#din x fem oc

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part III.

pairing: din djarin x plus-size fem!O/C         

word count: 13K      

chapter summary: Din and Marathel repair the Razor Crest, Marathel takes her first sonic shower with interesting results, Din tries to change Marathel’s mind, the Razor Crest gets unexpected visitors. 

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, female masturbation, voyeurism, mention of blood, menstruation, chldbirth, mental illness and infertility, English and Mando’a cursing      

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***       

You Were Marked: Masterlist  

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Marathel was in a deep sleep, curled up with Grogu on Din’s bedroll, when there was suddenly a loud ka-thunk, and everything quickly shifted sideways as she rolled into a hard surface.  She opened her eyes to near-darkness, except for glowing tiny lights of red and green.  Disoriented, she felt around her, and her hand fell upon little Grogu, who grabbed her hand tightly.  “What the …” she muttered, and then she heard running footsteps and a loud pounding on the door. 

“Wake up, Marathel!  We got problems!” 

“Wh … What?” 

“We just fell out of hyperspace!  Come out here!” 

Marathel shook herself awake and reached up to press the door button.  The door slid up, and she pulled herself out to see Din crouching by a panel halfway down the corridor.  “What’s happened?” 

“Get down here, I need your help.”  Din had been awake for a while, and he had replaced his armor and was in the process of putting his weapons on when one of the power banks had failed.  Marathel came down to where he was.  “Grab that corner, there.”  Marathel took hold of the panel where Din was pointing as he finished unlatching it.  She wasn’t prepared for its weight, and her corner hit the metal floor with a clonk, but she wrapped her fingers around the panel edge and helped him slide it down the wall.  

That task done,  Marathel stood behind him as Din knelt to tap tiny screens above each component in the rack.  “Haar’chak, the whole thing’s down.” 

“Are we in danger?” 

“We will be, if I can’t get this up and running again!”  Din stood and began taking off his blasters. 

“What should I do?” 

“Just … stand right there for right now, and don’t touch anything!” he snapped as he pulled off his pauldrons and cuirass.  “Hate this damned thing,” muttered Din as he sat on the floor and began squeezing himself into the small access crawl space to get behind the power bank.  Marathel stood silent, unmoving.  Din continued to curse and mutter as he folded himself into a working position.  “Ah … fuck me, the whole damn thing is wired wrong!” 

“Fuh!” shouted Grogu. 

“Grogu, I told you to cut that out.” 

Marathel was confused.  “Didn’t Peli just repair this ship?  Why would she wire it wrong?” 

Din sighed.  “Well, she didn’t wire it wrong, she wired it correctly, and that’s the problem.” 

“That doesn’t make any sense.” 

Din chuckled.  “I guess not.  A while ago I had to jerry-rig this wiring and the ship flies better with the adaptation.  The wires are hooked up to the wrong cart components, and it finally tripped itself.  I have to pull all these wires first, then you’re going to pull the carts as I rewire it, okay?” 

“Okay,” said Marathel, not sounding okay about it at all. 

“Just sit down there in front of the panel, I’ll let you know when I need you.” 

Marathel sat, listening to Din grunt and quietly curse to himself as he did whatever he was doing.  “Did you get any rest?” she asked. 

“Don’t talk to me right now,” said Din.  “I’m trying to not electrocute myself.” Marathel sat silently.  Grogu toddled over to join her, and she held him on her lap as they waited for instructions.  “And yes, I got some rest.  Are you all right?” 

Marathel shifted slightly, then swallowed.  “Yes.” 

Behind the power panel, Din coughed to cover up his discomfort, then said, “Okay, we’re going to work from your left to your right.  Grab the handles of the first cart and pull it out halfway.” 

Marathel grasped the handles and gave the thing a tug, but it didn’t move.  “What’s halfway on this thing?”  She pulled again, much harder, and the whole thing pulled out of the wall and landed on the floor. 

Din sighed.  “Half of what you just did.” 

“Did I just kill us all?” 

“Not yet. Just put it back in, halfway, and wait for me to get the right wire connected.” Marathel did as he instructed and waited.  After a short while, Din said, “Okay, slide the cart back in fully.”  Marathel carefully pushed the cart back in, giving it a hard shove to seat it correctly.  “Did lights come on?” 

“Yes.” 

“What does the screen say?” 

“Screen?” 

“There’s a small screen in the middle of the cart.  What does it say on the screen?”  Marathel was silent.  “Marathel, just read what’s on the screen!” 

“I can’t.” 

“You can’t see the screen?” 

“I can’t read, Din, I told you that!” 

There was a long silence. Din groaned quietly.  “She can’t read.”  Din chuckled, and Marathel heard his helmet clank against something.  “Yes, you told me, I forgot.  Okay, change of plans.” Din shifted around and began pulling himself out from behind the power bank.  “You need to do the rewiring, then.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you.  Each wire goes between two metal plates that you use this screwdriver to tighten.”  He handed her a small tool with a flat end.  “Go on, get back there.” 

“What makes you think I’ll fit?  You had a hard time squeezing in there!” 

“You’ll fit just fine.  Now get going before we lose backup power.” 

Marathel glared at Din, but she put the screwdriver in her pocket and fed her feet into the small access opening, as she’d seen Din do, and began pushing herself through.  “I have no idea what you need me to do back there.” 

“You’ll figure it out by the time you’re done.  You only have … um …” Din counted on his fingers as he said, “‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls But Violet Gives Willingly, Got Some’ … twelve.  Twelve wires.” 

“Bad Boys do what?” 

“‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls But Violet Gives Willingly, Got Some.’  It’s how I remember the wiring colors.  Black, blue, red, orange, green, green, blue, violet, grey, white, gold, silver.” 

“You said green and blue twice.” 

“They’re different wires.  You’ll see.” Marathel grunted in disgust, and Din swore he heard her mutter osi’kovid under her breath as she struggled to get back behind the panel.  “What did you just say?” asked Din. 

“I called you an osi’kovid!” 

Din chuckled to himself.  “Do you even know what that means?” 

“I know it’s nothing good.”  Marathel looked at the tangle of wires before her, then at the bank of metal plates.  She looked carefully at the connection of the black wire that Din had completed.  “So blue is next?  Which blue?” 

“It’s solid blue, not the striped one.  You have to put the end of the wire where the coating is stripped off, put that end between the two plates, and tighten the screws to lock it down.” 

“I’ll do my best.” Marathel found the solid blue wire and pulled it loose from the tangle.  The bare end touched another wire’s bare end, and Marathel felt a zzzt sensation that was painful.  “Aigh!” 

“Don’t let the ends touch,” said Din. 

“Now you fucking tell me!” snapped Marathel. 

“Fuh-EE!” shouted Grogu, and Din shushed him. 

Oh, good, the ‘child repeating swear words’ days are upon you, Bounty Hunter, have fun with that, wryly thought Marathel.  She carefully placed the wire end between the plates and placed the flat end of the … screwdriver, that’s what he called it … into the slot of the screw head and turned it, but the tiny screw fell to the floor with a ting.  “Oh no …” 

“You must have turned the screwdriver the wrong way.  It’s lefty loosey, righty tighty.” 

“What?” 

“Turn the screwdriver left to loosen the screw, and right to tighten it.” 

“I can’t find the little screw.  It fell out.”  Tears filled her eyes, and Marathel sobbed.  “I don’t know what I’m doing, Bounty Hunter …” 

“Marathel …” 

“I’m going to kill us all …” 

“Mesh’la, honey …” — honey? Where did that come from? — “It’s going to be fine.  You can do this.  The screw is on the floor right in front of you, I guarantee it.  Just take a breath and look for it again.”  He heard Marathel sniffle, then take a shaky breath.  He pulled the cart halfway out and waited.  After a few moments, he heard her whisper righty tighty.  “Tighten the top screw a little, then the bottom screw a little.  Go back and forth to tighten then evenly.  Make the connection good and tight.”  He waited a few moments.  “Got it?” 

“I think so.” 

“All right, then,” said Din as he slid the cart back into its socket.  Moment of truth, he thought, and the readout screen flashed its green message: Override Ready.  “You did it, mesh’la, good job.” 

“Next one is red, yes?” 

“Yes,” replied Din as he slid out the next cart. 

“Red for rape,” said Marathel as she carefully found the red wire and inserted it into place.  “‘Bad Boys Rape Our Good Girls,’” she scoffed. “I think you need a different way to remember this.” 

“Come up with one, and I will.” 

“Oh, I will.” Din heard Marathel grunt softly as she concentrated on her task.  “There.  Done.” 

Surprised, Din said, “That was fast.”  He slid the cart home and override ready flashed.  “Green next.  Light green.” 

“Light green …” repeated Marathel as she untangled the wires, and she shocked herself again.  “Aigh!” 

“You need to be more careful,” said Din. 

“You’re the one that left me this tangled mess, you … cigpell pudyn!” snapped Marathel, attaching the light green wire.   

“And what does that mean?” 

“It means meatball dick!”  

Din burst out laughing.  “Meatball … meatball?”  He was laughing so hard he snorted.  “That doesn’t even make sense!” 

Marathel grumbled as she tightened the tiny screws.  “Light green is done!” 

Still laughing, Din reset the cart and got an error message.  “No good, try resetting the wire.” 

“The wire is fine,” said Marathel, gently tugging the wire. 

“Not from where I’m sitting.  Try it again.”  Din listened to Marathel mutter under her breath as she loosened the wire.  “You may need more wire lead.  Peel back some of the green covering and reset it.”  Marathel did as Din instructed, but he still got the error message. “I don’t know what, Marathel, but you’re doing something wrong.” 

Of course, it’s my fault.  “Are you sure it’s not supposed to be the dark green wire first?” 

“Positive.” 

Marathel sighed.  “Can we try the dark green wire, at least?” 

Din sighed as well.  “Fine.  Go ahead.”  He pulled out the cart again.  “And you, of all people, know that my pudyn looks nothing like a meatball.” 

“It might after I throw a big enough rock at it,” said Marathel archly.  “Okay, try it now.”  Din replaced the cart.  “Well?”  Din was silent.  “Was I right?” 

“Yes,” he muttered. 

“Okay, then.  Now it’s the light green wire, yes?” 

“Yes.” 

“And who is a cigpell pudyn?” asked Marathel with as much snark as she could muster.  “Well?” 

“… I am.” 

Marathel chortled.  “Good boy.”  She continued down the row, replacing the wires in order as Din replaced the carts.  When they got to Violet and the purple wire, Marathel asked, “So, who’s this Violet who Gives Willingly?” 

“No one.  It just works in the phrase.” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Can’t help that,” said Din.  There was no way in Frith he was going to tell her that while her name wasn’t Violet, a particular prostitute he had been fond of at one time had a magnificent head of purple hair that set off her deep, dark green skin.  Damn, she was fine, thought Din, wondering where she was these days. 

Marathel rolled her eyes, but she carried on with her task.  Din had been right, Marathel got very proficient with the screwdriver by the time she was tightening up the gold and silver wires, and she felt quite proud of herself.  Well, Marathel, old girl, not half bad.   

Din, on the other side of the power bank, felt pride on her behalf as well — Marathel wasn’t lacking in intelligence; she could follow instructions and tackle new tasks, was willing to get her hands dirty — and he was sure that the nimbleness in her hands and fingers would make her a great assistant mechanic. What a team we’d make, thought Din, and his heart warmed with the possibility.  “All right, Marathel, good job.  Now I’m going to fire this thing up.” 

“You are?  Am I safe back here?” 

“More or less.  Just don’t touch anything.”  Before Marathel could protest, Din flipped the switches, the power bank turned on, and the engines came to life with a dull roar.  “Dank ferrik, yes!” crowed Din.  “Okay, you can come out now!  Don’t forget the screwdriver!”  Marathel rolled her eyes as she put the screwdriver that she came in with — as well as two more she found under the tangle of wires — into her pocket, and she began to wriggle out from the tiny crawl space.  Din reached in to help pull her out, and he gave a strong tug on her just as she pushed hard on a girder with her feet, and Marathel tumbled into his lap as he fell backwards.    

She looked up at him in surprise as she lay on his legs, her face at level with his belt buckle.  Din continued to hold her hands as he gazed at her, mostly reclining on his elbow, thinking how damn cute she looked with engine smut on her face and hands, her hair and clothes disheveled. Marathel’s face colored that becoming shade of pink that he liked so much as she pulled her hands free and rolled off his legs to sit on the floor.  Din sat up too, and gently put his hand on her back.  “You did good, Marathel.  I’m proud of you.  I would have hated to do that job by myself.” 

Marathel handed Din all three screwdrivers. “How would you have done that?” 

“Ugh.  I would have had to crawl out each time, after connecting each wire.  Terrible.”  Din grunted as he stood up and reached down to help Marathel stand.  “You got a little dirt on your face,” he said, touching her cheek with a gloved finger. 

Marathel shied away, saying, “I’m sure I did.  It’s filthy back there.” 

“Engines generally are.” 

Marathel hummed vaguely as she moved to the basin at the far end of the ship.  Din watched as she found the soap and a towel and poured out a tiny bit of water from her canteen into her hands.  “Marathel, what are you doing?” asked Din, confused. 

Marathel dropped the towel on the floor as she stepped back from the basin, dropping her head, sliding her hands into her sleeves.  “Washing my hands,” she whispered. 

“You’ve been using your drinking water to wash your hands?” 

“I thought that was all the water I was allowed,” said Marathel, pointing briefly at the canteen. 

“That’s for drinking.  You may drink as much water as you wish. You haven’t been drinking your water?”  Din came over and lifted the canteen; it was still nearly full. “Is this the same water I originally gave you?  It’s easy to get dehydrated on long hyperspace hauls. You should be drinking more, Marathel,” Din said sharply. 

“I didn’t know …” 

“Drinking water is there for the taking, just like the food, Marathel!  You don’t have to hoard or conserve drinking water!  There’s a basin in the fresher to wash in that’s hooked up to the water recycler …” Din watched Marathel continue to cringe into herself.  “… which I never showed you.”  Din sighed.  “I didn’t show you the fresher, or where the cleaning papers for the vac tube are, or where I keep the spare blankets, for kriff’s sake.”  He noticed her shoulders shaking, and he realized she was crying.  “Oh, mesh’la, please don’t cry …” Din went to her and wrapped his arms around her. 

“I’m sorry I’m so stupid,” whimpered Marathel, keeping her arms tightly against herself, refusing to hug him back, despite how much she ached to do so. 

“No, I’m sorry, I’m the stupid one who’s been rude and insufferable to you.  Everyone I’ve ever known automatically knows where to find everything on a ship like this, and it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t, although, why would you know?  The only time you’ve been on this ship for any length of time, you were injured.  Unconscious.”  Din sighed and rocked her back and forth as he quietly said, “I’m sorry I’m such an osi’kovid.” 

Marathel sniffled, then asked, “What does that mean?” 

“Shithead.” Marathel chuckled, and Din continued, “And I’ve also been a … what is it?  A tymffod.  What does that mean, mesh’la?” 

“Asshole.” 

“Yeah, I’ll take that.  And a cigpell pudyn, if that helps.  And a knob, too, I heard that one from you, earlier.” Din held her tight and stroked her hair, glad to know that he could again safely hold her like this without acting like a sex-starved maniac.  “Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa, I wish … I wish you’d just … stay right here, or anywhere else, other than ...” Din’s voice trailed off. 

Marathel swallowed, then pushed Din back, wiping her cheeks, and looked down to her feet.  “I appear to have grown a Grogu again.” 

Din looked down too, still surprised by the shoes on her feet, seeing Grogu holding tightly to Marathel’s ankle.  He sighed.  Apparently, the moment of closeness with Marathel was over.  “Come here, kid,” said Din, bending down to pick up the boy.  “Did you take good care of Mahr last sleep cycle?” 

“Mama,” said Grogu. 

“Mama,” repeated Din. 

“We slept well until everything went sideways,” said Marathel. 

“We’re back up and running now,” said Din.  “Let’s get this panel back on.” 

“Okay.  Oh — before we do that …”  Marathel dropped down her knees by the access hatch, reached in, and pulled out a square of black insulation foam.  “I found this just lying in there.  May I use it?” 

“Of course,” said Din, assuming she’d use it to sit on while she knitted.  That was why it was in the access tunnel in the first place, to sit or kneel on while he had to tinker around in there.  Together they got the panel back in place, then Din said they needed to strap in to get back into hyperspace.  Marathel climbed the ladder first, giving Din another view of her ample backside as she went up, making him wish that they were in a romantic relationship, on good terms, just so he could playfully smack her on that lovely ass.  This thought left him with a wistful feeling as he followed her into the cockpit with Grogu.  Marathel was seated and struggling with the straps, so he knelt before her, placing Grogu in her lap, carefully untwisting the restraining belts and snapping them closed, letting his hands slide off her thighs as she stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Don’t do that,” she whispered, not frightened of him, but of the thrill his touch sent through her. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered back, even though he wasn’t.  He stood and went to his seat to recalculate the jump to hyperspace, wondering in the back of his mind if she needed to lock herself in his quarters again, as he felt like he was already at half-staff.  He looked back at her.  “Ready?” 

“Ready,” said Marathel with an uncertain smile.  

Din turned back to the console and pulled the throttle, sending them shooting forward in space.  Marathel felt her stomach change places with her liver and wondered if she’d ever get used to this hyperspace thing.  Once they were settled in their path, Din undid his safety straps and stood, saying, “Much better.  Thank you for helping out.  Okay, let’s go back down.”  He released the catches on her restraints, letting his hands linger briefly on her hips before descending the ladder. 

Marathel followed with Grogu.  “I hate this ladder already.” 

“Believe me, I avoid leaving the cockpit as much as possible,” said Din, and Marathel chuckled to herself as she thought, I guess he does piss for distance.  Din pressed a pad on the wall next to the power bank panel, and a door slid open, revealing another tiny room.  Din stepped inside.  “The fresher.  Here is where you can switch from sonic to the water option.” 

“Sonic?” Marathel also stepped inside the fresher and had to stand close to Din for both of them to fit. 

“Sonic means the fresher uses sound waves to remove dirt and oils from your skin.  The water is recycled, but it doesn’t get very hot, and it’s not hot for long.” 

Marathel looked dubious.  “Which would you prefer I use?” 

“It’s up to you. I generally use the sonic setting, and then wash my face with warm water in the basin.  It can get gross in the helmet from time to time,” said Din with a shrug. 

“Well, I guess I’ll follow your example.”   

Din nodded and opened the storage bin.  “Here is facial soap,” he said, handing her a tube.  “Did you want to wash your hair, though?  The sonic does okay for my hair, but I keep my hair short … as you saw,” he added quietly. 

Marathel pulled a handful of her hair over her shoulder and looked at it.  “I’ll see what the sonic does for me.”   

Din found her a clean washcloth and a small towel.  “Okay, so it’s set on sonic, and you just have to press this button here to start.  Then you stand over the drain, there, and the cycle will run for a few minutes.  It’s on a timer, so if you’re not clean to your satisfaction, you can just press the start button again.  The button below that opens and closes the door.” Din stepped back to the doorway.  “There’s no lock, but I’ll take Grogu with me back to the cockpit and close that door.  You’ll have complete privacy down here.  Did you need anything else?” 

Marathel shook her head.  “Thank you.” 

“Of course.”  Din took Grogu back, catching some of her hair as he did.   He untangled her hair from his glove and smoothed it over her shoulder before he stepped out of the fresher. 

“Oh, by the way …” said Marathel, and Din turned back to her.  “‘Beautiful Blossoms Rise Over Green Grass, Blooming Vines Grow With Good Sunshine.’” 

Din tilted his helmet.  “Do what?” 

“‘Beautiful Blossoms Rise Over Green Grass, Blooming Vines Grow With Good Sunshine,’” repeated Marathel.  “To remember your wiring by.” 

Din smiled widely under his helmet.  “I like that much better.  Just knock if you need anything.”  Marathel nodded, and Din and Grogu returned to the cockpit. 

Marathel heard the cockpit door close, and she poked her head out of the fresher to look.  Not seeing either Bounty Hunter or a little boy, she found her bag and brought it to just outside the fresher.  She pulled off her top and pants and folded them into a neat pile, then went to quickly use the vac tube, tossing her used pad into the tube before toggling the contraption.  Thank Frith, it seems I’m finally bleeding less.  Returning to the fresher, Marathel carefully removed the dilator from her and placed it in the basin so she could wash it after her shower.  Or would it be called a sonic? she wondered.  Marathel pressed the button to close the fresher door, then she pressed the button to start.  

Right away, she heard a low vibration and felt it in her bare feet.  Marathel stepped over to the drain as Din had directed. She felt the vibrations growing more powerful, and she could see the dirt leaving her hands, almost as a swath of sand would blow off a flat rock.  She marveled at this, and she felt the vibrations as a massage that trembled through her entire body.  The vibrations became stronger and faster, and they seemed to center low in her belly.  After a short time, the vibrations grew even more powerful, and the sensation became warm and pleasurable as Marathel gasped, realizing she was becoming aroused. 

Oh, no, she thought to herself.  No, I don’t want this!  But her body betrayed her as the vibration of the sonic shower continued to titillate instead of soothe. Marathel reached down and pressed her hand against her pubis, seeking a release from her stimulation.  When that didn’t work, she flattened her front against the cool metal wall of the fresher, which only worked for a few moments as her feverish heat warmed the wall.  Her breasts began to ache, so she pressed them harder into the unyielding metal as she reached between her thighs, gently sliding her fingertips over her clitoris. She gasped again, this time with a throaty groan, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth.  Oh, Frith, what can he hear in that cockpit? 

Din had, in fact, heard her groan; the auditory capabilities of his helmet were quite powerful. The fresher was also situated almost directly below the cockpit, and sound carried through the floor.  Over the years, he’d become accustomed to the fresher being the official wank closet and the noises that would emanate from within the times he’d be traveling with someone. On several memorable occasions, he’d traded visits to the sonic shower for a bit of companionship from female bounties (and a couple of male ones, too, he wasn’t too particular if someone wanted to make it worth his while).   But he’d heard — through that unreliable horny mercenary grapevine — that sonic showers could provide some females with sexual stimulation.  And this was the first time a woman was in there where he’d heard her possibly masturbating.   

Din looked back at Grogu, who was quietly occupying himself with the gear knob and a ball of Marathel’s yarn, using the Force to make them fly in complicated patterns.  Din looked back out the view screen, pulled his flight notebook onto his lap, and turned up the receiver in his helmet.  Concentrating his hearing on the room below, he listened to what he believed was Marathel touching herself, wondering if it was only the sonic waves bringing her off, or if she were as frustrated as he was, being so close together, denying the feelings she had for him. 

And oh, Marathel was frustrated, and confused as well; why was she having these desires, when they should be the last thing on her mind?!  But she kept pressing her breasts against the wall as her hand stroked herself, softly, gently, not even attempting penetration, for she was still so fragile and wounded there; she did not think she would be able to bear that, not only physically, but mentally as well.  As her fingers continued their playful touches on her bud, she began to rock her hips, gasping in tiny, quiet moans.  She kept rocking, the motion setting off delicious twitches inside her as she flexed her muscles in her hips, belly, and buttocks, and her fingers strummed her swollen clitoris.  Oh, you taught me, Din, you taught me well, how wonderful this feels!  I wish it were you touching me like this; if you were, I would pleasure you in any way you wished, I would make you bread for eternity, I would trap myself in the smallest flying metal box for you.  Her twitching hips moved more frantically as she began to crest into her orgasm.  She slid her free hand up her body and began gently tweaking her nipple, making her gasp again. She squeezed her thighs and tried to flex her pelvic floor — a hitherto unknown part of herself, brought to her attention by Eliadu — as hard as she could.  Her other hand alternated tapping and stroking her clit until she finally tipped over the edge and climaxed; her mouth worked noiselessly, and her eyes closed, her knees bent, and her fingers pressed hard against her clitoris, feeling her pulse within, counting the beats of her rushing heart. 

The sonic vibrations of the fresher slowed, and then stopped.  Marathel finished riding out her orgasm with a last breathy gasp, and she sank to the floor, relishing its coolness against her flushed, warm skin.  Breathing hard, Marathel rolled to her back, stretching out her limbs.   

In the cockpit, Din felt like the most lecherous type of voyeur, eavesdropping on Marathel below.  He’d just taken another look back at Grogu, and the kid was crashed on the seat of the aft chair, snoring softly.  Under the guise of adding entries into his ship’s written log — he preferred writing them out in longhand —he listened to Marathel touching herself; Marathel, who was so recently brutalized at the hands of others, giving herself pleasure with her own hands.  Her gasps were quiet and small, leading him to think that she was using the gentlest of touches, the softest of strokes of her fingertips against her delicate skin.  The notebook on his lap concealed his erection, and he wished he could stroke himself to the sounds Marathel was making, but Grogu’s presence made that infeasible. Oh, Marathel, I wish I were in there with you, touching you myself, I would be so gentle, and touch you only where you allowed, with only the lightest, the most tender of caresses, I wish we could be alone, where I could give you such soft touches until you came for me, and you could scream my name as loud as you want to, mesh’la!  He wanted her to be a screamer for him, a blanket-stealing, bread-baking, soft, plush, magnificent screamer of a lover, he was certain that she was coming in the room below him, coming hard like she had every time with him, and he was close to coming himself when he heard her moaning, but in pain. 

