#peli motto fanfiction

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part iv: hooked on a feeling

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 5.7k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

this chapter officially marks the beginning of the *main* plot arc. if you’ve stuck with me this far, please accept my endless gratitude and know that things are about to get exponentially more interesting ;)

p.s. if you want faster updates, my ao3 readers usually get new chapters a week earlier than the tumblrinas <3

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

Weeks passed, and you settled into a routine on the Crest with unexpected ease. You split your days between caring for Grogu—which consisted mostly of cooing enthusiastically at his crayon scribbles and soothing his tired cries until he fell asleep—and testing out which recipes garnered the best reactions from his stoic father. On a particularly busy morning, you’d left a tray of rolls in the oven for too long and didn’t notice the smoke until Mando burst through the doorway in a panic. That was definitely a reaction, though not quite the one you’d been hoping for. And a rather expensive one, too, since he’d broken the automatic closing mechanism with the force of his entry. 

But your nights… the best of your nights were spent in the passenger seat of the cockpit, eyes tracing an endless path through hyperspace until you drifted off to the sound of breaths under beskar. You’d bought enough blankets in Nevarro to stay comfortable in the leather seat, although you still woke up to find Mando’s cloak draped over you when the icy chill of deep space permeated the ship. On a good night, one where he’d returned quickly from a hunt and had energy to spare on conversation, you’d punctuate the quiet with the occasional question. They ranged from serious—whether he’d been born Mandalorian (no), why his beskar was so important (forging and wearing the sacred metal was an essential part of the Mandalorian Creed)— to absurd. 

He’d been rather bemused when you asked him what his favorite flavor of sprinkles was, but you remained stubbornly tethered to your position that questions like those were quite important when judging someone’s character. That was, as long as the interviewee had an actual answer. Apparently, growing up in a hidden Mandalorian covert limited one’s interaction with dessert toppings.

And to your surprise, he returned the gesture. You’d stumbled into the cockpit late one night, wide–eyed and restless. Grogu had been particularly fussy that day, and you’d assumed that the exhausting effort you put in would shuttle you straight to dreamland. Instead, you found yourself tossing and turning for hours in the soft nest of blankets Mando had previously arranged into a makeshift bed for you. So you’d quietly climbed out of the hull, hoping to find some rest under the stars—or at least allow their muted glow to numb your racing thoughts. 

He’d silently acknowledged your arrival by unclasping his cloak and tossing it onto your lap. You’d mumbled a soft “thank you,” simultaneously embarrassed that he knew you preferred it to a blanket and pleased at the attentive gesture. At least he didn’t know why you liked the charcoal fabric so much, you reasoned. Your hand found the button that released the backrest, and you exhaled softly as your torso dipped backwards with the seat. You curled up underneath the cloak, letting its heavy weight slowly subdue your tense muscles into a more comfortable position. 

“I never thanked you for what you did at the cantina.” Mando’s baritone broke through the quiet, low and soothing.

You blinked, gaze traveling from the shooting stars above you to his silver outline in the pilot’s seat. “You don’t need to,” you insisted, but his posture remained stiffly tense.

“I was out of vambrace fuel that day,” he admitted. “Without the alcohol, I wouldn’t have been able to use the flamethrower. And my blaster charges were… limited.” He was silent for several long moments, then spoke roughly. “Without you, I—wouldn’t have made it back to the kid for a while.”

Your heart softened at the way he clearly struggled to get out the words. “You would have figured it out,” you murmured, the sides of your mouth curving up into a small smile. “I mean, my next step was to start chucking spotchka bottles at their scaly faces. I’m sure Mandalorians are trained to use more complex fighting moves.”

At that, he released a wry, surprised huff of a laugh that warmed the atmosphere of the small cockpit and set butterflies alight in your stomach. You scrunched your face up and yawned, choosing to ignore that particular feeling. Slowly, the comfortable silence relaxed you into a peaceful, half–drowsy state. Minutes ticked by in the blur of hyperspace, and then—

“Have you always lived on Nath?”

You glanced over, surprised that he was still initiating conversation. “No, I’m from Odala,” you spoke softly, the word dropping off your tongue like a bittersweet hymn. You watched his gloved hands pause their track across the control panel, his silver helmet tilting ever–so–slightly towards you. 

