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

[lukeskywalkersrighthand]

Dinluke WIP ✨

After Luke takes Grogu to train him they decide on a kind of divorced parents/co-parenting situation. Grogu stays at Luke’s school for six months and then back to Mandalor with his father who is (unfortunately) still the king.

It means that for a while Din and Luke have very little interaction except for trading Grogu. The rest of the mandalorians don’t really know much about where the mandalors son goes but they know it must be safe because Din is a protective mf.

Well one day on mandalor there is a freak acid storm. They happen a lot since the reclaiming but this one is particularly powerful. Grogu is at school and so the Jedi has no reason to be there but still his x-wing enters into the atmosphere.

Din runs out to meet the Jedi, terrified that something had happened to his son. Luke is in a huge black cape with his hood over his eyes. The rain pours over the planet but avoids the Jedi. He is walking slowly, almost gently and at first Din has no clue why. A ring of dryness following him, protecting him from the rain.

Din finally notices why. Tucked into his cloak is a tiny infant. Not Grogu, but instead human. The baby sleeps silently in the Jedi’s gloved hands.

A crowd of Mandalorians are not so secretly trying to watch the encounter as the mysterious Jedi hands over the child to Din.

“I saved him from an attack of raiders. His family was killed. I would have taken him in but he is not force sensitive.”

Din takes the child but is clearly confused.

“Why not take him to republic they have orphanages?”

Luke smiles sadly, “they try their best. But I have yet to see another people or planet that cares for children with the same…fervor than Mandalorians.”

He uses the back of his gloved hand to brush the babies hair, “I know that here, he is safe.”

Din’s heart feels like it could explode.

The Jedi gets into his ship shortly after and flys away leaving a whole lot of love-stricken Mandalorians in his wake.

Little did Luke know that trusting a child like this with a Mandalorian is basically foreplay.

[inquisitor-apologist]

Been thinking about Grogu a bit recently, and isn’t it weird that he can’t talk?

He seems to be developmentally around toddler age in Book of Boba Fett/Mando Season 3; he can walk, he can perform complex motor functions like jumping, flipping, and balancing on one leg, and he can effectively communicate with his assistive device. He is able to make noises—you can hear him making cooing sounds in his training montage with Luke—but he doesn’t ever try to speak, or even communicate verbally. We never see/hear him trying to form words, he doesn’t scream or cry, and he never babbles.

Which is fucking weird, for a baby. Babies are literally wired for language comprehension and learning; it’s one of the main things their brains do. Learning to communicate verbally is a vital stage of infancy/early childhood, and it starts only a few months after birth. Babies, infants, and toddlers, unless they have some kind of speech-language disorder or other disability, are constantly talking.

So Grogu should absolutely be talking throughout the Mandalorian, even if he’s just babbling. But Grogu’s not a Human child; while most of the species in Star Wars function more or less like Humans with superficial differences, we famously know nothing about his species, and thus can’t really assume that human standards apply.

And once you think about it, there’s good evidence that human standards around speech don’t apply. One of the only things we know about his species is that they struggle to speak normally. Both Yoda and Yaddle, the two members of his species that we’ve seen in canon, have an extremely distinctive speech disorder, consistently misordering words and phrases.

So, given this common difficulty and Grogu’s unusual lack of speech, it seems entirely plausible that the species as a whole might have language difficulties. Maybe their brains, unlike Human brains, just aren’t wired for verbal communication. They can do it, eventually, but it doesn’t come naturally to them.

However, it does seem like they might be wired for a different kind of communication: telepathy. Immediately upon meeting Luke and Ahsoka, two Jedi who are not telepaths and who don’t communicate using only the Force very often, Grogu is able to have full conversations with them. He’s not just relaying sensations or feelings, like we most commonly see with mind-to-mind communication in Star Wars, but actual words and sounds (see: him telling Ahsoka his name).

That’s not super common in Star Wars. Most Jedi don’t hold full conversations telepathically, yet Grogu’s able to converse like that extremely easily 30 years after the last time he could’ve conceivably talked to anyone in that manner. He seems naturally very good at mental communication, something that we can see from very early on in the series: one of the first things we see him do in Season 1 is use a primitive kind of Beast Control, a form of telepathic communication, to hold the Mudhorn in place (there’s definitely some telekinesis going on too, but he holds up his hand like Jedi do when communicating with animals, so I’m guessing he’s using both to keep it from moving).

Additionally, every single member of Grogu’s species is a Jedi/is Force-sensitive (and I believe this goes for Legends too, where there’s more of them), and extremely Force-sensitive at that. It seems quite likely that they would all be able to communicate through the Force, and given their difficulties with verbal speech, it’s probably their preferred form of communication.

That would also explain why Grogu, who at the time would’ve been developmentally a newborn (aka way younger than the 1-3 year olds the Jedi generally seem to adopt), was in the temple during Order 66. His species doesn’t seem to be very common, and the Jedi are the only other large culture that could communicate with him in his native mental language.

Because kids absolutely need some kind of language in order to develop normally, Grogu’s people might generally give their kids to the Order. This could be another reason Grogu is so slow to develop throughout the Mandalorian, and starts advancing much quicker after he interacts with Ahsoka and Luke: he’s been deprived of his natural language for most of his formative years.

Not sure how to end this, it’s just a thought that I had that kept on making more and more sense as I kept thinking about 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!

[strawberrykidneystone]

oh baby

din djarin x babysitter!fem!reader

summary: when you were recommended as a babysitter by peli, you had no idea that your old military skills would come in handy

a/n: just found out kylo ren has the side vents on his lightsaber bc he didn't bleed his kyber crystal correctly what a loser

tags: canon violence, fluff, comfort, yearning, mutual pining, tension over helping a wound, keldabe kiss, sleeping together, cuddling

ao3 version

grogu had been in your care while the mandalorian went on his missions for a few months now.

he was very cute, very food-driven, and was actually pretty quiet for a child his cognitive age, at least compared to a human one. thankfully, very easy to please as well.

you smiled fondly at the little green alien and handed him another blue cookie as part of his dessert for the night. din hadn’t returned yet, but you weren’t too worried as he said this particular mission could take all day.

then your comm sprang to life.

