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dinner-djarin · 4 years ago

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dar'manda (Mando x f!reader)

Chapter 1: The Only Way Out is Through

Summary: Things have been quiet since The Mandalorian's disappearing act on Nevarro. However, things change quickly at his sudden return, and the changes are sure to impact your own life. That is, if you don't screw it up for yourself.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, yearning/awkward flirting/reader doesn’t know how to act around Mando, Cara Dune lol (I feel like she needs a warning)

Word Count: 3.8k

Prologue - Next

In the weeks that the Mandalorian had been gone, things on Nevarro had taken a turn for the worse. Ever since making his grand escape, remaining Imperial officers seemed to get word of a Mandalorian bounty hunter gone rogue. He took some sort of “package” right out of their hands, and they really didn’t like that. So, they sent out every bounty hunter idiotic enough to go after a Mandalorian. And to double their efforts, they effectively made Nevarro their new base.

Well, that probably wasn’t exactly accurate, but either way it seemed like every stormtrooper left was sent to keep watch in case their prize ever returned.

You could not imagine that anyone would be stupid enough to come back to the place where they so flagrantly disregarded every rule of the Guild, and yet – there he was. Walking into town at the side of his...former boss. As he approached however, you noticed he probably wasn't there by choice. His hands were bound in front of him, and a muscley looking woman, with a very large gun, was not too far behind them. Well then, you think to yourself, I guess no one crosses the Guild, not even Mando.

Just as they enter town you being to consider the precarity of your own situation. With the town being occupied by stormtroopers, times are tough. Curfews have been put in place and wandering through town is highly discouraged. The marketplace has turned into a ghost town as people have become less and less inclined to spend time outside of their homes. They might come by for the basics, but business is definitely not what it used to be. So, you often find yourself with “free time” – moments you should realistically be working – where you instead spy on the invaders who have ruined your already unpleasant life. Basically, the exact thing you were doing in that very moment.

It's a matter of fate that he showed up just as you made your way to the town entrance. Even more so when you overhear a conversation between the Guild leader and the Mandalorians captor.

“Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse” you hear the Guild leader say.

“Slip him his blaster” whispers the woman. These words bring you utter confusion. Did she mean slip Mando his blaster?

“Not yet,” he says under his breath.

And suddenly you are more confused than before. Why would she say something like that? How did any of this make sense? You’re thankful you were not seen as they pass by you, but you think you perceive a subtle change in the reflection from the shiny metal helmet that your eyes have been locked on to. His gaze fell to the metal orb that was trailing the trio through the city centre. When he looked back up however, he did not return his gaze to the direction he had been looking previously. Now you think, and you know it’s completely self-centred of you to do so, but you feel like he is staring straight at you. You don't think he would be able to see into the shadows that were providing your cover, but something about the angle of his visor as he walks by sends a shiver down your spine.

The three of them and the metal orb enter the cantina and you adjust your position in attempt for a better view. Only a few minutes later does a blaster shot eviscerate the long transparisteel window on the front wall of the building, allowing you a glimpse of the chaos inside. A plethora of various blaster bolts ricochet through the building, evidence that the situation was drastically more complicated than you initially observed. However, the next events prove that things could still get worse for the group inside.

From the safety of your hiding spot, you see the scene unfold. The entire courtyard of the village is filled with stormtroopers in seconds, and then you hear it. The unmistakable screech that has haunted you since you were young. A sound that would forever be branded into your head, as it signaled the end of your childhood. The last time you heard that sound was the last time you saw your father and brother.

The Tie Fighter lands right in front of the cantina, completely blocking your view of any further events. You take that as your sign to get the hell out of there, knowing the level of destruction that is sure to follow. Even with the high amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage to keep a level head and find your way back to the marketplace, where most other citizens are gathered.

You quickly alert everyone to the impending danger nearby, and although some are slow to react, they begin to gather their belongings and search for safety.

Luckily, you recall a nearby alley that would lead to the part of town furthest away from the calamity, and you tell them all to make their way there immediately. Once you were sure that no one was left behind you head towards the alley only for an explosion to go off somewhere near the cantina. And although the source of the blast is far enough away not to injure you, the shockwave ripples through a one of the buildings, whose integrity was already questionable, causing it to crumble and block your previously secure exit route. With your mind in panic mode, you glance over to a spot which had caught your eye a hundred times before, a spot you kept noticing the Mandalorian disappear to.

You quickly run for cover hoping no other buildings decide to fall apart in the meantime, and you find the passageway was actually concealing a staircase which led to the sewers. Unsure of where to go next, your adrenaline high mind keeps you moving fast, taking random turns, having no understanding of where the tunnels lead to and where the safest exit may be. It wasn't until you rapidly took a corner and ran straight into an armoured chest plate that your mind stopped running wild.

A few second too late you realize it wasn’t the armour you would have hoped to see. The Mandalorians captor stands in front of you, with a package wrapped in her arms. Beside her is the Guild leader. You stand there dumbstruck and panting, unsure of what move to make.

The Guild leader approaches you, but you recoil, stepping back.

“What did you do to him?” is all you can think to growl at them.

“He’s just sleeping.” She attempts to assure you, “Wait how do you know the kid?” the woman asks, evidently confused by your accusation.

“What kid? No, the Mandalorian. You captured him. I saw you two walk in to town with him handcuffed”

“Young lady, I think you are confused. Please allow me to explain our situation.” the leader states, taking another step closer to you. This time you stand your ground, making clear you want answers.

