#like... i know Mandalorians train from like... babies...

[nikxation]

Things I learned today: Jango Fett became Mand'alor of the True Mandalorians when he was the ripe young age of 14.

I love Mandalorians so much y'all.

[samisnotlegend]

Okay hear me out: Mandalorian Katsuki and Jedi Izuku. They accidentally end up sharing custody over little force sensitive youngling Eri. That's it that's the fic.

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 5

Rating: explicit (smut, language)

Summary: So... it's after you and Din talk...

tags: Angst, slight dub-con (I never know bc I would always fuck Din?), being mad as fuck at Din, how could he?, Din/Mando being a dumb stupid idiot, reader also being a dumb stupid idiot. Idiots in LOVE, mutual pining, then normal smut things (without spoilers to the chapter, sorry) SPOILERS TO The Book of Boba Fett and The Mandalorian.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again. If you read this on ao3, no you fucking didn't. It's still unbeta'd, but proofread!! I did that this time!! I also am re-working the story slightly because I CAN.

a/n pt2: I don't know shit about Star Wars/ The Mandalorian. I did however spend an un-Makerly amount of time learning for all of us. If you're not well versed in the lore or the history of Star Wars/ The Mandalorian-- that's okay! This is Star Wars/ Mando for Beginners. (Also stating this as a warning for anyone well versed in the universe and the lore-- shhhhhhhhhhhhhh. DON'T COME FOR ME)

<- Previous Chapter Series Masterlist

The Jedi Code was taught to you. Engraved in your mind.

Harmony, serenity, peace and knowledge. The force. The lightside.

All the bad things; chaos, emotion, passion, ignorance, death.

The darkside. You learned to not fear the darkside, but instead to embrace the force.

Even though you didn’t have the maker forsaken force inside of you! Not even a litte bit! None of 'the force' had found its way into you!

Luke Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano trained you as if you did!

Why!?

They spent so much time building you from the ground up! They made sure you had muscles and could run for long distances. The pair trained you how to fight with your hands!

Your hands know how to use a lightsaber! That's not an easy feat, and it takes a long time to learn that skill.

Oh, how long? A really long time!

Two years!

Two long years without any sign of that man in the tin can outfit! He's never called, he's never come to visit!

Two. Fucking. Years.

Sometimes you hated Din for leaving you here but you very quickly remember that you asked for this. 

Wanted this more than anything.

Foolish!

You wanted so badly to make sure the child was cared for; the child was older than you are!

Much, much older! Not even a baby at all, but a toddler where he comes from. A very special toddler. A force sensitive toddler.

Coming here was a mistake! The only thing you do here is clean up the messes Grogu- that's the child's Maker forsaken name. He has a name!

Grogu makes messes, so you clean them, and get hit with sticks as some sick and twisted form of 'training'! It feels like a joke when they told you to 'block your face and important organs' and then started to pummel you with the hardest, most fast moving sticks you've ever seen!

Not having any amount of the force inside of you really makes training with Jedi's incredibly difficult! Grogu seemed to be having a blast training with Skywalker.

They trained differently, so unfortunately the two of you didn't see each other much, and when you did, your time with him was cut short.

The two of you grew up here a little, together while separated.

Luke and Ahsoka claimed that you babied him and it would impeed his training, so they kept you apart as much as they seemed humane. You became so very depressed without the child and Din.

All alone even though you were surrounded by so many people.

The nights that you got to spend with Grogu were usually spent laying under the stars outside the Jedi temple, speaking fondly of Din.

Mostly for the child's sake, because you only wonder if he had completely forgotten about you.

The answer to that question came when Luke came to Grogu with a gift. 

“A gift?” You say with a curled lip.

Have you not just spent all of your time here; learning the way of the Jedi? That was an attachment and you– in your two years becoming a mock Jedi– were weary. The darkside. The emotion. The attachments.

This was scary.

Luke held the gift in his hands while he spoke. You're subtlety looking for your gift but... you don't see one. Only one parcel.

Oh.

“This gift would be the end of both of your Jedi training, should he keep it. Attachments may not be had, by anyone.” Luke looks between the both of you as you stand before him.

Why is he looking at you!? You might stay at this temple and learn all the ways of the Jedi and become the most powerful non-force sensitive Jedi the galaxy has ever seen!

“You both have come so far, you have so much potential. Both of you.” Luke’s eyes fall on you. “I’ve been surprised before, but this was a pleasant one. Watching you both learn so much. I hope he both makes the choice that’s best for you.” Luke looks to Grogu and hands him the package wrapped in brown paper.

“Why couldn’t I stay if he wanted to leave?” You ask Luke. 

“You come with the child. You leave with the child.” Luke explains simply. 

Maker-- alright. You can’t argue with that. You don't have much to offer besides cleaning up the kid's messes. They're probably tired of watching you perfect the lightsaber.

You're actually pretty good.

Grogu glances up at you just as you look down at him. You kneel on one knee so you can be closer to him, and watch as his six little clawed fingers struggle with the twine wrapped around it, but he uses the Force.

“Cheater.” You whisper to him.

The gift is beskar. A piece of... Mandlaorian armor for Grogu. 

“ Mando said he can’t put it on until he sees you–” 

“M-Mando’s here?” You interrupt accidentally. Your heart begins to pound in your chest at the thought that you might actually be able to see him right now.

Luke gives you a knowing look, as if you should know better, and shakes his head from side to side.

“Ahsoka sent him away. It would interfere with your training. If you wish to stay here and train, continue to learn the Jedi way. You both have come far, but it’s nowhere near close to done. Accepting this would end that training.”

It’s a warning.

The energy in the room is so intense. You can feel electricity in the air almost. Grogu is still standing beside you, looking down at his own piece of beskar.

What’s he going to do?

Luke reaches into his robe.

Everyone here has all these hidden pockets for things in their clothes. You have a couple hidden pockets now too . For things you may need to hide and pull out in moments just like this one day. You hope. It’s so cool when they do that.

Luke hands Grogu a lightsaber. Grogu’s own lightsaber. 

“You have a choice, young padawan.” His gravelly voice rakes across your brain. 

It's so quiet for so long. 

Grogu touches the lightsaber softly. Admiring it. He did the same thing with the armor. 

So long you waited. Understandably, this was a hard choice.

Grogo picks the armor.

Grogu and yourself are on a ship to a hangar where Din is waiting for a response. Your knees are complete mudslides right now. They are not supporting you and they have two years of Jedi training behind them. They’re strong. 

The nerves got to them, though--ate away all the tendons you ever had and dissolved the muscle down to nothing.

Din had been on your mind every single day for two years, and he didn't even ask if YOU wanted to come back. Only Grogu! You feel like a fool sitting next to the tiny green toddler.

Where are you supposed to go when Din tells you that he doesn't need your services anymore!?

The ramp of the ship drops down and there is a cloud of dust. And then there he is. Standing at the base of the ramp, like he had been waiting for you two. Or apparently just Grogu. Since he’s the one who got the gift.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No attachments. Perfect. You’re basically a Jedi. 

Grogu, who is so much faster, so, so much faster than you ever remember him being, flings himself at Din, and attaches himself around his neck.

You watch in amusement, wishing you could do the same thing but you’re partially a Jedi now, so you keep your composure and walk down the ramp slowly. Your mouth is so dry, you don't even attempt to swallow because you know it'll just end in you choking.

Din hugs the child tightly. Their embrace is so sweet. So kind. It makes you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

It makes your heart pang as well.

They hug for a long time before Grogu looks back at you, pulling away from Din’s neck. Grogu extends a curved hand to you. You suddenly feel a gentle pressure around your waist, and are being dragged forward, against your will, feet stumbling beneath you. 

You point your finger at Grogu. “Hey!” You shout. The pressure around your waist stops and you’re set back down on your feet carefully. “I told you to knock that off!"

This is Grogu’s new, fun game. Picking you up and putting you where he wants you. He hasn’t stopped doing it since he learned how.

Dropped you a couple times in the beginning. 

Din chuckles from under the helmet. “I see your relationship has changed quite a bit.” His flat rasp is the same as you remember it.  "He's the one carrying you around now,"

“It’s basically still the same. I have to yell at him for doing things he shouldn’t.” You scowl at Grogu, who hides himself behind Din's helmet.

“It’s nice to see you," Din's modulated voice is even and quiet. As if he doesn't want to say it at all.

That’s it. No hug. Nothing. Not even a handshake.

You could hit him. For several seconds you think about doing it.

Now your fist– with two years of Jedi training– and it might actually hurt him. It might hurt him a lot, and you’d feel good about it. So good.

"It's nice to see you, too."

The anger is pumping in your veins as he leads you through the hanger behind him. You look at all the ships, and look for the Crest but you don’t see it anywhere. Eventually Din stops in front of a ship much larger than the Crest. Bigger guns on it too. 

Din just stands there and looks at you with his stupid helmet shining in the bright light of the hangar. You don’t know what to do. He dropped you off on Ossus where the Jedi temple was, and didn't give you a hug. Not a pat on the shoulders. Literally nothing.

"Keep the kid out of trouble. You'll hear from me soon."

That's all Din had said before he and Grogu went to say their goodbyes!

"It's a new ship." Din points to the giant hunk of metal he’s standing in front of. His beskar looks exactly the same. Maybe a new scrape or two. A ding here or there but you’re not even looking. Not even paying attention to him. Trying not to. 

“Okay...” You resort to using your favorite word.

Why, Maker? Why can’t the man in the helmet speak? Is his helmet on mute? Always so fucking quiet. Until you don’t want him to be, then he won’t shut up.

Din leads you inside. Shows you the sleeping quarters. There are two beds. One for each of you.

There is a separate room for the child.

The dining room is nice and everything else is so nice. So much nicer than the Razor Crest. Even the cockpit you have no idea how to use. 

You look all around the hull like it's very interesting. This is so awkward. Not what you expected when you were on your way here. It's not like you expected a welcome back party. Maybe a hug. Something. 

"What happened to the Crest?" You ask, trying to avoid looking at him.

"It was destroyed."

The sleeping quarters are different from the Razor Crest. The beds are close together, but separated and welded to the floor so there is no way to move them closer together.

The mats that are nestled into the metal frames are thicker and much more plush than the one you had slept on for so long before you were banished away to the Jedi temple.

It’s fine. You’re fine. No emotion. No attachments. It’s all fine. 

The small bag that holds your very few belongings stays packed in case he doesn't plan on you staying very long. He could very well be headed right back to Cantonica to drop you back off at the Canto Bight Casino!

The three of you eat dinner in silence.

Din says not one word to you and you don't try and strike up the conversations like you used to. Things feel so different now, like the two of you are complete strangers all over again.

Grogu has changed in ways that are hard to describe. He's still a baby in your eyes even though he's older than you and Din.

The two of you play together on the floor while Din or maybe you should call him Mando again, since you barely know this man after two whole years, does something in the cockpit.

Grogu warbles and you watch all the new, fun things he can do with the Force that aren’t moving you unwillingly. It's the first real fun the two of you are able to have since being dropped off at the temple. You missed being able to play with him. You still snuggle him at the protests of Luke and Ahsoka-- how could you not when he climbs into your lap and cuddles into your arms.

Like he knew you couldn’t resist. 

Grogu can put himself to sleep now which is incredible, and that means you have time to do whatever you want.

So you’re in your bed with your nice new sheets. They’re soft. Like the ones on the Crest.

It’s dark here, too.

Maker, what in the stars?

The sun shields in this ship are no joke! There's no light at all. If you have to go to the bathroom, it’s just blind wishing that you don’t break you toes, or bump into a wall and potentially crack your skull. 

It feels like you were completely forgotten about in those two years and now, in the dark silence of your shared sleeping quarters you just want to cry...

An emotion!? After two years of strict Jedi code training---

There is a ten thousand degree warmth on your upper arm in the void, and it scares you half out of the bed. Your tops of your feet and knees are on the cool metal of the ships floor, and you're leaning against the side of the bed-frame like you are praying to Maker.

“I was going to see if you were sleeping," Din's rasping sounds-- happy to talk to you?

You're unsure. Nothing else about the way he's spoken to you, or treated you at all makes you think he wants to talk to you.

"That's not how you find out if someone's asleep!" You bark at him angrily.

"You're awake though.” A flat, unimpressed response to your outburst.

Maker, if you had your own helmet with night vision, you’d use all your new fun Jedi fighting tricks on him. You sure would, because who is he!? Who does he think he is!?

After two years he can come back and just throttle you awake in the dark like before? Nope. Not this time. 

“You’re lucky I can’t see you right now.” You say over the pounding heart in your chest. “So lucky-- What do you care if I'm awake in the night?! Let me sleep!” You’re so cold with him, mirroring him perfectly minus the emotion. “I’m tired.” You lie to him. 

In the usual Din fashion, he remains quiet. He still had his hand on your arm, and it's not like you really made an attempt to pull it away because it’s hot like you remember.. Burning you, he's so warm.

Din is also so fucking quiet! Maker! Is he okay?

“Tired?” Din’s voice rasps in the dark. "Then why aren't you sleeping?"

You realize the metal man has no grip on you whatsoever. He was just touching you very, very gently, and you easily could have pulled away at any moment.

So you you tug your arm away and you climb back into bed and face the opposite direction from him. "I was trying to sleep when you come over here-- shaking me in the darkness!"

“You…” Din trails off in the dark. “Still don't know the meaning of shake?” He questions you like a dumb idiot. 

"Get away from me!" You almost shout it. "Just leave me alone!" You humph, and pull the sheets over your shoulder.

"Are you... mad at me?"

“Are you kidding me!?” You whisper at him. “I don’t know how you could leave me out there for two years, and I get nothing!?” You sit up in your bed now and talk blindly in the dark. “Nothing. No visit. No calls. Nothing.” You cross your arms over your chest. "No gift!"

Din stays silent- which was predicted- so you carry on.

“But you get Grogu a gift, which was very sweet. Very cute armor, he is going to look very cute it in.” You think of the child dressed in the armor and it's kind of amusing and slightly distracting.

“Are you done?” Din’s stupid modulated voice rings out in the dark after a minute of you imagining an armored Grogu.

It's so dark and you still don't really know where he is, so with your accusing index finger pointing in the direction he could be in, you almost shout, “No! I’m not done!”

You are in fact, not done.

“They treated me like I had the Force in me. Do you know how hard that is when you don’t have the fucking force in you!?” You exclaim in exasperation, still pointing at him.

You start to speak again into the blinding darkness when a warm hand very gingerly moves your accusatory pointing finger eight inches to your right. 

“I figured I should at least be getting pointed at, if you’re going scold me,” Din rasps.

You die inside and wonder how dumb you look in the dark. “Why did you even bring me back? Hm? Why not just send me right back to the casino? Or is that where we’re going next? Gonna just drop me off? You even gonna land first or just let me duck and roll?” You huff, officially done with your rant. 

“Are you don-” Din starts, but you cut him off. 

“Yes!" You snap at him, and then you huff one more time for good measure. You're so angry with him.

So much for all your Jedi no emotion training. 

“I have a gift for you.” Din says flatly through the modulator. 

Oh.

“Well it’s so dark in here, so how would I know that?” You snip at him, not sure you’re fully ready to forgive him. You roll your eyes now. 

“Would you still like it? Or are you too upset with me?” Din’s modulated rasp asks you, sounding annoyed.

Why does he have a right to be annoyed? He could have given you that gift the minute you step foot of that return ship that brought you back to him.

Why wait until the darkness!? Why!?

“Yes, I would.” You hold your cupped hand out into the dark and feel something cold and hard fall into it. “It would be nice if I could –” 

The brightest beam of light you’ve ever encountered shines directly into your eyes. It’s blinding.

You jump again, out of bed because what the fuck is that!?

Is this an attack!?

What even is that light? Where is it coming from?

Thankfully, you wrapped your hand around the thing Din dropped into your hand so you didn't fling it into the abyss to never be seen again before you ever even got to look at it!

“Why are you on the floor?” Din asks, as you hold your free hand to your chest. You blink up at him, having to shield your eyes. 

“Are you the light right now!?” You question him squinting your eyes in its brightness. "Are you the one blinding me!?"

“Yes." Din dims the light tremendously somehow from within his helmet and now, it’s easier on the eyes. Like a candle flame. "Was it to bright?"

“It was too bright! I don’t think I’ll ever see again.” You snip softly, resting on the floor and putting your elbows on the bed. 

You inspect the small pink crystal in your hand. It takes you a couple seconds to realize what it is.

“Is this a kyber crystal?” You look up at Din who is knelt down on the other side of your bed.

He nods in the now pale light that's much easier on the eyes. “I got it on my travels. I thought that if you knew how to use a lightsaber, I’d get one for you. Put this crystal in it.” 

Maker. What is happening? 

“You thought of me?” You didn’t mean to say it. Part of you is still mad. 

“Everyday .” Din’s awe and amazement voice is back. “Di- Did you not think about me?” Just as quickly as that sweet familiar tone had shown up, it's gone just as fast. Din can' believe that you didn't think of him during your time apart.

“I did.” You say quietly. “I thought you had forgotten me. Without the visits or calls or gift.” You do feel silly now because this really is a sweet gift.

The sweetest gift. More sweet than the notebook and the credits and anything else he's ever given you. The small pink crystal in your hand means so much to you. The fact that he got it for you, was thinking about you while you were gone. The fact that the meaning behind the gift is so big. You own lightsaber if you wanted one. Din would get one for you. Said it himself. Your heart is racing in your chest.

“Never . I’ve been waiting to see you. Been thinking of you. Looking at your doodles every night.” He turns the light off and takes the crystal from your still outstretched hand. 

“Hey! That’s mine.” You reach for it but he leaves you kneeling next to your bed like you are praying to Maker in the dark again.

“I’m going to give it back.” Din raps . “Do you want to get back in bed or are you content on the floor?” 

You’re blinking into the dark. Wondering how dumb you look now on the floor blinking into the void. You scramble up without assistance and crawl into bed, facing the same direction as before. Away from Din. 

Secretly, you’re hoping he’s sans beskar and crawls into bed beside you and lets you hold him like he did the nights before you left. With your arm around his waist, stealing his radiating heat from him while he sleeps. You’d mill kisses softly across his shoulders and you’d listen to him sigh and make sleep sounds in the darkness.

But that doesn’t happen. It’s so quiet. It’s so still for so long. You wonder if he’s crawled in his own bed and is fast asleep. What could this all mean? The gift? The cold welcome back after two years? Everything you did before you left? What did it mean and did you accidentally fall for a potential half man- half droid that’s never going to show you his face? 

The dark is still, so quiet and unmoving. You feel like you’re alone in the room. 

“C-can I touch? Or are you still too upset with me?” Din asks quietly, the rasp of his modulator is gone. His sweet deep voice is right in your ear. It doesn’t startle you because you’ve been waiting to hear him speak for so long. 

“No.” You snap. “You couldn’t come touch me for two years! I would have let you then, any time you came to visit, I would have but you-”

His lips on yours stop you. You almost try and push him off, but Maker. I

t feels so good. His warm, soft lips on yours after all this time. You both open your mouths slightly, and as tentatively as Din touched you for the first time two years ago, his tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth just as slowly.

It’s gone as soon as it appeared. 

“I tried.” He whispers against your open mouth. “I got turned away every time. So many times I tried to see you.” He’s speaking fast, like he’s trying to explain himself to you before you beat him off of you with something hard you’ve found in the dark. “ So many times, little one." 

The words melt over your tongue as he speaks them, almost as if they were your words.

Ahsoka and Luke never told you he came to visit. Not one time. 

“I tried. I never forgot about you. Too perfect. Too beautiful to forget..." ” His bare hands cup your face as you speak. “Never forget you. Everyday I look at your doodles. I look at you, and miss you."

You're breathing in the words he's speaking into your parted lip. He kisses you again softly. You feel the bed shift next to you and he’s crawling beside you.

“Do you dislike me again?”

Maker, Din somehow got warmer. He’s running a fever all the time and his body feels like the embers in the fire pit at the end of the night. 

“Again?” You whisper as he pulls your face down to the pillows with his. 

“You didn’t care for me much before the doodles.” Din kisses your lips again, gently as his hand slips from your cheek. “I didn’t think you’d let me.” You can feel his warm breath on your chin as he speaks. 

“Let you what?” 

“Touch. Watch. The first time.” His real unmodulated voice whispers to you. “I've missed touching. Watching."

A warmth hovers over your middle, you reach for it. Tt’s Din’s hand, hovering above your stomach, under the blankets, but over your clothes. 

“Touch me.” It almost doesn’t come out of your mouth because it’s so dry. But you croak it out and swallow hard as the word leaves your lips because you hope he does. You hope this isn't like the first night all over again where he makes you do it alone.

Din obliges and lets his hand drop, you feel the heat spreading out along your nightgown starting from where his hand rests on your lower stomach. It makes you inhale sharply. It’s such a familiar touch and you missed it so much. 

Din sighs and drags his hands gently and slowly up your stomach, the fabric bunching at his wrist as he does it.

He's lifting your nightgown. 

“Din,” You whisper as his palm cups one of your fleshy tits over the nightgown.

His rough, calloused hands were so gently, touching you so sweetly until your hand rests on his, you make him squeeze you. You make him because you need to know this is real and these soft gentle touches feel like a dream.

Din grips you now. He can feel your desperation in your hand on his. Squeezing and pulling and tugging at your flesh. 

“Fuck.” He moans softly into your shoulder where his head was resting. The fiery goodness from his forehead felt like it was melting you. “Perfect. Beautiful.” He says the word like he doesn’t want to. Like he’s been forcing them back but they’re breaking free from his vocal chords.

You can almost feel his heartbeat. Or maybe it’s yours.

You don’t know. 

It’s just obvious that this is what you want and you need him. Badly. However he’s willing to give himself to you or however he wants to take you, you don’t care. You’ve been waiting and thinking about this for two years. Your body reacts to his touch like you were built for him. Your pussy is leaking and throbbing already and he’s only touched you once. 

There's a new warmth, a wetness to these sensations now. Din’s wrapped his mouth around your clothed nipple and is sucking. Biting gently over the nightgown you have on. It sends shivers down your spine.

Words come flowing out of your mouth before you can even stop them. “I've waited so long for this.” You whimper quietly.

Your hips are rolling against the bed below you because everything just feel so good, everything is just so overwhelmingly pleasurable. Din’s hands and mouth on you, the heat he's passing along through his touch. 

“Touch. I wanna hear you moan.” He murmurs against your breast. He’s still biting and sucking it through the fabric like he’s too impatient to take off the nightgown. He just can’t wait any longer. 

“I need you to touch me.” You whine quietly. “Please.” You’re begging him. “Please, Din, I need to fee-” But he doesn’t make you beg long, his free hand slides between your legs and he sighs loudly against you. 

“”Fuck. Fuck. You're s-so wet. So fucking perfect.” Din bites your nipple a little harder now, but then he pulls way. “Let me lick. P-Please. I just wanted to watch but now I need to taste you.” He’s moving down between your legs as he talks to you. Then he stops.

“Okay. Okay. Please. Do it, please.” You’re already spreading your legs but he’s getting off the bed again. “Nononononono.” You whine, reaching blindly for him in the dark. You’re on the verge of tears. “Please don’t leave me again.” 

It’s so quiet. It’s like time stopped. 

“Din?” You whisper. “Did you leave?” 

“Where would I go?” He answers but he’s further away from you now. "It's my ship."

“Well you’re obviously not here– where you were!” You exclaim quietly. You hear him chuckle in the dark. 

“Come to my bed. I want to do something. New.” 

Oh Maker what could that mean? A new stun gun? Some weird thing he found in his travels?

Does he want to make you the lightsaber and put the focus crystal inside you? That’s where you draw the line.

“What does that mean?” You ask nervously, clutching the sheets to your chest as you stare into the void. “New?” 

“Come here. You said I could lick, yes? Let me.” Din’s voice in the dark makes you drop the blankets your clutching and swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Come, little one. Let me lick you. Let me taste you.” His voice guides you to him and you start to crawl into his bed but he stops you. “Leg.” He says into the dark.

“Leg?” You ask, confused. Din reaches for you in the dark and taps your upper thigh. 

“Leg.” He says like he’s teaching you body parts. “Swing it up here over my head.” 

“What!?” You exclaim. “You want me to do what?!” 

“I want you to sit on my face.” Din’s smiling in the dark and you can hear it in his voice. 

“And you’re going to taste me like that?” You’re exasperated. You’ve never even heard of this. What does that mean, sit on his face. “I’m going to smother you!” 