“Odala,” he repeated. “Isn’t that planet—”

“Destroyed?” You sucked in a breath, wincing as memories rushing through your brain in a flood of sudden pain. “Yeah. By the glory of Imperial superlasers, as if the plague the soldiers brought wasn’t devastating enough.” You looked down at your hands, embarrassed by the sarcastic outburst.

“I just miss it. So much,” you spoke, half–whispering the words. “My family had a workshop there—we crafted music boxes, radios, metal instruments. Four generations of art, wiped out in an instant.”

Mando remained silent, but his posture was attentive—a quiet invitation to continue. 

“I tried to help as much as I could when it all fell apart. Working in the med tents, sending tools from our shop to the rebels. None of it was enough. My mother sold her wedding ring to get me passage on the last cargo freighter to Corellia, a day before the bombing started.” 

You sniffed, trying desperately to regain control of the floodgates that threatened to spill over from behind your eyelids. “I had cousins, as close as siblings, and I just—left them all behind. Didn’t even make it to Corellia before the pilot kicked me off the ship.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His tone was gentle, but the words were firm. You started to shake your head, but he stopped you, turning fully to face you. 

“You did everything you could. Your family would be proud that you survived.”

At that, your face crumpled. You pressed it into the cloak to hide the silent tears that streaked down your cheeks at his words, saltwater soured by years of pent–up feeling. You never thought you’d reveal those parts of your past to anyone, let alone a man whose face you’d never seen. Somehow, though, his quiet presence grounded you, allowing the waves of your grief to wash over you and slowly recede with your pain. 

You finally looked up to see Mando’s head bowed, his deep baritone echoing an unfamiliar language. “O’r ibic aay’han, ni partaylir gar.”

“What does that mean?” You asked softly, hands twisting the cloak in your lap. 

He straightened, helmet tilting towards you. “In this time of mourning, I remember you,” he repeated, voice stronger but still reverent. “It is how Mandalorians honor the warriors who have gone before us.”

“This is the Way,” you whispered, and he made a small noise of surprise in the back of throat before affirming your statement. 

“This is the Way.”

***

You touched down on Vati in the early hours of the morning, stirred from dreamless sleep by the gentle thump of the Crest hitting the terrain. When you opened your eyes, Mando was gone, but the unmistakable sound of the boarding ramp unlatching echoed up to the cockpit. Curiosity fueled your careful movements as you climbed down into the hull. When you finally stepped out of the ship onto unfamiliar, bluish dirt, your eyes widened with dazed surprise at the sight before you. 

Giant, puffy clouds hovered low in the purple–tinged sky, low enough that it felt like you could touch them if you stood on top of the Crest. The land that stretched out before you was barren of trees, dotted instead with thick bushes and tall grasses that waved in the cool morning wind. And to your right—twin suns peeked out from the horizon, piercing the clouds with dazzling beams of pink and orange. 

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured with awe, head tipping back as you took in the wide, brilliant expanse of the sky. 

“Mesh’la.” You whirled around to see Mando standing behind you, helmet turning from the majestic landscape towards you. Your confusion at the unfamiliar phrase must have been painted across your face, as plain as the wisteria stripes on the bush next to you. He coughed self-consciously, then muttered, “That’s—it means beautiful, in Mando’a.” 

Your face lit up with understanding, and you slowly repeated the word. Your pronunciation was nowhere near the way it’d rolled off his tongue, somehow sounding both fierce and tender, but he nodded. 

“Quick learner,” he hummed approvingly, and stars, now was absolutely not the time for that feeling curling up in your belly to appear at his praise. 

You placed your hands on your hips, turning around before your flushed face could betray you. An idea sparked to life in your mind as you surveyed the majestic landscape. You bent down and snapped a twig off of a bush near your feet, bringing it up to your face. You rolled it around in your palm for a moment, testing for moisture. When none revealed itself, you shot a bright grin at Mando over your shoulder. 

“Want to try something fun?”

Twenty minutes later, you had a fire crackling and a scuffed pan suspended over it on a makeshift tripod. You handed Grogu a pile of branches, showing him how to select the ones that would make the best fuel and carefully toss them into the fire. It was a work in progress; he wasn’t as interested in the twigs as he was the ruby flames, and you had to keep snatching him back before his tiny green hands could get burned. You’d assigned Mando the job of stirring the batter—a surprise, you’d told him. You weren’t sure whether he was the sort of man who’d be too macho to eat something you’d named Pancake Sprinklesplosion as a child, so you figured the mystery might be a good idea. 