He explains his name is Greef Karga, and the woman is Cara Dune, an ex-rebel shock trooper. And despite walking into town with Mando handcuffed by their sides, they were actually all in on the plan together. However, it seems that once they got inside things went south, a habit Mando seemed to be making for himself. It turns out that this elaborate scheme was set in place in an attempt to save a tiny green baby from the Empire, which now rests in the woman’s – Cara’s – arms.

You have no idea what to think. There's no way any of this can be true. Although, you then recall the conversation you overheard as they entered the town, and everything else seems to line up with your own experiences of the past hour.

You also realize that the Child must be the reason Mando went rogue in the first place. And after sneaking a peak at his resting wrinkly face, you completely understand why. After only one look, you’d probably jump in front of speeder for that little guy.

But before you can make up your mind on whether to believe Karga or not, Mando rounds the corner being supported by a very tall, very thin droid that you recognize to be an IG unit. As they approach, Cara hands off the baby to the droid and attempts to support Mando, and for some maker-forsaken reason you decide to help too. As you slide your arm under Mando’s shoulder and rest your hand on his back you feel him tense – you know you’ve made a mistake. But it’s too late to turn back now, so you carry some of his weight and continue on down the ominous path. The only way out, is through.

Your mind is running at 100 parsecs per hour. This is the closest, physically, you’ve been to anyone in years, and if that weren't enough you seem to be in the middle of both your wildest dream and worst nightmare. You can’t remember the last time you were tucked under someone's arm, and pressed up against them so tightly, if you ever were. And in your panicked state you start to realize you’ve basically been holding your breath this whole time, making your heart beat erratically and your head throb. But just as you think you might pass out from your stupidity, the Mandalorians voice shakes you back to reality.

“Stop.” His word sends you into a new panic. Were you thinking out loud? Could he read your heartbeat through his helmet? Did he know what a complete mess you were at his touch? “I can stand,” he says, finishing his thought.

Oh thank the gods.

He lets go of you and switches something in his helmet to look for tracks, and you allow yourself to finally take a deep breath.

“We’re close,” he states. After a moment of stabilizing your heartbeat and focussing on your breath900, you quicken your pace, subtly placing yourself just behind Mando’s left shoulder as he leads the group through the tunnel. You’re close enough to catch when he mumbles, “I know you.”

“And I know you,” you respond playfully, disregarding the severity of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You’re not quite sure how Mando’s mere presence can affect you so brutally, to the point of forgetting how to act like a normal human being.

“From the market.” He doesn’t ask.

“That’s me, good to see you in one piece. I was worried when I heard about the stunt you pulled. Crossing the guild...not sure I've ever heard of anyone getting away with that.” Oh man why are you talking so much. You just need to shut up now. Literally no one wants to hear-

“Worried?” a hint of genuine curiosity hidden in his question. Well of course he found the one word in your entire sentence that incriminates you. There’s no way he doesn’t know about your crush now.

“Umm well of course, I think everyone was. It’s all anyone could talk about for weeks. Nothing that exciting has happened around here in a while,” you quickly blurt out. He turns his head for a moment and examines you.

He is silent, evidently noticing the way you awkwardly avoided his question. You stare at him trying with every muscle in your face to remain composed. You know he sees right through you – must be that bullshit reader – but you think if you maintain eye contact long enough, he’ll just move on from your stupidity. And he does.

“How did you get here?” He returns to his task of following footprints. The question and abrupt change in topic jars you, although if you had to guess, you think he must have picked up on your complete awkwardness, possibly confusing it for suspicious behaviour. You hope he doesn’t think you untrustworthy because if it.

“There were explosions, and I tried to help everyone out, but the path became blocked and the only way out was some curtain hiding a staircase.” Your explanation, you realize, now sounds completely ridiculous, especially in the flustered manner you are depicting it in. Even so, you continue, “I went to hide but it turns out it led straight down here. So, I tried to find an exit, but I bumped into them instead,” you finish, glancing behind you towards Cara and Karga.

“If you came in from the market you should have passed the covert,” Mando stated almost accusingly, increasing your worry over whether he thought trusted your story.

“I’m not sure I didn’t really see any-” but his question is immediately answered by the pile of discarded Mandalorian armour in front of you.

The Mandalorian stops, and you can see just how suddenly his body language changed. Even injured, he looked deadly as he led you through the tunnels, but at the sight of the remnants of his clan, he is weak. You can feel the sadness, remorse, and pain emanating from him all at once. And as you stand beside him you barely realize you’ve gently reached for his hand, gripping it tight and squeezing it to convey your condolence for his immense loss.

But after a moment, he moved forward and away from your grasp to kneel at the sight of his fallen brethren. Cara suggests the group leave, but he won’t. He will not leave the armour in its discarded state.

Suddenly, the mood shifts, and you see the Mandalorian transform before your eyes. He storms towards Karga, accusing that he and the Guild members must be responsible. Karga denies, but you think Mando might be on the verge of strangling him when suddenly another modulated voice fills the tunnel.

A golden warrior stands before you. Her presence shocks you. It reveals some element rooted deep, a feeling you can only describe as warm… or familiar? She explains, as she gathers the scattered armour, how revealing the covert brought the presence of Imperials. When Mando offers her to join him, she rejects, maintaining that her place is to gather the remains of her people.

You all follow her into a small room with a forge in the centre of it. “Show me the one who’s safety deemed such destruction,” she demands.

“This is the one,” Mando responds. Gesturing to the baby that was wrapped tight to the IG unit’s chest.

