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pedrostylez · 2 months ago

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The First Time: Part 1

pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

chapter summary: You've crash-landed on an unknown moon without a mechanic and have to figure out how to get home, and Din has followed you

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

word count: 4.1k

Warnings: Time travel, confusion, fluff but barely we are only just getting to know ourselves here, not able to eat spicy food reader, Din wants to show affection but restrains, inaccuracies about Star Wars megaverse, please forgive me.

A/N: Please enjoy my first attempt at Din Djarin you guys I’m lowkey nervous. This will progress into smutty chapters, just not this one. Translations for Mando'a are at the bottom of the story.

Series masterlist

It was a mistake, how you ended up here.

You found yourself looking around briefly in confusion before shrugging off the paranoia. The planet was familiar, yes, but only parts of it.

Once finding a main road, you walked cautiously through the streets, stalls of different vendors yelling for anyone to come by and purchase their wares. You flinched at the sound of one, seemingly calling out to you to come closer, a pair of shoes ready to be worn and looked to be made just for you.

Ignoring as best as you could, you got into a line for one of the food stalls, looking around for a brief moment. You just needed a meal after the difficult trip you just endured, soaring through space as if you had no control over your ship. You were afraid to admit it out loud, but you were worried that you weren’t going to be able to run The Huntress alone. Small in size, typically a three person crew, your friends had either dispersed to start their families or had rotated out enough that you no longer knew who was on your ship.

Was it possible to run it alone? Of course. Were you panicking when the ship made a noise you had never heard in the six years you had been on the ship? Yes. More so panicked when the ship hurtled forward, your scream not heard by your own ears, and your arms still felt the strain of you trying to control the ship.

The crash landing was inevitable, and your ability to survive and somehow only destroy one of the wings was a miracle on its own. You still don’t know what happened.

You had made a simple plan when you stumbled out of the ship onto the dirt and stared at the smoking hunk of metal; some food for your stomach, a strong drink, a good night's rest, and then to the mechanics. Thankfully, this planet was recognizable, and you were lucky to land here without all of the planet's police surrounding you for entering the airspace without asking. Maybe you should go to the docking stations to say something–

“What can I get you?” The woman behind the stall counter asked with a frown. Her voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you sent a smile her way that she did not return.

“The stick, please.” You say quietly, pointing toward the kebab-looking meal, mouth already watering at the idea of finally having something in your stomach.

She hands it to you, wrapped in a parchment like paper and sprinkled with a pepper you know will get your sinuses moving just by looking at it. You drop a few coins into her hand, turning to walk away and letting your teeth sink into the steaming meat. The food is spicy and almost unbearable to your palette, but smiling all the same as it warms your belly and satiates your hunger enough to let you look around a bit more.

You glance to the other booth across the walkway, noticing that not many people are there, some shuffling outside a door and conversing. You glance around, suddenly unsure of where you are. You thought this street was only for food vendors and shops, not including this larger building.

Maybe you’re farther down the path than you thought, stepping through the dried mud in the middle of the street and past the people standing around and smoking. A call of what you are in a foreign tongue, human, easily ignored as you finish off your food and attempt to toss it into a trash can.

When you step into the cantina, trash balled up in one hand and kebab stick twirling through your fingers in the other, you search around briefly. Tables, chairs and booths surrounding a bar, people and alike talking and drinking have you raising your eyebrows briefly. You had never seen this cantina before.

“Excuse me?” You speak up to the bartender, a Gamorrean with a frown etched into his face, mid scoop of ice as he glances at you. “Any rooms here that I can rent?”

He squints his eyes in your direction, sizing you up. “How long?” He’s quick to go back to what he’s doing after his assessment, setting the cup on the counter and tipping a bottle of liquid into it.

“Well it depends, where is the closest mechanic?” You think through which planet this may be, wondering if he would name anyone you thought might reside here.

He barks out a laugh, sending you a quizzical look. “There’s no mechanics here, girl. You’ll have to travel halfway around this moon.”

A moon? Well, shit. “Then at least 2 weeks I’ll need a bed.” You sigh, reaching into your pocket for the cash you have. “How much?”

He’s shaking his head, waving his hands to try and stop you. “I only have a spare bed for a week.” He announces, looking you squarely in the face.

Your eyes shut, holding back the anger bubbling in the back of your mind. “A week and free meals?” You pull the cash the rest of the way out, sliding it over the bar top and doing your best to hold your ground.

His eyes blink at you slowly, taking a deep breath and looking down to the bar. A shrug in acceptance before he says, “Alright.”

Din knows you’re here, somewhere.

His tracker is beeping at him incessantly, and his neck twists and turns on a constant swivel, scanning the area for where you might be.

His body moves on its own, the steam from the ship still sticking to him as his boots leave tracks in the dirt. This moon is new to him, the strangely colored trees and darker dirt remind him of a few different moons that no longer exist in his time. He assumes he has arrived some time in the past. His visor scans slowly, listing off the plants and information about the surrounding area when he spots your ship.

Crashed.

His purposeful walk changes to a run, panic coursing through him. “Kar’ta!”

He’s able to lift the door off the front of your ship, the glass cracking and shattering on the ground as he pushes himself forward. “Where are you?” He calls, panicking and swiveling his head around and around.

He’s able to get through some of the damage into a pocket of silence, listening for the sound of life. His heart is sinking when he hears nothing, tapping at the side of his helmet to change the settings of his visor; maybe this will help him.

The heat sensors in his visor brighten, showing where your engine is still warm, where your footprints are as you stumbled through the cargo hold, but you are nowhere. His heart calms, trailing your footprints through your ship to where they lead outside, in the opposite direction he came from. It calms him enough to stop the panic, and recenter his thoughts.

Din shakes himself, cracking his neck and takes a deep breath. This is alright, this is good. You’re alive; that’s all that matters.

As he begins to trail you, shutting off his tracker and silently making his way through the trees in your steps, he wonders how this was the place you landed? Well…crashed. You maybe had no choice in that.

The trees are thick, and he can see where you’ve tripped, where you’ve taken a rest before continuing on. Your movements seem unorganized–lost, and unaware of your surroundings. Din feels a wave of discomfort, silently stepping by a den of animals that would have certainly torn you to shreds, but your track continues on.

He finds himself in a town center, in broad daylight with little movement going on. His visor reads the temperature to be high, likely the reason most life's not out and doing business. He’s come to the conclusion that you have no idea where you are, and he stops to take a breath.

The suns are shining off his armor, reflecting on the fabric of different stands and he hears whispers from the stalls, speculating about his presence. The attention he is drawing to himself suddenly dawns on him, and he’s quick to step into the cantina that has your footprints trailing though the doors.

He sighs with relief at the shade, ignoring how it has quieted down substantially, but it doesn’t matter to him. Like a moth to a flame, his head turns and sees you, sitting in a booth with your head tilted over your journal, your arm moving furiously as you remain focused on what you’re doing.

He takes a step toward you, excitement coursing through him. His hand brushes your shoulder, and his heart warms that he has finally found you again. “Finally, cyar’ika–”

You turn your head, a smile on your face in greeting before it drops, leaning away from him. “I’m sorry?” There’s a sense of alarm in your eyes, your voice shaking slightly, that Din has a hard time realizing.

“Where have you been?” He asks, sitting down across from you and leaning an elbow on the table. He feels like he’s finally able to take a deep breath, ragged from the worry for you. His hand reaches out towards you as he says, “I’ve been looking everywhere–”

“Who are you?” You squeak, hiding your journal from him and eyes widening in what he thinks is fear. It snaps him out of his worry as he examines you.

He stops his movement, fingers curling back toward himself as he looks around the cantina again. All eyes are on him, observing, watching. “I apologize.” He grunts, sitting up straight and leaning away from you. You told him this would happen.

You stare at him for a moment longer, relaxing your arms back to let your journal lay flat. He keeps his head straight, letting his eyes flick to the pages to see what you’re writing before they go back to your face.

You’re as beautiful as ever. More frightened, a bit ragged he assumes from a crash landing, but alive and well. But, you don’t know who he is and he can’t stop this pull that he feels. He wants to speak to you alone.

“That’s alright.” You sigh, looking up to him and slowly reaching for your writing utensil. Cautiously, you turn back to what you were doing before, relaxing your arms and the journal in your hands. He watches as you shade in part of the page, catches how your lips mouths out what you’re missing, and he frowns.

What is he supposed to do now?

You’re more than certain that this Mandolorian is mistaken.

He has to be.

You couldn’t possibly have a hit out on you, right?

You’re clearing your throat, trying to gain the courage to ask him if he’s hunting you, when the bartender, Lugho, sets a bowl of soup in front of you next to your journal. “Does your friend need one?” He asks in an unhappy tone. “That one won’t be free.”

You had finally gotten the Gamorrean to tell you his name, begrudgingly muttered to you when you asked for it after the first meal he served you. His cooking was surprisingly good, vegetable based in nature and kept you full for long after. The frown that you thought had started to relax was now back in full swing for the warrior across from you.

“No.” The Mandolorian snaps before you can speak, not moving his head an inch.

Lugho grumbles, ignoring your quiet thank you and going back over to the bar to clean up as you pick up a spoon. The first bite is delicious, and you can’t help the smile. “Are you sure? I don’t mind getting you a bowl.” You offer, hoping that niceties might make him go easier on you.

You think that maybe if you are overly nice to the Mandolorian, that maybe he will forget hunting you. Or he will just get annoyed and take you in sooner. Your knowledge of Mandolorians is limited, and as far as you were concerned they no longer existed, but that didn’t stop the stories that flowed about them.

He shakes his head, tapping a finger on the table top. The silence is deafening, but you continue your meal in the silence, not glancing up at him once. Feign innocence, you are not guilty of a single thing; besides maybe betraying your planet. “Is it…” He begins to ask, your chin tipping up to look at him as you swallow another spoonful. “Is it not too spicy?”

The question catches you off guard, tilting your head to the side. “Uh…no. Lugho knows I don’t…” you trail off, setting your spoon down and pushing the bowl away. Too spicy?

“Are you friends with this Lugho?” The monotone voice speaks, and you think maybe he’s angry.

You shrug, turning your head to look at the bartender who is eyeing the Mandalorian with a critical gaze. “No, he was putting up with me.”

He’s silent again, and you have this urge to fill it in with further explanation, to tell him absolutely everything, but you stop yourself. You don’t know why he’s here, or what he wants, so you turn back to your journal.

You are not guilty. You are not guilty.

Another part drawn, another label made, and you count the spaces in between before continuing on to the next.

You feel his eyes on you, but you refuse to look up, not wanting to put anymore attention on yourself. If you continue this journal, ignore his presence, then maybe he will leave you alone; maybe he will tell you why he is there.

As the day progresses into night, your body still tilted over your journal, you look up as the bar begins to get rowdy, seeing that the Mandolorian is still sitting across from you. You’re surprised at how he remains unmoving, but also with yourself. How have you gotten comfortable with him looming over you?

You clear your throat, giving him a tight smile. “I’m going to turn in for the night. Feel free to use my free dinner, let Lugho know I said it was okay.”

He watches you for a moment, twisting his head to look at the bar and then back to you. “Alright, I will see you tomorrow.”

You frown, not sure when exactly you offered to see him, but nod anyway and move to the corner of the bar where a staircase leads to the rented rooms. A couple steps up you take a breath, turning your body to look out into the bar for a final time. You see that the Mandolorian is standing at the entrance, watching you before stepping through the front door and into the night.

You wake the next morning to the sound of banging on your door. Your eyes squinting open into the dark room, appreciative of the blackout curtains, wondering if you’re dreaming it. You groan unhappily as it occurs again, pulling yourself out of bed to hear Lugho yell your name. “That shiny thing is downstairs waiting for you!”

You wrap a blanket around yourself, groaning again as you grab the handle. You open the door, the frown on Lugho’s face apparent. “What?”

“He’s driving away my customers!” He trills again, pointing a long finger at you. “You get him out of here!”

“I don’t know him!” You hiss, shaking your head. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. Give him my breakfast or something.”

“He doesn’t eat! I already asked.” He huffs, crossing his arms. He tilts his head unsurely, looking down the hall toward the stairs before his frown relaxes and turn now whispering. “Is he hunting you?”

“I fucking hope not.” You grumble, shooing him away. You’re able to shut the door again, sighing heavily before turning to the small bag of clothes you have.

You get dressed, running down the stairs and stopping at the bottom when you see him, sitting in the same spot as the day before. You hadn’t really had a chance to look at him yesterday, but the way he leans, how his head tilts towards you as if he’s sensed that you’re there before straightening up, has something in you stirring.

As you walk toward him, you’re feeling self conscious suddenly. Your hair, still a mess from the bed, your hands stained with charcoal still as they wouldn’t come out in your shower, and this looming possibility that he is hunting you.

You sit across from him tentatively, a small smile sent to Lugho as he sets a plate of breakfast in front of you before scowling at the warrior across from you. You clear your throat, getting him to go away before you stare wide-eyed at the unforgiving visor in front of you. “Sleep well?” You squeak at him, reaching for your for and slowly taking bites. You’re starving, if you’re honest with yourself, and as you look at the Mandolorian waiting for a response, you accidently take a bite of the sausage that you had found out a couple days prior was too spicy for you.

You cough, looking down to your plate to see the offending piece of food, reaching for your drink that you thought would be on the table, but struggle when your fingers reach nothing.

In the silence, you begin swallowing to try and work through the pain. You swear Lugho uses red pepper flakes, or the equivalent on this moon in excess, and now you’re practically choking from it.

A glass of water slides in front of you, the Mandolorian taking his seat again across from you as he watches you reach for it. It staves your thirst, clearing out the spice slower than you wish but enough to take a deep breath and set the glass down.

The Mandoloarian stands again, taking the empty glass to the bar and having it refilled again. You sit dumb founded when he sits again, waiting for any further explanation.

But instead he sits, tilting his head before giving a gruff, “I knew it would be too spicy.” before the rest of the day remains in silence.

The silence happens again the next day, and the day after. It could be a routine, if you knew it wouldn’t last forever. Waking up to the sound of Lugho banging on your door to announce the Mandolorian’s arrival, your lumbering down the stairs to sit at your table across from him, and not a word passed between you.

You think that maybe he will eventually speak himself, tell you why exactly he is here, or why he is sitting with you specifically, but he doesn’t. And you don’t intend on providing him with any more reason to take you to wherever he was planning.

So now, He’s sitting across from you as he has for the past couple days, his hands hidden below the wooden table and that visor staring back at you. Your own reflection startles you, realizing you had been staring up at him in wonder before your gaze jumps back down to your journal again.

Youshift of the book closer to you, your charcoal smudging from the sudden moisture coming to your palms and you clear your throat. “Sorry.” You mumble, keeping your eyes down and starting your sketch again.

The silence that comes from him is both deafening and comforting, after multiple days in a row of his silence surrounding you while the rest of the cantina made noise. It seems that the rest of the establishment has gotten used to his presence, still watching him but moving about their days as they had been when you arrive.

Sitting across from him with your head down most days, you aren’t really sure if he watches you, or if he watches the rest of the room. In a way, both of those possibilities have your insides warming, feeling safer to lose yourself in the detailed drawings of the inner workings of your ship. Even with the looming man in front of you likely taking you back to your home planet for a ransom, you are able to relax.

Looking over your pages and contemplating whether or not you’ve got a better idea of what is going on in your ship, the thought that actually working on it crosses your mind. The idea of taking the panels off yourself and beginning to work on the ship is intimidating, and you’re not sure you’re ready. You’ve always had a mechanic on board, and to suddenly be having ship problems with no mechanic where you landed, you’re a bit hesitant.

Maybe you efforts to recreate the inside of your ship to test theories you have before actually removing panels will help you–

“What are you drawing?” The Mandolorian asks, his head tilting in question.

You freeze, eyes traveling up from the table to the visor again and holding your eyes with your own reflection distorted in the curve of the helmet. “Uh, well…”

You trail off, tapping your charcoal against the edge of your journal. The dust from the stick you have begins piling neatly on the table and on the sheet, and you attempt to stop. “I can’t find a mechanic, and I know what the inside looks like, but I don’t know what needs to be fixed so…if I draw what I know is there, I can go through the options before making a bigger mess.”

You clear your throat after you finish, watching for a reaction. When nothing comes as you suspected, you turn your eyes back to your sheet and begin going back to the drawings. You swipe at the edge of the page, the smudge of charcoal now on your thumb and forefinger before circling back to the gear you had been working on.

You’re unsure how much time passes when his modulated voice reaches your ears again. “Did you throw out the manual?”

You keep your eyes down, continuing your sketch. “No, it didn’t come with it.”

“So you’re drawing it from memory?” He sounds surprised you think, even through the modulation.

You shrug, feeling a little uncomfortable. “I mean, yeah. You should know your ship if you’re flying it.”

“Then why not just open it up and start fixing it?” He leans an elbow on the table, toward you slightly as if he is relaxed around you.

You shrug. “I’m not a mechanic. I thought there would be one here.”

“So you landed here on purpose?”

“No, it was an accident.”

“An accident.” He states, his handsresting on to the table and clasping in front of him, leaning toward you more. “Where were you trying to go?”

You stumble, suddenly feeling very defensive. “Why are you asking me so many questions?” I was going home. To the rebel planet, to beg them for forgiveness. But something happened, something changed. Nothing ever goes to plan-

“I was sent here for you.” He says gruffly, as if he whispered it.

Your eyes widen, looking around briefly to see if anyone was listening. When you find that no one is around, you turn back to him, feeling sick to your stomach. “You’re hunting me?”

He’s silent in front of you, head tilting and you aren’t able to get up. You want to run, to find a way to hide from him, but it’s as if he’s pinned you in place with his stare, even though you cannot see it. “No, cyar’ika.”

“Is someone looking for me?” You squeak, pushing your journal away in a bit of panic.

“You tell me.” He’s serious again, unmoving.

“I don’t…I don’t think so!” You shake your head, leaning your head into your hand and thinking that you’ve just smeared charcoal all over your face. “I thought you were!”

“Hmm.” He turns his head to look around and then snapping back to you, a deep sigh heard from under his helmet before he stands and slides into the seat beside you. He leans in heavily, his hand landing on your thigh and squeezing gently. “What if I told you I know you’re trying to return home?”

You shiver, turning your head to his visor and whispering. “How would you know that if you’re not trying to earn a bounty off of me?”

You think you hear him huff, leaning away briefly to grab a napkin off of a neighboring table and turns back to you. He dips the napkin into your cup of water, pausing with it in his hand as if asking for permission. When you don’t respond he brings the napkin to your face, wiping away the charcoal on your cheek. “I was sent here to find you by very powerful people.”

“Who?” you ask, leaning into his hand unconsciously.

“The Jedi, mesh’la.” He says quietly, his thumb rubbing back and forth over your cheekbone in a soothing manner.

You sit up, shocked by his words before it spills out of you. “But…The Jedi don’t exist anymore.”

Translations:

Kar’ta → heart

Cyar’ika → darling, sweetheart

Mesh’la → beautiful

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin x you

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phoenixkaptain · 2 years ago

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Gotta be honest, the idea that Luke wouldn’t send a child alone in an X-wing with only a droid for company is funny to me.

Like, we’re talking about the same Luke, right? The one who spent years bulls-eyeing womp rats and took the experience from that to then blow up the Death Star? The one who was like “This is a trap… I’m gonna walk right into it.” The one who was like “I will rescue my dear friend by waltzing in without a disguise and being as obnoxious as possible.” “How do we get out of this situation? How about we convince these small bear creatures that our droid is a god, that will probably work.” “I know Darth Vader is a murderer who murdered my Ben and is trying to murder me and all, but he is also my dad and therefore I love him.”

Luke would send a child in an X-wing without even fucking thinking about it! Do you REALLY think LUKE SKYWALKER is a reasonable human being?? Are you honestly trying to tell me that this man who has been driving the same fucking ship for like ten years would understand how dangerous it is to put an unsupervised child in a vehicle??? Do you really honestly truly think that Luke knows how to care for children????

You see, a lot of people like to portray Luke as perfect. And this is the same issue I have with people who portray Obi-Wan as perfect, or Yoda, or Mace, or literally any character in all of Star Wars because the whole point is that the are flawed human beings!

But it’s ESPECIALLY egregrious with Luke because I don’t know where any of you got this idea that Luke is a sweet summer child??? This man has a death count of over one million. This man had Seen Some Shit that it is literally impossible not to be affected by. Why do so many people assume that Luke at the end of the Trilogy is the same as Luke at the beginning of the Trilogy? He’s changed! He’s a different person! That’s what makes the Original Trilogy such a good trilogy!! It’s basic storytelling!!! A character canNOT be at the same place mentally as when they began the story, or else it’s not a good story!

But also, I hate the way this colours shipping fics with Luke. Like, listen. There is no ship where Luke should be the straightman of the relationship. Luke Skywalker just is not normal. He’s weird, he’s deranged, he’s so strange; he cannot be a straightman, it just doesn’t work. It’s so completely out of character it isn’t even funny.

The joy of shipping Luke is that every single thing that you can ship Luke with will come out the other sode looking rational.

Han Solo is a smuggler who hangs out with a Wookiee and who does extremely dangerous, stupid shit, but next to Luke?? Rational. Normal. Someone who uses their brain, Luke, take notes-

Din Djarin is a bounty hunter who decided that he would rather destroy an entire group of highly dangerous men than give up the cute kid he just found. But compared to Luke? At least he has equipment on him!

Mara Jade literally was mind-controlled by the Emperor and was Darth Vader’s coworker and was also a Jedi (something that no rational person would be honestly) and even she comes across as normal compared to Luke Skywalker.

I know this is rambly and disjointed and I know people disagree with me, but like??? Yes, I think Luke is great with kids. Yes, I think Luke is a good teacher. Yes, I think Luke is the type of person to wave goodbye as an infant flies off in his warship. I think Luke is the type of person who would throw a child into the air way too high and then catch them. Where did the idea that he’s the responsible parent come from? Luke is teaching infants how to use laser swords, do you REALLY THINK that’s what a responsible parent would do????

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sirdindjarin · 2 years ago

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The Savior - Din Djarin x f!Reader

The Mandalorian, side-quest extraordinaire, accidentally frees a slave, kills a Senator's son, ends a criminal conspiracy, and falls in love. Just a month in the life of the galaxy's favorite chaotic space cowboy and his son.

The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)

A/N: i fucking love this man. here's the spotify playlist i made while hallucinating being wrecked by him. I accidentally based this fic on Euphoria by Angels & Airwaves.

AO3 Link🤠

TAGS: Fluff, m!falls first, plot with porn, helmet stays on for now, P in V, outdoor activities, protective!Din, soft-ish!Din.

WARNINGS: reader is/was a slave; references to abuse; no curses or slang outside of Star Wars canon (that's a warning if you hate that hahaha)

**************************************************************

"I thought vagrants were barred at the door. How did a Mandalorian get in here?”