“i’m coming in hot, lower the bridge,” din said in a slightly hurried voice that wasn’t his usual vibrato, slightly gravely over the long-distance comm.

you scrambled up and grabbed your transponder, holding it up to your mouth to respond, “heard, i’ll make the preparations.”

turning to grogu, who looked up at you curiously from his seat next to the pilot chair, “stay there, don’t move.” he cooed in response and you nodded in affirmation, knowing to keep an eye out since he would probably wander down the razor crest anyway.

pressing the button that lowered the bridge, you grabbed the missle launcher that was stashed near the opening for scenarios just like this.

you walked down the bridge and took a knee with the heavy gun perched on your shoulder, looking through the scope in front of you. din was on a speeder with two stormtroopers on his flank, very closely gaining on him. as he saw you, he pressed forward even further, trying to create as much space between himself and the enemy as he could.

once the trackers had locked onto the troopers, you braced yourself for the kickback from the gun as you fired the missiles off. the two spiraled through the air and parted at the last minute, directly hitting the two speeders that were trailing din.

ah, this brought you back to your old military academy days. basically firing anything you could get your hands on, making you extremely versatile, but the missile launcher has always been a favorite of yours. shortly after graduating, you had been drafted into the empire and dodged it by hiding out in tattoine. in the next year, the death star was destroyed and the republic took over the galaxy again. even though you had only been drafted, you would still have to go through all the anti-imperialist training that you didn’t feel like doing, so you had just been a freelancer for a while, which is how you eventually ended up with mando thanks to a recommendation by peli.

it wasn’t exactly how you expected your life to go, but hey at least it wasn’t boring.

din swerved the speeder to a stop at the entrance of the razor crest just as you got up for your kneeling position, blowing the smoke off the top of the gun for good measure.

“nice shot,” din praised with a familiar hint of fondness in his voice that you could barely make out through his speaker.

“i always am,” you quipped with a smirk as you rested the missile launched across the back of your shoulders while you walked back up the bridge.

normally, he would’ve complained about your use of the missile launcher since a sniper would’ve worked far better, not to mention not having him near an explosion; but seeing you so happy to use it, and use it well, made him bite his tongue.

din abandoned the stolen speeder at the base of the ship without another thought, distracted by the sway of your hips as you sauntered up the incline. he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t keep his eye off of you which made him more grateful than ever for his shielded visor.

grogu was waiting to the two of you at the top of the ramp, cooing nonsensically with yet another cookie in his hand. you tutted in disapproval, setting the launcher back in its case before putting your hands on your hips while you looked down at the little foundling, “what have i said not about too much sugar before bed my little womprat?”

grogu looked up at you innocently, but babbled something in defense as you picked him up in your arms and walked back into the ship. little did you know, he used the force to get yet another cookie as you held him against your chest.

din couldn’t help the soft smile on his lips as he watched the two of you interact, a warm feeling tugging at his heartstrings. ever since you joined their little crew, things have felt substantially lighter. you were reliable and it was clear you truly cared about grogu as more than just a job. something about you was grounding to him and it gave him something to look forward to come back to, gave him another reason to keep going along with the little one.

there was also something in the quiet moments you had together: the two of you chatting in the cockpit during the long days of traveling, how you respected his religion and left the room whenever it was time to eat, when he would fall asleep in his captain’s chair and would find a blanket over his shoulders, your hands brushing against each other as you passed grogu between you two, the way you looked into his visor like you were looking straight into his soul. he didn’t need to take his helmet off to feel completely naked under your gaze.

he was pulled out of his thoughts as you told him you were putting grogu to bed, which he acknowledged with a silent nod. you took grogu down to the deck and tucked him into his little hammock, singing him a sweet lullaby as his big eyes shut for the day while din went to the cockpit.

din’s leg bounced impatiently as he waited for you to put the child to bed, you always came up for a debrief after he had been away. you were just as antsy to talk to him, but still took your time to properly lull grogu into a deep sleep. once his eyes were closed and he let out little snores, you glanced over din’s bed. whenever you woke up early, you’d find the two of them sleeping with grogu tucked under his chin. you couldn’t help but envy the little child, but quickly shook the thought out of your head. you tidied up his bed and tucked his blankets into their proper place before closing the door for the night.

climbing back up, you opened the door to the cockpit and took your place in the copilot chair. din’s leg stopped bouncing as soon as you opened the door, the bright lights of hyperspace reflected off of this polished helmet.

“so, what was it this time din?”

he grunted and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he went over the day in his mind.

“thought i was doing a regular supply run, but the boxes were filled with spice. turns out the client was a valuable asset to the empire they didn’t like losing.”

you knew he was being intentionally vague, all that really mattered at the end of the day was that he got the job done. he spared you as many of the details as possible, but you knew what he was truly capable of and it didn’t take an expert to read between the lines. he was good at what he did and he was efficient at it, point blank period. plus, you didn’t mind taking out a few bucket heads every now and then.

“any injuries?” you asked softly, looking him over as much as you could from your obstructed view.

he didn’t say anything and instead turned his chair to you, a blaster fire injury on the inside of his left bicep. you furrowed your brows, looking at the irritated wound and the rip in his sleeve. scooting forward until your knees were almost touching, you took his bicep in your hands and inspected the gash.

“doesn’t look too deep, superficial at best. i’ll get the banta spray, but you need to take your shirt off so i can clean it and mend your clothes.”

he nodded silently, trying to ignore how safe your touch made him feel. you quickly exited the room to give him ample time to remove everything he needed to.

you couldn’t help the flush of your cheeks at the thought of seeing him shirtless as you looked for the first aid kit. it wouldn’t be the first time and you prayed it wouldn’t be the last time either.

was it wrong to hope someone got hurt to have the rare chance of skin-to-skin contact with them?

maker, you sounded demented.

finally finding the spray and the disinfectant wipes, you made your way back to the door to the cockpit. you paused and waited a bit longer, knocking at the door to make sure he was ready.

