to cool her down.

“Hey,” he whispered in her ear. “Stay awake, okay? If you go unconscious, we don’t have the luxury of a nearby village with healers this time.” Alaina opened her eyes at his plea and nodded into his helmet. “Good,” he murmured, bringing his hand to rest on the back of her head. “Think you can manage being carried to the Crest?” She shook her head once and immediately regretted it. “Okay,” he soothed, pressing his helmet further into her head. “What do you need?”

“Sleep,” she rasped.

Mando chuckled and hugged her tighter, “Not yet, Tranyc. Just a little longer, okay. Let’s see if we can get your fever to break.”

Alaina groaned in disappointment and tried to burrow herself further into his armor. “Then talk,” she muttered, unable to keep the exhaustion out of her voice.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“What are the odds that you feel so bad for me that you’ll answer anything I ask?”

Mando’s chuckle reverberated deep inside her soul, rousing the tiniest hint of a smile from her. “The odds are pretty high, I imagine,” he answered, stroking her head.

Alaina nuzzled her face against his cowl, smiling into his neck. “I thought you said that only your tribe knew your name,” she murmured blearily.

Mando’s answering hum rumbled against her face before he told her, “I did say that.”

Hope filled her chest at the words he didn’t say. She closed her eyes, trying to reign in that hope before she got too carried away with herself. There were only so many times she could take being let down. “But… you told me your name. Your full name,” she reminded him.

He hummed again, “I also told it to the kid.”

“I feel so special,” she whispered, smiling into his neck.

Mando shuffled her in his arms, and Alaina hissed as the pain that was beginning to recede slowly returned.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, stroking her head until he had her moved and propped up against what felt like the tree trunk they had all been sitting on. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, taking the torn scrap of his cloak that had fallen to the ground to wipe some of the blood off her face. “But I need you to look at me, Alaina.”

Alaina winced as she slowly opened her eyes, already missing her beskar cooling system.

“Alaina,” he began, pausing to cup her face between his still bare, calloused hands. “I thought it was obvious,” he continued, tilting his helmet at her.

“Patu!” Grogu spat and butted his way in to crawl into her lap.

Alaina wrapped a hand around him, weakly holding the kid in place. “Maybe you can explain it to me like you have to explain it to someone whose mind is currently being eaten away by a wildfire?” she asked with a weak smile.

Mando’s deep chuckle made her smile stronger. “You are my clan, Alaina,” he told her, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs. “You and the kid—this is my clan.”

Her chest swelled, and even though she could feel the ground under her, she swore she was floating away.

“Happy tears?” Mando questioned nervously. "I hope?” he added, wiping the tears she didn’t know she was crying away with his thumbs.

“Honestly, they are probably a fifty-fifty mix of deliriously happy tears and excruciating pain tears,” she admitted, wincing when she tried to laugh. Alaina looked between Grogu and Din’s helmet. She rested her right hand on Grogu’s head and rubbed his ears while her left came up to rest over Din’s hand on her cheek. “But mostly happy tears. It’s been so long since I’ve had a family…” she tapered off. The adrenaline was fading, and with it came exhaustion.

“You have me and the kid,” Din told her, voice deadly serious. Grogu turned to rest his tiny hands on her chest and smiled at her with his big, toothy grin.

Alaina gave him an exhausted smile and felt her eyes drift closed.

“Hey,” Din said, forcing her awake. “You have me and the kid. We are your family now, Alaina Corra and you will never be alone again.”

Yes, she was definitely floating in the stars now, leaving her exhausted body behind on the moon.

"You'll never be alone ever again."

Family.

Her clan.

Author's Note #2: Thus, the "Moon Interlude" chapters conclude. Our little clan of three is off to their next adventure 🩶 I finished outlining the rest of 'Act 2,' and I think there are only 6-ish chapters left 🥲 but remember, dear readers, this isn't the end of the road; it's just the beginning.

On an unrelated note, on a scale of 1 to 10, how jealous/protective do you think Din Djarin would be if a very handsome king smiled at Alaina? 😈 (The smut monster's answer was feral, which isn't a number. That's just his standard answer for almost everything, so he doesn't count.)

Tag List: @racheldon @zenrobbins0021 @locked-ness @smoochispoof

Drop me a message or comment if you would like to be tagged when new chapters get published.

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Next chapter in series - Chapter 20: The Shadow Queen

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myownwholewildworld · 2 months ago

Text

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 · 1 year 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 · 4 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 · 9 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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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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penvisions · 10 months ago

Text

of beskar and kyber {chapter 15}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Moff Gideon's troops close in on your position as you try to make an escape.

Word Count: 12.5k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, fighting, fight scenes, conflict, emotional trauma, emotional manipulation, physical manipulation, coercion, manipulation, reader goes momentarily mute, emotional outbursts, argumentative language, din raises his voice, din yells at reader two times, loss of temper for both reader and din, moff gideon gets his own warning, description of injuries, blood, descriptions of nausea, concussions, minor character death, major character injury, angst, emotional rollercoaster, reader has a name that is sparingly used for plot points, if i forgot anything please let me know and i'll add it!

A/N: so, this happened nearly immediately after i posted the last one. had the general scenes of this chapter outlined for ages, but it took a darker turn than even i anticipated. this chapter is dedicated to @sawymredfox for allowing me to bounce ideas off of them! i don't know what to say other than, i'm sorry and please feel free to (kindly) yell at me if you need to

ao3 || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“We need to move.”

“Who put you in charge?”

“I’m sorry, do you speak Mando’a? Do you know the customs and cultural presets for interacting with them on their own terms, in their own setting?” One last tear trailed down your cheek and you roughly wiped it away. Trying your best to keep the heated gaze you shared with the older man.

Neither person said anything as you walked past them to take the lead, ad’ika cooing after you with one of his small claws. He began to wriggle in Cara’s grip, unhappy with the woman holding him, a cry breaking the silence of the darkened tunnel. She tried her best to keep him secure against her chest, but he pushed at her, little fists thumping hard. He kept his gazed trained on you, another bellowing cry gaining volume the further you walked away.

“I think he wants you, cyar’ika.” Cara called out, unsure of what else to do. She followed after you, steps echoing all around. You turned with a blank face that quickly softened as you looked down at the child. Heart thudding as you reached out for him, he practically threw himself at you, jumping from Cara’s hold and toward you. You caught him with a small huff, trying to keep a solid hold on him as he buried his face into your neck and whimpered.

“I’ve got you, ad’ika.” You murmured, away of Karga watching you, something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite decipher. With quiet words, you secured him in the bag he had been handed to Kuiil in during your separation and adjusted it over your shoulder. You fixed it to rest along your left hip, his weight barely anything as he kept one hand wrapped around the hem of your tank top for comfort.

The tunnels were deserted, no sign of recent occupation or life, traveling further into them. You couldn’t have been making progress, the winding underground world expansive and deliberately set up to deter people from finding the pockets of life hidden within. With a frustrated sigh, you shined your vambrace’s flashlight on the walls around you. Trying to catch a glimpse of anything scribed along them, using the red of it to pick up on anything gilded in hidden ink.

You wished for the helmet Akiz had left to you, for the cover of it and the different visor settings to aid you in your search. But you had lost it, like you had everything else. It was hopefully still secured in the chest buried in the remnants of your hideaway deep in the desert of Tatooine.

Maybe…maybe it was time to return there, with ad’ika, if you ever managed to get off world. Place the pendant Din had gifted you along side it. Remnants of a life you had tried to start over twice now and unable to maintain. The sacrifice of two Mandalorians weighing you down and urging you to hide away once again. The threat after you, after you both too strong to fight and overcome.

An explosion overhead had you reaching for the child, hand firm on his small back as he fussed.

All three of you turned toward the direction you had just come from, wary of the tunnels beginning to cave in and trap you. Your breath hitched at the sound of twin steps, the unsteady light dancing o the wall as figures approached and rounded the corner you had just turned.

But it wasn’t soldiers or Mandalorians intent on protecting their space, nor civilians running from the fighting and occupation of the city overhead.

It was IG-11, leading and supporting a weak Din.

Your body wouldn’t move, mind going blank as Din’s amor glinted in the low light of the tunnels.

Cara rushed forward, a smile breaking out on her face. Karga right behind her as she reached out a tentative hand to his cuirass. His helmet bobbed, unsteady on his feet and balance shot as he swayed from the light pressure. He didn’t say anything as she curled an arm around his back and took the brunt of his weight. Light emanating from the side of his helmet swinging around as he jostled from the movements.

“Want to lend a hand here?” She looked toward you, frozen in your spot.

When you didn’t say anything, eyes avoiding looking directly at the armored figure and fingers twitching with the urge to reach out an ensure he was real, he was alive, he was right in front of you; Karga took point.

“Do you know which way to go?”

“No. I don’t know these tunnels.” His voice was still raspy, a scratchy quality that prickled the skin of your back as it fell on your ears. Secure in his pouch, ad’ika cooed in response, ears wiggling as he watching his guardian with wide eyes. When the helmet raised and focused on your completely, you couldn’t even find it in yourself to care that his light was shining directly on you. “I’ve only entered from the bazaar. Mesh’la, have you found any clues?”

You turned your back on him and began to walk, not trusting your voice. A grunt of pain displayed through the helmet, Cara murmuring quiet words to ensure he was okay enough to move. When he agreed, she adjusted his arm over her shoulder and began to follow after you.

“She’s been quiet since we left you behind.”

“Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and we follow it, it’ll lead us up to the plains where the river flows.

“The Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety.

“Ugh, this place is a maze.

“Stop.” He sounded more clear than he had as of yet. Slowly pulling away from Cara, flanked by them both as they prepared to catch him should he fall. “I can stand.”

“The bacta infusion is working.” IG-11 assured and it eased your heart a bit, to know that the man had taken help from the droid, even if he hadn’t taken it from you. But bacta could only do so much, mentally making a note to pick up more the first chance you had. If not in the controlled city, then on the next world as soon as the ship was docked and you ensured he would be okay while in your absence.

“I’ll try to find tracks. Mesh’la have you found any up there?” Din tried to call out, rasp to his voice stirring concern in you, it swirled alongside the dark tendrils keeping their hold on you. Amalgamating into an uncomfortable weight carried inside of you as you continued to press on through the tunnels.

When you didn’t answer, only stepped out from the middle of the space, did he see what you had been faintly following without even knowing it. He slowly walked forward, still limping slightly, though he did seem a bit steadier on his feet now.

“We’re close.” He pointed towards your feet, his visor allowing him to see the highlighted trail of footprints from someone within the last few hours. You leaned away from his touch to brush your arm as he stood beside you, helmet watching your downcast face. He whispered your name, voice cracking on the feel of it through his sore throat. He reached out for you again, gloved hand barely brushing the side of your cheek before you were pulling away and moving behind the rest of the group.

He could only watch in concern when you removed the bag ad’ika was settled in from your shoulders and handed it to a willing IG-11 to hold. Words stuck in his own throat as he wanted desperately for a moment alone with you to talk things out and comfort you. But time was a luxury none of you had, if the sporadic explosions from up above were any more of an indication of the predicament.

With a sigh that crackled through the modulator, he began to move once again. A few winding tunnels and turns revealed pockets of life as furniture and barrels began to fill the underground space in pockets.

He came to a slow halt, flashlight making a pile of Mandalorian armor visible right in front of him. It took up most of the current tunnel, the visors of the helmets glinting in the direct light as he stared at them. You held back a gasp at the sight of them, keeping some of your focus on the empty, dark space behind you lest you had followers.

The click of Din turning off his light was loud in the tense silence, the air charged with the emotions he was feeling at such a hopeless and painful sight. He approached the pile slowly, steps stilted as the bacta worked to get him somewhat healed. He kneeled down in front of it, shoulders slumped, and head bowed.

Ad’ika cried out, picking up on the armored man’s emotions. Fussing in the hold IG-11 had on him though he didn’t try to detach.

A helmet was between his hands, lifted up for him to gauge it better. When he was still for longer than a few heartbeats, Cara inched forward and leaned down toward him.

“We should go.”

“You go. Take the ship. I can’t leave it this way.” Somber voice spoken through the modulator, it had you stepping forward but you thought better of it. Not sure if he would welcome your presence beside him at the moment, the memory of approaching a broad figure wearing blue armor replaying in your mind. It was the catalyst for the scene in front of you, Din hunched on the ground, the helmet of one of his fallen gripped in his hands. More evidence of fallen warriors piled in front of him. And it felt like an omen, that it wouldn’t be the last loss for the man to experience. It couldn’t be, not as long as you were with him. As long as ad’ika was with him. Targets marked on your backs, welcoming more conflict, more battles, more gunfire, more loss.

“Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?” Anger flared in his voice, words biting as he turned toward Karga. His legs were stable as he harnessed his anger and closed in on the surprised man. He didn’t move against the approaching man, completely taken off guard by the pile of armor just as everyone else. You felt that same pull of darkness thrum, the memory of Akiz passing too sharp in your mind, striking through you and leaving a chasm for the pull to fill. Dark energy flowed into the chasm, brimming over the edges of it, beginning to take more space in your psyche.

“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.”

“Did you do this? Did you?” Surging up, the helmet clunked to the ground. Din was on Karga in a second, dominant hand coming out to push at the older man’s chest, words demanding and furious.

“No!” Was all the older man could shout back, knowing he was no match for even an injured Mandalorian in close combat. The hand not holding fast to a blaster came up to try and placate the approaching man, though he didn’t make an actual move to push back.

“It was not his fault.” A woman’s modulated voice broke the tension suddenly. Din turned around slowly, peering into the darkness that it came from. It was as if he recognized the voice, because he made no move to raise a weapon up. Cara startled, as did ad’ika. But you stood still, unwilling to make yourself a target lest the person be a threat.

“We revealed ourselves.” A tall woman appeared from the mouth of a tunnel that jutted off from this one. Her helmet glinted gold in the low light, small horns a decoration jutting along the top. She was dressed in a deep red, the armor painted over a dull brown outfit of leggings, a skirt, and a long-sleeved shirt. She had a shorter cape about her shoulders, though it was made of thick brown fur.

She was completely calm, voice controlled and the cadence in line with those who seldom used Basic.

She leaned down to retrieve some of the armor, motions precise and almost leisurely.

“We knew what could happen if we left the covert. We were made aware of your situation by that one there hiding among the shadows. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted.”

She explained easily, no remorse or malice in her tone. It simply became a part of what happened, something she would carry silently with her. A part of her history that would one day be a verse in her song, but for now it was something that she must take in stride and move forward.

But you weren’t so collected.

You felt nausea rise up from your stomach and into your chest, recalling the way you had tracked the blue armored man and approached him. You had only wanted to help, only wanted to ensure Din hadn’t walked into a death trap in his escape with ad’ika. You hadn’t meant for the chain of events to end like this. With so many dead and now lost to the never-ending fight against the Empire. The fault for it once again. Adding another regret to the long list you carried with inside yourself.

They had already lost so much, very life eradicated from their home world, an entire culture nearly wiped out. And you had played a part in it, once again proving those who manipulated you right. You were capable of dangerous, powerful things. Breathing shaky, you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the pile of armor. The beskar began to rattle, the tendrils that wrapped around your psyche tightened and pulled. Causing you to crash to your knees with a painful gasp.

“Did any survive?” As Din carefully asked, you untucked the pendant he had gifted you from your pocket, the cord he had used to keep it around his neck secured to your belt. You clenched your hand around it until the beskar it was made up bit into your palm, the pain centering you in a way that you both hated and were grateful for.

“I hope so. Some may have escaped off world.”

“Come with us.”

“No.” She continued to load pieces of the armor to the cart pulled up behind her, an inkling of the reason on the tip of your tongue. “I will not abandon this place until I have salved what remains.”

Din followed her, turning to enter the space that opened up to the left. Cara and Karga shared a look before they turned to you, moving to follow him when you didn’t look up from your spot on kneeled on the ground, hand still gripped tight around the pendant hanging from your belt.

The forge nestled in the middle of the space was quiet, the soft hush of the constant fires a small comfort to the man who followed behind the armorer of his people. He watched silently as she began to feed pieces into the forge and melt them down.

“Bring her to me, I wish to speak to her.”