The Mandalorian in question does not react to the insult. At the table before him, the taunting Trandoshan guffaws, but his laughter dies when he gets no reaction from the bounty hunter.

"What do you want?" He snaps, his green jaws clicking shut.

Instead of replying, certain the answer is obvious, the beskar-covered man leisurely surveys the colorful, boisterous room, his hands folded in front of him. Having already scouted the upscale casino, he does this for sarcastic effect. He’s also certain that fact is lost on his Trandoshan quarry.

Upon returning his direct attention to the lizard, a small movement in the booth catches his heat sensor. A young woman, likely his quarry’s slave by her frayed appearance, sits with her head bowed behind her master.

“Hey, tin man, you in there?” Your master’s voice sounds more like rocks scraping together than fluid language.

The Mandalorian chucks a bounty puck onto the table, the name and alien visage of Rathos Craaf glowing in a blue cone of projected light.

“Go quietly or don’t - it makes no difference to me.”

“Ahh,” Rathos Craaf hums in his throat and leans back in his seat, making your demure form more visible to the bounty hunter. “What’s the price?”

The Mandalorian again does not dignify a response.

“Can’t be greater than what I’m willing to pay,” Rathos insinuates.

The tense silence eats through your body as the ruthless men stare at each other - the probability of oncoming violence ratcheting up.

“Go prepare my ship,” your master barks suddenly at you, raising his hand.

Flinching, you scoot around the U-shaped booth to obey.

You weren’t always a slave. As a child on Kenari, you had been born into a world of vivid green, rippling blue, and rich, brown soil. Trained in both hunting and fighting from birth, you had been too young to save your village from the brutal relocation program of the Empire.

Dispersed onto harsher worlds, you’d been sold from one slaver to another until finally coming into the collection of one Rathos Craaf. He has been your master for several years by this point, and while not the worst, he was close.

“What will you do about the girl?” A modulated voice asks.

Pausing on the edge of the hard bench, you look between the two antagonists. Me?

“Who cares about the mudscuffing girl? Tell you what, I’ll sell her to you.” The crafty Trandoshan gets an even better idea: “Or - take her in exchange for the bounty. She’s considered top-tier sentient property.”

“Not what I was asking,” a gloved hand thumbs his blaster. “Once you’re in carbonite, wh-”

The Trandoshan lunges up from his seat with a booming yell, launching at the cloaked, beskar-free neck of the Mandalorian. Rathos’ claws reach around the smaller man’s throat, but the Mandalorian is lighter of foot, ducking out of the hold.

Off-balance, Rathos tumbles but rolls back on his feet, his scaly tail acting as a counterweight. Gasps and mutters spill from the crowd as people scramble out of harm’s way.

You remain seated in the booth, frozen and unsure. But then, as the silver bounty hunter aims his blaster, Rathos whips his tail into the Mandalorian’s legs, knocking him with a clang onto his back.

The blaster goes skittering through the crowd, and you’re shocked to find your legs racing after it.

The thunder of a powerful flame roars in the cavernous room as you weave through aliens and humans alike, searching. The blackness of the blaster appears on the gray floor and you dive for it.

Cold steel excites your skin. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, and though you’ve never fired one, your ancient muscle memory remembers the feeling of a bow in your hands; the trajectory, strength, and steadiness necessary.

Sprinting back through the crowd, you find Rathos pinning the Mandalorian’s chest. The solid armor prevents any of Rathos’ blows from truly hurting the bounty hunter, but the weight of the lizard is too awkward and great for him to shove away from this angle.

The fire-throwing vambrace comes up again and, as it billows into the Trandoshan’s face, you fire a blast at the substantial tail that had once been used against you.

Rathos bellows in pain, tumbling to the side, and the Mandalorian takes full advantage. He jumps to his feet, then connects his fist to his quarry's skull, rendering the creature unconscious. Binders clasp around the arms of your master and the successful bounty hunter staggers backward a single step to catch his breath.

You freeze at what you’ve just done, the blaster still pointed at Rathos. People murmur, and the words, “Killed by his slave” can be heard, though he is only unconscious. Your chest heaves, far more out of breath than the Mandalorian walking toward you.

“Thank you,” he says drily, taking his blaster out of your hands.

Unsure what else you should do, you follow your master as he is dragged without dignity along the smooth fogstone floor.

Exiting the casino, snaking down an alley, and traipsing to the outskirts of the city limits, the silhouette of a ship against the orange horizon becomes visible.

Neither you nor the Mandalorian have spoken a single word since he took the blaster from your hands, but as he presses a button on his vambrace to lower the loading ramp, he turns to you now.

“Grab his tail."

An order. That you could do. You immediately grab Rathos’ tail and lift. The Mandalorian half-drags and half-lifts the Trandoshan by his cuffed hands and the lizard is loaded into the ship’s hold.

Standing at the far end of the Mandalorian’s rather busted ship, you’re surprised to see a small, green being. Dressed in what must be a sack, its long ears perk up and its eyes glimmer at the sight of the bounty hunter. A happy coo reverberates in the quiet, metal space.

The child looks at you and makes another, similar noise. It waddles toward you, but before you can react, the Mandalorian scoops the child into his arms and sequesters it behind a thin blast door.

“You are free to go.”

It’s an odd statement. He must be familiar with the underworld. He knows how slaving works.

You’re not sure when you last spoke; you weren’t allowed to speak. But the bounty hunter seems to expect a reply.

“I am not. The law says I am to be returned to the slavers’ coalition for repurchase.” Your voice is scratchy from disuse and the helmeted man tilts his head in curiosity.

“You won't run?”

It seems too monumental a task. Hopes and fears trip over each other in their efforts to be heard. Freedom. Finding a place to call home. Your family was long dead. But… maybe there was hope of a family somewhere.

Where would I even go? No way I could stay ahead of the slavers. They’d send hunters like this Mandalorian after me. I’d be worse off than I am now.

“I do not know if I can,” you whisper honestly.

The Mandalorian looks at you - at least, you think he does - for so long that you begin to squirm under his gaze.

Without warning, the wind is knocked from you. Rathos’ tail slams into the back of your knees, crumpling you to the floor. His claws wrap around your neck, and you yell, plunging two fingers into his lidless eye.

“Traitorous shutta!” Spittle from your master flies onto your cheeks.

As he recoils from your jab, you squirm underneath him, trying to flee, when the weight on your chest vanishes in a rush of air. Coughing and wiping your face, you lie there momentarily until your throbbing pulse abates inside your head. You sit up and widen your eyes to hasten their focus.

The Mandalorian has the Trandoshan by the throat with both hands. Rathos sputters and gags, but you watch as gloved fingers dig harder into the scaly throat. The anonymous man shoves his quarry into the carbon freezing chamber and smashes the button with more force than necessary.

It's over.

When you woke in the dark that morning, never would you have expected to watch your master be frozen in carbonite aboard a bounty hunter's ship.

That bounty hunter turns to you now.

“I have something I need to do. I’ll give you passage if you provide assistance.”

________________________________

Crossing your arms, tucking your legs under your body, and leaning against the hull in your seat, you try to make yourself as small as possible. You wouldn’t have even climbed up here if the Mandalorian hadn’t indicated that you should.

He wanted to keep an eye on you. He did not trust you around the kid - despite (or perhaps because of) its interest in you.

Moments after leaving the planet’s atmosphere, a new emotion bubbles in your chest: elation. The stars flow by in a technicolor kaleidoscope; hues and shapes you have never seen race past your eyes. It’s beyond anything you could have imagined.

“Has it always looked like this?” You wonder to yourself.

You jump when a deep, electronic voice answers, “Yes.”

“Oh,” you murmur, realizing he had been watching you. “I’ve never seen hyperspace. I was kept in the hold,” you state without self-pity.

The Mandalorian lets that terrible fact hang in the air before eventually saying,“I recommend you get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Mid Rim.”

He turns away from you and folds his arms. The muffled clang of his helmet tipping back against the headrest tells you that he will be taking his own advice.

Interestingly, you feel safe enough to get some rest. Being constantly attuned to the temperamental wills and whims of others, you've become a great judge of character.

This Mandalorian, though quiet, is clearly capable of kindness to those who deserve it. A rarity for someone in his profession.

___________________________________

The blue cone glows in his hand, projecting the face of one ugly slug. The name at the bottom, written in a language you had been forced to learn, reads: Salaa the Hutt.

Fearful eyes flick up to the veiled Mandalorian, “A Hutt?”

The helmet nods, “You will be my way in.” You make a whimpering noise, but the bounty hunter continues. “You’re a slave on the run. I will be returning you for a small reward.”

Crushing disappointment deflates your body. Believing yourself to have been wavering between freedom and the life you had known, you realize, now that the decision was being made for you, that you’d chosen freedom. Further adding to your pain is your misjudgement of the Mandalorian.

I’d have never made it to freedom - far too naive. Thought a karking bounty hunter was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. Unbelievable.

Still, to your credit, you take several steps back, almost as though you might try to outrun the nimble, strong bounty hunter with a kriffing jetpack, of all things. You’re proud of yourself for even thinking about doing it.

The Mandalorian doesn’t react. He pockets the puck and opens his weapons cache on the hull wall. He lifts a small item from the assortment and shuts the doors. You can’t see what it is, and he doesn’t return to you.

He opens the blast door to the child’s tiny room. The baby snores in his bungalow, and the ever-fascinating Mandalorian rubs the green, fuzzy head before closing the door. He turns and strides toward you.

You take one more step backward, just because you can. Because you should.

He still says nothing. Closer, and closer, the armored man advances on you until you can see your nervous eyes in his breastplate.

“Give me your wrists.”

Is his voice naturally that persuasive or is it the vocoder?

Overriding your fledgling autonomy, you obey him with a preprogrammed respectful nod. He clasps binders around your wrists.

The Mandalorian steps away to retrieve another weapon, then he lifts his chin toward the boarding ramp.

Shouldn't you at least try to gain freedom? Beg him to let you go?

“Please, I can try to pay you,” this is a lie and he knows it. “Or I could work off the debt of transport. Something!”

It’s the loudest your voice has been in living memory, and it both surprises and emboldens you. But the Mandalorian does not seem swayed.

“Walk,” he orders.

You minutely shake your head twice. It means nothing to him, but everything to you.

An electronic sigh, then he takes a single step toward you. Fear switches you back into the subservient girl of the last twenty years. You flinch, your manacled hands blocking your face.

The Mandalorian falters, slightly abashed. “I am not going to hurt you. But you need to start walking.”

Slowly, you lower your hands. His gloved fingers curl around your bicep, and he leads you out into the sunny air.

It’s a hot day on Niamos. The beachside resort that serves as the capital city is teeming with families of all species bathing in the muggy air. The sandstone path that Mando - that’s what everyone calls them, right? - parades you down is packed with beachgoers. Embarrassed by your plight, you try to hide the binders, but it’s impossible with the angle he holds your arm.

Finding another gust of will, you reason, “Surely you could find a way inside without turning me in? You’re good at your job. You could've killed my m-”

“Salaa angered powerful people. There is a bounty on him and it’s higher if he’s dead.

“What does that mean?”

“He's careful. Employs expensive security. Easiest way in is through the front door,” Mando finishes.

Mando’s leathery hold on your arm is soft. Unyielding, of course, but he doesn’t hurt you. It saddens you to realize how different that is from your usual treatment. He had still binded you and planned on turning you in, but hey! At least he wasn’t going to leave a bruise.

Directing you down a narrow alley, the Mandalorian stops in front of a tan-colored, generic shield door. He raps twice on it, standing casually still. If he feels you shaking, he says nothing about it.

A Yaka man is standing behind the door when it opens with a whoosh. His metal implants reflect the sun and you squint. Behind him are another two Yaka and a particularly menacing-looking Zabrak, all armed with pulse rifles.

“We ain't buyin'," he slurs.

“I'm here to claim the slave reward.”

The Yaka stares at the impenetrable, T-shaped slit in the silver helmet, scrutinizing, before stepping aside. Mando guides you ahead of him, then you hear the spur-like sound of his step over the threshold. The close quarters are sweltering, and sweat beads on your temple.

“This way,” the Yaka servant veers to the right and up a steeply inclined hallway. The other members of the security team follow behind you.

The Mandalorian’s thumb slides over your skin. You would give it more thought if a wide, dingy room wasn’t quickly coming into view.

On the second floor, a muted, sparsely furnished area overlooks the residence across the street, and the beach beyond. However, you can’t see the view because the balcony is being taken up by a massive, blob-like shape, and a tall, spiky silhouette.

“Ahh,” the huge shape speaks, and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful you speak Huttese. “What is this?”

Bowing, the Yaka guard explains, “This Mandalorian has returned a loose slave.”

He grabs for your arm, but you lurch when Mando pulls you out of reach, warning, “Careful. She killed her master before fleeing."

The bodyguard recoils as though you personally threatened him. He steps away, waiting for actual instruction from his boss. The green Rodian next to Salaa tuts in his sour voice.

Deciding it was best not to speak, you raise your chin with dignity as Mando drops his hand from your arm.

“Why do you return her here?” Salaa the Hutt inquires. “Surely you know that I have been removed from my associations. Including the slavers.”

“I am here for information,” Mando drops the ruse completely, his voice calm.

“Information,” the Hutt laughs horribly. “I have much of that, pateesa. What do you wish to know?”

“You should ask what I have to trade first.”

“Hmm. You do not wish to trade the girl, I hope. Must be better than that,” the slimy giant slug laughs derisively.

You don’t even bristle. Worse things had been said to you daily.

The green, mohawked Rodian chuckles. Though you do not understand his language, the human bounty hunter does: “She is too sad-looking to be any fun. Pity.” The reptilian-looking male then makes a vile comment about what he can see through your ratty, loose clothing.

The Mandalorian's eyes narrow, and his right hand drifts toward his hip of its own accord.

“Make your offer, Mandalorian.”

“If you provide the information I need, I won’t claim the ten-thousand-credit bounty on your head.”

That horrible, bulging laugh bursts from the ex-crime boss once more, hurting your ears in its pitch and volume.

“Far too aggressive, Mandalorian. I decline.”

Salaa’s stubby arm motions at the armed security who raise their rifles at the two of you.

While you freeze in terror, the Mandalorian stills in focus. Faster than a hyperdrive, he clenches his fist. Miniature rockets whistle through the tense air, eliminating all three bodyguards; the angry Zabrak, the mouthy Rodian, and the blubbery Salaa remain.

The Mandalorian draws his blaster, pushing you behind him, and fires from his hip as the Zabrak guard begins to raise his modified arm. What type of weapon it held, you’ll never know because he falls to the ground, dead, before he can use it.

The Rodian darts away from Salaa, circling the room. To you, it seems as though he is intending to flee, not fight, but the Mandalorian fires a laserblast at his bug-eyed head, dropping him.

Mando calmly swivels his blaster to Salaa.

Resigned, the Hutt slimily states, “Ask what you wish to know, pateesa.”

“I have been told that you have seen another Mandalorian. Where?”

“Ahh, that is all? I have seen one here.”

“On Niamos?” So surprised, Mando forgets to keep the tone from his voice.

“A beskar-covered man does not go unnoticed on a planet filled with water-bathers,” Salaa laughs again. You visibly wince.

“Where?”

“Where else? Water’s Edge.”

Mando twists his head toward the opposite window as if he could see his fellow Mandalorian from here. He holsters his weapon and turns to leave.

“Those Yaka were expensive guards, pateesa,” the Hutt grumbles ominously.

“You paid too much.”

He returns his hold on your arm, pushing you forward. Marching awkwardly down the sloping halfway, you try to make sense of his actions.

Your face screws up in confusion, “You didn’t turn me in or claim the Hutt’s bounty. You're earning no credits.”

That’s the defining feature of a bounty hunter.

The silence lengthens as you reach the ground floor, and hurriedly exit the sandstone building. As you soak in the blistering sunshine, the hand on your arm turns you to face him. The Mandalorian’s quick fingers remove your binders.

“That’s it?” You rub your wrists even though he had left them on the loosest setting.

“Passage for assistance,” he reminds you.

He then nods once and takes his leave. For an interminable length of time, you watch as he calmly walks away, breaking only when he turns down an alley and is lost from sight.

What the hell do I do now?

__________________________________

The new day is growing late. Din Djarin basks in the heat of the single sun. For being one of those odd planets without plural light sources, the strength of the lone sun is incredible. Din much preferred the scorching, arid planets to the ice-covered ones, and Niamos is perfect. The breeze gently carries through his light flight suit, while the sun warms whatever dark material is visible around the beskar.

While Din feels more comfortable in this climate, heat signatures can be a little bit more difficult to read. He had managed to track a faint heat signature around Water’s Edge. The day before, immediately after speaking with Salaa, Din had come to check the place out, but his quarry had left some hours previously and he had lost the trail.

Din enters the establishment for the second time in as many days. Inside is a large, open floor with dining tables set out across the expanse. High society clinks glasses as they wait for the next act to grace the small stage. Din surveys the room, switching between heat sensors and normal vision, before concluding that the Mandalorian he searches for is beyond the far wall.

Heads turn and stare as Din, strutting as if he belongs, makes his way to the unobtrusive doorway next to the stage. A Mandalorian stands out here. This was a place for people who employed bounty hunters, not those whom they hunt. Din slides the door open, and he is greeted by a dark hallway.

Light spills from a room to his right. Din flips on his heat sensor again, and presses his lips together in satisfaction when the heat signature picks up.

Rounding into the room with confidence, Din observes everything at once.

A large mirror, complete with lights, sits above a desk. A rack of clothing stands lonely in the far corner. And on a stool in front of the mirror sits a Mandalorian, their flaky, blue-painted armor having seen better days.

“My name is Din Djarin,” he announces. “I have been tasked with finding other Mandalorians in order t-”

“Oh, my stars!” The Mandalorian squeals. The helmet is removed by purple hands, and a humanoid species stares in awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet a Mandalorian. I- I do this character because I just love your culture so much.”

Blinking behind his helm, Din confirms what he's already becoming sure of, “That armor you wear - it is not real beskar.”

“What? This stuff?” The actor scoffs. “This is expensive paint and cheap wetboard.” He stands up, advancing unwisely on the real Mandalorian. “Can I ask you some questions? I’ve got a real opportunity here to elevate my perfor-”

Din backs out of the room in a single, fluid motion, punching the button for the door.

He sighs.

***

A blaster shot turns the corner of the building Din had just walked past into dust and debris. He spins, drawing his own blaster, expecting to see the Empire itself. Instead, a young human bounty hunter stands there, nervously fumbling with her jammed blaster. The Mandalorian rushes her, pinning her by the collarbone against the alley wall.

"Bounty?”

Terrified, she nods and whispers, “Yes.”

"Who contracted it?"

She wheezes from under Din’s forearm, “Don't know. It's open Rim-wide for now. Just told to kill you and the girl.”

Under his helm, Din’s brow pinches. “The girl?”

The wide-eyed woman shrugs, again in the dark. If this inexperienced bounty hunter managed to track him down already, it's likely another has found you. Din releases the woman roughly and rockets up into the sky.

_______________________________

The sights and sounds of the beach are incredible. The late-daylight is deliciously warm as it touches your skin through the holes in your clothing. You sit on the top step of the tiered beach area, staring out at the water as you try to come up with a plan of action. Having slept on a lounge chair last night, you’re nearly grateful for the decades of poor lodging training your body.

The sky is hazy, but the flash of sunlight glinting off of something tiny flying far above has you twisting your head and squinting. Unable to make out the object, you return your attention to the ocean and ignore it.

From behind you, a voice calls your name and you automatically turn.

As you stare down the barrel of the blaster pointed at you, you remember no one should know your name here.

"Let's go," the bounty hunter tells you.

It's a woman with red skin and long, blue, braided hair. Etches in her cheeks make her bone structure look even sharper.

You frown. What you’d told the Mandalorian had already been proven correct. You weren't able to run.

Resignedly standing to your feet, you take a step, but go stumbling forward as the woman kicks your back.

Your second foreign emotion of the last twenty-four hours sparks in your chest, glowing as hot as the sun above.

"Hey! I was going," you glare.

"Move faster, scum," she orders.

You continue walking, your eyes scanning for something, anything, to get you out of this.

Ahead on the right is a large crowd of vendors and their customers. If you can duck through them, maybe you can lose the blue-haired madwoman behind you.

A cold, circular shape presses between your shoulder blades as you march, and your bravery starts to fail. If you make a single wrong move, you'll be shot before you even get to the crowd.

Just do it - better to die now than live as a slave.

The crowd swells as a school trip pours out from a nearby museum. Your confidence rises at the sight of the increasingly busy, confusing horde.

Closer. So kriffing close.

The female bounty hunter cries out suddenly as a blaster shot scalds her arm. She defensively spins, kicking out powerfully behind her.

A large species you're unfamiliar with, tall and teal, is thrown sideways with the force of the kick. The competing bounty hunter recovers into a crouch and shoots at your captor, hitting her in the chest.

With a violent exhale, she falls. Too busy sprinting into the crowd, you do not hear her final, pathetic breath.

Weaving, keeping ducked and hidden, you whisper a constant stream of 'excuse me.' You don't want to push anyone, knowing a reaction from an offended beach-goer could give away your position.

The unblinking bounty hunter, your newest enemy, stands tall above much of the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to spot your trail.

Thundering forward, happily shoving people you had so politely passed, he roars. Fear ices your stomach.

The sound of a sputtering jetpack drowns out the noise of the people. Never breaking stride, you search for the source of another bounty hunter.

I know I’m a runaway slave who assaulted her master before turning him into a carbonsicle but, banthashit, is the price on my head really that high?

The massive hunter gains on you, and just as you clear the other side of the crowd, you gasp, pained, when he snatches your hair. You whirl, packing all of your strength into your right fist. Your blow lands on the creature’s lower jaw, which seems to be two pink tubes, and it wails grotesquely.

The grip on your hair loosens and you rip away, but the much larger creature lunges for you again. It pulls you upward by your shirt this time, and you scream. Kicking out, your foot knocks a breath from the ugly bounty hunter, but it does not release you.

Staring at you with shallow black eyes, it speaks in a language you don’t understand, but the intonation is clearly a question.

Gasping, you boldly say, “Let go of me and I’ll tell you.”

The creature seems to understand Basic because his three-fingered hand leaves your shirt.

Before you get a chance to make up a lie, the hulking bounty hunter vanishes in a flash of silver. Your head snaps in the direction of travel, and a trail of exhaust follows.

A hundred yards away, the jetpack flares out and the two fall to the ground in a tumble of fighting. A strangled laugh exits your mouth.

From bigger fish to bigger fish. Eventually the biggest fish would win and come after you.