“Then I’ll die a happy man. Get up here.” Now he’s impatient. Din’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

You swing one leg over his head and straddle him, pressing both hands to the wall in front of you. The ship's metal is so cold on your clammy hands. You can feel him breathing against your inner thighs as you sit on your knees above him.

“ This is perfect.” Din whispers. You can only whimper quietly because you’re so nervous, you feel so exposed up here. “You want me to lick…” He leans up and gives the very top of your slit a quick teasing lick. “Here? Yes?” 

Your knees buckle because Din’s tongue is just as soft and just as warm as you remember and you do want him to lick there. You can’t find words for how badly you want him. All you can do is let out a breathy sound of consent. 

“Beautiful.” Din wraps his hands under your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth, his tongue is ready. Eager. Waiting for you to be on him, for him to be inside your folds. “Just as I remember.” He whispers into your pussy, tasting that flavor he memorized before you left and thought of it often. “I touched myself, thinking of you. To your doodles. To your flavor.” Din takes the flat of his tongue and licks you from your opening all the way to your clit, slowly, he presses up against you so you feel him. 

He wants you to know he missed you. 

“ Maker, yes. ” It’s moaned softly as Din presses the flat of his tongue against your slit and lets you ride his mouth. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced. Why were you so scared? Being on top of him, this way, you were in control up here. “ Oh Din, yes.”��You’re not holding back tonight. 

You’ve been waiting to do this. Dreaming about it at night and waking up in the morning having to give yourself some sort of pleasure. You slide one hand down into his thick, coarse hair, just enjoying the feeling of it between your fingers again. You hear Din moan from between your legs and his tongue moves against you faster. 

Your fingers tighten in Din’s hair as he holds you around the legs, you’re pinned down onto him. His tongue is lapping and exploring your folds. Licking at all the spots he remembers make you squirm. He memorized every inch of you before he left and he’s been thinking about you, keeping it fresh in his head for this moment so he can make you whimper and quiver like he used to.

Din is panting underneath you, he’s working for what you’re about to give him. His tongue was drifting between those big lazy circles that had you whimpering and begging him for more and tight fast spinning around your clit. That’s when his hands found your hips and started to move you on his face, his tongue flat, stroking your clit with each movement of your hips. 

“Please don’t stop.” Pushing yourself off the wall you’ve been leaning against, you hover over him now, rocking your hips on your own. You found a rhythm with Din’s help. He holds your hips tighter now–not messing with the rocking of your hips–feeling you roll yourself along his mouth. As he does that he pulls you down harder on his tongue. Your free hand finds his hair and you grip it tightly now in both fists and grind down against his flat, strong muscle. “ Oh fuck yes . Din, I’m so close.” You’re whimpering for him.

Din moans loudly from underneath you, his hands now moving to your ass. He gropes and spreads your cheeks. 

“M-moan again.” You stutter, your hips grinding harder and faster. The vibrations from Din’s moans will be enough. 

Din obliges happily and moans loudly again, over and over as your head falls back, hips never stopping their rocking motion on his tongue. 

“Oh, fuck–ing yes. Din, oh Maker!” You cry out. You don’t care if The Razor Crest is gone, you have those memories inside your head forever. You don’t have to hold back nearly as much here. You can let him know how fucking good he makes you feel. Your body is quivering as you grind against him. You can feel the prickles of his facial hair on your inner thighs and lips as you ride him.

Being on Din’s face like this was heaven. You can hear him noisily licking and sucking at the new wave of juices that are dripping from your entrance. As the warm ball of fiery goodness spreads through you, you start to shudder and tremble on top of him, his tongue never stops moving against your clit and then dipping inside of your hole to taste you as you leak out. Din laps at you until there’s nothing left. Sucking your lips into his mouth at the end to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He leaves you trembling above him for so long he has to tap your thigh again for you to swing It over his head. 

"Sorry." You pant. "That was good. I'd do that again." You go to stand off his bed and you feel him wrap his arms around your waist. 

"Don't go. Share the bed." He whispers up to you. "I waited for so long." 

"I waited too!" You exclaim as all of your anger and fear of being forgotten about returns. "I waited for just as long as you did! You sure didn't act like you missed me or waited for me. Not until the lights went off at least." You're storming to your own bed now. You move quickly, not wanting him to hear or see the tears in your eyes.

You've been keeping this in for a long time. Letting it bottle up until you can't keep it in anymore. And the fact that he confessed all those nice things just to be able to touch you.

Din doesn't say anything in the dark, letting you try and find you way back in the void. It makes you sadder that he isn't trying to comfort you. The tears come, quietly, thank Maker, as you get into your own bed and wrap yourself in the covers. It isn't until you let out a little weeping sound that you hear him shuffle and then your bed shifts under his weight. Din's pressing himself into you gently, wrapping his arm around your waist. 

"If you had reached for me, you could have felt my heart from under my beskar." He whispers in your ear. "I did miss you. I did wait for you." A small kiss along your jaw, "You didn't seem like you were happy to see me today." He sounds disappointed. "I thought you had forgotten about me. Maybe someone with a face and who didn't leave made you forget about me." Another small kiss in the same place. "I sat in the dark for so long, wondering if you were thinking of me. I had to come find out. I did't mean to scare you. Don't cry, little one. Please?" He's kissing your face gently. 

"I don't think anyone could ever make me forget about you." You whisper into the void.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I'm still so uncomfortable tagging people in my stories, so like I said, please tell me to fuck off if you want me to stop. My feelings won't be hurt (yes they will), and it's completely fine (I'm a big girl and can handle it).

[koi-illust]

[StarWars][BobaDin][LukeDin]

Sons (of BobaDin & LukeDin)

I'm in the middle of the Inktober challenge (posting on my IG story if you're interested). Sorry for the wait for my new artwork if anyone's been waiting...🫣

Anyway, inspired by my fellow artist, I decided to draw the offspring of Boba/Din and Luke/Din. I'm having a hard time now determining which pair is my OTP, so I decided they're both my OTP and drew the sons of both pairs in the same piece.

These two baby boys can exist in the same universe or not, depending on what plot you prefer. However, I have a somewhat unethical feeling that these two could make a good couple if they're not half-brothers... (Yeah, I know in some stories, they can be a couple if you don't mind the ethical issues).

I borrowed the clothing from kid Boba and Padawan but blended in "red," which comes from the traditional colors of Din's birth country, Aq Vetina.

The son of BobaDin

has Boba & Din's curls, Boba's eyebrows & lips (and probably the height, though it's hard to tell at his age), and Din's eyes & nose. He always carries a vibro-knife with him, began training at a very young age, and wants to be a great warrior like his fathers. He’s kind of grumpy but has a soft heart and is very protective of Din (who gave birth to him) and his green brother. He often looks reluctant to play with Grogu because he wants to spend most of his time training, but Grogu knows, just like everybody else, that he loves playing with his brother and cares deeply for his family!

The son of LukeDin

also has curls from Din (yes, because I love curls! Din is also the one who gave birth to him, as you all know I'm a huge sucker for bottom Din). He has Luke's hair color, eyes, nose, chin, and Force abilities, as well as Din's eyebrows, eye color, lips, and probably height. He has a playful mind, so he has no problem playing and causing mayhem together with Grogu. He has a strong Force connection like Luke, but unlike Grogu, who is prone to becoming a Mandalorian, he wants to be a Jedi under Luke's training. Although he appears confident and relaxed, he’s quite insecure about his abilities due to having two famous dads, he faces a lot of pressure others can't understand.

About how they refer to their fathers

Since Boba and Din are both Mandalorians, it can be confusing for calling them both "Buir." In my research, "Papa" is a term of endearment for "father" in Spanish and since Pedro is a Latino, so...

It's relatively easy for LukeDin's son to call his fathers: Din is "Buir," and Luke is "Dad." "Dad" has a more casual vibe, which I think suits his personality.

Okay, that's it! Hope you enjoy my boys, and sorry for babbling again. The last thing is that I have another question for you:

Yeah, I know there’s a BIG ISSUE in there, which is why I’m asking. I’m curious about what people think about such a thing, feel free to discuss with me, no judgment here no matter what your answer is!

[threepandas]

Counting Down: 1 [Next ->]

The worst part about knowing the end? Is the beginning and middle. The waiting to change. The hoping it can. Days, spent with the low fear, ever churning, that it will all make no difference. Your actions. Your plans. The hopes you have placed in Fate's fickle hands.

Entering the Creche at an awkward age, too soon to be Legend, too late to be Peer. I was destined to be an adult by the time Anikin arrived. Getting up there, by the time the Order fell. Not yet old enough to be an Elder... yet destined to never live long enough to see such an age.

Obviously, I refused.

Looked around, locked eyes on the closest most manageable Character Of Relevance and took a chance. After all, was it not? The Jedi WAY? To inconvenience the Sith at every turn? So... first Crecheling, then Initiate, then baby Padawan Me, tracked the poor man down. Hunted him for SPORT.

Meditate with me, Knight Dooku! Can you teach me about this or that, Knight Dooku? What is the correct use of seashell tongs in formal dining, when attending a formal feast with the aristocracy, during this specific religious holiday, Knight Dooku? (No, no, on the moon not the planet.)

Congratulations on you Mastery! Master Dooku!

Pushing and shoving my way into his life. Persistent, much to everyone's amusement, and his baffled chagrin. It was like befriending a fussy, regal looking, semi-feral cat. Force knows, for all his training, he's terrible at casual interactions. He was older them me, yes. And Mentor of sorts, certainly. For a time. But? We became... friendly? I like to think? I certainly chased him down enough.

He's a dramatic and awkward man, Yan, and he'd be lost without us; Sifo, Nu, and I. Occasionally Yoda, but that does come and go. Not to metion... well... his Padawans. (Damn it, Yan. They can't read the subtext from your pointed silences! Use your WORDS.) The sort of man who is... sturdy, but brittle. Like an old, unbending tree.

Which makes it all the worse, when the pressure becomes too much. Because it does not merely crack. No. No, such men? They shatter in terrible and unpredictable ways. Unbreakable right up until they are not. Unending right up until the crash.

It is...? Both tragic and hilarious, in a that way, that Yan should live surrounded by so many prophets. Yet he does not, can not, and never will see the end coming. Surrounded by legends, both old and new. Born with every marker for greatness. Yet he...? He will be considered little more then a footnote, in someone else's history. At best.

And the worst part of his Fall? The absolutely worst part? Is the Light I still feel, each time I look at him, the GOOD I know is there. Resolute and noble, dignified and full of grace. A diplomat. Expert swordsman. Makes magnificent tea. The driest wit imaginable. He... he is YAN. Not Count Dooku. Not some Sith Apprentice. Just... just Yan.

My friend.

I meditate on it a lot. The Force gives no clear answers. Still, I do try, sitting in the gardens. Tucked away several stories up, past the considerate veil of several sweeping branches. I never did succeed in figuring out which planet the tree hails from, I suspect it might be either a long dead one or some small moon. It's a truely lovely, sturdy, thing nonetheless.

Far below, younglings shriek and play growl. Running carefree, to work off energy before evening meditation. Each a tiny blaze of starlight dancing at the edge of my vision.

A bit bright, I note, but nothing concerning.

The Halls of Healing will have to increase my prescription again. My glasses are no longer blocking enough... I sigh. Considering that. My sight? Is at least partially genetic. While I may be predominantly human, just because someone looks human passing, doesnt mean they genetically are one. My ancestors were, to put it mildly, a bit... Mandalorian.

Where their was a will, there was apparently, a way; And now I pay the price for it. It's honestly a miracle they never "married", as it were, themselves into a genetic dead end. Some sort of metaphorical space mule scenario, as it were. Yet? Despite all that seeming success? Luck is not eternal. And should you keep gambling? Eventual you will roll poorly.

I was that poor hand. That unfortunate luck. Loved of course. Expected even. My parents both wanted and were delighted by me. But? I screamed. Could not bear to be near people. My inheritance? A truely unfortunate luck of the draw. When combine with Force Sensitivity? My eyes reacted to "Light" poorly. Very, VERY poorly.

They were blinding to me. A mere child with no shields to speak of, no Force training to push BACK with. Like being force to look direct at the sun, again and again. It HURT. Because I could See.

Where others saw merely flesh? I saw deeper. Not infalliblly, not perfectly, I was hardly some omniscient god, but... oh. Oh. The world was so Bright. So LUMINOUS. The Force swirling and burning and flowing. In everything, from humble to grand. People shine, and yes, it is beautiful. But it also? Hurts. Because it IS, ultimately, being forced to stare directly at bright, ever shifting, sometimes flickering LIGHT.

I have a lifelong disability. Can not FUNCTION without my filtering shade glasses.

Or, if you are one of the ignorant assholes, who even NOW still seek to use me? I have what you might call? A"gift~☆".

According to Healer Che, it was some highly recessive trait. (From a planet I honest didn't even know I had heritage on, much less could find on a navigation system.) A subterranean people, due to the truely ungodly surface conditions. VERY sensitive to energy signatures and light. Which...? When you slap on a whole NEW super special Force sensing ability? Filtered through the same brain? Wires unfortunately crossed.

It could have happened it anyone. Unfortunately, it happened to me. Now I'm effectively blind around large collections of sentients. Or Life in general, depending on the intensity. To say NOTHING of Force Nexus! Dear merciful FUCK, that was the sort of accident only you make ONCE and then NEVER again. I was lucky to keep my vision. At all. Full stop.

Sifo was not so lucky. His Visions being neither natural nor kind. The Force seizing him again and again, to plunge him into vivid scenes of carnage. Death and horrors in the home he so loved. I would would be forced to, should I fail, see the Fall of the Order once. But Sifo? Oh... oh, dear Sifo...

Sifo, had seen it fall ten thousand times.

Even Yan did listen to him. Not truely. But there is camaraderie, in the horrors. In whispering, "it's not their fault", through choking tears. Forgiving the victims that will one day kill us. There is... a certain, heavy, sort of friendship... born of pressing your foreheads together, fingers intertwined, knuckles white with terror, as you shudder in the dark.

I think it helped, helps, that he has someone, who believes him. Anyone. Not just humoring him, the mad man sprouting prophecies of doom. But truely believes him. Knows he is right. And that if nothing is done? Everyone will die.

But... BUT! It CAN NOT, be Kamino, Sifo. Not that, never that.

In the dark, I remind him of prophets, seeking to avoid their visions, and instead? Ensuring the worst, comes to pass. Defense, Sifo. Escape. We are JEDI. Do not let fear blind you, to who you ARE. Do not let it take down a path of darkness.

I wrap him in the Light. Tuck my Force presence close, like I'm hiding him again my side, a youngling tucked into the safety of my robe. Shhhh, my friend. It is okay to be afraid. I am too. We can do this together. We are not alone. I believe you.

We are the pillars of his mental health, Yan and I. It concerns the healers greatly. The council. Honestly? It concerns me. But what can I do? No one else CAN help Sifo, until the first take the step of recognizing he is not, in fact, insane. He is a perfectly SANE man, reacting in entirely reasonable ways, to unspeakable Nexus born horrors. Slowly cracking under the isolation and grief. A jedi pushed and pushed, far past the point lesser men would have broken.

And if? He need a woman young enough to be his one of his student's, to rely on? So be it. I am a Knight now, I can handle it. (I have been handling it, since the incident. Since I was a Crecheling. Where the fuck were all of YOU? Ah, that's right. Calling him insane. Making things WORSE.)

I breathe out slow and controlled. My meditation is getting me no where. Rising, I carefully hop down, using the Force to slow my fall, much to the awe of various Crechelings. I can not help but smile. Was I ever that small? So easily impressed? I bow to my tiny fellow jedi. Delighted, they scramble to bow back. Thrilled to show off how grown up and serious they are, how well down they can do it.

Reaching out with my senses, I look for Yan, politely avoiding doing more then the briefest brush as I reach past others. I am not the first, nor will I be the last. There are hundreds of such searches a day. Some clumsy and heavy handed, from Crechelings or Initiates. Some soft as brushing strands of silk. Knights or Masters, looking for friends, looking for students where the should not be.

The Temple feels alive, noisy even, when you know how to feel it.

Ah, there he is! Heading from the High Council's cha-Grief. Horror. A gutting pain that numbs and spreads.

Caught off gaurd, I am sent reeling. Stumbling, without grace, over my own feet into a nearby wall. Glad for it, as I desperately grab at my chest and wheeze, drawing the alarmed attention of nearby Knights and Guards. Because... because, the other direction? Had I stumbled in the other direction, I would have hit the railing. Fully doubt I... I would have been able t-too.... oh Force-!

It takes entirely too long to seperate my emotions from Yan's. To realize what's happening. My panic feeding into the pain. My pain feeding into the panic. Yan. S-Something happened to Yan! I manage to gasp it out. P-please! S.. Someone! Go! Go check on Master Dooku!

The world spins as I try to force air into my body. It refuses to come. Whatever horrible pain Yan is in, leeching down our connection. Into me. Hurting. Made so, SO much worse, by my having been actively looking for him. I close my eyes, teeth gritting, and trying to stop digging my nails into skin. I-It won't help. There's nothing physically there.

But it hurts! God, does it HURT!

It feels like my WORLD has been shredded. My heart, crushed, cruel and slow in my chest. H-he's having a panic attack. Has to be! Or-! Or being attacked! I d-don't... don't KNOW!

A passing Master has hurried over, now kneels next to me. Various Knights pushing whatever calm and safety the can at me. No one is quite certain what will help. But they try. Desperately, stubbornly, resolute to the last... they TRY.

Breathe with me, begs the Master. Pressing my hand to his chest. Just copy my breathing. Help is coming. Release what pain you can, into the Force. We will help you. Let us help you.

I try.

Desperately, I Try.

The Healers end up having to give us sedatives, Yan and I. Sifo ends up... worse. The entire event triggering another, nasty, round of visions. He is incoherent. Trapped. Staring up at the Death Star from the surface of Alderaan, through countless eyes, begging to be heard. His soul, small and desperate, replaying the end, over and over. Even as he tries to protect what souls he can from the inevitable.

He cries for this too. They won't believe him, I know. Even as he thrashs and begs. For the lives of the innocent to be spared, for monsters to hold their fire. I will though. I will. I always do.

But Sifo will be lost for days. Yan, however? As he sits, on the bed, just the other side me? Sits stiff and properly. Blankly. As the healers words wash over him. I doubt a single on has registered. Of the three of us, I am the only one even remotely functioning. Yet... yet I still, don't know what has happened.

Nodding one last time to the healer assigned to me. Promising that yes, I will most certainly rest. I slip my my bed and sweep over to stand next to Yan's. The Healer's concerned and frustrated. He knows Yan's not listening. But has to try. I shoot him a strained, closed lipped, smile. Quietly take charge of my unresponsive friend.

The Healers relief is palpable. Our notes and instructions are not terribly dissimilar. Rest, food, no missions or upsets. Got it.

Gently, I guide Yan from the Healing Halls. Alarmed, that he let's himself be led. He never let's himself be led like this. Insists he is no invalid, to be coddled. Yet... here he is. Mind a thousand parsecs away.

Bringing him to his rooms, I key in his code then gently guide him to his favorite chair. Lightly guide him down into it. Not... not once, during the entire walk back, has he responded to anything. I am beginning to grow afraid.

Fussing, I drag up that terribly pretentious Serranian musician, on his music system. The one I can't stand. I am worried. Sacrifices must be made. Boring and insipid music fills the room. Very fancy! Come on, Yan. This is his new piece! Don't you want to comment on it? Come, tell me why it's so much better then the racket youngling blast these days. I'll call you an old man...

Nothing.

Worry growing, I begin making his favorite tea. Digging out his special occasion snacks. Something, anything, to get a reaction. As things brew, a sound too wounded to truly be a laugh, chokes it's way out of him.

"Xana-...My..." he starts. Stops. Normally sharp mind refusing to obey him, as he tries to summon words. He looks lost.

"My Grand-Padawan is dead." His voice is brittle, alien sounding in his mouth. I nearly drop the plate of snacks I was carrying over, in response. Horrified. "He was supposed be returning a knight. Qui-gon was.. was so proud of him. Adored him. This has destroyed him. Will destroy all of us. I... I have lost everything."

No. No, you have NOT.

Striding forward and all but dumping the plate on the side table next to him, I reach for my friend with both hands. With my Force presence. I refuse. No, damn it! I Will NOT lose him. Not like this, not TOO this!

Listen. LISTEN to me, Yan Dooku. So help me Stars, Gods both big and small, you will not succumb to this!

The greatest lie the Dark has ever told, is that it will make things better. That it can help you with your pain. Would Xanatos want his death to destroy you? Would the child of your child, want his legacy to be the ruin of everyone he loved? It is okay to grieve. You NEED to grieve. But remember you Padawans. Remember their Padawans.

Your Lineage still lives, Yan Dooku.

It is hurting, mourning, but ALIVE. Don't you dare run from it in your grief. You are better then that. I am here. Sifo and Nu are here. Yoda, is here. We will carry this pain together, okay?

Closing his eyes, he let his head rest more heavily against my hands. Dampness darkened his eyelashes, but no true tears formed or fell. He didn't seem to have it in him. Not yet. His hands though... his hands? Shook as they slowly, haltingly, like a droid with seizing joints, reached out for me.

I moved from leaning over him to sitting on the arm rest of his fancy Serranian high backed chair. That he didn't even grumble over me "abusing his furniture" by putting weight on the arm rest like this? Gods.

Leaning into him, I wrapped my arms around his head and shoulders. Like a shield against the universe. Used the Force to pull the tea, finally done, and pour it into a nice cup. Properly of course. See, Yan? I remember your lectures. Here, drink.

He... did not.

Just leaned, sagged against me, as he shuddered with grief. Hands wrapped around a cup of fragrant tea. Music filling the air. Tucked safe inside my Force presence, as best I could.

In... Out... In... Out... There was a slight stutter to it, a hitch, that in a less controlled man? Might have broken into a sob. But... instead, Yan meditated. That first cup going to waste. The second following, as it slowly went cold. Needs must, though, and tea? Can be replaced. Yan can not.

Emptying wasted cups, I poured more. Rested my head atop his own. Matched his breathing as I slipped into a light meditation with him. The room was quite enough. The position not terribly comfortable. But honestly? We'd both meditated under worse conditions, and it had been... A DAY.

To put it mildly.

I didn't like the look of Yan's Force Presence. It was like a fault line had been struck. Spreading terrible spiderwebbing cracks in otherwise sturdy stone. I was no mind healer... really, not a healer at all, I was a Seeker, but? I had learned a few tricks. After all, not every child I had found? Was found in a safe and loving home. Most weren't, honestly.

You learned to soothe, as a Seeker. Learn how to help. Children, after all, don't know Light from Dark. They just know that if they reach for the magic in their head? Bad things go away and good things tend to happen. Sometimes they hurt themselves by accident. Sometimes they hurt themselves... because the alternative was worse.

"You know, my dear? Some days I think you are the only Jedi with any compassion left. The boy never should have been sent there. Not for his trials. The lives of others are not a child's test. And to be asked to face one's own family? It... it was cruel."

Yan sent his cup around me, to rest on the side table, before gently tugging me down into his lap. He hugged me close, like a child squeezing a stuffed animal for comfort, face buried in the crook between my shoulder and neck. Like he was hiding from the world. I rest my head against his shoulder, eyes closed.

We were both... so tired, weren't we. This was nice.

"When did it all become about proving ones purity? One's superiority of morals? We are supposed to help people. Not lord over them. If I wished to do THAT, I would merely need to return to Serrano. Become a Count. You and Sifo are the only one who seem to understand me."

"I think I would go mad, without you."

Yes. I worry that you would, Yan. I worry that you would.

[iron-strangers]

we will raise warriors

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Tags: Established Relationship, Mand’alor Din Djarin, PWP, Vaginal sex, Creampie

CW: Breeding Kink, No use of Y/N, Smut (MINORS DNI)

Length: 2.036 words

Read this on AO3: we will raise warriors

Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“Happy love day!” You greet Din at the front door of your home by tackling him with a bear hug, armors and all, presenting a small gift, wrapped rather messily, with a huge, silly red bow on top. “Got you a little something, cyare!”

Din just walked into your home, a grand three-bedroom apartment-style room in the eastern wing of Keldabe Palace. I want to see the sunrise every morning, cyare, you had said when Din asked you to pick your family wing upon moving to the ancient, though newly renovated palace. Din had no preference. No actually, he’d prefer not to live in the old castle. He’d rather live in a house in the countryside, somewhere near a body of water, where he can enjoy nature with his family, away from the responsibility of being The Mand’alor. But anywhere is just as good if he has his beautiful riduur and their foundling with him, Din claimed.