Din obliged silently, walking back out into the main tunnel. He kneeled down in front of you with a few heavy pants of exertion, hands reaching out for you but he thought better of it and voiced a soft call of your name to garner your attention. Your head snapped up, eyes filled with tears and a shadow of regret in them. They glinted in the low light and he worried what it meant.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ You took a deep breath in, voice cracking and filled with emotion. “I didn’t mean for anyone to die. I just- I just wanted to help. You were outnumbered beyond capability and I was too weak to fight.”

“You did help, mesh’la. You approached them for help, and they rallied to heed the call. This is the Way.”

He reached out for your hands when he noticed them clenched into tight fists, digging his fingers beneath your own and relieving the tension. The mythosaur pendant was revealed and he watched as it fell to rest against your thigh. “Please don’t hurt yourself, you don’t deserve it.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look directly into the visor, guilt rolling off of you in waves. He could feel the trembling of your arms as he gripped your hands, trying his best to gently pull you up with him as he stood. You probably helped him get back to his feet as much as he had done for you, sharing in the simple task that was too much at the moment. He dropped the contact as soon as you were both on your feet, not wanting to push you or make you uncomfortable. It was obvious you were still reeling from what happened in the cantina. From him not allowing you to heal him and urging you to save yourself. But it would have to wait, the discussion of the day, for you two. To occur between closed doors and with secured privacy for you both.

“She wants to talk with you, the Armorer.”

Following behind him, you watched the way he was moving gingerly, focusing on pulling up the weight of his legs to move forward, his arms nearly motionless at his sides. The woman was standing before the impressive forge, silhouette bold.

“Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

“This is the one.” Din motioned to the bad being carried by IG-11, ad’ika preened under the attention, glad that his guardian was back alongside him. Even if the young being could sense the pain and discomfort the armored man was in. That he was pushing through to continue to protect him, to shield him from those threats with which he had directly challenged all those days ago after first meeting him…

“This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

“Yes. The one that saved me as well.” Din’s response was even, polite.

“From the mudhorn?"

“Yes.”

“It looks helpless.”

“Ad’ika is injured, but he is not helpless. His species can move objects with its mind.”

“Ad’ika? It is unusual that you’ve deemed it a nickname. Have you bonded?”

“….a little. But Mesh’la-“

“Another nickname, how…personal of you.” Her interest was piqued, the tone of her voice lightening a smidge. Almost as if her lips were quirked up in a knowing smile.

“I gave him the nickname, he will not communicate his given name with me and it’s made things easier as time moved on and we traveled with him in our charge. In…burc’ya’s charge.” You spoke up, hoping you weren’t overstepping any unspoken rules. You had never interacted with this woman, but your experience with previous Mandalorian Armorers had been different. They had held high, important positions in the culture but something about her seemed….more. She was the head of her faction, if you had to guess. A guiding member of her own covert, if her remaining behind to care for those in death as she had looked after them in life was any indication.

Children of the Watch, Akiz would describe them, had described them to you. He had been a part of that faction of Mandalorian culture as well, though his covert had been wiped out before his time on K’ath. Where your paths crossed and your time together was solidified in the stars. Their practice of the culture more in tune with the religious scripture. Stricter adherence to the mentality of concealing one’s identity, that they were all of one identity.

Tension existed between them and the general population of Mandalore, you had noticed even as a child, due to their beliefs. It wasn’t anything that caused conflict, thankfully, just a strained interaction or two depending on how individuals reacted to the knowledge. Mandalorian’s were accepting people, an accepting culture for the most part. But there were bad seeds and ill notions as with any large population.

But he had been nothing but loving and kind to you, giving you a chance at a life you wouldn’t have had without him responding to your distress call and rescuing you. The same for Din, despite having been his target of capture to return to your mother in a business transaction. The man had overlooked his responsibilities in order to allow you freedom, saved by a selfless Mandalorian once again. Gifted his intentions of personal pursuit, a connection that was proving to be so much more than either of you could have guessed back in that desert compound….

“I know of such things. And she is the one who did so when another appeared to defend its fallen mate?”

“Yes.” He nodded to you, signaling that it was indeed okay to respond to the woman’s rather direct and simple questions.

“Elek, vod.”

Yes, ma’am.

“Gar jorhaa’ir Mando’a.”

You speak Mando’a.

“Elek, ni kar’taylir jorcu be ner cabur. Akiz Noves.”

Yes, I know because of my guardian. Akiz Noves.

“Gar cuyir a evaar'la solus.”

You are a foundling.

She moved with an easy confidence, pulling more ladles of molten beskar from within the forge. Taking them to her work bench and pouring it into a set of molds she had laid out. Taking from the old to create new, a cycle that allowed for her culture to persevere.

“Nayc, ni cuy be a nuarra. A kaysh ogir par ni tion’tuur ni gaa’tayl.”

No, I am of a different Creed. But he was there for me when I needed help.

“Tion gar gal?”

What is your name?

“Noves, gifted to me from my guardian. San, is my given name.”

“And you hold the same power?”

“Yes.”

“The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi that fought with such powers.”

“He’s an enemy?” Din seemed surprised, while he may only know what he did of them through you, you hadn’t mentioned that those who followed his way of life and yours were sworn enemies. He looked over to you, the woman taking notice of the shared look between you both as you slightly shook your head to assure him that you hadn’t been deceiving him all this time. He wouldn’t have believed it of you, with how things had developed between you both, the connection you two shared. Surely you would’ve told him if the child was a being typically raised with a disposition toward his own.

“No. Its kind were enemies in the sense that battles took place throughout history when ideals did not align. But these two individuals are not. It is a foundling.” She turned her back on to the line your group made in front of her and began to move about the workspace. “By Creed, it is in your care. And she is your key to reuniting it with its own kind should she not want the responsibility herself.”

Items in her grip as she tilted her helmet toward you, another question sounding from her.

“You are sworn to the Jedi Creed, are you not?”

“I…I was. I no longer adhere to either side of the Force. I am sensitive to it, can wield it.” It was an honest half answer, the morality of the question too detailed to get into at the moment. Something you weren’t sure anyone who wasn’t Force sensitive would even begin to understand. But you wanted her to know that you weren’t trying to deceive her or her authority. You were simply being as plain as you could with her, knowing it would mean a great deal to Din for you to do so. That you didn’t want to anything other than show her the respect she deserved.

“You allowed her aboard your ship, share your wares with her as an equal. She can aid you in this mission. Your journeys are intertwined, it was almost as if the Maker knew and set your paths parallel. This is the Way.”

“I have stated my intention of courtship.” Din announced, completely honest with the woman leading the conversation. He respected her, deeply. It was obvious in the way that he stood, at attention despite his injuries no doubt making it hard for him to even concentrate and stand up at all. He should be resting, a luxury you knew all too well was something out of reach when the lives you led seldom allowed for it.

“And have you accepted?” The visor settled into the gold of her helmet was trained on you fully now, watching you with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

You could sense the stillness of Din across the room, his breath baited as he waited for your answer. It would be so easy to lie, to cut the ties between you both that have developed in the wake of losing control. The connection intense enough to influence the balance that had taken you years to find within yourself, all-encompassing and completely terrifying. The confession he whispered to you as he lay injured echoed in your ear, the return of it on the forefront of your mind. Feeling heat blossom in your chest as you recalled the emotions he stirred in you, all the good, you nodded in affirmation. Knowing the importance of declaring such a thing to the woman before you. Of declaring it to Din plainly, even in the wake of the day’s events.

“Yes, he means a great deal to me.” You breathed out, conviction obvious, the sentiment behind the words not lost on you.

“Hey, not that this isn’t exciting information, but these tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan.” Her lips quirked again, similar to how they had done when Din admitted to you knowing his name, that he had shared it with you and allowed you to use it.

“If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats.” She turned her attention back to the forge, extending a long handled ladle into the depts of it and retrieving out the molten beskar of the armor she had carefully placed in it moments before.

“I think we should go.” Cara urged, not wanting to become trapped beneath the city as the troops above figured out a way into the tunnels. However winding and confusing they were, it was only a matter of time until they closed in on your position. Especially if you weren’t moving. You had a better chance out in the open landscape, could hide out somewhere and bid your time until nightfall. Get back to the Crest or manage to steal a ship from the city outskirts.

“I’m staying, I need to help her, and I need to heal. Mesh’la can take ad’ika and go with you, hide out until we can reconvene.”

“You must go. A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father. This is the Way.”

The room stilled, it was obvious Din wanted to argue his point, but he remained quiet. His need to provide for his people an integral part of the man that he was and he was being instructed to leave the only known surviving one behind. You weren’t sure if you would be able to do so either.

“You have earned your signet.” She walked over to him, a metal plate in her hand and a small welding tool. She fastened it to his right pauldron with quick work. When she stepped back, it was revealed to be the skull of a mudhorn. While you and Din gazed at the addition to his beautiful armor, she moved about the space with admirable concentration and ease.

She walked back to her work bench, retrieving the molds she had filled earlier and removing the now cooler metal. She gathered them with a pair of tongs, moving to plunge them into the vat of water used to set pieces. After a few moments, she deemed them perfect and pulled them out. Wiping them down and taking the mallet to a few places, she revealed her work to be a pair of pauldrons.

She held the armor out to you.

“When a Mandalorian courts, that is a very important bond.” You stepped forward at her beckoning, allowing her to fasten the pieces of armor to your shoulders, her gloved fingers moving your cape out of the way with careful motions. Feeling the presence of Akiz watching over you as she did so. You closed your eyes, immersing yourself in the feeling of being accepted by the woman, by the leader of Din’s covert. Of being folded into Mandalorian culture once again. Thankful for the endless kindness and protection its people had provided to you throughout your life.

The weight of the armor was foreign, beskar being known as one of the strongest and most dense metals in the galaxy. But it was also comforting, akin to being wrapped up in the arms of someone you trusted.

“And though you are not to be riduurok just yet, that makes you a part of his clan. A clan of three.”

She fastened a twin signet into your right pauldron, mirroring the way she had done with Din.

“Thank you. I will wear this with honor.” Reverence coated his somber tone, aware of the importance of finally being given such a symbol from the leader of his covert. The importance of the Armorer gifting you the set of pauldrons, his signet. That it was not given lightly, nor without thought.

“I will as well, your craftmanship is inspiring.”

“While you still follow another Creed, you have been folded in our own, it is a great honor.”

An explosion sounded overhead, too close for comfort. The commotion broke the scene, calling everyone back to reality in a harsh way.

“IG, please guard the other hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Heeding the woman’s command, the droid handed the bag in its hold to Cara.

“Hang on. I don’t do the baby thing.” Ad’ika squealed happily as he reached out to wave his claws in her face. She moved to hand the bag over to you, but you held your hands up in surrender.

“He likes you, accept it cyar’ika.”

“I have one more gift for your journey.” The Armorer announced. Moving behind Din and toward a chest that was up against the wall of the workspace.

“Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

“When I was a boy, yes.”

“Then this will make you complete.” She turned around, revealing a purely silver beskar pack. It was beautiful, the details of it amazing as you looked over it. Din seemed to be taken aback by such an offering, his voice low when he thanked her.

“When you have healed, you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

“I understand.”

“Ensure that he is completely healed before he begins, it is your responsibility to care for him until he is recovered. Do not allow him to harm himself with his notion of impatience. As I’m sure you’ve picked up on it in your time together.”

You felt a smile tug at your lips as you stepped forward, placing a hand atop Din’s left shoulder. You nodded an affirmation of the woman’s words, teasing quality to them as she displayed how well she knew the man standing between you.

Any remark you were about to make was lost as the sound of blaster fire echoed down the tunnels. Far too close for comfort. There was a loud thud, before the form of IG-11 appeared in the mouth of the workspace. Two blasters in its grip it turned to the group and assured that the threat had been taken care of.

“More will come. You must go.”

“Come with us.” Din breathed out, not a question but a silent plea of the woman before him.

“My place is here. Restock your munitions. Both of you.” When you didn’t follow the man’s steps toward the cache of weaponry, he turned to you with a tilt of his helmet.

“Mesh’la, take what you need.”

“I-I can’t. The armor is already-“ You stumbled over your worlds, overcome with meaning behind declaring your intentions with Din. With the pull toward the dark pit that had opened up inside of you that took conscious effort not to fall into its pull every second since it formed.

“You are a part of this, you’ve been accepted into the covert. You have a right to the supplies offered for battle.”

“IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

“Now, go.” The Armorer held out the jet pack for the droid, ensuring it was secure before bidding you goodbye. “Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey.”

“Thank you.” Din followed after the others, allowing you a moment alone with the Armorer as you moved to stand in front of her beside the forge.

“Thank you, vod. I-I have no words to express my gratitude.”

“You are welcome, anyone who intends to become riduurok with one of our kind is accepted as one of our own. Though, I’m sure you know of such customs from your guardian. Do you still carry his armor with you?

“I have his helmet, he gifted it to me upon his death. The rest was lost in a plasma explosion. I’m sorry for not being able to deliver it to his home planet or another covert to recycle.” You bowed your head, sincere in your words.

“I hereby give you permission to alter it for yourself, should you wish to don it in battle. I will not enforce the rule of anonymity on you that the rest of us follow. Look out for him, he…means a great deal to our covert, what remains of it. He was the sole provider for many years while we stayed hidden in the shadows for our own protection.”

“I will, I swear to you.”

“Go, may our paths cross again, San Noves.” She reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder, nodding at you before turning her back on you.

After what felt like far too long, the tunnels finally opened up into a wide chasm. The space filled with a flowing river, lava making up the currents as it slowly moved to the east. It was a mesmerizing sight, beautiful in the way it glowed red and orange through the crust of volcanic rock that began to harden along the top.

The heat from the river was intense, making the air too dry to breath in without feeling a sting in your lungs. You worried for ad’ika in Cara’s hold. His smaller body struggling with the new environment.

Both men dashed forward, inspecting the abandoned vehicle hovering above the river at the bank. A motionless droid was covered in hardened lava, the rock encasing the entire figure save for a part of its front and the top of its head. It looked like it had been abandoned a long while ago, days, perhaps weeks at this point if the city had been overrun for as long as Karga described. The bottom and body of the vehicle seemed to be in good shape, but more hardened lava had bridged the space between it and the shore, locking it into place.

Both men began to push at the boat, trying their best to loosen the melding of it to the makeshift dock of the riverbank. You and Cara shared an exasperated look at their efforts, knowing there was no way one man at full strength and one at half would be able to shift it.

Din showed his growing frustration by surging up and kicking at the side of the speeder. He stumbled from the reverb of his action, and you rushed to wrap your arms around his shoulders and catch and prevent him from falling completely. There was no telling what it would’ve done to the partial recovery he had made. You didn’t want him to lose consciousness again or irritate the injuries he was fighting against. It didn’t matter how well the bacta was working, he could always make the problem worse. To the point beyond a general healing spray and that…that wouldn’t be good. You doubted he would allow you to take him to a med center, even if it was run primarily by droids. Especially if it was run primarily by droids.

“Come on! What’re you doing?”

Din pulled from your grip, nearly shrugging you off in his move to retrieve a broken piece of piping that was scattered on the bank.

“Let’s try this.” Thankfully Cara had the same train of thought as you did, that it was futile to try and force the vehicle to separate from the shoreline. She adjusted the large blaster in her hold, keeping one arm wrapped securely around ad’ika.

“You guys mind getting out of the way?”

When the bolts didn’t work to detach the speeder, you held your hands out and harnessed the power curled up inside of you, feeling it in full force as you controlled it to focus on the body of the vehicle. A low whine sounded from deep in your chest as it didn’t budge, urging you to shift your focus on the rock keeping it tethered in place. It was silent for a moment, Din stepping up beside you to assure you that it wasn’t necessary for you to do so. His words were cut off by the metallic groaning of the boat prying away from the shore to float freely in the river.

He curled a hand around your shoulder, silently praising you. As he stepped forward to board, his gloved fingers trailed down the beskar protection you had been adorned with, almost caressing the signet fastened proudly into the metal. He held out a hand to help you bridge the gap between it and the heightened shore. Your heart thudding with a few heavy beats as you took it and boarded alongside him.

Mechanical beeping and whirring had all four of you turning with blasters raised toward the ferry droid that had suddenly activated. The rock attached to it crumbled away as it activated and stood. It was tall, towering over even Din, moving to displace a metal oar from where it had been hidden among the rock.

“I don’t suppose anyone here speaks droid?”

“I believe he is asking where we would like to go.” IG-11 translated.

“Down river. To the lava flat.” Karga spoke strongly, his voice holding an air of command to it, ensuring that there was no confusion to be taken by the new droid.