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

“Yes. The one that saved me as well.” And with that statement you find both an answer, and more questions. That baby saved him? How the-

“From the mudhorn?” she asks.

“Yes.” he responds, making you even more confused than ever. The baby saved him from a mudhorn?

“It looks helpless” she states.

“It’s injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.” As if this conversation could get any weirder. Move objects...with its MIND.

The Armourer begins to detail battles between Mandalore the Great and some species of wizards; the species this child belongs to. She also tells Mando that he is now responsible for the baby – his foundling. And finally, she tasks him with finding these sorcerers and returning the baby to them. When Mando questions the outrageous turn of events the woman has only four words in response:

“This is the Way.” Suddenly that warm comfort you felt before resurges, but only for a moment, as Cara reminds the group of the urgency of their situation. You need to find a way out before Imperials catch your tracks. The Armourer then suggests the group find a river of lava that will lead all of you out of the tunnels. Right…

River of lava, or Imperial Troopers. What the heck did you get yourself into? Either way it seems you don’t have much of a choice. After receiving a mudhorn signet on his pauldron, the Armourer pronounces that he and the child are bound as father and son; a clan of two. Cute little family they’ll make. When the droid gets ready to defend the group from incoming Imps, it hands Cara the child who looks very uncomfortable with it, so she passes him to you.

Stunned and confused you look to the Mandalorian who shows no sign of discomfort with you holding his now adopted son, not that you’d probably be able to tell. Either way, it seems you’ve acquired a new responsibility.

Blaster fire rings just outside the room as the woman hands Mando some flying contraption, and your group decides you might need to get a move on.

You approach the lava river, only to notice the boat has melted to the docking point. Karga and Mando struggle to free it, but Cara just gives you a smug look. “You boys mind getting out of the way?” she warns only to blast the points where the boat was attached, successfully freeing it from its molten chains.

The boat quickly begins to drift from the dock, but just as you start to lift your foot over the edge to make your way inside, you feel a strong hand against your lower back, guiding you the rest of the way. Once you steady yourself on the boat you glance up at the visor which is pinned straight ahead, unwavering and unwilling to meet your gaze. His seemingly disinterested reaction makes you anxious to know the true intention of his touch. He must just realize your safety is attached to the bundle you are currently cradling against your chest. Obviously, he is only looking out for the child, you just happen to be the person responsible for his transportation. If Cara were the one holding his son, he’d probably be helping her instead. Right? Simple as that.

Even so, you can't help but notice the way his hand flexes after it returns to his side.

For just a moment your mind slips, and you let yourself think that there might be something there. That the short conversations and fleeting looks shared all those weeks ago might have held more weight than you believed. That when you were admiring his head-to-toe armor upgrade, he may have been examining you back. That he might have actually liked the fact that you worried about him in his absence. You allow yourself to think that underneath that metal, stands a man who might be gentle, and kind. A man who helps you into a boat when he himself is injured. One who is willing to leave behind everything he knows in order to ensure the security of a child.

You snap back to reality, however, when Karga notices the light at the end of the tunnel. But just when you think that your journey is almost over, Mando informs you otherwise. A battalion of stormtroopers line the edges of your only exit route. No one in your group can come up with any satisfactory solution, until the IG unit comes forward.

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate them, and you will escape.”

Mando is quick to point out that the droid would never make it past the troopers, but the droid insists. Apparently, his manufacturer's protocol dictates that he cannot be captured and must self-destruct. He asks that Mando look over the Child once he is gone, and you swear you can hear a hint of sadness through his filtered voice. Your hypothesis is confirmed by the IG unit, and your heart warms slightly for the metal man. The droid reaches over to say goodbye to the child for the last time, patting him gently on the head, then steps into the lava river and heads down towards the mouth of the cave. You all stare silently as you watch him approach the troopers when suddenly-

Fire consumes your vision, and it overwhelms your senses. Not having actually seen an explosion in your life you seem to be the only one on the boat who is at all fazed by the sudden wall of heat and deafening boom created by IG-11’s sacrifice. In the process you cover the child with your body and wince back into the hard wall behind you. Cradling the child and shielding yourself, you almost don’t notice when the wall grabs your hip and steadies you in front of it.

Suddenly, you’re flushed with embarrassment, realizing all at once the wall was the Mandalorian and both of his hands were still gripped onto you, holding you tight against his chest plate.

But your shock only lasts a moment before the unsettling screech of a Tie Fighter pierced your ears for the second time that day. And before you could process, the Mandalorian was using his body as a shield, protecting you and the child from the blasts, and simultaneously shooting at the new threat barreling towards your group.

Will this day ever end, is the only thought in your head before Mando is flying through the air using the jetpack given to him by the Armourer only minutes ago. However, you distinctly remember her saying he would need time to get used to it before it would ‘listen to his commands’. Nevertheless, he jerks through the sky in a desperate attempt to bring the Tie down.

You watch as one of the wings are ripped off by an explosion and the tie crashes to the ground. The Mandalorian lets go just in time and falls quickly towards the ground, igniting his jetpack at the last second to make a rough landing right in front of you.

The child squirms in your arms at the first sign of peace so you set him down gently. He awkwardly runs over to Mando and hugs his leg, creating possibly the cutest sight you had ever seen. Again, your heart can’t help but melt for the new little family, and you wonder how these two are going to get by. A child with magical powers, and a father who’s built to kill. Not a pairing you would bet on.