In the fresher, Marathel’s breathing slowed and she began to feel chilled in the small room.  She had carefully sat up when she felt a cramp rip through her lower belly, and she moaned as quietly as she could.  Oh, no, not now, not my cycle, why am I not done with that, as old as I have learned that I am?  She fell back to her side, waiting for the next wave of cramps that would inevitably come, pain that would fold her in half, unable to move.   

But that sort of pain didn’t come.  There was pain within her, but not in the muscles of her abdomen.  The pain seemed lower, deeper inside.  Marathel looked down at herself, expecting blood, and there was blood, but not the amount she was accustomed to with her cycles.  She felt her muscles quake again, and she moaned, and then she felt the need to push, that there was something within her vagina that she needed to expel. 

What in Frith was happening to her? 

Fennec had told her she wasn’t pregnant, Eliadu had told her that she couldn’t get pregnant, yet, here she was, trembling and moaning on the floor, feeling as if she was about to give birth to something, for the sensations she was feeling within was unlike but somehow strangely similar to all of her previous cycles, when she would pass clot after clot … 

There was a knocking on the fresher door.  “Marathel?”  Din was worried, almost panicked, all of his licentious thoughts gone.  “Are you all right?” 

Marathel gasped, and her head whipped around towards the door.  “I’m fine, I’m … fine …” Her abdominal muscles contracted again, making her voice waver on the last word.   

“You’re in pain, I heard you moaning …” 

“You were listening?!” 

“No! No …  Just now, I heard you …” 

“How could you LISTEN like that?!”  The need to push became overwhelming, and she groaned as she felt blood running down her thighs.    

“Marathel!  I’m coming in!” 

“NO!  Don’t you DARE come in!” 

“Let me HELP you!” cried Din. 

“I don’t NEED your help!” Marathel shouted back.  “I … don’t need … ANYONE …” She rolled to a deep squat on her feet and hands, grit her teeth, and bore down on whatever it was her body was trying to release.  She reached down between her legs, and could just feel something gelatinous inside her, so she took another deep breath and pushed again.  This time she felt a mass exit her vagina, and she went to her knees, trying to catch her breath.  And here I thought I’d never give birth, but I think I just did, thought Marathel.   

Din knocked on the door again.  “Marathel?  Mesh’la?  Please, talk to me!  What is happening?” 

“I’m okay … I’m all right,” weakly said Marathel.  She reached behind her, finding the mass she’d just expelled with her fingertips.  What in Frith?  She moved herself to a position where she could see whatever it was, a dark red-brown clot, about the size of a gorugelly, that contained clumps of what appeared to be crusted flesh.  Marathel realized what had occurred: she had passed a clot of scabs made by the cauterizing of the worst of the wounds made by the Dilimgau.  Ceiroprac had told me I might shed those, though Marathel.  I didn’t think I’d be so damn dramatic about it though! How typical of me, thought Marathel.  She laughed weakly at first, and then louder as she realized how absurd her life was. 

Outside the fresher door, Din was bewildered by the sudden sound of laughter on the other side.  “Marathel?  If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m coming in there.” 

“Oh … calm down, Din, for the love of Frith!  I’ll be fine.  The sonic waves shook loose some … internal scabbing, and I wasn’t expecting that.” 

Internal … oh, he thought, remembering that Marathel had refused reconstruction where she had been so badly damaged by the Dilimgau, but had wounds cauterized instead.  “I’m sorry, ner kar’ta. Are you still in pain?  Are you bleeding badly?” 

“I … some.  But I’ll be all right.” 

“What can I do for you?” Din pleaded. 

Marathel squinted up at the switch he had told her toggled the fresher between sonic and water.  “Would it be all right if I turned on the water?” 

“That … the water won’t be very warm.” 

“I don’t mind cold water.  But there’s blood, and … clots.  Can that go down the drain in here?” 

Din sighed.  “Not a large amount of blood, and I’d rather any solids didn’t.” It was a decent recycling system, but not that good. 

“Then please bring me rags and a bucket, or something, so I can clean this up.” 

“Damn it, Marathel, let me do that for you!” He found a large towel.  Going back to the fresher door, he turned his head away and closed his eyes.  “I’m going to open the door now.  My eyes are averted.”  Before Marathel could protest, he opened the fresher door and stepped backwards into the doorway, holding out the towel behind him.  “Here; wrap yourself in this.”  He felt the towel being snatched from his hand.  “Let me know when I can turn around.” 

Marathel wrapped the towel around her, covering as much as she could.  Leaning into the far corner, she quietly said, “Okay.” 

Din turned around, his eyes seeking out Marathel.  Her back was to him as she faced the corner of the fresher, the towel only covering her from mid-thigh to mid back, unable to wrap around her fully, and she had pulled her hair over her shoulder to cover her front.  I should have brought her blanket, thought Din; he had again forgotten that she was a little more full-figured, and needed more coverage than a standard cheap towel would provide, because all he could ever see was that her form was perfect. 

There were drips of blood running down her inner calves. Din looked over to the drain, seeing a small puddle of blood along with the remains of a large viscous clot, as well as bloody prints of both her hands and bare feet on the floor.  Din removed his gloves and rolled up his sleeves.  He grabbed the washcloth and went to the basin to soak it, seeing the bloody dilator in the basin.  He looked over at Marathel just as she looked over her shoulder, and she flushed pink again, turning her face back to the corner.  Din’s eyes went down her back, still covered with welts, and he watched another drop of blood roll down her leg, dismayed at how much she still had to suffer just to heal.   “Will you at least let me take you to a medical facility?” 

“How would you explain my injuries?” 

Din soaked the washcloth and knelt by the large clot, doing his best to not look at it too much as he scooped it into the other small cloth.  “The same story as before … you’re a runaway sex slave.” 

“What if they don’t believe you?” 

“They don’t ask many questions on a bounty.” 

“Then why didn’t you take me there instead of Tatooine?” 

Din began mopping up the worst of the blood, deciding to tell the partial truth.  “I wasn’t too capable of logic at the time, my head being bashed in and all.” I was too afraid to put you in the hands of strangers. 

Marathel looked at him over her shoulder.  “What’s that?  On your wrist?” 

The yarn bracelet.  He’d forgotten. He carefully wrapped the stained towels together.  “Nothing.” 

Marathel frowned.  From what she could see, it was some sort of … adornment made from green, yellow, and brown yarn, the same colors she and Grogu had used to tie on the poosticks. “I don’t remember you having that before.” 

Din did not answer her; instead, he took the bloody cloths and disposed of them in the vac tube and came back to wash his hands, looking away from the dilator.  He opened the storage bin and pulled out a bottle.  “Here is shampoo if you’d like to use it.”  Marathel watched as Din stashed another, smaller bottle in his pocket, wondering what that could be that he needed to hide it; it wasn’t like she read the damn label, after all.  He turned a dial on the wall.  “Now you’ll have water.  The same switch will turn it on.  I’ll leave another towel outside the door.  Okay?” 

“Thank you.  I’ll be quick; I don’t want to waste your water.” 

“Please, don’t … don’t worry about that.  Take all the time you need.  Or at least all the cold water you can stand.” 

“Thank you, Din.” 

Din gazed at her, still pressed into the corner, naked but for her long hair and a scanty towel.   

She is so soft, so beautiful.  So sad.   

So broken. 

“You’re welcome, Marathel.”  He grabbed his gloves, left the fresher, closing the door behind him.  She called me Din, he thought.  I’m Din again. 

Marathel remained crowded into the corner of the fresher for a while after Din left her alone, mind racing, bewildered again by the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter.  Ashamed as she was that he’d heard her before, that he’d listened to her as she … but he had come running to her when he thought that she was hurt, just as he’d come running when she called for him when Grogu had put her in a tree.  Just like how he’d taken her broken body away with him when he left Unmanarall.  And what had she done for him?  Fed him meals, baked him bread, given him some physical pleasure? 

Broken his heart? 

Tears threatened again, chipping away at her resolve, trying to make her forget why she was insisting on going back … and the reasons for doing so were growing less and less important. 

Marathel tried to turn off her addled brain as she went over to the fresher controls and turned on the water.  Stepping under the aerated spray, she expected cold water, but what she experienced instead was something even more frigid than her waterfall during the deepest part of cold season.  Chilled almost instantly to the bone, Marathel shrieked, “GAIAH!!!!” 

In the cockpit, Grogu had woken up, and was cuddled on Din’s lap when Marathel’s surprised scream reverberated through the ship.  Oh kriff, thought Din as he hurriedly turned down the reception volume on his helmet.  Then he chuckled and patted Grogu’s tummy, saying, “I think I forgot to tell Mama to let the water run for a minute before getting in.”  Grogu frowned up at him, folding his ears down.  “Yeah, she’s gonna throw a rock at my pudyn for sure.” 

Later, Marathel was clean and dressed again.  It took a while before she got warm, though, after nearly freezing herself in the fresher.  The water did eventually get mildly warm, but nowhere near enough to offset how cold the water was initially.  Osi’kovid, thought Marathel.  And after I helped him fix this flying metal box!  

Marathel dressed in her other set of blue clothes, the thick socks Cobb had given her, and then finally her blanket.  She figured out the drinking water dispenser and helped herself to Din’s tiny galley storage, finding the container of tea.  She made two cups of extra-hot tea, a cup of bone broth, and cut a loaf of Silnima’s sweet squash bread into thick slices.  Carrying one cup of tea and the cup of broth, she went up to the cockpit access.  “Din?” 

She heard his feet drop heavily to the floor, and he was up and looking down at her in a flash. “Mesh’la?” 

Marathel pursed her lips at the endearment, and said, “Here is broth for Grogu, and tea for you.”  She placed the cups, each with a slice of sweet bread on top, at Din’s feet.   

Din quickly dropped to one knee and was just able to touch her fingers briefly as she let go of the cups.  “Thank you, Marathel.” 

“When Grogu is finished, would you please send him with the cups back to me?  I finished knitting something for him.” 

“Of course.” Marathel nodded, then disappeared from view.  Din stayed there, on one knee, long after she’d left, just listening to her moving around on his ship, humming the only song, digging through drawers in the galley, sipping her tea, vocalizing her Oldtalk to the melody of the only song now and again.  Grogu came and snagged his sweet bread and his bone broth and sat next to Din, enjoying his snack and listening to his Mama while Din thought about doing a U-turn, taking her to his covert and presenting her to the Armorer as his choice for riddurr. 

But then, Din sighed and reconsidered. Kidnapping a bride was Paz’s style, not his.  And being an Apostate meant a riddurrok was out of the question until he could redeem himself.  So, he sat down next to his boy and drank his tea and ate the bread, lifting his helmet only enough to do so.   

Below, Marathel had settled herself on Din’s bedroll and was using the black insulation foam as a base to felt the wool roving Cobb had bought for her.  Lacking a felting tool, she’d dug through all the drawers she had been able to open and found three pointy things that she tied together to make an ersatz stabber, as she called it.  She drafted the wool into little bits of fluff, which she spread in layers on the foam, using the three-pronged improvised tool to stab it into the foam over and over and over.  This part was very therapeutic, Marathel found.  As the wool felted together, she added more wool, flipping the piece over, stabbing it again and again to make a cloth, intending to give the finished cloths to the Bounty Hunter to polish his armor.   

Din had come down from the cockpit with Grogu; they’d found a few empty cups and a couple of bowls floating around the cockpit.  Din had expected to see Marathel leaning against the main corridor wall, sitting on the foam square, knitting.  Surprised to not see her immediately, he looked around before he noticed her sitting in his quarters. He tilted his helmet as he watched her repeatedly stab bits of wool — with great gusto — into the black foam.  Her vehemence in her task frightened him a little, as she stabbed, stabbed, stabbed whatever it was she had in her hand.  “What are you doing?” 

“I’m felting wool into cloth.” Stab, stab, stab. 

“Why?” 

“For you, to polish your armor.”  Stab, stab, stab. 

“I can buy that sort of thing.” 

“I’m sure you can. But I want to make these for you.”  Her tone told him she would brook no quarter. Stab, stab, stab.  Her eyes flicked up to his helmet.  Stab, stab, stab.   

Din wasn’t about to argue the point with her, not with that stabby tool thing she was wielding.  He did like seeing her in his bed, though.  “Do you have enough light in there?” 

She looked up at the overhead lights.  “It’s good enough for what I’m doing.  The floor is too uncomfortable for me right now,” said Marathel, her cheeks turning pink again.  She looked past Din’s legs and smiled.  “Just who I wanted to see.  Come here, my love.”  Grogu toddled in and hugged Marathel’s legs.  She picked up a folded knitted item and unfurled it, holding it up to his little body.  “Hmmm.  It might be a little big for him.  But he’ll grow into it.”  Marathel frowned and looked back up at Din.  “Will he grow into it?” 

Din shrugged.  “Your guess is as good as mine. I only recently found out he’s over fifty years old.” 

“Fifty?  Why, that would make him older than me, even!” 

“I understand that his people are slow-growing folks that live for a very long time.” 

“But that means …” Marathel’s face fell, and she caressed Grogu’s face. “He will be without you for much of his life.” 

Din crossed his arms and leaned against the door jamb, looking down to the floor.  “I suppose so.”  It had occurred to him as well.  He tried not to think about it much. 

“How old are you?” 

Din raised his eyes back to Marathel’s lovely face. “Well, going back and forth in hyperspace kind of muddies time, as opposed to staying on one planet.  But I’m somewhere around forty-two Basic years old.” 

“That makes me older than you,” said Marathel quietly.  “I am glad to know that you are not so much younger than me.” 

Din shrugged.  “Not by much, no.” And I am glad to know that you aren’t half my age … that would have skeeved me out.  I’m middle-aged.  I don’t need to be with someone so young as that … not like the place you came from. 

“Well, enough of that kind of talk.   Let’s see how this fits you, my little Godynferth!” Marathel fed Grogu’s arms into the sleeves of the little jacket, and she tied the attached belt around his waist.  “It’s a tiny bit long, but it looks good to me.  Show your father, little one.” 

With a pleased coo, Grogu turned to Din, holding out his little arms.  Din squatted down to Grogu’s level.  “Well, now, kid, I think you look like a proper Jedi.  I like it, Marathel, thank you.  He’s never complained about being cold, but a child should have cold weather gear.” 

“What do you do for cold weather gear?” 

“You’re looking at it.” 

Marathel frowned.  “Do you not get cold?” 

“I get cold.” 

This troubled Marathel. The thought I would knit you sweaters and cowls, weave you capes and blankets, anything I could make to keep you warm went unbidden through her head. 

Din cleared his throat, and stood, taking a step back from the doorway.  “I thought I should use the sonic myself.  Would you mind …?” 

Marathel blinked.  “Oh! Of course.  Just knock when I can come out.” She looked around her, realizing that Grogu had wandered off.  She called out, “Come here, Grogu, let me take that jacket off you … then you get to stay in here with Mama.” She had not directly called herself that before.  Not out loud. Oh, she thought to herself.  I never knew how much joy my heart could hold, just saying Mama, referring to myself. Did Din feel the same way, when Grogu became his son in his heart? 

And oh, when Din caught her eye after she had put the question to her mind, and Din knew as sure as anything that Marathel had just realized who she was. 

Grogu’s Mama. 

You’re Grogu’s Mama, Marathel.  And you’re going to leave him, because you’re holding on to some insane guilt over things that were done to you and not by you. I can think of no other reason you would willingly return there. Yet, I can’t not take you back; I must obey you because … you are my Dahl-mate? That is equally insane, my ma’mwsh ha’laa, so insane we should go somewhere uncharted and be crazy together.  

Din stepped back into his quarters and stood, looking down at Marathel.  She looked back at him, puzzled, asking, “What is it?” 

“We need to talk to each other,” said Din. 

“We have talked.” 

“No, we haven’t.” Din sat down at the other end of the bedroll, but still too close in the tiny room, where they’d already experienced so much intimacy when she was injured, unconscious, and naked, and he was gloveless, helmet-less, and out if his mind with concussion.   “You’ve talked.  You’ve talked at me.  You’ve told me the nightmare of your life, the humiliation and degradation you’ve suffered.   But then you tell me that I must return you to the source of your suffering, and that’s all there is to it.”  Din sighed, unsure where to start.  “May I hold your hand?” 

Marathel looked down at Din’s hand, covered by his glove.  She couldn’t think of a good reason not to hold his hand.  It was a reasonable request, and he was a man; therefore, she must obey him. But his hand was encased by fabric and leather.  Along with his forearm weapons, there was not a strip of bare skin exposed.  She supposed that he could make the argument that her hand was encased in metal springs, and therefore, just as non-tactile as his own hand.    

But what difference did the glove make, really?  His hand was still within — a strong and gentle hand, powerful, but still capable of tender touch, loving hands that held Grogu as well as fondled her. 

His hands, the gloves.   

Marathel raised her eyes to Din’s chest, protected by heavy armor.  She knew it was heavy; she’d felt the weight of it against her own body, and he carried both the armor and occasionally her.  But behind the armor was him, she knew there was flesh, flesh that was warm and yielding, carrying scars and marks and moles, flesh over muscle that had seen battles that ended in death and hands of others caressing him, pleasuring him, for he was a man and such pleasures were necessary; even her own hands had felt that flesh in an effort to please him as well as fill her own needs.  

His body, the armor. 

Raising her eyes even more, Marathel studied his helmet, planes and angles that disguised his face; and even though she knew he had brown hair and brown eyes and a mustache and facial hair, she longed to see those features, to solidify in her broken mind who he was, his eyes upon hers, to hopefully read in those brown eyes that he could see her, cracked, crumbled, chipped away to rubble, and so, so sad that she desperately needed a tender touch and the knowledge that even as unworthy as she was, that he trusted her enough, that he loved her enough, to supersede his words of love and trust with the sight of his own lips saying such things, and the touch of his lips on her, words, words meant nothing, she was too stupid to understand words, words almost always led to lies … 

“Marathel?”  Marathel blinked, shaking herself out of her thoughts.  “I only asked you to hold my hand; it wasn’t some sort of trick question,” he implored. 

Marathel dropped her eyes and went back to felting the wool, stabbing the fleece into the foam over and over.  “What did you need to say?” 

“I want you to explain to Grogu why you’re doing this.” 

“Doing what?  Felting wool?” 

Din took a deep breath; he wanted to keep his temper.  “Why you’re insisting I take you back.”  Marathel stopped her stabbing motion.  “Because you haven’t explained it to me at all, and I want to hear you explain it to him, so maybe I can possibly understand.”   

Marathel set aside her project and primly folded her hands in her lap. “I’d be happy to speak to Grogu.  Shall I do it now?” 

Din was surprised, as he thought she would either belay an explanation or refuse to do it altogether.  He looked over his shoulder and saw Grogu, still in his little knitted robe, sitting in the doorway, eating a hunk of bread.  “Hey kid, Marathel would like to speak to you.” 

Grogu got up and toddled over to Marathel, holding out his bread crust to her.  Marathel smiled and took the proffered crust, bobbed her head, and murmured, “Thank you, my love,” and ate the bit of bread, while Din was both surprised and overwhelmed that Grogu shared food with her, as if sharing food was a commonplace thing for him, because it certainly wasn’t. “Come up here, little one,” she said, lifting him onto her legs so Grogu could sit on her.  “You may not know this, but your father is taking me back to the planet I came from.  Remember?  You met me there, in my little hut, where we played poosticks, and picked flowers, and you and Patu went fishing?” 

Grogu made an affirmative coo, and Marathel continued.  “Well, we’re going back there, but what will happen is that I will stay there, and you and Patu will go on flying on your adventure, and I will not be with you.” 

Grogu frowned, his ears drooping. 

“Remember, when I said goodbye to you before?  I thought you would be leaving me behind then.  But I was so badly hurt, and your father did not want to leave me behind like that.  I didn’t know your father took me away with you.  And I am sorry that you had to see me so hurt, and that you had to help me breathe when I was so sick.  I know you also helped my hands, and I thank you so much for that. You gave me back my hands, you clever boy! 

“Unfortunately, I am still sick.  I am very, very sick.  But I’m not sick in my lungs, or in my hands.  I’m sick here …” — Marathel indicated her head — “… and here …” — Marathel put her hand over her heart.  “The sickness, the pain I have there is not an illness that can be healed by the tiny hands of a little green boy with large ears.  It’s a sickness that I can’t ever recover from.  It’s a hurt that can’t be fixed.  And when there’s something that can’t be fixed, well, then, it must be left behind.  

“I’m sure you’ve seen Patu leave things that can’t be fixed.  Parts of this ship, a blaster, something.  But this time, it’s me that must be left behind.”  Grogu’s face fell, and he looked down to his little feet until Marathel put her finger under his chin and lifted his face up again. “Grogu, you need to know that I’m okay with that.  That is what I want.  I want to be left behind, so my sickness won’t affect you or your Patu.   

“I know this is hard to understand.  I know I can’t properly explain why this is so necessary to me.  But I need you to remember that this was my decision.  And if for no other reason than that, I need for that decision to be honored by you, honored by your Patu.  I’ve had so little honor given to me, Grogu, and whether my decision is good, or bad, or indifferent, it was my decision to make.  

“But I don’t want you to worry about me.  I will be all right when you and Patu leave.  I will be sad, of course.  I will be very sad.  And you will be sad, too, I know.  You may be very sad.  And it’s okay for you to be sad.  But you have much to do.  You must grow up, and live a wonderful life, and have many exciting adventures with your father.  And I want you to enjoy the amazing life you’re going to have, flying here and there, meeting all kinds of people … probably making things blow up …” Marathel laughed.  “Wherever you are, I will be thinking of you.  When you look up at the night sky, and you see all those stars, and planets, that will be me keeping an eye on you!  I’ve been so proud to be your Mama!  And perhaps, someday, you may have a new Mama to go along with your Patu, or … even maybe another Patu, who knows?”  Marathel looked up at Din, thinking of Cobb.  She knew.  She just did.  “Someone will make your father so happy, and that’s what we all want, is for Patu and Grogu to be happy.  Happy, and safe. 

“And … I will be happy too, to know that you are happy, and safe.  No matter how sick I am, no matter how much I hurt in my heart and in my mind, I will always be happy that I met you and your father.  I will always be happy to think of the three of us having fun in that little hut, having little, tiny adventures amongst ourselves.  Even if you believe you had far too many baths. 

“I will miss you so much.  You will be in my heart forever.  Rwy’n di’rugar, my love,” said Marathel, her voice crackling, and she picked up Grogu and hugged him tightly, kissing his little face. 

Drawing back, Marathel smiled at Grogu with tears in her eyes.  “I think that went well, don’t you?  Yes, I think that went well.  I hope you understand a little better why this is happening, love, yes?  Yes.” 

Grogu patted her cheek, cooing sadly.  Then he pointed back at Din.  Marathel gazed into his dark visor and sighed.  “Yes, I will miss Patu as well. He has been a good friend to me.  My first friend, actually.  Your father will also be in my heart forever. I know he’s having a very hard time leaving me behind.    Someday, he may understand why he must leave me behind, but even if he doesn’t, I hope he knows that I will never regret a single moment I spent with him.  Even when I threw eggs at him.  Or called him names.” 

“What about not telling me about the depth of the mud I had to slog through?” asked Din. 

“Oh, that … I wanted to get back at you for laughing at me.” 

Din chuckled briefly, and then reached over to gently ruffle Grogu’s hair, moving his hands closer to her. “Marathel, I don’t think you’re sick.  I don’t think you’re so damaged that you can’t be fixed, or that you can’t be helped.  Doctors and therapists are out there.  I can find you someone if you would just let me.” 

Marathel felt trapped by the armored man before her, and she wondered if that was his intention.  She returned her attention to Grogu.  “Grogu, do you understand what I am asking of you?  Will you please honor my decision?” 

“You can’t ask him that.  He’s just a child.” 

“Grogu is wiser than I will ever be.” 

“All the more reason to not take you back, Marathel! I can’t, in good conscience, leave a woman having a nervous breakdown alone in the wilderness!” 

“I’m not having a breakdown!” cried Marathel. 

“Then you should!” shouted Din. He dropped his head.  “I’m sorry, mesh’la, I’m sorry, ad’ika, I shouldn’t have yelled.  I am upset, because … because I don’t have much time left to convince you to not leave me.”  He reached for Grogu.  “Kid, would you please give Mama and me some privacy?  We need to … grown-up talk.” Grogu bleated and jumped off Marathel’s lap and toddled out of the tiny room, patting Din’s arm as he went, which both adults noticed with mild amusement, wondering just how much Grogu was able to understand the angst the grown-ups were creating for themselves. 

Din and Marathel looked at each other. He took a breath, then reached to shut the door. 