Minutes passed, a lot of them, your anxiety humming as you kept your head on a swivel to catch any warning signs of an ambush, of any swarms of soldiers erupting from within the tunnels sparse openings and out into the underground one that the river flowed through.

The skittering of small rodent like creatures along the shoreline caught your attention, more than a few of them pausing in their activity to gaze at you as the speeder past by. They were cute and ad’ika seemed to agree as he raised his claws from within the bag and waved at them. They chittered at him before moving on, unsure of what to make of the odd sight of your group traveling downstream.

“That’s it! We’re free!”

“No, we’re not.” A gloved hand pressed to the side of his helmet, displaying a view for Din that he described for everyone else. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel. It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

“They were ordered there to prevent us from escaping, even if we didn’t take this route. Moff Gideon wouldn’t chance it.” It had to have been him ensuring he didn’t lose you to the wilds of the planet, the landscape endless and easy to secure a hideaway. With the sun setting in mere hours, you could be lost for the night, enough time for your group to figure out a way off world.

Commanding the droid to stop the speeder from traveling down river was fruitless. It merely chirped and beeped, not heeding the sudden flux of words aimed at it. When it didn’t seem to understand anything, Karga fired on it. But that didn’t seem to stop the momentum of the speeder, now floating of its own accord toward the mouth of the tunnel, toward the sunlight and waiting ambush.

“We’re still moving.”

“Looks like we fight.”

“There are too many.”

“Then what do you suggest? Cause I can’t surrender.” Cara hissed, setting the bag down atop a seat in the bed of the speeder. Ad’ika gurgled, hands reaching up for someone, anyone to pick him back up. You were about to reach for him when IG-11 stepped forward to take him in its arms again.

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child and the Sith.”

“Not a Sith.” You hissed out, pinning the droid with a glare, lava spouting up around the speeder. Some of it splattered up against the side of the vehicle, the metal steaming as it melted under the contact.

“Apologies, I was inferring from-“

“You inferred wrong.”

“Understood. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

“You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.” Din was quick to put a pin in that idea, not willing to give up the extra set of hands.

“That is not my objective.”

“We’re getting close. Saddle up.” Karga pointed towards the entrance mere yards away now.

“I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

“What are you talking about?” Confusion in his tone, Din faced the droid head on, trying to understand exactly the point it was trying to make.

“I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

“Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

“I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the child.” IG-11 reached down to hand ad’ika over to Din, the armored man taking the bag with steady arms. Quiet thuds of tiny hands against his cuirass displayed the child’s delight.

“Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to watch the child. That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right?”

A pause.

“That is correct.”

“Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

“Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The child will be lost. The woman will be lost.” IG-11 began to cross the width of the speeders bay, toward the right side of the vehicle. “Sadly, there is no scenario where the child is saved, in which I survive.”

“Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just come up with a…” Din’s words trailed off, no other solution coming to mind for him to voice.

“Please tell me the child will be safe in your care.” Head turned toward the armored man, waiting for confirmation. “If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

“But you’ll be destroyed.”

“And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No,” He sounded almost…remorseful. You could feel the conflicting emotions wafting from him, read it in the stance he had, the way his shoulders were set. “We need you.”

“There’s nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

“I’m not…sad.” Din argued weakly.

“Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

IG-11 reached out a hand and caressed the tip of ad’ika’s ear in a parting gesture.

“What’re you doing?” Karga demanded as you all watched the droid step out from the deck of the speeder and down into the slow-moving river. The metal of its legs hissing at the sudden barrage of temperature. The mechanics tried to hold out as it trudged forward, flames licking up the sides slowly.

A pulsating alarm began to beep, a chasm in the chest piece opening up the second IG-11 was outside the mouth of the tunnel. A blinding explosion erupting seconds later. The screams of the waiting soldiers hurt your ears, the flash bright even behind shielded eyes. The speeder continued on, moving through the cloud of smoke and ash that lingered in the air.

The bodies of the dead soldiers were scattered and you tamped down a flood of memories from the last time you had been at the sight of such a directed attack on them.

There was no time to revel in the defeat, the screeching of a TIE fighter hurtling through the air and right at your groups position. Moff Gideon not giving up even in the face of losing another faction under his command. Cara and Din raised their blasters, prepared to shoot his ship from the air. It was not a match for the focused fire he laid down as the ship swooped low, though no hits landed directly over you.

“He missed!” Cara shouted out, hope coloring her words.

“He won’t next time.” You spoke evenly, wanting them to understand the situation at hand. The only way this was going to end was with someone’s death. Be it one of yours, all of yours, or Gideon’s. The conflict would drone on until the threat was eradicated, you just hoped that your side was the one that came out victorious.

“Our blasters are useless against him.”

“Hey, let’s make the baby do the magic hand thing. Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing.” Karga waved his hand frantically in the air, prompting ad’ika to follow his command. But all the child did was wave back at him, cooing all the while with a curious expression.

“He doesn’t have that type of control.” You reasoned, not wanting to rely on ad’ika’s powers when thwarting the flame thrower had taken so much from him.

“He did it back in the cantina!” Karga argued, brow furrowed at his lack of understanding the nuances of something that could really help in their favor.

“He was emulating me, he doesn’t really have an understanding of harnessing his powers like that.”

“Give him some credit, jeez.”

“He needs to rest, he’s overwhelmed!”

“Then I’m out of ideas. If you refuse to use it yourself.”

“I never said I refused, I need a clean line of sight.” You looked over your shoulder, worried for ad’ika as he cried out at the heightened emotions between all four of you. You leaned down to rub a hand over his small back, ensuring he was snug in the bag. You tried to push a good feeling through the connection, wanting to comfort him in any way. A strike of pain rained down from the crown of your head and ad’ika’s small claws dug into the front of your tank top.

“I’m not out of ideas.” Din interrupted your harmless bickering, something in his town making you turn to him fully.

“Here he comes!” Distant roaring signaled that the ship was maneuvering and about to return.

Din set his blaster back in the holster on his hip. Reaching down with a grunt of effort to lift up the jetpack that had just been gifted to him, confirming your suspicions. There was no way he was healed enough to maneuver through the air with it, that he could pick it up so quickly and focus with his head having been cracked open. The phantom feel of his blood thick on your hands making you shake them out.

“She said to wait until you were healed!” You rushed forward and cupped your hands over his shoulders, hoping a gentle touch would help to convince him not to go through with what he was thinking. Urging him to listen, to consider that it was too much of a risk that he didn’t need to take. “You’ll injure yourself further, it’s not the only option.”

“It’s what we’ve got right now.” He reasoned calmly, chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried to move about like normal. He was feeling the weight of his full armor, you suspected, the jet pack adding to the struggle to keep up and focus.

The ship swooped low, too close for comfort, firing out in a wide line around the river’s edge. With a shout you stretched your arms out, the ship pivoting heavily to the right. The unexpected movement caused the remaining blasts to hit along the mouth of the tunnel. Deep rumbling signaled the collapse of the tunnels inside, the support of the opening damaged, sheets of broken rock crumbling into the river as the natural structure dissolved.

While you had turned your attention from him, Din had successfully docked the jet pack into the back panel of his armor. Eyes roving over the sight of him completely pieced together, you felt your heart skip a beat. Admiring the image he created against the expansive landscape, armor glinting in the lowering sun in a beautiful way.

And you couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t.

Recovering from the manipulation, the TIE fighter was soaring directly toward you. Din was standing at the front of the speeder, stepped up on the lip of the vehicle. The engines on the TIE fighter lit up, whirring as they settled on their target. Din’s broad silhouette backed by the incoming threat sent chills down your spine. You blinked rapidly, his figure morphing into the image of a taller man, adorned in a deep blue armor instead of his pure beskar. The explosion of the shots along the ground as the ship neared shook the ground, dirt and pieces of the volcanic rock rising up high into the air. At the last second, before the shot inevitably hit the vehicle, Din bent his knees.

Without a look back at you, he took off into the air.

A cable flew from his vambrace at clicked onto the top of the ship, whipping the man forward as it surged past. You cringed, worry for his head flooding you. If he were to lose consciousness that high up in the air, got tossed off the ship….

You could only watch with the breath stolen from your lungs as he was whipped around, unable to gather his bearings. But he did, finally, jetpack sparking to life, and he grappled a desperate hold onto the body of the ship.

It suddenly began to spiral, controlled surely by a concerned Gideon. You gasped out, hands coming up to your mouth as you watched the body of armor crash into the wings of the ship, scrabbling to keep hold and not get tossed off.

“He’ll be okay, cyar’ika. We have to have faith in him.”

She had spoken a moment too soon because his body was flung from the ship, hurling through the air without a tether.

“No!” Voice hoarse, you scrambled over the errant items inside the space of the speeder. You jumped from the bed of the vehicle, onto the rocky shore of the river and began to sprint. Halting a few yards into the vast landscape, you held both your arms out and focused on the sight of a falling Din. The speed of his fall slowed, allowing him to swivel his head to take in the sight of you so far down below trying to aid him.

His arms flailed as he tried to help align himself as he tumbled through the air, thankful you were doing what you could to slow his rapid descent. As the TIE fighter lost a wing to a sudden explosion, flames and black smoke billowing up, did Din finally manage to engage his jetpack. As soon as he landed clumsily on the ground beside you, grunting at the force of the landing on his body, the ship crashed to the ground just beyond the small crest of a ridge.

Not even a second passed before you were rushing off toward it. Passing by Din with a focus he had only seen when you were in battle. Brows furrowed and eyes alight. Your name being shouted behind you as your legs carried you as fast as you could. You could faintly hear the scuffle between Cara and Din, her catching him as he tried to follow after you, warning him to be careful and that you could take care of yourself. That he had to trust in you that you wouldn’t go too far.

You panted, feeling immeasurable power surge through you. But it wasn’t the pure side of the Force you typically harnessed.

“That was impressive, Mando. Very Impressive.” Karga praised as he approached them. Din had convinced Cara he wouldn’t run after you, allowing her to focus on the child in her grip. Small claws reaching out for the armored man. Extending a shaking hand out, Din allowed the child to grip his gloved fingers.

“It looks like your Guild rates have just gone up. And Sarad’s set at an exceptional rate for a newcomer should she be interested.”

“I can’t speak on her behalf.” He gazed out at the landscape, in the direction of the ridge. He could make out with the help of his helmet, that you had just scaled the top of it, disappearing on the other side. You were upon the crash of the ship.

“Let’s get this speeder running, we can pick her up on the way back to the city.” Cara suggested, not wanting to leave you out in the plains along for too long. Agreement rang out, and they all loaded back up into the vehicle, Din slumping into a seat.

“Let’s go get your girl, Mando.”

“She’s not a possession.” Din hissed out, annoyance flaring.

“Oh, you know what I mean. Don’t read into the phrasing.”

The speeder was slow, mechanics lagging from being exposed to the heat of the river for so long.

Silence tense as it trudged across the open land.

“Her saber turned red.”

Din remained silent, not wanting to delve into speculation over what it meant.

The others seemed to understand that it wasn’t their place, even if they were simply showing concern for your wellbeing.

“You have no control!” You swung your saber, the hum of it lowering in pitch as you cut into the shoulder of the man beginning to crawl through the broken glass of the ship’s viewpoint. The body of it was smoldering, flames licking over the expanse of it, the result of the charges Din had managed to fasten to it.

“You’re weak. You will always be weak. That’s why the pull to the dark side is so strong in you. It can sense that you need guidance, that you need control. And it will take everything from you as it transforms you in its image.” Gideon huffed out, surging forward despite the blood seeping into the fabric of his clothing.

“You’ll fall to it, you’ll give into it with no one to guide you. And you’ll turn that innocent, unsuspecting child in your image. You will experience nothing else, only darkness and destruction and the death of those around you.”

He tore himself out of the debris, standing to his full height and engaging a blade that hummed in much the same way as your lightsaber. It was lined like a true blade, black that gave way to bright white of a kyber crystal housed in the handle.

It stopped you in your tracks. The bright glow of it captivating you, whispers seeping from it and tickling your mind. So distracted as you were, you could only step back with each approaching one of his. Your own weapon hanging low at your side, crackling in a response to the enchanting blade in the man’s hand.

“Couldn’t save your beloved guardian and you’re not going to be able to save your delusional Mandalorian now. I will have his head if it’s the last thing I do. I will have the head of your precious child if it’s the last thing I do. They will die, they will both fall. You won’t be able to save the man you love. Again. It means more to me than anything to bring them down and take what I want from your lifeless bodies.”

You exhaled heavily as you plunged your saber out. The harsh crack of the blades connecting echoed across the plains. You merely blocked his attacks, gauging his style and still too enamored by the twin pulls of the dark tendrils wrapping around your ankles and that of the weapon in the man’s possession. When it glided across the armor you had been gifted, you snapped out of your defensive reverie, teeth gritting as you returned the gesture.

He grunted when you sliced into his shoulder a second time, arm going limp at his side as the blade cut into the space between his own armor that allowed for movement. His eyes widened as he realized you weren’t going to succumb to the energy wafting from you, that it wasn’t overpowering you in the way that he had anticipated, that he had seen before as you struggled against it. Unwilling to succumb to the pull of it, the almost sentient energy. You were harnessing it. And he allowed a smirk to pull at his lips.

“So predictable, dear San.” He pressed forward, holding his useless arm to his side. Taking the injury in stride if it meant that you were crumbling. “Falling into the same traps time and time again. So easily manipulated. When will you learn that there is nothing more for you than the title of a Sith?”

Your blade crackled, gaining intensity to its glow, white tinted at the base of it. The red seeping into the entire thing, casting your face in the light.

“There is no love for someone like you. Not of a parent, not of a guardian, not that of a partner. You were born to this, the rise to power with the dark side. Nothing else will come to you, your foolish Mandalorian will see your true nature soon enough and abandon you. His history suggests he only cares about his people, his Creed. What could he possibly want from you, so steeped in emotion and vulnerability.”

Swiping at his feet, he stumbled, cape fluttering as tried to catch himself on his knees. But you were throwing him toward the rubble of the ship with an outstretched hand. He could do nothing as he felt the energy wrap itself around him and command his body as if it was its own. He cried out as the broken metal of the frame bit into his back. The snap of his armor against it was loud. Gasping suddenly as he couldn’t breathe in, the air stolen from his very lungs.

Wide eyes turned to you, hand clenched in a fist as you constricted his airways. Watching with an unnerving calmness as the blood vessels in his eyes began to bleed, the veins in his neck began to bulge, his dark skin taking on a ruddy tone as he struggled.

With heaving breaths, you dismantled the TIE fighter down with your saber until it was nothing but a pile of smoldering metal and broken glass. Barricading the man inside.

Just as you began to distance yourself from the ship, the speeder from the river appeared over the ridge, moving toward you. Sighing, you waited for it to stop at the bottom before trudging on. Not risking it getting too close to the flames and smoke of the TIE fighters remains.

“You should get checked out, ad’ika too.” Your words were flat as you approached the group of them alongside the speeder. Din was leaning heavily against the side of it, helmet slumped, the bottom of it resting on his cuirass. Everyone perked up at the scuff of your approaching form.

“No.” Breathless, he could barely get the word out though it sounded strong to your ears through the modulator. The mechanics hiding the way his expression was pinched and his eyes were blinking rapidly against the pain reverberating through his entire body. You could sense his discomfort, the way his heart was beating irregularly, attuned to him in such a personal way enhanced through the pulse of dark energy flowing through you still.

You sighed, frustration building up at the recollection of how he could barely move mere hours ago and his refusal to let you try to heal him. Gideon’s confident words echoing in your head, incessantly.

“I’m not letting you fly without medical clearance.”

“Let me?” His helmet rounded on you, surprise through the modulator. The glint of the sun on the visor mirrored how his eyes did so underneath as he pushed away from the side of the vehicle. “I’m a grown man.”

“Yes.”

“All I need to do is get back to the ship.”

“Then you’ll go alone.”

“…you’re staying behind?” Hesitancy clear through the modulator. His back was to you, having turned to take in the smoking pile of what was once the TIE fighter in the distance.

“To help them free the city, yes. To ensure everyone is safe. To get supplies and more bacta for you. Whatever else we may need to combat your injuries.” You softened, features displaying the exhaustion weighing you down. Your hands were fiddling with the pendant he had given you, the shine of the beskar in the sunlight bright between your fingers. “I…I would really appreciate it if you humored me and got a scan done at the med center. Just…just so we know what’s wrong and how to heal it.”