Cara and Karga then try to convince Mando to stay on Nevarro and help the both of them sort out the aftermath of today's events. But the Mandalorian insists on sticking to his mission. The child is now his first priority and finding a group of near-extinct ancient sorcerers does not sound like easy work.

“We have a long road ahead of us, but the journey is necessary. I must return him to his kind, no matter how long it takes.” You hear him reason with the pair, refusing their kind offers to remain on the planet with them.

If you know one thing about the Mandalorian it's that everything he does is completely intentional. No one could force Mando into something he doesn’t want to do. If he is sure of this path, he will follow it through till the end.

And from your short interactions, you know he spends time forming his thoughts in order to get his point across. Each sentence is carefully crafted so that they are clear and concise. You know he means every word.

Maybe that's why the next words out of his mouth come as a complete shock to you.

“Would you like to join us?” he asks directly to you.

What the kriffing heck did he just say? You're so taken aback that you embarrassingly bark out your response, your brain evidently getting no time to process the question, so instead if vomits out the first word it can think of: “No”.

You follow it with polite ‘thank you’s’, hoping to erase the awkward tension in the air, and the Mandalorian jetpacks off with the child leaving you to dwell on your utter stupidity.

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Chapter 2

Notes: Honestly, I hate this chapter too wow. I really spent so long trying to edit this into something I could bare to publish, but I still really hate it. I did not want to write a chapter like this, but I also needed a way to put the reader into the story and the only way I could think to do that was by using an existing episode. So here we are. But I SWEAR, after this it gets good. Like not only does the story get good, but so does my own writing (relatively) so if you just bare through this, I think you’ll enjoy the rest.

Taglist: @peppywitch @tobealostwanderer @thecraftyartist

If you wanna be included in the tag list let me know! The next parts are gonna get great. I hope

#mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #pedro pascal #mando #din #the mandalorian season 1 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you

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yoditorian · 4 years ago

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lacuna- part 6

din/reader

once again i left my writing down to the wire and did the bulk of this today so that’s why its Like That, as always a huge thank you to my wonderful @brothersdrxke for being my favourite sounding board and reminding me i am capable

MASTERLIST

word count: 3.2k

warnings: swears, violence/death/murder, reader has a panic attack if you squint (not specifically mentioned and only referred to in one sentence), angst and arguments, we got a little more explicit with the smut this time (with added biting), 18+ no babies thanks

Nevarro’s cantina is always dusty. Something that’s struck Din as odd for as long as he’s been meeting Guild reps there, since the planet itself is all humidity and sulfur.

“You know, I’ve never met a hunter quite as efficient as you are.” Karga smiles warmly, but there’s something about his tone that makes Din’s skin crawl. The way he drawls out ‘efficient’ makes him wonder if he means something else. He hopes he doesn’t get asked anymore questions.

A set of new pucks slide across the table towards him, and Din pockets all five of them without even really looking. An amateur move, one he knows better than, but the longer he stays under the new Guild rep’s piercing stare the more he feels like he’s being studied.

“They’re of your usual calibre.” Karga reassures him as he stands to leave, not fool enough to try and palm off any jobs that nobody else will do.

Though the pucks are heavy in his pocket, you’re the only thing on Din’s mind when he steps into the shadow of the Razor Crest. You always are. He sees you everywhere, welding the outer panels together, meticulously painting the orange stripes “because they’ll look cool, Mando.” He sees you every time he has to rewire the internal electrics, that smudge of engine grease that seemed to be a permanent resident on your cheekbone back at the space station, or with the top half of your body wedged in a wall panel and your ass in the air.

The memories of you building the ship used to make him smile even after the worst jobs. Now they just make his hands shake.

You’ve been haunting him more than usual. Every time he turns around in the ship he calls his home, it’s like he expects to see you tinkering with something in the hull or staring up at the stars from the pilot seat with your feet up on the console. Something the others in the crew used to scold you for, but never him. It was endearing, to see you so at home in control of a ship. Any ship. Like you could speak their language.

Din knows it’s because he hasn’t heard from you since you told him you survived. Not that he really expected you to after he didn’t respond.

He almost did, he wanted to. He stares at the comm for hours at night, turning the stupid little thing over in his hands like it holds the secrets to the universe. Maybe it does. Maybe if he had the guts to say something, to say anything, to you. Or maybe he already knows the secrets of the universe, the one that matters to him anyway, and he’s just too afraid to think about it. He doesn’t contact you, he can’t contact you. Not when he knows exactly what it is he wants to say. It’s unfair to the both of you to speak it out loud.

He’s pretty sure you already know anyway. He doesn’t need to say it, maybe he never did. Maybe you’ve always known. How could you not? He’s never been soft like this with anyone the way he has with you. He’s never made so much space in his heart for somebody else. There’s no way you can’t tell. He feels so much for you, so much, there’s hardly any room inside left for him. It must be so obvious. And if he had any control when it comes to you, he could pretend like you don’t make him want to claw out his own heart and hand it to you. It’s yours anyway.

But Din compartmentalises, the way he always has. He takes a deep breath and packs every thought of you back into the box and stows it firmly away in the back of his mind. There will be time to miss you later.

It’s the worst job he’s ever had. By far. This is one bounty he’s not sure he can bring in.

Cork Gyll’s smile is sickening when he sees Din standing in the doorway of his home. If you could even call it that. It’s more of a cave, with an improvised door of thin sheet metal and a badly constructed bed against the far wall. A small metal crate is tucked just underneath the bed frame, half concealed by a threadbare blanket. Not much else, not that Din was expecting much of anything. The dar’manda sits and regards him for a long moment.