You help your riduur to pull off his cape, hanging the long fabric on its stand near the door. Gone is the old and tattered one, replaced by a floor-length, crimson, soft fabric that more often than not got folded into a birikad for Grogu. You excitedly rush him towards the karyai, sitting him down on a couch and placing the gift in his hand. Not used to getting presents, Din eagerly removes his helmet before pulling the red ribbon off, revealing a small T-shaped metal in a transparent box. He stares at it with a puzzled look on his face before looking back up at you with his head tilted sideways.

“Is this, uh, a new bullet?”

”It is not a bullet, don't you dare to load it into your blaster,” You scold, snatching the box from your riduur's hand. “You remember how we’ve talked about trying for a baby? We’ve been planning it for a while, and then there was that time when we kinda, you know, get excited about it in the throne room?” Oh yeah, Din can’t forget that one, nuh-uh, top ten moment of his life. “So, here it is. This is an IUD, mine. It’s my birth control. I went to the healer this morning to take it out.”

Din stutters, his eyes wide open, looking back and forth at you and the IUD, so expressive behind his helmet, trying to process what he just heard. You smile at him patiently, your hands steady on his shoulder, rubbing tight circles with your thumbs, giving him some time to process the news. A few seconds later, the frown morphs into a smile, a huge grin now adorning his handsome face as he then pulls you to his lap and claims your lips in a flurry of hungry kisses. His hands come up to your jaw to cup your face, holding you ever-so-gently as he peppers your face with kisses, stealing giggles out of you.

“How soon can we start?” Din asks eagerly, beaming to you like a verd’ika who just got his first set of beskar’gam, holding you by your ass and lifting you both from the couch, ignoring your protests, holding tightly around his neck.

“Well, my healer said it might take a few weeks to purge the hormones outta my system, but she also said that anything can happen,” You shrug, absently playing with the tuft of hair reaching his neck, he needs a haircut, you duly noted. “Anyways, the elders are begging for us to start training heirs already, so how about you give us what we all want and fuck a baby into me, ner Mand'alor ?” You lean in to whisper playfully, lightly nibbling on his earlobe.

You watch with a smirk when Din is, once again, completely at a loss for words. His pupils are dark with desire and you can feel him starting to harden in his pants against the swell of your ass. Smirking, you grind down on his growing erection, earning a groan from him, always so easy to tease. “Dont start something you can't finish, Rid'ika,” He warns you, pressing your back against the bedroom wall.

“But we all know how much you want to,” you tease, trailing your hand down his beskar-covered chest all the way to the tenting length straining his flightsuit pants. “Want me all soft and pregnant, looking absolutely yours . Your riduur, your baby- Oh !”

Din throws you on the bed, ignoring your squeals. He immediately crawls on top of you and pins you down with a kiss. His hand sneaks down to pull your armors off one by one. He studies you thoroughly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing his left vambrace that you have worn since your riduurok. He brushes your robes aside, sliding his hand down your belly, admiring your body for a moment. You take his gloves off, wanting to feel your riduur's blaster-calloused fingers on your skin. Your breath catches and the feeling of his hands on you makes you shudder. His middle finger slips beneath the panties and between your slick folds.

“So fucking wet for me, cyar’ika.” Din's lips are back on yours, swallowing your gasps as he circles your sensitive nub. You break the kiss with a sob when you feel Din gathering up your slick on his fingers and he nudges his thick fingers into your heat. You gasp as he slides his fingers deep, crooking his fingers into your sweet spot.

“Right there, Din,” you whine, throwing your head back onto the bed. Your riduur’s hand travels up, cupping your breast and rubbing the pad of his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pulling and pinching. He watches as you chew on your lower lip, trying to stave off your moans. 

“Fuck mesh’la , I can’t wait until these are filled with milk. Aching and leaking all day long until I can milk you dry.” Din leans closer to you, rolling your nipple with his tongue. His mouth closes around you and he sucks hard while his other fingers are still leisurely pumping in and out of you, ignoring your pleas.

“Please what, cyar'ika? Where's that smart mouth now, hmm?”

“Please fuck me! Need you to come inside, fill me up with our verd’ika, please, ner alor- ah!” 

Din swears hearing your needy whines, eager to give whatever his riduur's wants. He pulls his fingers out of you and taps your drenched folds with the tip of his cock. Din growls, he has denied himself for way too long, tucking his face in the crook of your neck he buries himself all the way into you in one thrust, knocking the breath out of you. 

“Force, you fill me up so fucking good .” You moan, letting your head fall down the pillow and grabbing a fistful of the sheet as Din immediately pounds into you. Your walls flutter around his girth, struggling to take him. 

Din burns with desire and his primal need to breed takes over. One rough snap of his hips makes you scream as the head of his cock nudges your sweet spot just right, severing the connection to your brain for a moment.

“You like that, cyar’ika?” He leans down, kissing your sweaty temples. You nod, trapped underneath your riduur, wailing and begging and taking everything Din is giving you. He claims your lips and kisses every plea from your mouth before he pulls back, indulging himself by staring down where his cock is buried inside of you. His length is wet and sticky with your arousal and his pre-cum, making him growl and pace himself harder, faster, rougher.

“I know how much you want it, rid'ika- fuck , look at you, made such a mess on my cock, mesh’la. You don’t want me to stop fucking this pussy until you’re all round and swollen with my ad’ika, huh?” 

“Yes, please, Mand'alor, please fuck a baby into me, wanna make you a buir.”

“Manda - Soak my cock, mesh'la, c'mon, gonna get you all wet and pregnant.” he snarls, spitting filthy promises as he thrust harder. “That’s it, cyar’ika. Keep on squeezing me like that, sweet girl. Not gonna stop fucking this tight pussy until you're all nice and full with our verd'ika.”

“Yes, yes, fuck yes, Din, cyare,” you moan, rolling your hips greedily. “Wanna give you a baby, Din. Come inside me, please. Please give me your cum, oh, Force-”

Din can’t control himself any longer, he growls gutturally, his fingers digging into your hips as his pace grows sloppier and he shoots the first of his hot, heavy load deep inside of you, holding you hard against his front and rutting his hips as he pumps his seeds into your willing womb. The feeling of Din's seeds flooding your insides is overwhelming, your mind is whiting out, legs trembling and you’re cumming hard, milking the thick shaft, enticing him to pump more loads into you until it leaks down your thigh. 

“Don't waste any drop now, cyar’ika.” Din hums, grinning and kissing on your jaw. Slowly he eases himself out of you and watches his cum dripping out of you. He tuts with dismay, gently fingering it back into your puffy cunt, then he gives you his fingers to suck clean. 

You settle in his arms, making out with him lazily when he pulls away and smiles, his hand a comforting weight on your tummy. His smile gives you butterflies. Running your fingers up and down his forearm, you beam to him and he almost tips over with the weight of his love and adoration for you. 

“I'm so excited,” you whisper softly, admiring the blissful look on your riduur’s face as he sounds his agreement and presses a tickling kiss on your nose. Din plays with your hair, brushing the strands sticking on your sweaty forehead back. “Mesh’la? I like the name Aranar,” Din thinks, and you beam at him, nodding and testing the name on your tongue.

The sun is setting, painting a beautiful glow on both his and your mismatched vambraces. There's a peaceful silence between you, the sound of his breathing evening out lulls you to sleep, almost swallowing you into a slumber when you remember something-

“Oh, I have another present for you, an actual present!”

Din tries to protest, claiming you’ve already given him the best present in the galaxy when you shush him, levitating an equally small box from the side table. You open the box, revealing two identical keys on a plush velvet. Din eyes you curiously, picking one key up.

“Remember that one house we saw near your covert?”

“The one with the big yard near the pond? Did you- No, cyar’ika!”

“It’s ours! No, listen to me,” you huff when your riduur tries to protest again. “We can’t live in the palace forever, Din. I won’t let you to. You don’t like it here, and therefore, neither do I. I figured we’d stay here until Mandalore is stable enough, or until we’ve reached about seventy percent of our rebuilding goal, then we’ll move out. We’ll get speeders to get here every morning, show our adi’ke around, then we’ll come home when the day is done, to a place where the Council of Alor can't steal you away from me. We can make it work, my love.” 

Din stares at you adoringly with his big brown eyes, too overwhelmed with the weight of your love to honestly do or say anything other than holding you close and kissing you, caressing your jaw lovingly with each kisses, murmuring a soft thank you over and over again against your lips. “I’ve never- No one’s ever do this much for me,” he mumbles, holding your hand to his heart. “You don’t like it here too? Why don’t you tell me?”

“Oh cyare, you deserve the world and you gave so much for me and our foundling, so of couse I will try to give you a place we both can call home, where we can watch our aliit grows,” You lean into his touch, nuzzling his hand with your jaw, offering him a smile. “And no, I don’t like this place, the force ghosts of previous Mand’alors are creeping me the fuck out!”

“THE WHAT NOW?”

-

Mando'a translations

Karyai: main living room of a traditional mandalorian house

Riduur: Spouse

Birikad: Baby harness

Mand’alor: Ruler of mandalorians

Alor: Leader

Cyare / cyar’ika: beloved

Riduurok: Love bond / Marriage agreement

Mesh’la: Beautiful

Verd’ika: Little warrior

Aranar: Defend

[lavendertales]

HELLO! If you’re open for request I’d like to ask for something with Mando helping/comforting the reader on their period (if thats ok with you). Like I imagine him being kinda clueless and lowkey panicked but he’s trying his best to take care of us and Grogu

this is so cute🥹I imagine a clueless Din because let's face it, they don't hold biology lessons when they train you to be a Mandalorian, but he's trying his best!

a little tender—Din Djarin x f!reader

word count: 710

You had a feeling this would happen, and yet here you are, still flabbergasted that you were right.

The conditions are far from ideal to be having this sort of situation; you’ve always managed, but being aboard a Mandalorian’ ship with a magical green baby who needs attention and maintenance as well is surely a challenge. Grogu curled in your lap a while ago and remained there, cooing sweetly once in a while, which, in a bizarre way, helped with your cramps.

When Din arrived back on the ship and saw you and Grogu curled together like that, he cocked his head to the side, thus revealing his confusion.

“He’s been sitting here with me for the past hour,” you giggle. “He’s really cute.”

“Are you okay?”

It still takes you by surprise whenever Din proves himself to be this receptive. You have to remind yourself over and over that, as a Mandalorian, his observation skills should be more than keen. And perhaps caring for you isn’t above that.

“I’m fine. Just some cramps.”

“Cramps? What’s wrong?”

Din kneels down, inspecting you like you’re in need of repair. Truthfully, the whole idea and situation makes you laugh a little bit because he’s adorably clueless. But then it hits you that he probably didn’t get the 101 on women while training to be a Mandalorian, so periods are most likely not something he’s familiar with.

“I got my period,” you explain to him. “Basically… I’m bleeding out of parts you wouldn’t want to bleed from.”

He looks at you and you just know he has a terrified face under the helmet.

“It happens every month,” you continue to explain.

“Every month? How do you—function this way?”

You chuckle, taking his gloved hands into yours. “Lots of practice.”

“Are you in pain now?”

“Moderate. Grogu being here helps. And you.”

Din huffs. “I’m not really sure what to do, how I can help you…”

Seeing him make such a fuss over you is probably more endearing than it should be, but you can’t help it. You know Din to be a practical man, someone of labor who fixes visible, hard issues. Fixing something he can’t see or feel… an entirely different story.

But he’s there, and he’s trying. And that’s what matters.

“Usually keeping warm on the belly helps,” you explain, gently stroking Grogu’s ear. “But this little guy helped with that.”

There’s something so domestic about that image that manages to take Din aback. He never truly thought he’d settle down, at least not while he still has some good fighting years. Then Grogu came along, entered his life abruptly, and yet the prospect of settling down still hadn’t occurred to him, not fully.

Now, however…

“Anything else I can help you with?” Din asks with a lump in his throat. “Are you in any pain? I can go out, see if I can find something that—“

“Din, I’m fine now. If you want to help, why don’t you sit here with us?”

Grogu coos, apparently excited by the prospect of having Din around. The latter curls his legs next to you and simply watches you and Grogu play. For a moment, he forgets the piece of information you just shared with him, and it’s remarkable to him that you don’t even look like you’re in pain.

“So this happens every month?” he asks. “You… bleed out every month?”

Normally you’d laugh at someone’s lack of knowledge in this area, maybe offer a coy response, but the way Din is so keen on finding out more information and admits his gap in knowledge is simply so endearing.

“Yes,” you respond. “Unfortunately, we don’t get a break from this.”

“I’m sorry.”

You can’t help the chuckle that escapes your lips. “For what?”

“That you have to go through this.”

Oh, sweet Din. He’s probably the first man you’ve ever heard mutter such words and truly mean them. You reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“I appreciate you being here with me,” you tell him. “And being so sweet.”

Din blushes, thankful you don’t see him.

But maybe one day you will. Maybe one day you will get to see his skin turn auburn with flattery and desire for you.

[rinixo]

divine battle

Din Djarin/Reader | 2.5k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, pregnancy, Mand’alor Din Djarin, pregnant sex, pregnancy related body dysmorphia, descriptions of childbirth, descriptions of pain, blood

A short wrap-up to aquae vivae. This has descriptions of body dysmorphia, pain and stress during childbirth, and blood.

a/n: The concept of Mandalorians viewing childbirth as a battle is inspired by Aztec mythology and folklore.

read on ao3

You weren’t exactly trying to avoid it, but it still happens sooner than you expected.

Fatigue. Sore abdomen and breasts. Minor mood swings. All symptoms of an impending menstrual cycle - which never comes.

You keep quiet about it at first. A visit to a med droid confirms your suspicions and gives you a clearer timeline. Just a few weeks in so far. Many months to go.

Laying on the bed, you press soft fingers into the flesh of your stomach absentmindedly, trying to imagine it swollen and round. You’d have to let your clothes out, you realize. Or get new ones. Plus all of the other things babies require.

You don’t know where to even start. You don’t have any family here on Mandalore besides your husband - no one to ask, to confide in.

Din had raised Grogu, but that was different. He isn’t a normal baby. A human baby. Your baby.

The sound of the door opening makes you turn your head to look. Din has arrived, Grogu in his arms. They had been training, based on the paint splattered across the child’s clothes.

“Are you all right?” Din questions, seeing you laid out over the blankets.

You nod. “Yes. Just tired.”

Setting Grogu down, he starts to take off his boots and helmet. “Are you sure you’re not working too hard? You’ve been more tired than usual the past few days.”

“I’m sure,” you reply. He casts you a small frown, which you can’t help but smile at. You like how his lips curve naturally into a soft pout.

Raising your hand, you beckon him closer. “Come here.”

Din obliges you, walking slowly toward your bed. He lets you grab his gloved hand, and you pull him down so that he lies next to you. You entwine your fingers with his, turning your head to look into his dark eyes.

He has such nice eyes, you think. Perhaps your baby would have his eyes.

“You sure you’re ok?” Din asks again. There’s worry in his tone, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance. Are you ok? Yes and no. You’re nervous, anxious, and so full of an emotion you can’t name that you feel like you’re going to burst.

“I’m pregnant.” The words fall loosely from your mouth. You watch his expression - eyes widening almost imperceptibly. A short breath leaves his lips.

“Pregnant,” he repeats, almost as if in disbelief. You nod. Tears prick the edge of your vision, and you’re not sure why. Hormones, maybe?

He glances down at your bare abdomen. Removing a glove, he places his palm over you, warmth emanating from his skin into yours. The two of you stay like that for several silent minutes.

“A baby,” he murmurs, and there’s so much awe in how he says it. “Our baby. You’re pregnant.” He looks up at you, and you see the loving determination in his gaze. It makes you feel braver.

“I don’t know how to be a parent,” you confess, looking for support. Din’s eyes soften, and he kisses your lips, the tip of your nose, and the sides of your eyes where tears glisten.

“We’ll figure it out together,” he promises.

—

News of your pregnancy is slow to travel. It’s several months before you start to show noticeably - several months before you can no longer get away with wearing baggier and baggier clothes to cover it up.

It starts with low murmurs in the palace. Idle mumbles of congratulations, which you smile at and hurry past. It’s not that you aren’t happy or excited - sometimes it feels like your heart is going to burst from it all - but you’re nervous. Having a baby is a big deal. Having the Mand’alor’s baby is an even bigger deal.

Din is your constant shadow, unwilling to leave you alone or unguarded for any amount of time. When he absolutely can’t be at your side, he assigns his most loyal and highly trained guards to escort you.

After one incident when a guard doesn’t even let you open a jar yourself, you snap. That evening you sit your husband down and explain that you aren’t helpless and that while you appreciate the concern, it’s becoming more of a nuisance than a help.

Those big brown eyes look up at you forlornly. He agrees to tone it down, pulling you closer by the waist. He kisses the growing swell of your stomach through your linen shift as you pat his soft hair lovingly. You can’t stay mad at him.

The midwives had told you that it would be normal for you to experience an increased libido as time went on. However, it was Din who was becoming more and more insatiable with each passing day. Whether it was lathing over your breasts or buried between your legs, there was scarcely a night where his mouth wasn’t on you somewhere.

Din murmurs idolization into your stomach, and you bite your lip at the feeling of his scruff on your sensitive skin. Laying you back on the bed, he spreads your legs open and kisses softly from the summit of your bump down to where you’re swollen and waiting for him. He has you coming undone with just a few wide laps of his tongue, praising you the whole while.

He tells you how good you taste, and how sensitive you are to his touches. You feel like a goddess being worshipped with how he revels in your changing body.

It helps you on the days you feel detached from yourself. You examine yourself in the full-length mirror, propped up in your closet. Pulling your top up, you cup your round stomach with both hands, turning to view yourself from a side angle.

Din finds you there, brows furrowed in thought. “Everything all right?” He asks.

“I don’t recognize myself,” you murmur. As your body changes, you struggle with seeing yourself in your reflection. It’s made worse by people commenting on how you look - how big you’re getting or how the way your stomach sits means you’re carrying a boy or a girl or whatever other wives’ tales people come up with. You’ve taken to avoiding the court as much as possible as your due date draws nearer.

Din comes up behind you and places his hands over yours, thumbs stroking lovingly over your soft skin. He places his chin on your shoulder, looking at your reflection in the mirror. You lean your head against his.

“I see a woman carrying my child,” he soothes. “A woman who grows more beautiful by the day.” He places a soft kiss to your hair, and you give him a small smile.

—

Something happens on the southern continent, something that his military advisors say requires Din’s attention. At first, he refuses to go, citing your nearing due date.

“Just go,” you insist. “We’ve got a few weeks left. You’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’d never forgive myself if I missed the birth of our child,” he presses. “If I wasn’t there at your side.”

“I’ll hold it in,” you counter, and that gets a huff and a smirk from him.

He grumbles but acquiesces. You wish him good luck and tell him you love him, watching him and Grogu take off in his starfighter.

You waddle back to your chambers, looking forward to getting off your feet. Everything aches recently, and resting in your soft bed surrounded by an ever-increasing mountain of pillows is all that soothes you. Din had teased you about it, feigning exasperation at his disappearing real estate, but dutifully fetched you more and more pillows.

You wince at a sharp pain in your back. It’s nothing to be concerned about, you tell yourself. You’ve got all kinds of pain, in more than just your back. It would be ridiculous if you went into labor the same hour Din left the city -

Another sharp pain and you start to feel clammy. Something feels wrong, innately wrong. The pain doesn’t dissipate, and you have to sit down on a window ledge before your legs give out.

You tap on your wrist communicator, sending a message to the med droid and midwife with your location.

There’s a dampness between your legs. Did your water break? You can’t see past your stomach, so you reach down to touch and feel faint when your hand comes back smeared in blood.

“No no no,” you mumble. “Not yet, please not yet - not right now, your father’s not here.”

Another roll of pain is the only answer, and you choke back a cry. The last thing you remember before your vision goes black is the hurried drone of the med droid arriving, and being lifted in strong, familiar arms.

You come to in a private med bay as Din lays you down carefully. He snaps at the med droid trying to squeeze in next to him, and the midwife snaps back at him and tells him that, Mand’alor or no, if he wants to stay he has to move so they can do their job.

He moves to kneel next to the bed, moving your hair out of your face gently. You sigh as the midwife injects you with something that begins to make the terrible pain subside.

“How are you here?” You murmur, turning your head to look at Din. His eyes are wide, and you can see fear in the way he searches your face.

“Grogu,” he whispers. “He started to cry, and I just - I had a really bad feeling.”

“Hush now,” the midwife announced. You looked up at her helmeted face. “You need to save your energy, young warrior.”

“M’not a warrior,” you choke out.

“You are,” the stern woman insisted. “In our culture, childbirth is conceptually equivalent to battle. You are going to fight and struggle as you labor to bring your child into this world, and if you are to emerge victorious you will need all of your strength.”

A deep ache gets past whatever pain reliever you have in your system, and you curl up with a low groan. Your hand dashes out to grab Din’s, and you clench it hard as the contraction rolls through you.

“You can do this,” your husband says firmly. “I am here with you, my love.”

It’s not a quick birth. The midwife says something about complications, but you can barely think through the pain and the instinctual need for your body to just push. Din does not leave your side for a moment through the entire process, which lasts well into the night.

At last, your screams are answered by the wail of your daughter as she enters this world, and you collapse back onto the sheets. She’s placed, wet and screaming on your chest, and you barely have a chance to croak out a ‘hello’ before your vision goes black again. —

Low murmuring, like a lullaby, draws you from your sleep. Your eyes open slowly, vision blurry, and you see a broad figure sitting next to you holding a bundle of blankets in their arms.

You shift, getting the attention of your husband. Din looks up at you, a gentle smile on his curved lips. He glances back down at the bundle. There’s adoration in the way his eyes shine, like nothing you’ve ever seen from him before.

“Your mother’s awake, little one,” he hushes. You blink, trying to break out of your hazy mindset. “Would you like to try meeting her again?”

He moves carefully toward you and settles next to you on the bed. You sit up, eyes wide and curious, eager to see the face of the child you’d been carrying for all these months.

She’s asleep, and you’re delighted to see that her lips pout the same way Din’s do. She has a tuft of dark hair, and ten perfect little fingers and toes.

“Hello,” you whisper. “Hello, Rila.” Din leans over and transfers your daughter into your waiting arms, wrapping his arms around the both of you and holding you close.

“She’s beautiful,” you say dreamily. Din presses a soft kiss to your hair.

“Like her mother,” he agrees. You glance up at him, a watery smile on your lips.

Rila yawns, and blinks, and your heart sings when you realize that she does have her father’s eyes.

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 13

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, canon-typical violence, peril, angst, descriptions of blood and gore, Din speaks Mando'a, SMUT, vaginal fingering, dirty talk, Din does NOT remove the helmet, SoftDom!Din, touch-starved Din

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

For a while, you simply stood there, staring motionless out into the rain.

The burning remains of the quarry’s vessel cast an ominous orange glow over the jagged coastline, illuminating just enough for you to be able to see where the beach ended and the island’s dense forests began. Mando had dissolved into that tree line as though he had never existed, swallowed whole by the brush and the vines, and although you could hear Grogu’s distressed whines calling to you, begging you to come and release him, you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away from the spot where the bounty hunter had disappeared. Dread sank in your stomach as minutes passed with no sign of movement, no sign of blaster fire or flames from his vambrace, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to shake the sickening feeling that only one of the men who had stumbled into that forest would be coming back out again.

You had never felt more helpless.

It wasn’t until the whining devolved into high-pitched shrieks that you were able to wrench yourself away from the open door. The sound was ear-piercing and tinged with a kind of fury that felt so out of place, so alien coming from the sweet boy you knew, and somehow the wrongness of it was enough to snap you back to yourself.

Stay on the ship. Keep the child safe. That was your job, and step one of that job was to go and get the poor thing before he burst a blood vessel screaming.

Leaving the rear ramp extended and the doors open, you took the ladder up to the second level two rungs at a time. The glare that Grogu fixed on you when you entered the cockpit would have been withering if it hadn’t been accompanied by two fat tears leaking from his overly large eyes, making him look like the most pitiful baby creature you had ever seen. Something between a laugh and a sob choked the apology in your throat, so instead you simply released him from his seatbelt harness as quickly as you could manage. Gathering his little body close to your chest, tucking his downy head under your chin, you allowed yourself a moment just to hold him.