“I’m fine.”

“But I’m not.” He whirled around quickly, too quickly, his footing unbalanced at the motion, and he stumbled. The question of what was wrong on the tip of his tongue when you trained your shining eyes on his visor. “Din, I- I need to know you’re okay. Truly okay. Please.”

He turned back around, unable to take in the sight of the earnest concerns falling from your lips, the tears threatening to fall.

He didn’t take his gaze from the distant crash sight, helmet overlooking the scene through different lenses, ensuring that the threat was truly eradicated.

“I can’t look after you if you don’t let me. And before you say it’s not my job, Din, it is. You made it so when you announced your intentions to court me with the Armorer.”

“You think I have regrets in doing so?” Timbre of his voice low, a warning in his tone that sent alarm bells ringing in your head. The first real conflict between you both, weighing heavily in the tense air.

“No.” Was your immediate answer, truth behind the word though it was spoken in a tight voice.

“Do you?”

“No! I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s it, I’m not…I’m not trying to do anything except for that but if you think I’m trying to get your kriffing helmet off so I can see you when you’ve explicitly told me you didn’t want to and I know the customs then then-“ You scrambled to remove the beskar fastened around your shoulders and thrust it into his chest. You hadn’t even wanted to say those things, furl the accusation at him along with the armor, but something compelled you to. Anger striking harshly and taking hold. Manipulating you into succumbing to it, the feeling of a pit opening inside your mind. Dark and beckoning. He swayed back with the force of it pressed to him, modulator crackling as he realized you were completely serious. “Maybe we were foolish to entertain the thought. Leave. Just go, Din.”

“Mesh’la-“ His knuckles popped as he held the armor in his hands, wound as tight as he could ever remember, a thrumming low in his head that was steadily gaining momentum and making it hard to focus. He could feel the energy flowing from you, see it in the twitching of your muscles and the lack of control you seemed to have over your words. It was unlike you, to raise your voice, to be so unwilling to hear him out, to take his words into account. He was trying his best to keep up but he wasn’t handling it well, he knew that. He…he felt so nauseas and dizzy and he just wanted to rest.

“I have a name.”

“San, I didn’t- I don’t think that. I did not say that, do not put words in my mouth.”

“Well, you’re not exactly saying anything now are you!”

“Because I don’t have anything to say! It’s been a long day and I just want to return to the ship.”

“I think maybe we should all just- not calm down!” Cara rushed to say at the heated looks her way. The intensity of them unnerving her. “Not calm down but put a pin in this and get back to the city.”

“Fine with me.”

“I’ll meet you back at the Crest.”

Din took a few steps away from the speeder, preparing to take off with the aid of his jetpack once again.

He paused as you gasped out, trembling hands causing you to lose your hold on the speeders edge as you tried to climb in. Clenching his eyes tight and taking a deep breath, he walked back toward you. His hands didn’t linger when he helped you board this time, taking a seat at the back bench and facing out toward the plains.

When you sat down on the other side of the bench, he slowly moved to fasten the armor back to your shoulders. He silently thanked the Maker that you allowed him to do it, allowed him to fasten his signet back onto you. He wasn’t one for outward expressions but it eased his heart that you still wanted to display in even in the wake of an argument. The gravity of you choosing to wear something that signified him was not lost on him, words of a time past where you had cried out that you would never submit to anyone again echoing in his mind as the speeder traveled on.

“Are you going to talk to me?” You knew you should give him some space, give him time to process the events of the day. To rest and feel more like himself. But you couldn’t help it, couldn’t fight the push to confront him, emotions a whirlwind inside your chest. Dark pit opened up right in the middle and tainting everything that you were. You watched on as if you weren’t in your own body, as you continued to push the man’s buttons until you both snapped.

The silence was heavy, his shoulders tight underneath his armor, hands busy searching for something within the panels making up the walls. For what, you weren’t sure. He had been silent the entire walk back to the ship, to where you had moved to closer to the entrance of the city while he underwent a general scan to ensure his injuries would heal completely. It had taken a lot of convincing, and he hadn’t been too happy with the way you begged him. Though he knew you hadn’t done so to intentionally manipulate him. You were just concerned.

It was just that he was accustomed to dealing with injuries on his own. Returning to the covert for serious things he needed help with. The migraine building in strength overwhelming him in the worst way paired with your insistence on sticking around for the rest of the day irking him. He knew it was unjustified, that he should find it endearing that you cared so much about the city and those within it, but he wanted nothing more than to retire to his personal space and put as much distance between the planet and himself as possible.

“Din, your skull was cracked open. You-your brain was exposed, and you wanted me to leave you there to die alone!”

“I didn’t want you to see it, to have to go through that, to carry that with you!” He turned sharply, voice a rumble as he realized there was no getting out of this conversation. He had hoped you wouldn’t bring it up so immediately, that you would approach him in a calmer manner when you could sense he was willing to talk.

This was unlike you. To yell and holler, to berate him with accusations. You were scared, he realized. And the dark pull of the Force was making you lash out. His actions had scared you beyond comprehension and control, you didn’t know how to cope with that chasm opened up in your psyche to allow for the tendrils to spark to life and the pit to open up. He didn’t fault you, though he did have an issue with the way you insisted on confrontation.

Emotions too bold overcoming him as he paired them with the words you had whispered to him as he lay dying in the rumble just hours ago.

“That’s not your choice to make!”

“I am not arguing about this!” He snapped, unable to quell the urge to match your volume.

“Too bad! You don’t get a say in that either!! You have to talk to me, please, just…help me understand.”

“You know the Creed, you know it’s an honor to die in battle. If I was willing to give up my life, it’s not your place to tell me otherwise.”

“Din, I could’ve healed you, I could’ve tried. I could’ve saved you.” You weren’t crying, body too worked up for even that, hurt and fear twisted into an ugly thing and making you something you weren’t.

They will die, they will both fall. You won’t be able to save the man you love. Again.

“I was ready to die.” He didn’t break the gaze he had on you, reading the emotions flitting across your face. “I was ready to die for you both to get to safety, for all of you to make an escape.”

“So you’re allowed to sacrifice yourself for me but I can’t do the same? That’s bullshit and you know it. Not allowing me to take on what I could’ve so you could live another day doesn’t warrant even a conversation?”

Anxiety was like a layer too tight skin over your entire body, making it hard to take in a full breath, to concentrate past the throbbing of your head.

“I could’ve saved you.” You repeated, lips pulled down in a frown, trying to keep the tears at bay, the trembling of your lips prone to give you away. “You-you said you loved me and then wanted to die. I could’ve saved you. I could’ve, I couldn’t, I-I-“

All of your breath left you in a sudden gasp and your words cut off as you snapped your mouth shut, teeth clacking with the motion. You tried to breathe in through your nose, but a wave of nausea overtook you and you clamped a hand over your mouth. The lingering scent of sulfur twisting your stomach. It was an ill-timed realization paired with how suddenly acutely aware of how intense you were being, how overwhelmed you were on already shot nerves. That it was the dark pit pulling you inward, inch by inch, dark temptations reaching out and wrapping around more and more of your legs while you could do nothing to fight it.

“Mesh’la…”

“I need a minute, please, just…give me a fucking minute!” You shouted, flinging out a hand toward the approaching shadow. Toward the rampage of memories plaguing you. Your voice raw as it tore through your throat. There was a sharp clang of metal on metal, but your mind was overrun by the barrage of screams and pleas overtaking your ears. The hum of your blade as it shown red all around you, reflecting in the dead eyes and on the metal walls of the ship you had destroyed in your grief. Of the wreckage caused by the crash, bathed in the sickly color.

Red, red, red. It was everywhere, all over the walls, all over your hands, your clothes, the warm feeling of it saturating you and seeping into your skin. The sight of it burned into the very synapses of your mind, pooled underneath the body of a man you loved, pooled underneath the body of a man you were in love with. Your ears began to ring, all sound muffled.

Nothing else will come to you, your foolish Mandalorian will see your true nature soon enough and abandon you. His history suggests he only cares about his people, his Creed.

Your chest hurt, heart stuttering as it tried to regulate itself in the wake of your hitching breath, unable to take a full one and calm down. The world tilted on its axis, and you went with it. Falling physically to the ground, mentally down into the void taking over more of your psyche until it was all you knew. Vision blacking out. As it did, the entire ship lurched. It took a moment for the mechanical software programmed into the ship to correct the trajectory.

All Din could do was watch as your unconscious form fell from where you had flung him across the hold, body pinned to the wall as your mind broke in a way he had been trying to prevent. Everything fastened to the walls and the panel covers had been vibrating with the force of your words and emotions, harnessing the Force unconsciously as you tried to confront him. As soon as your body hit the durasteel floor, muscles going loose did the hold you have on him diminish and everything went still.

He slumped down, backside hitting the ground, body aching all over.

It was only a moment until one of the engines began to spark then groaned. The ship lurched again, alarms beeping, lights flickering, spurring him into action. Din rushed up to the control room, remorse for having to leave you unconscious on the floor of the hold.

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itsjuststardust · 25 days ago

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Heaven in Hiding - Chapter 18: Heaven in Hiding

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Chapter Summary: "I push up on my toes you call me sweet thing And breathing down your neck your body's screaming" - Halsey

Word Count: 15,989

Author's Note/Chapter Warnings: Um, I think if I say that this chapter is 🌶️NSFW🌶️ and tell you that it was partially written by a particular smut monster, that will cover the chapter warnings 😈

Chapter/Main title inspired by the song 🎵Heaven in Hiding🎵 by Halsey.

MINORS - DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY

Chapter 18: Heaven in Hiding

The next day passed in a hazy, sleepy blur.

The three of them slept off and on for ninety-nine percent of it. The only way he could tell time was passing was that the sun was in a different position every time he opened his eyes. The light from the sun lit the hold in different patterns of light and shadows as it tracked through the sky until it disappeared, bringing the darkness of night with it. The few fleeting minutes they were awake were never at the same time. All Mando knew was one minute, he blinked his eyes open, and Alaina was sprawled on top of his chest, and in the next, he was on his side with his body cocooned around Alaina’s with the kid in some inconvenient position.

The whole thing was awkward and uncomfortable, but it didn’t matter. He was never awake long enough to move either of them and too exhausted to try. Not to mention… he just didn’t want to.

This continued throughout the day, night, and into the next day until he was awoken by a certain excited toddler banging his helmet.

“Kid,” he groaned, blearily swatting the womp rat away from him. Unfortunately, when the kid was awake, the kid was awake, as demonstrated by his determination to wake him by immediately jumping back on his chest.

“Mmmmm,” Alaina hummed in her sleep as she moved to sprawl over his chest, effectively shoving the kid off him with a quiet oof. When he wrapped a loose arm around her waist to hold her to him, she burrowed her head into his chest and mumbled, “You’re warm.”

A slow, content smile crept across his face as his eyes began to drift close again. He would probably regret sleeping on the floor for so long, but at this very moment, with Alaina’s warm body lying on top of his, he found it difficult to want to be anywhere else.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

With a sigh, his eyes opened to find the kid’s head staring down at him. He must have been standing directly behind his helmet because from this position, the kid was upside down, and the only thing he could see was the kid’s enormous eyes and equally enormous ears looking down into his helmet. “Bah.”

“Okay, okay,” he groused, attempting to get up from the floor.

“It’s early,” Alaina mumbled sleepily, spreading her arms and legs over him to sink her weight into his chest to prevent him from getting up.

“We slept an entire cycle,” he countered, wrapping both arms around her petite frame to hold her against his chest while he sat up. He grimaced at how his back and joints protested after sleeping on the metal floor for over twenty-some-odd hours.

“It’s still early,” she argued, pulling a face at being disturbed but still refusing to open her eyes.

Mando couldn’t argue with that. The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon, bathing the landscape in a warm pink color as it continued to climb into the sky.

He carried Alaina to her cot, tucked away in the corner, and deposited her there with minimal grumbling. Once on the cot, she immediately buried herself under the blankets and drifted back to sleep.

He watched over her with a tired smile before returning his attention to the kid. “Breakfast?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep. The kid smiled up at him with a large, toothy grin at the question. “Come on,” he said, motioning for the kid to follow.

Mando shuffled around the hold, tidying up the mess they had left from their last dinner while the kid followed him, babbling excitedly. He turned the electric kettle on to heat some water for instant caf and then searched their remaining supplies to scrounge up something to feed them all. Their supplies were slowly dwindling, and while he could hunt to an extent, they couldn’t stay here forever. They’d been here almost three weeks already, and aside from the last time he crashed here, this was the longest stretch of time he’d remained stationary with no job. However, to purchase supplies and rations, one needed credits, which meant he needed to find a job.

For the first time in Din Djarin’s memory, he found himself annoyed that there wasn’t more of an opportunity for downtime.

He sighed as he divided the rest of the yellow berries the kid and Alaina had picked the other day into a couple of bowls. He passed one down to the kid and dropped a protein bar in his lap. The kid squealed and immediately tore into the berries. Mando grabbed the other bowl and added a couple more protein bars before he fixed two cups of instant caf with the hot water and moved to sit next to Alaina’s cot.

He placed Alaina’s cup and the bowl of yellow berries on the floor near her head and leaned back against the wall. He sneaked bites of his protein bar under his helmet, alternating with sips of his caf under his helmet while he continued to consider their options.

The problem was there were plenty of options out there for work. All perfect, under-the-radar (ish) crews who preferred you not to be in the guild as most of their members had a puck out for them. Ranzar Malk still reached out from time to time with jobs, hoping to entice the Mandalorian back to his crew… and if he didn’t have the kid and Alaina with him, he would probably agree to come back. However, he did have others to consider now—others who shouldn’t be exposed to the likes of Malk. Not to mention, there was a high likelihood that Xi’an still ran with his crew, and the thought of Alaina meeting Xi’an was not something he wanted to happen. Ever.

“You think too loud,” Alaina grumbled as she roused herself from the pile of blankets.

He tensed at her words as the events of the day before slammed back into his mind. His chest filled with air, making him feel like an overinflated balloon. That really happened? Some kind of sorcery linked the three and then were stuck in Alaina’s mind for hours while they tried to figure it out. It wasn’t possible, was it? To hear someone’s thoughts?

He couldn’t help the trepidation from rising. A bond, Alaina had called it. Was that permanent? Was he forever connected to them now? What if everything fell apart? What if he stuck his boot in his mouth again, and Alaina finally came to her senses and left him for good? Would he still be able to feel her from parsecs away? Even just the thought of that made him go cold.

Alaina sniffed and looked down to find the caf and food waiting on the floor for her. “Breakfast in bed,” she hummed appreciatively, giving him a sleepy smile as she grabbed the mug and the bowl of berries. Mando noted she, unsurprisingly, left the protein bar behind on the ground. She moved to sit back against the wall and clutched the warm cup to her chest for a moment before she took a sip of the brown liquid, scrunching her face at the taste, “I miss tea.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t hear my thoughts?” Mando asked, still nervous about whatever happened between the three of them. He was only just getting used to the idea of having them travel with him, but if they could hear his every thought—

“Stop panicking,” Alaina commented, tossing one of the yellow berries at his helmet. “We can’t hear your thoughts. It’s more like we can feel your feelings. I imagine it’s maybe not quite the same for you since you don’t have powers like us.” Mando hummed at her assessment and turned to take a sip of caf from his cup. Alaina tilted her head as she looked between him and the kid, “We should probably figure that out. Might come in handy. Though, I'll warn you, the only thing that has come out of my afternoon meditation sessions with Grogu when we practice raising and lowering our mental shields is learning that most of his feelings involve being hungry.”

He snorted, “Why am I not surprised?”

Alaina studied him while she popped another berry in her mouth, “So, were you panicking about our connection when I woke up, or did something else make you grumpy?”

Mando sighed, “You were right last night—well, whenever that was when you said we can’t stay here forever. We’ve got a week's worth of supplies and rations left, which could probably be stretched out with hunting, but…”

“But it’s time to go,” Alaina finished sadly, popping a berry into her mouth.

“I don’t have a set plan yet, so we won't leave immediately,” Mando told her, and she shrugged. “We’ll come back,” he promised, resting his hand on her thigh, which was still hiding under the blankets.