When you’d finished flipping the blue bantha–milk pancakes over the fire, you set a towering stack next to the three precious sprinkle jars you’d bought in Nevarro. You fixed the beskar–clad warrior with an expectant beam, pointing to each of the containers in quick succession. 

“Chocolate. Caramel. Rainbow. The three pillars of dessert decoration,” you explained, clasping your hands together with a determined gleam in your eyes. “Prepare for your shiny mind to be blown, metal man.” 

Mando’s helmet tilted slowly towards the jars, then back up at you. “Am I… supposed to eat them?” 

You gaped at him, seriously considering whether you needed to check him for a concussion. The armored man seemed to pick up on your train of thought and cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“It’s just the, uh,” he gestured to his helmet. Your eyes widened again, this time in embarrassment. 

“I’m so sorry, I forgot! I can…go inside, if you want? With the kid?”

Mando hesitated for a few long moments, then shook his head. “No, just—turn around. I’ll do the same.” 

You bit your lip nervously, thinking of all the ways you could mess this up. Kriff, what if the kid twisted around before you could stop him—

“I trust you,” he added, interrupting your panicked train of thought. The sincerity of his tone was enough to settle your nerves into firm determination. Not on your life would you do anything to break his Creed. 

You sighed. “Alright, then.”

You turned around, bending down to strap the kid into his floating crib and sit down on a nearby log with your own plate. You heard shuffling, the melodic clinking of beskar on beskar, and then—a pressurized hiss that made your heart skip a beat. You kept your eyes trained on your pancakes, only glancing to the side to make sure that Grogu hadn’t climbed out of his pod to go looking for amphibious snacks. You didn’t plan on moving from his view for a moment. If the green child thought he had a chance to waddle away on a frog hunt, he’d take it, consequences be damned.

A few minutes passed, and the silence became suffocating. You cleared your throat nervously. 

“Mando? Are you… okay back there?”

“It’s been a while since I saw the sky like this.” He confessed, and stars. Without his modulator, his baritone was richer, deeper—somehow more warm than you’d imagined. You choked on a bite of your pancake. Apparently, your body was either going to make you acknowledge your not–so–little crush or asphyxiate trying. 

“Take your time,” you gasped out, trying not to alert him to the fact that you were currently losing oxygen from the effect he had on you. Kriff, this was embarrassing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? You thought you’d get over your initial attraction once you became more familiar with him, once you’d knocked him off that shiny silver pedestal in your mind. Yet somehow, the closer you grew to the man, the more you felt a breathless tug in your stomach at his presence. You watched him: interacting gently with Grogu, piloting the ship with an air of assured control, even sacrificing a much–needed storage closet so you’d have a place to rest outside of the cockpit. 

You felt... Safe. Protected, for the first time in your life. It made your heart ache with a strange mix of yearning and contentment, as if having everything you’d ever dreamed of had only encouraged you to search for more.

To your relief, he didn’t seem to notice your internal distress, and you heard the familiar scrape of cutlery against his plate after a few minutes. You settled into a more comfortable position against the log, your head tipping back to watch strange, elongated birds swirl against the painted canvas of the sky. You were lucky to have landed on Vati at the break of dawn—its twin suns would produce an almost unbearable heat during the peak of the afternoon, but the way their soft warmth kissed your skin right now was exactly what you needed. You closed your eyes, letting your chest rise and fall with the rhythm of the wind that ruffled the tall grasses. How long had it been since you’d had the chance to just breathe? Life on Nath had been cold and chaotic, but now you felt at peace—ready for whatever adventure the ship might take you to next.

Grogu’s stomach suddenly gurgled loudly. You glanced over to see that he had somehow gotten ahold of your remaining pancakes, those big, dark eyes staring guiltily at you as he gulped down the last of your breakfast. You sighed as he suddenly looked uncomfortable, his wrinkled face scrunching up in an expression you’d seen very, very often in the last few weeks. Apparently, that next adventure would be changing diapers.