Under your hands, his breathing slowed, and his cries eased to little hiccupping whimpers. You could feel his three-clawed hands digging into the fabric of your sleep shirt with surprising strength, as though drawing on the calm of your body to settle himself.

“I know, sweetie, I know. I’m right here,” you murmured gently. “And Mando will be okay. He’ll come right back, you’ll see. He always comes back.”

Of course, you did not stop to examine whether your words were meant to reassure Grogu, or if perhaps it was you that needed the reassurance.

Keeping the boy close to you with one arm, you used the other to crawl back down the ladder. Your next step was to get out of your thin pajamas and into some real clothes. You propped Grogu up on one of the cargo bins as you quickly stripped down to your underclothes and redressed. You pulled a fresh pair of socks up over your ice-cold feet, tucked one of your new black undershirts into your cargo pants, and threw on the matching jacket to protect against the damp, salty chill blowing in from the open door. Weaving the fastest braid of your life, you topped it off by tying your scarf – Mando’s scarf – around your head and grabbing your preferred blaster from the still-open weapons cabinet.

You knew Mando probably had not intended to leave the firearm accessible, but you didn’t feel any guilt for taking it. If the man that emerged from that forest wasn’t your Mandalorian, you reasoned, at least you would have a fighting chance.

Scooping Grogu up into your arms, you tucked him neatly into the front of your jacket to keep him warm and took up your post once more, hovering just inside the cargo hold, staring into the night.

___

You weren’t certain how long you stood there, one hand on your charge, the other wrapped around the grip of your blaster peaking up out of your pants pocket. All you knew for certain was that by the time the flashes started, Grogu had begun to nod off against your breast, and your fingers had grown so cold that they were starting to lose feeling.

It started with a burst of blue – pale, there and gone in an instant, lighting up the trees from deep inside the forest. Had it been daylight, you doubted you would have noticed it, but as you watched, more blue flares erupted from the darkness, silhouetting the tree line in flashes of neon.

Then there was red. Bright, sparking red flares joined the blue, shining like party lights in the night, making the rain-slicked greenery glow, and that was when you felt a heavy, sinking feeling take up residence in the pit of your stomach.

You would recognize that shade of red anywhere. That was blaster fire – Mando’s blaster fire. He had found the quarry.

Against your chest, Grogu stirred, twisting around in your grip to watch the spectacle alongside you. Ice-blue and fire-red traded volley after volley, and as the flames from the crashed Sleuth began to snuff out in the rain, the streaks of color became even brighter, even more unmistakable in the darkness. Minutes passed, and as the boy in your arms watched, his wide, dark eyes reflected the bursts of light like mirrors.

When he let out a soft whine of concern, you shushed him, bouncing him in a way that you hoped was comforting. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “He always come back.”

You couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the downpour drumming against the hull of the ship. It was almost eerie, watching this conflict happen from afar in complete silence – no shouting voices, no sharp, characteristic zinging of blaster bolts rocketing past. Nothing but the echo of the rain and the faraway sound of the rushing waves against the beach.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the flashes stopped.

Left with only the meager light from inside of the Razor Crest, the island fell into almost complete darkness. The sinking feeling in your stomach grew heavier with each passing moment without the evidence of Mando’s presence, and still the silence persisted.

You stood there another minute, then two, your grip on your blaster getting tighter to the point that the joints in your hand began to ache. Something was deeply, painfully wrong. Where was the Mandalorian? Where was his quarry?

It seemed as though Grogu’s thoughts had taken the same turn as yours. The longer the two of you stood there, and the longer you went without seeing any more evidence of blaster fire, the more agitated he became. Squirming in your grip, the boy whined and grunted in discontent, working his arms out of your jacket, flailing them toward the ramp as though begging you to go, to find them.

You wanted to listen. You wanted to go after him.

No more blaster fire could mean…so many things. It could mean that Mando had taken the quarry down; maybe he was dragging him back to the Crest that very minute. It could mean that one or both of them had been disarmed, that they were fighting with their fists instead of their weapons. It could mean that Mando had lost sight of the Weequay yet again and was back to tracking him.

Or.

Or it could mean that Mando was down. That the quarry had emerged from this protracted conflict victorious.

Grogu squealed sharply then, startling you out of your internal debate, and although he couldn’t speak to you in the typical way, you had never been more certain that you understood exactly what he was saying.

An unfamiliar sense of calm settled over you as you made your decision. You thought perhaps you ought to feel guilty for what you were about to do, but you didn’t. Mando would risk anything to ensure your safety; you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt. What kind of person would you be if you were not willing to do the same for him?

With a renewed sense of determination, you ate up the distance between the exit and the bunk in a handful of long strides, and with steady hands, you extracted Grogu from your jacket and settled him on the edge of the mattress.

“I know you want to come, but if I’m going to be any help, I can’t be worried about your safety, too,” you explained, running your palm gently over his little round head. “I’m going to ask you to stay here. I’ll close up the ship, you keep this door shut – ” You tapped the edge of the sliding bunk door, currently propped open above his head. “ – and stay put until I come back, okay?”

Grogu dipped his head once, a gesture reminiscent of a nod, and you offered him a small smile.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” you assured him, and with a quick kiss to his wrinkled forehead, you thumbed the bunk door’s control panel and watched it slide shut, blocking the boy inside with a thunk of finality that reawakened the anxiety in your stomach.

You refused to acknowledge that squirming sensation. You refused to allow your heart to race, your hands to shake. Instead, you gritted your teeth, drew your blaster from your pocket, and jogged down the ramp and into the rain.

___

You ran as fast as you dared across the beach, more grateful than you had ever been for the thick rubber tread of your boots as you made your way across slick, black rock and the kind of fine gravel that you knew would bury itself in your skin if you were to fall. The rain was quieter outside of the Razor Crest than it had been inside, but the ocean was much louder; the roar of the choppy waves breaking against the shore joined the sound of your own heavy breathing in your ears, and that combined with the impenetrable darkness of the Maramerian night left you feeling a bit unmoored, a bit directionless as you hurtled toward the tree line. Still, you drove yourself forward, doing your best to keep your eyes locked on the spot where you had seen Mando enter the forest earlier.

You had no concept of what you might find inside, but you realized then how foolish it had been to think that you would be able to stop yourself from finding out. Too much had changed over the last weeks. You didn’t have it in you to sit on the sidelines anymore, not where the Mandalorian was concerned. You were his, and he was yours, whether he knew it or not. If he was in danger, he could not keep you from his side.

The forest’s edge was dense and foreboding, thick with vines and underbrush that filled the gaps between the trees almost completely. It took more effort than you would like to admit to break through to the other side, and you made a mental note to ask Mando to add wilderness survival training to the list of skills he needed to teach you. By the time you emerged, you were completely out of breath, and you sported more than one scratch across your bare face and hands from the briars. You took a brief moment to collect yourself, wiping rainwater and thin traces of blood out of your eyes with the back of your sleeve, and then you directed your focus back to the task at hand.

Inside the forest, the sounds of the ocean faded away almost completely, leaving you surrounded with an uneasy stillness and just barely enough dappled moonlight to make out the edges of the trees, the texture of the roots jutting up from the black soil, the thick blanket of leaves that covered the ground. There didn’t appear to be any signs of life here, and without the aid of the blaster fire to guide you, you had no idea which direction to search in. Steeling yourself, you picked a path through the trees that you thought looked the most clear of underbrush, praying that something, anything might give you a clue along the way.  

Thankfully, you had only traveled perhaps 30 meters into the depths of the forest before you started noticing signs. Every few feet were scorched, black gouges, all at about eye-level, etched into the bark of the trees. Some dipped shallowly into their gnarled surface, as though the bark had caught only a glancing blow, while others seemed to have taken out massive chunks of wood, leaving jagged splinters on the wet ground at the base of the tree to prove it. Approaching one such mark, you ran your fingers over the edge, and you found yourself overwhelmed with the acrid scent of ozone. The bark was warm under your fingers, the edges of the blemish itself smoking slightly, almost undetectable in the rain, and you swore softly under your breath.

Blaster marks. At least part of the battle you had witnessed had taken place here.

Your steps picked up speed then, breaking into a jog as you followed the trail of scarred trees deeper into the woods. Another 30 meters, then 30 more, and before you knew it, you were well over 100 meters from the demarcation between the forest and the beach, and the blaster marks had all but disappeared. You slowed, casting your gaze around you, desperate for a clue as to where they might have gone next, but it was as though all trace of their presence had evaporated. It was too dark and the forest floor was too matted with rotting leaves for you to see footprints, and the briars and underbrush had thinned significantly this deep in to the woods, leaving nothing for you to track movement through.

Your chest tightened at the thought that this might be all the further you would make it until the sun rose or, at the very least, the rain stopped and the clouds faded. You couldn’t bear the idea of stopping now, not when every moment that passed was another moment that Mando could be in danger. If he had been victorious, if he had taken down the quarry, you were certain that you would have run into him by now. You would have seen or heard him dragging the Weequay’s body out of brush, back toward the Razor Crest.

But you hadn’t. Which meant he was still out here, injured or…worse.

Before you could allow that fear to take hold, however, a muffled curse in a gravely, masculine voice you didn’t recognize echoed through the forest. You startled, spinning immediately in the direction of the sound, and a split second later, you heard the dull thud of flesh hitting flesh followed by the snapping of twigs, the rustle of clothing, and the gasp of a struggling, wounded party.

Maker, you thought, your stomach turning, they’re fighting by hand.

As stealthily as you could manage, you took off in the direction of the noise – ducking through the trees, skirting the underbrush, paying no heed to the way the cuts on the backs of your hands and across your face smarted in the rain. You had begun to shake, you noticed, but whether from adrenaline or cold, you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that Mando was nearby – he was right there – and he was still fighting, which meant he was still alive.

A few moments later, you found yourself on the edge of a small clearing. The trees there were streaming tendrils of smoke as though they had been burning at one point, and you immediately thought of the Mandalorian’s vambrace flame thrower. It looked as though he had made this clearing himself during the fight, the pouring rain since extinguishing the blaze, but it hardly mattered now, for right in the middle of the clearing, locked in combat, were Mando and the quarry.

Time seemed to slow down as you took in the scene before you. Both men were streaked in blood, the latter’s leathery skin mottled with burns and scrapes. The Mandalorian lay prone on the forest floor, face down, one hand wrenched behind his back, the other extended out before him to reach desperately for his blaster, which you could see glinting in the moonlight a few feet away. The quarry crouched on top of him, driving his knee into the other man’s wrist, pining it in place at an odd angle. You could see his profile from where you hid, his hard face twisted in a wicked, bloody grin as he brought his blaster down on the back of Mando’s neck. You thought he might have said something then, some sort of cruel taunt, because Mando began to buck beneath him, trying to throw him off, but the smuggler would not be deterred. And then –

And then you watched in horror as the quarry brought his other hand around the front of the Mandalorian’s neck, hooked his fingers into the bottom of his helmet, and started to yank upward.

He was going to take it off. He was going to take off Mando’s helmet, and then he was going to kill him.

Rage swelled in your chest, more powerful and more violent than anything you had ever known. You didn’t pause to think. Bracing your arms against the nearest tree to steady yourself, you brought your blaster up into position and sank into the stance Mando had drilled into your muscle memory in the middle of the desert on Trevi IV. With nearly numb fingers, you flipped off the safety and lined up your sights with the quarry’s head.

Earlier, as you had helped Mando gun the smuggler out of the sky and questioned your own morality, you honestly could have said that you didn’t wish death on him. You felt guilt for your enjoyment of his destruction, shame for the sense of victory you experienced over his impending crash. But now?

Now you wanted this man’s blood.

Mando’s words echoed in your ears, the ones he had murmured so patiently as you sweated and struggled under the Trevi sun. “Breathe in slowly, exhale, then fire.”

So you did. You inhaled a single, calming breath, exhaled, and at the base of that exhale, you pulled the trigger.

A single bolt exploded from the barrel of your blaster, lighting its path across the clearing in a violent streak of red, and you watched, breathless…as it missed your target.

Instead, your shot tore its way through the yellow-tinted glasses perched on the smuggler’s nose, just in front of his face, millimeters off your mark. The glasses instantly snapped and shattered, the lenses bursting into a thousand razor-sharp shards, and when the quarry’s howls of pain ripped through the silence of the night, you realized that several of those shards had buried themselves in one of his eyes.

The Weequay dropped his grip on Mando’s helmet then, bringing his hand to his face to cradle his ruined eye, which was now pouring blood and viscera down his cheek. It was just enough. Taking advantage of the moment of distraction, Mando threw his weight back against the smuggler’s kneeling form, sending him stumbling back. A wave of relief so powerful it nearly buckled your knees washed over you as the bounty hunter staggered to his feet. He was alive, and his helmet hadn’t moved an inch.

If time had slowed down the moment you entered the clearing, now it seemed to speed back up again as chaos erupted.

So many things happened in quick succession, you knew you would never be able to recall the exact sequence if asked about it later. Mando glancing around wildly for the source of the blaster fire, scanning the edge of the tree line. Feeling the moment his eyes locked with yours, your heart stuttering in your chest as he lurched toward you, something frantic about the way he reached for you, so many feet away. The quarry swiping the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, streaking it across his face, the grotesque remnants of his eye raw and wet in the moonlight. The way he didn’t even try to look at where he was aiming before he raised his blaster, the roar of primal rage that shook the forest as he fired off three shots, three streaks of ice blue throwing the clearing into stark relief.

The shout of your name, panicked and hoarse, a vocoder crackling and warping as it attempted to compensate for the volume.

Bark exploded from the tree closest to you.

Dirt and leaves flew up into the air from the ground at your feet.

You staggered back, your body sensing the impact before you did, and a scream rent its way out of your throat, unbidden.

The quarry’s third round had found its mark.

White-hot agony seared through your right shoulder, the one exposed as you peaked out from behind the tree. It dug deep under your collarbone, it tunneled through your muscles and ligaments, and with a sickening, shattering sensation, it ripped through the other side of your body, bursting through your shoulder blade with terrifying speed.

Your knees gave out then, and the sodden forest floor rushed up to meet you as you crumpled where you stood. Your limbs felt cold and useless, almost numb, and your vision began to gray at the edges as the fire scorching through your veins made it difficult to think, difficult to keep your eyes open, difficult to breathe. But still you had enough awareness left in you to watch as the Mandalorian flew into a rage.

In an instant, he had a vibroblade unsheathed from his boot, flipping it expertly in his grip as he launched himself at the quarry. With a fury-soaked roar, he knocked the smuggler’s blaster from his grip, sending it spinning away to land wetly in a pile of leaves, and began raining blows. The quarry staggered under the onslaught, losing his footing, and Mando sprung at the moment of weakness, bringing his blade down on his opponent in an almost elegant arc.

The blade sliced through the thick, leathery skin of the quarry’s arm, raised at the last moment to block the assault, and blood sprayed as Mando swung again, this time nicking his horned chin. Another swing, and the fabric of the Weequay’s shirt and vest split, leaving behind a gash several inches long spanning the width of his chest.

With heavy-lidded half-consciousness, your breath coming short in your chest, you watched as your Mandalorian systematically broke his opponent down.

Blow after blow, cut after cut, the quarry grew weaker, his defenses came slower, and Mando let it happen. There was something relentless yet…measured in the way he drew it out, never letting up his attacks and yet never dealing the final, fatal blow that would bring the battle to an end. It was like he wanted the smuggler to suffer, to feel as much pain as he could manage before he finally granted him death. It was terrifying, almost sickening to watch, and yet, something hot and undeniable stirred low in your abdomen at the sight.

Mando was going to kill this man, and he was going to do it for you.

Before long, the quarry collapsed to the ground, sunk to his knees with his back to the bounty hunter, dripping blood from so many wounds it would be nearly impossible to count them all. Wrapping one gloved hand around his thorny jaw, Mando yanked the other man’s head back sharply, forcing him to look him in the eye as he brought the vibroblade up to his neck.

Keeping the knife close, mere inches from the Weequay’s jugular, the Mandalorian leveled him with a stare that you swore you could feel the weight of even from where you lay. His voice low and steeped with venom, he growled, “Ni Ru'lis ganar ru'duumir gar at oyacyir. Ni Ru'lis ganar hibiir gar oyayc. A jii?” He allowed the knife to graze the quarry’s vulnerable neck then, and the man let out a groan of pain as blood bloomed beneath its edge.

“Jii, gar Kelir ash'amur de ner gaan, ge’hutuun.  Vaabir gar ganar mayen at sirbur? Nayc?” It sounded like a taunt, Mando’s tone twisting darkly through is helmet modulator, and you felt a bit dizzy. “Jate.”

And without another word, Mando drew his blade across the quarry’s throat.

Nausea rolled over you like a wave, drowning out your arousal, and you tore your gaze away as the smuggler’s body went limp and slumped onto the forest floor. It was over. Thank the Maker. It was over.

___

Before Kevok Teklolq’s corpse even hit the ground, Din had already sheathed his bloody blade and darted to the edge of the clearing where you lay. “Cyare,” he whispered, crouching at your side, taking your cold, pallid face in his hands. His heart stuttered in his chest when you offered him a weak, glossy-eyed smile in return, bringing a shaking hand up to grip his wrist, to hold him back.

He took in the thin scratches across your exposed skin, the way the rain had turned the scarf around your head transparent, the way it had matted your long, braided hair to your neck. The blaster wound in your shoulder had torn through your jacket, leaving a bloody hole that started just under your collarbone and passed clean through your shoulder. Fear and rage threatened to choke him at the sight of your blood spilling onto the slick leaves beneath you. It was one of his greatest fears realized, laid out in front of him, and he felt sick at the thought of what might have happened had the quarry’s shot been even a handful of inches closer to its target.

“I told you to stay on the ship!” he hissed. Tearing the scarf from your head, he brought it down to your wound and pressed down hard with the heel of his palm in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

You groaned, your eyes fluttering shut, gritting your teeth against the pain. “Saw the – the blaster fire stop. I thought that – ”

“I don’t care what you thought!” Running the tip of his thumb across a particularly nasty scratch on your cheekbone, Din tightened his grip on your face. Not too hard, stars, he would never hurt you, but hard enough for your eyes to shoot open, for that bit of fogginess to lift as you met his gaze. “I had it handled – ”

You let out a breathless, mirthless laugh, cutting him off. “Really? You sure?” you snapped, and the Mandalorian felt something rise in him at the way your eyes sparked in the darkness, the way you were ready to go toe-to-toe with him even now, even as you bled onto the forest floor.

The wave of self-righteousness only lasted for a moment, however. All of the energy leaking from you, you sagged against his grip and sighed, “He was going to take off your helmet. I couldn’t – couldn’t let him do that to you.”

Din clenched his jaw, feeling his anger cool at your words. “I told you to keep yourself safe.” His voice was thick with emotion even through his vocoder, though all of the venom had dissolved, leaving only pain in its place.

You shook your head, one corner your plush lips tilting up in a wry smile. “This is the Way. Right, Mando?”

The bounty hunter swore he felt his chest split open at that. His heart had crawled out of his ribcage and laid itself upon your breast, a raw, pathetic, vulnerable thing, wholly yours, begging you to take pity upon it. “Sweet girl…” Lowering himself over your prone form, he rested his helmet against your forehead as he had back in the Crest, not trusting himself to speak further.

But there was only so long you could spend in the pouring rain, bleeding in the dark. After allowing himself that moment of respite, Din pulled back and offered you a hand. “Come on, we need to get a bacta patch on that wound before you lose any more blood. Can you stand?”

You shifted beneath him, as though trying to assess the strength of your limbs, whether you would be able to push through the pain. After a beat, you nodded and gripped his hand. “Yeah, think so.”

Din pulled you to your feet, and you swayed dangerously, your breath hitching in your chest as your hand flew up to clutch your now-bloodied scarf to your blaster wound. He immediately snaked his arm around your upper back, bracing your body against his and tucking his hand under your arm to support your weight. His own injuries protested, but he had fought through far worse pain. The ache of his joints, the overextended muscles of his shoulder, the minor scrapes were nothing. Tightening his grip on your ribcage, he urged you back the way you had come – back toward the Razor Crest.

“Wait, what about the quarry? Don’t we have to – ” you protested, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Teklolq’s body.

The bounty hunter shook his head once. “I’ll come back for the body in the morning. He’ll keep ‘til then.”

You glanced up at him, your eyebrows quirked in uncertainty. “You’re sure? I don’t want to – ”A shiver wracked your body, and you pressed yourself closer to him, molding yourself to his side. “ – to keep you from finishing your hunt.”

“The hunt is over, cyare. It was over the second that shabuir pointed a weapon at you.” He nudged you forward again, shouldering as much of your weight as you would allow him. “Now come, let’s get you warmed up. I can feel you trembling.”

“I’m not c-cold,” you retorted. Another shiver coursed through you, and Din almost chuckled at the frown that bloomed across your face.

Instead, he muttered “stubborn thing” under his breath and spread his fingers across your ribs, noting the way your muscles jumped then relaxed under his touch. You were going to be the death of him. He was certain of it.

___

Grogu met the two of you at the door.

When Mando punched in the access code on his vambrace to let down the rear ramp, the little boy could be seen hovering just on the other side, his tiny body silhouetted by the warm, dim light of the Razor Crest’s cargo hold. You wished he would have listened to your request to stay inside the bunk, but you supposed you should consider yourself lucky that he had used the Force only to open the bunk rather than the whole ship.

His little cries of distress reached you even from the base of the ramp, and by the time you and Mando stumbled into the ship, he had worked himself up into a frenzy. He reached his little arms as far up as they would go, his hands grasping at you, begging to be let up, to be allowed to see you. Even through the fog of pain, your heart ached at the sight, and you started to bend down to pick him up. However, before you could so much as extend an arm to him, Mando brought you up short.

Without any sign of strain or struggle, the bounty hunter shifted you out from under his arm, wrapped both of his hands around your waist, and swiftly boosted you into the air. You yelped in surprise, your free hand flying out to steady yourself on one of his pauldrons, but there was no need. You were perfectly secure in his hands, and you were only airborne for a moment. The next thing you knew, he had gently plunked you down onto one of the gray cargo bins, sitting you so far back that your feet dangled a few inches above the deck.

“Mando, wha – ?” You simply sat there for a moment, dumbfounded and completely disoriented. He had plucked you up and thrown you onto this perch like a ragdoll, like you weighed nothing, and you felt a drop behind your navel at the thought. The man in question, however, seemed to have no interest in explaining himself. He had already walked away, leaving you to gape at the back of his helmet.

Your confusion (and your excitement) was almost enough to distract you from the shooting pains emanating from your blaster wound. Almost enough to drown out the increased pitch of Grogu’s whining.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you managed to say after a beat, pressing your ruined scarf into your shoulder with shaking fingers. “I’ll be fine, Mando’s going to get me all patched up. Right, Mando?”

It was then you realized that the Mandalorian was already digging through the medical supply bin, sorting through it with single-minded focus. You felt a small smile soften your expression.

Patting the cold, plastic surface of the storage bin next to you, you beckoned, “Come on up, Grogu – you can come sit with me while we wait, huh?”

That seemed to be all the invitation the boy needed. Jumping with unnatural force, he launched himself up and into your lap with a squeal. You were quick to wrap your free arm around his back to steady him, but he hardly seemed to notice. Almost immediately, he began to scrabble at the hand that covered your wound, digging his claws into your jacket sleeve and yanking your body toward him with surprising force.

“Oh, you want to see?” You pulled your hand away from where you still bled, sitting your scarf aside, allowing his wide, dark eyes to flicker over the site of the blaster impact. “I know it looks bad, but – ”

Your words got caught in your throat as Grogu laid his tiny palm over the hole, a look of intense concentration on his face. However, as you stared at him, mouth agape, he seemed to hesitate, and you watched as he drew back slightly and looked over at Mando, cooing questioningly in his direction.

“What’s up, kiddo?” you asked, glancing back and forth between the boy and the bounty hunter.

Mando gestured toward Grogu’s hand on your blaster wound, affection coloring his voice as he replied, “He wants to heal you. He’s asking if that’s all right.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. “Heal me?” you echoed. “He – he can do that?”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Yes. I’ve seen it. He doesn’t normally ask, though. He just…does it.”

Oh. A rush of fondness swelled in you, tears stinging your eyes, and you looked back down to the boy in your lap. “Are you sure?” you asked him. “I don’t want to tire you out too much. I can just use a bacta patch, it would be okay.”