“Mando?” Alaina questioned and then looked down nervously into her cup of caf. “Not to add to your list of problems, but…” she tapered off with a sigh, and he gave her a reassuring squeeze of her thigh. “On our first night here, you asked if I wanted to go get my mom’s trunk?” she asked, looking hopefully at him.

“You want to go get it?” he guessed.

Alaina nodded, “Mando, if Grogu’s memory was real… Why would she have never told me any of that?” she whispered.

“I don’t know,” he answered, taking his hand off her leg to toss her protein bar at her.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. We were so close. I just can’t believe she kept a secret like that from me. I mean, she already showed me her powers. She’s the one who helped me learn mine… I get her not telling me when I was a kid, but she didn’t even say anything when she was on her deathbed.” Alaina stopped to take an angry bite of her protein bar, and Mando stayed quiet to let her work through her thoughts. “She worked in the shops; we lived in a tiny run-down apartment… we were just… ordinary.”

“Yes, just two ordinary women with their witchy powers,” he teased and smiled at Alaina’s eye roll.

“I just don’t understand why she wouldn’t have told me. We talked about everything. I would have kept her secret. Besides, what would I have done with that information? I was a ballerina.”

“She was probably thinking that if you didn’t know anything, you were less likely to be captured, interrogated, and used against her,” he answered her, his voice severe but quiet.

Alaina’s forehead scrunched as she considered that.

“Do you want my opinion?” he asked with a slight tilt of his helmet. When Alaina nodded, he continued, “If I were to take a guess, I think your mom went into hiding.” Alaina stared blankly at him as she processed that and continued. “Take the facts that you do know: she told you never to reveal your powers to anyone. She could have returned to Naboo, but she didn’t. She picked a highly populated, out-of-the-way planet where she took a simple job that wouldn’t raise any suspicions; she wanted to blend in. We got dumped in at the end of Grogu’s memory, but it’s obvious that the Empire was going after the Jedis, and they were on the run. We know that they are virtually extinct now.” He looked at Alaina and her emerald doe-eyes staring back at him and shrugged. “If I was in your mother’s shoes, that’s what I would have done. But the offer still stands,” he nodded. “If you want to get your trunk, we can go get your trunk.”

Alaina gave a weak smile and nodded. “She used to keep paper diaries. I was one of the only kids who could write with pen and paper for the longest time because she made sure to teach me. She didn’t journal all the time, but a couple of her diaries were in that trunk. Maybe they will have some answers?”

“Maybe,” he answered softly. “But to get there, we need enough fuel and food to get us there. Which means we need credits. Which means I need to find a job.”

Alaina nodded, and he watched as she shoved her feelings down. She shuffled around on the bed to cross her legs to give him her full attention. “So, what are our options?” she asked, taking another sip of caf and grimacing again.

“I have a lead with a crew I used to work with,” he started hesitantly.

“Why didn’t you just say that?!” Alaina scoffed, shoving his shoulder playfully. “You seemed so gloom and doom about it.”

He sighed and cocked his helmet at her, “Because they’re all criminals who I wouldn’t trust as far as I could throw them. Not to mention that the moment they put the pieces together about you and the kid, they wouldn’t hesitate to throw me out the airlock to take the massive reward on your heads.”

“Ah,” Alaina nodded, “hence the gloom and doom,” she said, grimacing into her cup of instant caf.

“If you don’t like it, you don’t have to drink it,” Mando grumbled, taking the cup out of her hands to put it on the floor.

“But it’s warm,” she whined, snatching the cup back for another sip. “Bleh.” Mando rolled his eyes at her antics but allowed her to keep her mug. “So, what are you saying? Our options are going back to your old crew and risking you being shoved out of an airlock or starving to death on this moon?”

Mando heaved a sigh, “There’s maybe another possibility…” One that worried him for different reasons. On the one hand, he knew they would be perfectly safe and that Rhoam could be trusted not to turn on them. However, on the other hand… Rhoam was… well, Rhoam. The man was the biggest flirt in the galaxy, and even he could begrudgingly admit the man was attractive. The hoards of women who fawned over him seemed to agree. However, some of that could be because the man was a King. Not to mention, his Chief of Security made him… uncomfortable. “I have someone who owes me a favor. He rules a planet near the border into wild space—”

“I’m sorry. Did you say he rules a planet?” Alaina cut him off and raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Yes.”

Alaina’s mouth dropped open, “Like, he rules the planet like a King?”

“Not like a King. He is the King.”

“And he owes you a favor?” she asked skeptically, still unable to close her mouth.

“Yes,” he answered in a slow exhale, already knowing their answer.

Alaina blinked stoically at him before saying, “So, you’re struggling with picking between a group of thugs or working for a King? I can see why you're struggling so hard to decide between the two,” she deadpanned.

Mando cocked his head at her and snatched her mug out from her hands. “Hey!” she grumbled, but he ignored her as he picked up the rest of their dishes to take to the sink. The kid smiled brightly at him, and Mando chuckled at the yellow stains around his mouth, no doubt from shoving the berries in his mouth as quickly as possible. “Get dressed. We’re going to take advantage of the next couple of days to stretch our legs. You’ve had a couple of days off. We need to get back to training,” he ordered, grabbing the kid’s bowl and dumping everything in the sink to rinse off.

“Actually,” Alaina started and shared a look with the kid before continuing, “we had a suggestion for training today.”

Mando sighed restlessly as he sat in the cockpit in his chair. Now redressed in his flight suit, armor, and a couple of weapons, he tapped his fingers impatiently on the chair’s armrest, eying the timer in the corner of his HUD. He had the chair facing away from the viewport and at the door while he watched the numbers on the timer slowly tick down.

Hide and seek.

He scoffed at her suggestion when she made it and scoffed again, just thinking about it.

“You realize that I’m a bounty hunter, right? I play hide and seek for a living.”

Alaina glared at him and bounced Grogu on her hip. “Okay, but hear me out. The three of us are connected now. We've been given a gift—"

“What good is that going to do if we can’t read each other’s thoughts?”

“But you can still feel us!" she argued. "The only reason why Grogu and I have any kind of advantage is that we have powers already. You don’t. It makes you… quieter, muted, but you’re still there.”

“And a game of hide and seek will teach me how to feel you?”

"Do you have another idea?" Alaina shrugged. “You give us an hour head start before you come looking for us. After an hour, you can only use the senses you have, old and new. No fancy tricks from the helmet,” she said, tapping the beskar helm on his head.

He simply stared at her, trying to figure out what the point was. He didn’t understand what Alaina or the kid felt; he just felt something… warm.

“Please?” Alaina pleaded, blinking up at him with those damned eyes. “Mando, you’re so worried about us getting hurt and traveling with you, but what if you could feel us like we can you? What if we can teach you? Think about what it would be like to feel if we’re happy or sad or injured?”

“Or if the womp rat is hungry,” he countered sarcastically.

“I’m being serious!” Alaina growled and swatted at his chest. “What if we’re in a scenario where we’re all separated, and the only way to find each other is by following the little string that connects us?”

Mando found it hard to argue with that logic.

“What? Scared you’ll lose, Mandalorian?” Alaina challenged, smirking at him while she wagged her eyebrows, enticing him to take her dare.

“You’re on.”

Unfortunately, after fifty-seven minutes of thinking about it, he felt like an idiot for agreeing to this.

An hour headstart… There was no telling how far they could get in an hour. The woods were dense and a good hiding place, but they could hide just as easily in the lavender field. The only thing he could use was his eyes and… witchcraft. Mando let his helmet fall back against the chair at that thought. Now, he regretted agreeing to be the bloodhound, all in the name of Alaina’s research.

The timer inside his helmet finally went off, and Mando leaped out of his chair, jumping at the bit to get started. He bypassed the ladder altogether by dropping down into the hold and immediately stomped to the ramp to assess the situation.

Right off the bat, he noticed prints in the mud. The rain and storms had softened the ground enough for Alaina's boots to leave visible prints. He rolled his eyes. He respected Alaina’s idea, but this would be child’s play.

He followed the set of prints as they walked away from the Crest and headed toward the forest. At the forest’s edge, he paused and looked at the ground with a frown.

A set of tracks went into the forest, but another set turned left and walked down the perimeter of the tree line. He turned left, following the bootprints that walked along the tree line until they turned left again, half a click away from the Crest. His hunt continued to take him in one giant loop around the Crest, and he discovered that in addition to the path that deviated into the woods, there was another one that went in the direction of the lake and another that continued through the lavender plains, heading toward the mountains in the far distance.

He smirked when the loop led him back to the clearing where the Crest was parked. She knew that he would go with his senses he knew first, and when she saw her boots left distinct tracks in the mud, she must have decided to change her plan.

“Clever girl,” he murmured, congratulating Alaina on her ingenuity.

He looked at the timer running in his helmet and saw that almost twenty minutes had passed. Alaina had an hour head start, so the faux paths she made couldn’t go very far before she finally had to pick one to take. He immediately ruled out the one in the lavender plains that headed toward the mountain range. They’d never explored that far out, and even with the tall purple grass, there weren’t enough places to hide along the way. Besides, the range was far enough away that it would take the rest of the daylight hours to make it there. So that left the woods or the lake.

To him, the woods, with its numerous blackened trees, seemed like the obvious place to hide. The trees alone could provide plenty of shelter, and there were enough roots and vegetation that she could hide her bootprints… but this was Alaina he was tracking. Alaina didn’t like the dark and always refused to go hunting in the forest with him because it gave her “the creeps.” Of course, she could have headed into the forest to throw him… but when he looked between the forest and the emerald green lake, he couldn’t explain it, but something tugged him toward the water.

He started toward the lake and analyzed the slight glow of warmth that began to radiate in his chest. Was that what Alaina was describing? Was he just supposed to follow that feeling blindly? He looked back at the forest, and the small ball of warmth faded away completely.

Mando turned to stare at the lake, and the feeling changed slightly. The small ball of warmth returned, but there was something else there.

“We can’t hear your thoughts. It’s more like we can feel your feelings.”

Smugness. That’s what he was feeling—a slight undercurrent of smugness.

Alaina was somewhere where she could see him struggling over which direction to take, and wherever she was, she was apparently feeling quite proud of herself.

His lips curled at the challenge. “We’ll see how smug you are after I find you, Tranyc,” he murmured to himself, hoping she could feel him coming for her.

He stalked off toward the lake. He walked parallel to her tracks but only spared them half a thought. Alaina could fake her steps or cover her tracks, but she couldn’t cover her feelings.

Mando concentrated on that little golden rope of warmth tugging in his chest, and he put aside everything he’d been taught about tracking to instead rely on a bit of sorcery to lead him to his targets. It felt as if the cord in his chest was now something tangible—something real and warm he could physically hold in his hands, even though that wasn’t the case. At all.

When he reached the lake, he stopped to analyze the shoreline and surrounding areas, trying to determine where she and the kid might be hiding. He could feel a tug of disapproval from the other end of their shared rope, and at first, he thought it was disapproval because he’d found their hiding spot already, but it tugged again as if telling him he was wrong. If she wasn’t disapproving of him finding them, then what—

Realization dawned on him. She could only see him looking for them and likely thought he was going against the rules and using the bonus features in his helmet to help track them down. “I’m not cheating, Tranyc,” he murmured.

When the feeling didn’t change, he grumbled in embarrassment, feeling like an idiot standing in the middle of the black-pebbled beach with his eyes closed. But if they were going to learn to use this little gift, he supposed they should figure out precisely what they could and could not do.

Mando grabbed onto the warm golden string and tugged back. The rope flashed hot in excitement; this time, he felt the kid’s excitement entwined with Alaina’s.

His eyes snapped open, and his head snapped a distant spot on the shoreline to his right. If someone were to ask him how he knew they were there, he couldn’t tell them how he knew. He just knew. “Gotcha,” he growled. His confident grin grew when he felt Alaina and the kid try to shield their emotions. Grogu was evidently better at it than Alaina because the kid faded away entirely, but he could still feel a trace of Alaina. “Nice try, you two, but I’ve got you now,” he said as he took off down the shoreline.

He prowled the pebbled shore, looking around the rocks and bushes that lined it in search of his two companions. The water from the lake washed away any evidence of her trail, so he was left to look for other signs (hand prints on rocks, broken vegetation, or another set of tracks) for where they were. When he reached the same rocky platform he jumped off with Alaina, he climbed up the black rock for a higher vantage point.

Mando reluctantly admitted that he was enjoying himself. His initial assessment of Alaina’s little training exercise was wrong. This was different. Exciting. And, if he was honest, it was a little bit of a turn-on. He could almost feel the same undercurrent of anticipation coming from Alaina. It was muted and subtle, but it was there. He practiced tugging on the cord that now bonded them together. He almost couldn't feel anything if he didn’t concentrate on it. He had to focus on it. It was strange. Bizarre even. He was his own self… but… he wasn’t alone.

Not only was he learning how to harness his companions' magic, but he was also learning that Alaina was an adept hider. That was promising for their future training exercises because as much as Mando needed her to be able to defend herself, sometimes, it was better to learn how to hide.

He smirked when he felt Alaina’s shield slip, and he tugged at the cord but didn’t get an answer.

“You did good using your bootprints to your advantage back there,” he paused to nod toward the ship. “That was smart. I like it when you show me how clever you are.” He felt a soft warmth through their connection. It reminded him of when Alaina blushed. Soft and delicate, but still there. He smirked when he realized his words embarrassed her. “You like feeling me be proud of you?” he asked to nothing but raised his voice loud enough that he hoped Alaina could hear his question from wherever she was.

The only response he got was that soft, warm feeling in his chest flare, alighting hotter. She was either embarrassed to admit anything or trying too hard to conceal herself, which meant she was nearby.

Mando focused on the landscape around him, looking for any clues. “I am, you know?” he yelled again, looking for even the slightest stalk of grass to shake. “Proud of you,” he continued, eyes landing on a dense bush beside a tree across from him. “Always proud of you, Tranyc,” he purred as he jumped down from his platform.

His chest flashed hot at his words, and he knew he was close. They had to be hiding here somewhere. From this vantage point, Alaina could have seen him back at the Crest and on the shoreline, and if he could feel her embarrassment, then he was close enough that she could hear him even when he didn’t yell.

Mando lunged for the dense shrub in front of him. “Got—” he cut himself off when he only found a bright purple lizard that scurried away when he moved the branches away. Damn, he’d be sure they were hiding—

The sound of a rock falling made him spin to look behind him, but he didn’t see anything out of place.

He couldn’t see anything out of place, but he definitely felt the kid’s amusement. He smirked and hunched over to take a ridiculously huge step as he hunched over, stretching his hands out. “Alright, you womp rat,” he called out, hoping to get a giggle out of the kid.

His eyes flicked in every direction while he tried to feel where they were through their connection, but it was quiet.

His chest rumbled from his quiet growl of frustration. They were toying with him. They were taking advantage of the fact that he didn’t know how to work their newfound connection, that he couldn’t shield his emotions from them, and were toying with him. Oh, he was so going to get them back.

The sound of the lake lapping against the shore in the distance was the only thing he could hear. He was sure they were here, but maybe they were watching him on the other side of the lake. Hell, for all he knew, they could be hiding in the forest, laughing as loud as they wanted because he couldn’t hear them. Mando shook his head and sighed. The wind blew, rustling the leaves in the tree behind him, and he moved to straighten up and start his search over—

Something heavy dropped from the tree and landed on his shoulders, sending him toppling forward. His gloved hands frantically patted at his neck at the feeling of something, or someone, rather, locking their legs around his neck. It was too late, though. Mando couldn’t keep from toppling face-first into the ground. In a last-minute twist, Mando watched Alaina through his helmet, lean forward, and tuck in before letting out a loud scream as she used their forward momentum to flip him over her. She kept her legs locked around his neck the entire time, following him through the summersault and refusing to let go even after their backs simultaneously crashed into the ground.

“Gotcha,” Alaina panted on the ground above him. She briefly tightened her legs around his neck one more time before releasing him and resting her feet on top of his shoulders.

Fuck, she got him, alright.

Not to be outdone by a ballerina, Mando latched onto her ankles and rolled them both onto their stomachs. He tried to pull her back to him, but she kicked back sharply with her left foot, breaking free of his grasp. She tried to push off the ground, but when that wasn’t successful, she rolled over onto her back. He didn’t need to ask if she was okay. He could feel it. There was no doubt, fear, or flashbacks in her emerald eyes. There was just determination staring back at him.