“Not to rush you, metal man, but I think the kid’s going to need the ‘fresher soon,” you called out behind you. 

Your armored companion grunted in acknowledgement, and you heard him stand up behind you. You waited patiently, covering your vision with both hands until you felt him gently tap your shoulder. Your eyes flew open at the touch, and you found the Mandalorian standing in front of you—helmet back in place, as if it had never been moved. You wondered if it was hard for him to put it back on. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, since he’d been wearing it for most of his life. But something about the way the beskar settled on his shoulders now just seemed… heavier. 

Your gaze trailed down to where his empty plate and the sprinkle jars sat, the latter looking significantly lighter than they were when you’d handed them to him. You gave a delighted wolf–whistle when you noticed how the container with chocolate sprinkles was barely half full.

“Who would’ve guessed that the big, scary Mandalorian has a sweet tooth,” you teased, grinning up at his broad figure. “Stars, at this rate you might get a stomach ache worse than the kid’s!” 

He shrugged in a cocky motion that had no right to be as endearing as it was. You wiped your hands on the faded overalls you’d bought in Nevarro, bending to pick up Grogu before he could make himself sick with more food. You wrinkled your nose when the mischievous green child burped—how the kriff did he make those so nostril–burning? Clearly, his cuteness was a necessary evolutionary mechanism, because no one in their right mind would volunteer to wipe his wrinkly butt for fifty years straight otherwise. 

“Okay, that’s my cue to take this guy inside.” You sighed, surveying the messy remains of your picnic. “Sorry, I’ll be right back to get this packed up—”

Mando interrupted you, shaking his head. “I’ll take care of it. You have enough to handle already,” he insisted, gesturing at the squirming child in your arms. 

He gently nudged you aside and began picking up the dishware that had somehow gotten scattered across the sandy terrain. Your heart warmed at the sweet, unexpectedly domestic action, and you shot him a grateful smile. As you made your way up the boarding ramp, you heard Mando swear under his breath. Then, louder, he called out your name.

“Don’t let him near the cockpit—he puked blue cookies all over it last time, made a hell of a mess to clean up—”

You looked down at the pouty child in your arms suspiciously. “Bantha milk doesn’t go down too well for you, huh?” You turned back to his armored father, an angelic expression on your face as you shifted the kid to your other hip. “Sorry, I can't hear you!” You sang out, sweet as a sprinkle. “Leave him in the pilot’s seat unattended? Sounds great to me,” you beamed, whirling on your heel.

The sound of Mando’s exasperated groan of laughter echoed your steps all the way back into the hull.

***

Somehow, without realizing it, you’d started singing again. 

The girl you’d been before the war—the one who’d so loved the ballads the elders cried out during festivals, each note a fragmented burst of joy—she was slowly thawing, emerging from the icy burial you’d unceremoniously given her on Nath. A soft melody while you showered, an old Odalian lullaby when you tucked Grogu into his hammock… your whirlwind infatuation with music was beginning to sweep you off your feet once again, almost frightening you with how intensely it begged to be acknowledged. 

Like all good things in your life these days, it was Mando’s fault.

You’d been laying on the floor, Grogu blowing raspberries at a nearby sparking wire for your entertainment, when he descended from the cockpit with a mysterious bag in hand. You watched him unfold a panel from the ship’s wall to reveal a surprisingly well–crafted workbench. When he’d started to peel off his beskar chestplate, your hands flew to cover your eyes in a panic. You tried to reach out blindly to cover Grogu’s vision, too, but yelped when your hand hit a sharp corner of the hull instead.

“Son of a porg–kissing nerf herder,” you groaned, rubbing the sore spot. You kept your eyes scrunched tightly shut as heavy boots stepped closer to you, then paused.   

“What are you doing?” Your shiny companion sounded completely baffled by your antics. You winced, wishing that you had a Mandalorian etiquette book handy—a thought that had recurred in your thoughts more frequently as of late. 

“Am I… allowed to look? When you take off your armor?” 

You couldn’t see his expression, but you would bet good credits that his eyebrows were raised behind that silver helmet. “Yes. It is the revealing of our faces that goes against the Creed.” 

“Oh,” you muttered, face red as a Tatooine sunset. You dusted yourself off and stood up awkwardly, trying to regain a bit of dignity as Mando resumed his careful disrobing of the beskar. 