Grogu clearly shook his head no, letting loose a stream of babbles and coos that lilted up at the end, as though he was pleading with you, and you felt a part of you melt at the earnestness of his expression. He wanted to do this for you.  How could you refuse him when he looked at you like that?

“Okay, okay,” you agreed. “Go ahead.”

Offering you a tiny, toothy smile, that look of concentration settled back over the boy’s face once more, and he pressed his palm firmly into the wet, weeping wound under your collarbone. A sharp pain lanced through you at the contact, stealing the breath from your lungs, but thankfully, it didn’t last long. Before you could so much as utter a whimper, a soft, warm glow seemed to suffuse your body, rolling through you in waves that originated from that palm on your shoulder.

That glow chased away the pain first, replacing it with a comforting wash of heat that soothed your raw nerves and eased your aching joints. Then, it began to mend you. You could feel the fibers of the muscles and ligaments in your shoulder stretching toward each other, fusing, knitting themselves back together from the inside out. You felt bone hardening along your back, locking into place, filling the hole left in your shoulder blade by the blaster bolt. You felt new, fresh skin grow across both the entry and exit wounds, pulling taut then relaxing as it settled into place, and finally, in a move that had you reaching out to steady yourself against the nearest bulkhead, this glowing Force seemed to instantaneously replenish the blood you had lost, making you immediately dizzy with a headrush the likes of which you had never experienced, even when pulling negative G’s behind the helm of a starship.

You wobbled on your perch, your grip on Grogu’s robes slipping, and for a moment, you thought you might pass out. Or drop him. Or both. But thankfully, before either of those things could happen, Mando was back at your side, scooping the suddenly sagging Grogu into the crook of one arm while steadying you with the other.

“Easy, you two,” he soothed, cradling the nape of your neck in his palm, bringing your forehead to rest against his breastplate as you came back to yourself. “You all right?”

“Yeah,” you sighed. The scent of him was overwhelming up close – rich soil and rainwater and blaster fire from the forest, all underscored by that warm spice you would forever associate with his skin. “Dizzy there for a second. ‘M better now.”

You heard him sigh faintly through the vocoder. “Good. Your shoulder?”

Easing yourself upright, you rolled your shoulders back and extended your neck to its full length. You rotated the injured shoulder cautiously, then lifted your arm, testing your range of motion. When that was successful, you braced your hands on your knees and arched your back forward, feeling the muscles between your shoulder blades compress, then curved it back, feeling them lengthen.

It all felt…tender. Well-used. As though you had been lifting heavy machinery all day and had only barely managed not to injure yourself. But that sharp, fiery pain was gone, and you felt more whole than you had since the moment you stepped foot in that forest.

“Shoulder’s good as new,” you reported, relief washing over you at the truth of that statement. You were okay, thanks to the little boy currently fighting sleep in the crook of the Mandalorian’s elbow. Offering him a soft smile, you scooted yourself to the edge of the cargo bin, extending your hands out in front of you as though to take him. “He’s about to pass out. I’ll go put him down for the night – ”

“Don’t you move,” Mando replied, pulling Grogu out of your reach.

You frowned at that and looked up into his ink-black visor with confusion. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. I’m the one that dragged him out of bed earlier.”

Something low and grumbly rumbled in the bounty hunter’s chest, and you drew back, startled. “Sit. Down. You rest,” he commanded, his voice gruff and almost…angry? “I’ll take care of the kid.”

“Fine. Knock yourself out,” you said almost petulantly. To your annoyance, he did not rise to the bait. Instead, he tucked Grogu’s drowsy body against his chest and grabbed onto the ladder, as though to take him up to the second level.

“Wait – hang on, his hammock…” you started, now completely baffled.

But Mando simply said, “Not tonight.” And in the next instant, he disappeared up the ladder with the boy in tow.

You sat in silence for the handful of seconds it took him to drop Grogu off in the cockpit. You thought perhaps you heard him murmur something to the kid in that warm, lilting tone that told you he was speaking Mando’a, but before you could come to any sort of conclusion as to his strange behavior, the bounty hunter was back, dropping into the cargo hold with a metallic thunk, leaving the rungs of the ladder untouched.

His feet had barely hit the floor before you started speaking.

“Why can’t Grogu sleep in his hammock?” you demanded, confusion and annoyance coloring your tone as you crossed your arms over your chest. “You know how much better he sleeps there than in the cockpit.”

“We need to talk.” Mando closed the space between you in two long strides, his gaze intense and direct even through his helmet. It made you uneasy, and it set your heart beating heavily against your ribcage.

“O-okay.”

Coming to stand directly in front of you, his thigh armor pressing against the edge of the cargo bin between your legs, he rasped, “Take off your jacket.” His tone left no room for argument, and you felt blood rush to your face.

“What?” You sounded breathless even to your own ears.

“Your jacket. Take it off,” he repeated. He kept his hands close to his body, his fingers gripped snuggly around his utility belt as though he was holding himself back, stopping himself from reaching out and removing the offending garment for you. “I want to see your wound.”

You swallowed thickly at that, hesitating for only a moment before obeying.

Keeping your eyes locked on his T-shaped visor, you shrugged the wet, blood-stained thing off your shoulders and allowed it to crumple on the cargo bin behind you. Goosebumps rose on your newly exposed skin, breaking out across your chest, down your arms. Your undershirt was thin and plastered to your form with rainwater, leaving little to the imagination, and out of the corner of your eye, you could see the shine of smooth, new flesh catching the light where the blaster’s entry wound had once been.

Mando released a heavy, audible breath at the sight, the sound crackling through his helmet, and you swore you could see the moment he lost the battle with himself about whether or not to touch you. Something in his posture seemed to break, and then his hands were on you, cupping the ball of your shoulder with one, running the very tips of his gloved fingers over your new scar with the other.

A shiver wracked your body at the touch, so delicate and tentative, and the Mandalorian hissed, “Cyar’ika… He shot you.” He sounded like he was in pain, like the words were being dragged from his chest at great agony to him. “You got shot…for me. To protect my Creed.”

Your lower lip wobbled at that, everything within you softening at the anguish in his voice. “Yes,” you replied, your voice just as soft, just as weak. “And you killed him for it.”

Mando’s grip on your shoulder tightened, forcing your back to arch, pulling your chest closer to his. “For you,” he growled. His pain had morphed into something fierce, something vicious, and you felt your body respond instantly, your heartrate spiking, your core clenching around nothing.

With a nod and a forceful swallow, you echoed, “For me.”

The pad of his thumb swiped over that round patch of thin, silky skin once more, this time with a bit more force, and the sensation dragged another shiver out of you. Stars, it was so sensitive, like the nerve endings hadn’t yet remembered how to function properly after being reconstructed.

“You can’t do that again. You have to…” Unmistakable desperation colored the Mandalorian’s tone, his chin tucked down toward his chest, shaking his head as he appeared to wrestle with himself. “You have to listen to what I tell you. I… I can’t – ”

“Mando…”

“Din.” He looked up into your eyes once again, his beskar-covered face so close to yours, you could see condensation from your breath forming on his helmet’s surface. “Din Djarin.”

The words, brand new to your ears, hung in the charged air between you for a moment as you processed what you had just heard. Din Djarin. It couldn’t be…

“…your name?” you whispered, overwhelmed with awe, with the gravity of what he had just revealed.

“Yes.” The brushed a damp strand of hair out of your face with a tenderness that nearly brought tears to your eyes. “I’d like to hear you say it.”

You drew your lower lip between your teeth, and although it was subtle, you didn’t miss the way his head tilted as though following the motion.

“Din.”

The bounty hunter let out a weighted breath, and you wondered whether his eyes had drifted shut behind his visor, whether his cheeks had darkened with a flush.

“Din, you know I can’t promise you that,” you continued, and in an instant, all of the softness that had come over him in the last few moments vanished completely, leaving something rigid and indignant in its place.

“The deal – ”

“I know what the deal was,” you were quick to retort. You didn’t allow him to back away from you, bringing your hands up to dig your fingers into the edge of his breastplate, keep him close. “You catch the bounties. I protect the kid. I fix the ship. I stay. Behind. Every time you leave, every time you put your life at risk, I stay. And I wait.”

You clenched your jaw, feeling emotion start to rise in your throat in a way that threatened to choke you. “I get it, okay? I’m not like you. I’m not a warrior. I know that. But you…” Tears stung the backs of your eyes, and you felt your chin begin to tremble. “You have to know, don’t you?” Slowly, cautiously, you allowed one of your hands to slip from his chest up to his helmet, cupping his cheek through the beskar, cool against your palm. “You have to know. For you, I would be.”

The Mandalorian shuddered against you, and you watched as he leaned his cheek heavily into your touch like a Loth-cat seeking affection. His hands traveled from your shoulder to your neck, cupping the bowl of your skull in his long, thick fingers, running his thumb along your fluttering pulse point like a man possessed.

His voice vibrated through you, resonating through his helmet and against your palm as he said, “If anyone ever hurts you again… I would tear the galaxy apart, cyare.”

“Then protect me,” you sighed, frustrated and aroused in equal measure. “But you have to let me protect you sometimes, too.”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me.”

His quick response startled an irreverent laugh out of you. “Well, tough bantha shit.”

With a tentative smile, you pulled one of his gloved hands from your neck and cradled it in both of your own. You could feel him shake under your touch as you ran your fingers over the seams of the leather, caressed the hollow of his palm, and your smile grew.

“I know you like to pretend like you’re untouchable under all this armor, but you’re forgetting – I’ve seen the flesh and blood underneath it. And I don’t need to see your face to know that you’re just a person like the rest of us. We have to take care of each other.” Your lips curling into something impish, something provocative, you brought his hand to your mouth, dropping a soft kiss on the ridge of his knuckles. “Din Djarin.”

Din released an agonized groan, guttural and raw, as though the touch of your lips through the leather had hurt him, and your smirk dissolved.  

“Would you…” he began, pausing to clear his throat. “Would you let me show you?”

You trembled at that, and as though in a trance, you kissed his hand again, this time allowing your lips to linger, ghosting your breath across the well-worn leather surface. “Show me what?”

“How I would take care of you.” The cool beskar of his helmet met your forehead. His free hand cupped your jaw. The pad of his thumb caught on your full lower lip, holding it for a moment, dragging it down, releasing it, watching it bounce back. “I would take such good care of you, cyare. Will you let me?”

Heat bloomed in your face, burned in your belly. Your core throbbed, your racing heartbeat making itself known in both your chest and your cunt, and you felt a whimper escape your throat. “Yes,” you panted. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No one had ever spoken to you like that. “Please.”

Din growled low in his chest, the sound warped and menacing coming from the modulator, but you swore it only made you wetter. “Thank you,” he groaned. “Now open your pretty mouth.”

With heavy-lidded eyes, you obeyed, lips dropping open, tongue poking out only slightly, and you heard the bounty hunter curse at the sight before he released his grip on your jaw and quickly shucked his gloves. You couldn’t hold back your gasp at the image of his bare hands – broad, tanned, and masculine, exposed to you now for the first time. Did he have a tattoo on one of them? Fuck, he did – a tiny, black bullseye on the thick stretch of skin between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. What other surprises did he have hidden under that armor?

You wanted to examine the little mark further, but then Din slid two fingers into your open mouth with a hiss, and you forgot all about it.

You might have preferred to kiss him, you thought, but kriff, if this wasn’t a good alternative. Releasing an involuntary moan, you sealed your lips around the intrusion, sucking on his fingers, drawing them deeper as saliva swelled on your tongue. His skin was warm and calloused, tasting of salt and blaster residue and man. And it was him – finally him, the first bit of his person you had seen in months, since the day you cauterized his wounds and tried desperately not to stare. That knowledge alone was enough to have you squirming in your seat, clenching your thighs together in search of friction.

“Shab, that’s it, sweet girl,” Din grunted. His chest heaved, his breath loud through his helmet, and you felt your eyes flutter at the sound. “Get my fingers nice and wet, and then you can tell me where you want me to touch you.”

A whine worked its way out of your throat, and you felt the Mandalorian’s other hand cup the side of your face in response.

Threading his fingers into the hair behind your ear, he tugged firmly, sending a jolt of sensation straight to your clit as your head tilted back under his hold. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, cyar’ika? You like it when I touch you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He withdrew his digits from your mouth, dragging saliva over your lower lip, making you shiver. “Now where do you want me?”

“Maker, please – ” You were so dizzy you could hardly string two words together, let alone answer him. You squirmed in his grip, wiggling your hips, inching them closer to the edge of the cargo bin where you sat. He had to know what you wanted, what you needed. Making you say it was –

“Be specific, mesh’la. I can’t give you what you want if you won’t tell me.” You swore you could hear laughter in his voice – breathless and strained, but amused, entertained by your struggle.

“Kriffing hells,” you groaned, mortification and longing warring in your breast. You couldn’t say it. You couldn’t. You’d sooner melt away and disappear through the deck plating. But you also couldn’t be held responsible for what you did if this man didn’t fucking touch you in the next four seconds.

So you said nothing and instead brought your hands to the waistband of your pants.

It took you about two seconds to tear open the button and yank down the zipper. Another second to wrap your fingers around his wrist and drag his hand down your body. One more to direct his wet fingertips through the opening in your pants and under the band of your underwear, and then –

All of the air left your lungs in one dramatic rush, and a sob ripped its way out of your chest. “Fuck, Din.”

The Mandalorian choked on a moan as his fingers skirted over your damp curls, feeling the wetness that had already blossomed there. With an eager push, he slipped them between your folds, skimming over your swollen, aching clit, seeking your entrance. Your hips arched involuntarily against his touch, and you felt the fingers in your hair flex with urgency.

“Hmmm,” he growled, pleased, like a nexu luxuriating in a sunbeam. His helmet pressed more firmly into your forehead, almost to the point of pain. “You’re so wet for me already.”

You nodded frantically, thrusting your hips into his fingers, needing that touch on your clit, inside you, gods, anywhere. Everywhere.

“I know, mesh’la, I know,” Din crooned, something a little mean, a little provoking creeping into his voice in a way that made your ears burn. “Pretty pussy just needs a little attention, hm? S’okay. I’m gonna give her what she needs.”

The tip of his middle finger circled the swollen nub of your clit gently, so gently, and you sagged back against the hand in your hair, leaning your full weight into his grip, completely boneless at the sensation. It was perfect, he was perfect, his calloused touch tender yet insistent, unrelenting, and you could feel your wetness leaking into your panties, soaking the fabric.

He sped up then, and you cried out, your own hands flying up to grip onto his shoulders, to tangle in the fabric of his cape. Gods, he really was all covered up still. And so were you, for that matter, and yet even now, even fully clothed, this already far surpassed any other experience you had ever had with another person. There was no coming back from this. He was going to ruin you for anyone else, you could already tell.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, bringing his helmet to your shoulder, tucking it against your neck, seemingly desperate to be as close to you as he could manage. “Does this feel good?”

You nodded with a whine and buried your face in his shoulder. “Yes – fuck, yes, it’s so good. B-But…” A shudder wracking your frame, you trailed off, leaving your words hanging in the damp air between you.

“But?” Din echoed, coaxing, rasping through the modulator. “You need more? You need my fingers inside you?”

“Mm hm, yesyesyes, inside me, please, Din.” You canted your hips upward, directing his touch down to the place that clenched and fluttered for him, that had been begging for something to bear down on since the moment he first put his hands on you.

Immediately he obliged, sinking his middle finger into your grasping entrance, and you clenched your jaw against the moan that formed in your throat at way your walls seized around him.

“Shab, you’re so kriffing tight.” The bounty hunter seemed to take a stabilizing breath, his shoulders rising and falling as he tried frantically to calm himself. “I need you to relax. Just relax for me, cyar’ika, let me stretch you open.”

You breathed deep from your diaphragm, like you had during target practice, like you had in the forest, and you felt that clenching give way on the exhale. Your deepest muscles pulsed and quivered at his command, easing the way for him to draw his finger back out of you, to thrust back in. You sobbed into his neck, and Din cursed into yours.

You were dripping now, slick, sticky wetness gathering in his palm, slipping down his fingers.

“Can you handle another, cyar’ika?” he asked after giving you a moment to get used to the intrusion. You nodded wordlessly, shoving your face harder into the cushion of his shoulder, and he let out a breathless chuckle. “That’s what I thought. I know you can.”

On his next thrust, his ring finger joined the middle, and you keened at the stretch – hot, tight, and so fucking good. His fingers were so much thicker than yours, so much longer. It drove all other thoughts, all other sensations from your mind, and your stomach quaked at the thought of what his cock might do to you if this was how you reacted to only his fingers.

You desperately wanted to find out, but for now, his fingers were more than enough. His thrusts had picked up speed – in and out, in and out, hypnotic, relentless, fucking you with singular focus – and your thighs had started to shake. He was going to make you come with or without his cock, and it was going to be overwhelming.

The pleasure built and built, spreading under your skin, skating down your nerves, and just when you thought it might be plateauing, just when you started to whine and circle your hips, begging for more, Din changed the angle, crooking his fingers ever so slightly inside you, hitting something devastating and deep, something only one other lover had ever found, something you couldn’t quite reach yourself. You yelped, loud and almost startled, and then he hit it again, and you felt tears gathering under your clenched eyelids.

When the base of his palm came to grind against your clit, those tears spilled down your cheeks, and you started to babble nonsense.

“Hmm, there she is,” Din groaned. “That’s what this pussy needed. Just relax and take it for me, cyar’ika.”

Fuck, the way he talked was enough to bring you right to the brink. That was entirely new for you, and you never would have guessed it of him, this warrior clad in beskar and stoicism, this man of so few words. He must have needed this as badly as you did, you realized, like once he opened his mouth, he couldn’t reign himself back in. How long had it been since he had let himself go like this? How long had he been suppressing this side of himself?

It was maddening. And still, he kept fucking you.

“Din,” you panted, crying, drooling into the fabric of his cape. “Din, I can’t – ”

“You’re almost there, aren’t you?” He sounded like he wanted to be smug about it, but instead he just sounded desperate, like he was hanging there with you, about to fall over the edge.

“Yes,” you whimpered.

Something raw and animalistic rumbled in his chest. You could feel it vibrate under your cheek. “I want to feel it. I want to feel you squeeze my fingers when you come. Can you do that for me?”

You nodded, more tears leaking from behind your eyelids, and you startled as he wrapped his free hand around your braid and pulled you away from his shoulder, fixed you with his burning gaze through is visor.

He wanted to see you, you realized. He wanted to watch your face when he brought you to your peak.

“Then do it,” he growled. “Show me how good it feels. Show me how you come.”

So you did.

It crashed over you all at once, overwhelming and unstoppable like a tidal wave, ravaging your body and pulling you under. You felt yourself gush into his palm, soaking his skin, and fire seared through your rigid muscles. You were thoughtless, mindless – simply a passenger as the walls of your reality blew apart and flung you into the darkness.

Din’s voice sounded so far away as you shook and whimpered, your eyes fluttering shut, rolling back in your head.  “Jate…jate. Good girl. That’s it – kriff, you feel so good. So good for me,” he murmured, talking you through it, prolonging the delicious torment. “I know you have more, don’t stop – ”

Your thighs shook uncontrollably as you started to come down. Had you been more in control of your own faculties, you might have found that embarrassing, but as it was, you barely had the capacity to ease the death-grip you had taken on Din’s shoulders. You felt boneless, like your body had turned to gelatin, and you swayed against his hold on your head like a ragdoll, ready to slump back against the cargo bin and drift off.

“Easy, easy,” the Mandalorian coaxed. His voice was hoarse, as though he had been the one crying out helplessly, straining his vocal chords. With gentle hands, he gathered your limp body against his chest, dragging your own wetness over your bare arms as he did so. The sensation made you blush, which in turn made you feel a bit ridiculous. As if he hadn’t just had those fingers so deep inside you that you had forgotten your own name.

“All right, gotabor’ika?” he asked after a beat, you let out a weak chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m all right,” you replied. You shut your eyes and snuggled up to his breastplate. The cool metal had gone body-warm under your touch, and it was almost comforting. “You?”

A laugh rasped through his vocoder. “I will be,” he said, shifting his weight, and for the first time, you noticed that the impossible hardness pressing against the inside of your thigh was not, in fact, one of his armor pieces.

Fuck. You had been right to be worried earlier. The man felt…big.  

Suddenly, you weren’t so tired anymore

“Remember what I said?” you said, tilting your head back to meet his gaze. “That we’d take care of each other?”

You felt a shiver pass through him as you shifted on the cargo bin, dragging the softness of your inner thigh against the press of his cock. “…yes, cyare.”

“Well, then.” Mustering your energy, you slipped down from your perch and onto your feet, the whole length of your body now pressed against his, and with a mischievous smile, you gathered his hands in yours and began backing away toward the ‘fresher. “Come on. It’s my turn.”

___

Mando'a Translations:

Ni Ru'lis ganar ru'duumir gar at oyacyir. Ni Ru'lis ganar hibiir gar oyayc. A jii? Jii, gar Kelir ash'amur de ner gaan, ge’hutuun. Vaabir gar ganar mayen at sirbur? Nayc? Jate. - I could have allowed you to live. I could have taken you in alive. But now? Now, you will die by my hand, coward. Do you have anything to say? No? Good. cyare - beloved shabuir - motherfucker cyar'ika - darling, sweetheart shab - fuck mesh'la - beautiful jate - good

[phoenixyfriend]

Rex and Anakin Raise a Family 8

Chapter 8: Custody Visitation

The kids have a cousin, now.

Rex brings the twins to Anakin, and makes Mereel and Jango wait on the couch while they get the babies to stop squalling. They are upset, screaming, and red in the face. Rex doesn’t care what the Mandalorians want. The kids come first.

He hands Anakin a blanket to cover up while feeding. Anakin rarely minds people seeing him nurse the twins, but something in Rex hates the idea of Mereel and Jango seeing it.

“So,” Rex says. He keeps his eyes on Mereel, and doesn’t look at Jango. Shmi is pressed into Rex’s side and trembling. “What brings you here?”

“I think you know,” Mereel says. “You look rather a lot like—”

“Let me rephrase,” Rex interrupts, because he has no mind for being polite right now, “how did you know where we were, or that we even exist?”

Jango is fidgeting, but Rex can’t see details from his peripherals.

Mereel is stupidly calm, and Rex is jealous. “We heard rumors of someone wandering around in armor that had blue, black, and grey in enough of a quantity that we had someone come by to find out if there was Kyr’tsad in the area, see if maybe we’d stumbled across a new base. They found out you were here, heard you had kids and no interest in bounties or getting involved in any kind of politics or law, and then saw your face and realized… well. You look a lot like Jango’s father. We thought maybe an uncle, or something. Jango says he doesn’t know enough about his grandfather to know if there was any chance of his father having siblings he’s never met.”

It's the sensible assumption. Wrong, but the truth isn’t going to be anyone’s first thought.

“I don’t want to get pulled into your war with Death Watch,” Rex says. “I’m not putting my kids at risk for you.”

“You’re Mandalorian!” Jango bursts out. “So that means—”

“I’m not,” Rex says. He waits for a second to see if either of the people across from him will object, but they don’t. Jango is frozen, and Mereel is… patient.  Rex doesn’t like him. “My biological parent was a Mandalorian, but he never gave me or my brothers the grace of acknowledging us as his children, and the training we received may have been Mandalorian in culture, but we only got to learn the fighting and some of the language, but never to fluency, and never anything that wasn’t useful in battle. Even my armor is plastoid.”

“Brothers?” Mereel prompts.

“All dead,” Rex says. He ignores the wounded sound from Jango, like a little bubble of hope just got dashed.

Mereel makes a low hum of a noise, and says, “there are ways to become Mandalorian.”

“I’m not swearing the Resol’nare,” Rex carefully does not snap. “I am not swearing myself to you. Like I said, my own kids come first.”

The hand on Jango’s shoulder may well be the only thing keeping him from jumping up to pick a fight. Mereel is still so damnably calm. “I understand. That said, can we discuss some possibilities for having you in Jango’s life, as the only remaining blood relative?”

Rex purses his lips, and looks to Anakin. The twins, he thinks, are finished, and Shmi doesn’t feel as tense or scared as she did earlier.

“I’d prefer to have this conversation without the kids in the room,” Rex decides. Anakin twitches next to him. “Shmi, do you mind taking the twins to your room? If you’re okay with it, Jango could go with you and… I don’t know. Help you with one of your books? He’s a bit older than you, so he should know how to read.”

Jango looks offended. “I learned how to read years ago!”