It was fucking sexy.

She smirked at him and used her free leg to kick at his helmet, but he grabbed it quickly and used his hands to tug her under him. Mando used his larger frame to box her in with his elbows and knees before he leaned down to whisper, “What was that, Tranyc?” next to her ear.

He looked down at Alaina panting under him. She had to be getting stronger than he realized if she had been able to pull a move like that off with him in full armor. Mando couldn’t help but take a moment to appreciate her. Her blonde hair was braided back, but pieces had come undone in the scuffle, giving her a manic, wild look. Her cheeks were flushed a shade of pink that matched her parted lips. His eyes couldn’t help but continue their inspection, taking a moment to appreciate the tight black top that hugged her curves and noted with an evil smirk that he could make out her pebbled nipples straining against the top, and then had to immediately bite down on his bottom lip to keep from groaning when he realized she wasn’t wearing her breastband under her shirt. Fuck. He could just slip his hands under and—

“My eyes are up here,” she teased, returning his attention to her smiling face. “Ready to admit you lost, Mandalorian?” she whispered, giving him a smoldering look.

“From my vantage point, I think I’m the winner,” he purred back, but his eyes pulled back down to her chest, still heaving as she tried to catch her breath, allowing him to admire her soft curves. He was so distracted he missed the sly smile stretch across her face, and his entire body shuddered when he felt her hands come to rest on his sides as her delicate fingers worked their way to the tender places on the sides of his chest that weren’t protected by armor.

“You forgot one very important thing,” she whispered under him.

Mando gave her a lazy hum as an answer, enjoying the feeling of her hands stroking his sides. He’d long lost the fight to keep his attraction hidden, and having Alaina panting and heaving under him was the final nail in the coffin for him. He fully intended to ensure she knew he didn’t forget a thing. Especially when the last time they had been on the verge of something, it had ended so spectacularly.

Alaina’s fingers dug into his ribs, and the Mandalorian was once again brought out of his daydreams and back to reality when his body shuddered for an entirely different reason. He couldn’t hold the surprised bark of laughter that escaped him. She used his moment of shock to double down on her actions and then used her hands to roll them so that he was now on his back, and Alaina sat on his stomach, trapping his torso between her thighs. “You’re ticklish,” she told him, grinning as her fingers dug into his sensitive ribs.

Mando laughed and grabbed her wrists to pull her hands off his chest. “I can fight dirty, too, Tranyc,” he threatened. Alaina’s serious mask broke, and she began giggling and weakly keeping his hands away from her as he tried to return the favor. After a moment of playful struggling, he decided enough was enough and slowly rose from the ground. Alaina’s body slid down as she lost the fight with gravity until she landed on his lap with her center directly over his awaiting, eager bulge, straining through his trousers to find her warmth. He gripped her hips tightly in his hands, appreciating the way her pink blush now flushed down her neck and across her chest. “But my way of fighting dirty is a little different than yours, sweet thing,” he murmured, using his hands to grind her over where he desired her.

Alaina’s mouth fell open in a soft ‘O’ shape as she sucked in a quiet gasp of pleasure.

“Ready to admit defeat?” he murmured, moving his helmet to gently nuzzle her cheek, smiling when Alaina's arms wrapped around his neck to hold him—

“Patu!”

The adults blinked before they realized they’d forgotten one very important thing.

“We have a kid,” Alaina whispered as Mando’s helmet dropped to the top of her shoulder in defeat, and she gave him a friendly pat on his shoulder.

Mando stiffened as a thought occurred to him… “Tell me that when you say that we can feel each other, the kid can’t…” he faded off, not even wanting to speak it.

Alaina let out a surprised snort and gripped him tightly as she laughed into his neck. “Um, honestly, I hadn’t thought about that, but um,” she paused to smile at the kid trying to scale his armor. “But his mental walls are stronger than mine, so I think we’re just gonna have to hope that he knows what to tune out?” she finished, sounding more like she was asking him a question instead of answering his.

Mando groaned and gently banged his helmet against her shoulder.

Alaina’s sweet giggling continued as she hugged his neck. “Look at the bright side. Most couples have to go through this long, arduous process of courting and getting to learn about each other and their bodies… and we… we get to skip all that and go straight to being the boring married couple with a kid.”

“Kriff,” he muttered, frustrated in more ways than one, and, taking a page from Alaina's book, collapsed dramatically to his back. The kid took advantage of his new prone position to bang excitedly on his helmet.

“Come on, little one,” Alaina chuckled, grabbing the kid before he could slap his helmet again and got up to head back to the Razor Crest.

With a deep, calming breath, Mando shoved down the urge to toss the tiny green cock block into the lake and climbed to his feet.

The kid looked back at him over Alaina’s shoulder and squealed excitedly. Mando looked the kid in the eyes before sending a very irritated message to the toddler down their new form of communication. The kid’s ears perked up at the wave of irritation directed toward him from the Mandalorian, and he tried to give him a sweet, innocent smile. Mando shook his head. The womp rat would have to nap at some point and the moment that happened…

Mando stopped walking to blink in disbelief as the kid was being carried away and jogged to catch up with them.

“What are you doing?” Mando scolded Alaina as he caught up to them. He plucked the kid from her arms and placed him on the ground. When the kid turned his excited squeal on one of the nearby, unsuspecting purple lizards and chased after it, Mando looked smugly down at Alaina. “He has energy he needs to burn off,” he defended.

Alaina smirked and shook her head at him, but her cheeks flushed at the implications. When she turned to follow after the kid, Mando reached out and shoved his fingers down the small space of her waistband where it didn’t quite touch her back and yanked her back into him. “And just so we’re clear, the second the womp rat closes his eyes, I will be asking you to demonstrate that flexibility you teased about on Sorgan, so I’d start stretching when we make it back to the Crest,” he said darkly, pushing his hips into her lower back so she could feel his rigid desperation.

She leaned back into him and looped her arms around his neck before saying, “You know, some stretches require a partner.”

He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes to keep his moan to himself, and for the first time since taking the Creed, he wondered if, instead of dying in battle, it would be a former ballerina who did him in.

After damn near six hours, the kid was still going strong.

They had spent three hours exploring around the lake, giving the kid ample room to run and explore. They stopped near the water several times so the kid could watch (and try to catch) small schools of neon pink and orange fish. At one of their fish observation stops, Mando turned to check on Alaina, only to find her with one foot propped up on top of a rock with her body leaning over her outstretched leg. The karking temptress had the nerve to smirk at him while she stretched. “What?” she asked, blinking at him innocently before she lost the battle, and he saw the teasing tip of her pink tongue peek out from between her teeth. Mando could only growl and direct the kid to keep moving, hoping they would wear him out sooner rather than later.

By the time they returned to the clearing where the Crest was, the kid still showed no signs of slowing down. They spent another couple of hours with him, taking turns with the womp rat to keep him engaged in something. Alaina started one of their magic lessons, stating that when the kid has to use his powers, it usually drains him… However, after an hour of watching the kid float and play with the damned silver ball from cock pit, Mando snatched the object out of the air and grabbed the kid.

If physical and mental activity wouldn’t work, then he was going to bore the kid to death.

Mando walked the kid around the hull of the Crest, pointing out every possible unique fact that he could. From the wing flaps to stories about how he got each scorch mark and nick from various battles. It didn't matter how soft or monotone Mando spoke; the kid just soaked in the attention.

Eventually, Mando was so wound up that Alaina took pity on him. “Why don’t you go hunt or something?” she suggested with a friendly pat on his shoulder. “We can dry whatever we don’t eat to add to our stores once we leave. Help give us a little buffer with our rations, yeah?”

“Fine,” he gruffed and stomped back in the Crest to grab his hunting supplies, ignoring Alaina’s smile. “But he doesn’t stop moving, and don’t you dare let him close his eyes until I get back,” he ordered with a threatening point.

“Yes, sir,” Alaina all but purred, and Mando spun away from her to head into the forest before he combusted right there.

Half an hour into his hunt, his mind and body finally calmed down enough for him to pay attention to the task at hand.

Mando used the time tracking to mentally plan their next few days, letting the more mundane plans help calm him down. He'd need to send a message to Rhoam soon to call in his favor and hope that the man's Chief of Security wouldn't block his attempts at finding refuge. Then there were the travel logistics. He could already guess it would take both companions time to adjust to life on the Crest again. Going from weeks of having all the room they could want to being confined to the Crest would take some adjusting to. Leaving at night would at least shorten the two days of travel to Rhoam’s planet. Enjoy what was left of today and tonight. Let the kid burn some energy off during the daylight tomorrow while they start packing and securing their belongings for takeoff.

As his mental checklist for takeoff continued, Mando found himself unable to stop smiling at his visions of what life would be like with Alaina and Grogu. It was then that Alaina’s words from earlier suddenly struck him. “Look at the bright side. Most couples have to go through this long, arduous process of courting and getting to learn about each other and their bodies… and we… we get to skip all that and go straight to being the boring married couple with a kid.”

Mando froze as her words played on a loop inside his mind, utterly unaware of the rabbit right in front of him. Is that how she saw them? As a family?

He’d had a family before. He’d had a clan before… He’d already secretly come around to the idea that the three of them were a strange little clan. Still, something about admitting that he and Alaina were in a relationship and Grogu was theirs absolutely terrified him.

They had feelings for one another. Obviously.

And, yes, there was a kid involved… but…

Married? Married was a word that he had removed from his personal vocabulary. That was permanent. That was… love. A word that he only associated with his parents. Their love for him—Their love for each other… Besides, it had only been a handful of months since he'd rescued them from Nevarro. That was too soon, right? Before they'd become stuck in Alaina's mind, before everything blew up in his face so spectacularly, Alaina had told him she wanted to be his partner. She'd also said she wanted to be his lover, but she'd said partner.

His mind reluctantly reminded him that the Mando'a word for partner, riduur, like several words in the language, had several meanings. Not only was riduur used for partner, but it was also more commonly associated with a spouse. Partners appealed to him more, only because he could somewhat detach himself. He could detach himself for the day when Alaina no longer wanted to live his nomadic lifestyle. He could detach himself for when Alaina realized she deserved more than him—

The cord in his chest warmed, and if he closed his eyes, Mando could almost imagine that Alaina was here with him in the woods, placing a comforting hand on his chest to chase away his spiraling thoughts.

Maker, he was easily five clicks away from the Crest, and Alaina felt him. That was impressive—a little alarming considering his previous thoughts, but nonetheless impressive.

Her attempt to calm him only worked momentarily because what was he doing? He was out of his depths. He had feelings, strong feelings, for her but love...

His mind flashed with memories of their last few months together. Of their day together at the lake. Of dinners in front of the fire. Taking turns playing with the kid. He could still easily recall how dull and defeated her green eyes were when he found her in the Imp’s compound months ago, and compared to the full, sparkling emerald green gems they were now when she looked at him, it was almost difficult to believe that they had made it here.

Who was he kidding? Being a part of a clan before was one thing… but actually having one of his own? He didn’t know how to handle that. He couldn’t remember what it was like to love someone, so how was he supposed to be able to love Alaina or Grogu?

Maybe it was because he saw his parents for the first time in almost thirty years or because he was able to physically hug his mother, but it was like the floodgates had opened, and memories from his past came rising up like the tide.

Older memories began filtering through new ones. One of his parents smiling and laughing together at the dinner table, followed by a memory of Alaina sitting next to him in front of the fire and leaning into his shoulder as she laughed over a story he told her about tracking down an old quarry. There was another memory of his father shushing him to be quiet in their darkened home as his mother walked through the door after closing the bakery. When his mother turned the lights on, they jumped out from their hiding spots, surprising her… it was... her birthday, he thought. He could still remember the look in his mother’s eyes when she opened them after his father spun her around the room and stopped, dipping her backward and giving her a searing kiss. That memory was followed by Alaina’s emerald eyes sparkling as she laughed when they breached the lake’s green waters after Mando jumped in with her in his arms. There was one final memory of him crawling into bed between his parents after he’d been startled awake by a storm in the night, followed by a more recent memory. A memory of him and Alaina sleeping in the alcove on the Crest with Grogu nestled comfortably between them.

And then he remembered what had happened when they were bizarrely stuck inside Alaina's mind. He'd never forget those bottomless black pools that took over her eyes, but she had been trying to tell him something.

“The foundation is constructed by four pillars,” Alaina said. “The pillars are linked together, bound by the strongest substance in the galaxy. Because of that, this room remains standing,” she murmured.

Mando let go of Alaina, keeping Grogu in his free hand. Alaina’s black eyes stared into space, and the kid stared at him with a massive smile as if he knew the answer to his unasked question. With a sigh, he looked back to Alaina to find her black eyes fixed on his helmet, patiently waiting for him to ask his question. “What is that strong?”

Alaina’s hand came to rest in the center of his chest, and both she and the kid were looking back at him with black eyes and smiles.

“Love,” she whispered. Mando scrunched his face in confusion at her answer. “Love is the foundation.”

Mando’s eyes snapped open as a cold gust of wind blew through the trees, and he looked up to see dark clouds signaling another storm creeping over the treetops.

“Your family is beautiful,” his mother whispered in his ear. “Are you happy?”

He returned the hug, savoring the gift he’d been given. “Yes,” he whispered with a smile.

His stolen moment in time with his parents… It was meant to remind him that he remembered what it was like to see two people in love. It was to remind him that he knew what love was because he had witnessed true love firsthand as a child.

Mando turned and sprinted through the forest's trees, their black glittering trunks, as he headed back toward the Crest.

Their stories had been interlinked and woven from the beginning. With their bond, memories may have floated through, but what if it was meant to show him something else?

What if Alaina's subconscious tried to show him they were her foundation? Her mother, the kid, him... that they'd kept her from cracking and crumbling apart when she had every right not to be here. What if she was trying to show him that he didn't need to be scared because she had already accepted him as an integral part of who she was?

Oh, he was an idiot. Here he was, agonizing over him not being enough for her, not being able to love her, not knowing how to be a family when her black-eyed alter ego had proved him so spectacularly wrong. Her subconscious opened him up to show him that he was a part of her foundation. She showed him that she had accepted his past, their past, as a piece of herself and that the love of her mother, combined with Grogu's love and his love, somehow held her together.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he was taken back to that night when she'd forced him out in the karking rain to force him to see the world how she did. She'd been right; it was beautiful but didn't compare to her beauty. It didn't compare to how the lightning highlighted the rain on her face, making her appear ethereal.

"I'm not going anywhere," she told him, and he thought his heart would swell and burst right there in the middle of the storm.

“I want to be your partner. I want to be your friend… I want to be your lover,” she rasped, pulling his head down to capture his lips in another searing kiss. “I don’t want to be locked away in the closet whenever you leave the ship. If you want me to stay, we’re in this together.”

“Look at the bright side. Most couples have to go through this long, arduous process of courting and getting to learn about each other and their bodies… and we… we get to skip all that and go straight to being the boring married couple with a kid.”

If he was going to do this with her—with them—then he didn’t want to miss a thing. He didn’t want to skip over anything—not with Alaina or the kid. He’d already lost five years with Alaina over his poor communication skills and Alaina’s tendency to be rash in her decisions. He didn’t want to lose another second.

He shot out of the tree line and ignored the burning of his lungs as he looked frantically for his family in the silver grass clearing, but they weren’t to be found. He wasn’t worried. He could feel them. They were here somewhere—

“Hey,” Alaina greeted as she and Grogu rounded the Crest. She even had the kid on the ground, forcing him to walk—shuffle—next to her, each with a basket in hand. “We decided to go do some berry picking,” she explained, holding her basket to show him. “Is everything okay? We came back because you felt off. Did you get hurt?”

Mando shook his head as he crossed the clearing to greet them.

Alaina’s face scrunched in confusion as she studied him. “You struck out then? All the rabbits finally caught on to your hunting habits?” she asked, commenting on the lack of game he returned with. “Or did they form some kind of alliance, and it became the hunter being the hunted type situation?” came her weak joke as she tried to figure out what was wrong when he remained silent.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered, out of breath, as he approached her.

“Wait, what? Why?” she asked him, placing her basket on the ground. "What's wrong?"

“Alaina, close your eyes,” he ordered again, dropping his voice to a more intimidating octave. His hands came up to his neck, and he started to untuck his cloak from his breastplate. He came to a stop in front of her and cocked his helmet when she still didn’t close her eyes.