“You were there, Beroya.” He spits the title out like it’s a dirty word. It probably is, in his mind. Din only nods.

He should stun him and cuff him and drag him back to the Crest to freeze. That’s what he should do. But it’s too intriguing. Their situations are too similar. Din can’t help himself.

“Why did you do it?”

Cork perks up at that. Like he wasn’t expecting to be spoken to at all, like he thought he’d just be dragged back to the noble family that ordered the bounty to atone for his crimes. Crimes Din doesn’t even know the extent of.

He loved her, is the first thing he recounts. A dreamy look in his eyes replaces the amusement at fate’s cruel blow. Is that the same look Din gets when he thinks of you?

He’d loved her to the point of removing his helmet, breaking the creed he’d followed all his life, for this daughter of some Outer Rim noble family he was running security for. Cork reddened at the memories of her fingers tracing his face when he bared himself to her the first time, the second time, and every time after that.

But his eyes grow dark suddenly, an odd coldness sweeps the room, and Din finds his hand inching ever closer to the blaster strapped to his hip. Just in case.

He’d proposed. Of course he had. She’d seen his face so many times and they loved each other and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, the guilt of breaking the creed had been at war with the space he’d made for her in his heart. But she’d said no. She had responsibilities to her family, to the son of another powerful family on the planet whom she’d been promised to before either of them were even born. She loved him, she loved him so much, but her answer was no.

Cork had panicked for his creed, her answer struck him so terribly in the chest that he hadn’t even registered that he’d drawn his blaster until there was a smoking hole between her eyes. Her beautiful eyes. But that was the way. No one alive had seen his face, and he’d been declared dar’manda anyway. He’d lost his love and his creed by his own foolish hand in the space of a few hours. And now? He’d likely be killed for it too.

The raw pain in Cork’s voice as he recalls what he did to his love is enough to make Din accept what he has known all this time to be true. He could never, would never, hurt you for anything. Not even the creed, he was a fool to think otherwise. No matter what it came down to. He’d take dar’manda over being responsible for your death. He’d take exile and disgrace and whatever else they dealt him if it meant he got to feel your skin on his. Your lips on his. No creed or vow or religion could ever bring him the solace that you do. Duty be damned.

Din moves silently across the room with the cuffs, something tells him Cork will go willingly.

He is so very, very wrong.

Part of his mind is still so absorbed in the story, in thoughts of you, that he notices Cork grabbing a heavy wrench just a second too late. It collides with the side of his helmet, taking out one of his auditory sensors and leaving his ears ringing. Cork takes the opportunity to strike once, twice, three times, at his chestplate in a vain attempt to wind him. He winds up for the helmet again, but Din throws himself onto his attacker before he gets the chance. While not graceful or calculated, it does the trick.

Cork laughs as he’s tackled to the floor, a horrible grating sound in his throat. Din doesn’t hesitate to pull his blaster and fire. The other man flops, lifeless, beneath him. The puck said taking him alive was preferable, but somehow Din’s not sure they’ll mind.

The wrench is still clasped in Cork’s hand, old and rusted but oddly familiar. A Mythosaur skull is carved into the base of the handle, and he knows. He must have taken it from the forge at the covert and stashed it before his exile, suspecting a bounty would be set on him. It’s no wonder the thing almost caved his helmet in. Din rips it off in the privacy of the room to inspect the damage, a dent the size of his fist in the right hand side and the auditory sensor is sparking. He’ll need a whole new one.

It’s as though the Armourer is expecting him, she never seems to be surprised by the state of some of the warriors who walk through her door. She simply directs him to a small curtained alcove and asks that he deposit his helmet on the shelf in the wall when he’s hidden.

“You should not regret it.” She speaks clearly, certainly, after he tells her how he sustained such damage. Din’s not sure he can agree with her this time around.

“He was a vod.”

“He was dar’manda. His crimes could never be forgiven. The vows you spoke for your creed no longer applied to him.” She places his new helmet, forged from the remains of his broken one, on the shelf for him to take. It’s been so long since he got a new piece, Din has forgotten how shiny beskar can be. His face stares back at him, distorted by the curve of the metal, for a moment before he finally puts it on. A perfect fit.

Green Squadron, you’re making your final approach.

It’s still kind of jarring to hear a droid coordinate the drop instead of one of the officers back on one of the rebel cruisers. Just something you’ll have to get used to, you suppose.

Three loud beeps sound from your dashboard and you flick the correct switches to drop out of hyperspace in perfect synchronisation with the rest of the team. The two cadets on this particular training session are a little shaky, but they come back into formation once they’ve reoriented. Until another ship appears out of nowhere, uncomfortably close to your left hand side. The squadron scatters, cadets panicking over the comms as your commander demands to know why it wasn’t caught on the sensors. You’re about to echo the sentiment, until you realise exactly why it’s not running a beacon.

“Green Leader, I know that ship. Request a line.” Your heart is in your throat the moment you spot the mismatched panels, the orange stripes you’d spent hours making sure were even.

“You know it? You’re sure, Four?”

“I built it! Put me on the line!” You don’t mean to snap the way you do, but the longer he stays in range the more danger everybody’s in.

Part of you expects a fight, expects your commander to doubt you, but it only takes another second for your comm light to flicker to life on the dash. You can only pray you can convince him to haul ass before the commander gets antsy and calls you to fire.