The sound of the ugly creature roaring ends abruptly with a choked grunt. You push your legs hard as you run. The doorway to a cantina catches your eye as an intoxicated human stumbles out, and you rush past him.

Inside the dark, clamorous, smoky business, you slide into the booth furthest from the door, hoping that neither hunter saw you duck in. Panting heavily, you tell the droid waitress you’d like a bit of spotchka. You’ve never had it, but you’ve seen how relaxed and brave it makes people and that sounds wonderful right about now.

The circular cantina door slides open and the silhouette of a tall, broad Mandalorian is outlined by the glaring sun. You can’t tell what color or condition his armor is in, but your stomach clenches all the same. It had been an entire revolution of the planet since your Mandalorian had left, so it can't be him.

Wonder if he found his friend, you think about his ten-thousand-credit question for the Hutt. Must’ve been quite a reunion if it was worth that much.

Shrinking back against the wall of your booth, you shift completely out of sight and pray to whatever Ancient is listening that the stories about their helmets’ capabilities are exaggerations.

The droid waitress sets your pretty blue drink on the table without comment, for which you’re grateful. You don’t think your voice works.

Clinking metal is audible despite the volume of the rowdy bar. The sound gradually grows louder as he approaches your booth.

“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian has his hands on his hips, and though you cannot see his face, you’re certain he looks like a disapproving parent.

“I- what?” You squeak, completely confused by his question. And why he's here.

He moves to sit down across from you, and your nerves flare.

“Why are you still here?” He asks the same question you want to ask him.

“Where was I supposed to go? I have no credits.”

“There is work available on this planet.”

You pause, unhappy to give away just how out of your depth you are, “You mean paid employment? I’m not familiar with the process."

The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, he simply stares at you until you break your stare first.

Looking down at the grimy table, you trace a piece of graffiti with your finger and whisper, “Thank you.”

Mando shifts his head in askance.

“For saving me from the slave hunter.”

“He wasn’t a slave hunter.” Mando’s helmet tips down to where the bright blue liquid sits on the table. “You going to drink that?”

You shake your head, too self-conscious now.

“Good.”

He slides out from the booth and motions for you to walk ahead of him.

________________________________

Standing in the bay of the Mandalorian’s ship once more, you engage in a staring contest with the little green baby as it sits on the floor. Its ears move like he’s listening to Mando speak on his holocall above in the cockpit, but its eyes remain on you.

You’ve always liked children. While they could be blunt, they were kind to you and other slaves because they hadn’t yet learned any differently.

“How old are you?” You ask softly.

In your experience, children prefer to be spoken to as one would an adult, so you refrain from the baby-voice that springs to the surface when you look at the adorable infant.

He tilts his ears toward you.

“You’re pretty cute." The baby coos, then babbles once.

“You really are cute. And you seem highly intelligent. Have you been with the Mandalorian long? He seems to pick up strays easily,” you smile warmly.

The child awkwardly gets to its feet, toddling toward you. Remembering how quickly Mando had taken the child away when it last interacted with you, you slowly move backward toward the ladder. You don’t know if it's dangerous. Maybe the cuteness is a front.

A gurgling noise, as if it’s trying to tell you something, breaks from its little mouth. He raises his hand, pointing, and you whirl.

The Mandalorian is but a few feet away, watching.

How the kark did he get down the ladder so quietly?

“I’m sorry,” you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.

Mando strides around you and crouches to pick up the baby, “We're leaving this planet. I won't have enough fuel to get across the galaxy, but there is a job a few systems over."

He cradles the child so gently that it makes your heart ache.

Who is this guy?

The child in his arms makes grabby hands at his helmet, so he tenderly sets it back down. Mando heads back toward the cockpit, indicating you should follow.

Up the ladder, sitting once again in the same seat, you keep your eyes on the Mandalorian as he begins the lengthy takeoff procedures.

“The bounty hunter you encountered was not after the slave reward.”

“But she knew my name?”

“I am referring to the Aqualish you punched.”

“Oh.”

The Mandalorian does not immediately continue, focusing on his tasks for several minutes.

“There is a reward out for you,” he flips another switch. “And a bounty.”

“Both? Why both?”

“The bounty is secondary. Dependant on you giving them m-”

A panicked, childish cry echoes from below, and you’re only a moment behind the Mandalorian as he leaps down the hatch to the hold.

You gasp in horror as you see the long-eared, big-eyed baby squished in the crook of another kriffing bounty hunter’s arm. The loading ramp closes slowly behind him. He must’ve jumped in at the last moment.

Mando raises his hands, indicating his desire to negotiate.

“Do not hurt him,” he says. Instead of coming out as a plea, his vocoded words come out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end.

“Din Djarin, you are wanted for the murder of Senator Nesota’s son. I know your reputation, and therefore do not wish to fight. I’ll release your… this," he nods at the green baby, "when you’re in carbonite. There,” the human bounty hunter nods his head at Din’s own carbon freezer.

He killed a Senator’s kid?

The child frowns, his ears drooping, and he focuses hard on the bounty hunter. His little hand curls, and the man’s ruddy face turns purple. His eyes grow red and glassy.

Din reacts quickly, drawing his blaster and firing at the hunter’s face. The man falls with a clattering thunk, and the child rolls away, unmoving.

“No," you cry. "Is he alright?” You start toward the kid, fear in your voice.

“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian replies, holding his palm up for you to stay back. He reverently lifts the unconscious kid. “He’s just asleep.”

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin - murdered an important person’s child. And his own kid just choked someone without using its hands? I didn’t inhale spice, did I?

“You killed a kid?”

Din believes you’re still thinking of the baby in his arms. “I said he’s sleeping.”

“A Senator’s son?”

“Oh. Yes, the Rodian with Salaa.” Din hadn’t known he was the son of a powerful person, but it wouldn’t have mattered.

Relief floods you once again as your evaluation of the Mandalorian’s character remains intact. After seeing the way he cared for the little green one, how could you have believed he would harm any child?

“Okay." You return to the wildest topic, "What just happened with your kid?”

Din sighs. This was getting more dangerous than negotiating with a Tusken. He places the kid in his hammock and shuts the door.

Turning on you, he threatens, “Never speak of him outside this ship.”

“I- I wouldn’t,” you promise, surprised by the fierceness in his voice.

Din is satisfied. He’d watched you speak to his ward earlier, and the kid seems to like you immensely. But he doesn't solely rely on the kid's opinion.

The experienced, Mandalorian bounty hunter's own character assessment is top-notch, and he finds that he feels strongly about you. He doesn't categorize or identify the specifics, however.

The Mandalorian does not ask for your help in removing the dead bounty hunter from his ship, so you look on in silence as he does it alone. He lowers the landing ramp, drags the body to the edge, and watches it roll down unceremoniously. He turns and stalks past you.

“So, where's that job?”

“The Outer Rim.”

You sigh. “Of course it is.”

__________________________________

The planet blinds you when the Razor Crest launches out of hyperdrive. Brilliantly green, the single sun reflects the vibrant landscape right into your eyes.

Shielding your face, you venture a question. The Mandalorian had not finished explaining.

"Why is there a bounty on me?"

Even through the modulator, you can hear his dry tone: "You aided a bounty hunter in entering the Hutt's hideout through false pretenses which ended in the blasting of a Senator's son."

"Right," you frown, slumping in your seat.

"Don't worry. The bounty on my head is far larger than yours."

You scoff under your breath. So reassuring.

A deep breath, then you postulate, "Is that what the bounty hunter was asking me? About you?"

Din doesn't respond. He didn't hear the Aqualish's question. He was too busy aiming at its body with his own, but his best guess is yes.

"That's the reason you saved me," you mutter, oddly dejected.

A loose end. That's what you are.

Din often - almost constantly, actually - appreciated his helmet for the freedom it gave him to show any emotion at any time. No need to worry about a convincing poker face when no one could see it.

"You could have told them where my ship was."

"Except I thought you'd flown away the day before," you argue, saddened that he thought you would’ve talked.

Of course, he didn't know you, and he had a child to protect, but it still stings.

"Why not just kill me?" You wonder seriously.

You're a liability. Two separate prices on your head? The Mandalorian's easiest solution is obvious. A slave of no importance, no one would put a bounty on his head for your death.

Din Djarin's armor clanks as he spins the chair a quarter-turn toward you and he cocks his head.

"I don't want to die," you read his body language correctly. "But I don't understand you."

The Mandalorian silently returns to his piloting duties as he nears the lush planet. He does his best to shut his thoughts away, but he stumbles over you again and again.

Din had rescued you because he didn’t want to see you harmed for his actions with the Hutt. The idea of protecting himself from prying questions had been an afterthought.

He had flown above the city, looking for your trail. Since you hadn’t moved much, there wasn’t much of a trail to find. Then he spotted the crowd roiling and parting for the violent Aqualish.

When he watched it yank your hair, he felt angry. An emotion he experienced less frequently than many of his friends would believe. Frustration, irritation, sure. But true fury was rare for him.

Not wanting you dead was basic decency, but the anger had been interesting.

On some level, Din knows his emotional responses to you deserve greater scrutiny. But he doesn't have the time nor the energy.

When the Razor Crest lands in a grassy clearing between forest walls, Din rises from his chair and commands, “Stay here. Watch the child.”

“O-okay,” you agree hesitantly. “What do I do when he wakes up?”

The Mandalorian stares, uncomprehending.

“You… you don’t do anything for his… condition?”

“I told you he’s fine.” Din thinks for a moment, and remembers there is actually something you should know: “When he wakes up, he might be hungry. Do not let him eat the metal ball on the thruster.”

With that, he climbs down the ladder, and out of sight.

_________________________________

As the fist flies at you, you subconsciously register that your assailant must be right-handed, because this left hook is much sloppier than the other. Or maybe it's because his left arm is still human.

Ducking, you escape the jab and slam your palm-sized stick into the quarry's metal shins. He doesn’t react except to kick your thigh. You cry out, knowing it will bruise if you survive this.

The blaster you had taken from the Mandalorian’s cache lies just out of reach. The silver gleam is stark against the rich soil of the forest floor.

Enraged, the cyborg quarry leaps at your hunched form, knocking you flat. Surprised by his speed, you forget to keep hold of the heavy branch you use as a weapon.

The growling man rips the stick from your hands and slams it against your throat like a vise, choking you, “Die, wretch.”

You turn your head to the side, providing yourself with a precious moment of air before the quarry shifts to cut that escape route off, too.

Swinging your leg up, you kick him in the back of the head, pushing him forward. You take the opportunity to headbutt him - thankful that his head is still completely human - and he falls sideways. Right next to your blaster.

You snatch up your wooden weapon, but it's too late.

He laughs mechanically as he grabs the blaster, swinging it at you. “Too late, sweetheart.”

Panting, you don't raise your hands. If he's going to kill you, he'll do it when you charge him.

You take a step and the sound of a laserblast ricochets through the trees.

The creature cries out, dropping the weapon, his arm useless at his side. Wires spark from the elbow joint that had been blown away.

"Found you," the Mandalorian says flatly, his blaster pointed at the machine.

The metal man lunges but Din fires again - hitting the quarry in what should be its gut. It doubles over, groaning, then topples, fighting for labored breath.

He must still have lungs underneath, you shudder.

Still trying to catch your own breath, you gasp, "How-"

"Heard the fight. You were supposed to stay on the ship," his voice turns scolding.

Clenching your jaw, you finally find a steady breath. You had stayed on the ship. This piece of space junk had broken inside through the cockpit window.

As you sat in the hold, dutifully watching the kid, the sound of glass shattering alerted you that it was not Din who was back so soon. You had snatched up the baby, touching him for the first time with no concern about his potential dangers, locked him in the little room, and ripped a small blaster from the Razor Crest’s weapons cache.

You crouched at the far end of the hold, against the closed boarding ramp, waiting, uncomfortably far from the child.

A cyborg, more spidery-droid than man, with a human head and fleshy left arm had come skittering down, bypassing the ladder completely. Unwilling to chance a blaster shot going through the baby’s door, you hit the button on the landing ramp and scrambled out.

The forest. It was your home. Your element. If there was any chance you could kill it, to prove to yourself that you could survive this life - it was then and there.

Of course, you hadn't expected the quarry to get your blaster.

"I tried," you breathe as Din binds the still-groaning quarry.

The helmet turns to face you, understanding. "He entered the ship?”

You nod, and Din stands bolt-upright, his head whipping in the direction of the Razor Crest.

“It’s fine,” you assure him pointedly, walking with your hand outstretched toward the worried Mandalorian. You remember your promise not to speak of the child, “Your ship is fine. Knew you'd hate it if he trashed the thing, so I ran out here.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes his broad shoulders, and your heart tugs once again.

"Thank you," Din says with hidden feeling.

His sincerity wedges a lump in your throat.

He really loves that little guy.

Din turns and snatches the connector between the binders, pulling the quarry. Its metal feet dig trenches as it tries to stall, but the Mandalorian is far too strong.

Somehow, it's the first time you've truly noticed. Din is extremely strong. Is it the suit?

Can't be. It's just metal and fabric.

The realization might as well be a thunderbolt to your brain. Your assailant must weigh as much as a land speeder, and here your bounty hunter was carting him along like a sack of starfruit.

An unfamiliar feeling, something like hot, sharp sparks shoot through your stomach. Your eyes follow the Mandalorian as he makes his way back to the Razor Crest.

Is this attraction? You’ve never experienced it. Far too busy surviving, wanting someone in that way is a foreign concept to you. You roll your eyes at yourself. Din Djarin, a kriffing Mandalorian bounty hunter is not going to look twice at a slave, and it's best to kill those feelings before they take root.

***

Across the large clearing, at the ship, the bounty hunter waits patiently while the boarding ramp lowers.

“She yours?” The quarry asks curiously, his voice wheezing. "You orbited me like a karking moon, but as soon as I go after her, you come runnin’.” It laughs.

The cyborg doesn't expect a verbal answer; he wants a reaction.

Din turns his head slowly with a cold warning, “I would advise you to stop speaking.”

“I damaged her pretty good for you. Might wanna che-” his taunting words end in a pained grunt when Din slams his fist into the man’s cruel mouth.

Surprised by the sudden violence, you inhale sharply. Din hadn’t knocked the thing unconscious, so what was the point of that?

The Mandalorian hauls the creature up the ramp and shoves him into the carbon freezer.

“Should’ve killed me,” the cyborg threatens with a laugh as he freezes into a solid mass.

Din turns to face you and asks in a low voice, “Are you injured?”

The rush of adrenaline you had been riding on slowly fades, and you remember the only blow you’d received had been the one to the side of your thigh. Your hand falls to it, feeling the area through your tattered pants.

A small amount of blood comes away on your fingers.

“Oh,” you murmur.

You pull up the ripped, baggy material, exposing your entire leg. The skin had split with the force of the blow, but there’s no serious damage and it would heal on its own.

The cyborg must’ve been trying to unnerve us. Or distract the Mandalorian? Maybe he thought Din would check right away, you almost laugh aloud at the ridiculous idea.

Din, for his part, really wishes you would let your pant leg fall. It’s insane, it makes no sense to him. Millions of people walked around in far, far less clothing than you, and Din never reacted like this.

But here you stand before him, slowly checking out the inch-long cut on your mid-thigh, and the Mandalorian can’t tear his eyes away.

When you look up at the helmet of Din Djarin, he fixes his face as though you could actually see the way his lips had parted. You fleetingly, timidly, smile at him and, miraculously, let go of the flowy pant leg.

Released from the spell, Din exhales and makes his way to the child’s room.

“You can use the refresher to clean that, if you’d like.” He does not look at you as he speaks.

“Is the baby okay?”

Din need not answer as the child himself murmurs in happiness at the sight of the two of you. To Din’s abject shock, the kid lifts his hands toward you.

You laugh once, flattered. “Can I?”

Din simply turns sideways so that you can fit between him and the hull wall. You reach for the child and it snuggles into your arms, touching your chin.

A brilliant smile lights your face.

“Are we friends now?” You whisper to him.

The baby babbles a response you’ll take as an affirmative.

“I’ve not asked. What’s his name?” You turn your still-smiling face up to Din.

Again thanking the Mythosaur for his helmet, he stares, stuck on your glowing expression as you cradle his ward. His brown eyes swim with an emotion he’s never felt.

“I don't know.”

Taken aback, you realize that there is a far deeper story here.

Did he steal this baby?

You move on quickly, “What do you call him?”

Din shrugs. “Kid.”

The child makes a cooing sound, then reaches for the Mandalorian. You hand the baby to his stoic guardian, and your smile changes to a satisfied one.

“He looks like he belongs there,” you laugh. Then your eyebrows pull together as you regret the too-comfortable comment.

He’s a bounty hunter, a killer, and he may or may not have stolen this fuzzy, long-eared infant.

And you’re just a runaway slave.

You back up a step, feeling awkward now. “You said I could use the ‘fresher?”

Din simply nods his head in the direction of the tiny facility.

When you've shut the door, Din's body relaxes.

***

But not for long. He didn't account for the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and the sound of the sonics. You are steps away, unclothed, and some wild instinct inside him awakens. Ashamed, he sets the child back in the hammock and climbs up to the cockpit to relieve himself.

_________________________________

The planet is purple. Dark and cloudy, the yellow, green, and blue street lights cast strange shadows. Neon signs of every shade flash from every corner. You've been to thousands of cities like this one. An underworld.

The Mandalorian landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts despite there being a busy spaceport made for that purpose. He transported the carbonite body of the cyborg to the edge of the city where he was met by some anonymous creature in a cloak. He asked no questions.

Din had entrusted you with the care of the child. He directed you and the kid to go on ahead to one of the less-reputable inns. The worse-looking, the better. People were more likely to mind their business.

You've found the perfect one. Din wanted seedy, he was getting the seediest. After all, most of your tasks as a slave had been spent in this environment since your masters hated to be seen in them.

But seedy didn't always mean crumbling and derelict.

Din, having tracked the child's chain code, returns later that night. His eyebrows rise at the size of the room.

"I said find an inconspicuous place to hide. You got the emperor's suite," he places his hands on his hips.

There are technically three rooms: the main living space, complete with couch, table, and a space to prepare food; and two small bedrooms both on the same side of the building.

"It was their only available room. Trust me, this place is as disreputable as they come. And he didn't upcharge," you rise from the couch. "If that was what you were worried about. I… made a deal with the clerk."

Din advances on you, "A deal?" His voice is tight.

"I didn’t involve you. I promise."

The Mandalorian clenches his teeth. Anything involving you, involves him.

"The kid?"

You tilt your chin across the apartment and laugh, "He wanted the room with all the toys.”

Din disappears into the room, and you chuckle at how long the child had been fascinated by the weird sculptures inside.

A low, rasping voice travels from the open door, "Hey, kid. Missed you, too."

Your smile deepens and your heart swells with emotion toward the two of them. Though they are not your family, it's comforting to watch them be one.

The modulated voice sounds again with a short laugh, "She can't hear you. Do you want her?"

You shake your head fondly, the kid had been babbling and reaching for you every time you set him down.

After a significant pause, Din softly admits, "I agree. I like her, too."

Flushing with shame for eavesdropping, you move to the far side of the apartment, to another large window.

Several minutes later, quiet footsteps get louder as Din leaves the child's room and closes the door.

"He tried to lift one of the sculptures," Din scoffs.

You laugh, picturing the child peacefully sleeping after tiring himself with the effort. It wasn't the first time today. Growing serious, you turn to face the Mandalorian.

"He helped me today. Someone grabbed at me and he… did what he does."

Din takes two huge strides toward you. "Did anyone see? What happened?"

"No one saw. It was in a closed alley. I-" you pause in momentary reluctance, then remember who you're talking to. "I took care of it."

You glance at the blaster on the table that Din had given you earlier that morning.

For the first time in a long time, Din's sigh is one of relief instead of irritation.

"Thank you," he says. "Again."

You wave him off, "It was between a scumsucker and the kid. Wasn't exactly hard," you try to make light of it.

Din shakes his head slightly. "I've seen you use a blaster. I'm glad the kid was there," he deadpans.

You exhale in feigned irritation, pleased by his playfulness.

He comes to stand next to you at the open window, and the peaceful silence is companionable.

As the breeze flutters, you shiver noticeably and his torn, rough cape curls into your ankle. The Mandalorian turns his head to you and reads how low your heat signature is.

Din stalks back to the entryway where he had set down a cloth bag. He snatches it up and brings it over to you.

"I hope they are acceptable."

Hands outstretched, you freeze as you realize you're being given a gift. You blink and look up, desperately trying to read a face you know you can't.

"Um, I've never -" you whisper, needing to tell him why you look like you've been struck. "Never had someone give me something."

Inside his beskar armor, Din grimaces. Had he overstepped? It might get even worse when you see how personal the items are.

He releases his hold on the bag and you open it, pulling out a pair of clothes. They're dark blue, and, while somewhat flowy like your current clothes, these do not have holes, stains, nor bad memories associated.

And they are a gift from Din Djarin.

How do you thank him for these? They certainly weren't cheap. The clothing is sturdy but light, beautiful but practical.

Embarrassingly, tears collect in your eyes.

"Oh, wow," you look up at him, panicking. "I can't take these." It was too much.

Din has an excuse in his arsenal.

"Take it as payment for your help with the kid."

You look back down at the material in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric.

"Thank you, Din. Really. I- I don't know how to thank you. You have been so kind to me."

His cheek pulls upward when you say his name for the first time. How sweet it sounds in your mouth.

"You needed them. These," he waves at the shredded scraps on your frame, "are no longer clothes."

You smile timidly, unused to being treated so well. "I'm going to go take them off and burn them."

The Mandalorian taps his vambrace. "I have the means when you're ready."

"Thank you again," you murmur, escaping to the refresher.

Din steps to the center of the room and places a hologram disk on the low table.

While you're busy, he's going to figure out how to get out of this.

***

After an actual shower, real water loosening the knots in your muscles, you exhale in pleasure at the feeling of the clean, well-made clothing on your skin. You feel like a person.

It's similar to seeing hyperspace for the first time. It scares you with how good it feels, knowing you’ve missed out on so much.

You slide open the refresher door to see Din seated on the couch, facing away from you. He sits reclined, his legs spread wide. The Mandalorian hears the door open, but he does not turn.

Stomach growling, you head to the cold storage near the front door. The box of food you'd bought from a vendor sits on the countertop. You unpack it carefully, still in disbelief you can eat whatever you want.

"Are you hungry?" You call to the Mandalorian as you continue to pull items from the box.

"You are no longer a slave. You do not have to serve me." The deep, rough voice sounds from right behind you, and you jump in surprise.

"Dank farrik, you move quietly."

Din reaches around you for one of the fruits you had purchased with his credits. His nearness has your body tensing, but he backs away almost immediately.

"How do you eat with that on?" You wonder, clearly meaning his helmet.

"I don't," he answers, walking into the other bedroom.