“come in,” his still distorted voice responded. you took a deep breath to steady yourself and opened the door.

din sat at the captain’s chair with his legs slightly spread, his upper body bare to you with his helmet still covering his head. his chest was covered with wirey hair that was surprisingly neatly trimmed. his skin was littered with scars that all had their own stories that you hoped to hear about one day, not just the vague details. you walked over to the side of his injured arm and took a knee, taking one of the wipes out of its container.

“this may sting a bit, sorry in advance,” you said softly, looking up at him to make sure he was prepared. he nodded to you and slightly winced when the wipe made contact, but didn’t move otherwise. once the laceration was clean, you blew air on the wound to try and quell the sting you knew he was feeling, even if he didn’t show it.

his whole body was tense, but not from the string of the disinfectant. he wasn’t used to you being this close, or anyone for that matter, being this close to him. sure, he held grogu every one in a while, but that was different from this. it was different because it was you. and if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t know what the kriff to do. it’s like when you touch him, his brain just went blank.

you could feel his eyes on you even if you couldn’t see them, observing every move you made. it was sweet really, how he watched you as if he was always waiting for the right time to say something, but never finding it.

once the gash was dry, you shook the bacta spray a few times for good measure. you sprayed the wound with a thick layer of bacta, covering the area with a cushiony bandage. when your hands left his skin he couldn’t help but miss the warmth of your touch, an ache for you to hold him as you did with the foundling.

each passing day the ache seemed to grow, only getting relief in your presence with the fire burning brighter in his chest with your absence.

din knew what this feeling was, even if he could barely admit it to himself. he was in love with you. everything about you. your witty banter, your beautiful smile, the way your eyes gleamed when the sun hit them just right, your kindness and perseverance in the face of adversity.

but he couldn’t subject you to that, even if his day dreams consisted of the three of you settled down on a bantha farm.

oblivious to his inter turmoil behind his helmet, you made sure that all sides of the bandage were stuck securely onto his skin with no stay air bubbles by pressing your fingers gently along the edges.

din caught your wrist before you pulled it away, confusion clear on your face as you looked into the shaded vision that hid his deep brown eyes. he guided your hand away from his arm and placed it over his heart. you looked at where your hand rested, suddenly aware that you could feel his heart racing against his chest similarly to your own.

that’s when it dawned on you.

a bashful smile tugged on your lips as your cheeks warmed. you took his other hand in yours and pressed his hand over your heart, climbing into the copilot chair to sit across from him without removing his hand from from skin. surely he could feel your heart practically leaping out of your chest as the simple touch of his bare skin.

din gathered up your hands in his and cupped them in their warmth. you could feel his eyes looking into yours as he softly squeezed your hands, tentatively leaning his head forward. your breath hitched as the cold metal of his helmet made contact with your warm forehead. shutting your eyes, you tilted your head at an angle to match his and settled into the closeness the two of you shared with only the hum of hyperspace in the background.

breathing in deeply, you pulled your head back from his with an amused smile as you saw the warmth from your skin had caused his visor to slightly fogged up. when the haze in his visor cleared, your hands brought his knuckles up to your mouth where you softly pressed your lips against the calloused bumps.

at that moment, din had never been more grateful for his helmet as his cheeks turned a bright red at the simple gesture that both of you knew deep down meant more than was said aloud.

you had done your fair share of research on mandalorians since joining his crew and you knew the significance of him pressing his forehead against yours, along with your return of affection.

"will you join me in my bed tonight cyare?" he asked in a soft voice that thankfully you could hear the tone of through his direct speaker.

you quietly nodded in response and let him lead you by his hand to his bunk, the two of you naturally climbing into the cramped space and fitting in together like two puzzle pieces.

once the lights were turned off and darkness swallowed up the room along with your vision, you heard the hiss of the pressure of his helmet release. you heard a clunk behind you as din set the headgear onto the shelf, followed by him tucking your head into the crook of his neck with his chin resting on top of your scalp. relaxing in his hold, you couldn't remember the last time you had ever fell asleep so quickly, a sense of safety in his arms. din wasn't far behind, soothingly running a hand up and down your back as he let himself drift off to the sound of your slowed breaths.

there were so many questions left unanswered between the two of you, but for now, you rested in the sanctity of each others presence.

a/n: me writing this⬇️

[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).

[alor-ika]

Or should I call you Scorch?

How Scorch got his name

Word count: about 1100 words

Warnings: no warnings

Summary: I have never written fanfic before but you have all inspired me. I thought I’d start off with a straightforward rendition of how Scorch got his name for the day 1 prompt ‘you’re hurt.’ New to posting text here so please bear with me! I don't know how to use the cool headers and dividers. :(

RC-1262 looked nervously around at the other commando cadets in the clinical white room. It was just like all the other rooms on Kamino, at least all the other rooms he’d seen. Usually he only trained with his brothers, but today was demolitions training. Just him, Sergeant Vau, and the other cadets selected to be the demo specialists for their squads.

“Are you ready RC-1262?” Vau asked without looking at the cadet. RC-1262 snapped to attention. “Yes sir!” he barked his reply, looking straight ahead.

Vau glanced down at the curly haired boy who was clearly trying not to sound too eager. He’d chosen RC-1262 to be Delta Squad’s demolitions expert because was smart, calm enough, and he’d shown some aptitude for the calculations required to mix the explosives properly. Not enough and you’d be dead. Too much and, well, you’d also be dead. ‘Yes,’ Vau thought to himself confidently, ‘I made the right choice for this position.’

The boy didn’t need to know that, though. “Get everything right the first time, RC-1262. Do not embarrass me.” With that, Vau walked off to join the other trainers.

The cadets were tasked with making increasingly complex and intricate detonators, ones that could blow open doors and blow up droids and organics of various sizes. Scorch was the first one to figure out and complete every objective. Finally, they were on the last – and most complex – detonation exercise.

“Are you sure you want that much baradium in a practice det?”

RC-1262 raised an eyebrow as he glanced up to see who was questioning him. RC-1136. Darman from Theta Squad. One of Skirata’s boys. Soft.

“I know what I’m doing RC-1136” he scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Worry about yourself and that shabla excuse for a det in front of you.” Darman kicked his seatmate’s leg. “Mine’s just fine, mir’sheb di’kut” he retorted, a bit too loudly.