“Din …” 

He moved his hand along the wall, and turned off the lights, and then a third switch shut off even the tiny red and green panel lights, leaving the tiny room in full darkness. Marathel gasped, and Din said, “Mesh’la, I need you to trust me … I must do this this way.” Focusing on the low-light image in his visor, he moved closer to her, reaching for her hands in the darkness, and she pushed herself against the wall behind her. “Please, Marathel, I …” She kept pulling her hands loose, whimpering, fearful.  Din pulled off his gloves, and then, his helmet, saying, “Marathel.” 

Marathel fell still at the sound of his voice, unmodulated, and she forgot to breathe.  Din reached for her hand again, their fingertips touching before she drew her hand back. “Marathel, ma’mwsh ha’laa, I don’t know what to do about you.  I don’t understand why you won’t let me love you.  I don’t understand why you insist on destroying yourself.” He sighed.  “I don’t know how else to say that I don’t care who your biological parents are.  I don’t know how else to tell you that those reprehensible things done to you don’t make you a whore. Those things only matter to me because of the pain they cause you.”   

Din got up to his knees and moved even closer to Marathel, gently pushing down on her knees so that he could straddle her legs, resting part on his weight on her, pinning her in place again like he had against the kitchen wall of the palace, and he hated that he kept trapping her this way.  He lifted her hands to his face, saying, “I can’t show you my face.  This is the way.  This is the only … allowable way for me to be without my helmet around you.  And even then, this is still … difficult.  Attachments outside the covert, attachments of any kind are not discouraged, but … neither are they encouraged.” He still held her trembling hands.  “I’ve told you I love you, both in Basic and in my own language, remember?  I said to you, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, when we were together that night.  ‘I will know you forever,’ that’s what that really means, mesh’la, I will have you in my heart forever just as you will have Grogu in your heart forever.  Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta, cyar’e.  I love you, my heart, my beloved …” Din kissed her splinted fingers.  “And you said something back.  What did you say back to me?” 

“Fi ng’riad, d’lwch fi, chi yd’w fi,” said Marathel, her voice unsteady. 

“What does that mean?” 

“‘Love me, hold me, I am yours.’” 

“But it doesn’t really mean that, does it, mesh’la?  I can’t possibly believe that there’s a word for love in the Hold. Not with what they do there to women, to children.  I’m sure you say that at a very specific time; you have ceremonial words for every moment you women must endure, there’s a verse in that only song for every occasion, so when do you say that, Marathel, what does it really mean?” 

“It means … ‘I am yours to take and ruin.’” 

Din’s heart broke a little more.  “And when are you supposed to say that?” 

“When the girl presents herself to her Elder as a Whyn just before he takes her … fully.” 

“And you said this … to me?” 

Marathel sobbed and pulled her hands away.  “I had no other words to give you.  I knew you had said something very important to me, and I had to say something!” 

“But what do you feel, Marathel?” 

“I don’t know!” 

Din sat back on his heels, sighing, sure she was lying.  He rubbed his face with his hands.  “Back on Unmanarall, when you asked me to remove my helmet … if I had, would you have changed your mind about going to the Hold?” 

“No.” 

“If …” Din’s voice broke, and he had to clear his throat.  “If I revealed my face to you now, knowing that I love you, Marathel, my ma’mwsh ha’laa … would you stay with me?  Would it make a difference?” 

“… No.” 

At that moment, Din would rather have been sliced in two by the Darksaber.  Desperate now, he pleaded, “What if … then … not with me, then … Stay at the palace, on Nevarro, somewhere, anywhere, where I know I can reach you, see you, know you’re safe …” He found her face in the darkness and pressed his forehead to hers.  “Somewhere Grogu can see you, please, ner kar’ta, my heart, please, please, don’t make that boy lose his Mama!” 

“Din, please …” sobbed Marathel. 

“Stay, yes, or no?” 

“... No.” 

Din wanted to weep.  He reached behind him to find his gloves and his helmet.   Standing, he put his helmet back on, and opened the door to the tiny room, revealing Grogu on the other side, looking sadly back up at him.  “Gangway, Grogu,” he said, listlessly, and he climbed up the ladder into the cockpit, shutting the door behind him. 

Marathel sobbed into her hands, hating herself for what she was doing.  She felt Grogu’s tiny hand touch her knee.  “Oh, Grogu, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for hurting Patu like that.” She held Grogu as she shifted them both to a prone position on their sides, facing each other.  Marathel began stroking Grogu’s ear with her thumb. “Someday, he may forgive me, but if he never does, I will accept that.  I’d rather he hate me forever.”  

Grogu’s sad eyes bore into hers.  “Patu Mama,” he said sternly. 

“Patu … Mama?” asked Marathel, confused. 

Grogu put his hands together, wrapping his tiny fingers around each other.  “Patu … Mama.”  Marathel blinked tears from her eyes, then nodded. Repeating the hand motions, Grogu asked, “Mama … Patu?” 

Marathel’s eyes went wide, then shut tight for a few moments.  Opening her eyes, she whispered, “Yes, my little child.  Mama Patu.”  Marathel smiled through her tears.  “Mama loves Patu with all her heart.”   

She couldn’t speak after that for a few moments. Finally, she was able to say, “Grogu, my sweet, it’s because I love your father so that I must be left behind.  I’m damaged, and I’m no good.  He deserves someone so much better than me.   What I am, no matter where I go, will bring him only shame and misery.  I’m the wrong woman, and what I’ve done will be found out; I know now how people will talk behind my back.  I heard the whispering in the palace.  Patu is well-respected everywhere he goes, he must be.  I can’t be the reason he loses respect in his covert, his … well, wherever a Bounty Hunter may belong. And I don’t belong anywhere, anyplace that’s good. 

“People don’t understand a person like me, they will judge me for what I’ve done, what was done to me, who I am. And they will judge your father for caring about me. And I refuse to bring that judgement upon Patu.” 

Grogu grunted, shook his fists and said, “Patu Mama! Mama Patu!” 

“Oh, Grogu, if only it could be so, I wish it could.  But this is the way.” 

Grogu frowned and put his hand on Marathel’s chin, and she immediately felt a little sleepy.  “Grogu is putting me to sleep again, I think.  Did you want me to tell you a bedtime story, little one?”  Marathel yawned.  “I will tell you my version of how I met your father. 

“When I first saw him, the sunlight was reflecting off his armor almost straight into my eyes, and I thought he was one of the Mothers Who Went Before coming for me, coming to take me away and up into the night sky.  And then I thought, no, I don’t want to go! So, I had to throw a rock to chase Patu away.  

“I had wanted the Mothers Who Went Before to come take me away.  I wished for it, prayed to Frith for it.  But when I thought they had appeared, I begged to stay!  And when I realized it was a person, a man I had never seen before, I was afraid, but somehow, I knew that he would not hurt me, that I was safe with him. I knew a stranger to me would be the first man to treat me well.” Marathel smiled at Grogu, stroking his cheek with her thumb.  “And Patu brought me you.  How could I not love him?”  She felt sad yet happy that she revealed the truth to Grogu.  But as she fell asleep — and whether it was Grogu putting her to sleep or the emotional exhaustion hitting her was immaterial — Marathel mumbled, “But there’s no point.” 

Grogu got up from where he lay next to Marathel.  He gently pressed his forehead to hers, like Patu would do.  Just like Patu would do to him.  Then Grogu sighed, and toddled out to the corridor, where he sat down with a tiny grunt, looking back and forth from the open quarters to the closed cockpit door. 

Grogu was frustrated.  Grogu had a hard time understanding why Patu and Mama could not just love Mama and Patu!  Grogu wished Patu would kiss Mama again.  Grogu had seen other people kiss before.  Grogu knew kissing made other people happy.  Grogu had been happy when Patu had been happy with Ohmeh. Grogu had been sad that Patu did not kiss Ohmeh.  Grogu was happy Patu kissed Mama. Grogu changed Mahr to Mama because Patu kissed Mama. Grogu was happy Patu became happy again.   

Grogu was sad that Mama was sad.  Grogu could see that Mama was hurt in a lot of places.  Grogu wondered why someone hurt Mama.  Grogu was mad that someone hurt Mama. Grogu wanted to help Mama.  Grogu had helped Patu and friends of Patu.   

Grogu did not understand why Mama did not want help from Grogu. Grogu did not understand why Mama was so dark inside head of Mama.  Grogu was sad Mama was so dark inside head of Mama.  

Grogu could not fix Mama. 

Grogu could not fix inside head of Mama. 

Grogu was sad. 

Grogu looked down at the floor and sighed.  He thought for a while, and while he sat and thought, he began picking up his favorite colors of the glitter on the floor — gold, silver, and green — and made them float and swirl before his eyes.  After a while, Grogu put the glitter down, and he called out to the Force, looking for friends that might make Mama less sad.  And if Mama was less sad, then maybe Patu would be less sad, too. 

It was a few hours later that Marathel heard Din calling her.  Climbing up out of her troubled sleep, she said, “Mmmmm … what?” 

“Marathel?  Wake up.” 

Not wanting another round of Din’s pressure, Marathel muttered, “Why?” 

“You need to see this.” Marathel frowned at Din but let him help her up.  She followed him stiffly up the ladder to the cockpit, where he beckoned her to stand at the console, where Grogu was sitting, looking up and out of the view screen.  Din pointed above his head.  “Look.” 

Marathel stood where Din indicated, and looked up to see not just one Purrgil, but many.  She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. 

“I don’t know how many there are,” said Din.  “I got up to twelve, and more kept coming.  I can’t see them all to count them.  They are all around the Crest.”  A single Purrgil, much smaller than the one Marathel had seen while on the transport, moved closer, almost as if she was trying to peer into the cockpit.  “A few have done that, too.  I’ve never heard of a Purrgil doing that before.” The Purrgil bellowed, the vibration rumbling the floor of the cockpit, and they could see the closest of the Purrgils nodding their heads.  Din turned to look at Marathel’s enraptured face.  “It looks like they were waiting for you,” he whispered, carefully reaching for her hand.   

Marathel jumped, looked down at her hand, her pinky finger wrapped with his.  She quickly shifted her eyes back up on the Purrgils above her … but she reached with her other fingers to capture the rest of his hand. Din lifted his other hand to Grogu’s back, and they stood that way for a long time.  Eventually, Din wrapped his arm around Grogu, lifting the child up against him. Din stepped back and took a seat on his captain’s chair, still holding Marathel’s hand as she dropped her eyes from the Purrgils and turned to look at him.  He gently tugged on her hand, and she allowed him to seat her on his lap. Din reached to recline the seat back, but it fell too quickly and Marathel nearly somersaulted off the back of the chair, and she laughed while Din cursed his rotten luck. Of all times to be a klutz, he thought.  I couldn’t be suave if my life depended on it! 

“This is ridiculous,” said Marathel.  “I’m too heavy; I’ll squish you.” 

“No, you won’t.” Even if she cut off his circulation and his legs fell off, he wouldn’t care.  Din put his feet up on the console, her legs already entwined with his. 

“Then I’ll break your chair.” 

“Unlikely.”  Even if their combined weight broke this chair, he had two more in this very cockpit.  Chairs were replaceable.  Din guided Marathel to lay back against him and tucked her head under the edge of his helmet. 

“This many Purrgil could destroy your ship.” 

“Then I will die with my clan in my arms,” said Din. 

Marathel’s heart ached.   She tried to blink back her tears, but failed.  Then she realized she could feel his body under hers.  “Did you remove your armor?” 

“Yes.” 

Marathel couldn’t help but smirk.  “You felt safe enough to remove your armor around me?” 

“It was a calculated risk.” 

“And you assumed you could get me on your lap.” 

Din stroked her arm.  “And I love you best, Marathel, when you open your sweet mouth and say things like that.”  

He was right of course, for Marathel felt the same way about him.  She didn’t speak again, but remained there in his chair, on his lap, along with Grogu, watching the Purrgil fly all around them.  The Purrgil continued to accompany the small ship through hyperspace, watching over the clan of three. 

You Were Marked: Next Chapter ->

[handspunyarns]

I see this in my fic’s future

[misspearly1]

Ner Cyar'ika Baar'ur

Secret Santa Event by @pedrostories

My giftee: @taro-666

Pairing: Din D'jarin x F!Medic!Reader (use of Y/N).

Summary: Working for the Mandalorian as his personal medic, it has become apart of the daily routine to battle against people who threaten his safety, or yours. You're apart of the chaos that comes with the bounty hunting life, but how does one particular quarry change everything between you and Din D'jarin?

WC: 8k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Fic is set in season one, between episode one to three. Slight changes in the storyline from the TV show. Cursing. Use of Mando'a (with translations). Friends to Lovers. Mutual Pining. Violence and Injury. Angst with a happy ending. Smut. Mentions of wet dreams. Unprotected PIV. Praise kink. Fluff.

AN: Taro! Omg, I've been so excited to share this story with you and to finally come off anon. Hey friend! 👋 I hope you enjoy the read, my love ❤️.

@supernaturalgirl20 Thank you so much for the beta, beautiful! You're a star 🥰.

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic; you’ve been through a lot and have seen nearly twice as much. Having said that, it’s almost as if you’ve grown used to the mayhem that comes with treating the sick and the wounded because of your line of work.

For instance, it doesn’t surprise you anymore when your boss requires your medical assistance considering he is actually in need of your assistance quite often, and it’s the very reason he hired you in the first place. 

The Mandalorian is your boss, or Mando as he is known to some, and his involvement in the bounty hunting business was never in your interest at first - your a healer, not a fighter - but where there is a fight, there is almost always a need for someone to be patched up afterwards. 

There’s never a dull moment working with the Mandalorian, his daily life is mayhem, more so in the last several weeks since his workload has been busier than usual and seeing that you’ve already adapted to the chaos around treating the sick and wounded, especially on war-torn planets, you quickly adopted his chaotic lifestyle as well.

There wasn’t much difference truthfully, only that you were treating one patient instead of several a day, and rather than coming to you for medical treatment, Mando offered you to move into his ship as an alternative. You didn’t oppose the idea and accepted his offer, not only because the pay is better, but the company is welcome too.

As well as this, you didn’t mind moving into Mando’s ship because he used to visit you regularly for medical attention back on Nevarro. That's where The Bounty Hunter’s Guild is situated, it’s their home base, and although you only stayed in the city for seven months, you didn’t particularly enjoy your time on the volcanic planet. It’s a world of black sand, rocky terrain, and rivers flowing with lava instead of water.  

While it was beautiful to gaze upon at night, it was also deadly as the Reptavion's used the darkness to their advantage, hunting anything it could carry before taking flight. Nevarro provided work opportunities and credits, but it wasn’t a place to call home.

However, the volcanic planet is where you met Mando for the very first time. During the months you were staying in the city, you were working in a small medical clinic, and there were plenty more suitable facilities for the man to visit, but he chose your place of work instead.

At first, you assumed it was for discretion as the clinic's unspoken rule was ‘ask no question, hear no lies’, but sometimes he would come to see you with minor injuries that could be treated by his own hands, thus leading you to believe that he was interested in more than just your help. Besides, you enjoyed the man's company when he would come to visit you. He wasn’t much of a talker back then, but as time passed, he gradually opened up.

Moving into the man's ship brought you closer to each other. You became his partner more than his employee, and you love your job because it simply doesn’t feel like a job. It feels like you're working with a trusted friend, sharing the riches and helping each other out.

Whether or not he was actually in need of your service back on Nevarro doesn’t matter. What matters is that he saw an opportunity with your skills and presented a deal to make your working life better - which it has.

Ever since you moved in with him, your life has become better in so many ways; you now have a place to call home, and you have a friend you can rely on without the niggling doubt of betrayal in the back of your mind. 

Since you were always on the move before, you adopted a cautious nature with everyone regarding every little detail in your life. You never did fully trust people, but you do with Mando. Things are different with him, and one of the many reasons why it's different with him is because you know the man underneath the beskar. 

Many people have heard of Mando. They’ve heard the stories about his reputation in the Bounty Hunters Guild, about how he is the best in the parsec, but his past and identity remain a mystery. Even to you, to some extent, but you’ve heard the stories too, heard ‘warrior’ in the whispers and it’s true. He is a fine warrior, one that fights with grace and loyalty to the cause. His cause; his culture and his religion - the way of Mandalore. 

While many call him Mando, or the Mandalorian in the Guild, you know him as Din D’jarin. You have not yet had the pleasure to see his identity, but hopefully one day you will have that pleasure and the honour. These are just some of the many reasons why you love your job, but to put it simply; it’s because of Din. 

Since there aren’t a lot of things that surprise you anymore in your line of work and partnership with the man, that doesn’t mean there’s nothing that surprises you. Take these last few days for example, it started off with the same regular chaos, but eventually became something you’re not familiar with. 

The loading bay of the Razor Crest is almost packed full of quarries, frozen solid in the carbonite blocks with one more space remaining for the Mythrol. You helped Din as far as your abilities could, and since the tracking fob for the Mythrol led him to a public house on the icy planet, Pagadon, you stayed back on the ship and waited for his return. 

And of course, it came as no shock when Din returned with the Mythrol, thankfully without any injuries, but the blue-skinned man tried to pull a fast one. However, it wasn’t fast enough as the Mandalorian was two steps ahead of the trickery. He always is.

Still, just like the normalities in the bounty hunting life, you made your way back to Nevarro and met with Greef Karga in the cantina to offload the carbonite blocks, receive your payments and gather more tracking fobs leading to more quarries.

The surprise began when the words ‘off the books’ were uttered by Greef himself and from the moment Din took his next job, you had mixed feelings. There was no chain code on the quarry, all you had was their age. Then, Din wouldn’t allow you to accompany him when meeting the client and the very fact he was protective of you in that sense, made you worry about their business. 

In the Guild, it’s common knowledge that you don’t ask questions about the criminals you hunt. You just get the job done and let the proper authorities serve justice, but something was gnawing at your gut. As the day went on and the chaos continued, the doubts slowly began to fade as you settled back into normality. 

The tracking fob led you to a desert planet, Arvala-7, where you met with a kind man named Kuiil working on a moisture farm. It was especially fun watching Din trying to mount the Blurrg and learn to ride them, but you, too, had to learn in order to join his travels to the Nikto Hideout - where the quarry was. 

By the afternoon, you and Din had mastered the art of riding the creatures and you set off to capture the quarry. Just like any other day in the bounty hunting life, there was nothing surprising or out of the ordinary. You worked together like you always do and after leaving you at a safe distance away from the hideout, Din moved forward on his own. 

As battle ensued, you watched from afar and used comms to help the man out. He fought magnificently. More often than not, his skills leave you awestruck. Mesmerized. You prepared yourself and stocked up on the medical supplies before leaving the moisture farm earlier, but remained hopeful that there wasn’t a need for them. 

When the fight was over, the enemy threats were eliminated and Din was unharmed, you made your way to him and entered the hideout together to find the quarry, but when you first laid your eyes on the target, that unsettled feeling returned to your gut. It was an infant baby, a little green baby with big ears and the cutest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Although you remembered that you don’t ask questions in the Guild about the quarries, you couldn’t help wondering, and worrying, about what the client wants with the child. It couldn’t be anything good if Din didn’t want you present in the meeting with them on Nevarro.

You had many doubts and suspicions, so many that you couldn’t find a single rational explanation as to why a baby had a bounty on its head. Naturally, you asked Din all of the questions you had, but he didn’t have any answers.

Now, as you both make your way back to the Razor Crest with the baby through the mountainous canyons of Arvala-7, you still can’t shake off the nerves around this whole ordeal. Din is many things; a fine warrior in battle, a man of few words, emotionally shielded and well guarded, cold and merciless to those who threaten his safety, or yours, but careless? No, never.

The man isn’t careless. He cares greatly, and deeply, and he, too, knows that something is off about this job. You’ve known Din D’jarin for the last two years and you can sense when the man is nervous. He’s quiet, too quiet, and you don’t like when his mind is on overdrive because if he is worried about this job, then you should be fearful. 

“Alright. What is it?” You finally break the silence to ask, eager to make sense of his sudden edgy state of mind. Halting your walk and turning to face him, you perch both hands to your hips and tilt your head to the side in question, adding emphasis to your desire for answers. 

The baby situated in his floating pod remains close by, right between you and Din as a matter of fact, and he looks up at you both with curiosity. You fight the urge to look at him, to avoid his influence on you as a woman with maternal instincts. The little guy's presence has undoubtedly caused a heavy bout of uncertainty over your heads, a little rift between you and Mando. Not something of the bad kind, but something unfamiliar and foreign. He’s a child, just an innocent baby, so it’s a confusing and an extremely foreign feeling for you both to be transporting him like he’s just another quarry when he isn’t like any other quarry you’ve ever transported before. 

“Din, talk to me,” You shake your head now, frustration evident in your tone, “What is it? What’s got you nervous?” You ask again, although the answer is obvious. It’s because of the baby and all the questions he has for the client, but you want to hear him say it. 

To hear Din himself say that something isn’t right will validate your reasons to be worried, but you were met with silence yet again. The man wasn’t even paying attention to you, he was too focused on the little lizards scurrying across the sand. “Mando.” Stepping forward and calling him the name that everyone else uses, that usually gets his attention, you open your mouth to speak but the words didn’t even make it past your lips as he shoved you back. 

You fell down and watched as he turned swiftly, gun in hand at the ready to shoot, but a blade whacked it out of his grasp, a blade wielded by a Trandoshan. You and Din both lock onto the tracking fob on his hip, the flashing red dot and audible beep familiar, before he then shoves the floating pod away, keeping the baby out of harm's reach. There’s more than one tracking fob, therefore there’s more bounty hunters looking for the child. Bounty Hunters who are careless and don’t ask questions. 

Neither one of you can allow the baby to leave your sight or allow him to fall into the wrong hands, thus causing your legs to act before your mind can think. You quickly rise from the floor and move in to help Din wherever you can. He smites the Trandoshan and they tumble to the floor. Then, he takes the blade from him, before turning around to throw it toward you.

“Stay with the baby.” He orders firmly, and you listen to his instructions. Trusting his fighting skills better than your own, you take a few steps back and give him the space he needs to wield his weapons without hurting you. 

However, another Trandoshan jumps out of cover. “Behind you!” You yell, giving Din a heads up just in time to evade the direction of a blade coming down in his path. The fight continues, and you take a few more steps back to look up, checking the surroundings to ensure there aren’t any more hunters hiding in the shadows. But there was. “Another one, on your left.” You call out. Again just in time as another Trandoshan jumps down from a ledge. 

With one enemy on the floor, but recovering quickly, the odds weren’t in Din’s favour. It wasn’t a fair fight, even though you’re pretty sure he can handle himself, you worry for his safety nonetheless. And although you're not a fighter, you’ll be damned if you don’t try to help even out the odds against him. 

After checking that the baby was safe in his pod, you move toward the closest Trandoshan and raise your weapon. His back was turned, giving you the upper hand to land a blow without deadly consequence. Using the blunt side of the blade, you struck the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward just at the right time for Din to throw his arms out and punch him in the face, knocking him unconscious as he fell to the floor. 

Now that the odds were evened out, you watched Din’s movements with laser-like focus and only intervened when you saw the right moment. You were sure he could handle himself, and you were right, but the element of surprise was the only advantage the Trandoshans had over him in the beginning. He fought the remaining two easily, eventually leaving all three unconscious and regretful for ever trying to take on a skilled Mandalorian. 

He turns to you, nodding appreciatively. “Good moves there, mesh’la - thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it,” You shake your head, “You did all the heavy lifting. I was just lending a hand.” You mumble with a sheepish grin on your lips. 

“But I know how you don’t like to fight,” He argues gently with a slight chuckle in his modulated voice. “You fought with me. Accept my gratitude, sweet girl.” 

“Ok, ok - you’re welcome, Din.” Your smile deepens with flattery as he stands before you with what you can only describe as pride. It was the way he looked at you; his helmet slightly tilted to the side, displaying the reflection of your own face, and his hands resting on his hips with a puffed out chest. 

Since you can’t see the man's facial expression, all you’re left with his body language and tone of voice to understand how he feels. And right now, you not only feel a sense of pride from him, but a flicker of attraction too. It’s in the air. The chemistry, the spark, it’s surrounding you both, and it’s something you feel quite often, but never have the courage to act on. 

You’re almost certain that the friendship between you and Din means something more, or at least, it’s heading towards something more. But the intimate moments you share with each other, brief moments like this, make you wonder why he doesn’t make a move.

You don’t even have to see the man's face to know that he’s eyeing you up and down. Upon feeling him lean in, something you’ve felt him do many times before, you muster up the courage to lean in as well.

However, the confidence escapes him at the last second and he pulls back, clearing his throat awkwardly. “We should leave now, mesh’la,” He says, breaking the silence and just like that, the moment is over. “ We need to get back on track and complete the job.”

What? You ask yourself as your mouth falls open and your eyes widen, exhibiting your shock and disbelief. After everything that has happened today, especially after a brawl against three Trandoshans, you're shocked that he is still going to hand the baby over to the client. Din picked up on your reaction instantly and straightened his back, as if preparing himself for a dispute. 