***

A week passes in that calm hotel apartment. The child provided more than enough entertainment for you, attempting to lift different objects of his desire at random.

For Din, so used to the child's antics, you are the object of his attention. You brush it off when he stands near you at the window, when he ensures that you have something to eat, and when he silently takes the couch over the comfortable bed.

But you're unable to ignore his touch.

Just after you wake, the dual suns begin to peek around the tall city buildings. Trying not to wake Din on the couch, you tiptoe to the window in the main room, still enthralled with the city view. You’ve seen cities thousands of times throughout your enslavement, often imagining running away to explore. Now that you have the opportunity, you find that you don’t want to go.

Seated on the bare floor, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch the suns rise, you're wandering down halls of your own thoughts when a voice drifts into your consciousness.

"I will get your bounty lifted."

Turning your head, Din leans forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees.

"If that's what you are concerned about."

You shake your head, "I'm not concerned. I think I'm happy."

You had just come to that conclusion a moment earlier. It's an emotion you don't remember feeling. It's like your lungs are expanding after twenty years of suffocation.

You look back at the city and smile contentedly, "This is the best my life has been."

The admission is extremely personal, but you can’t keep it to yourself. It’s liberating. You weren't ready to fight for your freedom when the Mandalorian came for your master, but you are now.

Din’s footsteps advance on you until he’s standing off to your right. He says nothing.

After an interminable length of time, wondering what he’s doing, you twist and look up at him. His helmet turns toward the window just as you face him.

His hands are folded behind him, but a sliver of something flesh-toned is visible.

Is that his wrist?

Your stomach drops. His bare skin. It looks warm-toned and soft. You close your eyes and turn away, back toward the window.

“I am glad,” Din says.

“About what?” Since it has been several minutes since either of you have spoken, you’re unsure if he’s responding or making a statement.

He simply looks back down at you as if that answers your question.

“We’ll be leaving today,” Din continues to study you, appreciating the way the orange dawn lights your face. “You’ve almost drained me of credits with this palace of a hotel.”

You deny the accusation with a laugh, “I did not. I told you I made a deal.”

“And you have not told me what that deal was,” he says, a hint of a threat in his tone.

Din is on edge about your ‘deal.’ The night before, he had gone down to the reception desk to intimidate the clerk about it, but the employee you’d dealt with hadn’t been there.

“I promised you already - it has nothing to do with you or him,” you motion toward the child’s room. “It is not worth your attention.”

Din scowls. “You are also under my charge, and if you’ve placed yourself in danger, I need to be aware of it.”

Your face snaps up, uselessly trying to make eye contact with him. His charge? Why does your face feel hot at those words?

Finally taking pity on him, you answer, “He was a gambler. I bet him I could win more rounds of sabacc. And I did.”

The Mandalorian is stock-still. That was all? Din had gotten incredibly worked up over what you could possibly owe this mysterious desk clerk, and all you’d done was a bit of hustling?

“Why would you not tell me that right away?”

“I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging,” you frown. Din had tasked you with something and you had wanted to complete it with as little fanfare as possible.

“What other skills have you been hiding?” Din’s tone is half-mocking, half-serious. He knows next to nothing about you despite the monopoly you’ve had on his thoughts.

You side-eye him, unsure of his intention. “I can do basic ship repairs. I can speak four languages. I know how to fight.”

“I am not convinced of that last one.”

“The cyborg caught me on a bad day,” you protest.

"It was fortunate you were not seriously injured. I wouldn't have the credits for this," he nods his head up at the high ceiling.

For the second time, your head turns to scrutinize him, but he’s as impenetrable as ever.

"Why not?"

Din's silver face snaps down to you. "The quarry would not have made it into the carbon freezer."

And as you open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea - a quiet knock raps on the front door.

Spooked, you whirl so that you face the door, still seated.

“It’s alright,” Din’s deep, rough voice soothes.

When he holds out his hand to help you stand, you take it without second thought.

But it wasn’t just a hint of his wrist that you saw - his gloves are completely off. His rough palm slides into your grasp, and his thick fingers close around your hand.

Eyes widening, you audibly gasp.

Din raises you to your feet with no effort, and you wind up far too close to him. Your breath fogs on his chestplate, and your pulse thrums in your ears.

Too-quickly, his thumb rubs your skin, and then he releases your hand. Do you imagine the sigh he makes as he steps away?

Your eyes are glued to his broad form as he retrieves his gloves from the couch, then heads to answer the door.

“Should I -?” You whisper.

“Stay,” he says simply.

It’s unbelievable how one word could affect you. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in front of you.

***

“As you are well aware, Mandalorian, my esteemed patron was unhappy to hear about her son’s death. However, you are of concern to us for a different reason. If we are able to reward you for your silence regarding where her son was at the time of his unfortunate, accidental death, this business might be put behind us.”

The slimeball flashes her biggest smile at the bounty hunter.

“What am I being paid to be silent about? The Hutt was banished by the Republic due to his slavery connections. Is the Senator afraid of her choice in friends being known?”

The emissary smiles nastily. “Let us say that the Hutt is also on my list of individuals to speak with.”

“I require explicit terms regarding this agreement. I am a Mandalorian, I can assure you of my discretion.”

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slavery you overheard between the Senator’s son and Salaa the Hutt, and we shall reward you with twenty-thousand credits to be paid over the course of three months.”

To your horror, Din rises from the couch and nods his head, saying, “I accept your terms.”

“And what about her?” The emissary wrinkles her nose as she indicates you.

“She is a slave,” the Mandalorian says with harsh finality.

You physically shrink next to him. He had insisted you remain while they spoke, but now you’re regretting agreeing to it.

The distaste with which he had uttered the word ‘slave’ makes you feel unclean, unwanted. Tears threaten to spill over, and you keep your head down in a familiar, submissive posture in case they do.

The bounty hunter escorts the Twi’lek emissary to the door while you sit, head bowed, on the couch.

“Senator Nesota will be most appreciative. If you are ever in Coruscant, she would be delighted to have you visit her apartments. They are most grand.” She disapprovingly glances around the hotel room. “I assume you had your slave pick this one.” The emissary briefly places her hand on the Mandalorian’s forearm, “Remember, we are friends now, Din Djarin.”

The helmet saves his entire operation, for Din cannot stop the disgusted scowl that mars his face. This piece of scum uses his name to both threaten and flirt; the difference in his feelings between her saying it and you saying it are blindingly stark.

“I do not have friends. My name is not for your use,” he says evenly as he punches the button for the front door.

The emissary walks away without another word.

When Din closes the door, he turns back to you with a sense of relief for more than one reason.

But something is wrong.

“Do you not feel well?”

You shake your head, “I misunderstood something. That’s all.” Your head remains bowed.

“You will not look at me.”

“I am… embarrassed,” you mutter honestly.

An emotion Din has never experienced or understood, he is at a loss. Instead, he sits across from you and tosses you the recorder.

The small, comm-looking device lands on your lap, and you pick it up, curiously rolling it in your hands. You press the button.

“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slav-”

You stop the device and look up at Din with renewed hope, “You were lying.”

Din leans forward in his seat, “I was not lying. I gave her my word as a Mandalorian. But you didn’t.”

“That’s a stretch and you know it,” you laugh.

Din shrugs. The moral reasoning works for him.

“I am to send this recording to the Republic, correct? Get the senator removed from office?”

“She will no longer have the funds to pay our bounties. They will be considered void.”

Your smile falters. He had done what he promised.

Din tilts his head, “You’re unhappy about that?”

“It’s not your problem, of course. But I have to deal with the slaver’s reward. And… and I am not sure what I should do, where I should go.”

Really, you’re saddened because there is no longer any reason for you to stay. You wish there was.

The Mandalorian is silent, weighing his choice of words carefully.

"There is room on the Razor Crest. The kid is fond of you. I can pay you for your services to him. And, occasionally, the ship needs repairs - you can assist me with those.”

“Is this that ‘legal employment’ you told me I needed?” You grin. “I would like that very much.”

“You will need to learn how to fight, though,” he shakes his head, his tone teasing. “The kid can’t save you every time.”

____________________________________

You sit on the hold floor, the child in your arms. Having left the inn rather early, the child is still asleep.

Jostling as Din lands the Razor Crest on a new planet, you slowly stand and place the little lump in his hammock and shut the door.

The Mandalorian drops down into the hold, passing you and hitting the button for the boarding ramp. Deciding to trust him, you don't ask where you're being taken.

The answer isn't far. Din stops right at the treeline and hands you the same silver blaster from the previous week's fight with the cyborg.

"You need to learn to use it."

"I've done well with a blaster before," you protest. "I shot Rathos."

"But you didn't shoot the cyborg," you can hear the frown in his deep voice. "Pick a tree."

Nervous to be evaluated by a master of the craft, you hesitate briefly before aiming at a massive trunk a few speeders lengths away.

The plate of his armor brushes against your back as the Mandalorian gingerly sets his heavy hands on your shoulders, straightening them. With his boot, he taps the inside of your foot, indicating you should widen your stance.

You blink rapidly. Your face flushes with warmth. Why is your heart thundering? Can he hear it?

He can.

His own heart rate increases when his helmet's display shows your heat signature rising. Din pushes it further: his leather-covered hands slide down to your waist where he turns you a fraction - completely unnecessarily.

Close enough that, were he unveiled, you could feel his breath, he murmurs, "Fire."

Utterly distracted, you squeeze the trigger as a matter of following his command. The blaster shot continues on through the treetops, singeing leaves.

Din straightens, his hands leaving your body, and he huffs.

"You distracted me," you explain. "I can hit it."

You realign the weapon and inhale deeply, releasing on the exhale just as you would with an arrow.

The tree sizzles as you hit it dead-center.

Spinning to face him triumphantly, the smile freezes on your lips.

One of the suns on this planet has begun to drop behind him, and his large frame casts you in shadow. He still hasn't moved away from you. The way his mask is angled toward you makes you believe he's lost in thought.

"What is it?" You whisper in the tense silence.

Din feels dizzy. You're a natural with a weapon you'd fired all of three times. Your words cudgel his mind. He had distracted you enough to miss a huge karking tree.

"Do it again."

You nod and return to the target. Throwing your mind back to your childhood, you once again hit the tree dead-on.

Weighing the blaster in your hand, you turn back to him and say, "I still prefer wooden weapons. Or at least something resembling a spear."

"Why is that?" His voice is rough, and his hands find a home on his hips.

"That's how I grew up," you answer.

"Okay. Grab one."

Your mouth drops open in confusion, but he finally leaves your personal space and picks up a slender, twigless branch.

"You can't be serious," you sputter a laugh, certain he had just found a sense of humor. "I'm not fighting you."

"Why not?"

"Um. Because I can't."

"You can." He holds the stick out toward you.

You stare at him, watchful, as you curl your fingers around it. Din removes a small, cylindrical object from his utility belt. He pumps it once and it unfolds into a thin cane-like weapon.

"It's been twenty years," you frown. "You're going to win."

But, when that makeshift spear is in your hand, it all rushes back. The key to winning is in gaining ground. Whatever you do, push your opponent back. So, you launch at him first.

Only partially surprised by the speed of the typically-timid girl now coming for his throat, Din manages to duck out of the way just in time. But you whirl to the opposite side he expects, and swing your weapon into his helmet. It clangs, and you stand upright.

"I'm sorry!" You react, fearful both from years of mistreatment and not wanting to hurt Din.

He ignores you, swishing his weapon toward your middle, and you jump backward. Hating that you conceded even that little ground, you quickly drop to a crouch and sweep at his knees like Rathos did to you.

Din rockets upward a few feet, then drops back down on your other side. He swings at you and you parry.

Dancing for several steps, you eventually land a blow to his ribs where the beskar does not cover. Din's modulated groan makes you feel a rush of two separate emotions.

You don't want to hurt him, but that sound ignites a heat between your legs.

Din retaliates, kicking his tipless spear into your chest and shoving you backward. He knows your move, now. You don't like giving up ground, so you'll throw yourself at him, arms raised to strike.

When you do exactly as he predicts, he drops his weapon completely, grabbing you around the waist and spinning. He throws you to the ground, coming down on top of you.

You laugh, exhilarated, "Almost."

Something is jabbing your hip, and when you shift to identify it, Din grunts again. Your eyes shoot to his hidden face.

Under the helmet, Din's brown eyes are blown, pained at how aroused he is. He can't handle much more of this. Your wide eyes and galloping heart match his, but underneath him you look so vulnerable that he feels downright predatory. His stiff length twitches.

Din’s voice is raw, barely contained, "Tell me to stop and I will." His gloved thumbs push your bottoms down.

Speechless, your core pulsing, you nod.

Din unfastens the material around his middle, pulls his desperate cock from the flight suit, and hastily positions himself against you. Your slick coats him as he drags himself through your folds. He groans through the modulator.

“Oh,” you gasp when he eases the tip past your entrance.

Unable to wait a moment longer, Din sheaths himself inside you with a determined grunt, his patch of dark curls mingling with yours.

Your hands try to fist in his flight suit, eyes wide at the incredible feeling of him filling you. His right hand cradles your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, cursing as he does so.

For the first time in his life, Din resents his helmet; both for the separation from your soft skin, and the heightened senses it gives him. How is he supposed to last when he can see your heart racing, hear your quiet cries as though they’re inside his own head?

In an insufficient compromise, he rips off his gloves. His tan skin is calloused and scarred.

“Yes,” you plead.

Din intertwines his fingers on both hands with yours, hypnotized for a precious second by the intimacy. Reverently, you press a kiss to his knuckles. He makes a wild sound deep in his chest, then plunges your hands above your head.

Pushing your chest to his, you signal that he can do anything he wants to you. He collects both your wrists in one hand.

Din rhythmically arcs into you, the sound of his body - soaked from your arousal - striking yours nearly driving you insane. When you’d imagined it before, you wondered if looking into the blank face of his helmet might be off-putting, but you find that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s him. If anything, it’s erotic to trust him so blindly.

Din is resolved to know your body better than you do. With his free hand, his fingers nimbly massage your clit until you jerk.

“There?” He confirms.

You nod, unable to speak. His heavy, straining cock dragging through you, and his rough fingers replace the output from all other senses.

When he finds the perfect combination, he doesn’t let up until your eyes screw shut and you shake, incoherent underneath him in ecstasy.

“You can say it,” he hoarsely encourages through the modulator.

It was already on your lips, “Din.”

The hand that acted as a manacle releases you as he places his palm on the ground, giving himself as much leverage to bury himself as deep as possible. The toes of Din’s boots dig up clumps of grass as he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping skin lost in the breeze. Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He feels the spark at the base of his spine and knows he doesn’t have much strength left. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his flight suit again, clinging to him for all you’re worth.

Din makes the mistake of looking into your lust-filled eyes as you speak.

“Let go,” you whisper tenderly, feeling his tense body begin to fracture.

Din has no choice but to obey you, pumping himself into you with a long, harsh sigh. He works his release inside you, gradually slowing until his arms shake.

He finally drops to the ground beside you, breathing rapidly.

Suddenly shy, you want nothing more than to reach over and take one of his hands, but you lack the confidence. You also don’t know what to say.

Din doesn’t believe there’s anything to say. He had never been so tempted in all his life, and he had not passed the test. A shred less self-control and his helmet might’ve followed the gloves.

In fact, the temptation is still so strong that he begins to plan for its eventuality.

____________________________________

#din djarin #my fics #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #star wars #star wars fanfic #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #Spotify #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #grogu #baby yoda #my writing

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davosmymaster · 2 years ago

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Hope, Confessions

TAGS AND WARNINGS - +18, Minors DNI (more like minors don’t read), smut, masturbation, p in v, light choking, creampie (wrap it before you tap it), more like making love, love-struck Din, marriage proposal (kinda), angst, hurt/comfort, reader is heavily implied to be shorter than Din. My lack of star wars knowledge is also a warning. I wrote this right after finishing season 2. This fic happens right after Grogu leaves. Talks of cheating if you squint.

PAIRINGS - Din Djarin x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 4.6k

SUMMARY - Din lost everything that day. Well, almost everything. He still has you to keep him sane, to keep him from giving up on everything he once was. (or Din tries to return his beskar to the Mandalorians but you won’t let him.)

English is not my first language

The continuous growl of the engine was both what lulled you to sleep and woke you up that day. Still half unconscious, in that dreamy, sweet and comfortable state when you're neither awake or asleep; your hand stretches over the mattress looking for heat, for that silky skin where your head rests over most nights and the heartbeat under. Far from finding what your subconscious is looking for, your eyes open when you notice the cold sheets on Din's side of the bed.

Despite having your eyes open, you still see nothing.

"Din?"

There's no response, and having made sure he is not in the room with you; you take your sleep mask off. The room is as dark as usual. Small, narrow, cramped with things you fail to find a purpose for. When you had first been in his room, he hardly had a makeshift bed on the floor. It was, above all, an uncomfortable mattress with loud springs and a blanket. The next day, after you had shared your first night together, he had replaced it with a proper bed with a base and sheets. Your own bed has been long forgotten since then.

You get your cargo pants from the floor and put them back on, deciding to check on him. Worry tugs at your heart while you remember the last few days; and it is even worse when, by pure muscle memory, your legs bring you to the corner where Grogu's hovering pram used to be, just outside Din's room. The kid's not there anymore, and you hardly doubt he will ever be again. If your heart is broken just by the sight, you can't even begin to imagine what it is like for Din. Not after all you both did to get him back to safety.

Something flashes in the corners of your vision, then. And you follow it, finding his armor and helmet gently rearranged on the floor. There's a folded blanket underneath as if he didn't want the beskar to be in contact with the metallic ground of the ship. Crouching down, you take his helmet in your hands and close your eyes, shaking your head.

"You idiot..." you whisper. "You should have come to me..."

There's no need for him to suffer in silence the way he does. Why would he torture himself that way?

The coldness of the beskar is something you are used to, but carrying Din's helmet in your hands fills you with a type of dread you're not sure you can explain, not even to yourself. He had always been so adamant about it, not wanting to risk it even when you two were in bed.

The first time he had taken it off around you, he had blindfolded you with your own shirt. He had been drooling to have a taste of your lips. From then on, you had used different things to cover your eyes, all so you could sleep next to him, calm his anxious dreams and simply stay.

But that was back when Grogu lived in the razor crest. There was a time when you couldn't begin to fathom the idea of Din without Grogu by his side, and still couldn't. But now things are different, vastly different. And as Grogu's presence isn't there anymore and you are now carrying Din's helmet —the two things that make Din who he truly is— you wonder what man you'll find once you enter that cockpit.

"Mando?"

He's sitting in his usual place, in front of the controls, fumbling with buttons and levers. From where you stood, you can have a peek at his brown hair and the skin on the back of his neck. Despite all the efforts he had done at the beginning, this isn't the first time you see him without the helmet.

"Mando," you insist.

He doesn't respond, stubborn like only he can be. He doesn't respond for the very same reason that he left his armor and helmet in the hallway; he doesn't believe himself to be a Mandalorian anymore.

"Din..." you whisper.

There's a creaking sound as the chair turns on itself, and before you have the whole sight of his face, you close your eyes and cover them with your hand. The other, stretching in his direction, offers him the helmet.

He doesn't take it.

"You can uncover your eyes, mesh'la."

You shake your head.

"Not until you put it back on."

He sighs in your direction.

"There's no need for it..." he says, the sorrow coming from his lips tastes bittersweet. Not having to wear the helmet is a relief, in a way, but a curse once you know what it entails. "I'm not a Mandalorian anymore."

You don't know what to say, don't know what to do, either. Your figure stays there, unseeing and frozen for a few seconds. You still don't give up.

"This is a non-negotiable, Din."

He waits, hoping you will give up at some point; but you don't. Beskar, especially the amount of it needed to make a Mandalorian helmet, weighs a lot and your arm begins to tremble from the effort of holding it in his direction. You had never regretted more having artificial gravity.

"Okay..." he whispers, then takes the helmet and you wait for him to give you a sign. "Done."

You open your eyes, but the sight is not at all what you had expected. You should have known better than to just blindly follow his command. You should have listened for the modulator.

A pair of brown eyes stare at you, full of concealed grief. The helmet gently cradled on his lap. He is only wearing his black flight suit, which allows him a kind of movement that his beskar armour doesn't always allow. For example, one of his legs is crossed under the other now. And he seems almost... relaxed. Despite having told him repeatedly how much you wanted him not to be so stressed, constantly looking for jobs to get done and credits to take, the odd mixture of calmness and despair just concerns you further. If that's even possible.

"You..."

"Told you," he says. "Not a Mandalorian anymore."

You are angry. Want to be angry at him for lying and forcing you to look at his face. But you find yourself unable to express that rage, not against him, at least; not when he looks like a kicked puppy. The man in front of you is a version of Din that you never thought you'd encounter. Therefore, he is a Din that you don't quite know how to handle.

You want to be there for him, though.

In no time, your fingers are brushing his patchy beard in the gentlest way possible. At first, his big brown eyes are stuck in yours; and even though he is sitting and you are standing, the height difference is still noticeable because his eyes and yours are not that far apart. Din looks at you in that specific way, the way he only does when he thinks you're not aware of his presence. With so much longing in those dilatating pupils.

His eyelids drop, revelling in your touch. But the moment is short-lived, as in the same exact moment his shoulders relax, he grabs your wrist and pulls it away.

"You should buckle up," he says. "We're leaving hyperspace soon."

"Where are we going?"

Not before putting the helmet down, Din swivels the chair back to the controls. It is obvious that he is simply ignoring you, because all he does is look through the glass into the endless void. He taps a button or two trying to distract himself, but he's not really doing anything.

"Din, where are we going?" you ask him again, your hand now gripping his shoulder.

"I'm not a Mandalorian," he repeats. And at this point, you start to wonder if he is trying to convince himself or he is this deeply traumatized from betraying his creed. "Beskar belongs to the Mandalorians. I'm gonna hand over all the beskar I have."

"What?!"

The sound that comes from your mouth is half a shout half a whisper. Soon, you're turning the chair back in your direction, your body bent over your middle and your hands gripping both armrests tightly. You look into his eyes for any sign of mocking, but your Mandalorian has never been the pranking type.

"Please, Din..." you almost beg. "Tell me you're joking."

His jaw clenches. Hard. His eyes swim to somewhere behind you, far away from there, trying to distance himself from you emotionally and mentally as he cannot do it physically. But his eyes still well with tears.

You've never seen him cry for obvious reasons. And the sight clouds your mind. It sends a blaster shot through the middle of your chest. You pray to the maker that he won't let those tears spill, because you don't think you'll manage not to break if he does.

"You can't," you tell him. "Din, you can't. It's your armor, your helmet. No one else should ever have it."