“Razor Crest, this is a New Republic drill. Please proceed to a safe distance from the training zone.” You want to tell him it’s good to see him, that he’s alive, but you’re all too aware that every one of the team can hear you. Best to stay professional.

The way your name echoes around the cockpit makes your stomach flip. His voice is soft, like he’s surprised it’s you, the tone barely appropriate for the kind of company you’re in. You don’t look forward to the questions you know will follow this session.

“Razor Crest,” You can’t keep the urgency at bay, “Please proceed to a safe distance or we will use force.”

Stars, you don’t want it to come to that. But the Crest is pre-empire, something you’ve noticed leaves any senior officer more than a little on edge. Hell, you would be too if you didn’t know who was at the helm.

“You’d shoot me down for the rebellion?”

“I would.” You answer immediately, because yes, yes you would. There’s no question. The same way that you’re sure, if it came to it, he’d kill you for his creed. Duty is a far more powerful thing than either of you.

Din sits on the comm silently for a long moment, as if he doesn’t believe you. Or maybe he’s- no. You stop that train of thought before it can even leave the station. He’s not shocked at your admission. He would do the same.

Green Squadron remains steady in formation, but a low order from your commander comes over the team system.

“Lock s-foils. Prepare to fire.”

“Mando!”

Din flies out of reach and on his way the second he registers the blind panic in your voice. It would be beautiful to watch the Crest arc through the stars if you weren’t so fucking terrified you were about to be ordered to pursue. But the order doesn’t come. Instead, Green Leader starts leading the cadets through drills, designating you and Shara to keep guard.

A private comm request appears on your display, and you accept without hesitation.

“So, Mando?” Shara doesn’t sound amused, or excited like she might have in any other situation. She sounds worried. Maybe she’s right to be, you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

“Mando.” You confirm, but you leave it at that. She doesn’t pry. You’re thankful she doesn’t ask any more questions before you can do something really stupid like cry, or fly off after him.

You find yourself at the inn at Mos Espa as soon as the training run is over. Your commander can reprimand you for taking the A-Wing when you get back to base, a vague excuse about staying on top of your patrol duties has been ready on the tip of your tongue since the moment you decide on the detour. They could handle a few hours without you and your ship.

It’s unspoken, but somehow you know he’ll be there. And he is.

Perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed in your usual room, elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fists. Just watching the door and waiting for you. There’s deep scratches in the red paint of his armour, chunks missing where it was intact before. He’s got a whole new helmet.

“Fuck, Din, what happened?” You wonder about the injuries underneath the metal. Whether there’ll be new scars to trace, freshly healed wounds to run your lips over in the moments after-

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Don't use my name again. Ever.” Even with the modulator, you can hear him force the words through gritted teeth. He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds in pain. You’re only more confused as he stands and starts to shed the battered armour, giving way to sheer, blinding rage at the way he sets the pieces down on the table so reverently. Not unlike the way he handles you.

“So I can’t say your name but you’ll still fuck me. You’re gonna make me call you ‘Mando’, but you’ll still take off the helmet and kiss me?” Your hands shake at your sides. You’re so angry. You want him to reassure you, to backtrack and tell you he doesn’t mean it. Maybe you’re too used to the way he’s always been so ready to comfort you, to hold you and fit himself into the empty space in your ribs that you know is meant for him. Instead of the gentle words you’ve come to know from him, he only presents you with silence. Silence and anger on both sides, maybe misdirected, maybe not.

You’ve always respected his creed, his Way. But you’ve never had to like it.

In only his flight suit and helmet, Din stalks over to the doorway with one hand on the side of his helmet and plunges the room into darkness. You don’t hear him approach you, don’t even feel the air move until he’s standing chest to chest with you, lungs heaving. The Hunter.

Your forehead bumps into the lifted lip of the helmet when his empty hand creeps up your back and pulls you by the neck into a bruising kiss, although he’s quick to send the thing crashing to the floor and free up his other hand to grab at you.

“You don't,” He lifts your shirt over your head, “Know me.”

“No?” You reply, sinking your hand into his suit to squeeze him through his underwear. He growls, like he always does when you do that, and his mouth is hot on yours again. He has always known you, just as you have always known him. However reluctantly.

It’s a power struggle like you’ve never experienced with him. He’s pushing as you’re pulling and every touch is burning and biting, each determined to get your way. Somehow you don’t think there will be any winners tonight.

His every touch cuts you down to your bones, every drag of his fingers as he exposes more and more of you to the night threatens to tear you apart. You revel in the way he’s grabbing you, twisting and turning you just to his liking, and find you don’t miss the softness one bit. Not right now. Your blood still boils at how he’s stepped back from you, revoked the one thing of his you thought you had. Although maybe you never really had it in the first place.

You don’t give in, you can’t. He’s got you pinned against the bed, smug smile pressed into your neck at your breathlessness, and you sink your teeth into his shoulder. He tastes like salt and metal and you lose yourself in the deep groan that rumbles through him.

Din’s sure you’re trying to break him and, honestly, you’re well on your way to succeeding. Taking him apart piece by piece and leaving him shattered for treating you the way he has. He deserves it. Although he’d argue this is certainly a humane way to exact your revenge. Every touch, every moan and squeal and bite, sends another crack spider webbing through his guard. He’s done pretending every time is the last time, you’ve settled so deep in his heart he’s not sure he could ever dig you out.

It’s later, in the dark and quiet, when the anger and desperation has faded that you whisper.

“I know you better than I know myself.”

And for a moment, he can pretend that you’re right.