“Excuse me?” You scoff, your cheeks burning up again for an entirely different reason now. It wasn’t flattery, or attraction, it was anger. “Din, you can’t be serious. We can’t hand the baby over to the client. Especially now that we know other hunters are after him too-” You walk over to one of the Trandoshans laying on the ground and retrieve their tracking fob before presenting it to him, “-The client gave you the job, but handed out more fobs? It doesn't feel right and you know it.” 

“Cyar’ika, please don’t do this.” He sighs while running his gloved hand over the scruff of his neck, the pleadings in his voice for you to not argue about this falling on deaf ears. You are most certainly going to argue about this with him. You cross your arms and shake your head, like you had already settled the argument without even uttering another word. But, the dispute was nowhere near settled. “Need I remind you of the code in the Guild?” He asks with a bite to his tone of voice, “If you don’t like this job, I’ll finish this one on my own.” 

“On your own?” You laugh humourlessly while waving the tracking fob. “Good luck with that when the whole Guild could have these! What happens if you get hurt? What then?” Biting back with your own set of questions, you watch as the man huffs a short breath and turns away from you, evidently maddened with your bickering.  “Don’t turn away. Answer me -” You give him a second to answer, but grow impatient as you're met with a lengthy silence once again. “- What happens if you get hurt, Mando? You can’t do this alone.” 

Din turns to you now and stands close, his voice raised to a level that hurts. “I was doing just fine on my own two years ago, Y/N.” Turning away again, as if he couldn’t stand another second looking at you or spend any more time arguing, it didn’t matter anyways as you had ultimately lost the dispute. You give him another second, another chance to make things right and take back what he said, but he doesn’t turn around or mutter a single word. 

“Okay then,” You mumble, lowering your head, “Am I just the medic? Is that all I am to you?” You ask, and still, the man doesn’t turn to face you or answer your question. The silence spoke for him and that was all you needed to know before turning around to walk away. You gave him plenty of chances to fix his mistake, but only until your back was turned did he try. 

“Cyar'ika.” He calls out for you, finally coming to his senses, but it wasn’t quick enough as you didn’t respond to him. You made your way towards the baby and the sound of your muffled cries made his head hang low with shame. No matter how quiet you tried to be, your cries were audible to his ears, enhanced by the mechanics in his helmet. 

Although you were quite visibly sad, he watched you put on a fake smile and talk to the baby like nothing was wrong. The warmness of your soul shone through the misery, causing the little guy to beam and babble baby nonsense. It was a sight so beautiful to witness, so beautiful that it was distracting. 

Din can’t allow himself to get too wrapped up in the emotions that the child brings. It’s conflicting, confusing and…  foreign. He’s never felt this way before. Never felt this way before with any woman around a child, but it’s different with you and it clouds his mind, throws him off balance and disrupts his focus so much that he doesn’t pay attention to what’s most important right now. Like the danger lingering in the immediate surroundings. 

“Y/N!” The man calls to you again, his voice was laden with urgency. “Behind you! Y/N - behind you.” Sprinting toward your position while swinging the strap of his amban rifle around his chest, Din takes aim at another Trandoshan and fires, obliterating the reptilian humanoid to a thousand dust particles. 

You fall down, your knees hitting the sandy terrain below as your pained cries penetrate the sound of his beating heart deafening his ears. You took a hit from the Trandoshan, his blade had cut through your clothes and marked your skin before he was blasted into organic matter. 

“Mesh’la.” He choked. Rushing over and kneeling on the ground behind you, he reaches out to hold your arms. The injury you sustained was across your back, diagonally, at least three inches long and almost half an inch deep. A clean cut, but angry red and weeping with blood. “Easy now, sweet girl. You’re bleeding, just take it easy.” He reassures you with a slight tremble in his tone, his worry for your well-being perceivable. 

“The disinfectant,” You hissed in reply whilst shaking your head, “Get the disinfectant. It’s in my satchel, Mando.” Gently removing your satchel over your shoulder, he places the bag onto the floor and opens it up to search through your medical supplies. Supplies that are normally used for him. There’s irony in the fact you became a medic to treat others, not yourself, and the man despises that his involvement in the bounty hunting business has caused you harm. 

And although he is helping to the best of his knowledge, you’re directing him on what to do. “Open the cap and pour a generous amount over the wound.” You explain, then grab his hand on your hip to hold onto for comfort. He begins to ask if you’re sure, but couldn’t even finish his sentence as your sobbing plea cut him off. “Yes-yes! Just get it over with. Please, Din.” 

Listening to your instructions, he held his breath and prepared himself as he began dousing your back with disinfectant. You bawled with agony, your back arching away from him naturally with the instinct to stop the pain, but to his regret, he pulled you towards him and continued to pour. He clenches his jaw as you cry, his fingers almost turning blue from the force of your grip on his hand. “I’m sorry.” He apologizes, to which you don’t accept and stutter in reply. “This isn’t y-your fault.” 

Releasing your hand to place his thumb and forefinger on your chin, he tilts your head to look at him before leaning in. “I’m sorry, Y/N - for this, for yelling at you, for saying that I was doing just fine two years ago and… and you’re not just a medic.”  He rests his helmet against your head and whispers, though his voice breaks with remorse. “You’re so much more than that, mesh’la. You mean so much to me.” 

“Din, I-” You open your mouth to object, but he cuts you off by holding his thumb over your lips while shushing you. “Don’t speak and conserve your energy, we’ll talk about it later. Just let me take care of you first.” He says. 

“No, Din…” You sigh, eyes blinking slowly while slurring your words. “I was going… going to say that I… I can’t keep my eyes… I don't feel good…”  Your body becomes limp as you fall into his arms. Your vision darkens quickly, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was the baby's eyes looking at you as he peaks over the pod.

The next time you awoke, it was a brief moment of consciousness. The familiar sound of Din’s amban rifle could be heard as he fired off multiple rounds and your eyes glimmered open to see his legs, the bandolier of cartridges wrapped around his calf. You saw his gloved hand reaching for ammunition to load into his weapon and worried as to why he needed them. 

“It’s ok. Everything is ok,” he says upon noticing you were awake and were fighting to keep your eyes open. “We’re safe here. Go back to sleep, cyar’ika.” 

Eyes closing once again, you couldn’t keep them open no matter how hard you tried to, and his voice soon faded as you slipped into a deep slumber. The silence took over and, oddly, it felt comforting. Although it only felt like minutes had passed, you knew it must have been longer as your surroundings were different. 

There was no longer a warm breeze, but the cold presence of steel pressing into your side, and beneath you, it felt spongy and soft, thus indicating you were laying on a bed. The unmistakable sound of Kuiil’s voice could be heard in the distance as he makes the baby laugh and you open your eyes to confirm your assumptions on your whereabouts, but are met with locks of brown hair instead. 

It’s Din. He’s the cold presence of steel pressing into your side as he sat on the edge of the bed and it’s his hair that you were currently staring at with wide eyes. His back was turned, but you could still see the back of his head and instantly shut your eyes, fearing that if you spent one more second looking, you wouldn’t be able to turn away. 

“Mando,” You whisper immediately, panicking, then feel him moving around. “Mando, why don’t you have your helmet on? Stars! I could have seen your face.”

You begin to shift your position to turn away from him, but are reminded of the wound on your back. The pain struck you suddenly and harshly, causing Din’s hands to dart out to cover your eyes just in time as you opened them with instinct. He was gentle but quick. “It’s ok, mesh’la. You can’t see, it’s ok.” He reassures you through the strained whimpers slipping past your lips. 

“Where is your helmet?” You ask, getting your teeth. You close your eyes again once the surge of pain passes over and the soothing properties of bacta gel takes over. You can feel the substance on your back, feel the stuff working to heal your injury. “My eyes are closed now. It’s safe but… Shit, Din. I saw your hair.” You say apologetically. 

“It’s fine, sweet girl.” He chuckles softly, the sound making your mouth fall open with shock as you retort. “It’s not funny. I’m not allowed to see you - or your hair! What… W-what happens now?” You ask, to which he laughs again and startles you unintentionally when reaching out to cup your cheek. You weren’t expecting to feel his gloved fingers on your skin, but you quickly leaned into his touch as his gesture brought consolation. 

“Look at me,” He requests, “It's safe to look, I promise.” 

Rolling your eyes behind closed lids, you make a surprised sound when he caresses your cheek with his thumb. Again, you weren’t expecting the comforting gesture, but deeply appreciated it. And whether or not it was the bacta gel or Din easing the discomfort in your back, you chose to believe it was the latter.

A short moment passes before you finally open your eyes and find relief in the T shape of his helmet. Although you would love nothing more than to see his identity, the face of his helmet is what you know, it’s home. Your face softens as you relax into the palm of his hand, but the importance and worry around your question still lingers, thus causing you to ask again. “What happens now? I thought I wasn’t allowed to see you without the helmet, doesn’t that also mean I can’t see your hair?” 

“You didn’t see my face, nor did you remove my helmet, mesh’la,” He shakes his head, his voice soft like honey, “It’s okay and besides-” He turns his head, displaying the brown locks of his hair at the base of his neck, “-You can see my hair with the helmet on.” 

“Oh,” You whisper with intrigue, “Surprised I didn’t notice sooner, but your hair is…” Lifting your hand with a desire to touch his hair, you back out at the last second and retract your arm, but Din felt your movements and quickly assured. “Go ahead. I trust you.” 

You reach out again and caress the base of his neck, your fingertips massaging his scalp which draws out the heaviest sounding exhale you’ve ever heard from him; a sigh of relief, filled with endearment and relaxation. It was a gratifying feeling, seeing and hearing the man lean into your touch without fear of betrayal in this moment of vulnerability. Din is vulnerable at this moment, his guard is down and just the mere thought of removing his helmet sickens you. It never crosses your mind. 

“Your hair is beautiful, Din.” You murmur sweetly, a smile on your lips displaying your satisfaction and joy from something so simple. The action of touching his hair which you’d love to do again, to feel him melt in your arms like soft putty and feel a sense of home from your touch, like you feel a sense of home when looking into the T-shape of his visor. 

You gently squeeze the base of his neck, a way of reassuring him, before pulling your hand back, however, it was apparent that he wanted more as he sharply held your wrist and directed your hand back to his hair. “Please?” He asks in a whispered breath, hopeful and optimistic, desperate. “Keep playing with my hair, ner cyar’ika.” 

You laugh, a mixture of surprise and confusion obvious in your tone. The difference in his pet name for you was confusing, and his request for you to continue playing with his hair was surprising. Though, you granted his request gladly and began playing with his hair. “What does cyar’ika mean anyway?” You ask, tilting your head with interest while wondering what faces he was making under the helmet from your massaging movements. “Is there a difference when you say ner cyar’ika?”

“Yes.” He groans in reply, the sound drawing out another laugh from your lips as your smile deepens. You open your mouth to ask another question, until he turns his head to face you and leans across your body. The pause in his manoeuvre speaks of hesitancy, unsure on whether or not you were comfortable with what was about to do. 

The question you had vanishes from your mind as you nod to the man, nodding with confirmation for him to lay down and rest his head in your arms. The bed in which you lay on didn’t feel small until Mando lay on it with you. Not that you minded anyway, but it really detailed the size and stature of the man, especially the broad expanse of his chest and back. 

He raised both hands to his helmet, and before he could even ask, you closed your eyes with baited breath as he removed it to optimize the comfiest position. The position he chose however, was burying his face between your neck and shoulder. You didn't release the breath you were holding, it was snatched from your lungs.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you thought this day would come, but doubt is what kept it at the back of your mind. You never entertained the idea of laying in bed with Mando too much as it felt like a pipe dream to have the man in your arms like this, and now that you do, it feels better than you ever could have imagined.

The pain in your back is practically non-existent now, almost as if you never even sustained an injury, and that’s because of his presence, his proximity and his comfort. It wasn’t a struggle to keep your eyes closed as you basked in the sensation of him carefully laying his weight over you like this.

Something else you’ve also thought about in the past, but tried not to think about too much, is Din laying over you for an entirely different reason. And perhaps it’s because of the level of intimacy in this position that brings those thoughts back to the surface, or maybe it was the electrifying feeling of his lips pressed against your skin. 

The man wasn’t exactly kissing you per se, but the bare contact of his lips placed against your neck like this felt like a kiss. Besides, the vest shirt that you wore left a lot of skin on your chest on display, thus providing Din, and yourself, to relish in skin-to-skin contact.

You could feel his beard, it was a light amount of hair, grazing against you with every little movement of his head. Soon, though, all of those little movements from Din became obvious that he was uncomfortable, as if he kept moving slightly to adjust his comfort.

“Want me to stop?” You ask, wondering if he has had enough of you playing with his hair, but to your delight, he shook his head as he inhaled deeply. He smiles against your skin, thus piquing your interest. “What? What is it?” You laugh bashfully. 

“You smell good, ner cyar’ika.” He replies, nestling his nose into your neck to inhale the natural scent of you. The smile on your face is yet to fade, his actions are what keeps your lips turned upwards, that was until you felt something wet dart onto your skin. It was brief, too brief, but you felt it nonetheless.

It was Din’s tongue, and your smile disappears as you bite your lip, leaving a hankering desire to feel it again. Your skin heats up beneath him as you entertain those thoughts about him lying over you like this for a different reason. You think about how you’ve yearned for his gloved fingers to touch other areas of your body, and as well as wondering about his identity, you’ve also wondered what he looks like nude. A mind is an imaginative place, and you’ve imagined him naked more than once. You sigh softly with the ache between your legs, wishing Din to be the one who eases it. 

“Mesh’la,” He mumbles, grabbing your attention, and when you hum in reply to him, he asks: “Is everything ok? Your heart is racing -” Your eyes spring open with worry, feeling like he could see your dirty thoughts, thus causing your heart to pound harder,  “- Hey, hey, relax. I can move, am I making you uncomfortable?” He asks, blaming himself for your panic. Although he is to blame, it’s not for the reason he thinks. 

“No, it’s just…” You falter with finding the right words, but the patience to wait for him any longer escapes you. “It’s just that I felt your tongue on my neck and if… Stars, this is going to be embarrassing if I’m wrong… and if you did it purposely, then I want to feel it again, but…” You gulp, gathering your courage to admit your feelings, “...But if it was just a mistake, then I think that we should maybe stop what we’re doing because I’m attracted to you Din.” 

“You are?” He asks, to which you reply firmly. “Yes. Yes, I am.” 

“So…” He smiles, “You like this?” He asks before placing an open mouthed kiss to your neck, his tongue darting out onto your skin again, thus eliciting you to sigh breathily. “Y-yes. Yes, I like that.” Your eyes close naturally as he plants another kiss on your skin, still with a smile on his lips, as he begins to pant. “I’m attracted to you too. Have been for a long time, ner cyar’ika.” 

“Oh, Din.” You moan. With arousal and relief, his admission makes you moan, the sound acting as a catalyst as he moves down your body, his head disappearing under the covers eagerly to hear you moan again. “Are you able to lay on your back?” You hear him ask, though his voice was muffled, you heard him clearly and nod frantically with excitement.

Shifting your position to accommodate him, you couldn’t feel the pain in your back anymore and slipped your hands beneath the covers, your fingers finding his hair with ease. “It’s ok, I’m comfortable lying like this.” You say while focusing on his every move with anticipation. You could feel his breath fanning across your lower stomach, his fingers hooked inside the waistband of your pants as he leans in to place another kiss on your skin. 

You lift your hips up with a silent request, one that he understood without a need for words, and begins pulling your pants down, along with your underwear. He leans in and presses his lips to your inner thigh, nipping a path toward your sex. You unintentionally begin gripping his hair by the handfuls, evidently desperate to feel his tongue delve into your slick folds. The man doesn’t waste time and gives in to his own desperation. 

“Din!” You whine upon feeling the tip of his tongue meet your clit. He teases you at first, moving his tongue in a circular motion with a feather-light touch, the action making your hips lift off the bed to search for more. You feel him smiling against your inner thigh, clearly satisfied with your reactions, before he closes his lips around your sensitive bud and sucks gently.

You let go of his hair to hold the back of your palm over your mouth, quieting your mewls of pleasure to a respectable level. Considering all the noises Din himself is making was driving you feral, it was a struggle to try and keep quiet. He sounded hungry, like a man starved for a taste of your sweetness right from the source, as if he had dreamed of this moment and was making the most of it now that it’s a reality.

Your hands abandoned his hair to grip handfuls of the bed sheets instead, your back arching as you tilt your head to the side and bury your face into the pillow. Your orgasm crept up on you, started off with a happy cramp in your stomach but quickly became bliss as he eased a finger inside your entrance, soothing the ache in your velvety walls. Din grunted heavily, needily, as he drank your desire.

He continued to flick his tongue against your clit while angling his finger into a come hither motion, caressing that sweet spot deep inside. The stars behind your eyes and the goosebumps rippling across your body never felt so good before, especially from the simple act of receiving oral. It’s been a while, a long while, since you’ve last felt the pleasurable touch of your own hands, let alone a man's pair of hands.

You needed this, needed to release all your pent up sexual energy, though it only made you insatiable for more. “Din,” You call to him, calling on his help to your frustrations, “Din, I need you.” 

Suddenly, his hand emerges from the quilt, “Here,” he says, handing you a blindfold. “Put this on for me, sweet girl.” He asks, to which you oblige and pull the item over your eyes hastily. “Ready - now get up here, I need to feel you.” 

Moving up your body without having to tell him twice, he travels slowly and plants kisses on your skin along the way, his smile never fading as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. “Gar’re bid mesh’la… (you’re so beautiful).” He growls wantonly, “...Bid, bid mesh’la (so, so beautiful).”

“I’m not sure what that means,” You giggle, the smile on your lips as wide as ever, “But I like the way you say it.” You reach out carefully in search of his face, to which he helps by directing your hands, and once you feel him, you gasp. “Stars! You’re so beautiful,” you whisper in awe as you trace the outline of his facial features, “Your lips… your cheekbones… nose… jawline… everything about you is beautiful, Din.” 

“Thank you, sweet girl.” He breathes, eyes closing to relish in the soft touch of your palms cupping his cheeks. “I’ll teach you Mando’a and soon you will understand everything I say, but I said you were beautiful too. So beautiful.” He explains, causing your cheeks to burn once again with flattery as you pull him closer. His lips press against yours with a bruising kiss, and you couldn’t help but moan because of the raw passion and loving desire to finally feel what you’ve yearned for. 

Although there was a hint of desperation in his bid to remove your clothes, Din was gentle with his movements, gentle and respectful. You helped remove his clothes too, and with each inch of skin revealed, you marvelled at the bare touch of him pressing against you. You’ve seen areas of the man's skin before when taking care of his injuries, but never fully seen him naked. 

Using your sense of touch to see, you feel his body and drag your fingers along his chest, feeling the brute strength that he holds. The strength of a warrior. Between your legs, you feel his member pressing against your cunt and it was an impressive size. Aching to be buried in your warm. His breath bellowing across your face, hot and heavy, laden with the same sound of relief from earlier when you played with his hair as you admire his body now. 

“Cyar’ika.” He groans. Placing his hands beside your head, you feel his body shudder with need, his hips rolling forward ever so slightly to ease the throb that burdens his cock. You slip your hands around the base of his neck, pulling him in to close the gap and kissing his lips whilst parting your legs. As he lines himself up at your entrance, your hands fall to his biceps, holding him tightly as you prepare from the breach. 

“Nngh,” you break off to moan, deeply and satisfyingly, “Fuck, Din! Keep going.” You lift your head off the pillow to kiss him again, letting him swallow all the little pretty noises you were making as he carefully buried himself to the hilt. Your walls opened up with ease, stretching to accommodate his size. “It’s ok,” You say, pleading for him to move. “I’m ok.” 

“Are you sure, mesh’la?” He asks, to which you nod in reply. “Waited so long for this,” pulling his hips back slowly, he grabs onto your thigh for leverage before burying himself into your cunt again. “Dank Farrik!” He grunts across your face, “So warm and tight. Better than I imagined, sweet girl.” 

The sound of his filthy words made you mewl, having never heard the man speak this way before, you were surprised, yet growing more aroused and confident to be honest with him. “I used to think… Shit!” You stutter as he grinds into you, drawing out a moan from your lips, “...I used to think about this. In the night, while you were sleeping in your bunk, I’d think about you making love to me.” You admit. 

“Oh fuck.” Din gasps. Picking up his pace while resting his forehead against yours, his moans broken and breathless, his cock reaches a new depth inside your cunt, hitting that sweet spot inside over and over again. “I’m so relieved to hear you say that,” he says, “I took myself in hand many nights thinking about you."  

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You quickly warn upon feeling the peak of your climax racing toward you. “I’m close. Stars! I’m so close. Keep talking to me.” You cry, feeling yourself on the verge of tearing up from the intensity of your pleasure, but the sound of his voice keeps you tethered to the moment, preventing you from floating up to cloud nine. 

“I would dream about you often,” He groans while holding the base of your neck, his thumbs dragging across your skin reassuringly, “Wet dreams, mesh’la. I felt so ashamed, but… Fuck, they felt so good. Dreaming about you in my sleep felt so good.” 

“More… Tell me more.” You hiss. Wrapping your legs around his back and locking your ankles together, you feel his hips falter as he moans through gritted teeth. “Your pussy, nngh! I’d dream about your pussy wrapped around me, taking my load, mesh’la. Again and again until you couldn’t hold any more and it dripped out of you. Fuck! I’m gonna… Shit, Y/N, I’m coming-” He cuts himself off with a needy whine, throwing his head back with bliss as he feels you clenching around him. 

“I-Inside,” You begged him, “Please, Din. Come inside of me.” The man couldn’t stop himself even if he tried to. You felt him reach climax, the warmth of his release spreading inside of you, coating your velvety walls as they pulsed around him, as if milking him of everything he could give. “Mando. Fuuck, Mando!” You mewled directly into his ear, your eyes screwed shut behind the blindfold as his orgasm pushed you over the edge. 

White static casted over your eyes as your ears ring loudly, your heart thrums in your chest as nothing but pleasure courses through your veins. You unintentionally dig your nails into his back, clawing at his skin as he reverts to a slow grind into your cunt, the movements pleasuring your clit and prolonging the ecstasy of your high. “That’s it, sweet girl. There you go.” He praises you through it as he comes down from his orgasm, the sound of his voice overstimulating. 

Resting your head back against the pillow as you come down, breathing heavily, he plants loving kisses along your jawline and neck. “So pretty like this.” He whispers sweetly, his voice heavy with satisfaction as your hands find his face again. “Are you okay?” He asks. 

“How…” Your voice croaks, “How do you say happy in Mando’a?” 

“Briikase,” He chuckles, to which you reply with a smile. “Well, I’m briikase right now. Really briikase.” 

“Me too, cyar’ika-” He pauses to brush the hair away from your face, correcting himself. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur.” You open your mouth to ask another question, to ask what difference in his pet names mean, but he leans in to catch your lips in a fervent kiss instead. 

Din pulls back, looking to where your eyes would be behind the blindfold while caressing your cheek. “Ner cyar’ika baar’ur... my darling medic. Ni’m ori briikase as pirusti bal ni kar'taylir darasuum gar, mesh’la... I’m very happy as well and I love you, beautiful.” 

You make a surprised sound when hearing some familiar words in his language and learning what they mean, that he has said them before in the past. “I love you too, Din.” You say earnestly, the tears staining the fabric of his blindfold, which you now just realized that he’s kept in his pocket in hopes to use with you one day, like today. You not only became Din D’jarin’s medic, but you became his - his darling medic. 

There aren’t a lot of things that surprise you these days as a trained medic, but that doesn’t mean nothing surprises you anymore. These last few days have been adventurous and emotional, foreign and unfamiliar, life-threatening and dangerous. It’s been life-changing for you and the Mandalorian, and it’s all because of a baby. The little guys presence not only sparked your maternal instincts, but the protective fatherly instincts within Din too. 

And, although neither of you know it now, the baby is only just the beginning of your treacherous journey across the stars in search of reuniting him with his people.

Tagging:

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[poedjarinwrites]

STAR GIRL | DIN DJARIN

Masterlist

'my mother called me her star girl...'

Din Djarin x fem!OC

Kenny, Jyn, Saviin, Bela... just a few of the names she has gone by over the years. Constantly on the run from the empire and bounty hunters alike our heroine must try to survive in this unfair galaxy.

strangers to enemies to friends to lovers -the clone wars, season 7 -kenobi -the mandalorian, season one-

Prologue, the prey

.0, mother

Act One, the apprentice

.1, like father, like daughter .2, satine .3, his favourite daughter

Act Two, the daughter

.4, thief .5, breakfast .6, stars .7, my jyn .8, dead or alive .9, master, father, anakin

Act Three, the bounty

.10, the bounty hunter .11, trade .12, carbonite .13, nothing .14, monster .15, eighty-three .16, bed side manner .17, tin .18, years gone years .19, touch .20, good old days .21, just a kid .22, deepest darkest .23, here with me .24, over .25, saviin kryze .26, din djarin .27, din and saviin

Act Three, the jedi

(originally posted on Wattpad under the username, poedjarin)

Disclaimer; I don't own Star Wars or The Mandalorian, all I own is my own original characters and plot lines. TW; violence, death, anxiety, PTSD, sexual asualt/harassment, torture, and other agressive topics will be discussed

[lady-phasma]

Impenetrable

Chapter 1 of 5 (cross posted from AO3)

The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Dar'Nîla (Togruta OFC)

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, general smut, p in v sex in later chapters, D/s if you squint, plot if you squint. Written in first person fem!reader.