A muscle in his jaw ticks. He's clenching his teeth so hard that you can't help but think that it has to hurt. Your palms quickly find the edges of his face, and your thumbs gently massage the skin there, trying to soften his grip with gentle circles. You see him try to take a deep breath, but it is then that he breaks.

A sound, like that of a hurt animal, rips through his chest. His forehead quickly falls forward, trying to hide his tears. In a second, your arms find their home around his broad shoulders while he lets a few tears slip into your shirt. He sobs into your collarbone. Inconsolable.

"It's okay, baby," you still try. "Let it all out."

You caress his back ripped by the earthquakes his tears cause. At some point, one of your hands travels to the back of his head and they get knotted in the short hair there. It takes him a while, but he eventually slips into that kind of numbness that follows the tears.

When he's done, you don't dare to get too far away from him. You take a seat next to him, on the chair Grogu used to occupy, and take his hands in yours giving a gentle squeeze.

"I miss him," he says, as if he could read your mind.

You nod, wiping the wetness from your face too. There's not much you can say about the matter. There's no other way in which you could express, those three words are enough.

"Me too."

Rather than lecturing him, telling him once again how necessary it was that Grogu trained with a real jedi, you just accompany him through the sadness. Anything you could ever say, he already knows. Feelings are not logical. His heart doesn't understand that the kid is safe and sound, happy, training to expand his control on the Force. His eyes don't see that. All he sees is the absence, the lack of that part of him that he unknowingly gave to his child, the very same part of him the kid took with him and now he is missing. Like a table with three legs or a ship without an engine or a medkit without bacta.

"Din, you can't give your helmet and armor away," you try again.

He shakes his head, the curls of his brown hair waving in the air. His eyes are fixed on your fingers while he plays with them, caressing them, drawing circles over your palm, tracing the lines that supposedly form your future.

"This all has to do with you taking your helmet off in front of those people, right?" you ask him, although there's a fear in your chest that it could be another reason. "Or is it because... of me?"

His neck snaps in your direction in front of him. He is breathless when he asks.

"What?"

"Is it because I saw your face first?" you ask him, needles pricking your lungs as you ask. "Those times... I'm sorry if I- insulted your faith... I-"

"No," he responds in a thready voice. His palms land on your knees and he squeezes, trying to comfort your shivering form "Of course not. How could you say that? No, you didn't insult anything. It's okay."

The weight that lifts from your shoulders is heavy, so heavy that you can't help but let out a sigh of relief.

"I'm sorry I never told you before," he says then, and you quickly get your hands off of your face to look at him. "I never knew how. I kept trying to find a way to explain it, but I didn't know how."

Your face twists into a confused grimace.

"Din... what are you talking about?"

He takes a steadying breath and decides to just say it.

"I consider you to be my riduur," he says, shielding himself in the fact that you don't know what that word means in Mando'a. "That's why I can- could take my helmet off around you. It's okay. That's allowed."

You frown at the strange word.

"What is that?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. Even after all of this time, he's still terrified of getting rejected. The pain that causes him the fact that you might not want him to the same extent that he wants you is killing him. It would kill him, that's certain, if you would confirm his suspicions right now. With no kid and no identity, he doesn't want to think about the possibility of losing you too.

For a second, he considers lying. But doing that would mean the complete obliteration of your trust and his own mind.

"It means partner..." he says. And your body goes stiff for a second, but he cannot stop there. "As in... husband, wife..."

He watches you attentively, like a mere witness to a terrible accident; knowing that whatever happens now is solely his fault. But, at the same time, knowing he has no power over your actions and feelings.

Din watches you blink repeatedly. Your jaw falls from its hinges, lips lightly parted. Even now, he wants to kiss you. He always wants to kiss you.

"And... you consider me your riduur?"

He nods for a moment, liquid chocolate dances around in his eyes. Melting. Warm. And you can't help but think that he is so handsome. With that silky patchy beard, and the small heart the lack of hair forms next to his chin. It's like he was born to be hugged by your arms, and kissed by your lips.

"Yes," he insists. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. "But I should've asked you before-"

You interrupt him.

"Are you telling me that the first time you showed me your face..." you start, your mind coming back to that night when he lazily made love to you, allowed you to kiss every inch of his face, tug from his hair until he moaned. "...are you telling me that was you accepting me as... your wife?"

He wants to say something, anything, but the words don't come. His mind is also lost in that night, in the way your face lit up when you saw him for the first time, how you complained that he was so handsome and it was so unfair for the galaxy to have that pretty face covered. Just to make up your mind a split second later and happily realize you were the only one who he would grant that sight to.

He doesn't say anything, but doesn't have to.

"Oh, Din..."

Before he can close his eyes, you're on him. His fingers curl over your waist, the place where his hands always end up no matter what situation you're in. It feels natural, like his hands are a magnet drawn to your flesh. He dips the pads of his fingers under the hem of your shirt, and the contact of his naked cold fingers —always covered by the gloves— make you gasp in his mouth. As a consequence, he gasps too, feeling your exhale stuck in his own lungs.

Your knee is buried in the leather of the chair, between his knees; enclosing him into a tiny little space that he doesn't want to get out of. Your lips are warm, your tongue, warmer. And as his teeth nibbles at your lower lip, your body seems to melt under his touch. His hands get into action, a featherlight touch grazing your clothed inner thighs, burying the pads of his fingers into the fabric until your legs open. He presses a single digit to where he knows your entrance is.

"Ah..." you moan, gripping his shoulders tightly. He is enamoured with how air leaves your lungs when he touches you, there's pride in that, too. And he rubs, taking more moans from you. "Din..."

"Keep doing that, cyar'ika."

He stands and grips the back of your thighs, urging you to close your legs around his hips. The next second, he has you pinned against the right side of the control panel, one that is pretty much empty and has only a few colorful buttons here and there. Your lips only part from his to remove the top of his flight suit. It has a lot of Velcro and straps, although it doesn't look like it at first glance. When you groan in frustration, Din tugs at his own clothes and in two seconds his chest is bare. You barely have time to close your lips around his pulse point before he unzips your pants and gets rid of them and your panties.

Laying against the console, your thumb delineates his swollen and wet lips. His pupils are so big there's barely any chocolate in there anymore.

"I'm so mad at you..." you gasp, breathless. "You should've told me before. I would've made it special."

He remembers that night. He remembers how soft your skin was, your wide eyes when he took the helmet off. Your lovely words that made him, the Mandalorian that he was, blush. That night hadn't been premeditated. He had been wondering for some time what a riduur would look like for him, what it would feel like, and all his thoughts ended up coming back to you. He felt the urge to show you his face, for you to truly know him, and he simply responded to that urge.

It was simple as that. Easy. As love you should be.

"I'm sorry," he says, even if there's not a tinge of regret in his voice. He cannot feel any, not when he knows he is soon to be squeezed by your warmth. "Still, I don't think it could have been more special."

"You get so cheesy when you're hard."

You both chuckle. That is, until he brings the head of his thick cock to your clit. Rocking back and forth, he rubs you with it, swallows your moans and makes them his own. You can feel every crease, every swollen vein. You clench around nothing, your own heart beating down there.

"Din," you gasp. "Please, Din. I'm ready."

Without stopping yet, he leans into your neck and licks just below your jaw. You're still wearing your t-shirt and, by the way the zipper of his flight suit grazes your inner thighs, he didn't get completely naked either. You're still glad you could take off his shirt; his chest is boiling against your own, even if still clothed. The curve of his biceps is your favorite place to hold on to.

"A bit more..." he says, and a moan follows.

"Please, my riduur," you beg. "Please, give it to me."

With a single thrust, he enters you. The sudden stretch makes you see stars, your thighs trembling on each side of him. He nestles deep in your insides, reaching places your fingers could never. He pushes your knees against your breasts, waiting just a second, looking at you and checking that it doesn't hurt, that he wasn't too rough, didn't get caught up in the moment.

He rolls his hips back, and thrusts.

He's slow, deep. One of your knees inevitably ends up over his shoulder when he leans in to kiss you, to drown your moans or merge them with his own, you're not sure.

"My riduur..." he murmurs into your ear. "Mine, mine, mine."

"Oh, fuck. Din," his own enthusiasm for the word has you clenching around him now that you understand the meaning of it. You never thought you'd be able to get turned on by a single word in Mando'a. As it was known to be, across all the galaxy, a brute language, borderline aggressive. Everyone joked about how even saying 'I love you' sounded as if you were cursing someone.

He curls his fingers around your neck and presses you against the console, there's a snarl tugging from one of the sides of his lips. The sight of Din fucking you is, most of the time, what brings you near the edge. The gentle touch of his lips to your neck, what makes you come undone. Still, nothing compares to the way he chokes you; the way the pads of his fingers press against the sides of your throat and it is your own arousal that makes you feel like you can't have enough oxygen. He is not doing it that hard, the bridge of his palm nowhere near your windpipe, but you feel breathless nonetheless.

He growls. And it is the only good thing about his helmet, really, the fact that his growls with the modulator sound so much deeper.

He is thrusting mercilessly. His stamina so high he doesn't feel the need to slow down. Not like you do when you ride him, something that always fills you with envy.

"You cum first, cyar'ika," he says, bringing his thumb to your clit. His cheeks have the faintest shade of red. A round, fat drop of sweat runs down his sternum, and you can't help but lick it clean. It is salty and sweet at the same time.

He doesn't have to work you up much, he flicks his thumb twice, drawing tight circles over your bundle of nerves as he kisses your womb with the head of his cock. And just like that, ecstasy runs a marathon through your veins, leaving goosebumps behind and locking your thighs in its place.

"Oh," Din lets a long moan out, as he feels you clenching around him impossibly tight. "Oh, that's it," he buries his nose into your hair, his thrust becoming sloppier. "That's it, my riduur. Milking my cock so good."

By the time you regain your own breath and vision, a split second later, he's filling you up with his seed. The sounds make you drool. The feeling of him balls-deep in you is comfortable, familiar. He is warmth and safety and home. And there's no other place any of you would like to be right now than the arms of one another.

"Thank you," he says.

He doesn't know why. Not consciously, at least. Maybe it was because he never thought he would be this close to anyone. Maybe because he had been so touch-starved once that even holding hands made him nervous back then, and now he gets to experience this. Maybe it is because he finally is naked —both literally and figuratively— with someone who knows all his virtues and sins. Maybe because he has taken this as a yes, that you accept him as your riduur and he couldn't be happier.

Maybe it is all of it.

You love the way he is a ruthless warrior to everyone's eyes, yet still melts at the faintest of your touches.

Cradling his face into your hands while he is still inside you, you bring the topic back. Hoping that now that he is content and comfortable, he will at least listen to you.

"Din, please," you say, and by the way your eyes are looking at him, he knows he will do whatever you want him to. He will fly into a supernova if you ask him right now. "Don't give your armor away. You're my Mandalorian. I'd hate to see you regret that too."

Din sighs, both mentally and physically tired. Yet a part of him knows you're right. What else would he be without his faith, his purpose? Without it, he was a blank canvas, and he wasn't sure he would be able to fill that void with anything. Being a Mandalorian was a big part of his identity and pride. Would he ever be able to forgive himself if he gave everything away?

"You weren't always a Mandalorian," you tell him. "And before the initiation ritual, plenty of people saw your face. You were not Mandalorian before, and then you were. Why can't you swear to your Creed again?"

"It doesn't work like that," he says, and his following words sound bitter even if he didn't mean to. "A promise is unbreakable, it's not something you can do a thousand times. You wouldn't forgive me if I took advantage of your trust a thousand times, would you?"

Your lips part, and he could have sworn he heard your heart breaking. The thing that scares him the most, however, is that you say nothing. You yourself don't even know if that is true, if you'd be able to not forgive him a thousand times.

"I- I didn't mean to say that..." he says, his heart is pumping aggressively in his chest. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't want to screw it up even more. "I'm sorry. I would never- I-I hope you know that."

"I know, Din," you whisper, kissing his cheek once. "I know. Still, there has to be a way."

Finally, he slowly pulls out. His cum runs down your thigh as soon as he leaves, and he uses your own panties to clean the path it draws in your flesh. You pull up your pants and in a moment, he is fully dressed again. A part of you wants to whine, cry for the loss of his warm skin against your own, the familiar weight of him over your body. Perhaps the sight of him cleaning you up had turned you on. Again.

He throws your panties in the laundry basket in the fresher. By the time he comes back, the blissful glow from fucking you is almost gone again. This time, however, you're not letting him bury himself in sadness again.

He lets you hug him and kiss his forehead, once again leaning against the control panel. His smile appears a second time today, even if brief. But your heart flutters in your chest, happily.

"If there's no other way..." you tell him, looking into his eyes so he understands your next words. "I want you to know I still love you. Mandalorian or not. And I wanna be there to help you through whatever you're going through."

"I love you too," he responds, pecking your lips once. Your face between his calloused, warm hands. "Maybe if I could make them forgive me somehow... earn the helmet back..."

It is just a spark of hope, but it is enough for both of you. Your eyes lit up at his words, and he sees it and knows he has tro try. Even if he knows you love him all the same Mandalorian or not.

"We go?" you ask him, urging him to get out of hyperspace wherever the other Mandalorians are. Part of you hates that their judgement will dictate if Din can "become" a Mandalorian again or not. But this is his faith, and if this is how the whole thing works, then you'll do whatever means necessary to make sure he succeeds.

He nods, a sprinkle of hope shining bright in his eyes.

"We go."

#din dijarin x reader #pedro pascal x reader #the mandaloria/reader #Din Djarin/reader #The mandalorian fanfiction #The mandalorian fanfic #Din Djarin imagine #star wars x reader

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orangevtae · 2 years ago

Text

Protector [Din Djarin x Skywalker!Reader]

Summary: Din's been on your track for a while now, but he actually didn't know that you were being hunted for to be delivered to an Empire Lord that has been after you simply because you were part of the Resistance so you both make a deal: you pay him so he protects you till you got to Nevarro so you can pay the price for your own head and you go to your separate ways. But is Din capable of doing it?

Warnings: Even if the story it's written between the events of seasons 1 & 2, maybe there can be some spoilers. Strangers to lovers (kinda?). Murder and death. afab!reader and use of she/her pronouns. Mentions of the Skywalker twins, reader and them are not blood relationed tho. Found family kinda thing. Typical Star Wars and The Mandalorian like violence. Touch starved Din (No one's gonna change my mind on that).

A/N: another day, another Pedro Pascal character. I decided to delete Supernova cause i didn't like the way it was going and i thought about this one and liked the idea better, maybe it will be multi-chapter, still thinking about it. Enjoy! <3

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Din was yet in another icey planet. The snow beneath his feet was fluff, what made his boots smooth down while he heard the crunchy sound of it. The kid was safely neated and warmed on it's satchel by Din's hip as The Mandalorian was with his attention on his track orb that was beeping the louder he walked.

He didn't mind snowy icey planets, his beskar made sure to keep the cold out, he only thought about how this kinda of place seemed to be the prefered ones for the bounties he went after to. The thing is: this bounty in specifically never stopped on a place for more than a week, he got lucky if sometimes they decided to stay for two weeks, but it never lasted.

He has been after you for quite some months now, Din thought that maybe that was the longer he took to find a bounty. It was hard to keep tracks on you, he got near close to capture you once on Coruscant but you got him lost on the multitude on people on there, he only got closer enough to see you flying off on a ship, attentively looking back at him. So now, with you close to reach and him lucky enough to find out about where you were hiding before you took off by the end of the week was everything he asked for.

You knew he was after you, which bounty hunter wasn't? But the fact is: he in specifically was the one that could actually keep his track on you. You made all the others get lost, being tricked whenever they got too close so you could use the force to persuade them to believe that you weren't the person they were looking for.

But this one, this Mandalorian guy, really made up for the legends he had on his shoulders. At first, you were deeply afraid of him, he for himself looked butch enough and with the beskar clad armor he wore, he looked even more intimidating. If he ever so captured you, you were done for.

You don't know how long you were in the run now, you just knew that it had been so long that you blocked your siblings from the force connection you had so just you wouldn't endangering them on this too. You knew Luke and Leia could take care of themselves, they had much more force training than you, but they had their own lifes and you didn't want them in trouble cause of your problems.

It was easy to persuade the others bounty hunters, even if they were in that line of work, not all of them were good on their stealthy, you lost count how many times you got them lost cause they made fools of themselves but with the Mandalorian? You only got lucky the first and only time you were able to drible him and run away before he captured you. Right now, you wouldn't have time to hide or run cause you didn't thought yet about the next planet you would go to because the Mandalorian found you first, so you had two options and neither of them were good enough to do before he shot you with a blaster and it's bye-bye you.

You took a deep breath, you were patiently waiting for him to get to the room you were staying at and you weren't less surprised when you heard the door open and close, the sound of heavy boots making themselves known as he got inside "Don't move" he commanded, his voice a little raspy from the modulator from his helmet.

"So...you finally found me" you commented, voice low.

"Yeah, you were kinda hard to keep track on but not enough" he said "Stand up"

You took a deep breath, it was now or never "Okay, listen, i have a proposal for you" you said as you stood up, hands above your head "I'm pretty sure you don't know who is after me."

"No clue, my job it's just to catch you and bring you" he said, taking slow steps towards you as he stood tall before you, blaster directly aimed to your stomach "and i can bring you in warm or i can bring in cold, you decide it. I'm going to get my payment either way."

"Please, just listen to me" you begged, looking up at him. Your orbs found the T line on his helmet, that was a little tilted down at you since you were a little smaller than him and you almost felt like crying if that would made him listen to you, you didn't care if you were going to be shot, you have to at least try "The man that is looking for me, he's an former Empire Lord. Even if the Empire it's over, there's plenty of man like the one's after me around the galaxy."

"So what?" he said in return.

"So what is that he's after me cause i was part of the Rebellion, got sent on a mission where my purpose was to find and take down the ship he was and the crew members with him by the end of the war. He still was alive after i took everything down and that set a rage on him and he's been looking for me ever since." you let out a deep breath "I never did anything moraly wrong that could cause my name to be around a bounty hunter track orb or to have a farrik Mandalorian after me. He's just after me cause he wants revenge and the Republic doesn't know how to find him cause he is always hidden the dark where their eyes are unable to see and if i wasn't being honest about it i wouldn't come up with such history, it has too much backstory for it to be a teltalle so i can ditch you, so i am asking you to please believe my word."

For a moment, you thought that he wasn't conviced and that he would end up shooting you without needing to think twice He was silent for a few good moments, just shallow breaths being heard from his modulator.

"I don't trust you" he said finally "You could very well just made that up so you could try, so i need something to know that what you are saying it's true."

You almost sighed with relief at it and nodded "Downstairs, the lady on the reception, she was an former Rebellion ally, we fought together many times, she can confirm you my story. I'll be right here when you get back, you have my word."

You heard a deep sigh coming from him "Okay" he said, holsting his blaster back on his hip "If you story is a blanty lie and i discover that that woman downstairs has nothing to do with what you saying, you can expect that when i come back, you are done for."

You nodded your head, feeling your thighs tremble a little "Okay."

"Stay right here, if you move" he held up his tracker "I'll know"

And he went out the door.

You let out a deep breath, your hands were sweating and trembling as you took a seat on the bed beneath you. To say you were scared of him was mere fact, that guy was even broader up close than what you've seen last time from afar. He stood tall before you all the time while having a calm demeanor with a blaster pointed at you ready to shoot if you ever tried anything.

But you wouldn't, cause you actually needed him. Not that you weren't capable of taking care of yourself, cause in reality you could take anyone down in a matter of seconds if you needed, but you needed a safe scape out and you assumed he had a ship and you needed to get to Nevarro without other bounty hunter stumbling into you.

It seemed like hours, it looked like it has been an eternity before the Mandalorian apeared on the door of your room again, closing it after he got inside.

"So?" you asked

"She confirmed your version, but why an Empire scum is after you? Really, i mean" he asked you, putting some weight on his left leg and one of his hands on his hip

"I killed his son" you stated "I didn't knew he was on board of the ship" It got silent suddenly.

It looked like the weight made your shoulders sunk.

It was the first time you ever revealed that, it was an acident, the kid wasn't supposed to be on board when you bombarded the Imperial ship, that kind of information wasn't given cause no one knew he was on board when you and your team were supposed to explode it.

"We didn't know, that kind of info never came to us and when it came...well, it was already done and his father has been after me ever since" you sighed

Mando didn't said anything for a while, only sighed and looked at the satchel at his hip where the Kid was still sleeping peacefully "So, what was your proposal?"

"Take me to Nevarro, i can pay you in double the reward for me and i am guessing you have a ship" you stated to him, squaring your shoulders "I need someone as you to take me there cause i'm always on a track. I just need to get to Nevarro to pay the reward that it's on my head, i guess that that may erase me from the Guild's records"

Din thought for a while. Even on his line of work, it wasn't acceptable to kill kids and he thought that you were paying for something that wasn't your fault and you clearly just wanted a stop to the constant feeling of running away. That didn't mean he trusted you tho.

Plus, he needed the money, he had an extra mouth now so he needed to buy food since the green child under his care never stopped eating amd he wanted him to at least live well under his care.

"I'll take you there, one of the head leaders of the Guild is a friend of mine, i guess he can do that for you if i ask him, it's a more than fair trade i guess" he shrugged, putting his blaster back on the holter "But i don't trust you."

"You don't have to" you looked him at his helmet, where you guessed his eyes would be "Just take me to Nevarro, i'll pay you and we both go on our separate ways"

"Deal" he tilted his head towards the door signaling for you guys to head out the door.

You grabbed the backpack you always carried with you that had just the few belongings and headed out the room, the lights went off and the door closed behind you and your new companions for a while.

For your lucky, you always remembered to pay your stady on the places you would be in the moment you arrived at them, so you didn't had problems when leaving the in you where. When you put feet outside of it, the cold air hitted you with force and you squeezed the scarf closer to your neck and nose and followed the Mandalorian that was a few steps ahead of you.

When you took steps enough to at least walk by his side in silence, you noticed a pair of green ears peaking out of the satchel he had around his hip, you frowned when it turned it's head and stared at you with it's big orbs. You let out a little smile make itself on your lips when you noticed that it was a baby, he cooed to you and you waved a little before looking front of you to make sure you wouldn't step on some ice that would make you slide face down on the ground. You haven't noticed the baby till now.

You knew that Mandalorians had a costume to take orphans in their care till they delivered them to their family's or they stayed with them of they couldn't find, you were surprised to know that this Mandalorian beside you had that kind of mission on him. It didn't take long to get to the hangar where the Mandalorian had put his ship into.

You let out a quiet whistle at seeing his ship "Wow, Razor Crest. It's been a while since i saw one"

"Ever piloted one?" he asked, this seemed to peak his interest

"No, we had one at the Rebel base, it was only used once" you whispered

"C'mon" he clicked a few buttons on the pad of his arm, making the ramp of the Crest to get down.