Vau was on them in a second. “What are you two babies crying about?” he hissed, his gold eyes narrowed angrily.  Neither cadet spoke. Vau grabbed the collars of both their fatigues, lowered his head and repeated the question, letting go of them with a push.

"RC-1136 questioned the amount of baradium I put in this det AND he called me a mir'sheb di’kut." "Sir” RC-1262 added hastily. Darman looked at 62 and the tall stern training sergeant. He scurried to the safety of the next table, leaving his unfinished det behind. All the cadets knew about Vau and Darman did not want to be in his line of fire.

Vau sighed and removed his helmet. He looked around the room imperiously. This was a training class after all, he thought, deciding to give RC-1262 a chance to explain himself. “Well, did you do it properly?”

“Yes sir!” came the enthusiastic reply. “Watch!” he said putting it in the uncovered transparisteel box in front of him. Once he pushed the remote button the resultant puff of smoke and small boom would finally, hopefully, make Sergeant Vau proud of him.

Disoriented, RC-1262 looked around from his position on the floor, a few metres back from where he’d been seconds earlier. His ears were ringing, and his fatigues were damp, the sprinklers in the ceiling having been activated. Someone picked him up and transported him to another room. RC-1262 squeezed his eyes shut and mentally catalogued all his extremities. He knew what happened to cadets who were injured.

A few minutes later, RC-1262 found himself in the medbay, being scanned by a droid-medic. “Am I going to be exterminated?” RC-1262 asked Sergeant Gilamar, trying not to sound nervous. Gilamar, the Mandalorian head medic, glanced over in a not unkindly way. He shut down the droid-medic and explained: “you’ve burnt some skin on your face and cut your head on a chair when you flew backward. Nothing too serious. You’ll be fine in a day or two.” RC-1262 looked around, relieved. He sat up on the med bed. “No, they won’t be terminating you,” Gilamar concluded sternly, thinking of the Kaminoans he’d come to loathe over the past few years.

“You might wish you were marked for termination though,” Sev’s voice sniggered from the corner. Gilamar and RC-1262 looked over to see the three other members of Delta Squad peering at them slyly.

“Once you see what you did to Sarge’s face, you might request termination” Fixer commented, sounding more serious than his brother.

“Oh SHAB” RC-1162 yelped, looking around for Vau. Terminated before he even got to choose a name for himself.

 “Sargent Vau is in there” Gilamar told the cadets, motioning ominously to a second door. The four boys silently made their way to the door, nudged it open, and cautiously peered into the darkened room.

“Is he… Is he dead?” RC-1262 managed to squeak out. Sarge could be mean and rough, but they trusted him, and he always told them that he was teaching them to survive because that was the most important thing for a soldier. The four looked at each other nervously. Surely they’d be terminated for killing a trainer… even Vau.

“Of course I’m not dead!” A haughty voice snapped from the darkened room. Vau appeared in the doorway. The four boys huddled together, backing up.

“But you’re hurt! I hurt you!” RC-1262 gasped, looking at the bacta bandages on his training sergeant’s left cheek, neck, and forehead. Even part of eyebrow seemed to have been burned away.

“No sniveling! Besides, I’ve had worse,” Vau sneered, touching his temple rather gingerly. He looked at RC-1262 sternly. “You did an acceptable job today. You’ll make a fine detonation expert, RC-1262. Or should I call you Scorch?”

Vau opened the door leading to the hallway and waved his squad away. The cadets glanced at each other, confused. They saluted the two trainers and marched out of the medbay before Vau came to his senses. “Scorch!” Sev growled, trying out the name that had been bestowed on his brother. “It’s a di’kutla name but that’s fitting” Boss remarked. The four of them dissolved into laughter,  Fixer poking at Scorch’s bandaged face.

Back in the medbay, Gilamar regarded the other man carefully. He had been half expecting Vau’s wrath, but Vau seemed very much unconcerned. “Walon” he hedged, “I thought you’d be angry with Scor - - er, RC-1262.”

Vau looked to make sure the door was closed and the boys had left. “No, Mij,” he sighed, disappointed to have to explain himself. “It was my fault. I leaned too close to see the measurement line on the detonator.” He paused and looked around again. “But if you tell this to anyone, especially Skirata, you will regret it deeply.” Gilamar saw the slightest tug of a smile on the uninjured side of Vau’s face, but he didn’t comment on that; he simply nodded and passed Vau his jet black buy’ce.

Later that night, RC-1262 lay awake in his bunk as his brothers slept. “Scorch” he whispered to himself over and over, getting used to his name. ‘Yeah, that’s me. Scorch!’ he thought contentedly, finally closing his eyes. “Thanks Sarge and sorry about your eyebrow!”

@deltasquadweek

[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

[graylinesspam]

Your Ahsoka & Mandos AU just made me tear up pls ARE YOU PLANNING TO WRITE THAT ???????

That plus clones being jealous and not even bothering to hide that because Ahsoka was THEIRS first would be absolute peak

Umm, I could write some if you guys are interested. It would be more like a series of isolated one shots than a real series though. Since it kinda contradicts ASOI and it isn't cannon to SH.

But first some context would probably be good i think.

This "AU" takes place after Ahsoka leaves the Jedi. As we know canonically that she stays with Bo and her Mandalorian faction for an indeterminate amount of time after the disaster on Oba Diah. At the time of spilling those thoughts onto a text post I was just wrapped up in question marks about exactly what that environment would have been like for Ahsoka.

Ahsoka who just left the GAR and is feeling all kinds of guilt for not being there with her men, watching their backs like she's "supposed to". (it is my personal extrapolation that Ahsoka would have been moved from the 501st if she had returned to the jedi anyways. Bc knights and masters have never lead the same faction. The graduated knight has always been moved to their own faction to lead. And I think part of the reason Ahsoka left the jedi was bc she didn't want to return to the war without Anakin and Rex.)

But it took her like maybe a handful of weeks to end up on another war front with another set of soldiers. And yeah they aren't hers and she's not leading them but it feels like a betrayal anyways. If she's still gonna be fighting a war, it should be with her brothers. So Ahsoka does what she always does, tries to make herself useful and block out the guilt with work.