Summary a/n: Mando and Dar'Nîla meet and she's quite brazen. Reference images for Dar'Nîla after the cut. I wrote this during season 2, around episode 5. No beta. 2k words.

This is my reference for Dar'Nîla from the video game The Old Republic.

I saw him walk into the cantina. I watched him over the top of my mug as he went to the bar. You couldn’t not watch him. The beskar he was wearing was so new it reflected everything near him.

What could a Mandalorian possibly get at a bar? I thought. Do they use straws? No, that’s too banal.

I couldn’t stop staring. I knew he could feel all of us watching. But how many of those eyes were trying to determine how difficult it would be to seduce him while assuring him you wanted his armor to stay on? Probably only mine.

I sat my drink down, placed my front lekku meticulously to frame my breasts, and shimmied my shirt down just a little. The thin, white fabric pulled tight across the rise of my breasts and my purple skin shone through bright and unmistakable. The leather vest rode just below like a corset. I wasn’t great at being feminine but I could give a good show. My shitty, practical boots and plain leather pants were about as unfeminine as it could get. The one asset the pants had was how they stretched tight against and accentuated my ass. I checked the room and saw I had no competition so I stood, smoothed my pants over my hips, and walked to his table.

“Hi,” was somehow the best I could manage. I was never this forward.

His head turned, deliberately slow. I was immediately aware of the advantage he had over me: he could see facial expressions that I only had to guess at. This was going to be tough.

“Yes?” he responded.

I slid into the chair across from him and propped my elbows on the table, my breasts on my arms. I was going to make this easy for him because that would make it easier for me. One lek fell in front of my carefully arranged display and I brushed it aside.

“Um, yeah, hi! I’m Dar’Nîla,” I managed.

“Hi.”

“You don’t say much do you?” I beamed at him. “I’ve heard about you. They call you Mando.” I flashed my blue eyes at him.

“Some do.”

“ Can I call you that?” I played with a crumb on the table that I found, suddenly, much more fascinating than the blank surface of his helmet.

“Sure. What’s on your mind… Dar….?” He trailed off.

“‘Nîla,” I finished for him.

“Dar’Nîla, right. What’s on your mind?” he asked again.

I stammered. I’m never great at flirting and usually better at it when I don’t have a clue that I’m actually doing it. He was just so unsettling, so disarming. He was no one. Only what I projected onto him until he spoke or moved. Those were the only glimpses allowed into his personality. How could I possibly find something to flirt about? It was like talking to my reflection.

I investigated the table, ran a finger around an old ring from a glass. This place was filthy. But my mouth had gone incredibly dry. I flagged a hand at a waitress and ordered another beer. I looked him in the eye.

“What’s on my mind is that I would very much like to have a beer with you, ahem, near you is more accurate I guess, get to know you a little better, and then try to get you in my pants since there’s very little chance I could get in yours.” I blurted all of this out at once so that he couldn’t interrupt me and so I wouldn’t lose my courage.

That was the best possible moment for my beer to arrive. I buried my face in it and looked up at him. His head was tilted just slightly. Curious? Maybe. Offended? He hadn’t run for the door. Yet.

“Well, Dar’Nîla, that was quite the speech. Did you have anything specific in mind?” he asked.

I could feel his eyes on me and hear the smirk on his lips. I don’t know if he’d had one or one hundred women but he definitely knew how to manipulate me. I gulped some more beer, mostly to give myself time to think of an appropriate answer.

“Ummmm we could sit here and talk, since you’re so chatty and all, or we could get me some dinner and make our way back to your place. Get to know you better along the way?” I looked into my beer as I said the last bit. I couldn’t look at him. I was able to say all that about pants a moment ago and now I only wanted to crawl under the table. He made me feel like he was pure and I was… was what? Unclean for having these thoughts. But I knew that wasn’t true from the way he moved. The way he stayed.

His movements were slow and deliberate. He stood and reached for my hand at the same time. His gloved fingers lifted mine and I followed. I dropped some credits on the table for the beer before we walked out.

The suns were setting. The street vendors’ food crackled over fires and the smells drifted and mingled around us. I was working hard at playing it cool. I was quite sure I was not succeeding. I made a lot of assumptions about him. I assumed he wouldn’t be eating. He probably ate alone. So I stopped at a food stall and swapped some credits for a meat on a stick. Not sure what it was exactly but the sizzling fat smelled delicious. We carnivores aren’t terribly picky eaters when we’re very hungry. I tore off a mouthful.

“So, do this often, do you?” I asked as I chewed and swallowed. I was so nervous around him that I forgot all of my manners. He completely disarmed me.

“No.”

Fuck, would I ever get more than one word out of this man? I licked sauce off of my finger and looked at my boots as we walked. When I looked up he was staring at me.

“Me either,” I said. “In fact, I don’t really talk to people I don’t know. I just… I don’t know, I thought I would risk it.”

I looked back at my feet and blushed. Hard. I could feel the heat rise from my neck, first deep violet then light pink as it hit my white cheeks. All the way up my montrals and down my lekku. Sheesh. This was embarrassing.

I felt him pause. I stopped a step ahead and turned back. He seemed to be searching for something, listening maybe. God it was so hard to tell with that helmet. He turned and looked past me.

“Here,” he said and he slid a hand around mine and started walking. I’m glad he had his back to me because my mouth hung open. I shook myself out of the shock and followed.

He gave a few credits to a man selling frozen, shaved juices. I stood, mutely, watching his movements. His head tilted just enough for me to imagine he was smiling. Maybe his helmet was more expressive than I thought. He handed me the shaved ice. The evening was hot even after the suns set. I wouldn’t have thought to get this treat for myself but since he was buying. Why not? Bounty hunters aren’t hard up for credits.

I stared at the cone of ice as if I had forgotten how to eat. I looked up at him questioningly.

“I would like to watch you eat it,” he said. It was flat with no inflection. I couldn’t object or give it back to him. I couldn’t tell him he was weird and to keep his stupid shaved juice. In fact, I wanted the opposite. My body tingled like I had touched a live wire. I wanted to perform for him. I looked directly at him and licked the sweet ice. The movements of his helmet were almost invisible but once I knew what to look for I began to see them more clearly. This one seemed to be focus, intensity, just the slightest forward tilt. I tasted it again. My face was on fire. I wanted to die from embarrassment. I could guess a million reasons he wanted this but none of them mattered.

There was nothing in the world at that moment but the two of us. The noise of the street around us faded away. I could see my distorted reflection in his helmet and that inspired me to take a longer lick from my ice. I closed my eyes, wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. He took a step closer to me. This could not actually be happening to me. This was all a fantasy I created and I was still sitting in the cantina.

No. He walked closer and put a hand on the small of my back. He guided me toward an alley. He was touching me. I felt like I was shaking all over. We stopped a few feet into the alley. He took the cone from my hand and dropped it by my feet. I was frozen. What was happening? The Mandalorian actually wanted me? He wanted something. I wasn’t sure what but here we were.

He stepped toward me and I moved back so that I was pressed against the dusty wall. He put his hand on it beside my head. His body turned away from the street so that his cape hid me almost entirely. I exhaled. I had been holding my breath but in this small world he created for us I started to relax. To feel less embarrassed.

“Well?” he said. He was so cryptic. This air of mystery was almost overdone. Almost an act, yet… yet not.

“Well…” I replied. “I’m beginning to think this is all on your terms, so what would you like?”

He thought about this for a moment. His free hand started up and then fell back to his side. His helmet moved slightly. Then his hand was on my waist. Gentle but squeezing just a bit. I tried hard not to react but his grip was strong. I grazed my fingers over the vambrace on his forearm. His fingers tensed when I touched the metal. I traced a line up his arm and then down to his chest. Trying to read his mind was excruciating.

Slowly, letting him see the direction of each movement as it began, I placed one hand on his side and the other on the vambrace near my head. I felt the rough fabric of his shirt under my palm, the muscles underneath moving with his breath. I slid my hand around to the small of his back and pulled him closer. I pushed my hips out to meet his. I moaned through my teeth when I finally felt his body on mine.

The cuisses covering his thighs were hard against my legs. But that wasn’t all that was hard. I moved my hips just enough to feel that, yes, The Mandalorian was enjoying himself. I had read his mind well enough it seemed. I moved my hand down to his ass and pressed against him as much as either of us could stand.

He muttered something and abruptly grabbed my waist with both hands. He almost picked me up as he moved me away from him. He placed me at arms length with the concentration a child has with the placement of a doll. I think he really wanted to tell me to “stay put” or something like that. So, I crossed my arms across my chest, jutted one hip out, and pouted.

When he saw the look on my face he shook his head.

“My ship isn’t far from here,” he said.

[moonbeamoclock]

this doesn’t apply to physical descriptions by the way.

being able to see how our fellow humans think is wonderful and it’s my favorite part of this horrid website but to have a writer push how they look (or want to look) onto you is a horrible feeling.

more brain describing and less physical appearance describing!

I think one of the most beautiful things about x-reader fanfiction is discovering pieces of the writer sprinkled throughout the fic. Whether it's in their characterization of the canon character or the reader or details about how they like to be touched or loved, or little bits of dialect and personal habits, it's just so endearing. A homage to one of the most basic forms of self expression, and a vulnerable baring of one's soul for others to see. It's so, so special

[marivelsblog1503]

Ꭲꮋꭼ Ꮇꭺɴꭰꭺꮮꮻꭱꮖꭺɴ ꭺɴꭰ ꭲꮋꭼ Ꭱꭼᏼꭼꮮ ║ Ꭰꮖɴ Ꭰꭻꭺꭱꮖɴ х​ 𝙵ꭼꮇ!ᏫᏟ ║

Descripción de la historia: La historia sigue en proceso, este índice será publicado, pero, será editado una vez que tenga el borrador listo, lo que están leyendo en estos momentos será eliminado y se reemplazara por otro que si sería la descripción como tal, y la playlist será agregada y también las aclaraciones.

1. Ꮲꭱꮻ́ꮮꮻꮐꮻ: 【 Próximamente. 】 2. Ꮲꭺꭱꭲꭼ Ꮖ: Ꭲꭱꭺꮪ ꮮꭺ ꮯꭺꮖ́ꭰꭺ ꭰꭼꮮ Ꮖꮇꮲꭼꭱꮖꮻ. 【 Próximamente. 】

Todavía no posee una playlist, aún.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Thirty.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C  

word count: 4.3K  

chapter summary: Din gets Marathel to a medical center on Canto Bight. 

warnings:  female bodily functions, descriptions of injuries, mention of wounds, blood, past abuse, rape, object rape, and medical procedures, English and Mando’a cursing  

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***     

You Were Marked: Masterlist    

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Siewan sighed as she entered her notes from her last patient into her charting system.  Normally, she wouldn’t be down here in the trauma center — her usual gig was up on the women’s floor — but they’d been short-handed again in trauma and it was slow upstairs.  Besides, she got an extra spiff for picking up the extra shift, and the adrenaline kept her on her toes.  Tonight, they’d had an entire wedding party — along with most of their guests — wigged out on synthetic spice edibles.  They were legal here on Canto, much to the dismay of the local medical community.  Siewan enjoyed a bit of the stuff herself from time to time, but it seemed that tourists had a problem with moderation.  So far, that had been their biggest bit of excitement this night, and Siewan was now enjoying the relative quiet at time-and-a-half, thank you very much. 

From her vantage point behind the check-in desk, she could hear the outer doors hiss open.  She heard the guard say no weapons to whomever had come in, but she didn’t bother looking up until she heard a mechanical but distinctly male voice say: 

“Weapons are part of my religion.” 

Siewan looked up to see a Mandalorian, in full armor, helmet, and weapons, carrying what appeared to be an unconscious woman wrapped in a blanket.  The security guard said, “No weapons in the trauma center.  You can put them in the lockers over there, or take off.” 

The Mandalorian looked down at the woman he was holding, then over at the lockers, then back at the security guard. “This woman needs medical help.” 

“And you need to ditch the weapons.  You can’t come in until you lose them.” 

“She’s unconscious.” 

“I don’t care.” 

The Mandalorian tilted his helmet in vexation.  “Tell me where I’m supposed to put her while I do that.” 

Siewan came through the inner doors with a gurney.  “Put her here, sir Mandalorian.” 

The security guard sighed.  “You’re not supposed to do that, Siewan …” 

“Yeah, well, he has a point, Gid, he can’t very well hold her and take the weapons off at the same time.”  The armored man carefully placed the woman on the gurney, making sure she was lying flat and that her braid was not trapped under her head.  Siewan watched his gloved hand briefly linger on her cheek, and then she pulled up her chart tracker.  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” she asked the unconscious woman. 

“Her name is …” began the Mandalorian, already pulling off weapons to stack in a locker. 

The chart tracker beeped.  “Oh, I can get her chip, sir.  Let’s see … Marathel ap Un … Unmapeth.  From Jakuu?” 

“Uh … yeah,” said the Mandalorian, now starting to fill a second locker with his arsenal.  He finally removed enough weaponry to appease the security guard, and he followed the nurse through the inner doors. 

“Can you tell me what’s going on with her, sir Mandalorian?” 

“Mando is fine.  She … has injuries, some new, some old.   A concussion, exposure sickness.  And … issues with her cycle.” 

Siewan raised an eyebrow at the Mandalorian.  If he was cognizant of her menstrual cycle, he was rather chummy with her indeed.  They got to the door to the treatment area, and she buzzed the door open.  He made moves to go in with the gurney, but Siewan stopped him.  “Only patients and close others can come back here.” 

He took a quick breath, saying, “I’m a Guild bounty hunter.  She’s my bounty.  I go where she goes.” 

“Credentials,” said Siewan, her friendliness gone.  The Mandalorian reluctantly raised his arm, and she scanned his Guild badge, which did not have his name, only his serial number and standing with the Guild.  “And her fob?” 

“She … doesn’t have one.”  Siewan scoffed and began to push the gurney through before he grabbed her arm.  “Please, Miss …” 

“Remove your hand before I call security.” 

He immediately moved his hand from her arm to Marathel’s gurney.  “Please,” he said again.  “She is … fragile.”  He dropped his voice lower.  “I rescued her from a torture cult situation. She’s been abused since she was a child.” 

Siewan narrowed her eyes.  “You have knowledge of the extent of her injuries?” 

“Yes.” 

“And she’s not in danger from you?” 

“Good lady, on my honor, on the honor of Manda’lor, I am here to protect her.” 

Siewan didn’t know why, but she believed him.  She considered herself a good judge of character, at least when she could see the person’s eyes.  She didn’t know much about Mandalorians — other than the urban legends of them being faceless murder machines — but this one was willing to take off his weapons to make sure this woman got some help.  He was standing still, just looking back at her while she measured his character a little more, and then nodded.  “C’mon, then, let’s get her back so the doc can take a look at her.”   

The Mandalorian breathed a sigh of relief, which cemented her opinion of him.  “Thank you.” 

They went back through into the exam rooms, passing the curtained cubicles, most of which held the wedding guests that hadn’t fully finished blazing yet.  Din shook his head slightly; he was against legalization of synthetic spice products.  Not because he believed drug use was evil, necessarily, but because he made a decent living off hunting marks related to the industry.  

He looked again at this nurse who so far had been kind.  She was another sweet-faced woman, and he hoped that Marathel would feel safe with her.  They came to a large exam room, with windows that fogged over once they were inside to give privacy.  Another nurse came into the room with them, and when he and Siewan moved to lift Marathel off the gurney, Din had already lifted her and moved her to the exam table as if she weighed nothing.  “Mando, my name is Siewan, and this is nurse Brey.  He’s going to get a history from you regarding Marathel’s injuries.” 

Din lifted his hands, shrugging.  “Where do I start?” 

“Most recent first?” asked Brey. 

Din began with the exposure sickness, and then moved on to the concussion and the dislocated shoulder due to her promixity to a chemical explosion.  Noticing that Siewan had a pair of scissors and was about to cut the blanket off Marathel, he cried out, “No!” The two nurses looked at him, puzzled.  “No, please, I can remove the blanket from her.  Please don’t cut that blanket.  It’s a source of comfort for her.”  Siewan and Brey exchanged glances, and then the female nurse stepped back.  Din reached to remove the blanket, then he faltered.  He was reticent to expose her, to see her unclothed and vulnerable while unconscious again, but he carefully unwrapped the blanket from Marathel, doing his best to not let his eyes linger anywhere on her.  He then turned his back as he folded the blanket, unknowingly hugging it to his chest.  Thankfully, the nurses draped her with a sheet to give her some dignity. 

It took some time to catalogue all of Marathel’s injuries.  Siewan asked many questions, and he gave as much information as he could while remaining as vague as possible.  Two doctors had come in as Din began to describe the whip marks on her back — describing them as wounds, but leaving out the whipping part — and the nurses rolled Marathel to her side.  One of the doctors gave a low whistle.  “You said she was in a torture situation?  I’m sorry, you need to be more forthcoming, Mando,” said Siewan. 

Din began to regret this decision.  Yes, Marathel was in distress but she might have been able to get to Tatooine again just fine.  Or he could have shouted out to Fennec to get him the location of those Reconstructionists; but no, he had to go to Canto, because it was close, and he was afraid to have to cope with Marathel bleeding out again, even though he was fairly sure that a woman couldn’t die from having her damn period, but Marathel was exactly the kind of woman who possibly could, for Frith’s sake, because she defied rules of reality.   

For a brief moment, he wished that it was still the time of the Empire.  Back then he could have been as vague as he wished; apparently the era of people minding their own kriffing business was over. 

Yeah, and if you’d minded your own kriffing business you wouldn’t have Grogu. 

As if on cue, a quiet whimper sounded n the room.  Everyone in the room went silent.  One of the doctors asked, “Did anyone else hear a cat?” Meanwhile, Siewan just managed to catch Din moving something he’d had secluded under his cape, trying to conceal it with the blanket.   

Siewan locked eyes — well, visor — with Din.  He heard her mutter to Brey, “Get me security.” 

Din fully turned to the medical crew, holding his hand up to them, clutching the bag.  “No, no, please don’t, I beg of you.” 

“What’s in the bag, Mando?” 

“A child. I have a child in this bag …” 

Siewan rolled her eyes.  “That breaks all the rules of this hospital!” 

“I know, I know.  But I’m bound to keep him safe.  He’s too little to be left alone.  And he loves this woman.  He sees her as his Mama …” 

Siewan listened to Mando’s voice taking on a shrill tone, like he was sliding into panic.  “It’s okay, it’s okay, Mando.  Just … chill.” 

Din took a breath.  “I’m sorry.” 

Siewan thought for a moment.  “Is the child’s presence why you’re being so vague?” 

“… yes.  There were horrible things done to her, and I don’t want to say them aloud in front of him.” 

“Is the child in danger?” 

“I’m his protector. I have to keep him safe and concealed.” 

Siewan came forward, still with her hands raised in front of her.  In the calmest voice she could muster — and she was great at calm voices, if she said so herself — “Look, Mando, this is a safe medical center.  We specialize in protecting women and children, innocent lives.  My usual ward is very secure, and it has a childcare center.  Many of my patients are fleeing a dangerous situation, and often bring their children with them.  Your child will be safe there, I promise.  I have the clearance to take you up there and get the child settled in, so you can concentrate on helping Marathel. Are we cool?” 

“He will be safe?” 

“Absolutely.  Biometric locks, the works.” 

“Are there … any fish or frogs or eggs up there?” 

Siewan stared at Din.  “… why?” 

“I forgot to bring food and the kid eats … interesting things when he’s hungry.” 

Siewan turned to look at her co-workers.  Are you hearing this?  She turned back to Din.  “They have a variety of snacks and food items.” 

Din sighed with relief.  “Wizard.  Let’s go.” 

On the staff turbo lift, Din watched as Siewan swiped a badge, looked into a retinal scan, and tapped in codes to set the lift in motion.  “You weren’t kidding about the security.” 

“Nope.  It’s a source of pride with us.  We have several secure wards and childcare stations.  I don’t even know where they all are.  I’m a floater between two, but I’m taking you to the one I like better.  It will be closer to where Marathel will probably be admitted.” 

“Thank you for your kindness, Miss Siewan.” 

“It’s Charge Nurse, buddy, but Siewan will work for you.  And this isn’t kindness.  It’s my job.  Kindness would be pulling rank to make sure I’m Marathel’s charge nurse for her stay.  Think of me as her concierge. And once we get this child of yours checked in you need to fill me in.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Din, now thankful that his decisions had led him here.    

The inner set of lift doors opened, and Siewan went through a few security steps to open the outer doors.  Din was impressed.  As they walked to the childcare center, Siewan asked, “So this Marathel is pretty important to you?” 

Din sighed.  “It’s complicated.” 

Siewan chuckled. “It always is.” 

“So everyone keeps telling me.” 

“Then you should believe them, Mando.  Here we are.” They were standing in front of a completely non-descript door that looked nothing like what Din would consider an entrance to a childcare center. Siewan punched in another complicated code, did another retinal scan, and then held up a wristband to a sensor.  The door slid open and they entered a tiny room that resembled an airlock. Siewan waved to a camera above her head.  “See?  Totally secure.” 

“What if you’re brought in here against your will at blaster-point?” 

“We have protocols in that eventuality.  But I can’t tell you about them.” 

“Because then you’d have to kill me?” 

“Yup,” answered Siewan with a grin.  The inner door opened and a short, round, half-Rodian came out.  “Hey, girlfriend, what it is!” 

“Hey yourself, honeybunch, what you got?”  The rotund green woman looked Din up and down.  “He’s a little old for the program.” 

Siewan chuckled and said, “Mando’s got a little one in the bag.” She heard a little mewling sound in the bag, and then she bent down to see the tiny hand gripping Din’s thumb.  “Hey buddy, you wanna come out and say hi?”   

The half-Rodian introduced herself as M’nka and ushered them through the second door into a larger room that held a desk, an exam table, and a large wall of frosted glass.  M’nka patted the exam table, saying, “Pop the kid up here and let’s take a look, Mando.” 

Din opened the bag and Grogu buried himself as deep in the bag as he could go.  “Hey, kid, these nice ladies want to see you.” 

“Mama!” cried Grogu. 

Din sighed and stroked Grogu’s ear.  “I know, buddy.  But this is another one of those times where I have to help Mama. There are doctors who need me to talk to them, and I need you to be brave, and stay here with M’nka.  I think she’s very nice. And I think you’ll like her.” 

“Mama,” muttered Grogu, and he scowled. Still, he stood up in the bag and allowed Din to pull him out and set him on the exam table.  Both M’nka and Siewan squealed and exclaimed how adorable Grogu was, fluffing his hair and tickling him, making the boy laugh.  Din noticed however, that their tickling and playing with Grogu was merely a distraction so that they could examine him, scan his vitals, swab his saliva, and get a retinal scan without upsetting him. Within moments, Grogu’s biomedical information was downloaded into a pair of wristbands: one for Grogu, one for Din.  Din noticed they were yellow, same as Marathel’s yellow dress, and his heart stuttered for a moment.   Finally, he noticed that M’nka was talking to him.  “I’m sorry?” 

“I need to get your retinal scan as well,” said M’nka. 

Din shook his head.  “I am unable to do that.  I cannot remove my helmet.” 

“Okay, then, you get to spit in a bag.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

M’nka held up a small clear bag that contained a fibrous material inside.  “Turn and face the wall, we will turn our backs, and spit in here until all of the fiber is moistened.” 

“You must be pulling my leg.” 

“Not at all.  This is how we will test if it’s you requesting access back in here, as you cannot do a retinal scan.  You spit in here now.  Then you take these fiber cards for access later.  When you come back, you will put a fiber card in your mouth until it turns pink.  That’s when you insert it into the slot under the retinal scanner.  If it matches your sample, you will gain access to this space.” 

Din tilted his helmet and sighed.  “Do I need to avoid any food or drink before using the cards?” 

M’nka replied, “Red gelatin.  Anything red, really.  It totally messes up the scanner and it might pop out you’re a Sleestak or something.  And any sort of alcohol, or recreational drugs.  That includes synthetic spice.  You cannot gain access if you’ve been imbibing.” She tilted her head to match his.  “This is the way we protect your child.” 

Din nodded, and replied, “This is the way.”  He gave Grogu another cuddle, pressing his forehead against Grogu’s and promising to come get him as soon as Mama was taken care of.  Grogu still looked dubious but allowed another childcare worker to take him into the glass-walled room, where Din caught a glimpse of some laughing kids and brightly colored toys through the door.  He faced a corner and spit into the bag as best he could after gratefully accepting a cup of water from Siewan.   

M’nka thanked Din and turned to process his saliva sample, saying, “Hold up your wristband to the scanner by the door.”  Din did so, and the glass cleared to allow him to see the large room where many children of different ages were happily involved with activities.  Grogu was already at a low table, eating a cookie while scribbling on a large piece of paper with a brown crayon, along with several other small children.  “Your son seems to have settled in already.” 