After a few moments, he added, “It’ll be your fault if his first word is ‘kriff’, you know.” His tone was deceptively even, but you sensed the undercurrent of amusement that ran through it.

You shot him a look. “Says you, Mister ‘Dank Ferrik’. At least if this career path doesn’t work out, I can always go be a pirate,” you sniffed. You picked up a fine red cloth that he’d set on the edge of the workbench, curiosity overtaking your embarrassment. “What’s this used for?”

He wordlessly motioned for you to place the unusual fabric in his hand, and you obeyed. You watched as he spun the cloth in an unfamiliar, geometric pattern across the metal of his chestplate, leaving a polished silver trail in its wake. The side of your mouth curved up. “So that’s why you never looked scuffed up when you came into the cantina.” 

He nodded, then walked over to the other end of the hull. You watched his retreating form begin to sort through the supplies in the armory for a moment before your attention was drawn back to the beskar. It shimmered a strange color in the light, like the reflection of the fuel puddles that dripped beneath the Crest. You extended a tentative fingertip and gently flicked the silvery metal, eyes widening when it vibrated with a melodic echo. You hummed softly, trying to replicate its pitch. 

Suddenly, an idea struck you. You glanced over at Mando—he was still working, seemingly consumed by the arduous task of reloading his ammo. You carefully picked up his pauldron and tapped it against the side of the chestplate. A clear, proud note rang out, albeit much louder than you’d expected. Your face broke into a delighted smile at the sound, reminded of the wind chimes your mother had hung above your cottage door.

“Having fun?”

You startled, turning around to see the tall man leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, observing your little experiment. Your face heated as he pushed off the hull and walked towards you. He nodded at the glimmering plate in your hands. 

“You are not the first to appreciate the sound of beskar. It is traditional for each Mandalorian clan to have a warrior who plays the bes’bev, the sacred war–flute.”

You peered up at him curiously. “I thought beskar was only to be forged into weapons or armor.”

He tilted his helmet in acknowledgement. “Yes. The end of the bes’bev is sharpened to double as a long knife.”

You carefully set his pauldron down on the cloth with a thoughtful hum. Stars, your grandfather would have been instantly inspired by the musical weapon. The workshop would’ve been full of prototypes within a few days at most, a meticulously crafted instrument in your hands within the week. It had been too long since you’d so much as whispered a tune, you realized with a start. Perhaps it was time to start reconnecting with your once–beloved hobby.

Suddenly, your ears perked up with apprehension. The ship was quiet. Too quiet. You scanned the area, a feeling of dread creeping up on you as you realized what was missing—

The room suddenly lurched, sending you flying into the side of the hull. Your hands grasped for purchase on the edge of the workbench, but just as you were about to pull yourself up, the ship spun again and your ankle twisted beneath you with a violent snap. You gritted your teeth, trying your best to ignore the sudden shoot of pain up your leg. 

“The kid,” you breathed, Mando seemingly coming to the same realization. He swore loudly and fumbled his way to the ladder, narrowly avoiding slamming into the workbench. You slid across the floor, hoisting yourself up onto the ladder after him with a wince. When you finally entered the cockpit, he’d already crossed the room in two quick strides, snatching Grogu up from the control panel. But the damage had already been done—the ship shuddered once, twice, then abruptly dropped out of hyperspace with a dull roar. Mando tossed the misbehaving green child to you, and you quickly buckled him into his seat with a stern look. 

“What’d he do?” You called out from the back of the cockpit, frantically trying to make sense of the flashing lights near the door.

“Don’t know,” he yelled back, voice barely audible over the sound of the sputtering engine. “Damn it—asteroid field coming up, get ready—”

You paled, whipping around so fast you might have broken something in your neck. “Did you just say asteroid field?”

But it was too late for him to respond, as the intimidatingly large space rocks spun closer and closer to the Crest’s glass panelling. You scrambled to strap yourself into the second passenger seat as Mando skillfully piloted the ship through the dangerous patch of space. You didn’t understand how he did it—it was like he knew where an asteroid would appear before it even flickered on the radar screen. He’d grown quiet, gloved hands moving smoothly across the controls like he was locked in a dance with the machinery. 