She's in a mandalorian camp now. One with a wide range of smaller clans in it as they are preparing to take back the planet of Mandalore. She's interacting with Mandalorian elders (And Ahsoka has always been good with elders. From the jedi council to the elders on her home planet to members of the senate, elders love Ahsoka). They Enjoy her Youthful energy and her manners. The fact that she brews excellent tea and is hard working and smart. She's interacting with younglings as well. Something else she's experienced with as a former leader of her own creche clan. She isn't afraid to pick up a crying kid, dust them off and tell them to walk it off. But she's also gentle and really good at deciphering baby talk. She tells fun stories for them around the camp fire and makes their toys float to entertain them.

And when actual combat happens, she's great in a fight. She can understand hand signals and follow orders, but she can also take on a battalion of droid alone without breaking a sweat. She has never been bested in a spar. And though her blaster skills leave much to be desired she can wield most bladed weapons like an assassin.

It's not all sunshine and rainbows. A lot of Mandos just aren't going to be happy about having an ex jedi in their camp. BUT it has been a long time since the jedi and mando were actively in conflict. And Ahsoka willingly leaving the jedi actually gives her a lot of credit in their eyes. That and the fact that she has obviously began mandalorian training (of some sort). She is totally eligible to be taken into a clan. Now in what way is the real debate.

Because Ahsoka is in that awkward young adult stage where she's mostly too old to be taken on as a foundling and she mostly too young to get married.

She shows every single Mandalorian virtue. Respect for the religion, Good child rearing skills, Good combat skills, The ability and willingness to hunt large game, An anti-individualistic community focused mindset, A lust for life and freedom, heart bleeding loyalty, weapons proficiency, and most importantly, honor. And there's the little detail that she's working with the top ranking clans as an advisor and hand for hire. A weird not rank that is none the less very admirable.

When I say every mando expects Ahsoka to join a clan. I mean every one of them. The elders are asking to train her and finding it hard to find some area of training that she isn't proficient in (not everyone can teach her to shoot). Meanwhile she is blissfully unaware that this is the first step to being adopted.

The youngest adults, the ones in her age group, are either trying to finish their training and graduate so that they may be free to start courting, or they're saying fuck it, ima court the highly powerful ex-jedi anyways. Bc can you even imagine what an asset she'd be to any clan? The Mandos have a weird relationship with force sensitivity since they're never trained to use it, but damn can it be an asset in battle. Can you imagine how strong her children would be? it's like a mandos wet dream.

Huge super powerful riduur move things with mind, fight with cool weapons, make clan strong.

Ahsoka is only minimally knowledgeable on Mando culture and the courting goes right over her head. They want to spar with her *shrug* ok. They want to share her meals? cool she'll hunt fresh meat for diner. They want to gift her weaponry? She's kinda picky actually she's on the look out for some specific pieces, but if you hear anything about weapons traders, let her know. They want to teach her Mando'a? okay she's just been using flashcards for a while, don't make fun of her pronunciation though.

And that's when they're just chilling in camp and not when active combat is happening.

Ahsoka dropping an enemy Mandalorian in five seconds flat.

Ahsoka finishing kills with her teeth

Ahsoka jumping fifteen feet vertically

Ahsoka free falling out of ships without a jetpack

Ahsoka sensing danger with pinpoint accuracy

Ahsoka speaking to giant animals

Ahsoka using the force to snatch a knife off your belt to kill an enemy with.

Ahsoka lifting an angry mando in the air and refusing to put them down until they calm down

Ahsoka who can disarm an enemy without touching them

Ahsoka who can snatch you out of the line of fire

Ahsoka who can take a stun bolt to the chest and keep walking

With teeth like knives and claws like daggers

and gentle hands and a soft voice

Now, the context that you really wanted. Which is bringing the clones into this.

That would require stretching out the siege on Mandalore which I am totally game to do. Lets wedge this into a O66 didn't happen Au. Lets put the 332nd in a camp of Mandos for weeks (not unlike on Onderon when they were training the rebels).

Rex and Jesse and Kix reunited with their Commander. Ahsoka blooming under the company of her brothers. Ahsoka running to greet them and getting pulled into a keldabe immediately. Ahsoka responding to her rank and leading men like it's as easy as breathing. Ahsoka who apparently already has a clan and wears their colors with pride. Ahsoka who is given back her lightsabers and becomes an absolute beast in the battlefield like nothing they've ever seen.

The clones who know just enough about mando culture to see the flock of gangly late teens that follow Ahsoka around and bring her food and beg her to spar and go all stiff whenever she touched them. Clones that go "excuse me, that is my vod'ika. Back off"

Rex who wears a permanent scowl. Kix who feels sorry for the poor kids throwing themselves at Ahsoka just to get brushed off absentmindedly. Jesse who is laughing his ass off at the jealousy radiating out of them.

Ahsoka who is even more mando like than they thought as soon as her brothers are around. Who breaths loyalty like its air, who speaks broken bastard mando'a like its a real language. Who spars with no less than 15 clones and usually comes out on top. Who hunts with her favorite brothers with nothing but her bare hands and comes back triumphant. Who gives orders like a clan leader and takes them like a soldier. Who Is referred to by rank with so much affection that you can taste it.

Ahsoka curling up in a pile of men in armor and sleeping around a fire, more at peace then anyone in this camp has seen her before.

And brothers who are so fond of her that they'd cut their own hearts out if she asked. But are more than willing to deliver yours to her instead if you don't back the fuck off. She belongs to our clan. I will best you in ritual combat about it.

Seething side eyes. Arms always around her shoulders. Plastoid flanking her at all times. The days of Ahsoka being alone are over. You'll never pry her out of their hands again.