“Cookies have that effect on him.  Just don’t give him a lot of fruit.” 

Back in the lift, Siewan went through the security protocol, and asked, “Is that secure enough for you, chief?” 

Din nodded.  “It is very good, yes.  Thank you.” 

“Now we can get back to Marathel.”  Din nodded again, but said nothing. “It’s really bad, what’s been done to that woman, isn’t it?” 

“Are you going to contact the authorities?” 

“Not yet.  I’m sure the shrinks would like a chat with her, but she will be free to leave if she decides to do so when she wakes up.” 

“What if she … requires surgery, or something?” 

Siewan turned her head to look at him.  “Legally, you can play your bounty hunter card and claim responsibility for her, make choices for her… even without a fob.”  Din looked down to his feet.  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” 

When they got back to the room, the doctors had Marathel’s feet in the stirrups.  Din turned his back immediately. Marathel was fully draped, but he still felt like a voyeur.  He wondered if he should hold her hand.  A third doctor had joined the discussion, and one said, “The bacta tank should help with most of her issues.” 

Din shook his head.  “She doesn’t respond to bacta.” 

All the medics sighed deeply.  “Well, that changes everything.”  Siewan asked Brey to contact a couple of specialists.  “Think maybe you should have led with that, Mando?” 

“I’m sorry,” muttered Din.  He was distracted, still not quite right in his head, it seemed.  Brey and Siewan continued to take notes from both Din and the doctors.  Din then had to explain how Marathel had been repeatedly raped, both by males and by foreign objects, briefly describing the Dilimgau.  There was a short silence in the room after that, then the doctors — one of whom was apparently a gynecological surgeon — went back to their examination.   

The gyno doc asked for a speculum and Din wracked his brain to remember what one of those was, and then he heard her say, “All this … scar tissue.  Do we have a child’s speculum in here?” Din suddenly realized what they doing, guessing what a speculum was, and then he had to stop breathing for a moment when it finally got through to him that a trauma center needed such a device that was small enough for a child, and Din thought he might lose it altogether, and then he heard Marathel whimper.   

Whirling around, he did his best to focus on her face as he went to her side and touched her shoulder.  “Marathel?” he whispered. 

One of the doctors replied, “She’s all right, Mando, we have given her some tranquilizers and lightly sedated her.  She woke up briefly when we began the IV and a synth-blood transfusion.  Despite her injuries, she is still quite strong and fighting hard.  Even without bacta, she should recover just fine.  We do think she should have a D&C to help her acute menstrual issues, though.” 

“And that is …?” 

“Dilation and curettage.  It’s a surgical procedure where I will open her cervix and remove the uterine lining, along with all these clots she’s experiencing.  Do you have any knowledge of when her last cycle was, before this one?” 

Din shook his head.  “All she told me was that her cycle was ‘seldom and strange’, to use her words.  And she recently found out that she is sterile, but knows no details.” 

“Recently found out …?” 

Din rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for getting too specific again.  “She received some medical care recently, but I am not aware of what was done for her at that time.”  That, at least, was the partial truth. 

Siewan narrowed her eyes.  “What was the time span between her first set of injuries and her most recent injuries?” 

“… three weeks or so.” 

“Care to explain that?” 

“If I don’t, will that affect your level of care for her?” 

“No,” replied Siewan. 

 “Then … no, I don’t care to explain that.”  He took a breath.  “This D&C … is this a permanent procedure?” 

The gynecologist replied, “No.  It is strictly for her current condition.  It will also allow us to assess her state of healing.  From what I can tell, the care she’s already received was strictly for repair but not reconstruction.  Were you aware of that?” 

Din’s stomach turned over.  “Yes, that was her decision.”  He felt their stares on his back.  “I … want her to make those decisions for herself.  Please do what needs to be done for her so that she can do that.” 

Siewan watched him watching Marathel’s face.  She looked at his hand on her shoulder, and wondered if he realized he was gently stroking her skin with his gloved thumb.  Wondered just how complicated his feelings were.  Wondered if this Mandalorian was simply making things more complicated than they needed to be.   She quietly scoffed.  Mandalorians are just as dopey as any other man in the galaxy.  What a bunch of derping nerfherders.  She said, “Hey, Mando?” 

He shook himself out of his reverie and turned to Siewan, who was holding out a holopad to him.  “… what?” 

“You need to put your mark on this, so they can take her to surgery.” 

Din looked to the rest of the medics, standing around Marathel’s feet, which were out of the stirrups and lying flat.  He looked at the holopad and saw the line he was meant to sign.  Under the line it simply said Mandalorian and his guild serial number, protecting his anonymity as a bounty hunter.  He touched his gloved finger to the screen, but the connective fiber in his fingertip didn’t register on the screen, for whatever reason.  He paused, knowing he’d have to remove his glove before all these people. 

“You need to let them take her up, Mando.  You have to sign for her, since she can’t.  You said you were responsible for her,” said Siewan in a firm tone. 

Din gulped and reminded himself that Marathel’s needs were more important than his Creed — once again.  Perhaps always flashed briefly though his mind, so quickly he didn’t quite register it.  He pulled off his glove, exposing his hand to the medics as he scrawled a mark across the screen.  Siewan handed off the holopad to Brey, and the group of medics pushed Marathel out of the room and away.   

Siewan reached out and patted his arm.  “They’re going to do their best by her.” 

Din nodded, pulling on his glove and trying to shake off the shame and conflict he felt.  “How long does this procedure take?” 

“Couple of hours.  They need to fully sedate her, then however long they need to go the job, then recovery.  They’re going to put her on my ward when she’s done.  In the meantime, let’s take you back up to your boy, spend some time with him.  I just got a page that he’s tried to eat the room Derbit Lizard three times.” 

“I told you he goes for critters when he’s hungry.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned fish, frogs, and eggs, metal man.  So, let’s grab some food for both of you and I’ll take you back up.  They have some private rooms up there; I can put you guys in one so you can eat and wait.” 

“Thank you for your kindness, Siewan.” 

Siewan snorted, and led Din back down the hallway.  “Kindness, nothing.  You’re buying me some food, too.  I need to crash for a while so I can meet this Marathel of yours when she wakes up, get her situated on my ward.” 

“I think you’ll like her.” 

Siewan smiled and patted Din’s arm again.  “I think I already do.” 

You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One. ->

[skyeconch]

Y/N, relaxes inside of Mando’s embrace : Who knew you were such a nice guy underneath your grumpy exterior?

Mando, tilted his head to look at them :

Mando, caresses their cheek with his fingertips : Don’t go telling anyone else or they’ll be disappointed to find out it’s only for you.

Y/N : and your son.

Y/N, gestures at Grogu who’s asleep inside their arms :

Mando, looks at him sleeping peacefully:

Mando, silently agrees as he’s caressing his little head :

Y/N, just snuggled more into his arms :

Bonus

[outoftheseine]

- JOEL MILLER FIC RECS PART 2 -

forever in love with this grumpy old man <3 | note: please be aware of the authors’ warnings before reading. fics include canon tw’s like: violence, death, grief. most of these fics are age-gap relationship and some have 18+ content so minors please DNI.

part 1 | main masterlist

SERIES - MULTI-CHAPTERS

love in the middle of a fireflight | part 2 | part 3 • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @babydin

your bear | part 2 • joel miller x daughter!reader

↳ by @rrickgrrimes8 (very angsty, hurt/comfort)

a helping hand • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @teacupcollector

a lover's pinch • prof!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @hier--soir (smut, au, angst, secret relationship)

i will be home for christmas • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @punkshort (no outbreak, fluff, smut, angst but happy ending, hurt/comfort)

lavender • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @justagalwhowrites

seeing you, seeing me • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @amywritesthings (slow burn, smut)

fate, after all • joel miller x f!oc!reader

↳ by @honeyedmiller (fluff, smut, no-outbreak)

ambush | part 2 • joel miller x reader

↳ by @huntergarrity (angst, violence, hurt/comfort)

seams • joel miller x reader

↳ by @fuckyeahdindjarin (self-conscious!joel, shy!reader, fluff, slow burn, explicit)

soft!joel collection • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @cavillscurls (smut, fluff, angst, soft and domestic!joel)

ONE-SHOTS - BLURBS - HC’S

daisy, give me an answer • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @dilf-din (fluff)

take this moment • joel miller x reader

↳ by @mylostloversbookmarks (post-outbreak, fluff)

ground me • joel miller x reader

↳ by @huntergarrity (fluff, comfort)

clouded judgement/clear mind • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bluebeary-jay (violence, angst, hurt/comfort)

keep your eyes on me • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @mgparker (angst, violence, protective!joel)

daydreams • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @morning-star-joy (grumpy x sunshine, fluff)

i hope you are happy • joel miller x reader

↳ by @blissfulbarbie (very angsty, no outbreak)

grays • joel miller x reader

↳ by @softlyspector (domestic fluff, insecure!joel)

sweet creature • dad!joel miller x reader

↳ by @rocketrhap3000 (so fluffy)

lacy • joel miller x reader

↳ by @toxic-seduction (angst but happy ending)

bloodshed, crimson clover • joel miller x fem!doctor!reader

↳ by @morning-star-joy (slow burn, angst, violence)

arms tonite • joel miller x reader

↳ by @motherjoel (angst, reader gets hurt, happy ending)

skater • joel miller x platonic!gn!reader

↳ by @rrickgrrimes8 (angst, hurt/comfort, father figure!joel, tw: drowning)

be my daddy • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @bastardmandennis (no outbreak, smut, fluff, slightly angsty)

how the cookie crumbles • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @egcdeath (no outbreak, fake dating, slow burn, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love)

day after tomorrow • joel miller x reader

↳ by @familyvideostevie (no outbreak, fluff)

it’s your turn for choosing • joel miller x reader

↳ by @familyvideostevie (modern au, fluff)

i’m a feminist obviously • joel miller x reader

↳ by @toxic-seduction (protective!joel, violence)

softness • post outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @joelsgreys (fluff, joel is a dad, tw: premature birth)

as long as i have you • jackson era!joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @beskarandblasters (very fluffy, slight angst)

sweetheart • post-outbreak!joel millet x fem!reader

↳ by @joels-shitty-puns (fluff, light angst)

are you mine? • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @eupheme (protective and soft!joel, fluff, light angst)

a forever thing • husband!joel miller x pregnant!wife!reader

↳ by @honeyedmiller (fluff)

the revenant wife • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @pettyprocrastination

butterfly • joel miller x black!latina!reader

↳ by @stargirlfics (angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, slow burn)

unlikely friends • joel miller x reader

↳ by @sweetercalypso (fluff)

mischief nights • joel miller x fem!reader

↳ by @jupiter-soups (fluff, slight angst)

all my casualties of love • joel miller x reader/oc

↳ by @agentmarcuspike (smut, grief)

a matter of timing • joel miller x baker!fem!reader

↳ by @lavenderursa (angst, smut, comfort, neighbours to lovers)

[poedjarinwrites]

.3, his favourite daughter

Star Girl, prologue Din Djarin x fem!OC

Masterlist

(gif not mine!)

TATOOINE, OUTER RIM

She feels his presence and she is glad that the ship has a rocky landing as it hides the way her legs weaken. Vader barely waits for the ramp to lower before he's stepping out, Bela is quick to follow after him.

'Where is he?'

'I have him secured inside, my Lord.'

'I will bring him in myself.'

Bela doesn't follow. She waits outside, her gaze set on the Third Sister who watches Vader until she can no longer see him.

'Why haven't you killed Kenobi?'

She smirks as she turns to face, 'You mean your father?'

She ignores the snide dig. She has no time for petty comments which are only said to try and get a rise out of her. 'If your anger for him runs so deep, so thick, why is he still alive?'

It dawns on her then.

The Third Sister has always been filled with rage. A deep longing for revenge. Only Bela only feels that when Vader is around. Not when they were on the base with Kenobi. But now, with his retreating figure it's even more prominent.

'You're not after Kenobi.'

'Are you going to stop me, Kenobi?'

Bela lifts her head. The Third sister's mouth twitches and she nods with a small satisfied hum. Then with the same dramatic flare she's gone down the corridor after him. ⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚

Before the Third Sister can successfully land a strike on her target, Darth Vader. A red saber meets her own, stopping it just before his neck.

'Kenobi.'

Bela lifts her foot and kicks her back a few paces, 'General Bela to you, Sister.'

She ignites the other side of her saber and burns her side causing her to yell out as she drops to a knee. Using the force she pushes her aside and moves forward towards Vader.

It takes no effort for him to over power her, taking the double sided saber from her possession and splitting it in half. She yells in frustration accepting his challenge and taking a half.

Bela stands, clipping hers to her belt as she watches them fight.

A powerful Sith Lord against an angry girl.

The Third Sister kneels before him as he wields both sides of the saber against her. He moves slowly, his steps in time with her breathing.

Bela can't help it when she flinches at the saber through the Third Sister's chest. She yells, one final scream of agony - no, a scream of anger and frustration- and then she falls to her side.

'Did you really believe I did not see it, youngling? You are of no further use.'

She steps aside as the Grand Inquisitor moves forward, a sly grin on his ugly pale face. 'Hello, Third Sister. Revenge does wonders for the will to live, don't you think? Your rage was useful. Now it is tiresome. We will leave you where we found you. In the gutter where you belong. Goodbye, Grand Inquisitor.'

Bela doesn't move, she remains in the corner, watching as she struggles to reach her saber.

With a flick of her wrist it's in Reva's hand. And then she's turning, leaving her behind once and for all.

Before she moves away she hears the flickering voice of the Imperial Senator Bail Organa. 'If he's found them, if he's heard of the children. I'll head to Tatooine. Owen - help the boy.' ⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

She watches as Vader's ship lowers to the planet below, the moment the bridge gets the confirmation that he's touched down she heads for a ship of her own.

'General?'

'I'll assist in the backup. Update me if he gets bested.'

'It's Lord Vader.'

She ignores his comment and heads for the ship, turning to her droid to follow after her. But she doesn't go for the planet, with a few simple cut of some wires her tracking system is down, and she's plotting a course for Tatooine in the star map.

You're going to get us killed.

She sighs leaning back in her pilot's chair as the droid nudges her foot, 'Happy beeps, buddy.'

I'll beep how I want. He replies, Especially in my last few moments.

She rolls her eyes, yet still finds herself resting a hand on his hard metal head. A comforting thing for herself more than for the droid.

I don't like sand. It ruins my motoring abilities.

'Stay on the ship then.'

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

Reva looks around, an angry yell as she can't find any of her targets. She lifts her arms yet stills unable to move.

Bela feels the panic within her. The fear. She thinks it's Vader holding her back, coming to finish the job.

Reva's eyes glance around and finally she catches sight of her as she steps into her view. 'Kenobi junior.' She hums, as if she's the one in control.

Bela keeps her head held high, a hand by her side to hide the shaking limb from Reva's view. She's not as strong as Vader with the Force, nor Reva. It's always been a struggle of hers, to wield the force as a physical matter. Her strong suit is to listen to the force when it talks, to use it to be able to understand other people. Not to bend it against its own will.

The Third Sister manages to break free and drops to her feet in exhaustion.

'Don't be good, Bela. You're not good.'

Bela shakes her head, 'I'm not. But you are, Reva.'

Reva yells and gets to her feet but she easily twirls away not needing to ignite her own saber. Once again the woman is on her knees, panting as she uses her saber as a staff. It digs into the sandy ground and she slips again while trying to regain balance.

'We were both children, Reva. Taken from our families, our homes. Forced to live the destruction.'

'Did Vader send you to do his dirty work? To finish me off?'

'No.' She pauses, wiggles her jaw and then with a single breath says, 'I killed him.'

'He's dead.'

'Yes.' She says, 'He was fighting Kenobi, distracted, held down by his old Master. Kenobi couldn't bring himself to do it. So I did it. I brought this very saber down on his chest.'

Reva stares for a few moments, then breaks out into a round of hysterical laughing. Her head is thrown back, eyes squinted at the sky as a mad sound escapes her chest. Bela steps back at it.

'Bested by a child?' She lifts her saber, and Bela realises she didn't fall for it, 'By you?'

Bela swallows her annoyance, then lets her eyes linger on Reva's saber. The red moves closer, and suddenly she's six years old again. In the middle of the jungle with an unknown man standing before her. A red saber in his hands and anger in his heart.

'You're a terrible liar.'

'Let the boy go.'

Reva laughs again, 'You don't even know who he is. Why are you here Bela? Not to kill me.'

Bela lifts her shoulders, 'A feeling?'

'A feeling?'

'The Force, it told me to stop you.'

Reva swings her saber at her but she jumps back, 'Now, it sent you to your death.'

With a flick of her wrist she pushes her back, but no matter how much stronger she is when it comes to bending the Force to her will she's still injured.

Bela ignites her saber and swipes at her leg causing her to fall to a knee. Reva yells in frustration and throws her back against the wall opposite them.

With a groan her saber is lost, rolling a few feet away and Reva is then standing before her. Her saber is gripped tightly as she looks down at the girl.

She raises it in the air but when she meets her eyes all she sees is her younger self staring back at her. Terrified as Anakin Skywalker's figure reflects in the youngling's eyes. 'Choose your own path, Reva.'

Bela moves, she stands but lifts her hands at her sides, an opportunity for her to be killed. It's a cowardly move, she believes Reva will kill her. It's her way out. Of the Empire of the life she's trapped herself within.

She steps closer, the step is a wish. A wish Reva will take the darker path, that she'll continue down her road of suffering just to end Bela's. It's selfish, and manipulative, traits given to her by Vader himself. Or maybe they were always within her. They've always said Mandalorians and Jedi don't mix. Maybe this is why.

Together they create selfish, manipulative, hate filled younglings who'll only destroy the galaxy.

Reva shakes her head and turns away, not without her saber grazing Bela's side. She hisses, leans into the heat and then stumbles a step when the saber is put away. Clipped onto her belt and hidden by a dark cloak.

'The boy went towards the dunes.' Reva tells her, then she's climbing out of the small home in the middle of the Tatooine desert.

Bela falls back, leaning on a pile of wooden crates. She's going to give up, to leave, go back to Vader, act as if it didn't happen.

She has no other choice. She was built to serve the Empire.

Save him.

It's a voice in the back of her head. One that appears in her most vulnerable moments.

The Force.

⋆⭒˚｡⋆☾⋆⭒˚｡⋆

She sees them in the distance. Three figures filled with worry and anxiety.

Owen spots her first. He races to her and cups the boy's face then takes him from her arms. When the boy's gone her arms feel empty.

Obi-Wan is in front of her then. He mirrors Owen's actions, cups her face to look at her better. 'Saviin.'

Beru moves forward to places a hand on her shoulder, 'Thank you.'

'See?' Obi-Wan turns her with a hand on her back to watch as Beru runs after Own, both of them holding Luke. 'You are good, Saviin.'

He faces her again, 'Come with me,' She can feel his desperation leaking through his palms like sweat. 'We could be father and daughter.'

'Vader is my father.'

His hand falls from her back, she readjusts the position of her shoulders to make herself taller, 'No he's not. He doesn't have to be. Come with me. Leave the Empire, we'll be safe here.'

She glances back at Luke and his small family. It warms her heart, she doesn't like it. She can't ruin this family. She can't have her Obi-Wan killed. She needs to get away, to get on a clean ship and to a planet with no connections.

She can't get him killed.

She shakes her head at him, then finally meets his eyes. They're those same scared ones from before. 'My father is the worst man in the galaxy. And I am his favourite daughter.'

[dindjarindiaries]

DIN DJARIN ONE-SHOTS

Each story below focuses on Din Djarin, with pairings for each story indicated along with summaries.

Stories marked with an asterisk (*) contain sexual, though not explicit/graphic, content.

My ratings are as follows: G (all ages), T (13+), M (18+)

Last updated: July 27, 2024

main masterlist • series • drabbles • prompts

the “heat” of the moment • reader The heat goes out on the Razor Crest and you’re the only one with an electric blanket to keep yourself warm.

my cyar’ika • fem!reader You and Din find yourselves in a marketplace lush with life, and you lose yourself in the fun while Din tries to keep you safe throughout it.

just fine • reader Din comforts you after you suffer through a tumultuous nightmare.

dead to me • fem!oc On the verge of death, Twila takes off Din’s helmet, later having to face his wrath and leave his ship—even though she’s pregnant with their unborn child.

everything i wanted • reader You’re trapped inside a Din x Omera love triangle, struggling to get to your lover who’s entranced with your new host.

riduurok • reader This is the story of how you fall in love with the Mandalorian bounty hunter, Din Djarin.

home • reader After the child is reunited with his people, Din takes you to a place that’s unfamiliar to you but all too familiar to him: his home.

when stars align• reader You spend an affectionate morning awakening beside your Mandalorian, who you have just recently married.

more than words* • reader On the evening of your marriage, you and Din show your deep love for each other in a manner that goes beyond words.

the challenge • reader After winning a drinking challenge, Din returns to the Crest much later than expected in a state of mind much different than usual, leaving you to deal with him and whatever words spill from his mouth.

don’t blame me• reader In the weeks following your marriage, you and Din are desperate to make up for all the physical affection you’ve missed out on—leading you to do whatever you can wherever you can.

said and done • reader With Din being injured from a past fight, you’re the one in charge of the hunts for now—and Din realizes he likes having you in control.

behave* • reader After a grueling hunt, you and Din celebrate your success at a local cantina, both ending up with a little too much that leads you to do things that are a little too risky.

a warrior’s purpose • daughter oc Din returns to the planet where he’d left his riduur many years ago to find her again—but instead, he finds someone else.

nothing so perfect • fem!reader You and Din think that you’re adding on to your family, only to learn there’s been a mistake—and now you’re both left to cope with the loss you never expected.

next to you • reader It’s been long enough since Din’s promised return for you to assume that he didn’t make it, and now you yearn for the life that could’ve been.

forever and always • reader When you and Din finally find the child’s home, it’s time to say goodbye—but then Din realizes he can’t.

reverence • fem!reader Following the birth of your daughter, Din spends a night marveling at the little life and the way you provide for her.

transmissions • reader When Din’s away on a long job, he gives you a holotransceiver and sends you transmissions to keep you both at ease.

purpose • fem!reader As the daughter of an Imperial senator, the Mandalorian’s hired as your bodyguard—but with the twisted ideals of your father putting you at risk, he becomes so much more than that.

irrevocable • reader After a hunt goes wrong and Din gets captured, you go after him and save him, but you find that they’ve removed his helmet and have done him personal damage that will last for much longer.

mine* • fem!reader With tensions rising not only in the galaxy but also in your relationship, Din proves to you in a new way that he’ll take care of you.

never alone • fem!reader In the aftermath of a bad nightmare, Din receives comfort from an unexpected source: his daughter.

tresses • reader When Din’s hair becomes the object of your and the baby’s affections, he decides it’s time for a trim—although he’s hesitant for a reason you must discover.

enervation • reader Din returns home from his new job as exhausted as ever, begging you to join him in sleep—and trying to make it happen at all costs.

take care • reader After Din sustains an injury on a job, you have to help him take care of himself—something he grows more and more fond of.

affliction • fem!reader When you and Din get recognized at an Imperial gala, you’re both taken into custody, where they begin to use Din to get you to talk—and lead you to do something completely unexpected.

take it off* • reader Your new ally extends his hospitality a little too far—and now Din’s determined to remind you of what he alone can provide you with.

cozy in the cockpit • reader After the Crest suffers through an intense chase and crash, you and Din must figure out how to survive on a freezing planet—your low odds causing your mutual feelings to come to the surface.

beneath the surface • reader You and Din get double-crossed when trying to find other Mandalorians, putting all three of you in deep waters.

touch it softly • reader When you invite Din to play with your hair, you both get a little more than lost in the moment.

alleviation • reader You continue helping Din recover from the traumatizing removal of his helmet, trying to make him understand that it’s okay to not be okay. (part two of Irrevocable)

the right thing • reader Din returns to you on Nevarro after the mission on Moff Gideon’s cruiser—without the child.

ni ceta par gar (i kneel for you)* • reader When Mando needs emotional release, you seek to fulfill your pining by offering something neither one of you can resist—something that could change everything.

in my head • reader The thought of Din plagues your mind—and it won’t be long until it’s forced onto your lips.

the marshal • fem!oc Din covers his face. So does she. Shrouded in mystery and unable to admit their shared intimidation, the two must work together to save Mos Pelgo—for both their sakes.

hold me in hyperspace • reader After a long hunt, you think Mando just wants some rest—but really, he just wants you.

ner yaim (my home) • reader After a day of work, you get to come home to Din, who’s fitting into his new role well.

mureyca (kiss) • reader The story of the different ways in which you share a kiss with the Mandalorian.

aftermath • omera After his quest has been fulfilled, Din returns to Sorgan, needing the comfort and support of someone he could never forget.

stay • omera Din wrestles with his feelings for Omera and tries to tell her how she feels—but has to let her in first.