Yet despite his best efforts, he couldn’t predict every meteorite. You breathed a sigh of relief when a burnt–sienna planet came into view, signaling what you assumed was the end of the asteroid field. But right when you had started to relax back into your seat, a fragment of rock broke off from a passing meteorite and slammed into the side of the Crest, sending it spinning on its side through the field. A gasp escaped your mouth at the impact, your arm reaching out to hold onto Grogu as the ship hung upside–down. 

“New plan,” Mando muttered, flicking a series of switches on the transmitter. A squeaky voice crackled to life over the comm. “You have entered airspace under control of the Mos Eisley Spaceport. Please state your reason for—”

“Engine failure, requesting immediate emergency landing,” he interrupted, doing his best to balance the ship as it hurtled towards the surface of the planet. 

The voice paused, then continued, sounding more annoyed this time. “Request denied until further information has been given—” 

Mando scoffed in frustration, punching the button to end the transmission. He guided the shaking ship through Tatooine’s heated atmosphere, just barely regaining control of it before it crashed into the open hangar. You waited for him to carefully stand up before rushing over to Grogu, checking the small green baby for any injuries. Seeing none, you gathered him up into your arms with relief, but not before sending him a look that promised a very serious scolding in the near future. 

You followed Mando down the ladder, but you couldn’t contain a tiny whimper of pain when your injured ankle hit the rungs. You closed your eyes, steeling yourself against the throbbing feeling, and slowly continued your downward climb. When you reached the ground, you found Mando staring at you. Oops.

You shot him a bright smile, praying that he’d buy your cheerful act until you had time to fix your injury on your own. You thought he might have been about to say something—but the moment was interrupted by the sound of the boarding ramp hissing open, clouds of steam obscuring the entrance to the hull. He immediately stepped in front of you and the kid, hand poised on his blaster. When the dust settled, a short figure with wild, curly hair appeared, soot-covered hands reaching up to pop off dusty welding goggles. The woman gave an impressed whistle at the sight of Mando, spreading her hands wide.

“Phew, what an entrance!”

***

Peli Motto was not someone who lacked personality. She kept up an incessant stream of chatter as you subtly limped into the hangar, commenting on everything from the smoke pouring out of the Crest’s left engine to the ineffectiveness of her droids. She’d eagerly stretched out her hands to hold Grogu when you first stepped off the ship—a request that made you nervously look to Mando for approval before granting it. She was certainly one of the odder characters you’d met so far in your travels, but she seemed to hold genuine care for the kid beneath all that boisterous energy, and that was good enough for you. 

“I gotta say, Mando, when I saw your ship crash into my hangar, I thought there was a good chance you’d died trying to pilot the damn thing.” She shook her head incredulously. “Musta been quite the asteroid field,” she muttered as she surveyed the damage to the ship. 

“How much will the repairs cost?”

She made an exaggerated walk around the outside of the ship’s hull. “Hmm.. the wiring here’s toast, the engine repair’ll cost me a few good tools, and—kriff, it’s not even legal to fly with a stabilizer this outdated!” She paused, giving the Crest a final once-over. “Seven hundred credits.”

Mando scoffed. “Seven hundred? Even a Jawa wouldn’t charge that much.”

Peli shrugged, unbothered. “Take it or leave it. No discounts, even for cute little womp rats like this one,” she spoke, ruffling the wiry hairs on the kid’s head. 

Mando grumbled under his breath, but reluctantly dropped the money into Peli’s eager hands. He turned to head back up the boarding ramp, but she stopped him. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going? My droids need to work on that overnight, unless you wanna pay for an extended stay,” she exclaimed. 

Mando crossed his arms. “And we need to sleep overnight. I’m not making them—” he jerked a gloved hand towards you and the kid—“stay outside in the hangar.”

Peli brushed aside his annoyed tone with a wave of her hand. “Ah, I have a spare room in the back. A bit dusty, but I suppose you can use it.” She shrugged. 

“There’s only one bed, but I assume that won’t be a problem, considering…” she waggled her eyebrows at the two of you, and your face heated at the assumption. 

“We’re not—” you started, unintentionally speaking in unison with Mando. You glanced over to the tall man, making awkward eye contact for several long seconds before he sighed and turned back to Peli. 