When it was down enough, he went ahead of you and climbed it, you followed close behind, when you were inside, the same ramp got up and the Crest was started, lifting off the ground so you decided to go to the cockpit, where the Mandalorian and his little green friend where at and then went off planet.

#din djarin x f!reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian #pedro pascal characters #reader insert #star wars #star wars imagine

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thefrogdalorian · 9 months ago

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The Best of Both Worlds: Chapter Ten

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 9833 Rating: MATURE (18+ MDNI) Summary: The realities of the secret he is keeping from you begin to weigh heavily on Din's mind and he seeks advice from a certain curly haired co-star on what his next move should be. Things don't go exactly according to plan, not least because of the typically awful English weather... Content Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reader passes out from drinking too much and Din lifts her up (But made clear how strong/athletic he is, I struggle to imagine it for myself anyway!). Smut (non explicit, a lot of implied action but it gets a little steamy). Author's Note: Thanks for being patient while waiting for this one! It took longer than I hoped to publish it becaus I wanted to get it juuuust right as this wis a very important chapter for Din and Sunflower. I'd love to know what you think of his decision.... 👀

10. There's A War Inside Of Me - (Din's POV)

Din Djarin was in a bind. A terrible bind. Since meeting you, he had weaved a web of half-truths. The unbelievable, ridiculous set of events that had introduced you into his life had led him to this position: ensnared in the centre of a tangle torrid of lies that formed a web of his own making. Din knew that the position was becoming untenable. But he did not have the faintest idea of where to even begin to untangle himself. All Din knew for certain was that every second that the lie continued brought fresh agony to his anguished soul.

The misery of not being in your presence was only compounded by the knowledge that you did not truly know who he was.

Things did not get any better when Din spent time with you. Every time Din was with you, he feared that the truth would inadvertently slip out somehow and the secret he was keeping from you would be revealed. His fears were well-founded as, throughout the short time you had been dating, there had already been several close shaves. Moments when Din had come precariously close to having his cover blown.

Like on that night in the hotel when a bottle of champagne had almost brought everything crashing down around him…

✯✯✯

Din watched in horror as you raised the bottle in his direction when he entered your suite, after briefly leaving you alone to check on Kuiil and Grogu. His astonishment was not merely because you had, somehow, gotten your hands on more alcohol. It was directed in equal measure towards the little gold envelope you were clutching in your hand.

“Din!” You shrieked. Din was completely bemused by how your previously sober – or at least sobering-up self – had been replaced by the giddy, giggly girl from the noodle shop.

“They knocked on my door and gave me a bottle of champagne! Me! A bottle of champagne! Can you believe that?” You giggled breathlessly. “They gave me this envelope too, addressed to some guy called Jim Freeman! How funny is that? Do I look like my name is Jim Freeman?”

Din still stood there by the door, unmoving, rooted to the spot. You had realised, he knew it. You knew exactly who the man bearing that name was. It was the final piece of the puzzle which had led to you figuring out Din’s true identity. He knew with absolute certainty you were about to confront him about the secret he had been hiding from you. He braced himself for everything to come crashing down around him. When it did not, and you took another swig from the enormous bottle, Din employed his most convincing tone and attempted to steer you away from your current train of thought.

“That’s pretty funny, Sunflower,” Din said with a nervous, awkward chuckle.

“It is!” You giggled. “It’s really funny. Did you know that the guy who created my favourite show has the same name?” You slurred, swaying slightly. There it was. Despite your alcohol-addled brain, you still remembered who the creator of The Mandalorian was. Din briefly tensed up, waiting for that particular train of thought to continue. When it didn’t, he felt himself relax as he realised that your drunken brain was too foggy to piece together the implications. Yet, Din was not yet out of the woods. When you spoke again, his blood ran cold.

“Wait!” You exclaimed, eyes widening as though a lightbulb had just switched on in your mind. “Do you know him? Is Jim Freeman your boss?”

“No, he’s not my boss. It must be a common name. Perhaps they got the wrong room,” Din said quickly, hoping you wouldn’t press it further. He looked around the room, frantic for a distraction for your inebriated mind, which shouldn’t prove too difficult, considering how far gone you were. Din noticed a door leading away from the main room of the suite, giving him the perfect opportunity to change the subject. “Have you seen the bathroom yet?”

“No!” You squealed delightedly.

“Come on, Sunflower,” Din smiled, extending his hand to you. “I’ll show you the bathroom. It’s incredible, it even has a hot tub!”

Din felt himself relax a little as you grabbed his hand and followed him into the bathroom, squealing with delight at the promise of the luxuries which lay beyond the door. He hoped that in your intoxicated state, you had put down an envelope addressed to the writer of your favourite TV show sharing a name to mere coincidence. Of course, it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Din always asked Fennec to book hotels using Jim’s name. He didn’t have much longer to fret about it, though, distracted by your drunken antics as you clambered into the hot tub, fully clothed.

When Din had finally convinced you to dress in the swimsuit you had packed and joined you in the water, he delighted in the enthusiastic way you grabbed him and kissed him as the two of you sloshed around in the hot tub. The intimate moment certainly helped to put his mind at ease, though he did not allow things to escalate much further given your vulnerable state.

During a break in your slightly sloppy make-out session, Din watched, dumbfounded, as you clapped your unsteady hands against his jaw, cradling it in your hands.

“You know, Din. You’re sooooo nice and kind, just like my favourite character Mando!” You giggled, clearly finding yourself hilarious without any idea of just how much your words terrified the man at your side. You sighed, staring at him contemplatively, and added, after a hiccup: “You kind of remind me of him.”

Din trembled with fear, despite the temperature of the water, as the implications of your words sunk in. He fretted that somehow, you had noticed the similarities. That even underneath the armour, with a distorted voice, he had failed to conceal his mannerisms once out of it well enough to fool you. Of course he had, you loved the show passionately. He should have foreseen this moment. He should have been honest from the beginning.

Mercifully, before Din could panic any further, he watched silently – with a stunned expression on his face – as you moved your hands from his cheeks down to his shoulders.

“And LOOK! Look at these broad shoulders!” You said, stroking his shoulders with a sleepy smile on your face. “So strong! You’re so strong, Din,” you slurred, before curling yourself into Din’s side and leaning down to rest your head on one of the shoulders that you apparently so admired. Then, you promptly fell asleep there, alerting Din to the fact when you began snoring loudly.

Din sat there, utterly baffled at the events which had just unfolded. At first, he panicked that you were making some kind of profound comparison between him and the character. As he considered it further, it seemed much more likely that it was your drunken ramblings, brought about due to your crush on Mando. Despite how far gone you were due to the baijiu and champagne, you had come terrifyingly close to the truth. You would never know just how correct you were.

Once he had ascertained that you were out for the count, Din realised that he needed to move you to bed. He sighed as he disentangled himself from your embrace and climbed out of the hot tub. Din scooped you up in his strong arms and was thankful that he adhered to such a strict exercise regime, perfect for lifting the dead weight of an adult human, passed out in a drunken stupor. Din laid you on the bed and towelled you off gently, before carefully tucking you under the crisp sheets. He dropped a gentle kiss on your forehead, before standing back and gazing at you sleeping soundly, blissfully unaware of the inner turmoil that your words had provoked within him. Din’s heart contorted in pain, as he realised his predicament. Tonight, a line had been crossed. Din knew that he had finally lied to you for the first time. How could he ever look into your eyes again? Your sweet innocent eyes, which gazed at him with so much devotion and admiration. If you knew who he truly was, the secret he was hiding from you, could you ever love him?

After Din left your room, he had lain awake for hours, tossing and turning in the luxurious suite next to yours as Grogu slept soundly in a travel cot by his bed. He couldn’t help but worry about the implications of the night, of the lie. The words he had said due to the golden envelope with Jim’s name on it. Din fretted about what would happen if you ever connected the dots in a way more profound than your drunken admiration of his shoulders. Would he lose you forever?

Din tried to push those depressing thoughts far from his mind as he looked at the little boy who was sleeping soundly by his side. He hoped for both of their sakes that he hadn’t blown it with you. That Din had been able to successfully explain the name away to your tipsy self. Din loved spending time in your company. He was stunned by how natural things felt with you already. Since meeting you, he had felt freer within himself than he had for a long, long time.

If he had ruined things with you, Din Djarin knew that he would never forgive himself.

✯✯✯

The following week, however, it appeared that Din had not ruined anything. Far from it, in fact, if the fact that he was currently making out with you on your couch was any indication. Din’s lips were pressed against yours while your fingers tangled in his hair and lightly scratched his scalp as Din explored your mouth and face with his kisses. He felt himself grow hard when you panted into his ear and asked him whether he wanted to take this to your room. It was a question that only had one reply.

As Din followed you to your room, he grinned as he felt your hand in his, leading him to the place where he hoped your relationship would finally reach a new level. Finally, it seemed that Din would have the opportunity to show you how attracted he was to you, to show you how much you meant to him. His pulse rate quickened as he thought about how he would get to explore every inch of your body with his lips and convey how much he adored you with something more than his words. He thought back to how frustrated he had been that night in the hot tub, when you had been so close to him wearing so little. It had been the sweetest torture. Tonight had been torture of a different kind. Feeling your body so close to his as the two of you had been gradually getting closer to each other as you cuddled and watched a movie. Din had been patiently waiting for you to make some kind of move, some suggestion to take things up a notch. Now that you had, it seemed that he would finally have his chance to worship your body the way he had wanted to since he had first laid eyes upon you. Din couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, how right it felt when he held you in his arms. He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to get close to you. If the man who first laid eyes upon you at the convention could see himself now, Din knew that he would scarcely believe how lucky he was.

Now, Din was achingly close to having you all to himself as you guided him to your room. To your bed.

Din could barely contain himself when you whined into his ear, begging for him. Especially when you took the lead and pushed him up against the door, searching his mouth desperately with your tongue. The feeling as your hands snaked underneath his shirt and roamed across his skin was intoxicating, every inch of his skin was on fire.

He threw his head back against the door in ecstasy, euphoric at your gentle touch. When Din’s eyes briefly flickered open again, he glimpsed it. He knew immediately what it was. He immediately seized up in fear, hoping for one, brief moment that he had been mistaken and the two of you could continue along to where Din’s mind and body was screaming at him to take this. Unfortunately, as the endorphins left his body, Din accepted exactly what – or, rather, who – the poster depicted. He recognised the pose with an intimacy that only the man who had served as the model for the artwork would know.

It was as though Din was staring into some kind of horrifying, twisted mirror, and seeing his own reflection. He stared in horror at the enormous figure of Mando, looming over the bed. Your bed. The image of himself towering there, omniscient, omnipresent and watching the two of you embracing almost sickened him to his stomach. It felt as though Din, as Mando, was judging himself from behind that dark visor. It was a bizarre, out of body experience.

Din felt a sharp stab of pain, as though he had been winded in a stunt gone wrong. He was instantly transported to the time during the filming of season one, when he had been punched in the ribs after an actor had accidentally struck a gap between his plates of beskar. Just as it had been back then, all the air had been knocked out of Din’s lungs when he looked up above your bed and saw the poster you hung there. The effigy of himself, of the character he portrayed, known to millions of people around the world – including you – hanging there, right above where he wanted to take you. Din knew he couldn’t make love to you underneath a poster of himself. That would be sick and twisted. The thought of the black t-visor boring down at him, staring at him judgmentally as he took you on the bed… it was sickening.

It was then that he had pulled away and ran away, like a coward, rather than telling you the truth…

✯✯✯

Things had not gotten any easier for Din in the days that had followed since that evening in your bedroom. His soul was as anguished as ever, as he realised the precariousness of his situation. It had taken all of his strength and experience to make it to the end of another week of filming. Between takes, however, his mind wandered as he fretted about what to do, about where to even begin, were he to tell you the truth.

Events from that night at your flat in particular had been weighing heavily on Din’s mind. It wasn’t as though Din had ever been in the dark about your love for the show that he was the star of, but seeing an image of himself in your bedroom, right above your bed, had rocked him to his core. It had made him realise what a dangerous position he had put himself in by being reckless and exploring a relationship with you. The worst thing was how much he cared for you. He was at constant war with himself, wondering how he dared to have the right to say he cared for you after the way he had purposefully hidden something from you. After he had lied to you.

Of course, when he thought of that night, Din was frustrated at how close the two of you had finally been to taking your relationship to another level, only to be stopped short by unforeseen circumstances. That frustration paled in comparison to how terrible Din felt at the thought of how personally you might have taken the interaction.

He had tried to make it clear that his reason for backing away was not because he didn’t want you or was not attracted to you. Din knew that if you knew some of the ways he thought about you, you would never think such a thing. It broke his heart to think that you may have ever considered such a terrible thing to be true, when in reality, he wanted you more than anything.

Din ran, in part, because seeing the image of a version of himself staring back at him – a character that you loved and had passionately defended that day at the convention – freaked him out due to its looming presence over your bed. He also ran because seeing that poster was a stark reminder of the secret he was hiding from you. Din realised that he could not in good conscience take things any further without first being honest with you about who he really was.

Lying to you was one thing, a matter he still bitterly regretted but actually falling into bed with you without having first had the guts to tell you the truth about the secret he had been keeping from you? Well, that would feel, to Din, like a betrayal of you. So, despite how much Din had ached to stay and allow himself to fall in bed with you, the pang of terror that he felt as the steely, unrelenting gaze of his own T-visor stared back at him had sent him running for the hills.

Try as he might to push it from his mind and distract himself with filming and taking care of Grogu, thoughts of that night and his near-betrayal of you continued to feature prominently in Din’s mind, even when he was on set. Between takes, he would think of how he was going to cut himself free from the tangle of lies he had weaved for himself.

Every scenario that he ran through in his mind of how to move forward seemed to have some downside. There was to be no way out of this particular predicament. A real bind, in every sense.

Din was in an incredibly difficult position. Albeit one that he had only himself to blame for putting himself in. He knew at the time that pursuing something with you, even after he knew how big of a fan of Mando you were, was probably not the smartest idea. Yet, not having you in his life was unthinkable. You had bowled him over with your attentiveness, your intelligence and your kindness towards Grogu. Just being yourself had caused the ordinarily stoic and composed man, a trained warrior, to lose all rational thought. His Sunflower, his beautiful Sunflower, had brought so much vibrancy to his life.

It was better to tell you the truth before you figured it out yourself. Din knew that if he left it too long and you figured out who he was before he had told you, it might hurt you. He had already had more than enough close shaves. There had been a couple of occasions when things had gotten too close for comfort for Din’s liking, especially for a man who always liked to be in control.

It wasn’t just the envelope that had brought you dangerously close to uncovering the truth that night in the hotel. There was the other moment when the two of you were splashing around in the hot tub. He remembered how you had insisted that he reminded you of Mando. It was more of a comparison to his physical attributes, rather than any concrete theories. But still, Din had panicked, frantically wondering whether the bottle of champagne that had been delivered in Jim’s name had made something click for you. He tried his best to maintain an air of calmness outwardly, while inside, Din was frantic that you hadn’t been in an entirely drunken stupor when he explained the name away.

Mercifully, the following morning when you woke up, Din discovered that you had been so out of it that you hadn’t even remembered whether you had slept together and had been utterly convinced that you had gone to the spa. If you couldn’t remember those two things, there was no way you remembered the envelope or the comments you made to him in the hot tub. It had been too close for comfort, but you had not brought it up on subsequent dates and it seemed that it was long out of your mind.

Din wondered if these close calls, the way you had unknowingly come close to uncovering the truth, had perhaps been a sign that he needed to be honest with you. He considered how, if your hands had roamed just a little lower than merely his stomach when the two of you were kissing in your bedroom, things would have passed a point of no return. Din wanted you so badly that he was sure that even having seen the poster, he would have been left with no choice but to stay with you. To finally get close to you and feel your body against his, without any barriers. Just the two of you, finally becoming one.

Perhaps it was for the best then, that he had spied the poster when he did. That there was possibly a hint of hesitancy in your ministrations which had bought him some time. Instead of focusing on his frustration, Din wondered whether he should be grateful that events had played out the way that they had. He would never be grateful that he had pushed you away and upset you, of course. But perhaps this was the wake up call he needed, an opportunity he should seize as now, he had no choice but to address his bizarre behaviour.

But every time he imagined himself telling you the truth, Din felt himself trembling with nerves, in stark contrast to his usual stoic nature. He wondered how he would ever get the words out, how to even begin to tell you the truth. It was such a ridiculous, unimaginable predicament that someone as ordinarily calculating and meticulous as Din had gotten himself into.

It didn’t help that he could not shake you from his mind, either.

No matter how hard he tried, visions of your face would not stop flickering through his mind. Even when he was not with you, Din longed for your presence, to feel you close to him. To press more kisses against your soft lips and traverse your soft skin with his hands. He could not stop thinking about you, no matter how hard he tried. Not when he was on set, or alone at home with Grogu, or lying awake at night. You were all that was on his mind.

✯✯✯

Somehow, despite how distracted Din had been, he had successfully made it through another week of filming The Mandalorian without another disastrous day like the one he had after encountering you at the museum when he had been sent for an early lunch. Well, almost made it through. It was Friday lunchtime on set and Din found himself sitting alone in his trailer with only his racing thoughts for company. The silence gave him an opportunity to quietly contemplate his next move. It was a warm summer's day, so Iggy had taken Grogu to a local park to get some fresh air so the little boy wasn’t cooped up in the studio all day. In his absence, Din felt his emotions all the more strongly, with no one there to distract him from fretting about how he was ever going to tell you the truth.

At the peak of his despondency, there was a knock at the door. Din placed his helmet atop his head and padded across the room, and discovered a certain eccentric, curly-haired co-star at the door.

“Heard Grogu wasn’t around, figured you might want some company,” Peli offered as she marched across the room and took a seat on the plush sofa.

“Thanks, Peli,” Din nodded, before taking a seat next to her. He sighed. Din was grateful for her presence, the distraction she would provide from his anguish, but he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“You seem a little stressed,” Peli noted.

Din shrugged. He wasn’t always the most skilled at talking about his feelings, especially not with someone who could be as abrasive as Peli.

“How are things going with your girl, Mando?” Peli asked. If Din had been able to drink the coffee that he had been sipping before Peli had entered the room in her presence instead of needing to hide his face behind a helmet after she entered, he was sure he would have spat it all over her.

“I… uh, fine,” Din stuttered.

“You don’t sound so sure,” Peli said, raising an eyebrow.

“No, things are great. She’s great. Fantastic, intelligent, beautiful. So funny and caring towards Grogu. It’s just… me,” Din sighed.

“Why? Did something happen?” Peli asked, her voice full of sympathy.

“I haven’t told her the truth, Peli,” Din admitted. “I can’t, I’m too afraid of losing her. But I fear if I don’t soon, I might push her away.”

Din elected to omit the steamier details of just how and why he had ended up in your room, knowing that Peli would never let him live it down otherwise. He could already imagine all the ways she would tease him, so he continued with his retelling of events, minus the salacious details:

“I was at her flat last weekend. We were having a lovely evening but then I saw, in one of the rooms, that she had a poster of me, of Mando. I knew she was a fan but just seeing it, I freaked out,” Din winced at the memory. “I ran away. I feel like I can’t lie to her anymore, but I don’t know how to tell her the truth.”

“Oh, Mando,” Peli said sympathetically, squeezing Din’s arm just underneath his pauldron in an attempt to console him. “It seems as though you’re really in a tough spot.”

The fact that Peli wasn’t laughing or teasing him, somehow made Din feel even worse about the whole thing. At least if Peli had made some teasing remark or joke about it, things would have felt far more normal and less intimidating to Din. Instead, the fact that Peli actually felt bad and was comforting him, was a testament to the seriousness of the situation.

“I know. I don’t know what to do, Peli,” Din admitted.

“Can you tell her?” Peli asked. “I mean, are you allowed to? Is there anything in your contract that would forbid you from telling other people?”

“No,” Din replied, honestly. “I can tell whoever I want, but others are forbidden from naming me. There are only a handful of people that know my identity.”

“So if you wanted to, right now, you could take your helmet off and show me your face?” Peli said, clearly stunned at the information.

“I could,” Din confirmed.

“But you’re not going to.”

“No, Peli. I’m not going to,” Din agreed, relieved that the question was hypothetical, that she was not pushing him.

“Well, that’s interesting to note,” Peli said with a smirk and Din found himself relieved that the characteristic teasing tone he was so used to was back. “No, seriously, Mando. I think you just have to come out with it and tell her the truth. Does she talk about the show a lot? I mean, does she talk about it enough that after telling her the truth, you would feel like she was only staying with you because she’s a fan of the show and not because she likes you as a person?”

“No, not at all. Our connection goes deeper than all of this,” Din said, gesticulating towards his armour. “She mentioned Mando once when she was wasted. She said that I seemed as nice and kind as him and something about how I had broad shoulders. Which I suppose are all compliments. And I didn’t realise that people paid any attention to my shoulders.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Peli nodded, her eyes glazing over slightly as she agreed. “I mean the suit! The suit just makes you look broad!”

Din smirked behind the helmet and shook his head at the kooky woman before him. Peli could be ridiculous sometimes. Din always felt as though she was an older relative, always keen to look out for him. Until sometimes, when she would make comments which led Din to believe that she possibly had a crush on him. Theirs was a confusing dynamic, but ultimately Din knew how deeply they both cared for each other.

“Anyway, Mando. I think you have to tell her before things get any more serious between the two of you. If you wait, she might feel as though you lied to her. Maybe she’d even resent you, after finding out the truth. I don’t think there’s any way around it. Being The Mandalorian is such a big part of your life, I can’t imagine you hiding that from anyone. I mean, have you considered the fact that you will probably leave the country soon, after filming finishes?”

“No. I hadn’t even thought of us leaving. Um, I was considering sticking around since Grogu seems to love it here so much. It’s quiet and peaceful. I was thinking Grogu and I could build a life together here, with her.”

“Awwww, Mando. Look at you, settling down, putting down roots!” Peli teased.

Din huffed a laugh from underneath his helmet, but truthfully Peli’s words terrified him. Could he ever truly stay in one place and allow anyone to occupy his heart entirely? Din knew that if anyone was going to convince him to finally make a home somewhere, it was going to be you.

That thought should have excited him, thrilled him as he imagined your future together. But as he went about the rest of his day and finished filming, all he could think about was the terror of losing you forever when he finally told you the truth. Lying about the name on the envelope, deflecting questions about his job, while you ranted about yours. Would you ever forgive him?

Seeing Grogu after he arrived home did not even help his anguished soul, either. Even as he played with his son that night, visions of your face contorting in pain and rage as you discovered the truth about his identity played in his mind, over and over.