“Mando—”

“No,” he interrupted, shaking his helmet at her. “Alaina Corra, close your eyes. Please,” he added at the end.

Alaina’s emerald eyes studied him, and her uncertainty and concern grew when he finally freed his cloak and let it fall to the ground, covering the kid. Grogu squawked at suddenly being covered and struggled to free himself from under the wool cloak. She looked between the blanket-covered toddler and him and gave him one final skeptical look before she finally closed her eyes.

“I’m trusting you to keep them closed for me, Tranyc. Can you do that for me?” he murmured as he came toe to toe with her.

Alaina nodded, “But, Mando—”

“Use my name,” he interrupted her, lifting his helmet over his head.

Alaina stilled, and even without the added audio amplifiers inside his helmet, he could hear her quiet gasp of surprise. Mando watched her, greedily taking in how she looked in the daylight. Even with the sudden pop-up spring storm looming around them, the sun's last rays still managed to find her bright honey-blonde hair and make it shine.

“Djarin,” came her nervous whisper.

He crashed his lips into hers at the sound of his name leaving them. It had been so long since he had heard his name come from someone else, and never had he heard it as sweet as hers.

He’d never understood the appeal of kissing someone before, but after that night in the rain… he understood why people kissed. He poured every ounce of feelings he didn’t have words for into that kiss, hoping she understood everything he was trying to tell her. When he felt her loop her arms around his neck, he took the hand holding his helmet to wrap around her waist and buried the other in the back of her hair, holding her tightly to him.

Alaina’s fingers wound in his overgrown curls at the base of his neck and tugged.

With her in position, he arched her back in a clumsy, awkward dip as he chased after her lips. Alaina released a surprise gasp against his lips but clenched her eyes tighter, and he rewarded her with another kiss. When he couldn’t take her any further without toppling them both over, he stopped and broke the kiss to murmur against her lips, “My name is Din Djarin.” He leaned back in for a gentle kiss and then pulled away again. “And we can be the boring married couple with a kid, but I’m not skipping over anything,” he whispered, biting her lip. “Not with you, Alaina Corra.”

With one last kiss, he got them upright, slowly placing his helmet back over his head as the rose.

Alaina stood there in a daze with her eyes closed. The kid was still by their feet, struggling to escape under his cloak.

“Din Djarin,” Alaina whispered with a whimsical smile plastered across her face.

“You can open your eyes, ya know,” he told her, bumping his beskar cover forehead against hers.

Alaina’s smile broadened as she bit down on her bottom lip and shook her head. “Din Djarin, kiss me,” she whispered, holding on to the top of his chestpiece.

Din Djarin’s smile overtook his face, and he tipped his helmet up to oblige the lady’s request. He could feel Alaina’s smile as large as his own against his lips.

The kid picked that moment to finally free himself and let out a series of disgruntled spitting noises, explaining in great detail how he felt about being left out of whatever the adults were doing. Alaina giggled at the sound, and with one last kiss, she let him go.

Thunder rumbled nearby as the clouds continued to gather, but Alaina stood there swaying slightly in the wind with her eyes closed in a daze.

When her emerald eyes finally opened to look at him, Din Djarin hoped that someday, he could look at them without the barrier between them. Without his helmet. He wanted to look at her eyes with his own.

“Come on, Tin Man,” Alaina whispered, with her smile still firmly plastered across her face. “Let’s go inside before you melt,” she smirked and nodded at the Crest.

He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts and Alaina that he only now realized it was starting to rain. He watched her saunter back to the Crest with a shining smile still gracing her face and called after her, “Hey! You can use my name, you know?”

Alaina stopped at the foot of the ramp and turned back to give him a devilish smile that reignited a fire inside his chest before she said, “I intend to,” and turned back to enter the Crest.

Dank farrik.

The kid chirped from his spot, still half buried under his cloak, and held his hands up to be picked up.

He bent over to grab the kid, his cloak in one arm and their full baskets of yellow berries in the other and shook his head at the kid. “Kid—Grogu,” he started, and the kid’s ears perked up excited by the use of his name. “My name is Din Djarin, and you have to cut me a break.”

The spring storm that forced them inside was much more intense than the last storm. The wind howled while rain and hail pelted against the ship's hull, all while the background noise of thunder rumbling sounded like it rarely stopped. He tried to leave the ramp open to let Alaina enjoy the storm for as long as possible, but when the wind started blowing the rain inside the hull, even Alaina told him to close up the ship.

“Bah!” Grogu yelled, waving his silver ball in the air.

The Mandalorian couldn’t remember the last time he admitted defeat, but sitting slumped on the floor of his own ship, back propped up against the wall, with the kid playing between the open ‘V’ of his legs, Din Djarin threw in the towel.

"I thought we decided you were going to cut me a break," he grumbled as he plucked the ball from the kid’s hands and tossed it down the hold. The kid giggled and squealed as if this wasn’t the hundredth time they’d done this and scrambled over his leg to go after the tiny beskar ball.

“You’re never getting that back,” Alaina teased.

His head swiveled to find Alaina exiting the fresher, scrunching the excess water from her hair with a towel. She’d changed out of her training clothes into his old tunic, and he quietly grumbled when he felt the kid crawl back over his leg to wave the ball in front of him again.

“You know,” she continued, and he could hear the smirk in her voice as she approached, “glaring at him won’t make him fall asleep any faster. We slept for over twenty hours. We’ll be lucky if he ever goes to sleep again.”

He exhaled an annoyed sigh and let his helmet fall back against the wall in defeat.

“Come on, little one,” Alaina cooed at the smiling toddler. “How about something to eat?” she asked, receiving an excited sputtering noise from the tiny goblin in response, and picked him up to hold him to her hip. “We’ll be up top, so you have the place to yourself for a bit,” she told him, her voice soft and sweet as she passed him, gracing him with an eyeful of her bare legs.

He watched her climb up the ladder to the cockpit, nodding and agreeing along to the kid’s excited babbles as if she understood every word he was saying. Probably why the kid liked her so much; she treated him like she would anyone else. Honestly, it was one of the reasons he liked her so much. It didn’t matter if you were a shrimping villager from a backwater skughole, a former Drop Trooper, a fifty-year-old green alien toddler, or covered head to toe in beskar. Alaina saw you for who you were.

Once he heard the cockpit door close, he forced himself to get off the floor and head to the fresher to clean up. He grabbed his sweats on the way in and began dismantling his armor piece by piece once he closed the fresher door to give him some privacy.

He stared at his reflection in the tiny mirror and frowned at how overgrown his hair and beard had gotten. Leaning closer to the mirror, his frown deepened when he noticed that more and more grays were starting to creep in. He shook his head as he splashed some water on his face and reached for his razor to tidy the scruff along his jaw. Since rescuing Alaina and the kid, he’d let his regular grooming habits fall by the wayside, and if his hair or beard grew any longer, it would become even more of an annoyance under his helmet than it already was.

Once the beard was gone and his mustache had been trimmed to a more respectable length, he took the scissors to cut his hair. He hated this the most. It always came out choppy and uneven when he did it. A not entirely unwanted image of Alaina trimming his hair for him flashed, and he had to push it away before he let him get too far ahead of himself. He stepped into the shower, turned the water on to rinse off the stray hairs and stubble, and stood under the warm spray, wondering why he had never bothered to replace the broken heating coil when it went out years ago.

His eyes opened at the feeling of the cord inside his chest glowing. When he concentrated on the feeling, he could tell that Alaina was feeling very smug about the fact that he was enjoying the warm shower. He rolled his eyes and grabbed the bar of soap to finish cleaning up. Even with the warm water, he was never one to shower long, and he was eager to join his companions to watch the rest of the storm from the cockpit.

Now, if a certain blonde, witchy, former ballerina decided to join him sometime…

He laughed when he felt their bond flush in embarrassment.

“Serves you right for spying, Tranyc,” he said to himself, returning to finish his shower.

He caught himself smiling like an idiot. Again. Only he doesn’t care. For the first time in months, maybe even years, things felt like they were how they were supposed to be.

At least, he did think that until the lights went out.

He blinked in surprise in the pitch-black fresher, listening to the few functioning systems on the Crest as they systematically powered down one by one until even the shower slowed to a trickle before it eventually stopped altogether.

“Kriff,” he cursed, noting that his normal speaking voice echoed around the small room loudly without the background ambient noise of the Razor Crest.

Just one moment of happiness? Was that too much to ask for? Just one moment for them to enjoy themselves and be happy without some catastrophe happening.

He blindly patted his hand along the wall looking for the door and cursed when he stubbed his toe on the pile of beskar lying on the floor. “Come on,” he growled when the door wouldn’t even open from the lack of power.

The list of possibilities ran through his mind for the power loss as he worked to shimmy the door open. The storm was brutal, so a lightning strike was high up there, which would be extremely unfortunate, given that his repair tools were limited and the moon was uninhabited. Of course, there was always the possibility that some unknown threat had cut the power. Just because the moon was uninhibited didn’t mean he was the only person in the entire galaxy who’d ever been here. There was a chance that they weren’t alone.

That thought only renewed his determination to pry the door open and ensure Alaina and Grogu were okay. He couldn’t feel any panic coming from them, but this was all still so new, especially for him. The only thing working in his favor was that the ramp wasn’t operational with the power cut, so the only way in was for someone to carve through the hull.

When he finally pried the door open enough to enter the dark, powerless hold, he snatched his towel to wrap around his waist before going to investigate, hoping he wouldn’t regret leaving his armor on the fresher floor.

For as long as he’d lived in the Razor Crest, he would have thought that he could navigate blindfolded, but with all the doors shut and no light filtering in from up top, he moved slowly and cautiously, hoping that Alaina and the kid were okay and that this was something easily repaired—

He was surprised when he crashed into something—“Oof,” a familiar voice muttered in the dark—or someone. He scrambled to keep them upright, but every move he made seemed to comically tangle them worse until they tumbled to the floor in a heap, and he just barely managed to stick his arms out to brace himself and prevent his body from squishing Alaina’s.

“Ugh,” Alaina groaned from her spot under him. “Mando?”

“Alaina? What happened?”

“The womp rat,” she growled, and the irritation in her voice caught him off guard.

“The kid? How did the kid cut the power?”

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” she groaned. “I shouldn’t have left him alone. He was getting really crabby—like borderline tantrum levels. So, I thought I would be nice and get his stuffed frog because I was hoping that him getting crabby meant he was tired, and I thought if I got his frog, I could get him to finally go to sleep by the time you were out of the shower—"

“Alaina,” he interrupted her ramblings and brought his hands to rest on her cheeks. “Relax, Tranyc. Just tell me how the kid did it, and I can fix it.”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled.

“You don’t know?” He sighed when she didn’t answer and said, but he felt her head shake in his hand. “It’s pitch black. I can’t see you. Use your words.”

Alaina heaved an annoyed sigh. “I came down to the hold to get his frog,” she paused to pat the floor around them until she found what she was looking for and shoved the stuffed frog in his face to feel. “And we had the door shut to give you privacy, so when I made it back up to the cockpit, the lights just went out, and now I can’t open the door.”

He blinked as he processed her story and couldn’t stop the quiet chuff from escaping his lips.

“It’s not funny,” she grumbled, and he smiled at her tone because he could hear her pouting in the darkness.

His chuff slowly morphed into a full-blown belly laugh, and he only laughed harder when she slapped his chest.

“It’s not funny! I locked us out of the cockpit! The door won’t open or anything! We’re locked out, and this whole thing will probably traumatize Grogu for the rest of his life.”

Squeals of laughter floated down to them, and he rolled his eyes through his laughter at the kid’s antics. "You're right, he does sound traumatized," he teased, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

She slapped his chest weakly again, “You can’t see it, but I want you to know I’m rolling my eyes at you.” He hummed in acceptance and smiled when Alaina’s fingers ghosted over his chest. “You’re naked,” she whispered, and the innocence in that tiny declaration brought an entire day's worth of frustrations rushing back to him.

“I was in the shower,” he murmured, bringing his other hand to cup her face, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin under his fingers. “Was a little too concerned about you and the kid to worry about getting dressed.”

One of her hands left his chest to rest on his freshly shaved cheek. “But your helmet?”

“Can you see me?”

“No.”

“Then it’s okay. At least it doesn’t sound like the kid is in any kind of distress,” he joked, but Alaina didn’t laugh along with him. “Alaina, this isn’t your fault. The kid probably just yanked out some spark plugs. It's my fault for never replacing the cover when I broke it years ago. It’s nothing I can’t fix.”

Slowly, subtly, he felt her withdraw from their moment as her muscles began to tense under him, and he stroked her head. It was strange to feel something wrong before he heard or saw it. But the small, warm cord in his chest went cold right before a quiet sniffle came from under him, and he stroked her cheek, surprised to find an errant tear sliding down. “Alaina? What’s wrong?”

"I'm sorry, it's nothing," she murmured. She tried to brush the tears from her face, but he gripped her tighter.

"It's not nothing," he argued. "You can't lie to me. I can feel you now," he reminded her. Surely, she wasn’t so upset about something as easily fixable as this.

He could feel her head shake before he heard another sniffle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was going to bother me,” she whispered, and he could hear her trying to hold her emotions back.

“Alaina—” and then it hit him. He had her in exactly the same position he’d found her and likely in the exact same spot that carcass had pinned her. “I’m sorry,” he apologized and scrambled to try and get off of her, but her hands gripped his wrists and refused to let him go.

“No, don’t—”

He shook his head in the dark, forgetting she couldn't see him. “Stop, you have a right to be upset. I wasn't thinking—”

“Wait! It just caught me off guard. Please. I didn’t… Mando—Din,” she breathed out, and he froze at how she spoke his name. Her hands came to rest on his chest before she whispered, “Din Djarin, make me forget him."

He sighed and brought his forehead to rest against hers. "Alaina—"

"Please," she pleaded, and he could feel her warm breath puff against his face. "I'm okay, I promise. I want you, Din. Make me forget him. Please,” she whispered from under him.

There was nothing in the galaxy that would make him happier.

His lips and body came crashing down around her. His hands held her face tightly while softly kissing her in the darkened hold. He smiled into the kiss when he felt her fingers thread into his hair and her body melt under him. Her legs came up to squeeze his torso, and she tried to deepen their kiss, trying to spur him to lose control, but he held firm. He went for slow and languid with this kiss, savoring every moment he could.

Because he could.

Because this wasn’t goodbye, this wasn’t the end.

This was their beginning.

And he wasn’t going to skip over anything.

He was going to take his time and remember to thank the womp rat for this little stolen moment with Alaina.

Her lips veered away, running up his jawline all the way to his ear.

“Stars, Alaina,” he groaned when her tongue came out to trace along his ear before beginning its descent down his neck.

He became lost in the feeling of her. He became lost in the feeling of them. Because with her walls down, he could feel her desire, which only amplified his own. When her lips made it down his neck to his pulse point, he almost jumped out of his skin when he felt her timid teeth come out to nip the flesh under them.

“Fuck,” he groaned and pulled away to go back for her lips before beginning his own descent down her chin to her neck. “I’m gonna do it right this time,” he murmured between kisses.

“What was wrong with the last time?” Alaina asked. He smiled at her nervous question and brought his head back up to nuzzle his nose into hers before he pressed his lips firmly against hers.

“Nothing, Tranyc,” he told her, smiling when he felt her smile again. “But I’m gonna do it right this time, Alaina. I’m gonna show you how your first time should have been.” He pressed his weight into her, and Alaina’s legs rubbed up and down his waist.

He tore his mouth away long enough to find the hem of her shirt in the dark and pulled it over her head in one, smooth motion. Din ran his hands down her silky skin and returned his lips to her collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses as he made his way down her body. When he reached her breasts, he paid equal amounts of attention to each one and smiled into her sternum when he felt Alaina try to hold his head to her. There would be more time for that later. But for now, he had other plans in mind.

As he made his way down her abdomen, his fingers found the hem of her underwear and slowly slid them down her legs. He sat on his knees and grabbed her left leg to begin pressing kisses from her knee to the inside of her thigh all the way up until Alaina squirmed. He placed that leg over his shoulder, repeating his actions until he was settled on his stomach on the floor with his head nestled between her legs.

“Mando?” Alaina panted and gasped when he bit the inner flesh of her thigh. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Relax,” he soothed her, continuing his trail up her thigh until he reached her center. “And what did I tell you to call me?”