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@brothersdrxke @rebloogggs @keeper0fthestars @remmysbounty @sirianisrock @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me

#god that took forever to format i need a nap #lacuna #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #star wars #fic #liz does words #smut

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martellthemandalor · 5 years ago

Text

Assistance - Chapter 3

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (No Y/N, reader is nicknamed)

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of drinking, violence

Rating: 15

Word Count: 2.3K

Summary: Mando is curious of his new boss partner, you tell some believable truths

A/N: A lot of dialogue in this one! As always I’m open for feedback, enjoy :)

Masterlist!

Walking with the Mandalorian was akin to walking alone. He never made a sound, just walked alongside you, following your lead. You’d set your internal tracker to sync with the tracking fob signal, and through you eyeglass you could see the path you needed to walk. At the same time as showing the way it was constantly scanning the terrain, thin blue lines constantly passed across in front of your eye, mapping the land and sky. You’d been walking for about two hours, trekking across endless fields of red and yellow grass and along beaten tracks of dusty brown.

Detsak was primarily a farming planet, the city was the only densely populated area of the planet, built for the purpose of trade only, the buildings designed for shops, cantinas and places for merchants to stay. The rest of the planet’s inhabitants were scattered, living in smaller colonies, usually made up of just families, generations farming the same acres of land all living together. There was something quite peaceful about that, you thought.

Of course everything was different know, what was once a tidy and prospering world had turned quiet and overgrown. Grass grew long, bushes that lined the fields were unruly and stretched their branches out into the open space, and wildflowers that would usually have been uprooted by farmers ready for planting crops spread out across the land dotting pockets of vibrant colour underfoot.

It would be calming, it should be calming, instead anxiety fuelled every step you took. Everyone knows that Detsak isn’t as pleasant as it seems and most people who come here now are either desperate to hide or desperate to die. It’s a kind of peace you suppose, a very morbid and permanent peace, but still peace. The sun glared down at you, bathing the land in orange light.

You could understand why it had been nicknamed ‘The Burning World’, for when the sun shone down and touched the mottled red and orange tones of grass from above, the fields appeared to be aflame. Stars was it hot too, sweat was beginning the build under your layers of armour, thank the Maker you had changed into the lightest material you owned before leaving.

“You walk like a man,” The Mandalorian’s static tone cut through your thoughts. You turned your head to him, eyebrow cocked.

“And?” It wasn’t as if you hadn’t heard that said before, your abrupt reply was more out of shock that the Tin Can had taken notice of something as trivial as your walk of all things.

“It’s unusual,” he stated, looking at you and then back to the path ahead. You should have left the conversation there, he’s hardly the talkative type, but habit prevented you from doing so.

“The guild has always been prejudiced, elitist bastards. Reputation pays higher than skill, showmanship rewarded over risk and most of all men get paid buckets more than female…coworkers,” You rolled your eyes at that, a reflex to merely saying those words, “I learnt early on that if I wanted to make any decent amount credits then I needed to reinvent myself, and quickly. So I did. I cut my hair off, changed my walk and adjusted my clothes for the illusion of a bigger frame. Not so much to look like a man, to do that I’d need to change my face, but enough to cause ambiguity over my gender. Then I took jobs, and as I did a consistently good job at them the guild chose to see me as a male member, because obviously to them a woman couldn’t do a job as good as that, and who was I to contradict them? I was making good payments, bought new armour and upgraded Astrid more and more. Life was good.” You could feel a tension in your jaw forming, just remembering what happen filled you an internal quiet rage.

“What happened?” The Mandalorian prompted.

“Something stupid,” you replied through gritted teeth, “There’s a cantina on Janothla, the planet where I’m based, and they serve the most incredible drinks, I mean Maker above they make your head spin and your heart soar and they taste so damn delicious,” You were beginning to salivate at the mere memory at them, a small smile playing across your face, glancing over at the Mandalorian you were met with the emotionless beskar steel and it brought you back to reality. Clearing your throat you continued your story.

“It was my favourite place to frequent after a hard quarry, an easy place to drink and get distracted. One night after a really horrible hunt I had gotten particularly drunk. All I did was smile, it was a fucking smile at a girl sat across the bar from me, but it was enough for her boyfriend to come storming up to me, he grabbed my shoulder and forced me to look at him, pressing me into the edge of the bar, telling me ‘no one makes eyes at my girl ‘cept me, and especially not some low life man who makes a living off bounty hunting’. I snapped, kicked him in the dick and slammed him into the bar, pinned him to it by the throat and shouted ‘First of all mate I’m no banthashit man and second, if you don’t want your ass in carbonite you better show some more respect to a fucking guild member,’” You rubbed the bridge of your nose as you recalled what you had said. God you were such a drunken idiot. You heard a low chuckle next to you.

“Sounds like that bastard got what he deserved though.” You flashed a smile at him and hummed in agreement.

“Anyway, I didn’t realise my mistake until the next day, you can’t go to a bar like that and shout that loudly without attracting the attention of some guild member. I went to the usual spot to meet Grijib, my guild contact, and instead I was met by 4 senior guild members, who told me I had been lying to them, and they can’t mistrust like this in the guild, reputation is everything etc. as if the whole guild wasn’t built and made up of liars and murderers.” You caught him nodding at that, a silent agreement.

“Anyway they erased my profile of all my good kills, and bumped me down to entry level quarries. That was 6 months ago and they’ve been paying me less and less since then.”