[curiousnightly]

knight's shade - pt. five

a mandalorian x reader fanfiction

summary: you and the mandalorian came to a compromise. one that allows him to offer you a way out of your crimes and find a new occupation while you are able to provide him assistance with his adoptive son and anything else around the ship. surprised at how willingly he was to allow and offer help, you can't prevent feeling hopeful that this shift in your life will bring new and better opportunities. however, that hope waivers slightly when you accidentally see something that you shouldn't. 2.3k words

tags: slow burn; strangers to lovers; eventual smut (shameless i know)

warnings: banter, teasing perhaps; close proximity (he's too close your honor); female arousal if you squint

reader characteristics: no use of 'y/n'; use of nickname for reader (Shade); she/her afab!reader

a/n: sorry for the wait people but i am a very busy girl. this one also took a minute cause of both writer's block (i had the urge to scratch the original idea for the chapter) & perfectionism. but here it is! lowkey loving that they are both slightly testing the waters but it is for you to determine who is the bolder one of the two hehe (｀∀´)Ψ

taglist: @freakrenaissance; @luciebisaku; @enfppuff; @gaiagurl05; @peculiar-night; @jackieblogsstuff; @mando-amando; @thegreenkid2

masterlist

<<<pt. four | pt. six (coming soon)

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Traveling through space has completely deteriorated my concept of time. Not that Coruscant ever really gave me a great concept of time to begin with, but whatever methods I originally had to measure that metric before are completely gone now. Normally, a full day for myself would consist of training exercises or assignment completion, making the day go by in a breeze. However, a full day on the Razor Crest has felt like an eternity. I can’t really say that I’ve used my time wisely since joining this small crew as I have mainly spent it either resting on the Mandalorian’s cot or playing mind games with the magic baby. But the thing that has really made time tick slowly is the insanely deafening, intense energy between me and this ship’s host.

Dammit, I curse inwardly. Of course as soon as I start to be on decent terms with the man who has offered me so much in such a short time, something goes awry. The tension since our little altercation and the threat he gave me has been thick and looming throughout the entire ship’s hull everytime we both occupy it. Not that we have been sharing the space all that much, since every time he makes his way from the cockpit to the main hull for whatever brief task he needs to complete, he immediately retreats to his hideout without a single glance in my direction. Each time it feels like he’s either ignoring me or purposefully forgetting I’m here. 

Even though he doesn’t need to make my presence known, it rubs me the wrong way. I can't help but want him to acknowledge it, especially after how tightly he held my hand to his chest, almost begging for me to not pull away. The way his chest was so warm, a complete contrast to the cold armor he wore, and the way his heart rate rapidly pulsed against my hand-

UGH. I run my hands through my hair trying to shake the thoughts about his insanely masculine body. I recall his threat to hunt me down to erase my indecent thoughts. 

I stand from where I am sitting and glance across the main hull for at least something to keep my mind busy. I pass on the thought of doing my daily exercises to stay agile as I remember that I don’t have any spare clothing and won’t likely gain any until we’ve reached Nevarro and I’ve received my own earnings. 

If I can still come out of this with a job lined up. 

I ignore my negative thoughts and think of something else. Can’t repair anything, there are no spare parts for repair. Can’t freshen up, no spare clothes. Can’t play mind games with the alien baby, he’s sleeping in the cockpit. Can’t spar cause I refuse to bug my potentially one and only sparring partner…

I sigh, realizing that my last thought reminded me that the only way I really could find something to do was to in fact disrupt the Mandalorian. I hesitate on actually bugging him, mainly because I believe that it may be a death sentence, until my stomach grumbles. I groan. I actually would rather offer myself to the Maker than go ask him for food. 

It takes me a few minutes and constant back and forth pacing to finally get the courage to start towards the cockpit, but my steps immediately halt when the cockpit hatch opens and heavy footsteps descend the ladder in front of me. I quickly turn around towards the cot to hide but the man I am trying to hide from is somehow already directly behind me before I can even get close to locking myself away. 

“What are you doing?” The modulated voice behind me registers rather low. I slowly turn towards him, trying to hide the almost embarrassed look that is likely on my face since I was trying rather obviously to reach the cockpit and simultaneously hide from him. My eyes focus on the ladder behind him to avoid the visor trained on me. 

“I was just getting some steps in,” I lied horribly. He remains silent, leaving me to believe he’s also not buying it. I sigh. 

“I was actually going to ask if you had anything to eat,” I admit nervously. 

The Mandalorian doesn’t quite move or respond right away, making me look at him in nervous confusion. I thought for a moment that he was about to laugh at me or reveal some piece of information about Mandalorians going for long periods without food until his visor shifted and he moved around me towards a crate. 

Dumbfounded, I turn around to follow his direction towards the crate he begins to open and rummage through. 

“Catch,” he says as he throws a bag of dried fruit and meat towards me. Luckily, my reflexes kick in and I manage to catch the bag without faltering. I look up at him and offer a short thank you. He simply nods in response before returning to the crate to pull out a few other items before closing it. He pauses before returning his visor in my direction. 

“Funny, the little one just woke up requesting food too,” he states with a short laugh that is barely audible through the modulator. I raise my eyebrows at him, shocked that he’s not only trying to make small talk but he also laughed? I can’t read this man for the life of me.

“Really? How did you know he was hungry?” Cheerful curiosity is obvious in my question as I try to keep the conversation afloat. He simply shrugs before responding. 

“He’s not one to communicate, but he gives that same grumble and pout all kids do when they’re hungry,” he says matter of factly. My curiosity peaks again at the mention of kids.

“Are you around kids often?”

He takes a moment before responding. “Not necessarily, but when I visit the coalition there are often children around. I sometimes interact with them when I make my rounds. More often lately now that I have him with me. The kids seem to be in awe of him.”

“It would be hard not to, I think, considering how uniquely adorable he is,” I responded with a smile. 

This time a genuine laugh vibrates from the helmet across from me. My cheeks warm upon hearing it as it’s the first heartwarming emotion I have heard come from under that helmet. I can’t help but wonder what his face looks like when he laughs. Does his face scrunch up? How big is his smile? I internally ignore my own curiosity.

“Yeah, he is pretty cute huh,” he says with a hint of timber from his laughter. 

“I didn’t know the Mandalorian was capable of perceiving such a thing,” I remarked, a sarcastic smirk forming on my face. 

“Perceiving what?”

“Something as ‘cute’.”