I don’t care, Rex thinks. “Then you should be able to help her, yeah?”

Shmi leans away from Rex’s side to look at him, and then Anakin, and then back to Rex. There’s something calculating in her eye, but she nods. “Okay.”

She gets up, and grabs the hoverpram, and Anakin… well, he puts the babies down, which is more than Rex expected of him, honestly. He kind of expected a fight.

The kids leave. Anakin stays tense, and far away, and Rex listens for the closing of the door.

“So,” Mereel starts.

(Continue on AO3)

[gabrielislovegabrielislife]

Saving Ragnar

Paz Vizsla x reader

Mandalorian S3 E4 SPOILERS!

no beta read, we die like the younglings

1566 words, angst with a happy ending, no y/n

Literally just self-indulgence.

“Mom, are you sure I’m ready to start sparring with the others?”

“Of course you are sweetheart. Why wouldn’t you be?” I respond, brushing some dust off of his brand-new helmet.

“Well… I’m… I haven’t been with the covert as long as the other kids. What if I haven’t trained enough. What if I embarrass you and dad. What if–” I hold up a hand to stop him and pull him into a hug.

“Ragnar, you could never embarrass us. We love you very much and know you have trained more than enough. But failing in a sparring match will teach you things that you will not learn otherwise.” I take his hands and crouch so we are eye to eye, well… visor to visor, “remember what we have taught you and trust yourself.”

“I’ll try.” he sighs. I shake my head.

“Don’t try. Do.” I say softly.

“She’s right.” I hear from the entryway of our little home alcove. I see my husband leaning against the wall. He walks towards us and crouches next to me, putting a hand on Ragnar’s shoulder, “We are so proud of you, and no matter what happens today, we know you will learn from today.”

Ragnar takes a deep breath and nods.

“Come, the others have already begun training,” Paz says, standing up and patting our son on the shoulder. This seems to get the young boy excited, he practically runs out of the alcove.

“He will be fine cyare,” Paz says, putting an arm around my shoulders.

“I know that, but does he?” I sigh.

“Let’s go find out.”

….

A few minutes later, Ragnar has begun his first-ever sparring match.

It begins quite mildly, with a little bit of a scuffle as both children try to gain the upper hand, but Ragnar comes out on top, throwing his opponent in the sand.

Once declared the winner, he looks over to us, watching from a distance. I clang my vambraces together in excitement.  He nods and brings his focus back to the judge. It is then that I notice Din’s little one standing across from Ragnar as if to challenge.

“Is he putting his baby into a match?” Paz asks no one in particular.

“He knows his child best,” I respond, continuing to watch as Din convinces the judge it will be ok.

Ragnar chooses to fight with darts to which Paz remarks, “good choice.”

While waiting for the training darts, Ragnar begins speaking to Din, asking why the child does not wear a helmet, then saying he is too young to fight. Din reminds him of part of the Creed, sounding a little bit passive-aggressive, but whatever, that's just Din.

I sigh when Ragnar speaks, “Well, I know.”

“Well, we know what he will learn today then,” Paz states, a smile in his voice at his son’s sass.

After a moment of Din teaching Grogu how to fire the darts, the match begins.

The first two points go to Ragnar, quite easily, seeing as Grogu looked like he did not know what to do.

After another brief talk from Djarin, the next round begins.

Ragnar fires his dart the same as before, but this time, the small child jumps out of the way and completely over him, then back to his original position, firing all three darts and winning the challenge.

Ragnar looks around, confused, before looking back at us. I nod to him as Paz says, “One doesn’t speak unless one knows.”

Ragnar visibly sighs before walking toward an empty part of the beach to calm down.

“A valuable lesson has been learned today,” the Armorer speaks up, “go make sure he remembers it.”

We both nod and begin walking toward our son, but the flying beast comes flying over the mountain.

My heart stops, this creature has been picking us off for weeks, and it is flying directly toward the easiest target.

My son.

I'm not even sure I'm breathing as I take to the sky, willing my jetpack to go faster and faster, but it is still not enough. The beast is getting further and further ahead, Ragnar still flailing in its talons.

My pack begins to run out of fuel and I feel tears streaming under my helmet. I whisper, “please…no.”

I am forced to land, Paz and Din not far behind.

Even though I can't fly, I can still run, so I do. I don't even think as I hurdle over rocks and bushes, ignoring the burning in my legs and lungs.

I don’t notice my husband and friend running behind me to stop me until they each grab one of my arms.

“No! We have to get him! I can’t lose him!” I scream, fighting to get out of their hold.

“We can’t get him like this, we need to regroup. Look,” Din points, “Bo-katan is following the beast to its nest. When she comes back we will know exactly where it is.” he reasons.

I take a deep breath, following the ship with my eyes.

….

When Bo-katan vets back to the covert she immediately proposes a plan to save the boy.

We leave the covert within the hour and land where we have to start walking.

The sun is setting by the time we reach the peak holding the nest.

We make camp for the night. I help prepare the food, thankful for something to keep my mind off of my son, who will have to spend the night alone and scared in the lair of the beast.

Din explains how meals work in groups like this as the food is distributed.

Bo stands up to find somewhere to eat, but Paz stops her. “You are the leader of the war party. You have the honor of staying by the fire. This is the Way.” he says, taking my hand so we can find a place to eat together.

We eat in silence, having nothing to say in this solemn environment.

Fifteen minutes later, our helmets are back on, and we are back with the group, settling down for the night.

Sleeping on the ground next to my husband is not an unfamiliar experience, but it seems wrong to sleep when my child is not safe at home, surrounded by his family. I stay silent I feel tears reach my eyes.

Paz seems to sense my distress in his sleep as he pulls me closer to him, mumbling nonsense as he dreams.

Eventually, my tears fade and the feelings of fear and sadness in my heart are replaced with resolve, we will get our son back.

I don't know when or how I fell asleep but I am woken by my husband, who is gently shaking my shoulder.

The second I remember where we are and why, I’m up.

We have a short breakfast before re-stating the plan and beginning the climb up the peak.

Reaching the bundle of branches and sticks, I notice the eerie silence within the nest. Once we reach the edge of the nest, Din scans the area, pointing out heat signatures from the left.

Paz takes off immediately, against everyone’s protests, “He’s my son!” he says running in the direction Din pointed, shouting for our son.

He is knocked over by three baby beasts screeching and snapping at him, hungry for food. The mother comes flying up to the nest, alerted by the babies’ noise.

Paz covers himself with parts of the nest, trying to hide from the bird.

The bird begins regurgitating something for the young ones, and I almost lose my grip on the edge of the nest when I see that something is my son.

“Help me!” he calls out when he sees us.

I let out a breath of relief as Paz exclaims “He's alive!”

Paz activates his jetpack, flying toward the creature’s face to get it to drop Ragnar. The beast holds Paz in its mouth and Ragnar in its talons as it takes off, the war party not far behind.

Bo-katan is the first to attempt to grab Ragnar, getting smacked down by a wing in the process.

I am the next one to approach, grabbing Ragnar’s hand and pulling. He didn't budge.

I latch onto the creature’s ankle, pulling out my blade to get it to loosen its grip.

I didn't account for getting scratched off the leg by the other foot, earning deep gashes on my elbow and side.

I cry out as I fall, spinning out of control until I steady myself with my pack, landing on the side of a peak.

Paz is then released from the beast’s jaws as Bo-katan stabs its face. He lands right next to me, groaning in pain.

“Are you alright?” I breathe.

“Yes, you?”

“I’ll live,” I respond, holding a hand to one of the deeper gashes.

We watch as Din lands a successful stab at the creature’s ankle. It drops Ragnar and Din races to stop his fall.

He latches onto Ragnar just as the others take down the beast, flying him over to where we hold on to the rocks.

When they land Paz firmly asks, “are you okay?” Ragnar clambers over to me, clinging to my chest before breathlessly answering, “I’m okay dad.”

“Thank you,” I say to Din over Ragnar’s helmet.

“This is the Way” he replies

“This is the Way” we echo.

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A Fresh Start [9]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: a bit of a longer one, sorry if that’s not your forte, reader has nightmares involving being attacked, traumatic past, scar, fake name mentioned

Word Count: 6,275

Summary: When   you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a  Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child.    However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous   night,  you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a  far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community  turned  out to be  exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you  fall more  and more in love with your new life, but when  your past rears  its ugly  head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant  for everyone.

Ch. #09: BUIR, GROGU, MA

Chapter Summary: ‘There is no one else, there will be no one else, it’s only you’.

     “Have you ever noticed how  

     wanting  

     burns you up  

     from the inside out?  

     Like one moment I am whole,  

     but then I hear  

     your voice on the phone  

     and I swear to God  

     three blocks away from here  

     they can smell smoke.”  

 As if you hadn’t already felt at home with Grogu and Mando, by the end of the month you couldn’t fathom how you once lived without them. The places you’ve lived prior— Coruscant before and after the incident, Tatooine where you chose to hide— you realized now you’d hadn’t truly been living. Even at your prime, a young recently out of training physician with the world at her fingertips, there had been a hole. You spent so much time busy, trying to reach your goals, that you let other aspects slips away. You didn’t regret the work you put in, you didn’t regret being independent, but you didn’t know a home could feel so… perfect. And, that’s what your life in Nevarro was. It was perfect.

 Grogu was thriving in school. Every day he seemed to know a new word in Basic and he had made so many friends. The routine of your life would look repetitive to someone on the outside looking in, but by the Maker did you adore every second of it. Mando had permanently decided to change the time he went into work. He assured you it had nothing to do with not trusting you and him just wanting to be there for Grogu. So, every week day morning the two of you would walk Grogu to school and then you’d walk Mando to work.

 And Mando was…

 You loved Grogu. Arguably to a fault. You weren’t sure how the ‘nanny rules of professionalism’ worked but growing so attached to the child in your care had to be frowned upon in some way. Crushing on the child’s father was also hugely frowned upon you’d guess, but it hadn’t stopped you. Mando was… Mando.

 It was hard to put it into words, or maybe you were just too scared to try, but something about him spoke to your soul. Before coming to Nevarro, you had never put much thought or faith into soulmates. Even now the idea made you marginally cringe with how cheesy and dorky you sounded, but it was possibly the simplest explanation. There was something about the make up of your cells and atoms that just called to him. You felt better in his presence. Happier. Safer. Cared for. Seen. Mando listened when you spoke, truly listened, and he seemed to remember every detail you offered him. Food preferences, favorites, old memories, fun facts. The heavy beskar seemed to soak up every detail and though he may not have been a man of many words, he was a man of action.  Mando didn’t hesitate to show you how much he appreciated you, and with every kind action you were falling harder and harder.

 You had it bad.

 Nima teased you relentlessly about him, and you constantly reminded her that this was as far as it could go. A simple crush. A longing. At the end of the day, though your feelings had evolved, he was still your boss. Mando was paying you to watch Grogu, paying you to live in his home, paying you to be present. The fact that he was willing to cross that line and be friends was blessing enough. You couldn’t push any further and risk ruining what you had. If you lost Grogu and Mando because you were too stupid to swallow your emotions you’d never forgive yourself.

 It was a fact you constantly had to remind yourself of.

 “Why would you come hang out with me only to sit there and daydream about the Marshal?” Nima complained. You glanced her way to see her wearing a comical pout.

 “I am not— ” You began, but Nima stared you down with a knowing look. You shifted in your seat and moved on from the flimsy excuse. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

 Nima was seated on the floor working on some kind of engine looking machine while you sat a few feet away on a crate. She shrugged. “Yeah, but you were supposed to keep me entertained while I work.”

 “Well, sorry to disappoint.” You rose from your seat as you noted the time. “You’re really gonna pout now since I have to go.”

 “What, why??” Nima asked. You pointed to the large clock on the garage wall that indicated it was nearly 3PM. She startled. “Oh kriff, Peli is gonna kill me. I was supposed to have this done half an hour ago!”

 You laughed at her panic and tossed her a half hearted goodbye before walking out of the garage. Mando was able to walk Grogu to school everyday with you, but you were primarily in charge of pick up since he couldn’t always get off of work for that. Rarely ever.  

 As you waited for the kids to get out, you casually held conversation with the other parents standing near you. You had gotten to know a few pretty well. Especially the ones who Grogu had befriended their kid. Another person you had gotten to know was Grogu’s teacher. Ms. Wynn was sunshine personified and you assumed that helped in her role as teacher to a class of rowdy, small children. Grogu loved her and when she asked for volunteers around class or with extra work you stepped up. Partly to be more involved with anything surrounding Grogu, and also because you sure as hell had the time.

 Ms. Wynn stepped out to release the class and you drifted closer to say hello to her while also picking up Grogu. Grogu, realizing you were coming closer to do so, didn’t bother checking with his teacher and instead leapt toward you as soon as you were close enough. You pulled him into a tight hug that he returned with gusto.

 “How was school, baby?” You cooed.

 “Fun! Play with Poe!” Grogu chirped. Poe was his favorite friend in school. You had the little boy over for play dates a few weekends alongside his parents.

 “Good.” You peppered light kisses to his face to make him squirm and giggle at the onslaught. Ms. Wynn stepped closer and greeted you. “Hey! How’re you?”

 She chuckled. “I’m doing well thank you for asking.” Ms. Wynn raised an eyebrow at Grogu. “Grogu, what are the rules about leaving the line? You’re supposed to check with me first, aren’t you?”

 Grogu nodded. “Sorry.”

 He still had a hard time pronouncing the letter ‘R’ which had the word come out sounding like ‘W’s but he was improving. Though he apologized, nothing about the way he bounced in your arms was apologetic.

 “That’s probably more my fault.” You winced. “My bad.”

 “It happens.” She shrugged. “There’s a little activity I put in his bag for him to do. We’re discussing families so I asked the kids to draw their own families.” Ms. Wynn tickled his belly. “Grogu told us all about his Uncle Boba and Aunt Fennec.”

 Those were names you vaguely recognized when Mando pointed out the figures in Grogu’s drawings. Maybe you’d ask for more detail tonight and where they were specifically. The two of you said goodbye to Ms. Wynn and you began to walk away from the school.

 “Hmm, I’m thinking that a good boy like you deserves a treat.” You hummed and his ears perked up. “Wanna stop for some ice cream?”

 “ ‘lek! ‘lek! Please!” Grogu went ecstatic in your arms as he tried to crawl out of your grip to beat you to the small shop you’d have to pass on your way home. You sighed contentedly and didn’t bother trying to mask the wide grin on your features.

 Din Djarin was happy. More than happy, he was at peace. He spent so much of his life traveling alone, keeping to himself, and trying not to want for more. He had been so focused on earning credits from bounties to pass along to the Armorer as offering to the foundlings at the covert that he didn’t let any other want or need enter his mind. It wasn’t until Grogu came into his life that he began to realize how much he wanted a family. He was tired of being alone. His earliest memories were of his parents. Flashes of a life on Aq Vetina before the world around him crumbled to ash. Memories of his mother holding him, singing him to sleep, and of his father playing with him, holding him on his shoulders so he could reach the sky. That’s what Din wanted more than anything. That was the deep secret he had buried years and years ago and refused to think about.

 When Grogu became his, Din had let himself dream of a better life. That better life didn’t involve anything further than being a father though. Realistically, he couldn’t imagine finding anything more. Being Grogu’s father was already more than he deserved⏤ Din thought it foolish to think he’d want for anything else. He was settled. Content. Then, as if to specifically prove him wrong, the universe led you into the station that first day with Nima.

 Din had no idea, no way of knowing, how important you would grow to be to him. With every single day that passed, every single moment, he found the roots of your presence twisting deeper and deeper into his soul⏤ twisting into every aspect of him. Suddenly, Din didn’t want some vague white picket fence life. No, he wanted you. The Maker could appear before him and offer him the galaxy on a platter, the supposed picture perfect life, but if it didn’t involve you he didn't want it. Din was falling for you more and more every single moment of every single day, and as if he didn’t have it bad enough watching you with Grogu melted him into a puddle.

 Din would cross the universe, fight any adversary in the galaxy, for the honor of coming home to you and Grogu every night for the rest of his life. The thought of calling you his⏤ Maker, Din didn’t have the strength to stay on that line of thought for very long. Not publicly at least. He could only afford to give into weakness in the dead of night. Din would let you flood his thoughts when he was alone. It was all he could afford. It was all he could do. You were only in his life because he was paying you. That’s what he kept reminding himself of. Sometimes it was the only thing that kept him from giving in⏤ from pulling you into his arms so he could feel how soft your skin felt, what sounds you’d make, rather than just imagining it in a moment of weakness alone in the shower.

 However, Din would never put Grogu’s happiness at risk. He loved you, you loved him. Din wanted you to stay in his son’s life for as long as he could have you, and the idea of ruining that made him sick to his stomach. Din had never been in a real relationship. He had been with others in the past, but nothing serious or long lasting and that’s what Din wanted from you. Not just sex, not just a fling, he wanted a life. He wanted everything. And, as if the fact that he was your employer wasn’t enough, Din didn’t trust that he could do that right. You deserved the entire world, and Din wasn’t sure he was capable of giving that.

 The point was that he would do anything and everything to keep his life exactly how it was right now. He wanted no sort of change, no risk of it even, which was exactly why he didn’t hesitate before telling Greef Karga no.

 “Mando,” Karga shook his head, “You didn’t even pause to think.”

 “I don’t need to.” Din shrugged. Karga had called him into his office to discuss matters. While Karga sat at his desk with wide and confused eyes, Din simply leaned against the wall resting his hands on his belt.

 Karga rose from his seat. “The bounty pucks I’m offering you are beyond⏤”

 “I don’t care.” Din said. He tilted his head, “I didn’t know you were still involved with the guild at all, High Magistrate Karga.”

 “Not like before, nothing like before!” Karga waved away his words. “Just passing out a few pucks here and there. Only to the best that I know.” He motioned his arms out to him. “And that’s you, Mando!”

 “You offered me the position of Marshal here.” Din argued. “It’s difficult to be Marshal when I’m on a different planet.”

 Karga shook his head. “The bounties would be short term. Just here and there. You recruited Dune and Mayfeld. They can keep an eye on things while you pick up a bounty or two, surely?” Din didn’t bother offering a response. He had made himself plenty clear. Karga stepped closer. “It’s simple stuff for high value. I’m talking about someone who skipped bail for a price you wouldn’t believe. A man who⏤”

 “No, Karga.” Din replied. “Now, are we done?”

 “I suppose.” Karga sighed and threw his hands up in defeat.

 Din nodded once before pushing off the wall and making his leave. He had taken a lot of risks throughout his life as a bounty hunter, but this was one risk he was not willing to make. You and Grogu were much, much too important to him.

 You leaned against the island counter reading the assignment Ms. Wynn had told you about. It was simple enough. She just wanted the kids to draw out their family and label them. Thinking it over, you may have to find some larger poster of some kind for him to use. Grogu may not have had a lot of immediate, blood related family, but he had no shortage of people who loved him. He had aunties and uncles galore.

 “Fruit!” Grogu was holding his stuffed frog to his chest as he waddled into the kitchen. You glanced down at him with a smile, and he began to jump around your legs. “Fruit, fruit, fruit.”

 “Okay, okay, you little womp rat.” You laughed and wandered to the fridge. There were already some cut up pieces from this morning that you could hand over to him. You pulled it out then dug a small bowl out of the cabinet to transfer it over for him. After grabbing a fork, you turned back to him. “Alright, I’ll trade you. You give me froggie and I’ll give you fruit.” You were attempting to keep froggie from needing another wash knowing Grogu would get the sticky fruit juice all over it. “Deal?”

 “Mhmm.” Grogu nodded and held up the frog. You knelt down to take it and handed over the fruit. Grogu took it happily, then titled his head at you. “V’ore, Ma!”

 Your brain began to short circuit as Grogu just waddled away. Had he just⏤? ‘V’ore’ meant thanks. You knew that. You racked your brain for a Mando’a word that sounded like ‘Ma’. That had to be Mando’a, right? He couldn’t have possibly just⏤ You scrambled around the kitchen island to reach Grogu who had settled on the floor amongst his toys and drawings to eat. “Grogu, Grogu, baby.” You sat in front of him. “What did you⏤ I⏤” How did you even phrase this question? You shook your head. “Who am I? I’m Soran, right? Soran.”

 You said the name slowly to try and get him to repeat it, but Grogu just stared up at you like you were actively losing your mind. Maybe you were. Maybe you had misheard and this was just⏤

 “Ma.” Grogu blurted. “You Ma.” You blinked in shock. Denial still swirled in your head, trying to find some kind of reasoning, but Grogu set down his fruit to dig through his piles of paper. Some had drawings and some had letters in Basic and Mando’a that you had been practicing. He dug out a picture where he had obviously scribbled Mando holding him while you stood beside them. It was absolutely adorable, but your eyes stared wide at the labeling. Above Mando’s head he had written the word ‘buir’ in Mando’a, you recognized the lettering, above his own head he had scribbled his name, and above you he had written two simple letters. ‘MA’. Grogu offered you the paper with a happy chirp. “Buir, Grogu, Ma.”

 The first instinct you had was to smile and take the paper. You were honored that this small, precious child would see you in that kind of light. That he cared for you⏤loved you⏤ enough to give you that important of a label. The second emotion to overcome you was pure, absolute panic.

 “Oh, Maker.” You blurted. Slowly, as to not cause the boy to feel the nervous energy threatening to radiate off you, you stood and walked back to the kitchen with the picture in hand. The moment you reached the island counter, you used your communicator to reach out to Nima. She needed to be here. Now.

 It took ten minutes before there was a knock at the door and you jumped off the couch so fast that it caused Grogu to look up from what he was playing with. You yanked the door open to see Nima and Cara standing on the porch. “Cara?”

 “Is everything alright?” Nima pushed past you.

 Cara followed. “Grogu okay?”

 “He’s fine.” You shut the door and followed after them. When they saw Grogu playing in the living room they seemed to relax, and when the boy realized they were here he began to rush over to greet them excitedly. They reacted accordingly.

 “Hey, little guy!” Nima picked him up. Cara tickled him with a grin. They both turned to you and Nima was the first to question you. “What’s going on? Your message seemed panicked and you’re never panicked.”

 “Cara, why are you here?” You ignored Nima’s question to ask one of your own. “Did you guys tell Mando⏤”

 “Relax.” Cara held a hand up as if that would put a halt to your fried nerves. “It’s my day off. I was with Nima when you called.” You let out a sigh of relief, and Cara narrowed her eyes at you curiously. “What is going on, Soran? Did the kid eat another critter?”

 You shook your head. “No, it’s⏤”

 “Ma!” Grogu held his arms out to you.

 Nima and Cara both stared at Grogu in surprise.

 You sighed, “That.”

 Mando didn’t have a television in his home, but Nima had set up her communicator in the living room to play some kind of kid show. Grogu sat in front of it watching intently while snacking on more fruit. Meanwhile, you stood in the kitchen leaning against the counter while Nima and Cara sat at the barstools across from you. You had made them both a cup of caf.

 “He just started calling me it after we got back from school.” You rubbed the side of your face. The drawing Grogu had drawn sat on the counter between you and them.

 Nima nodded slowly. “Alright.” She took a long sip of her caf then narrowed her eyes at you. “And what’s the problem?”

 “Nima.” You snapped.

 The mechanic shrugged, “What? I don’t see the issue here. You’re basically his mom.”

 “I’m his nanny. There’s a difference.”

 They didn’t respond and you bit down on your lower lip. The problem wasn’t that Grogu was calling you ‘Ma’. It wasn’t even that he saw you as that kind of figure. Grogu was just a kid. Of course, he’d get confused about that. The problem was, it didn’t bother you.

 More than not bothering you, you kind of liked it.

 Cara let out a low whistle. “Well, I think we all know how Mando is gonna take this.”

 “Yeah,” You scoffed, “He’s gonna think I’m some psycho trying to steal his kid out of his life or something.”

 “Okay, maybe we don’t all know.” Cara mumbled.

 “Look, if you want him to stop you could just tell him.” Nima said. “He’s a smart kid.”

 That was probably the truth. Grogu was so smart. You were constantly impressed with what he was capable of. Even though he was only just learning how to communicate in Basic or Mando’a hadn’t meant he was capable of understanding. The problem you faced was more internal than external. You weren’t a mother. Far from it. You were a woman running from your past who fell into a situation where you got offered the job of being a nanny for a local Marshal. The job turned into so much more⏤ more than you had ever dreamed. But, enjoying a casual life with Mando and Grogu was different than how hearing the word ‘Ma’ felt to you.