torrent • reader When one of Din’s worst fears is revealed, you’re left to do whatever you can to put him at ease.

enterprise • cassian andor, k2so When Mando’s quarry offers him a better deal, he finds himself getting involved in more than he originally bargained for.

bloom • reader With your relationship now in full blossom, a flustered Din takes you on your first date, where he does everything he can to tell you how you make him feel.

malevolence • grogu Din experiences the ghastly side effects of wielding the famed Darksaber.

before i go • reader Imperial occupation of your covert as well as your mind lead to a devastating confrontation between you and your past Mandalorian lover.

favorite crime • reader When your ex-partner-in-crime and past lover enters your life again, you find yourself looking back on fond memories with a tremendous desire to chase them again.

solace • reader Din reassures you when your perfectionist tendencies catch up to you.

foster • obi-wan kenobi Obi-Wan comes across an orphan named Din that he can’t help taking under his wing.

intemperate • reader Mando’s indulgence in liquid courage leads him to say things you never thought you’d hear—and will never forget.

scars • reader When Din shows unprecedented hatred for his battle-worn body, it’s up to you to reassure him of everything you love about it.

seeking serenity • reader Mando, overcome with anxiety in the aftermath of a risky event, needs you to bring him back to reality—and asks for much more along the way.

liberation • reader You lead a mission to free Din from an Imperial hideout, only to discover that he’s in need of you much more than you originally thought.

contrition • reader Din comforts you after you do something drastic to save his life.

bring me home • reader You reunite with your Mandalorian lover after a long separation and realize much has changed since you last him.

safety net • deaf!reader When you and Din are reunited after a hunt that goes longer than expected, your mutual feelings for each other finally bubble to the surface—regardless of the fears you’ve both buried deep within.

selfish • reader Din, who’s helplessly in love with you, is forced to watch you and your partner until he’s forced to come to terms with his feelings.

united we fall • reader Din’s unable to control the Darksaber and accidentally hurts you with it, leaving behind a deep scar on your body and his mind.

of bounties and bartenders • fem!reader The mysterious Din “Brown Eyes” Djarin returns to visit you after a job, but trouble is the last thing he’s left behind.

as it was • din djarin’s parents The living waters beneath Mandalore bring Din back to a place—and a people—he never thought he’d see again.

people watching • grogu Observation was a skill Din Djarin had mastered for his own safety, but now it sets the scene for his very own destruction.

astronomy • reader Crossing paths with a seriously injured Din forces the two of you to come to terms with your relationship.

stardust • reader You finally reunite with your Mandalorian lover, just to learn a devastating truth.

fine line • reader Din tries his best to comfort you in the aftermath of your torturous capture.

scarlet promise • reader Vengeance consumes you when Din’s put at risk, causing him to have to pull you back to reality.

what sits in the silence • reader Your bounty-hunting rival turns to you in his time of need and brings along more baggage than you planned on handling.

when a house becomes a home • reader A new home brings new responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can teach Din how to cook a proper meal: you.

takes one to know one • reader Bounty hunters aren’t supposed to fall in love and you were okay with that. So was the Mandalorian.

love me louder • reader Your secret romance with the Mandalorian is put at risk when you find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

shattered • reader When an anxious day gets the best of you, Din seeks to comfort you.

the broken who blossom • reader At long last, Din’s returned home to the covert, but he’s brought a lot more home with him than anticipated.

in sickness & in health • reader Din does his best to comfort you when you become anxious about your health.

doomsday • reader You and Din are interrogated by Moff Gideon, who has quickly realized you’re the best weapon he has to use against the Mandalorian.

i still see you • reader In the aftermath of the Morak mission, Din’s faced with a crisis you only hope you can help to resolve somehow.

fight for me • reader When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.

right where you left me • reader Din reunites with you many years after your whirlwind romance for a mission you begrudgingly accept to help him with.

main masterlist • series • drabbles • prompts

[handspunyarns]

This was beautiful! Thank you for writing it!

I Love it All (Din x f!reader)

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself. “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement. “You mean you’re middle aged…”

Summary: You’re unhappy with your body, and Din is having none of that.

Notes: I don’t know if this is any good - I got this idea and wrote it in a rush instead of working on my WIPs 🤫. It was supposed to be a chaste thing, but for some reason I couldn’t stop it from heading the sexy route. I’m still not very comfortable writing smut, so this is very vague and nondescriptive, and I may have rushed a bit through those parts. This is absolutely not my best work, but I’m trying to follow the advice of all those reassuring Tumblr posts and put it up here, anyway.

Warnings: Non-descriptive sexual content, negative thoughts about one’s body.

Word Count: 1.1k

Read on AO3

Main Masterlist

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“Why are you so focused on my worst features?”

Din froze, hand halting its gentle exploration over the skin of your stomach, eyes searching your face.

“What does that mean?” he asked in an unexpectedly dark tone.

Did you really think any of your features were anything less than perfect?  Or did you think he believed so?  That idea was downright offensive.

“It’s just…” you started hesitantly.  “Your hands always seem to gravitate toward the ugliest parts of me…”

“You have no ‘ugly’ parts, Cyar’ika,” he replied quickly.

“We both know I do…”

He looked at you with a mixture of concern and confusion.  “I do not… I think every inch of you is perfect.”

“Well, maybe you only think that because it’s me…”

“Yeah.  Is that not the same thing?”

Stars.  He could be so sweet sometimes without even trying, but he was missing the point.

“You know what I mean, Din,” you sighed, pulling the robe tightly around your body, clearly trying to hide yourself.

“I really don’t, actually.”  His hand snaked around your shoulder to rub your back over the fabric.  “Explain it to me.”

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself.  “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement.  “You mean you’re middle aged…”

You opened your eyes to look at him.  “It’s not attractive.  Don’t try to tell me it is.”

“Alright, look,” he began, pulling your hands away from the fastenings of your robe and exposing your upper half.  “I appreciate the softness…a lot...”  He squeezed once before running his fingers over your breast, thumb passing over your nipple and eliciting a small gasp. “Sure, you look a little different now than fifteen years ago, but… I like that we’ve aged… it means we managed to survive this long together…”

You craned your neck up to kiss him once in agreement.  “That is true, but…”

He cut you off abruptly with his mouth once again on yours.  “Let me finish, Cyare.  I’ve got your whole body to cover here.”

He didn’t wait for a response before adjusting your bodies so that you lay flat on your back below him.  He peeled off your robe entirely and ran his mouth down your neck and chest while gently groping your breasts.

And then he moved on, kissing down your abdomen until he reached the soft rolls of your stomach.  “It makes me happy to see that you’re not skin and bones like you were when we met.  We’ve done well for ourselves - we’ve never gone hungry since, and we should be proud of it.”  He ran his hand softly over your stomach.  “This is evidence that you’re healthy and nourished, and it’s beautiful on you.  I’d like to remind you that I have plenty of this, too.”

He smirked as he laid his lips there, and you allowed a small giggle to escape.  It was true - and you loved that little bit of fat he’d accumulated there.

His mouth continued down until he reached the band of your underwear, eyes looking up at you for permission.

You nodded, and he peeled them down your legs.  “You worry about this, too… don’t you?” he questioned as he ran his fingers through the soft curls of hair there.

You looked mildly but genuinely pained as you responded with mock despair, placing a dramatic hand over your eyes.  “Even my vulva is sagging, Din!”  

He laughed.  At least your mood had improved.  “It’s just aging, Cyar’ika.  A similar part of me is sagging, too.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement.  “It’s not the same.  Those sag at baseline…”

He laughed again as he lowered himself to the floor at the foot of the bed, kneeling as he pulled your body closer to the edge of the mattress..

“I love all of it exactly as it is.  Okay?”

You nodded.  He’d made his point.

But he was not done.  His fingers had continued to caress the sensitive skin there, heightening your slowly building arousal.  

He placed light kisses on your thighs, purposely focusing on the parts he knew you disliked, hoping to prove to you that he really did care for every part of you, wrinkles and sags and all.

Meanwhile, his thumb found the most sensitive part of you as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away to move back up to the head of bed.

You immediately reached for his face, kissing him deeply through whimpers of pleasure.  “I like your sagging parts, too…”

His chuckle was soon replaced by a low groan as your own hands clumsily reached down into his sleep pants to return the favor.  

Your efforts were uncoordinated as you fought his clothing, but as the waves of your orgasm abated, he took it upon himself to kick off the offending items, readying himself over you.

“Slow,” you told him emphatically as he filled you.  “I want to tell you everything I love about you, too.”

“If you say so…” he huffed with strained humor.

You reached up to run your hands through his curls as you spoke against his mouth, delighting in his slow and gentle movements.  “You’re self-conscious about the gray… and the creases on your forehead… and the patches in your beard, but it all looks so good on you, Din.  You’ve only gotten more handsome with age.”

He could only groan against your lips.  He wasn’t sure he believed that, but stars did he appreciate that you thought so.

“And your scars - they tell your story, and I’ll never tire of tracing them to remember that you came out on the other side to me.”  Your fingers found the well-healed gash on his neck.  He hated that one in particular, but you loved it because he survived.

You were becoming a bit breathless now, too, the pleasure building again as he kept to your instruction to go slow.  It was a wonderful kind of torture.

“And that little roll of fat on your stomach… I’m the only one privileged to even know it exists… and I love that…” you said between small gasps.

He was really straining with effort now, your words having their intended effect.  His forehead pressed against yours as his thrusts became a bit more forceful even at this languid pace.  “I don’t think I can hold back anymore, Cyar’ika…”

“Then don’t, love.”

This was one of your favorite parts of him - the one that allowed himself to lose control with you.

No more words were spoken as you moved together at a more steady rhythm, and the release was that much more incredible because every bit of self-consciousness about your aging bodies had melted away in the process.

“Do you really like my scars?” he whispered against your neck when he finally went slack against you.   Ah, so he was insecure, too.

You pulled back to look at this face, smiling adoringly.  

“I love your scars.”

____________________

Thank you for reading!

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Twenty-Nine point Five.

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C 

word count: 6K 

chapter summary: Din gives Marathel a bath, warms her up, and explains some facts of life to Grogu 

warnings:  female bodily functions, descriptions of injuries, dislocated joint resetting, mention of wounds, blood, and maggots, nudity and sexual situations, English and Mando’a cursing 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***    

You Were Marked: Masterlist   

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

Din walked up the ramp of the Crest, Marathel and Grogu in his arms. He hit the door control with his elbow, wondering what he should do.  Take Marathel to a medical center?  Take her back to Tatooine?  Din grunted and made two quick observations:  one, they needed to get the shab off this rock.  Two, he wasn’t going to put her on his bedroll until he got some sort of protective pad on it.   The quickest way to achieve the first order of business was to carefully lay Marathel flat on the floor.  He grabbed a blanket and wrapped her in it — she was shivering from exposure — before he quickly ratchet-strapped her to the floor to keep her from moving around too much during take-off.  Grogu immediately climbed under a strap and took hold of Marathel’s arm.  “That’s right, buddy, hang on to Mama.  Let’s get out of here.”  

Din hopped up into the cockpit and launched as quickly as possible to escape this hell-hole of a planet.  He wanted to get some distance before he sent his holos to Captain Teva, in the hopes that they could disappear into the background.  Din decided to head towards Canto and their medical centers; he could still spin a tale about a bounty gone sideways/torture victim.  At the very least, Marathel was in better shape this go-around than last time and wasn’t bleeding from stem to stern!  Din did his calculations and throttled the Crest into hyperspace.  He’d just leaned back in his chair to take a breath when he heard Grogu screaming PATU! over and over.  

Din dropped back down to the main corridor to find Marathel had managed to twist herself sideways, completely out of the ratchet straps and the blanket, and was now curled into a fetal position on the floor.  Grogu was holding on to her shirt and crying.  Din went to one knee next to him, asking, “What?  What is it?” Grogu was pointing to Marathel’s hips. Din took a look and realized that her pants were soaked through with blood, with a small puddle forming as if her wounds from the Dilimgau had opened up again.  He did a cursory look at what other wounds he could see — it was hard to tell, covered with blood as she was — but her other injuries seemed to be minor. The worst wound was the gash on her head, and that was hardly bleeding at all.   

So why is she … oh.    

Dank ferrik.  

Din tossed aside the ratchet straps and did his best to gently roll Marathel to her back.  She was still only semi-conscious, and she resisted him and squeezed his wrist hard, groaning.  He pressed his hand against her lower belly and it felt like she had a horde of fighting Kowakian monkey-lizards in there.  He’d only assisted in a childbirth a couple of times and he’d never felt contractions that hard, much less menstrual cramping.  Grogu stood by, shifting on his feet and wringing his little hands, whimpering, and Din finally twigged why the kid was so upset:  it was obvious to the child that Marathel was bleeding terribly and in horrific pain, and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t fix it.  

Great.  Fabulous.  I am not prepared for this conversation.  Din sighed and patted Grogu’s fuzzy head.  “Ad’ika, we’re going to have to chat, but … we need to help Mama first.  I promise you, Mama is not hurt there; at least, it’s not something you need to worry about.  So let’s just say, you help her with problems above here …” — Din made a cutting motion at her waistline — “… and I’ll help her out with problems south of there.  She’s going to be fine.  Okay?”  Grogu nodded.  “Good.  If you’re up to it, would you check that head wound of hers?  Let me see if I can flatten her out.”  

Din pulled up her knees to alleviate some of the tightness he knew she had in her lower back, and got her lying flat, so it would easier to reset her shoulder.  “Keep her here, kid, I’m gonna look for my heating pads.”   Din got up and searched in a bin in his quarters, finding the really good big one, the one he’d splurged on the last time his sciatica had been an utter bitch.  He’d had to wrangle a pair of Gamorrean sisters who were running a synthetic spice ring and he’d had to drag them both back to the ship.  His sacroiliac joints had never been the same.  That freighter full of animal birthing lube would’ve been helpful getting them up the damn ramp, he recalled.    

Din turned to head back to Marathel, and he saw Grogu standing by her head, but he couldn’t see what the kid was doing.  Din situated the heating pad on her belly and turned it on (thank Frith, I put it away fully charged) before he turned to look at Grogu, who was … picking the maggots out of Marathel’s wound and eating them.  

“What in holy blue fuuuu-airylights are you doing, kid??”  Grogu looked up at Din, maggots on his tongue, before he sucked them into his little mouth as if they were tiny noodles.  “Oh, kid.  I just …” Din gagged.  “Seriously?” He shook his head.  “Fine.  Just … get them all.  I’m not gonna look at you while you do that.  And if you get the trots again, you’re on your own.”  Grogu went back to picking through Marathel’s hair, while Din knelt by Marathel’s shoulder, shuddering all over.     

Din felt Marathel’s collarbones for the break.  Her bloodied shirt was sticking to her skin so Din pulled out his vibro-blade, glancing quickly at Grogu.  “Chill out, buddy, I’m just going to cut her shirt.”  He sliced her shirt at the shoulders and folded the neckline down to the tops of the swells of her breasts.  Din gazed at her skin.  He’d almost forgotten how pale it was, how soft-looking.  She had scratches and welts and wounds, some healing, some new.  Just a couple of days ago, he was enamored with her skin.  He couldn’t not touch her skin.  The scent alone would drive him to distraction. But to touch her skin with his bare hands had given him such a visceral and heady feeling unlike any other physical experience he’d had.  

But now, he felt nothing, beyond what he believed was the normal general reaction by a (mostly) heterosexual male for a female.  Perhaps it was the fact that she was covered in blood that he believed was not hers.  That was a bit off-putting.  

Marathel was wearing something around her neck.  Din tugged on it, but it seemed Marathel was holding on to it with the hand on her dislocated arm, which she’d shoved into a rip in her shirt to support it.  He gently unclenched her hand through her shirt, doing his best to not move her arm.  Marathel grimaced and moaned, and Din whispered an apology to her. The pendant was a clam shell, probably one Grogu gave to her, hanging from a knitted cord.  Din had not seen this on her at any other time, so she must have left it behind at her hut the day they went in the Hold. The cord was bloodstained, but Din could see the green, brown, and yellow yarns held together in each stitch.  Not stripes or some other fancy stitch pattern, but all three colors together as one yarn.  You knit us together.  We were almost a family.  Why is it falling apart, Marathel?  What is happening to us now? Why are we unraveling?  

Din felt along her collarbone again, and was glad to find a single clean break, nothing complicated.  He then looked over her dislocated shoulder, noting the large bruise there, as if she hit it good and hard.  It occurred to Din that it looked like a regular bruise, simply purple and gold, not black, choked with blood, and spreading under her skin.  Not at all like how her back looked on day five.  The day he’d touched her the most.  Touched her so… extensively.  Told her that he loved her.  In Mando’a, but … still.  

The night before … the night before … even with his helmet on, he’d never been so exposed.  He’d never had such an intimate encounter before, ever.  It was because she could see and touch so much of me and I could see and touch … all of her.  Cobb was in the dark. No helmet then, but in the dark.  With Marathel I could see myself, I could see her, I could see us together.  And she was so beautiful.  I think the moment I first touched her, when I touched her waist because she stumbled on her stool, she’d become beautiful to me.  She had already been kind, offering food to a stranger when men had only given her the worst they had to offer.  She’d already made a joke I’d found amusing, about Grogu’s ears, which was close enough to making me laugh.  She’d already been sassy about her weapons, which to me is as sexy as a dirty mind.  According to buir, she should be my rid’uur, being smart and sassy and making me laugh until I cry.  

So why don’t I love her?  Why is it not like before?  When Rodanthe left Marathel, it was so incredibly painful for her, it hurt her to be touched. I must have had the not-a-heart attack when Rodanthe died.   But I don’t believe Marathel’s feelings for me changed when Rodanthe left her.  So why have I forgotten how I felt about her? How she made me feel?  

Grogu chirped with worry.  Din came back to the present, and he looked down at Marathel, wondering how long he’d been kneeling here, his fingertips on her injured shoulder.  The joint was swollen and warm.  Din carefully bent her elbow, rotated her arm, and then moved it above her head, saying, “Gangway, Grogu,” who moved to the other side of her head.  The ball joint clicked back into place into Marathel’s shoulder, and she became conscious long enough to scream briefly, then she passed out.    

Grogu whimpered Mama before reaching for her, touching her face to heal her hurt.   

Grogu is sorry, Mama.  Grogu loves Mama.  

Grogu was standing next to Marathel’s hand, and he felt her finger touch his little foot and press down for just a moment.  

Mama loves Grogu, Grogu knows. Mama must rest now.  Sleep, Mama.  

Din watched Grogu gaze at Marathel, witnessing the love the child had for the woman. Grogu dropped his chin and sat down, Din curled his large hand behind the boy’s back so he wouldn’t fall over, saying, “So tired, buddy, I know.  You did something amazing today.  You saved Mama.  And I am so proud of you.”  He picked up the sleepy child and hugged him tight.  “You go ahead and sleep.  I can take care of Mama now.”  Din gave the boy one more squeeze and whispered, “Thank you, son.”  Grogu mumbled something and conked right out.  Din stood and carried the boy to his little hammock, saying his Mando’a goodnight, tucking the child in his favorite blankie and Fawg.  Din’s heart felt full.  He was capable of love, wasn’t this feeling he had for this child proof of that?  But when he turned to the prone form of Marathel, still shivering … again, only pity.  Just pity for a badly injured woman who had only ever known suffering.  

Well … what’s next?  

Now that Grogu was asleep, Din could help Marathel and protect her privacy, knowing that Marathel would wish for the little boy’s childhood be protected from the depth of her injuries.  He needed to get her clean and assess any new wounds she might have, and hoped that the treatment was helping her blood-clotting condition.  He gathered his collection of towels and went into his first aid collection — now vastly more stocked than it had ever been — and gave Marathel a hypo cocktail of a strong tranquilizer and an even stronger analgesic. Din needed Marathel to be relatively quiet while he did this, although he disliked the idea of handling an innocent unconscious woman.  He reminded himself that he was bound to help her, as a victim.  Din collected a couple of the extra absorbent pads he put under the load pans.  Then he arranged his bed roll and the extra blanket out in the main section of the ship. Before closing Grogu within his quarters, he wrapped the bedroll in a large load pan absorbent pad.  Marathel may as well be comfortable as possible, and he may as well have room to work around her this time instead of crowding into his quarters.  He didn’t have a concussion this time to blame for his poor caretaking skills. Besides, this was a good bedroll and he wanted to keep it.  

The next thing Din did was find some harness to rig up something to support Marathel in the fresher.  He figured she could sit on the crate, and he could run the harness around her upper chest to keep her sitting up.  It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d ministered to a fellow warrior, or to a woman on her cycle.  

His covert was not necessarily prudish, but certain parts of the human condition were certainly kept as private as possible, with one exception: all warriors were fully educated on how to maneuver a menstrual cycle.  Women were equal to men as warriors, and everyone needed be aware of the physical situation of everyone in their party.  As each teenage boy reached a certain age, they were sent on extended hunts as the single male in a group of women, led by possibly the greatest hunter Din ever knew, Tenka Dukay.    

Tenka could follow an ice weasel under ten feet of snow.  She could track a blood eagle on a cloudy day.  And, as the mostly-grown Din Djarin discovered, had one bitch of a cycle.  It would come on suddenly, and like Marathel, was erratic in its schedule, brought debilitating cramps, and was very heavy.  It so happened that she started while they were tracking an Olfax for a bounty, and the scent of her blood nearly gave away their position.  They had to silently get away just as they’d managed to get the sharp-smelling sentient within their grasp, and Din had to improvise supplies for Tenka (one of the standard challenges of the exercise; the women brought nothing with them but a standard men’s travel pack on these particular adventures) as well as figure out a way to nab the Olfax without it smelling her.  

From Tenka and the other women, Din learned about menstrual cramps and how to deal with them in several different ways, including two memorable ones:  one of the women claimed she found relief by having vigorous sex, which Din politely refused to partake in (that time around).   The second memorable way found Din lying on the ground after having been repeatedly tasered in the lower abdomen.  He’d made a snide remark disregarding the severity of one of the women’s pain.  Buir had nearly punched him in the rocks for that one, saying, dammit, I raised you better than that, kid!  Repentant, Din had asked Tenka for a do-over.  She had refused, saying that Din had learned what he needed to at the time: he’d rather be tasered than have to deal with bad cramps, and to never give a woman grief about how she felt, ever.    

The other thing Din learned was that women put up with a lot of osi’k simply because they were women.  If they went in search of information, the informant would immediately chat with Din instead of Tenka, and Din realized he enjoyed the look on the scumbags’ faces when he would defer to Tenka.   He’d also learned that, for the most part, unless it had been brought to his attention, he would have never known that Tenka or any of the female warriors were on their cycle.  Women just ... went on with it, as any other normal day.  He’d mentioned that to buir, who chuckled and replied, Women are tough, kid, so remember that the next time you catch a cold.  

Tenka died during the Rebellion, and Din had been present.  He still refused to talk about it.  

Satisfied with the rigging, Din returned to Marathel’s side, knelt, and begged her pardon for what he needed to do next.  He carefully sliced the remains of her clothing, removing the shreds from her unconscious body, leaving her necklace on.  He was so glad that her treatment seemed to be working; her only severe loss of blood seemed to be her hemorrhagic cycle.  Din looked over her head wound, noticing that Grogu had indeed done a good job of cleaning it, as there were no maggots to be found.  Din tore two long strips from her clothing and carefully tied her injured arm to her chest.  He then lifted her and carried her into the fresher. He sat her down on a towel he’d placed on the crate and looped her good arm over the hanging harness, keeping her upright.  

After removing his armor and boots, Din pulled the retractable nozzle from the ceiling, starting the water in the hopes it would warm up.  He’d done this before, after all.  Once, he’d had to hose down marks who needed some cleaning up before he could turn them in after an adventure in slyyyg slime.  Another time, a female Mandalorian had inhaled some hallucinogenic pollen and believed Din to be a reincarnation of the Mythosaur, but for some reason, only six inches tall.  He’d only escaped the pollen because his helmet had sealed properly … and was quite relieved at the time it wasn’t aphrodisiac pollen.  It was bad enough he had to strip her completely as well, even her helmet, albeit briefly, with his eyes averted and squeezed shut.  

Each time, he’d remained fully clothed, as the Creed was steeped in modesty as well as anonymity and readiness.  This time, however, he suddenly wanted to remove his clothes, to bathe Marathel as naked as she, to feel her wet skin sliding under his as he cleaned the blood and dirt from her body.  He began to feel himself stirring as he had a little while ago when he’d exposed her skin under her shirt.  She’s unconscious!  You’re supposed to be caring for her!  Shame on you for thinking that way about this poor mistreated woman, Djarin!  Oh, but he wanted to, wanted to so much, even as the idea filled him with disgust at himself.    