“I am capable of perceiving such things, do you take me for a droid?”

“I almost did when I first heard you speak,” I snorted. The slight tilt of his head indicated he did not like that assumption, making me laugh more openly. I wave a hand in front of me dismissively. “Sorry, sorry, clearly not a droid. Maybe a Kel Dorian or Rodian,” I laugh. 

“Human,” he corrects. 

“Well that was obvious when-” I immediately cut myself off upon realizing my own implication, my face completely falling. I hear a deep modulated sigh from across the room. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine,” he cuts me off, “You’re not entirely at fault for what happened.”

“I can’t help but feel bad about it anyways,” I mumble as I shift my attention elsewhere, “and I promise I won’t tell anyone what I saw.” My face warms when I recall the image of his chest.

“Glad to hear. Don’t want to have to threaten you again,” he chastised as he stood from his crouched position in front of the crate and walked towards me. I can only stare at him, completely stunned. He gives me a questioning hum from behind helmet.

“I just-I thought you were being serious-”

“I was,” he cuts me off, putting a gloved finger up to silence me for a second, “and I can follow through on that threat. But I needed it to get you to stop asking questions.” He lowers his hand and remains quiet to allow me the opportunity to respond. 

“So…you won’t hunt me to my death starting right now?” I asked apprehensively. 

An irritated sigh comes from the modulator. “Again, you are currently not one of my quarries.”

“But I will be one of them eventually?”

“Do you want to be hunted by me?” The question sends a shiver down my spine.

“I don’t think I could handle being your prey,” I reply sarcastically. 

“No one can handle being my prey,” he attested. 

I raise an eyebrow at his confident statement, my eyes now fully focused on the thin black visor. “Not one person has managed to escape you?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” he deflects.

“You leave a lot of room for questions to be asked,” I counter. He only crosses his arm in response, irritation apparent again. Feeling emboldened, I challenge him.

“Okay, but who says I can’t escape being your prey?” 

“I do,” he states without hesitation. 

“How so?”

“Simple, I already know your weak points.”

I roll my eyes and scoff, “you’ve only known me for a couple of days that’s ridiculous-”

He cuts me off by grabbing my face with one of his gloved hands while his other hand grips my hip to press me against the wall. I gasp at the feeling of his hands and feel my face flush when I recall the last time he had me in this position. My eyes brimmed with tears at my sudden frustration and the return of shooting pain down my back, but they quickly dry when one of his knees lifts to push my thighs apart to settle in between them. Warmth immediately floods to my lower stomach in response to where he has decided to position himself and where his hands happen to be. I attempt to look up into the visor with a hurt expression, but I can’t guarantee my suddenly flustered appearance is completely hidden. 

Upon seeing my attention finally meet his visor, the Mandalorian snickers. Did he just laugh at me? 

“See,” he starts, “the thing about most of my prey is that they have a tendency to display their vulnerabilities physically.” He leans forward, pressing our bodies closer together. I try to avert my gaze but his grip holds my jaw still. 

“I will admit,” he continues, voice registering extremely low in the modulating filter, “when you caught me off guard, I showed my own weaknesses.” He pauses for a moment and I faintly feel his gloved thumb on my hip make a small circle over the skin that became exposed from my shirt lifting up against the wall. “But I wasn’t the only one who displayed their thoughts and feelings with their body.” This time his head tilts slightly up, making me realize that he was looking down at me before making eye contact behind the helmet. My breath hitches, which elicits another satisfied chuckle from him. Irritated by the fact that he so easily has me flustered, I try to rebuttal. 

“So that’s why you conceal yourself behind a mask.”

“That’s why we all conceal ourselves behind a mask,” he releases his grip on my jaw and leans away from me as if to fully scan me for something out of place. “Being concealed gives me an advantage over my exposed prey.” 

I force down the shiver that tries to roll up my spine and raise an eyebrow at him. He continues, “You’re skilled in keeping out of sight within the shadows, that was clear in your profile when I was researching on Crix. However,” he brings his free hand to rest on the wall above my head and leans in closer again, completely caging me in, “the second you walked into that room with that briefcase you shared more about yourself than you realized.” 

My cheeks involuntarily blush at the thought of him being able to read me so easily. Frustrated, I make an attempt to push him away, but the cold beskar under my hands refuses to budge. This only elicits another short chuckle from the modulator in front of me for a brief moment before he finally steps away and offers me space. “And just like that I’ve managed to learn more about you. I’m afraid you’d make for easy prey,” he banters, making the tips of my ears burn. 

I step forward, trying to come up with some sort of witty remark but he’s quick to cut me off, “You’ll need to work on better concealing your emotions prior to sparring,” he quips as he steps back and turns to grab the completely forgotten food rations. I freeze at his comment.

“I’m sorry, what?” I finally respond after gathering my racing thoughts from the recent encounter, standing there completely stunned. 

“If you want to become a good hunter, you need to know how to better conceal your emotions so your prey don’t gain the upper hand,” he responds rather nonchalantly, “and you need to learn how to read and assess your prey.” 

“I-I get that but what about the part about sparring-” 

“We’ll practice this on our way to Nevarro and will spar on Nevarro once you’ve learned some basics,” he says as he heads back towards the cockpit, “Get some rest for now and will start once you’re up.” 

Before he fully ascends the ladder, he leaves my surprised self with one final remark, “I suggest you train with me to become my equal rather than becoming the one attempting to evade me.” 

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pt. six (coming soon)

if you'd like to be added/removed from the taglist for knight's shade, please feel free to send me a message

[bardan-jusik]

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

[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

[notitlesapply]

Star Wars AU idea: Jango lives! But we don't really care about how this changes the big plot points in the galaxy. No the story is all about now that the clones are out in the galaxy, everyone is comparing Jango to his clones and finding him... wanting.

For example: he takes on a job protecting some important political leader. When he shows up, they're disappointed that there's only one of him on their security detail. The politician keeps rambling about that one time they had a whole squad of Coruscant Guards protecting them. The Guard was soooo professional, their armor so nicely painted they looked quite fetching, they had cute massifs on hand, and their Commander (I'm thinking it was probably Thorn) was a great conversationalist. Meanwhile Jango is kinda just...there. His armor is scuffed and mostly unpainted, he doesn't like talking, and worst of all he doesn't have pets! (Not to mention, hiring Jango is much more expensive than getting the Guard assigned to a politician by the Senate.)