A nanny was temporary, a mother was permanent.

 “I have to tell him.” You shook your head.

 “And you can in…” Nima looked at her watch, “About two hours.”

 “No. I gotta go see him right now.”

 “Why?”

 You gave them a deadpanned look, “Because I want him to know the whole story rather than him walking through the door and hearing his son refer to me as his mother. I figure a little ‘heads up’ is indicated in this kind of situation.”  Nima and Cara shared a look before conceding to your point. “Alright. Can you keep an eye on Grogu while I run out?”

 “Sure.” Nima nodded. She looked to Cara who agreed with a nod of her own.

 You gave them your thanks then hurried around the kitchen counter and into the living room. You knelt by Grogu who, at your presence, perked up and began to point to the screen. “Fun, Ma!”

 “I know, baby.” You scrunched your nose. Calling him ‘baby’ probably hadn’t helped this situation. “I gotta run out for a minute, but Nima and Cara are going to stay here to hang out with you. Okay?”

 “ ‘lek.” Grogu nodded. You started to stand, but Grogu held his hands up in a familiar way. You hesitated for a second then hated that you did. With a smile, you leaned down to rest your forehead against Grogu’s lovingly.

 When you did stand, you realized Nima and Cara were both staring at you from the kitchen and when you met their eyes they both shot you a look amusement. You huffed at them and went for the door. You needed to tell Mando about this and more importantly you really, really needed to hear what he thought.

 Mayfeld was talking about some date he had the night previously, and if Din were being honest he wasn’t retaining a word. He wasn’t trying to ignore the man or zone out, Din just couldn’t focus. Between Karga offering him bounties as if that were still his life, and dealing with a scuffle between a handful of bounty hunters on the landing pad⏤ Din’s day had been kriffing annoying. He just wanted to be home. With Cara being off today, he couldn’t justify leaving early. Especially since Mayfeld was on call tonight so if he left now the man would be working on his own for longer than anyone deserved.

 “She was all over me, Mando. You should’ve seen it.” Mayfeld bragged.

 “I’m sure.” Din nodded plainly.

 When they entered the station, Cecilia, the human receptionist, called out to him. “Marshal.” He paused and Mayfeld did as well. “Soran is waiting for you in your office.”

 Din felt his shoulders relax. This was exactly what he needed. “When did her and Grogu get⏤”

 “No. It’s just Soran.” She said. As quickly as his ease had come, it was gone. You would never leave Grogu alone. He went with you everywhere when he wasn’t at school. “She looked kind of nervous.”

 That was all it took. Mayfeld called out to him, but Din was barreling down the hall to his office. His door was shut and it took all the self control he had to simply open it rather than accidentally break it down in the process of trying to get to you. What was going on? Was Grogu hurt? When the door swung open, you jumped up from where you sat on the couch. Just as Cecilia said, you looked troubled. Your lips were turned down in a worried frown and you squirmed in place.

 “Grogu?” He crossed the space to you.

 “No, he’s fine. I swear.” You said quickly and Din let out a breath of relief. “He’s at home with Nima and Cara right now. Everything is alright. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

 That was exactly what he had felt. Din was scared. The thought of anything happening to Grogu, anything happening to you, filled his veins with ice. Hearing Grogu was alright calmed him marginally, but it still didn’t explain why you were here alone or why you looked so nervous. Din closed the last bit of space to set his hands on your shoulder.

 “Cyar’ika,” He breathed, “What is going on? Are you okay?”

 “Yeah, I just⏤ I needed to talk to you.” You mumbled. Din nodded and waited for you to continue. “I’m just not sure… I wanted to… I needed to talk to you about this before you got home tonight, and I wanted you to hear it from me rather than…”

 You were wringing your hands and every word out of your mouth made him more and more worried. Din released your arms to go back and close the door to this office. When he returned, he carefully maneuvered you to sit on the couch again. He settled down beside you and let his hand rest on your back. Din let his thumb rub the spot where it laid.

 “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Din said as reassuringly as he could despite being on edge himself. “But you have to talk to me, cyar’ika. What is wrong?”

 You locked your jaw and at the sight of it Din wanted to lifted his hand and caress the side of your face⏤ try to soothe your tension. Finally, you shifted in place to face him further, your knee now pressed against his. “At school, the kids are talking about families. Familial roles. Aunt, Uncle, Cousin.” You twisted your lips. “Dad, mom.” Din nodded. “When we got home today, I was making Grogu a snack. He asked for fruit so I got it for him, and when I gave it to him he… he…” You paused and Din pressed his hand more firmly against your back. You sighed, “Mando, he called me ‘Ma’.”

 Din was at a loss for words. Grogu had… Grogu called you… This news should not affect him the way it did, but Maker, he felt like his temperature rose multiple degrees. He was cooking inside the beskar and his mouth went dry. The thought of his son seeing you as a maternal figure completed that family image he tried so hard not to think about. Before he could reign in his mind, he pictured crossing the room to lock the door. Everyone in the office knew not to bother him when the door was shut unless it was an emergency⏤ just in case his helmet was off. And dank farrik he wanted to take off his helmet. He wanted to rip it off, toss it across the room, and pull you into him⏤ taste you. The imagery caused Din to suck in a sharp breath. You must have misunderstood his reaction, because your panic increased.

 “I swear to the Maker, Mando, I didn’t tell him to do that.” You said. “It⏤It just happened. I didn’t really react because I didn’t want to worry Grogu, he’s so good at picking up on emotions, but the last thing I wanted was for you to come home and hear him call me ‘Ma.’” It’s funny you said that because that was ten thousand percent exactly what he wanted. “I kind of hoped maybe it was some Mando’a word I didn’t recognize and asked him to clarify, asked him who I was, but then he…”

 You sighed and shifted to pull out a folded piece of paper out of your pocket. You held it out to him and Din could see a slight tremble in your fingers. In all his euphoria of finding out Grogu saw you as a mother figure, he forgot to analyze your emotions entirely. You were nervous and scared. This had shaken you. He took the paper from you but kept his hand on yours for a second longer hoping the weight of his would ground you. When the tremble stopped, he pulled away to open the paper. It was one of Grogu’s drawings. It was of Din, his son, and you. All labeled. Buir, Grogu, Ma. Din swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

 “I know this is a lot, and I really, really hope you’re not mad at me⏤” You began and Din stiffened at the thought. Mad at you? “But if you could say something that would be great because I’ve said a lot of words and you haven’t and the more I say the more nervous I get.”

 Din only realized then he hadn’t said a single word. As cute as he always found your rambling, he hated how worried you were. He set the drawing down on the other side of him, with full plans to hang that one up by the others, then took your hands in his. Din wanted to take off his gloves⏤ wanted to feel your skin. Even behind the closed door of his office though, he resisted.

 “You have said a lot of words.” He tried to keep his amusement of of his voice. Din didn’t want you to think you were being teased. “But, in all those words, you only said you were worried about how I would feel.” Din squeezed your hand. “How do you feel, cyar’ika? Do you… Do you not want him to call you that?”

 You blinked in surprise, as if you hadn’t expected him to ask that, “I…It’s not that. I⏤” Your face crumpled and you closed your eyes as if in pain. For the second time since you entered, Din had to hold back from cupping your face. “I liked it too much, Mando.” Din bit back another sharp breath. Dank farrik, he was trying so hard to be a good man, but you were making it very, very hard. You opened your eyes again. “You’re paying me to be his nanny, and I know neither of us knew anything about the nanny gig when I started, but this has to be against the rules.”

 “What rules?”

 “I don’t know. The nanny rules?” You shook your head. “I⏤ You and Grogu are so important to me, Mando. Maybe I’m overstepping by saying that, but it’s the honest to maker truth.” Din bit down on the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to risk what we have right now. I love it. I was just afraid if you heard him call me ‘Ma’ you’d think I was trying to⏤ to⏤ I don’t know... steal him away or force myself into your lives more than I was supposed to.”

 Din finally settled enough that he could find his voice. Everything you said about them being important to you mirrored entirely how he felt, and some optimistic part of him wondered if that meant you could possibly feel the same way. He shoved that aside. It was too much to ask for⏤ hope for. Din, maybe being the one to overstep bounds now, slowly pulled a hand away from yours and let it drift closer to you. He moved slow enough to give you the opportunity to stop him, but when you didn’t he let his hand settled on the side of your neck, his thumb resting by your ear. “Listen to me.” You leaned into his glove and he had to take a slow breath. “I am… overjoyed that Grogu sees you that way. He deserves more in his life than just me⏤”

 “Mando⏤”

 “Cyar’ika.” Din didn’t let you interrupt him. “As long as you’re comfortable with it, I don’t want you to step outside your comfort zone, but I would love to hear him use the word ‘Ma’. If anyone in his life is deserving of that title, it’s you. I couldn’t ask for a better mother for Grogu.”

 Your eyes began to water and Din was terrified he said the wrong thing. Had he made this worse? He opened his mouth again to try and backpedal, but you lunged forward and wrapped your arms around his neck in a tight hug. It took a second for him to register the movement, but he let his own arms pull you in tightly to his chest. He wished he didn’t have his helmet on. He wanted to bury his face against the side of yours, press his lips to your temple to reassure you further, but this was enough for him. If this was all he could have, he’d treasure every second of it.

 Din felt you start to pull back and he loosened his grip so you could. When you were out of his reach, he realized the tears that had filled your eyes streaked down your cheeks. Distress filled him at the sight, but you let out a laugh that relieved it. You wiped the tears off your face with a shake of your head.

 “I’m so sorry. I’m such a mess.” You mumbled.

 “You apologize too much.” He replied and used his thumb to catch a stray tear you had missed.

 You shrugged. “Bad habits die hard.” After a beat, you frowned again. “You know, we don’t know how long I’ll be working for you,” Din held back a snort. Was ‘forever’ an option? “But, what happens when you meet someone and it gets serious? Technically she’d be Grogu’s⏤”

 “We’ll cross that bridge if we get there.” Din interrupted. It was a better answer than ‘There is no one else, there will be no one else, it’s only you’.

 Your smile returned and your nose scrunched, “Can I hug you again?”

 “You never have to ask, cyar’ika.” Din replied. You leaned forward to wrap your arms around him once more and Din didn’t hesitate to immediately pull you as close as he physically could.

 The entire house was quiet as you laid in bed staring up at the ceiling with a small smile on your face. Ma. Grogu saw you as his mother. You hadn’t been lying to Mando when you said you liked this far too much. Speaking long term, you may have been setting yourself up for failure. Mando seemed unconcerned about the future, but what would happen the day they no longer needed a nanny? What would happen the day Mando found a riddur? Still, knowing that these were things that could blow up in your face one day didn’t stop you⏤ didn’t even slow you down. Things were too perfect now for you to give up.

 You shifted in bed and took in a deep breath. Mando hadn’t been called into work during the middle of the night since that first time. It was odd. A part of you wished he would get called away just because it meant you could sleep in his bed once more, but the idea of him being out in danger made you nauseous. No matter how bad you wanted the opportunity to lay beside him and Grogu, you’d never take it over the risk of him getting hurt. You’d sleep in your bed, alone, and just dream. Spending your daylight hours with them was more than you had the right to ask for.

     Your throat was raw from screaming. Panic and adrenaline filled your body. Fear gripped your soul. You screamed and screamed and screamed, but nobody was coming. Why couldn’t anyone hear you? Why wasn’t anyone coming to save you? You fought. It wasn’t in your nature to give up, but you were wondering if it was worth the fight. Your hands tried to keep the blade from digging into your flesh⏤ deeper and deeper⏤ but all the blood made your grip too slick. You screamed, but you had no voice left.  

     “It was all your fault.” No, no. It wasn’t. It couldn’t be. You loved her. You loved Soran. You did everything you could do. “She died because of you.” You thought you had saved her. You thought she was going to be okay. Everything went so badly, so quickly. “You took her from me.” Your hands slipped again, the blade sunk in further⏤ it tore through flesh and muscles, it dug into bone. “You deserve this.” Maybe he was right. You had been her doctor. Maybe you could’ve done more. Maybe, just maybe, this was the universe’s way of serving justice. Soran was gone and it was your fault. You sobbed as your vision began to go dark. He lifted the blade only to dig it in once more.  

     “You deserve to die.”  

 You shot up in bed, panting and breathless. A cold sweat collected at the back of your neck. Your hands lifted to your chest, but you didn’t find bloody wounds. Only an ugly scar. A hiccuped sob slipped from your lips and you quickly covered your mouth to muffle the sound.

 Life had been too perfect.

 Of course, Kurt would come back to haunt you.

[verpineshatterrifle]

okay so your post abt alpha-17 and the other alpha arcs got me thinking (and im sorry for using you as sw google but in my mind you're Alpha Legends Lore mutual) who ARE the oldest clones? I feel like everything got... really confusing with a bunch of super secret REAL first clones getting shuffled into the order. is boba the oldest? in my mind it goes 1 boba 2 nulls 3 alphas 4 the rest of the initial clones that obi-wan saw in aotc but I have no bloody clue 😭

I AM HONORED TO BE YOUR LEGENDS LORE GOOGLE MUTUAL

ok so. sources probably conflict bc this is star wars, of course they do. what i care about is repcomm so we're just gonna go with that as our primary source with wookieepedia as secondary sources

first we gotta get some dates. unfortunately star wars doesnt really give months for most dates but years is still a starting place. these dates are all pulled from wookieepedia, legends page when applicable/different

also we're using geonosis as our date reference point since the timeline is honestly so hard to work with

order 66 happens 19 bby

1st battle of geonosis, 22 bby, the clone wars are 3 years long

boba fett's birth date is listed as 32 bby, meaning he was 10 at geonosis. cody, rex, ordo, fi, spar, and sull are all also listed with a birth date of 32 bby, so we're down to a difference of months here. essentially they're all the same age though- boba himself, troopers, nulls, commandos, and alphas

I REPEAT. ALPHA IS NOT SIGNIFICANTLY OLDER THAN THE CORE OF THE GAR. PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. HE ISNT THE ONLY ALPHA EITHER.

but who's actually oldest? and is wookieepedia entirely correct? this is the part where i open repcomm and ignore everything else. i don't even know if anything else contradicts because i'm not checking

chapter 1 of triple zero, kal has just arrived on kamino. it's eight years before geonosis, and 2 years into the cloning program

(ALSO ITS SO FUCKING GREAT THAT THIS IS KAL'S INTRODUCTORY LINE LMAOOO <3)

he does see a lot of clone babies in gestation vats, just like we see in attack of the clones as well as cadets of varying ages- the kaminoans continue producing troopers through the entire ten years of the cloning program, so yes, the 'first generation' (clones deployed at geonosis) ARE older than a lot of later clones. but we dont really have a lot of those later clones as named characters as far as i know

anyways

the nulls appear to kal to be 4 or 5 (also peep jango apparently being legitimately shocked by them)

chronologically the nulls are NEARLY two, which probably means like 1 year and 11 months or something

(pause for me to cry about this entire scene, 'kal was instantly proud of all of them,' 'how would you like to be called ordo, he was a mandalorian warrior,' kal teaching them to embrace their fear as a mechanism their body uses to help protect them, but this is gonna be long enough as it is)

and then we have jango showing up with boba. no real indication of if boba or the nulls are actually older, but it's implied that they're very very close in actual age, if not the same age. we also get mention of the commandos and the alphas.

now, this is now just down to what i think and what makes sense to me. the whole point of the nulls is that they were experimental units- the kaminoans wanted to see if tinkering with the genome would be worth it, and ultimately decided it wasn't. it would actually make sense to me if the nulls were at least a year or two older than the rest of the clones- the kaminoans need time to see if their experiment panned out, don't they? but the nulls are also 10 at geonosis

while the nulls have been flash-trained and put through some trial runs at this point, it's indicated that the alphas and commandos aren't quite ready for training yet. this could be because the alphas and commandos are just a bit too young yet, it could be that the kaminoans put the nulls through training at a younger age than they're doing for non-experimental units. not totally clear

this is another point that is important to me: multiple times the nulls pass for clone troopers. i keep seeing headcanons of them being noticeably taller/bigger than other clones and while it is true that they're canonically slightly heavier, i think the difference is probably like 10-20 pounds, most people cannot easily tell the difference. ordo puts on corr's armor and just notes that it's slightly tighter than he's used to. mereel infiltrated kamino in trooper armor unnoticed, even while directly speaking to a kaminoan

here is my opinion on it: -the nulls and boba are basically the same age -the alphas were created next, but a few months after. by this point the kaminoans had decided (possibly because of the nulls' high mortality rate in gestation) that the alphas would be fully unaltered aside from the accelerated aging. the nulls' behavior 'issues' proved to the kaminoans that this was the right call -the commandos were created at the same time or shortly after the alphas. we're talking within weeks if not days. they have minor genetic changes to work better as a team but that's about it. -the troopers then begin production, now that the kaminoans have lots of practice altering jango's genome. heavy alteration for better social cooperation and obedience. -we're talking a span on like 4 months for all of this

you could say that ordo's gray hairs support the nulls being maybe 4-6 months older than everybody else, but i really think he is just that stressy, and there's also book evidence for clones actually aging at variable rates depending on how much stress they're under

quick note for omega: i think her existence is just insane and she's only here because disney was making a children's show and needed a child character (and girl so they can get inclusivity points), but i could see her being made anywhere from at the same time as boba to up to 3 years later. her wookieepedia page doesn't say, because the bad batch never bothered to give us any concrete information on... anything.

WE ARENT EVEN TOUCHING ON EMERIE. WHAT THE FUCK

[wannab-urs]

Pedro Pascal Character Fic Recs | Vol 44

AO3 | Kofi | Main Masterlist | The Spreadsheet Masterlist

Howdy Folks!

Welcome to the 44th Spreadsheet Digest. It's quite short this week because I've been reading a book and doing last minute Christmas shopping.

As always, if you want to be on the digest, tag me in your work. I will try to read it. I am so behind on my TBR I'm actually scared to look at my mentions... but still tag me please.

Honey, You're Familiar a Dieter one shot by @murder-wife

Stella Stone moved from Hollywood a decade ago following her divorce to fellow actor, Dieter Bravo. She returns when she is nominated for an Oscar and is soon face to face with their contentious past.

angst, smut, unprotected PIV, oral sex, one face slap, no age gap, leaving one or two things untagged for spoiler reasons, you know how I do.

Shadows a Din one shot by @burntheedges

you were pretty sure the ship was haunted.

spooky vibes, flirting, feelings and smut, canon-typical violence (with a bounty), this is a tentacle monster fic and there is smut, so keep that in mind, it's exactly what you think it is, kissing, grinding, fingering, but not with fingers, p-in-v sex, creampie, cuddling, manhandling, except not with hands, if you get my drift, pet names (cyar'ika, mesh'la, good girl), no mention of details for reader other than wearing clothes and being a mechanic

Riduur in Training a Din one shot by @absurdthirst, @storiesofthefandomlovers

You arrive with the Armorer to take your place as Din Djarin's riduur, one that he had no warning of. Trained to be the spouse of the next leader of the covert - you will be dar'manda if he rejects you. And Din is horrified to learn that you have been trained for his pleasure.

Sexual training/grooming, mentions of creeds and honor, cults, playing fast and loose with Mandalorian traditions, removing helmets, forced weddings, nudity, masturbation, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, fingering, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, humiliation, dishonor, pregnancy

but he's the one I want a Joel one shot by @wheresarizona

All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch.

DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate)

Luster a Joel one shot by moon_mint (AO3)

Just my humble contribution to the fine genre of Joel Miller stepdad AUs. Slaps fic like I'm a used car salesman. This baby has grief and trauma! Stepcest! People not knowing how to process their feelings! Messed up families! Teenage hormones! Adult hormones! All in the safety of fiction!

No Outbreak AU, Stepfather!Joel, stepcest, Parental Death, Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, degradation kink, Angst, PIV Sex, Daddy Kink, Blowjobs, Bad Parenting, messed up and toxic family dynamics in general, Age Difference

how do you sleep? a Joel one shot by @thriftedtchotchkes

joel's always there to comfort you with his words and a warm bed after a nightmare, but tonight, you need a little more

jackson era, soft!joel, comfort, undefined relationship, getting together, mentions of nightmares & insomnia, smut, unprotected piv, slow/intimate sex, creampie

Crash a Marcus M series by @moonlitbirdie (ezrasbirdie on AO3)

Harboring a secret crush on her step-father would be enough to make any girl a little crazy. Years after your mother leaves him, however, Marcus Moreno is still the one you go to when you need saving.

Step-cest, Step-cest adjacent, Step-dad!Marcus Moreno, Age Difference, Missy does not exist, Mommy Issues, Daddy Issues, Manipulative Reader, manipulative marcus, Smut, Angst, Masturbation, Sex Toys, dead dove, Spanking, Dubious Consent

Ma meilleure ennemie an Oberyn one shot by @sanarsi

Your families hate each other but you are young and in love.

forbidden love, hurt/comfort, soft!Oberyn, so much feelings, arguing, young dumb and so much in love

The Graduate Pero one shot @absurdthirst, @storiesofthefandomlovers

From the very first day in his class, you manage to piss Professor Tovar off. Thinking him antiquated as the history class he teaches. Verbally sparring with him until things turn physical in his office, you start hate fucking your professor every chance you get.

Insults, rough sex, hate fucking, verbal sparring, power imbalance, age gap (everyone is legal), squirting, fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (male receiving), slight exhibitionism, threat of being discovered, hurt feelings, angst

Happy Reading!

[whiskeynwriting]

Hi, I would really like to request Din comforting wife reader near their daughters first birthday when reader still hasn’t lost the baby weight. I get really self conscious about not fitting in my bras and could just imagine Din being so sweet and loving about it and maybe taking her on a shopping spree at their next stop to get some new lingerie that make reader feel pretty and smutty times ensue with some amazing smutty praise 😍

This is just darling. It's PRECIOUS

Reader-Specific Writing: Body After Baby

Din Djarin x Female Reader

◆

Word Count: 4.6k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) please read these warnings thoroughly, as there may be triggering aspects written here.

Body insecurity, parenting, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, lactation kink, body worship, helmetless Din, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex, established relationship/marriage, reader is a mama, I thiiiiiink that’s it

◆

A/N: I really, truly adore this. And what's even better is I made it for my best friend. I hope you love it bb <3

◆

Reader-Specific Writing Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

The house wasn’t everything you’d hoped for, but this life was. It was everything and more. And you never expected him to accept this, to understand this way of domesticity. But he did understand it; in fact, he wanted it. Din has yearned for this his entire life. 

It wasn’t a conventional marriage, not by your culture’s standards nor his. It was a blend - a perfect mix. Just like your life now. You’re not a warrior like your husband, you preferred a simpler, safer life. And for the time being, that’s exactly what you’ve been given. While you raise your child, hopefully children, your family will live in tranquility. But once they are of age, they’ll begin their training. Commencing Din’s preferred way of living. Until then, you’re to stay here, living on the planet that is Ralltiir. 

During your ceremony, Din promised to keep you safe, and settling here helped him fulfill that. The planet was known for its privacy, successfully maintaining its independence from general political battles - just what Din had envisioned for a home. He not only wanted to protect you, but it’s almost as if he wanted to keep you hidden. You were too precious for the outside world. You, and Vercopa. Your little ray of hope.

“Bid kih…” He hums, smoothing a hand gently over her head. She has barely any hair, but the hair she does have is dark like her father’s. (So small) 

It was a ritual of his, something that was special to him. The very first night Vercopa was brought home, he laid her tiny body on his chest, wrapping her in a blanket while her little hands felt her father’s warm touch. He just adores doing skin-to-skin with her. And that’s exactly what they’re doing now. 

Stepping out of the kitchen, you’re sure to be quiet as you take in the sight. Din shirtless and rocking gently in the chair near your living room, strong arms holding the precious soul you brought into the world. She’s everything to him; Din fell in love the moment he became aware of her small existence in your tummy. And when she came into the world, it was difficult to pry him away from her. But why would you ever want to? You know she’s going to be such a daddy’s girl.

Internally, he sighs, not wanting to wake his daughter. How have you already been here for an entire year? Smiling to himself, he releases a happy hum. He can’t believe her first birthday is almost here. 

“You’re going to be bid kotyc.” He whispers, leaning in to softly kiss her head. “Just like I’ll teach you to be.” Doing his best to remain still and quiet, he grins, his heart soaring with true joy and thankfulness. He knows she’ll be an amazing Mandalorian. (So strong)

The sight of Din holding and speaking to your child so sweetly fills your chest with such an incredible feeling. You’ve never known love like this. 