Saying that made you feel so defeated, all your hard work had been destroyed over a stupid mistake. Things really hadn’t been getting any better apart from the guild sending to you the far reaches of the galaxy on long missions, you enjoyed the journeys, those long hours spent under the streaking lights of hyperspace, and the thrill of the hunt never changed, no matter how long it took to complete.

“That’s why you’re out here then. The guild sent you to a planet they washed their hands of to punish you,” He stated with a tone of, was that sympathy?

“Yeh.”

What you didn’t say is that it wasn’t the fact the odds of you getting killed out here were a lot higher, it really didn’t factor in at all, it was the fact that this planet surrounded with painful memories you so wanted to forget. The colours of flame licked all around you, it put you on high alert. You knew that this planet looked on fire from above, but it hadn’t prepared you for how much it also looked aflame from the ground. You hated it.

The silence resumed. It didn’t seem so easy to walk in it after he had now spoken; it was like he had woken up your senses to be constantly aware of him again. Your eyes kept shifting from following the path ahead to observing the statue of beskar next to you, Maker he must be dying in that thing. The helmet must have some kind cooling system because if you were in it you were sure you would have passed out by now.

“Why are you a bounty hunter” His voice once again drew you from your head. It was less of a question and more a statement, a demand almost. Two hours of silence and now he’s overcome with an urge to get to know you? Okay then.

“I grew up in the forests of Tarligh, just me and my family on our farm. We grew and traded in horned melons. Money was always a little tight so my father taught me and my sister to hunt so that we would always have food for the table no matter how little credits we had. He told me I picked it up like a pelikki to water, which was ironic given how many pelikki’s we shot out of the water,” You chuckled to yourself at this, throwing him a look over your shoulder, “It always made him proud how fast I’d learned and how often it was mine and my sisters kills that kept the family fed. Anyway, when the rebels put out the call for recruits, I knew I had to join. Father didn’t want me to go, but my mother put me on the first freighter out to the alliance base. I trained up and got good. Ours was one of the last bases targeted by the empire, and when it fell I lost faith in the cause. That’s when I turned to bounty hunting, easy money with skills I already had.”

The story rolled off your tongue so easily. You could see it happening in front of your eyes as you told it, living it vicariously as you formed the story. It was believable enough, no weirder than any of the other young recruit stories you’ve heard in bars over the years.

You remembered one girl who told you she’d grown up Tatooine and joined the rebel alliance after she saw a Jedi do a mind trick on some storm troopers, you were pretty sure she was lying but she was cute and talking to you so you didn’t really care.

“That’s one hell of a story, how often does that work?” He sounded almost impressed under that helmet. You stopped walking and just stared at him, eyebrow raised. He stopped a fraction of a second after you did, pivoting slightly to face you.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“I mean, how often does that lie work.” He questioned. You imagined he was smirking under there, even if his steady and blunt tone gave nothing away.

“They work as often as I want them to, it isn’t just that one, that one I made up just now,” you remarked.

“That’s impressive,” The Mandalorian nodded at you, “How many of those do you have.” You really are confused now, why does he keep asking, or stating you should say, questions?

“A few, there’s the one about coming from a family of bounty hunters, the one about breaking away from a wealthy family to ‘find myself’ and my personal favourite, I joined a spice smuggling ring after I lost my parents, toughened up and learnt to fight and fly while running in those people, then got out to become a bounty hunter,” You smiled at him, then continued walking, resuming following the virtual path in front of you.

Those are all stories you had come up with on your long flights to and from various quarry’s, being alone gave you plenty of time to get creative with them, letting yourself fill their shoes and live their lives. You prided yourself on your imagination, being a good liar required it; in fact it was the only thing being a good liar required. You remember talking to an old bounty hunter friend of yours who told you “You’re an imaginative liar with a death wish, and I honestly think that makes you one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy.” To this day you think it’s one of the nicest compliments you’ve ever had.

You’d been so wrapped up in the conversation and your own thoughts you hadn’t even noticed the change of scenery. The open fields you’d been walking in had morphed into a forest, the glaring sun finally shielded away from you by a thick canopy of marmalade leaves.

The vibrant grass had shifted shades to a burnt umber and flowers that had littered the floor now confined themselves to pockets where the light consistently filtered through the foliage above. You took a deep breath, the air felt heavier under here, a nice weight that you welcomed. You relished in the smell of damp moss and wildflowers. If only the whole planet was made up of this, you thought, then maybe you wouldn’t hate it so much. You relaxed slightly. No immediate danger was showing up on your eyepiece and as far as you could tell you and Tin Can had been making good progress, so far so good then. You were however once again aware of him staring you. Rolling your eyes you glanced over at him.

“What?” You remarked, furrowing your brows.

“Is Shiryn your real name?” He inquired. There was standoffishness in his voice, as if he thought he shouldn’t ask you such a question. I mean who was he to question your name when you didn’t have any idea of his. You regarded him a second, wandering what he was thinking underneath that cold metal exterior, wandering what you should tell him. Names are a tricky business, they hold power in them, and it’s why you gave yours up after all.

“Yes,” You answered simply.

He nodded to himself and looked back ahead, as if something had just been confirmed to him. A pregnant pause fell between you, like he was waiting, daring himself to say something.

“You’re one hell of a liar,” He finally complimented. You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that hadn’t been seen by many. This was a new expression on you; it extended to your eyes, nose crinkling slightly. And this time you didn’t try to correct yourself back to your default guarded countenance, you let genuine expression beam out into the world for the first time in a long while.

“And you talk too much.”

Next Chapter

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