Then there's bounty hunting jobs. Yeah he's a great bounty hunter, probably the best in the business, but there's only one of him. Most clones are trained to have a similar skill set to Jango, so hiring a clone isn't really a downgrade. Most of the time, it's an upgrade depending on the job and costs less. When clones take up bounty hunter work, they come in a group, and often cost less than a normal bounty hunter group. Not to mention clones tend to work well together as opposed to other bounty hunter groups that are constantly backstabbing each other. The Bad Batch, who do take up mercenary work, are also enhanced, allowing them to offer more specialized services.

Then there's the times when Jango wants to hook up with someone. His refractory period is not as good as a clone. Most clones are very sweet and excited to go out with a natborn for the first time. They're very good at taking directions and are attentive to their partners. Also, if a partner wants, a clone will bring others to the bedroom! When you get with a clone you get the option of a 10 for 1 deal. Jango, much more jaded and alone, can't offer any of that.

And there's the general view of Jango vs. the clones. The clones are seen as the heroes of the Republic. For the most part, they're well liked. They've rescued quite a few planets, including Mandalore. Every single clone battalion has honorary citizenship somewhere for saving a planet. Meanwhile, Jango is either not known or regarded quite poorly, especially on Mandalore. He was the former Mand'alor that abandoned the planet! And once it comes out that Jango not only sold his own clones children, but that he subjected them to brutal tortures, reconditioning, and decommissioning, wellllll...yeah there's one thing that almost all Mandalorians agree on (from New Mandos to Death Watch) and that is that Jango Fett is dar'manda.

We don't even need to go in depth with what the Jedi think. (But we will anyway.) We all know the Jedi adore the clones and think they're the best thing to happen ever. Meanwhile, Jedi younglings have all heard terrifying tales of the Jedi Killer who is scary and also super mean to all their clone friends. One time a creche clan all sent letters to Jango with messages like: "why were you so mean to all the Commanders? They play with us, and are super nice and give us candy!" and "be nice or else! The Force doesn't like mean people!" This becomes tradition, and every couple of months, Jango gets hate mail from baby Jedi who are practicing their writing. Meanwhile the clones always get regular mail from the Temple full of happy messages from the younglings and care packages. Many Jedi who served with the clones attack Jango on sight (he's been bitten more than once by Padawans) and even the more serene Jedi are not above tipping Slave I over on its side to piss off Jango (Master Yoda did this once, and Slave I tipping became a beloved Jedi tradition).

Basically, everywhere Jango turns people are like, "oh darn, it's you? I was hoping for a clone 😑"

[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)

[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.

[vodika-vibes]

Clone x oc week 2025 day 6 - What if...

Premise: What if Fox, the adopted son of Jaster Mereel, a Commander in the Journeymen Protectors, meets Senior Jedi Padawan Yuu while on missions that happen to overlap.

Tagging: @clonexocweek @clonethirstingisreal

Fox hisses low under his breath at the tiny Jedi next to him presses firmly against the blaster burn on his upper arm.

"Stop being a baby," Yuu, the Jedi, hisses up to him, their wide eyes focused on his injuries.

"Is that any way to talk to someone who just saved your ungrateful ass?" Fox demands, wincing as they apply more bacta to the burn.

Pretty grey eyes flicker up to his face, and then away, but not before he sees a distinctive waver in their lower lip, "I didn't ask you to do it."

"And yet, I did it anyway." Fox lightly nudges their knee with his foot, "Some gratitude wouldn't be amiss, little jedi."

"I would have been fine," they reply, stubbornly, as though their hands aren't shaking and they aren't on the verge of tears.

Fox nudges them again, "Thank you, Fox. I'm so grateful to you for saving my life—"

They release a huff of laughter, their breath fanning across his face from how close they are to him, "Thank you. For saving me."

"You're very welcome." He reaches up and brushes his thumb against their jaw, "You look like you're about to cry, little bird."

"I'm fine—"

"Come on, it's just us down here." They shoot him a look, "Well, us and the 2 dozen different gangs who want us dead. But I'm not going to go spread gossip to them."

Yuu releases another shaky laugh, "I..." they trail off, and then their hands fall from his arm to rest on the armor of his thigh, seemingly unaware that they're tracing the red paint there, "I'm not a combat Jedi." They admit.

"...what." Whatever Fox was expecting the Jedi to say, it wasn't that.

"I'm an archivist." They continue, "I've never actually used my lightsaber against anything other than training droids—"

"What the kriff are you doing here?" Fox interrupts, stunned. Last he heard, the Jedi were ridiculously protective over their non-combatants.

Yuu's shoulders slump and they curl in on themselves, "...Chancellor Palpatine insisted—"

For a moment, Fox can't breathe. He already hates the leader of the Republic, but now he's seriously contemplating stealing Yuu so they can live a safe and happy life reading books.

"I don't like fighting. And I'm not good at it!" Yuu's eyes are filled with tears, "I just want to go home, but I can't until this mission is done and...and...I don't know what I'm doing!"

Fox stares at Yuu as they visibly fight their tears, and then he reaches out and pulls them into a crushing hug. He can feel their tears soaking into the material around his neck.

"Here's what's going to happen." Fox says as he cards his fingers through their dark hair, "I'm going to help you with your mission, I'm going to protect you." His arms tighten around them, "And then I'm taking you back to Mandalore and giving you a kriffing library, and I'm going to talk my brother into rebuilding the Mandalorian Empire."

"...um..."

"And then Jedi are going to be our protectees." Fox continues, "You monks will never have to fight in a war again. You'll be able to negotiate and be peacekeepers to your hearts content."

"Doesn't that seem excessive?" Yuu asks against his shoulder.

"Fuck no." They don't know it yet, but Yuu is his. His to protect. His to hold. His to make smile.

He just has to get them safe first.

Easy.

He's Commander Fox Mereel of the Journeymen Protectors, after all.