So, Din remained in his flight suit, helmet, socks, and gloves, washing away the dried blood from her skin and the mud from her hair, finding that she’d somehow shortened her hair on one side.  He inspected the curled ends and guessed fire, glad to know that she did not set herself completely ablaze.  He cleaned the head wound again and found it to be large but not deep.  The sunburn on her face had begun to blister, and that same side was swollen and bruised.  Din guessed that she had been repeatedly punched on that one side.  He felt her skull for a fracture and found none, but he believed her facial swelling was due to a fractured cheekbone.  He gently scrubbed the blood from the yarn necklace.  He catalogued her new cuts, slashes, and bruises.  He carefully lifted each breast with the back of his hand, checking for broken ribs (while reveling in the weight of each breast on his hand, the pale goose bumped skin, each pebbled, tightly puckered nipple — cool your jets, Djarin!).  Din found and assessed two stab wounds around her left kidney and found them to be minor.  He rinsed each leg, then scrubbed the soles of each foot (I’m washing her feet, he thought sadly) and contemplated the severely sunburned areas of the tops of her feet.  Bacta was great for burns but it did nothing for her.  He tried to remember his mother’s household remedies for sunburn as he continued to wash Marathel clean.  

Blood kept coming from her, and she was shivering deeply in the cold water, but he still wasn’t finished.  Din took a breath, put an arm around her ribs — under her full, soft breasts — and lifted her slightly off the crate.  He pulled the nozzle as far as he could and aimed the cold spray between her legs.  Clots fell from her, and she moaned.  Whispering apologies, he rinsed her area as best he could without getting too personal, and he set her back down on the crate before turning off the water.  

Din grabbed towels — his too-small towels for someone of her size — and began rubbing her skin, trying to bring about blood flow and warmth.  He dried her hair as best he could, knowing shab-all about hair as long and plentiful as hers. It was a tangled half-burned mess, but there was no way in kriff Din was going to try to cut it to make it even.  Anyway, he was more concerned about getting her warm and getting her hygiene needs taken care of.  He pleat-folded a small load pan pad and carefully placed it through her legs, tying a long bandage around her hips to keep it in place.  Using clean bandages as slings, he retied her arm across her chest.  

Din got her loose from the rigging, and carried her to the bedroll, laying her down and replacing the heating pad before wrapping her in a blanket.  Din dimmed the lights before he opened his quarters door so as not to disturb the sleeping Grogu.  He found a pair of Marathel’s socks and went to put them on her sunburned feet, but they were grossly swollen, so he wrapped towels around them instead.  Still, she shivered and her teeth chattered with cold, so Din placed a smaller heating pad under her back, hoping it would help.  

Din was soaking wet and cold himself, so he pulled off his boots and went to his quarters to change.  He had positioned the bedroll in such a way that if Marathel happened to wake up, she wouldn’t be able to look directly into his quarters, so he stood on a towel just inside the doorway, his back to the open corridor.  He stripped off his helmet and wet clothes and had just pulled on a new pair of underthermal pants when he heard Marathel mumbling.  He took a quick look over his shoulder and she had thrown off the blanket, lying half on the floor and curled up on her side, still shivering.  He quickly put his helmet back on and went to her side.  “Marathel, what’re you …” Din sighed and checked her heat signature, which showed that her core temperature had dropped a bit further from the cold water. He turned up the heat on the ship a few degrees — a waste of fuel, but Marathel couldn’t seem to warm up.  He grabbed the blanket and pulled her back on the bedroll, tightly tucking the blanket around her.  Marathel immediately began thrashing and pulling at the blanket, whimpering.  “Dank ferrik, Marathel, stop fighting.  You need to get warm.”  He pulled the blanket around her again, reaching across her to tuck it under her.  He was saying, “I’ll strap you down to the floor if I have to …” when it finally occurred to him that the old blanket must be too rough for her damaged skin.    

Osi’k, you are such a tymffod, thought Din.  He remembered she had a soft blanket, and found her bag to look for it.  The blanket was rolled tightly just inside the bag.  He took a peek inside and saw the second set of blue garments, neatly folded, and tubes of shampoo and other toiletries.  Din smiled, remembering that at her hut she had exactly one variety of soap that she used for everything.  He found it amusing that she acclimated so quickly to certain aspects of living outside her narrow life’s experience.  She’d even started wearing shoes … which she’d left behind when she ran out of the ship to escape him.  Din looked by the door, where the shoes had remained.  He put her shoes in her bag and went back to Marathel, covering her with her blanket — which was exceptionally soft and plush — and then putting the other blanket on top of that.    

Even with the blankets and heating pads, Marathel continued to shiver.  Din checked her temp again, and it was still too low, and he had no other way to warm her up quickly.  He didn’t have the fuel to make it any warmer in the ship, he only had one more blanket, so that left only one option.  Dank ferrik.  He felt the way he did when she asked him to rub that revolting-smelling unguent into her bruised back.  He really had no choice; he was bound to help her, he was a Mandalorian, and he was responsible for her at the moment.  So, Din lowered the lights the rest of the way and rolled her to her side, on her uninjured shoulder.  He crawled under her blankets, pulled off his helmet, and pressed his bare chest against her bare back.  

Din had to take a couple of deep breaths at the sheer ecstasy he felt of her skin against his.  His mind quickly found the memory of her straddling him, her climax as she rode him, the weight of her heavy breasts pressed against his bare chest as she collapsed after her orgasm, which had been the impetus of his own climax.  So much skin.  He carefully put his arm under her neck so he could hold her against him.  His other arm went over her waist, and his large hand spread over her soft belly.  There was no place for his face to go except for the back of her neck, his nose in her hair, and the scent of his own soap on her skin and his shampoo in her hair was going to drive him mad with desire.  I shouldn’t have done this, thought Din as he reminded himself that he was only doing this to help her, the lights were off, she couldn’t see him, there was nothing untoward about his actions.  All he was doing was helping her get warm, and the quickest way to normalize temperature was through body heat.  Not that he’d ever done this before, but he knew it would work.  

The next thing he knew, Marathel was clutching his hand.  She cried out, then mumbled, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth …” before shouting, “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch …” and beginning to cry.  She then whimpered, “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gall’wch th’ych’lyth …” and fell silent.  

Din was surprised to hear his name, so he whispered, “I’m here, Marathel.  I’m right here.”  

Marathel moaned and muttered, “Na, nid. Na.”  

Din guessed that she was saying no.  “But I am, I am right here.  I’m holding your hand.”  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  

“Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei.  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch.”  

It occurred to Din that he’d never heard her speak her Oldtalk in conversation.  She’d only ever said words, fragments, translations of sentences, that unending only song. And she’d said that word that sounded like tih-ish-lith before; she’d said it to him.  Be safe, she’d said.  But safe is di’rugar, not this other word.  What is she saying to me now?  

But Marathel didn’t speak again, leaving Din to his thoughts. It took a while, long enough for Din to recall and catalogue each ancient Death Watch family name in alphabetical order, before Marathel stopped shivering.  The history lesson recollection kept Din from wondering too often what it was she’d said, from running it over and over in his mind.  Even then, he felt pretty sure that gall’wch was please.   She was begging for something from him.  He wanted to muse on that before the practical and sensible parts of his brain reminded him that Marathel was no longer shivering, and no longer in need of his body warmth.    

Din carefully pulled Marathel’s soft blanket off himself and tucked it under her before getting out from under the top blanket. He turned the climate control back down to what he considered normal, and slightly turned up the lights a bit.  Both Marathel and Grogu were sleeping quietly.  He redressed in a clean and dry flight suit, socks, and gloves, and then replaced his helmet.    

Din turned back to look at Marathel, huddled on her side.  From this angle he could only see the top of her head and the curve of her hip.  He quietly walked over to her, looking down at her sleeping face.  He tried to look upon her as he had the first time, when she emerged from the shadows.  I thought she had a pleasant-looking face.  Not pretty, not beautiful, just pleasant-looking. Right now, though, she looked like a hot mess.  He supposed he should try to do something with her hair.  He went poking through her bag again, finding hair conditioner and a hairbrush. He had no knowledge of women’s hair and how it worked, but how hard could it be?  

Din sat on the floor behind her head.  He began by gathering her hair all on one side.  He tried running his fingers through it and was immediately stopped by snarls. He tried separating a section and ended up with a clump.  He tried using the brush and it was captured by a tangle.  When he pulled it loose, he heard her whimper.  Kriff.  Perhaps he should dampen her hair again; it worked when he pulled those horrible tight braids loose.  He got a bowl of water, removed his gloves, and dipped the brush in the water before he held a section near the ends of her hair and ran the brush through.  It seemed to help.  He then added a bit of conditioner to the damp hair and it worked even better.  Glad to now have a system, Din was working his way through Marathel’s hair when Grogu appeared at his elbow.  “Mama?”  

Din looked at Grogu, and then looked at Marathel’s face.  Her brow was furrowed and her expression was one of pain as she lay half-curled on the bed roll.  Her hands trembled. “She’s doing okay, kid.  But she hurts.”  

Grogu went around to Marathel’s front, and touched her face.  “Hurt Mama.”  Marathel’s face softened for a moment, then returned to its pained-looking state.  Grogu frowned and pointed to Marathel’s belly. “Hurt Mama.”  

Kriff.  “Yes, yes … Mama is hurting.”  Din sighed deeply, still wondering the best way to explain this, and just how in detail he needed to go.  As Din continued to gently brush Marathel’s hair, he said, “You remember, on Sorgan, a couple of ladies were expecting babies, right? I told you that they were still carrying their babies inside them, because the babies still needed to grow.”  Grogu nodded at Din.  “Women have to prepare a place, inside them, full of tissue, and blood, for the baby to grow.  But if they don’t … get a baby within a certain timeframe, the woman’s body sheds the tissue away, since there’s no baby that needs it.  That’s what Mama’s body is doing.  Mama doesn’t have a baby inside her.”  

Grogu looked down and frowned as he thought very hard.  Grogu looked up and pointed to Marathel.  “No ba?”  

Din shook his head.  “No ba.”  Grogu whined and patted Marathel’s belly, his ears drooping.  “I should explain, kid, that this is a normal part of life for most human women, and it’s usually not that big a deal.  It’s not something to be scared of. It’s a regular thing.  The technical name is menstrual cycle.”  

“Me-stah sy-el.”  

Din chuckled — he couldn’t help it — then sobered, and said, “But for some women, like Mama, they have a very hard time.  What’s happening to Mama is not normal, and she needs to see a doctor.  That’s where we’re going now.  Mama will be all right, but she needs some help.  So don’t be afraid.  It’s going to be all right.”  

Grogu thought for another moment before pointing at Din, then back at Marathel.  “Patu Mama … ba?”  

“Excuse me?”  

“Patu Mama ba.”  

“Are you asking me if Marathel and I could have a baby?”  Grogu nodded, and Din remained quiet for a few moments, as he smoothed out her hair.  “Mama can’t have a ba.  Her … insides don’t work right.  And the thing is, kid … I can’t give her a baby either.  I don’t work right.  So, there’s not ever going to be a ba.  Not between the two of us.”  Grogu looked crestfallen. “Hey, buddy, it’s okay. I’ve got you.  And you know Mama loves you as much as any ba she could ever have.  So, you’ve got … both of us.” For now.  And I don’t know how long that will last.  Din swallowed, his hands pausing on Marathel’s hair.  Forcing himself into a lighter mood, he separated Marathel’s hair into three sections to braid it.  “So, you know a little more about these things than I thought you did, pal.  At least you understand that it generally takes two people to make a ba.”  Grogu nodded.  I think that’s all you need to understand for now, kid.  Din finished the braid, and he noticed that Marathel had wrapped some stretchy bands around the handle of the hairbrush.  Thanks, Marathel.  He tied off the braid and looked at his handiwork.  Good enough for government work, he thought.  

Din and Grogu sat there for a while, Din with his hand resting on Marathel’s head, and Grogu curled against her belly, listening to the churning muscles within.  Marathel — still only semi-conscious, although Din was sure Grogu was keeping her that way — continued to make tiny grunts of pain.  Din remembered a trick he’d learned, and said to Grogu, “Hey pal, how do you feel about tag-teaming here?” Ugh, don’t make things weird, Djarin.  Din carefully arranged Marathel’s blankets to expose her lower back.  “Come over here, buddy, can you keep this area right here warm?”  Grogu hopped over Marathel and put his hand on Marathel’s back while Din counted off the vertebrae.  “Three … four … there.” Din made a claw out of his knuckles, and began to massage Marathel’s lumbar.  “Good job, Grogu.  This is lumbar four, and this particular part of women’s spines tends to get tight and stiff during their cycles.  I’m trying to help her pain.”  Din kept on kneading, but it seemed that Marathel had pykrete instead of muscles at that particular location.  After some time, he had to stop and massage out his own hand and wrist.  He watched as Grogu intensified his efforts, and Din could see her muscles roiling underneath the skin.  “Damn, kid, you’re better than electrical muscle stimulators.  Maybe you could disrupt the wave pattern of the muscles in her tummy.”  Grogu grunted and sat down, lifting annoyed eyes to Din’s visor.  Oops. “Or maybe I should give you a break and a snack?”  Grogu continued to glare.  “All right, then.” Din placed the heating pad against Marathel's back and tucked in her blankets.  

Din and Grogu both ate a quick snack, watching Marathel’s face twitch in her sleep.  She seemed quieter, hopefully in less pain, even though Din could see her hand clutching the blankets.  Soon, Marathel, we will be there soon, he thought, even as he dreaded having to face her once she was lucid again ... and aware of the loss of his love.  

Next Chapter: Day Thirty ->

[nerdieforpedro]

Front Covers and WIPs

Thank you to amazing @saradika for gifting us all these cool Penguin Classic Book Cover Templates 😘

I was tagged by @604to647 and @morallyinept and their front covers are amazing so here we go!

Most of the series are on Tumblr but one or two might be on AO3 (I’m still trying to figure out what designs I might use for them. 👀)

Presenting: (With my brand of humor 😘)

The above fics are linked here: 🤣

Sard’ika Sessions / AO3 - Din Djarin x fem reader

Only Parts of You Mr. Morales / AO3 - Frankie Morales x fem OC

The Lake Between Us / AO3 - Ezra x fem OC

Honey and Sugarplum (AO3 only) Jack Daniels x fem OC

Fire and Fury / AO3 - Pero Tovar x fem OC

Weddings 101 with Dieter / AO3 - Dieter Bravo x Maya fem OC

This is the Neighborhood Din / AO3 - Din Djarin (modern version and Grogu is human) x fem OC

Green Shop of Memories (AO3 only) Marcus Moreno x fem. OC

Come live with me Angel / AO3 - Benny Miller x fem. OC

Front Office Adjunct (AO3 only) Dave York x fem. OC

I’m combining this with WIP Wednesday since I haven’t done one for a while:

“Now that’s a lie sweetheart and you know it.” His voice is low and makes her laugh. She highly doubts this, she had no idea that things would turn out this way so quickly. Before she can offer a rebuttal, Benny grabs her wrist and kisses the inside of it. “You’ve had me since we sang ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ and I wouldn’t let go of your hand. I haven’t let go of you since Angel.”

From chapter four (I’m working on it) of “Come live with me Angel” with Benny Miller and Diana (OC)

Also this:

Rolling his eyes as he watches some older woman in a yellow track suit walking a poodle and eyeing him like he doesn’t belong, he flips her the bird as she stomps away, “Nope. I did give the finger to this old woman looking at me like I’m a round peg in a square in my own damn neighborhood. She’s one of those that would calm the cops for dumb shit.” He pauses a beat, “You finished reading? Anything you wanna ask?” The older woman yells some obscenities while her dog barks at its owner’s behavior. Dieter pays no mind and starts circling the tree he’s standing next to, trying to work off some of his anxiety. “First impression at least, give me something Aisha. Any direction you might be heading with it.”

From chapter six of “A Safe Place for Us” with Dieter and Aisha. Because I can’t help but make things serious as of recently. I need more whimsy. 🥸

Last one, kinda long but, it’s me I’m long winded 🤣:

“I enjoy many a meal. A real man ain’t picky darlin’. However, I know a good brunch place that has good food and good drinks. Think we might make an afternoon of it?”

”Asking for so much of my time already? You think you’ll keep me interested that long?”

”Sugarplum, I think the real question ya should be askin’ yourself,” Jack had the nerve to move his hand from her shoulder to her hip, squeezing it and whistling when he felt how supple her flesh was as he jiggle it, “Are you going to let me dine on a particular meal I’m looking for?” A second kiss was placed on her cheek and he was pulling back his hand, but Maeve placed it back.

”I might. You’ll need to work me into it like you said Jack. Mind if we talk more first?”

This one is from Honey and Sugarplum with Jack Daniels and a fem OC. Their banter in chapter one makes me giggle no matter how many times I read it. I’m going to get it on Tumblr one day. 👀

NPT: @megamindsecretlair @soft-persephone @soft-girl-musings @lotusbxtch @magpiepills

@syd-djarin @sin-djarin @avastrasposts @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @maggiemayhemnj

@jolapeno @goodwithcheese @secretelephanttattoo @bitchwitch1981 @burntheedges

@kilamonster @fhatbhabiee @inept-the-magnificent @yopossum @yourcoolauntie

@din-cognito @djarins-cyare @alltheglitterandtheroar @for-a-longlongtime @musings-of-a-rose

@tinytinymenace @trulybetty @iamskyereads @schnarfer @baronessvonglitter

@professionalpromqueen @pedroshotwifey @murder-wife @sunshinehaze1 @rosecentaur1916

@chaithetics @perotovar @grogusmum @gwendibleywrites

[rkivesyoshi]

to be feigned into love with ryomen sukuna

special chapter, read the rest here.

pairings. oc x sukuna

content. sfw

language. english, tagalog

song.

warnings. none

tags. ryomen sukuna x fem!oc, fake dating trope, lawyer!ryomen x art director!oc, established couple

synopsis. a second time truly is magical, if given the chance. shortly after itsumi and ryomen had become an official couple, they decided it was time to present themselves to each of their parents, again, and this time, as true lovers.

note: this is written in first person point of view and in the perspective of the oc, itsumi.

enjoy reading!

◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ೃ⁀➷ ` ੈ˚ ★ ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡ ೃ⁀➷ ` ੈ˚ ★

“Ryo, sure ka ba, okay lang ‘tong suot ko?” I ask for the nth time, checking myself in the mirror.

We’re going to meet his parents today and i have never felt more conscious, let alone anxious in my entire life. My job requires for me to converse with various people and I never once had emotions like this when doing so.

Ryo walks up to me and from the back, he wraps his arms around my waist planting a kiss on the crown of my head. “You look beautiful, my love.”

“What about my outfit, sa tingin mo, hindi ba sobra o kulang?” Aligaga kong tanong dito.

“It’s just right, my love.” He answers with no hesitation.

Realizing there was no benefit in me overthinking things, I took his word for it and we finally got to leave our apartment.

“Ah, my son was right, you are a gorgeous young woman, Itsumi.” Nakangiting sambit ng nanay ni Ryomen matapos akong mag-mano rito.

Ngumiti naman ako pabalik, “Thank you po, tita! Pero mas maganda po kayo, alam ko na kung kanino nag-mana si Ryo.”

“Naku!” Lumingon ito sa asawa. “Narinig mo ba ‘yon, mahal? Sa akin daw namana ng anak natin ang kagwapuhan niya.” Pag-bibiro nito.

“Hindi naman ako tatanggi ro’n, mahal.” Sagot naman ng tatay ni Ryomen.

Naramdaman ko naman ang pag-iinit ng mukha ko nang mapagtanto ko ang aking sinabi.

“Lagot ka,” Pag-singit ni Ryo sa gilid ko. “Hindi ka na papasa kay papa niyan.” Halata sa kanyang boses ang pang-aasar.

Pinalo naman ito sa balikat ng kanyang nanay at pinagsabihan, “Baka maniwala si Sumi. ‘Wag mong binibiro ng gano’n.”

Then dinner time came and it was nowhere near what I expected it to be. Magaan ang pakiramdam ko na makipagusap sa mga magulang ni Ryo. Palabiro ang kaniyang tatay at ang kaniyang nanay naman ay sinasabayan din ito. We shared heartfelt laughs, talked about our plans, dreams, and shared our values. Surprisingly, his parents and I have so much in common — so much more than my own.

My heart felt so full and joyous.

It was on the way home that I realized Ryo was reared in a secure household. Looking back, maybe it was the reason why he left and didn’t force anything between us—why he just let time and fate bring us together once more.

“Honestly,” Pag-uumpisa ko. “Kung ayaw mong makaharap si dad ulit, I respect that. We don’t have to go.”

Bahagya itong tumawa. “Bakit naman ako aayaw na harapin si tito?”

“Tito agad?” Tinignan ko ito ng may panghuhusga.

Natawa itong muli sa reaksyon ko. “What, does he prefer to be called sir or gusto mo, dad na lang din itawag ko?”

I cringe at the thought of Ryomen getting shut off in an instant if he had called my father dad on their first meeting in a long time.

“I can handle your father, Sumi.” He says, grabbing my hand as he guides us out of the apartment.

The ambiance from when we had dinner with the Sukunas compared to now differs greatly. This one makes you want to rip your head off, whereas the other was carefree. Moreover, I’m not entirely sure if having both of my parents here is good or bad. Though, on the bright side, this is the first time in a long time I’ve seen my divorced parents together.

“You’re that guy my daughter dated before, am I right? Iyong galing sa mababang pamilya.” Walang emosyong sambit ng tatay ko.

“Dad!” Pag-protesta ko rito.

Naramdaman ko ang kamay ni Ryo sa aking hita at marahan niyang hinaplos ito na para bang ipinapahiwatig sa akin na ‘wag akong masyadong mag-alala sa sitwasyon.

“You weren’t born a chairman. Naging empleyado ka rin na may mababang pwesto.” Pag-sumbat naman ng aking nanay.

I am already regretting even planning this dinner. Sana ay hindi na lang kami tumuloy.

“Yes, sir. I was that guy.” Sagot ni Ryomen sa tanong ni dad.

I gave him a glare, but he only squeezed my thigh, maybe as an attempt to reassure me that it’s all going to be fine.

“Was?” Natatawang tanong ni dad. “Bakit, marami ka na bang naabot sa loob ng maikling panahon?”

Kumukulo na ang dugo ko sa inis habang kalmado pa rin si Ryo.

“I believe so.” Sagot ni Ryomen. “I finished both of my undergraduate and graduate degree with latin honors. I was a top-notcher in the bar exam, and I work at a well-known law firm now.”

My dad snickered, “Face me again when you’ve built your reputation as a lawyer, or not. I know that field is very saturated.”

“I am building it at the moment, sir.” Ryomen smiles. “I specialize in corporate law and have won numerous lawsuits now. If you need my help, don’t hesitate to call. I heard your company is having troubles right now.” There was a hint of mockery in his voice.

Dad was left speechless and moments after, the silence was overrun with my mom’s mocking chuckle.

“Kid,” she turned to Ryomen. “I liked you before and I like you even better now. Good thing you two got back together.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” He smiled.

Mom waves her hand as if telling him off. “Enough with the ma’am. You can call me tita, or mom, but I prefer mom.”

Ryomen gave an amused chuckle before turning to me and winked. He leaned in closer to me and whispered, “What do you say, did I do a good job, princess?”

Naramdaman ko ang init ng aking mga pisngi.

“Kids,” Mom calls and we both face her. “Do you want to eat somewhere else? Nakakawala kasi ng appetite ‘yong atmosphere dito. Maybe we could go shopping, too.”

Pagkasabi niya noon ay dali-daling tumayo si dad at padabog na lumabas sa private dining area.

“So, kailan ang kasal?” Mom asked.

We ended up not having to change restaurants. Nevertheless, mom still insisted on going shopping and so we did, for two more hours. The night started out disastrous, but I’m thankful that at least Ryomen could get along with my mother.

“Bakit ‘di ka man lang nag-react do’n sa tanong ng nanay ko tungkol sa kasal?” Tanong ko kay Ryomen na ngayon ay nakaupo sa couch.

“I did, I smiled.” Simpleng sagot nito habang inaalis ang mga bitones ng kanyang damit.

Umupo ako sa kanyang tabi, “No, I mean, why didn’t you protest?”

Huminto ito sa kanyang ginagawa at tinignan ako na para bang may mali sa aking sinabi. “Protest?”

Tumango ako.

“Baby,” he turned to me, “there is no other ending to this than us getting married. Why would I protest? I intend to marry you, Sumi.”

“Isn’t it too early for you? You’re still starting on your career. Marriage is way different than dating.”

Ryomen examines me with a sincere gaze. “I’m not going to leave you. Hindi lahat ng marriage nasisira, Sumi.”

I look down, feeling a bit disappointed in myself for projecting unto him. “I know. Sorry.”

He scooted closer to me tilting my chin up before leaning in to kiss my cheek, “I’m going to marry you,” then my neck, “build a family with you,” then my lips, “all while loving you endlessly, my love.”

“You’re safe with me, Sumi.” He says before kissing me again, this time with more passion, as if it were full of love, hunger, and desire.

It wasn't long before my back touched the velvety feel of the sofa, and the sound of our moans and lips colliding together as he relentlessly professed his love for me faded into the night.

disclaimer! this is a fan-made content. i do not own the rights to the character of ryomen sukuna. nevertheless, i respectfully request that you refrain from reposting, translating, or copying my content because the plot is my original work.