Despite understanding that telling you the truth was the best course of action, Din was still absolutely terrified. After putting Grogu to bed, he sat on the couch and texted you, laughing at the humour that shone through in your every word as you caught him up on your week. With each string of letters and message received, your words unknowingly only added to Din’s anguish. The feeling that he continued to live a lie was never far from his mind. His guilt for starting something with you when he knew that he was hiding a secret that would surely change everything loomed over him.

Din knew that he had to tell you the truth about who he was. Telling the truth was the right thing to do. A man as honourable as Din valued the truth above all else. He knew that it might cost him everything, but he couldn’t stand to see you hurt if he waited any longer to tell you the truth. Din knew that coming clean could change everything between the two of you. He was aware that you might even hate him after discovering that he had not been entirely transparent with you, but it was a risk he had to take if he was going to secure any kind of future with you. Din knew that healthy relationships could not be built upon lies and deception. At least not without them crumbling eventually.

It wasn’t going to be easy, though.

As he went to bed that night, Din fretted that the next time he laid his head upon his pillow, he would have lost you forever. He feared that you would never speak to him again after he finally came clean and revealed the truth…

✯✯✯

Ding dong.

Din bounded to the door enthusiastically after hearing the doorbell ring, leaving Grogu momentarily unattended in the kitchen. Despite the part of him that was dreading the news that he knew he would have to impart on you, he couldn’t wait to see you. Din had been practically giddy all morning, the thought of finally having you in his house was an electrifying prospect.

Din hoped that telling you the truth wouldn’t change your relationship in the long run. He supposed that you would probably take some time to process his revelation, and he wouldn’t be able to blame you for that. Din imagined that discovering that the guy you had been dating for a couple of months was secretly the actor from your favourite show would take some time to wrap your head around. For a man usually so meticulous and deliberate with his actions, surprisingly, Din hadn’t thought precisely about how he would tell you. He just hoped that he would slip it into conversation perhaps gradually with some hints that would lead you to hopefully connect the dots without too much intervention from him.

The first sight of you, after Din opened the door, caused all thoughts of telling you to flee far from his mind. You looked so beautiful, even though you were not dressed for anything more formal than a casual afternoon with Din and his boy. He stood there for a second, transfixed at the way you wore your hair and how your clothes complimented your features perfectly.

“Earth to Din!” You giggled, waving a hand.

“Oh!” Din shook his head, finally realising that he had been standing there wordlessly admiring you. “Come on in, Sunflower.”

Din’s heart swelled as you smiled and stepped over the threshold, gracing his cottage with your presence for the very first time. It only expanded further when you wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned in for a kiss. When you finally broke away for air, you leaned your forehead against Din’s and smiled shyly.

“Hi,” you whispered. “Been wanting to do that all week.”

“Me too,” Din smiled, enjoying the intimacy of the moment. “Come on, I’ll show you where we’re having lunch.”

Din stepped back from your embrace and began walking through the corridor which led to the kitchen, eager to see his son.

“Grogu can’t wait to see you, I made us–” but Din trailed off when he realised he did not hear your footsteps behind him.

Din smiled at the way you had stopped in the corridor, a look of awe on your face as you glanced out of the old paned window towards the rolling lush green hills that lay just beyond the window. When he had first moved here, Din had found himself just as awestruck as you were. Somewhere along the way, he had forgotten just how beautiful the view was. Life had gotten busier, his schedule more hectic... but thankfully you were here to bring some peace back.

“In under an hour I’ve gone from the sprawl of the city to something as peaceful and scenic as this,” you whispered in amazement. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Din breathed as he walked up behind you and placed his strong arms around your waist. He nuzzled into your hair, enjoying your scent and delicately kissed the top of your head.

Din was happy to hold you in that embrace for a few minutes, holding you closely and tightly as if he were scared that you were going to slip away from him somehow. He felt as though you might, given the enormity of what he had yet to tell you. Plus, he wanted to make up for the way he had pushed you away the previous week and underline how attracted he was to you. Din probably could have stayed there all afternoon, holding you close and feeling the calmness and warmth that spread throughout his body whenever you were in his arms. But it seemed that his son had other ideas. Grogu let out a loud babble from the kitchen and Din released your waist, not without one final kiss.

“I’m afraid that my cooking skills are not quite as good as yours,” Din admitted as the pair of you walked to the kitchen, hand in hand. “So I just made us some sandwiches.”

“Sounds wonderful,” you smiled as you entered the kitchen. “Hi Grogu!” You said cheerfully to the little boy who was sitting patiently in his high chair at the table, clearly eager to commence with the lunch that his father had lovingly made for him.

Din loved the way you greeted Grogu, you spoke to him as though he was a person and not just a cute child. Din knew that somehow, Grogu sensed the world around him on a deeper level than most children of his age did, due to his past. It was something that both broke his heart but made him incredibly proud to be this little boy’s guardian.

“Those sandwiches look like they were made by someone who loves you very much,” you said, nodding towards Grogu’s plate before smiling at Din.

Din found himself blushing as he realised that you had noticed the way he had prepared Grogu’s food. He had painstakingly cut the crusts off Grogu’s sandwiches and chopped them into triangles. It was just how Grogu preferred them, he couldn’t resist spoiling the little boy and giving him pretty much everything that he wanted. If there was something that made Grogu happy, Din would not hesitate to accommodate him.

✯✯✯

After lunch had been eaten, Din was about to suggest going for a walk. He thought that he could perhaps use the stunning scenery to his advantage, to distract you from the wrath that you would no doubt wish to reign down upon him after you discovered the information that he had been hiding from you. But you were first to speak, and your words struck terror into Din’s heart.

“You know, it’s funny because I thought I recognised the name of this village for some reason, and when we drove over here, the driver was telling me that there are some film studios here,” you babbled excitedly. “He told me that this is where they made the original Star Wars movies. I didn’t realise how close it was to where you live, Din!”

Din was frozen by your comment, utterly blindsided by your words. Was that a hint, a question? Was it wrong that he desperately hoped it was? At least he wouldn’t have to begin the conversation himself, then. Plus, Peli had suggested that he take a run-up to the reveal by perhaps first telling you that he worked on the show and then eventually saying that he was in fact The Mandalorian. Din knew that this would be the perfect chance to slip it in, tell you that yes, he did work at the studios and what was more, he worked on your favourite show. Instead, Din felt himself frozen, paralysed by fear. Despite the moment which had fallen into his lip, he could not seize the opportunity.

“Oh, sorry,” you mumbled, looking down in embarrassment. “I forgot you don’t like Star Wars.”

Din breathed a tremendous sigh of relief, the moment had passed, without him even needing to intervene.

“It’s fine, Sunflower,” Din smiled. “I never realised just how close it was,” Din shrugged, busying himself with clearing the plates.

It was another lie. They were almost becoming too easy now, too habitual. If you weren’t currently speaking to Grogu and making the little boy roar with laughter, perhaps Din’s mind would have been spiralling and berating himself for his lies. Instead, he was smiling back at the interaction as he tidied the mess from your lunch away and thinking just how perfectly you had already fitted into life in his cottage…

✯✯✯

Din felt the comforting weight of Grogu in his baby carrier, nestled against his chest as the three of you strolled through the stunning countryside. It was a presence that Din attempted to ground himself with, to draw strength from as he thought about beginning to tell you the truth. The words ran through his mind, over and over. But he could not bring himself to vocalise them, to begin telling you the truth. Din peered down at Grogu’s curly hair, feeling his heart constrict when he thought of all his son had been through in his young life. The child had seemed happiest here, in this location, out of the numerous places they had lived together. Not only that, but Grogu had seemed at his happiest with you. How could Din ever bring that crashing down for him?

As you strolled up a hill towards a particularly stunning view that Din enjoyed hiking up to whenever he had a day off, Din considered that now would be the perfect opportunity to just come clean to you and inform you that he was in fact, the man behind your favourite TV show. Something was stopping him each time. It was the way you looked, your complexion glowing against the landscape. It was the way you felt, your soft hand in his, fingers laced tightly together. It was how you made him feel, the warm presence in his chest whenever you were near. No matter how hard Din tried to visualise him saying those words and finally vocalising the rough script that had been turning over in his mind over and over… Din just could not do it. He was utterly terrified of losing you, of ruining this thing that had become so precious and had been just what you both needed. To ruin that, to potentially cause himself and Grogu to lose you, it was unthinkable.

So he stayed quiet. Din realised he was doing something he utterly despised: being a coward. But he rationalised his decision as he looked down at his son, realising how calm and serene Grogu was at this moment. There was no way Din could contemplate sacrificing his son’s happiness.

Din’s silence caused his heart to flutter with anxiety when the two of you approached the crest of the hill and the grey buildings came into view. Once again, he had inadvertently put himself in a position where Din and Mando’s worlds were coming dangerously close to colliding.

Din regretted his decision to suggest this particular route almost as soon as the three of you made it to the crest of a fairly sizable hill about half a mile from his house. His regret did not come due to the grey clouds that had suddenly rolled in across the horizon. It came because he realised, far too late, that his place of work was on full display from up here. The grey buildings that comprised The Volume were visible, even behind the tall ferns that had been planted to try and obstruct the views. Din knew that since you were such a big fan of the show, you likely knew full well that it was not only the original Star Wars movies which had been shot here, but The Mandalorian too. Inviting you to his home had been a risk for numerous reasons, but this walk had been downright reckless.

Din glanced over at you, wondering if you had connected the dots. He found your expression impossible to read, but probably one of awe due to your surroundings rather than realising the significance of the buildings. If you had realised their significance, however, you had not vocalised it to him. Din hoped, as you stood there appreciating the view that you were too busy focusing on the rolling hills and lush greenery to realise the importance of the buildings before you.

Mercifully, the climate of Din’s temporary home country was here to bail him out. It was early August, but that did not stop the typical English weather from being as unpredictable as ever. The grey clouds that had rolled in suddenly looked more ominous than they had when the three of you had first reached the crest of the hill. Din noticed that the air was suddenly incredibly peaceful and still.

But not for long.

The heavens opened, and thick raindrops were suddenly pelting the three of you. Grogu let out a squeal as his father moved to place a hood over his unruly curly hair. Din looked around, fearful that you would be cold and upset that your walk had been ruined. But instead of finding you despondent or enraged, Din was relieved to see the enormous grin that had swept over your features. As the pair of you began to take in your predicament – stranded on top of a hill with a toddler in tow as a storm swept in – Din found that he could not do anything except laugh. He was almost bent double, hands on his knees as he dissolved into fits of giggles. Din had not been this carefree, he had not laughed this much for a long time. But, here, with you… in this stupid situation that would have probably completely freaked him out if he was here with anyone else on earth… he could do nothing more than laugh. It was a freeing, welcome experience and he soon found that his cheeks ached after all the laughter.

“There’s a tree over there, should we shelter underneath it?” Your suggestion finally snapped him out of his glee. The idea of waiting out the storm underneath a tree seemed palatable at first, but Din soon realised that this might be a storm of such veracity to include lightning. After all, the rumbles of thunder had been the last sounds before the heavens had opened.

“What if there’s a bolt of lightning?” Din replied, having to shout slightly over the noise of the rain. He suddenly realised that despite the time he had spent outdoors in his life, he did not comprehend storms as well as he should have. The English countryside was rather unfamiliar terrain to him, after all.

“Good point,” you agreed.

Din looked at you quizzically as you reached out to take his hand in yours. Although the two of you had walked up the hill, hand in hand, he had dropped it in all the commotion of putting the hood on Grogu and making sure his son was okay. The rain was pelting down with a vengeance now, hard enough that Din was momentarily concerned that it was going to leave bruises. He was just about to open his mouth to ask you why you had taken his hand, when, without warning… you started running down the hill. Din almost found himself knocked off his feet, fortunately, his reflexes meant that your actions did not send Din and Grogu tumbling down in a muddy heap.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline of running hand in hand with you, or the distinct giddiness that rain has a unique ability to cause, but Din could not stop laughing the entire way home. Even as your pace slowed once you did not have the slope of the hill to assist your journey home, he was still breathless with laughter. The rain slowed somewhat as the three of you made it to the village, and had almost stopped when Din’s cottage finally came into view. Din was soaked to the bone and fretted as your teeth began chattering as you walked up the path.

“The heating should be on,” Din offered as he pushed the old wooden door open.

“Excellent!” You squealed, making a beeline for the radiator. “I’m staying right here!” You sighed, clinging to the radiator for dear life.

“Alright, I’m just going to bathe Grogu and then put him down for a nap,” Din explained.

“Okay, see you later Grogu,” you smiled. “And well done for being so brave.”

Din grinned as he ascended the stairs, his heart soaring at your words. Some people may not have even picked up on how scary a storm could be for a child as sensitive to Grogu… but you were different. You stunned Din with the depths of your capacity for love with every interaction.

✯✯✯

When Grogu was bathed, dried and settled for his nap, Din descended the stairs. A smirk appeared over his features when he realised that you were still in the same position. His smirk dropped as soon as he realised that you were wearing significantly fewer clothes than he remembered.

“Sorry, I had to take my shirt and jeans off,” you shrugged. “Couldn’t bear the feeling of wet clothes.

“It’s fine, Sunflower,” Din nodded, but his brain was struggling to comprehend the sight before him. Of you, topless, in his house.

“Din?!” You exclaimed, Din snapped his head to look at you, not realising that he had been ignoring you. “I said, is it okay if I take a shower?”

“Oh! Right, sorry of course you can. I’ll get you a spare pair of pyjamas.” Din said, mouth slightly ajar as he regarded you in just your underwear. He had seen you in only a swimsuit that night in the hotel, of course, but that had been a few weeks ago. And you had been wasted. Ogling you then had felt like he was taking advantage of you… but now you seemed to know full well what you were doing. Your shy smile indicated exactly that you knew the impact you were having on his body.

That night in the flat, when you had been about to finally fall into bed together until the poster that hung above your bed had stopped him in his tracks, was a distant memory. Din had cursed that poster endlessly since that fateful day, now perhaps he would curse it no more. Every day since then, he yearned to touch you, to taste you. Every time he had gotten himself off quickly in the shower when his thoughts had become too much to bear any longer, it was you who he imagined as he pumped his length with his fist. Your mouth around his throbbing cock, so soft, so warm…

“Hello! Din!” You said, waving a hand in front of his face.

“Uh, shit. I’m sorry.” Din said, absolutely mortified that you had caught his mind wandering again.

“I was just asking you to show me where the bathroom is, so I can take a shower. My eyes are up here, mister,” you added, with a flirtatious smirk.

“Sorry, yes, of course,” Din quickly recovered and moved in the direction of the stairs.

As he ascended them with you following closely behind, Din took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his racing pulse. He had invited you here to tell you the truth about who he was. Now, thanks to the weather, things had taken a risque turn that he had certainly never intended.

When he reached the bathroom, he pushed the door open and switched the light on. You stepped inside and murmured your thanks.

“Enjoy your shower,” Din breathed and then turned around to leave.

Din jumped as he felt your fingers close around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. You pulled him back towards you and placed your fingers into his curly hair. For a moment, Din wondered if he was going to pass out as you played with the damp dark brown hairs at the nape of his neck. He sighed and gazed at you adoringly. Then, Din groaned as you tilted your head to the side to kiss him, firstly on his mouth and then along his jaw.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t come with me,” you purred, your hot breath washing over the shell of his ear. Din shuddered with want.

Din nodded and took you by the hand. There was no going back now. No Mandalorian posters to stop you, no revealing secrets to halt this moment in its tracks. Din was already hard, throbbing with the weeks of pent-up desire that being close to you without having the opportunity to act upon it had produced.

Din wanted you, badly.

As the two of you stood there in the bathroom, Din was vaguely aware that he didn’t want the first time he had you to be in the shower. He wanted to take you to bed, worship you with his lips and tongue, show you how special you were to him, how much you had changed his life. Din wasn’t sure that pushing you up against the tiles of his bathroom as the hot jets of his shower cascaded over your naked bodies was quite what he had envisioned for your first time together. Then again, there were many ways that you had taken Din by surprise throughout your relationship. The more he considered it, the more desperate your moans got as he continued the steamy makeout session in his bathroom with you, the more Din was certainly coming around to the idea.

When you reached around your back to peel your wet bra off your body, all protestations had left Din’s mind. You were so perfect, so beautiful, you clearly wanted him so badly given how your cheeks were flushed, your lips parted and your eyes darkened in desire as you gazed at him through your eyelashes. How could he deny you what you wanted?

“You’re beautiful,” Din rasped as he gathered you in his strong arms, bringing his lips to your neck and kissing a trail down towards your chest.

“Let’s get in the shower,” you panted. Din was pleased that you had somehow maintained enough brain cells to remind him of why you were in here in the first place. Neither of you particularly needed any warming up anymore, but there was a feeling of griminess that lingered after being caught in the rain like that.

As Din stripped out of his remaining clothes, discarding them alongside your soaked underwear in a heap on the floor that he would deal with later, he almost tripped in his haste to climb in the shower alongside you. Knowing that you were waiting for him, naked, and how badly you wanted him was enough to almost make him lose coordination in his desperation. Din could hardly believe this was happening, this was real. Although at the time he had cursed the English weather for being so unpredictable, it seemed now that it would be a blessing in disguise. You had ended up exactly where he had fantasised about you. Except this time, Din wouldn’t be stroking himself as he moaned your name desperately into an empty bathroom. This time, you would be moaning his name as you finally came together as one.

Din entered the shower and practically moaned at the sight of your naked form under the water. He grinned at the sight of you waiting for him, a perfect vision…

✯✯✯

Din’s breath hitched in his throat as he walked into Grogu’s bedroom and saw the sight before him. After the shower the two of you shared – which had devoted far more time to pleasure than actually cleaning off, but it had suitably achieved its initial goal of warming both of you up – Din had given you a pair of his pyjamas to change into while he went to make a hot drink. The sight of you wearing his old maroon flannel pyjamas had sent a bolt of desire coursing through him that almost sent him stripping you straight back out of them. A task he would have relished, were it not for Grogu’s mewling over the baby monitor. Din had looked at you apologetically, but you had waved away his concerns and instantly gone to assist his son.

When he returned holding the steaming mugs, he saw you sprawled out on your stomach on the floor of Grogu’s bedroom, playing dinosaurs with him. It was a scene so shockingly domestic that it set every single one of Din’s nerve endings alight. You were being so attentive to Grogu, playing with him as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Grogu was giggling and clapping his chubby hands together. Din knew that he had had every intention of telling the truth, but it seemed as though the threat of missing out on moments like this was too great a risk to contemplate. Din set the mugs down and stood back to continue observing the scene before him.

“Thanks,” you smiled, before returning your attention to the boy.

“Come on Grogu, let’s play with this,” you said, leading Grogu to the corner of the room where a small wooden train set lay once he had become uninterested in the dinosaurs.

Observing you there with Grogu, Din felt as though the pieces of his life had finally fallen into place. Everything was too perfect. The hours Din had lay awake, worrying whether he was doing the right thing for Grogu by introducing you into their lives seemed like a distant memory now. Now, in you, Grogu had finally found someone he was comfortable with and happy with.

Din loved watching the two of you play together, swallowing a lump in his throat each time little giggles filled the room. That boy had been through too much in his life. To see him so happy was a miracle. Din knew that he couldn’t do anything to jeopardise that. If he told you the truth, he would potentially lose you and the love you had for Grogu, leaving their lives all the poorer for it. He would lose the love he hoped you already had, or would one day have for him, too.

Din had lost his nerve. He should have been disgusted by himself, for cowardice was not the Mandalorian way. Family was, however, an integral part of being Mandalorian. Din knew that he had taken this decision for the good of his family, so he reasoned that he should not be too harsh on himself. The time for processing the decision he had made could come later, for now, it was time to appreciate your presence.

Din grabbed a brightly coloured wooden carriage and sat cross-legged on the fluffy carpet, smiling at the way the two of you seemed so thrilled he had joined in the game you were playing. The way you had fitted in with his home, as though you had always been here, it was difficult to believe that it had just been him and Grogu for so long.

As he pushed the wooden trains around with you and Grogu, Din almost dared to dream that the three of you were becoming a family.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction @survivingandenduring @readingiskeepingmegoing

#my fics #tbobw #din djarin fic #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #din djarin smut

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oblivionsdream · 5 months ago

Note

Hey @oblivionsdream !

I have 2 questions - bear with me…

As you know, I love your work, but have only just recently started actively engaging with it.

I actually first came across you and your Jester x knight OC’s at least a year or two ago, when a fellow DinLuke shipper tagged it with #dinluke, so it showed up on my feed. If you aren’t into Star Wars and are unfamiliar with it - that’s the romantic pairing between Din Djarin (the Mandalorian) and Luke Skywalker.

For a while, I actually thought that it was a medieval DinLuke au because there are quite a few fanarts exploring that ship in different universes (including ours) and different timelines, etc.

One of the things that lent credence to this idea was the fact that the king looks so much like the Jedi, Quinlan Vos.

The characters do also closely match the personalities that a lot of the fandom have collectively given Din and Luke on tumblr - like Luke actually being a feral mischievous gremlin underneath his serene Jedi facade, and Din actually being the more composed (and often lovingly exasperated) of the two.

It was a surprise when I looked more into it and realised that they are original characters, completely unrelated to DinLuke and Star Wars as a whole.

So I guess I’m just curious what was the inspiration behind the Jingly Menace and his steadfast, taciturn knight? Was it a song or a meme or just watching a medieval show and during a scene with a jester, you had a sudden burst of creative juices like “Eureka! Pretty jester x hot knight!”

Sorry if you’ve already answered this and I’ve just missed it while scrolling through your page.

My other question (this I know has been queried to JM himself but he nervously evaded the question) when JM is shown crying in one of the first pictures you posted of him, what was the actual reason that you had in mind behind it? Was it just simply because his attempts to get the hot mysterious knights attention had thus far been unsuccessful (from his perspective anyway) and he succumbed to a private moment of vulnerability?

Every time I look at it, I’m dying to know!

Anyway, love you! Hope the JM comic is still on the horizon at some point - coz I would buy and read the crap out of it!

Hey there!

I honestly had no idea what DinLuke is though I've seen the tags. My knowledge of Star Wars comes from whatever I have absorbed against my will being online and when my best friend made me watch the prequels a few years ago 😂

So Jester solely came to be because I've loved jesters for many years at this point. I just find them fun but there's never enough content for them out there so I just wanted to make my own oc. I also just love trickster characters- anything fae like or I always adored Loki in Norse mythology so he's very based into those kind of mischievous vibes and humor.

Augustine was purely accidental. I saw some Tumblr post about a knight or maybe it was about a jester and a knight (I no longer remember) so I thought it would be funny to doodle Jester with a random knight being a menace asking him about his big sword. Augustine was never supposed to be a character. But then I just kept coming up with other ideas for Jester and this random knight whose face he never saw and whelp here we are.