While your husband and daughter bond, you wander into the bathroom, getting yourself ready for the night. Once life had calmed, Din easily fell back into his routines. Which meant treating you to a night out once a week. Even when you were busy, he made time for it. He’ll dedicate the rest of his life to making time for you.

What an incredible milestone. For us all, really. Pondering your daughter’s first birthday, you find yourself feeling… unsure. Happy, of course, entirely elated to watch her grow. But selfishly, you cringe at the timeline. You thought this worry would be gone by now. 

Sighing, you rummage through your drawers, trying to find a bra that will fit. But it seems like you’ve run out of luck with that. 

“It’s been a year.” You grumble to yourself, closing your eyes in an attempt to calm down. “It’s been an entire year and everything still looks the fucking same.”

Your hips have gotten so wide since becoming pregnant and then giving birth to her. And your thighs… they make you frown. They’ve just gotten so big - everything has. And maker, not to mention your chest. When Vercopa was born, breastfeeding her wasn’t as difficult as you’d imagined, but once you stopped, your chest didn’t return to its normal size. It’s not like they sagged, they were just so big. Why?!

Overall, your body just feels… different. You don’t feel like you.

And what definitely doesn’t help is the constant reminder of it all. Every single day, your clothes bring the realization back into your mind, the remembrance of your new body. Your pants barely even fit, so you’ve resorted to dresses lately. And even then, it was difficult for their outline to contain your breasts. Why was this so difficult? 

“This is so useless.” The breath you release is high, signaling your oncoming cries. And Din hears. It’s a small noise, but one he picks up on, nonetheless. 

Concerned, he glances up, those dark brows furrowing. Your home isn’t big, only a few rooms huddled beneath the roof, so it’s difficult to hide. It’s easy to tell where the noise came from, he knows you’re in the bathroom. So, he stands, carefully moving into the baby’s room. With her still swaddled and snoozing quietly, he places her in the crib, taking one last glance before making his way over to you. 

“Cyare?” His voice is soft, approaching the situation cautiously while keeping himself quiet for the baby. (Beloved)

All he hears in response are your small sniffles, a certain weight pressing into his chest. He hates to see you upset, it genuinely disturbs him. 

Walking into the bathroom, he moves behind you, leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he sighs, urging you to do the same. His presence is so calming. The air feels smoother, sturdier. 

“What’s wrong?” His voice brings you back to reality, soothing your growing storm of emotions. 

Looking up, you can see those dark brown eyes staring at you in the reflection. Your nose stings from your tears as they spill down your cheeks, a lump growing heavy in your throat. And even though you’re only in a pair of panties, Din doesn’t take his eyes off of yours. He’s worried about you, those broad hands finding your naked hips to rub you gently. 

As your eyes travel down, his follow, landing on the bra in your hands. “I can’t fit into it.” You explain quietly, sounding so small. You feel defeated. But Din smirks a little, his warm hands sliding up over your belly. 

“Ni guuror bic.” He mumbles, the scruffy hair above his lip tickling your ear. You give him a half annoyed chuckle that makes him smile sweetly. (I like it)

Leaning forward, Din reaches for the bra, taking it from your hands and tossing it lightly to the floor. 

“Your body isn’t made to fit into clothes.” He says plainly, turning you in his arms. Facing him, you glance up, staring at your tall, brooding warrior. “Clothes are made to fit your body.” 

And then, he’s bringing you in, lips kissing the crown of your head. “I don’t want you to be upset about this.”

“But I am!” You exclaim, and Din shushes you.

“She’s sleeping.” Your husband coos, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’m so much bigger, Din. And…” Eyeing your discarded bra, you sigh. “Nothing fits.”

He shrugs, eyes dipping down to your naked chest. “Maybe go braless.”

“Ha. Ha.” 

“Cyar’ika,” Din sighs, his loving eyes flickering between your own. “Don’t you know how amazing your body is?” (Sweetheart)

This makes you feel bashful, a shy smirk curling on your lips.

“You made a person, a mini human being!” Din declares quietly, making you laugh. “Not everyone can do that. You know that, don’t you?” 

His words make you nod, gaze dropping to your still-rounded belly. And he sees this, moving his hands to cover it, stroking you kindly. 

“It only makes sense that your body changes. This is a brand new part of life. Like a brand new you.”

“That’s just the thing.” You can barely even meet his gaze. “I don’t feel like… me.”

It takes not even a second for him to respond. “You’re a better you.”

Head snapping up, you question, “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course, I do.” Leaning down, he presses his forehead to your own. A meaningful Mando’a touch. “To say your body is beautiful doesn’t even come close to genuinely describing you.”

“Din,” You reply quietly, voice filling with emotion. For a man so quiet, he really did have a way with words. 

“How about this,” Your beloved then offers, “Why don’t we go shopping tonight instead?”

“Instead of dinner?”

“Yeah,” He nods, holding your hands in his. “I’ll buy you whatever you like,” Lifting your hands, he kisses the backs of them. “Whatever you feel comfortable in.”

“Really?!” You perk up quite a bit at this, eager to buy some new things. And seeing this makes his heart leap.

“You’re excited about this, huh?” He asks, leaning in to kiss your cheek. But you turn your head, capturing his lips instead. 

Din’s hands find your hips again, settling on the place he just loves to squeeze. “Well…” He sighs against you, “Maybe we can get some new underwear for you, too.”

“I so need that.” You groan, feeling both excited and relieved. But you’re not exactly picking up on his hint.  

“Maybe something a little fancier…” Din mumbles, peppering his lips along your jaw. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” That low voice responds, kissing your earlobe. “Like some new lingerie.” Tracing his fingers around the space beneath your chest, he hums. “Something that makes you feel pretty.”

Your husband is not a trusting man. Outside of you, he could count on one hand how many people fell into that loop. And there were even fewer he trusted with your baby. So, Vera tags along, floating in a small pram beside you and your husband. It’s closed, securing her in for the night. It was a miracle, but you were able to transfer her from the crib to the pram without her waking. The craft itself is something Din is proud of. Made entirely of Beskar, he’d been able to create it after receiving payment from his most recent jobs, missions he took before she was born. And when she grows too old for the floating stroller, it will be molded into her armor.

“How many credits do we have to spend?” You ask, knowing that the fortune Din saved during your pregnancy won’t hold up forever.

“Don’t worry about that.” His voice is metallic now, and deep, that heavy helmet shielding him from the rest of the world.

And Din holds true to his word, he really does get you everything you want. He figures if you need a new wardrobe, you might as well go all out. Din was never one for material possessions, but clearly, this is important to you. 

“I have an idea.” You offer, Din’s gaze directly on you. “Why don’t you go pick out some sets you like? And I’ll try them on, and pick my favorite.”

And Din loves the idea of that, but he’s hesitant. He glances over at the pram.

“She’ll be with me while you’re gone.” Comes your tender reassurance, hand gentle as you pull his gaze back to you.

After that, he’s quick to grab a handful of sets off the rack. It’s almost like he’d been eyeing them since you walked in. He makes sure to grab a few different sizes, too. He’s not sure what fits you and doesn’t want you to feel pressured to squeeze yourself into one if it's too tight. But honestly, the image of you in a too-tight lingerie set has him internally groaning. He’d love to see your tits spill out of the sides, the delicate fabric clinging to the meat of your hips and thighs and wrapping around your belly. Truthfully though, this isn’t about him. He’ll be happy with whatever you pick.

“You're not gonna show me?” He asks, slightly bewildered when you come out of the stall fully-dressed.

“Do you wanna see here?” Whispering your proposal, you approach him, leaning down to ask, “Or at home?”

“Home.” Instantly, he’s standing, those gloved hips reaching out to hold and squeeze your waist. “Definitely at home.”

And while Din is excited to see you dress up in this, you’re excited to see him dress down. Watching him remove his armor was always a sacred experience, you never tired of it. You’ve been together for years and you’ve never tired of it.

“You’re so handsome,” Looking up, he almost forgets that you’re watching him. “You know that?”

He still has his flight suit on, but he’s taken every piece of armor off. And, as per his ritual, his helmet was always last. Truthfully though, you enjoyed every minute of this routine. From the moment he started on his boots, your attention was his. Even if the situation wasn’t sexual, your body warmed with affection and arousal; watching him undress, watching him place the sacred pieces in their chosen spots, his body slowly being revealed. 

“You think so?” He grins, and he never smiled so much before finding you. 

As soon as he’s free of his dressings, he’s moving toward you, cupping your beautiful face in his hands before pressing his lips to your own. And then, he’s turning, picking your daughter up from her pram. Without fail, those are the very first things he does when he takes off of his armor.

“Think she’ll go back to sleep?”

“Yeah,” Din nods, swaying her lightly in his arms. “I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go get dressed?” Grinning, he leans in to kiss your cheek. 

“Okay,” Your fingertips pet across his scruffy beard, lips curling into a smile against him.

It’s easy to convince him that you've left to get dressed, but secretly, you wait. There’s a song Din likes to sing to his daughter, one he made himself. 

Ner orikih dala (My tiny girl)

Tion’ad cuyir bid kotyc (Who is so very strong)

Ni cuy ijaat at kar'taylir (I am blessed to know)

Gar ganar ratiin cuyir pal'vut (You’ve been mine all along)

Oh, kotyc dala be pal'vut (Oh, fierce girl of mine)

A verd gar kelir cuyir (A warrior you will become)

Bal ni cuy' cyau'kuyc par te tuur (And I’m excited for the day)

Ibac ni liser haa'taylir gar viinir (That I can see you run)

In your heart, you truly feel safe with him. Like you’re meant to be here and so is he. And in Din’s head, he couldn’t be happier; he’s so proud of you and the small child you’ve made, and he’s beyond proud to continue his lineage. 

Like clockwork, your daughter falls asleep, always lulled into peacefulness by her father’s voice. And by the time she has, you’re already dressed. The set Din picked out for you is a dark teal shade, and two-pieced. The entire thing is made of see-through lace, with high-waisted bottoms and a top that dips into your cleavage quite nicely. 

And when he steps into the room, he instantly pauses, eyes going wide when he sees you. Those deep, warm, puppy-dog eyes scan your body, his hands now softly closing the door.

“Cyare…” He’s moving toward you with out-stretched arms, his hands finding your waist that’s no longer well defined. (Beloved)

“You like it?” You feel bashful. Truthfully, it’s the first time you’ve dressed like this since giving birth. 

“It’s perfect.” Wide eyes continue to roam your figure, eyeing the skin he can see beneath the thin layer of lace. “So perfect…” 

Abruptly, he falls to his knees, releasing a deep groan as he kisses your belly. His hands are falling to your hips, sliding around to cup your backside. The small gasp that slips out of your throat makes him smile, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. 

“Din, baby…” Running your fingers through his hair, you hear him sigh before he’s hauling you into his arms. “Oh,”

“Come here,” He grunts, laying you back on your shared bed. 

Immediately, his fingers are finding the hem of your lingerie, pulling the front open and watching your tits spill out from the fabric. He then shoves his face into your chest, rubbing himself into the softness of your breasts. Wiggling his pelvis between your legs, he groans, teeth nipping at the delicate fabric. His body towers above your own, covering you entirely while his hips grind into you with gentle, sensual motions. Those broad hands quickly find your hips, squeezing you so tightly that it stings. And his mouth hasn’t stopped moving over your chest, lips dragging across your skin before sucking his mark onto your chest. 

Din’s body is pinning you down, forcing you into the mattress while you wiggle beneath him, your hands sliding through his hair while your hips meet his every motion. Lifting your legs, you plant your soles on the mattress so you can encase him, surround him. With Din, sex felt primal, like he had a dire need and duty to take you, to make love to you in the most carnal way. And seeing you dressed so prettily only made him hotter for you.

“Din!” Gasping, your hands fly to either side of his face as he wraps his lips around your nipple.

“Mm…” Comes that deep, desperate moan, languidly licking over your hardened peak while massaging each breast in his large hands.

“I love your fucking tits.” He mumbles, his soft mouth moving over your flesh. “I love that they’re big, I fucking love it.” His fingers dig into you, cupping you firmly in his palms. 

The stubble above his lip and along his cheeks tickles your skin, brushing over you as he moves his lips over the hills and valleys of your chest. He mouths at them, sucking on the sides and biting wherever he can. Before leaning back, he sticks his tongue out, flattening it on your solar plexus and slowly licking one, long stripe up between your breasts.

“Oh…” You sigh out, never tiring of his tongue on your skin.

“Look at your beautiful body…” Your husband sighs, that deep and gruff voice driving you mad. “Look at these hips…” 

His hands fall to your thighs, wrapping around the expanse of them and shoving them harshly to the sides. He then lifts them slightly, his mouth diving in to suck on your tender skin. 

Seeing him so aroused from the mere image of you is baffling, his mouth and hands already making you writhe and whine. 

“I can’t believe you’d ever think I wasn’t attracted to you.” He murmurs, licking the sweet flesh of your thighs. “Do you see yourself?”

“Din, baby…”

“I want as many children as I can have with you,” He groans, licking over the softness of your inner leg. “I always want you to look like this.”

Before you can say anything more, he continues to speak, continues to work himself up. “Do you remember how full they were after she was born? Your gorgeous tits?” 

“Mhm,” Nodding, you reach down for him, watching his eyes flutter shut when your fingers rake through his hair. 

“They were so swollen… I wish I could still taste them. Oh, cyar’ika,” Lifting himself, he covers you with his body once again, diving down to your neck so he can lick and nuzzle into you. “I loved it, I loved sucking on them…” With his free hand, he palms your breast, tweaking your nipple harsh enough to make you cry out for him. “Tasting them. Your sweet milk,” Glancing down, he murmurs, “I want that again.” (Sweetheart)

The memory of Din sucking on your tender breasts makes you wet for him all over again, not that you weren’t already. It was such an intimate and erotic moment, and it happened quite often. Holding him in your lap while he snuggled into your soft breasts, his hands kneading them as he watched milk spill from the tips. He’d suck on you for however long he wanted, however long you’d let him. And more often than not, you’d wrap your hand around him while he did it, another familiar, white liquid splattering your skin. 

“Don’t you want more?”

“Hm?”

“More of my babies, cyar’ika.” He answers instantly, his voice hurried and rough. “Don’t you want to be full of it? Full of my seed? Feeling it take root and grow inside you?” He’s truly working himself up, snarling against your neck while he groans. (Sweetheart)

“Baby, of course I do.” Lifting him to your face, you can practically feel the change in him. His dominance pushing to the surface, his primal desire to have and keep you. “Please, please take this off of me.” He’s only pushed parts of the set to the side, but it still hasn’t left your body. “I need you.”

“Stay quiet.” He suddenly orders, his voice stern as he speaks to you. And the next thing you hear is the tear of the fabric he’d bought you less than an hour ago. “Be quiet while I breed you.”

“Din.” But that’s all you get out before he’s slapping his palm over your mouth. 

“Such a beautiful thing, such a beautiful body for me to take…” He murmurs to himself, leaning back onto his knees so he can tower above your body, your heaving chest and spread legs.

Staring up at the man you love, the warrior that protects and provides for you, you reach out to him. Your hand slides over his firm stomach, his toned chest, all while maintaining his eye contact. 

“Din,” You whisper, wanting to appease him. And your quiet voice does. “Give me more babies.”

For the most part, the lingerie barely covering your body is brushed away, exposing your stunning curves to him. His chest presses to your own when he returns to you, one hand lifting to hold your jaw open so he can lick your tongue, the other falling to his throbbing shaft. Shuffling forward, he glides the tip of himself between your legs, between your very center. With a small whine of impatience, you lift your hips up to him. And instead of making you wait, he surprises you, staring into your soul while he slides entirely inside. 

“How does that feel?” He groans, leaning in to kiss your cheek while your mouth hangs open with a gasp. “How does it feel when I’m inside?” 

“It’s,” Sucking in a harsh gulp of air, you swallow, eyes closing in bliss. “It’s perfect, baby. Reminds me that you’re mine.” 

Smiling, you look up to see him transfixed on you, mesmerized by your beauty and devotion. “I am,” He nods, in awe of your love. “I am yours.” 

Retracting his hips, he pulls out half way before rolling his pelvis back into you, the hand he used to grip himself sliding along the bedsheets so he can paw at your cheeks.

“And you,” Dipping down, he shoves himself into the crook of your neck, mouth sliding down your throat, over your collarbones, landing on your breasts. “You are mine.”

Already, you feel like you can’t breathe. Your head is tipped back, lips open while you pant. His strokes are deep and turning harsh. Every thrust is accompanied by a forced and breathy grunt, his cock heavy as it drags along your sensitive walls.

With his head on your chest, he sucks on you again, lips latching to your already puffy nipples. His words are muffled, praise dripping out with his saliva, his kisses becoming sloppy and wet and before you know it, you’re drenched in it.

“Beautiful thing,” He grumbles over you with a heated moan, “Sexy fucking woman.” 

“Baby, holy fuck…” 

“Do you want it?” He asked, shoving himself into you. “Do you want me to breed you? Do you want it all over again?”

“Yes, yes please. Ner verd, ner cyare.” (My warrior, my beloved)

It’s then that he pulls out and is instantly flipping you over. He loves how easy you are to maneuver, those strong hands hauling your hips into the air so he can mount you. And he does, pressing his chest to your back while bucking his hips into you. He’s stretching your sensitive lips, the coarse hair at his base rubbing over your soft skin. The soft slap of his hips against your ass is louder than he wants it to be. But he can’t stop himself, not right now. 

“I want it inside.” He’s babbling into your ear, growling before he bites it. “I want it in your womb.” 

“Please.” It’s all you can manage out, feeling him forcefully rut into you, pressing your face down into the sheets while he massages the fat of your ass, the thickness of your thighs. 

“Your gorgeous body… always ready for me.” Din groans, leaning down to speak into your ear. Reaching around, he cups your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. “Ready to bless me, to give me more offspring.” 

And then, his lips are on you, smashing to your own and feeling the vibration of your moan. He revels in it, in the pleasure he brings you. And he does mean it, every child you give him is a blessing. 

You know he’s close by his grip on your jaw, fingers pinching into your cheek while his brows begin to furrow. Pushing yourself back against him, you whine beneath his weight, feeling his muscles flex against your legs and back. And you really wouldn't have it any other way. Sex has never felt better than when you’re being dominated by Din.

His high is long, drawn out completely. Hips jutting sharply against you, spilling the thickness of his seed into your center, your very core. And you can’t help but grind yourself back against him, feeling the hand on your jaw lower to grab your right breast. Lowering his head, he kisses your neck, your naked bodies rocking together. 

“Just… beautiful.” He praises, “You laid beautifully for me.” 

“Baby,” You whine, one hand curling around to slide your fingers through his thick, unruly hair. “I love you, I feel so connected to you.” 

“We are,” He emphasizes with a roll of his hips. “We are, ner mesh’la dala. Bonded as one, you to me…” Leaning in, he gives your lips a gentle peck. “And myself to you.” (my beautiful girl) 

Without fail, everytime Din came inside you, his fingers would find themselves sliding against your walls. He’d roll you onto your back, his warm body pressing against your own. His hands would spread your legs wide, his eyes watching intently as two fingers slipping into your center, rubbing against your walls. And of course, that’s what he does now. 

“Perfect,” He whispers, kissing your forehead. “Every part of you.” 

Din just adores the feeling of you scratching his back, so while he keeps you full, that’s just what you do. It makes the fierce warrior above you melt, relaxing against you. He lays over your body, muscles flexing as he calms down, his breaths beginning to steady. His weight is comforting, not enough to crush you but just enough for you to feel him. 

“Your body is a sacred thing… you are creating warriors, cyar’ika.” Pushing his fingers a bit further into you, he sighs, nuzzling his nose against your neck, rubbing himself into the space just beneath your jaw. “I have a feeling we made one tonight.”

“Your body is a sacred thing… you are creating warriors, cyar’ika.” Pushing his fingers a bit further into you, he sighs, nuzzling his nose against your neck, rubbing himself into the space just beneath your jaw. “I have a feeling we made one tonight.” 

[fanfic-obsessed]

Hi! Hope your August is off to a good start. Could I send a prompt for Talk Shop Tuesday?

Feel free to ignore the prompt if not!

Some or Several of the trainers look at the babies with their alor's face that said alor wants them to train for a war and go "we think the fuck not.

@somestorythoughts Sorry I did not answer yesterday, it took me a bit to get my thoughts in order for this.

Look there is never a bad time for me to receive a prompt,  a question, or a random message.  It brings me great joy.

Now For the Prompt:

Some or Several of the trainers look at the babies with their alor's face that said alor wants them to train for a war and go "we think the fuck not.

My first thought, before anything, is that Mij is the ringleader. There is no doubt that the medics would be the ones to spearhead this and Mij, of all of them, best remembers both Jaster and little Jango.

I also think that the medics do not really know what the babies are really there for at first. If we think about the Psychology of Jango Fett- Orphaned twice over, a leader too early, the death of his people (that he 100% will not face is partly his own fault-as he shot first) and his own enslavement, semi forced addiction to Spice from the aforementioned enslavement. While none of these things makes Jango evil, they do make him a bit broken. I do believe that in this one he is lying to everyone. 

He is telling the Kaminoans that he is training what will be the GAR (it does not matter if they know the full plot or not, Jango thinks they don’t). He is telling Dooku that he is honing the clones into a weakness for the republic and a wake up call for the Jedi while knowing Sidious’s actual plan for the clones. Of the trainers, he is telling some that the clones will be a trap for the Jedi, others that they will be getting some enormous payment, while telling still others (like Mij) that he is planning to steal the clones to rebuild the True Mandalorians, assuring the interested groups that he is working for the best of Mandalore. 

Most of all Jango is telling himself that he has not become worse than any of the crimes committed against him. 

It is all lies. 

For the first year, this house of cards remains standing. Jango has convinced most of the groups he is lying to that he is lying to everyone but them. Not that all of them care, but some do.  

It is such a small thing, in the grand scheme of things, that tips Mij off. Jango has managed to explain away the numbers (to give the clones a chance to name themselves), the lack of armor (that much armor is expensive), and other such discrepancies as necessities for ‘tricking’ their employer. 

It starts with a single look. A microexpression when Mij asks Jango to hold the toddler A-17 during a routine check. Disgust. It stuck in Mij’s mind all the harder, as he had just witnessed Jango with Boba not 10 minutes prior. 

Mij started to, discreetly, poke around. It takes him all of a week to find the chips. The slave chips embedded in the heads of babies. The babies with Jango’s face and slave chips in their heads. 

Mij has made an error. Mij.exe is also experiencing an error.

Everything is an error. 

Now Mij has a choice, and both those choices involve breaking a vow he swore so many years ago to Jaster Mereel, and later to Jango Fett. He could choose ignorance, and follow his Alor, convince himself there is a good reason for what he is seeing; pretend that there is any good reason for slave chips. And thus dooming untold children, untold babies, breaking his moral code irrevocably. Or he could choose the babies, could undermine his Alor, betray the trust that Jango had in him. Be one more person to abandon Jango, the boy that Jaster had adopted and loved. 

The choice was not an easy one, and it hurt. It hurt worse at how careful he had to be, gathering allies. The remnants of the True Mandalorians were bound by trauma and shared hell. It was excruciating, having to keep secrets, but Mij knew that not everyone would make the choice he had. Not everyone would choose the babies. He could not begrudge them, but he could not trust them either.

It took another month of wrestling with their choices before Mij and his allies, 14 other former True Mandalorians, came to a decision.  There were not enough of them to wrest control of Kamino, not enough to take the 10s of thousands of babies away and keep them safe. They debated going to the Jedi, having realized that the Jedi ordering the Clones was just another lie, but the Jedi were bound to the Republic. They could not protect or free the babies. 

There is only one group that could, politically, if not physically. One that Mij did not want to go anywhere near. Knew that he would have to give up what made him Mandalorian; that he would have to give up the Mandalore Jaster Mereel had envisioned.  By the end of the month, all 15 were in agreement that there was no other way.  

Though it took time, and careful planning, Mij makes sure to be holding a now toddler A17 when his call finally connects to Satine Kryze. He can feel her gaze slip to the baby in his arms as he pleads his case to the Duchess of the New Mandalorians. As he agrees to whatever hoops she wants them to jump through, if it would mean that the children are safe and loved. 

His Ancestors who marched ahead would be angry that he would give up their culture, but they would despise him for abandoning the babies to their fate.