“Din,” she breathed his name out like she was saying a prayer, and he rewarded her by placing a tender kiss on her folds, forcing her to jump in surprise. Before she could say anything else, he flattened his tongue against her and slid through her. Alaina hissed and tensed when his tongue circled her clit. “Din,” she moaned this time, but he could still feel that her body was strained. She was nervous.

“Has no one ever done this for you before?” he questioned, lightly nipping at the sensitive skin before him.

“N-n-noo,” she stuttered and tried to close her legs, but his grip on her thighs tightened, preventing her from hiding herself from him.

“Relax, Mesh’la,” he purred, pulling her nub between his lips. He used his hands to massage her thighs while he sucked on her again. The faintest mewl came from her lips, and the sound almost broke him. “Let me take care of you.”

He could hear her suck in a deep breath as his tongue dipped back in for another taste. Din couldn’t stop his own moan at the taste and feel of his tongue sliding effortlessly through her slick. His fingers dug into the flesh of her thighs, and Alaina rocked her center into his face, forcing the delicate bundle of nerves hiding inside to knock against his nose.

“There you go, Tranyc,” he praised her, nuzzling his face inside her folds before he plunged his tongue as far inside of her as he could.

Alaina gasped, and her hips jolted into his face. “Mmm, Din,” she keened.

Din Djarin was in heaven.

Having this remarkable woman quiver around him and say his name like that… should be illegal. Not to mention that she tasted like karking sunshine. But she still hadn’t fully relaxed for him yet. She was wound up and nervous, but he wanted her to relax and let him take care of her.

He withdrew his tongue from her channel and switched tactics. After a couple of unsuspecting laps through her center, spreading her sweet juices with his tongue, he latched onto her clit with his lips and sucked.

Greedily.

Alaina’s hand shot to his head and her fingers latched painfully to his hair, making him moan in pleasure. When she forcefully ground herself harder over his face, he rewarded her by sucking harder onto her nub. He attacked her as if his life depended on it. He sucked and lapped at her until the pitch-black hold was filled with a crescendo of Alaina’s breathless pants and moans.

“Din,” she mewled, tugging on his hair. “Din—I’m—” she gasped when he brought his teeth out and grazed her clit with them, and she came with an almost silent moan, but her thighs shook and quivered around his head, and her juices flooded over his tongue.

He drank her all in, lapping, licking, and sucking her through it until her orgasm dwindled to quiet pants, and her legs collapsed bonelessly over his shoulders as she melted into a puddle on the floor.

“That was—” she tried to start but couldn’t catch her breath. “That was—I hadn’t ever—”

“Did you like it, Tranyc?” he asked, already guessing the answer judging by the amount of her slick coating his mustache and chin.

“Yes,” she breathed, carding her fingers through his hair. His eyes closed at the contact, and he felt like he could purr like a loth cat from her gentle touch. “Would—I mean, I haven’t ever—well, that’s not—I mean—”

Din smiled at her nonsensical babbling to slide his tongue through her sensitive slit again, forcing her incoherent words to come to an abrupt stop and instead replaced them with a low groan.

“Would you like me to… um… return the favor?”

His brain short-circuited, and he rested his head in her lap at her nervous question. “Oh, Tranyc,” he purred. “As much as I want nothing more than to feel your sweet mouth on me like that—” he grunted as his body already responded to the image of Alaina on her knees, taking him with her mouth. “You would bring this moment to an end far too soon, and I have plans for you.”

“What kind of plans?” she asked. At the sultry sound of her voice, he smiled into her thigh.

He gripped her thighs and brought his mouth back to her center to distract her from his right hand moving from her leg to join his mouth between her legs. "You tell me, Tranyc," he purred as his middle finger ghosted a path through her slick middle.

Alaina's hips jolted, and her chest filled with air at his touch. "M-me?" she stuttered.

He hummed in agreement and felt her shudder from the vibrations of the low noise. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about this," he murmured, bringing his lips up to kiss her hipbone as his finger teased her opening. He slowly inched the digit in and had to bite back a groan when he felt her walls flutter around his fingertip. "I know you dreamed about it."

Her body stilled under him. "Y-y-you did?"

"Mmmmm," he hummed into her hip as he slid his finger in one smooth motion through her velvet walls to his knuckle. She gasped, and he could feel her chest start to take shallow breaths again. He eased his finger out of her heat until it completely left her, only for him to enter her warmth again just as slow and steady as he entered her the first time, and continued his slow, torturous pace until Alaina mewled and squirmed under him. "What were you dreaming about, mesh'la?" he whispered.

"S-s-org-gan," she stuttered breathlessly.

His eyes lit up at that new information, and he felt like a wolf smiling down on his unsuspecting prey. He increased his languid pace as a reward for this new crumble of information. "I've dreamed about you too. Do you want to know what I dreamed about?"

"Yes," she panted when he changed the angle of his slow massage.

He started peppering kisses up her abdomen until he reached her sternum and turned his head to lick her nipple. "I dreamed about our flying lessons," he said darkly, grabbing the stiff, pebbled flesh between his teeth.

"Din," she moaned and brought one hand up to the back of his head and her other to rest between his shoulder blades. "You don't like our flying lessons," she said after another minute, sounding confused.

"You don't like our flying lessons," he reminded her, hooking his finger sheathed inside of her at the same time he moved his head to nip at the underside of her breast.

"Oh!" she yelped, her hips rocking into his hand, seeking more from him.

"You were being a brat," he continued the retelling of his dream, smiling into her chest while his lips across her chest and toward her neck.

"I'm no-not a brat," she stuttered, attempting to defend herself.

He shoved a second finger inside her to reprimand her for her sass. Alaina gasped, and her fingernails dug deliciously into his shoulder blades. "Oh, you can be a brat, Tranyc," he murmured, and she dug her nails harder into his back. "But I'll tell you a secret," he whispered, moving his lips to pull her bottom lip into his mouth while he continued to work his fingers inside of her. "I like it when you're being a brat to me. No one, and I mean no one, can get me as infuriated or as worked up as quickly as you can, mesh'la."

Alaina quietly giggled, and then that muted laughter turned into a gasp when his fingers started stretching her, preparing her for him. "Maker—Ohhhhhhhh!" she moaned loudly in his ear when he sharply thrust his fingers inside of her. "Diiiin."

"You were being a brat and wouldn't stop pushing my buttons, so I decided to teach you a lesson."

"I'm—not—a—brat," she eventually managed to get out between breaths.

"Mmmmm," he hummed into her lips before he kissed her. "That's what you said in my dream, too," he murmured right before he yanked his finger from her heat.

Din didn't give her a chance to protest. He grabbed her waist between his hands and tossed her over his shoulder before he climbed to his feet. He walked the three steps to the hull and felt around until he found the ladder leading up top. He gripped her hips in his hands and pulled her off his shoulder to line his eager, throbbing length up with her center. "Tell me again that you're not a brat," he ordered, dropping his voice an octave.

"I'm—not—" she began, but he wouldn't let her finish. His hips canted upward, notching the tip of his weeping cock inside her velvety soft walls. Alaina gasped at the feeling and clenched her walls impossibly tight around him, forcing his right hand to fly off her hip to grip the base of his cock to keep him from spilling right there. With only one hand holding on to her hips, Alaina started groaning and rocking her hips over him.

"Fuck," he moaned into her cheek. "You're just as tight as I remember."

Her body began to writhe between him and the ladder as she continued trying to take more of him in. She slid her hips up until he slipped from her warmth, forcing a hiss from both of them at the loss of contact. Blessedly, her hips sunk back down, finding the head of his cock and going slightly past it before she inched herself off of him again. She repeated this as soft sounds of her pleasure left her mouth as she continued to take him a little more each time, slowly allowing her body to adjust to his girth. "Din," she keened against his lips, and he could feel her face crumple in a mix of pain and pleasure.

Feeling slightly more in control of his body, and his hand left his cock to return to her hip again. He leaned into her head and found her lips with his, giving her a searing kiss that she returned just as passionately. "Say it again, Laina," he murmured between kisses. "Say my name."

"Din," she repeated against his lips.

"Fuck," he growled at the sweet way she spoke his name. His hips lost control and canted upward, allowing his rigid length further inside of her.

"Din!" she cried out, arching her back off the ladder into his chest.

"Again," he grunted.

"Din," she breathed out quietly, only to immediately scream it when he rammed his hips between her legs, spearing his cock the rest of the way inside of her.

His fingers dug into the flesh on her hips, holding her still over him while he ground himself so far inside of her that the head of his cock nudged her womb, and she cried out. "To think," he started and ran his lips along her bottom jaw, "you wanted just to skip over this part."

Alaina shook her head, and he bit down on her jaw, forcing her still. "No," she panted. "No skipping," she murmured, writhing against him. "Not with you, Din."

He pulled his hips back to slide his length out until he almost left her before sliding slowly back inside until she had sheathed his cock in her velvet walls to his hilt.

"Din," she repeated breathlessly. With her jaw still between his teeth, he grunted at the sound of his name. His hips were no longer his control. They saught her warmth. "Din," she whispered, and he slammed home. "Yes," she moaned.

"Again."

"Din."

He slammed back inside of her, pinning her hips to the ladder each time he thrust home. His forehead rested against hers, so he could feel it each time his name left her lips. Alaina repeated his name, sounding as if she had completely lost herself to the pleasure. Each time his name left her lips, he rewarded her by pumping his cock slowly in and out of her. Her hands left the ladder and took him by surprise when her nails came to dig into his shoulders at the base of his neck, and she used her new leverage to help move against his cock, meeting his thrust for slow thrust.

"Yes!" she cried out when he picked up the pace and started eagerly chasing after his cock with her hips.

"Fuck, that's it, Alaina," he growled through clenched teeth at the feeling of her slick walls bobbing eagerly over his cock. He rammed harder inside of her, and her nails dug harder into his skin. With another thrust, he felt her bare breasts jiggle against his bare chest from the force. "Tell me you want to be my partner," he pleaded, losing himself to the pleasure.

"Partners," Alaina agreed, slamming her cunt over him, forcing a shout of pleasure from both their lips.

"Tell me again you want to be partners. Tell me you want to be my partner."

"Your's Din. Your's."

He snapped at her words, and his hands left her hips to grab onto the ladder, pinning her tightly between his body and the durasteel ladder as he took her.

He bucked wildly inside of her, setting a pace that she couldn't keep up with. The slick from her juices drenched his cock, allowing his rapid tempo. His lips were against hers, but they weren't kissing. Instead, their combined breaths and grunts echoed around the quiet hull; the sound was made more obscene each time he pumped inside of her, allowing them to hear how much she was soaking him with her desire.

He felt the delicious burn low in his abdomen, signaling he was close, but there was something else there. With a shock, he realized that he could also feel Alaina's desire inside of him, and being able to feel her pleasure coiled tightly was a surreal feeling. It was her and him together, standing in the ocean, watching as the tide drew out from the shore, preparing for the next wave to come crashing into them.

"I can feel you," Alaina whispered against his lips. "I can feel you. Oh my—Din!"

Din slammed his lips over her as the wave swelled and crested. He growled into her mouth as he drank in her cries of pleasure. His thrusts became erratic as he moaned through the feeling of her velvet walls rippling over his swollen cock. The wave crashed into him when he felt her cunt squeeze him tightly in his grip as it flooded his cock with her juices.

"Alaina!" he roared and then clamped his teeth over her pulse point as his hips stuttered and started desperately slamming into her, seeking his own pleasure. His cock swelled painfully, and he felt his balls draw up in anticipation as he started losing the battle.

Alaina's fingers wound into his hair, holding him to her neck as he moaned and ground deeply inside of her.

"Din," she whispered into his head.

Hearing her say his name in such a way was the final push he needed. Like a ship that lost a battle in space, his body silently imploded before his cock pulsed, and he exploded inside of her. His teeth clamped down into her flesh as he ground himself as deeply inside of her as he could while their bodies shattered. Alaina thrashed and wailed against him as her soft walls continued to flutter around his cock, milking him for everything he had, while Din roared into her skin.

His pleasure mixed with hers until he couldn't tell who was who.

Slowly, the bright white aftershock faded away, and when Din came to, it was piece by piece. The sounds of their breathless pants filled his ears. He pressed a tender kiss to where he felt indentations left behind from his teeth. Part of him felt bad because he knew that would hurt once she came around, but the other prideful part of him relished in the fact that he'd marked her for everyone to see that she was his. Her body slumped against the ladder, and he had to bring his hands to grip her ass to keep her from sinking to the floor. Besides, he was still enjoying the feeling of being inside her heat and the feeling of his seed mixing with her juices as they slid out of her.

"That—" Alaina panted but struggled to complete her sentence. "That was—" Din smirked into her neck and brought his lips to hers, pressing a tired, sloppy kiss to them. "Is it supposed to feel like that every time?" He smiled into their kiss when her lips finally responded. "No one—No one told me it would feel like that."

His chest swelled with pride, and he smothered her lips with his before he finally pulled away. "This is just the beginning, Alaina," he whispered, pressing another kiss to her lips.

"Mmmm. I don't think my legs work anymore," she murmured bleerily into the kiss.

"I've got you, Tranyc." Din grunted and went to smother Alaina's pained gasp with his lips as he slid out of her and moved so he could hook her legs under one arm and her chest with his other while he cradled her limp body against him. "I've got you, Alaina," he whispered, brushing his lips against her forehead as he carried her to the other side of the hold to her cot.

When his leg found the low cot, he lowered her to the blankets and tried to stand back up, but her hands gripped his wrists. "I'll be right back," he promised, blindly brushing some of the hair that was plastered to her face. "I've got to see what kind of damage the kid did." Alaina dropped his wrists, and he smiled when he heard her breathing start to even out in the dark.

He felt like he was in a daze as he shuffled around the hold to return to the fresher. His hand blindly searched around the ground until he found his helmet and the sweatpants he'd brought in before his shower, leaving the rest where it was until the morning. With only a minor struggle, he managed to get his helmet and pants on before he found the ladder again, smiling when he realized he would be replaying that moment every time he needed to climb up or down it and headed through the hatch toward the cockpit. After a moment of fighting with the door, he eventually pried it open and was able to get inside to see what atrocities awaited him.

Din's gaze dropped to the floor, and he shook his head. There was Grogu, sleeping and oblivious, surrounded by at least ten spark plugs and his silver ball on the floor. Thankfully, the storm from earlier appeared to have passed, and the bright, glowing night illuminated the cockpit enough for him to fumble with the plugs to put them back in their places. With the final spark plug in place, Din flicked a switch, and the Razor Crest returned to life.

"Thanks, kid," he whispered to the sleeping child as he knelt to pick him up. With the kid tucked into his chest, he carried him back down to the hold and placed him in his hammock in the alcove. He turned around to search for the kid's stuffed frog and grabbed it from the floor to tuck in with him.

Once the kid was situated, Din turned to cross the hold, grabbing Alaina's discarded shirt and underwear as he went to open the ramp. Once the ambient light from the moon filled the hold, he shut the lights off and returned to the sleeping blonde. She had passed out on top of the blankets, leaving her exposed body for his viewing pleasure, now bathed in the soft light from outside.

"Maker," he whispered to no one as he went to join her on the cot.

As he made himself comfortable, laying next to her, he took one last lingering moment to soak her in before he turned her to pull her back against his chest as he covered them up with a blanket.

Din Djarin drifted to sleep with the single, sleepy realization that he'd lived his whole life without also knowing it was supposed to feel like that.

Of course, Din Djarin had lived his whole life without ever having a true partner.

Until now.

Author's Note #2: I hope the slow burn has been worth it 😈😜

For those of you in the US (and across the world) going into the holidays, please know that I am genuinely so thankful for every one of you. Alaina and her story would not have made it this far without your support.

With that said, for those of you going into Thanksgiving and the holiday season disheartened by certain recent events... Maybe you're in my shoes and have had to hodgepodge a Friends-giving together because you're not welcome to join your own families. Just know that I am saving a special seat for you, and you are not alone. Welcome to Clan Stardust. We're deranged, and occasionally, there is a smut monster that breaks out and wreaks havoc, but we're here. We are a safe space for all 💙

XOXO, 💫Stardust💫

Tag List: @racheldon @zenrobbins0021 @locked-ness @smoochispoof

Drop me a message or comment if you would like to be tagged when new chapters get published.

Heaven in Hiding Masterlist

Next chapter in series - Chapter 19: First Light

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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

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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

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#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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