Soooo the crying. It was definitely a private moment no one else was supposed to witness. Part of something I find interesting with playing with Jester's character is the idea that sometimes the seemingly happiest and funniest people are also the saddest but they just cover it up with a smile. His backstory before coming to the castle is still something that affects him but also he feels lonely at court. He constantly craves the validation of attention he didnt really get as a kid and is constantly surrounded by people but also he feels very lonely in court. He is in a strange place of being neither noble but also not quite a commoner/servant. Nobility will look down on him and not take him serious because he's just a silly guy but the servants are wary to get too close because of his close relationship with the king and the fact that he technically has a higher status as Court Jester. He is one of Monty's closest confidantes but his own secrets keep him from being fully honest with his king. It's a strange place of feeling alone in the middle of a crowded court where everyone sees his silly jester persona and make up but no one sees beneath it.

I still hope to make a comic! Just trying to find the time to get all my ideas in order. Thanks for liking my silly guys!

#foolknight #jesters a bit angsty #something something about jester hiding behind the mask of his persona while augustine wears an actual mask #thanks for the ask!

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doublechocolate · 1 year ago

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since we're mojo dojo casa house-ing star wars right now, i'd like to propose an idea. din djarin stumbling into a cave for NR business and finding a black kyber crystal. of course he isn't sure what to do with it at first and grogu knows exactly what it is but he's confusion too cause the kyber pretty much jumped into din's hands. then one day when din is at luke's place having dinner and uhh... doing gay stuff, he pops open the topic like "oh yeah i found this stone the other day. crazy right" and luke is just ??? hello ???? what in the name of barbieland is this???

anyway that's how din gets his own version of a gunsaber. the end.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #luke skywalker #grogu #dinluke #star wars #rip darksaber you will be missed

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raspberrybesitos · 1 year ago

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Space Cowboy | din djarin x f!reader

Main masterlist

Summary: Before Din became one of the most notorious bounty hunters in the galaxies, he was in love with you. The two of you shared a wonderful life together. However once he joined the Guild, things between you two shifted. Din became increasingly dedicated to hunting quarries, pushing you to the bottom of his priorities. Thus, leading you to make the hardest decision of your life. They say if you love something, set it free.

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~4k

Warnings: kissing, probs inaccurate star wars lore, Din Djarin is referenced as Din in this and i’m not sorry, very little fluff, fools in love, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N, desperate!Din, angst with no happy ending, flashbacks, POV switching, Din unintentionally shuts reader out, reader is neglected, this is just sad 🥲

A/N: This idea is loosely based off Space Cowboy by Kacey Musgraves. I was with my bff and we both agreed that whole album is extremely Din coded while we listened to it. She actually inspired the idea for this one shot! so full creds to my twizzy ily 👯‍♀️ i cranked this out in 2 hours before falling asleep, Din has been rotting my brain as of lately. let me know what you think! please feel free to send me asks or leave your thoughts in the comments 🫶🏼 not beta’d, all mistakes are my own.

Divider by the lovely @saradika 🩵

“Din, my love,” you stir from your slumber, calling out to him in the Razor Crest. No answer, as usual. He’s been on this bounty for a week now when he said it’d take no longer than 4 days. Your comm link had broken, not having time to grab another before you two set off on this journey. Sighing, you rise to your feet and make the bed. Wandering through the ship, you open the door and watch the ramp descend. You begin your usual, mundane walk around the forest in which the ship is parked.

Since joining a year ago, Din has grown increasingly distant as he establishes himself in the Guild, set in his dedication to them. While you’re happy your partner has found a burning passion, you do miss him. Never really around and when he is, his mind is somewhere else - not with you.

Lost in thought, you don’t hear the rustling in the bushes. “Cyar’ika!” Din’s voice pierces the air, startling you. “Oh! My love! You’re back,” sighing, relieved to see him. “I told you to stay on the ship. We don’t know what’s out here,” he says, short and curt as he lugs the quarry to the ship.

Stealing a glance at the quarry, mindful not to use his real name. “Mando, you can’t possibly expect me to stay confined to that ship for days while you’re off doing stars knows what!” Anger courses through your veins, his words sending you into a fit of fury. He shoves the quarry up the ramp, you following in tow. “He not treating you right, pretty lady?” Din tightens his hold onto him, the quarry yelping in pain. “What?! I can’t ask a question?!” “No. You can’t,” Din grits as he tosses him into the cargo hold, freezing him. Din closes the ship door, bringing the ramp up.

“Din! Do you really expect me to stay inside the ship for days at a time?!” You shriek. “Yes! I do! I already have enough to worry about, I don’t need to add you to the list too,” he spits. “Your list? So I’m one of your quarries now?!” He scoffs at your words, grumbling as he ascends the ladder. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Of course you don’t. You never do,” you mutter as he walks away. He freezes, climbing down the steps. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Your chest heaves, words forming on your lips before you even realize. “You never have time for me anymore! I never see you! You’re constantly away on these hunts, while you stick me in here like I’m some sort of doll! And even when you are here, you ignore me half the time! It’s been a year, how long do you expect to me go on like this?!”

“Go on like what?! You know I’m working my way up in the Guild, you knew this was going to be a big adjustment. I told you this when I joined.” You fight back tears that threaten to spill over, battling to keep your composure. “I know that, Din! I do! But I’m lonely, I miss you! Is that so hard to understand?” You plead. “I’m here with you when I’m not out on a hunt, how could you miss me?” He asks, oblivious to your pain, your needs.

“When you’re here, you stare out the window the majority of the time! Tracking your quarries, talking to Karga, finding who you need to pick up next, only ever acknowledging me when you return or before bed! You don’t even sit and have dinner with me anymore,” you explain exasperatedly. “So because I’m busy doing my job and not sharing a ration pack with you every night, you’re upset?”

It takes every fiber in your being to not let your tears fall. Blinking them back, you swallow them down. “That’s not what I mean, Din.” Your voice wobbled and hushed. “Then what do you mean, cyar’ika? I’m trying to provide a better life for you, for us. A life where you have all the things you deserve,” Din says. “I don’t care about any of that, Din. My life will always be better with you in it, no matter where we are or what we have, or lack.”

“You said you’d support me when I joined the Guild.” “And I do! It’s not that I don’t support you, Din, I-,”

“Then what is it?” “Please, stop twisting my words. We never argue like this. My love… please.” Despite not seeing his face, you know your words have gotten to him. He lets out a modulated sigh. The silence hangs heavy in the air until it’s interrupted by an incoming call from Karga on Din’s comm link. “I’ve gotta take this, cyar’ika.”

Fighting back tears is a losing battle. “Okay,” you whisper, pushing past him and into the refresher. Din sighs as you shut the door behind you. He doesn’t know what’s worse - the fact that you didn’t slam the door or that he wishes you did. As he ascends the ladder to take the call, he hears a sniffle from the refresher. Torn between you and the call, he continues his way up the ladder.

Silently sobbing into a towel on the floor, your body rattles as you attempt to control your breathing. It’s no use, he refuses to see why you’re upset. He used to be so empathetic with you, so open and tender. Now, it’s like you might as well be his colleague, one that he barely speaks to merely out of obligation. Your heart shatters at the thought, wondering if his love has also faded away along with the Din you once knew.

Picking yourself up, you splash water on your face - grateful for the icy chill to revive you. You open the door, tip toeing out into the ship. Peering around the corner, you check to see if Din has gone to bed. The bed is empty and made, seemingly untouched. A defeated sigh escapes your lips. You quietly ascend the ladder, peeking inside the cockpit. Din sits in the pilot seat, as the ship moves through hyperspace, the blue light reflecting off his armor.

Fighting an internal war, deciding if you should stay or give him space, you ultimately decide on the latter. You clear your throat before leaving. He whips around in his seat.

“Where are we going?” “Back to Nevarro. I’ve finished for now. Karga wants to meet with me for a special bounty.” Your chest aches. “Oh. Okay. How long until we get there?” “About 2 days.”

“Okay. I’m going to bed.” Thick, heavy silence ensues again. “Okay, cyar’ika. Good night.” You flash him a pained, small smile. “Good night, Din. I love you,” you say, voice unsteady. There’s a beat before he speaks. “I love you too.” It’s silly to even hope that he’ll join you, but hope is all you can hang onto to stay sane for the next 2 days.

You descend the ladder and climb into the small cot you two normally would’ve shared. It feels so big despite its size. Burying your face into his pillow, fat tears fall from your eyes again. Your chest on fire as your lungs burn from heaving. You tire yourself out from sobbing, falling into a deep sleep.

You wake after stars knows how long, eyes burning as you crack them open. Swollen and puffy, it hurts to keep them open. You stretch and climb out of bed, rubbing your head to soothe the intense ache. Climbing up the ladder, you see Din isn’t in the seat anymore and you’re no longer in hyperspace. Stepping down, you hear the refresher door hiss as it opens. Din steps out, adjusting his helmet. He smells clean, like his piney soap. He must’ve taken a shower. He freezes as he sees you standing in front of him.

“Cyar’ika,” he nearly whispers. “Din.” He winces at the use of his name, not used to it tumbling from your lips as you typically call him your ‘love.’

“How’d you sleep?” “Good. How long did I sleep for?” “About a day.” You’re taken aback a bit. You’ve never slept that long before. “Oh.” “I didn’t want to wake you. You looked peaceful.”

I definitely didn’t feel that way, you silently think. “I wish you had joined me,” you can’t help but admit. “You also know sitting in that chair isn’t good for your back.” He sighs at your words. “I know, cyar’ika, but I didn’t know if you wanted me there.” Your brows scrunch, lips turning into a frown. “I always want you next to me, Din. Even if we have a disagreement beforehand, I’ll always want you by my side.”

“I’ll always want you by my side too, cyar’ika. Which is why I need your support as I advance in the Guild,” he says. “Din, I do support you, I can’t stress that enough. I just wish you’d hear what I’m saying - see where I’m coming from,” you sigh. “This job that Karga wants me to take pays very well. It’ll greatly assist us in buying a house somewhere one day. A house where we can raise a family.”

“Din, what part of ‘I don’t care where we are just as long as we’re together’ do you not understand? A house doesn’t mean anything to me if you’re never going to be home. That’s no life for a family. You are my home. All I’m asking for is more time with you, my love. You haven’t kissed me in over a week,” you ramble.

“I need you, cyar’ika. I always will… but right now, I need to take this job. To set up our future for success. I’ll give you everything you ask for very soon, cyar’ika, I promise,” he says, completely disregarding everything you’ve just said.

“How soon, Din?!” You ask, your throat burning. “I don’t know, but soon!” Fat tears cascade down your cheeks, taking in a deep breath.

“Aren’t I enough, Din?” You hiccup, your cheeks soaked in sorrow. “Of course you are enough, cyar’ika! More than enough, why would you ask such a question?” He asks offendedly. “Then why do you keep making me compete with the Guild? Why is this job so important? Why won’t you listen to me? Why won’t you talk to me anymore?” You shout, through your tears, voice crackling.

“I’m not making you compete with the Guild. I’ve told you why this is important. It’s for us, for our future children,” he says, growing impatient. “No. This is for you. You’re trying to prove yourself for whatever reason you won’t tell me,” you grit. “I am not trying to prove myself to anyone. I’m the one who is trying to provide for us, trying to make sure we stay afloat. Someone has to. I’m sorry I don’t have time to play house. We need to have one of those first in order to do that,” he spits, frustration boiling over as he raises his voice.

You’re frozen in place, feet glued to the floor. He’s never raised his voice at you. He’s never talked at you before. Your tears pause, body going into shock at his reaction. He’s gone. The Din you fell in love with is gone, floating around in the stardust somewhere in one of the many galaxies you two have traveled through.

“Cyar’ika, I-,” you hold a hand up to him. “No. It’s fine,” you whisper as you walk past him. “Cyar’ika, I’m sorry, that’s not what I-,” You turn around to look at him. “It’s okay, Din. Really,” you whisper, stepping into the tiny chamber that contains your cot, shutting the door. You’ve never shut the door before, but you need to get away from him somehow as you’re confined to this small ship.

Tears drip from your eyes until there are no more, unable to cry anymore. You know what you have to do when you reach Nevarro. With nowhere else to go, you curl into a ball and desperately try to sleep. You drift off, grateful for the painful headache which forces you into sleep.

A knock on the door wakes you from your slumber. “Cyar’ika, we’re landing,” Din says, modulated voice muffled from the outside the door. You wait until you hear his footsteps climb up the ladder and into the cockpit. Opening the door, you grab your single bag and quickly pack what little belongings you have on the ship and hide it under the blanket on the cot.

You hurriedly climb up into the cockpit and situate yourself in the passenger seat, acting as if last night didn’t happen. Painful silence clings to the air. The ship descends and the two of you sit in silence in the process. As soon as the ship lands, you swiftly unbuckle your seatbelt and scurry down the ladder, desperate to get off this ship.

Din follows suit and opens the door, waiting for the ramp to descend. He goes to the cargo hold of the ship. While his back is turned, you grab your bag from under the blanket and hurry out the door and onto land.

Making your way to the cantina, you search for Greef Karga. Spotting him, you wave him down. He greets you with a smile. “Ah! Mando’s girl! How have you been? Where is Mando?” He kindly asks, oblivious to your hastiness. “Uh, he’s still on the ship. Unloading the quarry. Do you think you could help me with something?” He grows concerned at your question. “I’ll do my best. Is everything alright, young lady? Are you hurt?”

You wave him off. “No, no. I’m fine. I just, um. I just need a place to stay while Mando continues working,” you explain. Karga raises a brow at your statement. “He’s not… hurting you is he?” Your eyes pop out of your head at the accusation. “Stars, no! He would never do that! I just need some space to myself rather than stay confined to the ship.” “Okay, okay. I just wanted to be sure. We can arrange something, perhaps you can bunk with Cara. In the meanwhile, I have a spare room you can use as we figure something out.” You smile, relieved that you get to stay here.

“Thank you. Thank you so so much, Karga,” you say, shaking his hand. “Does Mando know you’ll be staying here?” You avoid the question, letting go of his hand. “Are you leaving Mando?” You swallow the lump in your throat. “I can’t do it anymore, Karga. I’m so lonely. It’s for the best,” you whisper, not wanting to air out all the details of your relationship. He frowns, “If you’re lonely, imagine how lonely Mando will be after you leave,” he says. “Please don’t. Don’t do that. I have to choose myself. I’ll choose me first if no one else will,” you say through your crackling voice. Karga just sympathetically nods.

He takes out a ring of keys and removes one, placing it in your hand. “The key to my house. You know which one it is, right?” He asks. You furiously nod. “Go ahead and let yourself in. Don’t forget to lock it after. Take your time,” he says. “Thank you,” you sigh as you firmly shake his hand one more time.

You exit the cantina, heading in the direction of Karga’s house. “Cyar’ika!” You stop walking, whipping your head around at the sound of his modulated voice. Din is running up to you, weapons clanging against his worn armor.

“Where did you go? You rushed off the ship so fast, I couldn’t ask where you went. I was worried,” he huffs. “I came to see Karga,” you say flatly. “For what?” Confusion lacing his voice. “I needed help with something.” “Something I couldn’t help you with?” “Yes, actually,” you explain. “Cyar’ika, what did you need that I couldn’t have helped you with?”

You glance away, unable to bear the sight of him despite his face being covered. Biting back tears, the words begin to form on your lips. “I’m staying here, Din,” you whisper, careful not to say his name too loudly.

“What? Cyar’ika, wait,” Din says. “I’m staying here, Din. There’s nothing that could change my mind. I’m so sorry, my love,” you tell him quietly. “No, no, cyar’ika. Don’t do this,” he pleads, scrambling to grab your hands. “I have to Din,” you quietly rasp through your tears. “No you don’t. Please, cyar’ika. Don’t leave me, I need you,” his voice trembles from behind the helmet. “And I need you too, Din, but until you get what you want out of the Guild, I’ll never have you.” You shake your hands out of his.

“Cyar’ika, please stay. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. I’ll change for you. Whatever it is. Don’t leave me please,” he begs, tears evident in his voice as he collapses to his knees and hugging your middle. A sob wracks your body as you look up to the dreary sky, searching for strength.

“I know you won’t decrease the amount of quarries you take. You’re too stubborn, and that’s part of why I love you. I never want to change you. I love you the way you are, even though we have our differences now. Din, we’ve simply outgrown each other’s needs. My place is no longer with you, at least for now it’s not,” you explain, shaking in the process.

“Your place will always be with me, cyar’ika. I love you, mesh’la,” Din sobs. “And I love you too, Din. I always will. But I need to let you go, let you finish what you need to do. I’ll be here on Nevarro so I’ll see you around whenever you drop by. My love for you will never fade. Who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll come back to me,” you choke. He embraces you even tighter, afraid you might disappear.

“This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, my love. I’m so sorry,” you whisper as you lean down to press a kiss to his helmet. You struggle to unwrap yourself from his grasp. His hands fall to his sides as he looks up at you. “I love you,” you whisper before running off.

Din kneels there for what feels like eternity. “Mando?” Karga’s voice pulls him out of his trance, causing him to rise to his knees. “You knew,” Din says. “I only found out today,” Karga says, clapping a hand on Din’s armor. He shakes it off as if he’d been shot. “Doesn’t matter. I don’t work with traitors,” Din huffs. “I’d be careful of the next words you choose if I were you,” Karga threatens. Din grumbles under his breath.

“Come on. Let’s go talk about that special bounty. Don’t let her departure be for nothing,” he says, holding a hand out to Din. Begrudgingly shaking it, the two men walk off to the cantina to discuss the quarry at hand.

Back on the ship, Din inputs the coordinates for the most-wanted quarry in all the galaxies. His heart shattered into dust, chest feeling hollow in your absence. The ship roars to life as it ascends, Din navigating through the galaxies. Once on track to Arvala-7 and at a steady pace, Din puts the Razor Crest into hyperspace.

He descends the ladder. He’s never felt so empty before. Not since before he met you. Removing his helmet, he trudges into the refresher splashing ice cold water on his face. Stepping back into the ship, he rounds the corner and plops himself onto the cot. A deep sigh rumbles from deep within his soul. He attempts to get comfortable until he feels something hard underneath the pillow. Lifting his head, he reaches under the pillow and feels around for whatever is poking him. Grasping a hold of something, he yanks it from underneath.

His heart stops and his ears ring, deep silence pierces the ship. It’s a note with something enfolded inside. “My love” the front of the note reads. He opens it, a gasp shuddering from his lips. It’s the bracelet he gifted to you after capturing his very first quarry on your first hunt together, the one you wore daily since then. The two of you, younger and more spry. So in love, you looked like a pair of fools. He unfolds the note.

“I love you, Din. I always will. Please don’t ever forget that. This bracelet is a reminder of the moment I knew I loved you. The day we said it aloud. I love you forever. -Your cyar’ika.” He can’t contain the sob that rattles in his soul. Call him selfish, but he hopes he can come back to you one day - hopes he can make you his forever. He lost you once, he won’t lose you twice. Clutching the bracelet, he recalls the sweet memory.

“Cyar’ika?” Din called out to you, your sweet humming rings through the ship and out into the open air, penetrating the barren planet. You insisted on keeping the ramp open, the scorching heat of the planet you stayed on growing overwhelming in the sealed ship.

“In here, my love!” You call out to him from within the Razor Crest. Grunting catches your attention, making you drop the ration pack you were just about to open. Din lugs a quarry up the ramp and into the cargo hold, freezing it in carbonite.

A smile plasters your face as you praise him. “Your first quarry! I’m so proud of you, my love!” You cheer, applauding him. His modulated laugh is like music to your ears. “Thank you, mesh’la,” he says, wiping his gloves on his flight-suit before walking over to you.

He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flushed against his rusted armor. “I couldn’t have done it without you, my cyar’ika,” he says huskily in your ear. Your smile grows even wider. “I’ll always be here to cheer you on, my love,” you say, toothy smile adorning your face. He brushes a gloved hand against your cheek.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers. You quickly do so, excitedly puckering your lips for what typically comes next. You feel him shift around a bit, fiddling with his sides, making your brows and nose scrunch in confusion. “Open them, cyar’ika.”

You crack them open, confused as to why he didn’t kiss you until you see what he’s holding in his hand. A silver bracelet, a small single charm dangling from it. You gasp as you realize what the charm symbolizes, tears welling in your eyes. It’s Din’s signet - a mudhorn. “Where did you get this? How did you get this? This must’ve cost a fortune, Din,” you whisper through your tears as you gently caress the bracelet in your hand.

“I’ve had it for a while, cyar’ika. And don’t worry about the cost, I’d buy you every galaxy if I could. It’s what you deserve,” he tells you. “What did I ever do to deserve this, my love?” He caresses your cheek once more. “You put up with me.” Your lips pull into a frown. “I don’t put up with you, Din. I love you.” The words leave you before you realize you’re saying them.

Stunned silence punches the air. “Close your eyes,” Din says. “I-,” He cuts you off. “Close your eyes, cyar’ika,” he says more firmly. You do as he asks. The hissing of his helmet rings in your ears. Suddenly, you feel a familiar pressure on your lips, the one you’d waited for earlier.

Din crashes his lips onto yours, capturing them in a hungry, ferocious kiss. You gasp as this one feels different than the rest. His tongue slips inside your mouth, moaning into him. Your knees buckle, but Din catches you before you can fall. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer, desperate to be consumed by him. His large, thick gloved hands roam your back, sending chills up your spine.

You pull back, chest heaving as you gasp for air as you keep your eyes closed. He presses his warm, sweaty forehead against yours. “I love you too,” he whispers. You can hear the smile in his voice, giggling at his words.

“Say it again,” you ask. “I love you,” he says, pressing a peck to your cheek. “Again,” you giggle. “I love you,” pecking your other cheek. “Again.” “I love you,” pecking your nose. “Again,” you laugh louder this time. He muffles it with a firm kiss to your lips.

“I love you, cyar’ika,” he says, pulling away and scooping you up, spinning you around in his arms. You squeal with laughter as you throw your head back, holding onto his head and eyes remaining closed. He laughs with you before setting you down.

“I love you, Din Djarin. Forever, my love,” you sigh. “Forever, my cyar’ika.”

this was my first time writing angst with no happy ending and omg, as a hopeless romantic, it hurt! 😭 but i did enjoy writing this! i’m super proud of it 🥹

i do have a happy din djarin one shot in the works, i promise! it’s a slow burn full of fluff and mutual pining 🤭

should i write a part 2 for these two? perhaps a reunion and they live happily ever after… or another sad ending? 🫣 wondering how Cyar’ika would react when she sees Din has adopted a son… hmmm… 💭

thanks for reading! 🫶🏼

tag list: @gracieheartsspedro @undrthelights @jenispunk @nostalxgic @mandoisapunk @amanitacowboy @bastardmandennis @party-hearses @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tinygarbage

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin one shot #the mandalorian one shot #din djarin angst #din djarin fluff

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