“Fine. But I’m not handing over another bag of credits,” he warned. The smaller woman rolled her eyes, but acquiesced.

You made your way to the tiny room, slumping against the speckled wall with exhaustion. You bent down and inspected your ankle, wincing, as you tried to remember where you’d stored the last of the bacta spray. First the scrape on your cheek from the Tradoshan’s claws, and now this—apparently, you really couldn’t catch a break when it came to needing medical attention.

You heard a sudden noise and turned, only to see Mando paused in the doorway—his gaze trained on the bruise already forming on your ankle. Kriff.

“You’re injured,” he stated, his deep baritone sounding strangely frustrated. 

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle (a lie—it hurt worse than the time you’d accidentally pressed your palm onto the hot cantina stove), but he’d already left. He returned before you had the chance to question his disappearance, carrying a scratched black case under one beskar-clad arm. 

“Sit on the bed.” His tone brokered no room for argument. You gingerly limped over to the old mattress, fighting back a sneeze when dust puffed up from the sheets. Mando clicked open the medkit and began sorting through the supplies. 

“I can do it,” you spoke softly, but he tugged the case away from your outstretched hand.

“I know.” He found a small packet of bacta gel and motioned for you to hold out your ankle, carefully dabbing the tincture onto your aching skin with a cotton pad. 

Minutes passed as you waited for the cool gel to dry. The silence became suffocating—the armored man seemed angry about something, and you hoped to Maker that it wasn’t you. 

“I’m sorry,” he spoke suddenly. Your eyes widened. Of all the things you were expecting him to say, that wasn’t anywhere on the list. You had a feeling that his apologies were rarer than the beskar he wore, especially when they were spoken with this much sincerity.

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt—at the cantina, or back on the ship. I… understand, if you feel that this is too much to handle.” He crouched down, wrapping a rolled-up bandage around your ankle.

You shook your head incredulously. “It was my fault that Grogu was left unsupervised,” you began. “It’s my job to make sure he doesn’t get into trouble. If anything, you’d have every right to kick me out after today,” you muttered. 

At that, his helmet snapped up to meet your gaze. He sounded almost offended. “I wouldn’t just drop you off at the nearest outpost,” he scoffed. 

You blinked, feeling rather exposed. Somehow, he’d guessed the thing you were most terrified of happening on the first try. “Well, then I’m not leaving,” you replied. Your mouth curved up in a tiny smile, and you tried for some humor. “The kid’ll have to work harder if he wants to get rid of me, anyway.”

Just then, the door swung open. Peli stepped inside, cooing at a drowsy Grogu in her arms. 

“Hey, the little womp rat looks ready to go nighty–night!”

She paused, taking in your position—Mando’s hand on your ankle, you smiling down at him from your seat on the bed. You flushed bright red as you realized exactly what it looked like. 

Peli’s eyebrows raised as she eyed the two of you. “On second thought, he and I will just spend some bonding time together instead.” 

Mando shot to his feet. “That won’t be necessary,” he began, but Peli was already halfway out of the room. 

“Don’t forget to name the next one after me!” She called out, shooting you a wink over her shoulder as she slammed the door shut.

You both stayed frozen in place for a moment after the curly–haired woman’s departure. Eventually, Mando cleared his throat. 

“You take the bed. I’ll, ah…” he gestured awkwardly to the pile of throw pillows and scratchy blankets on the floor. You didn’t have it in you to argue, nodding mutely and desperately trying to avoid eye contact. He walked stiffly across the room to the light switch, cloaking the room in a blissful darkness that hid the crimson splotches of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You buried your face in your hands, praying that whatever deity was listening would take you now before you had to face Peli again in the morning.

taglist: @magpiencrow @that-kid143 @lilly-aliyah @itmustbegreattobecalledtheitgirl @aheadfullofsteverogers @dindjarinsmut @orcasoul @maellem @pigeonmama

comment if you'd like to be tagged for any of my works/fandoms in the future! :)

read on: part v coming soon!

p.s. @djarins-cyare thanks for the extra motivation to build on my sprinkles idea!! your 'sweet' comment totally made my day and inspired a couple hundred extra words about the Pancake Sprinklesplosion TM <333

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

AO3 Link Main Master List

THE RAZOR CREST RANCH SEVEN

Chapter 01 | Chapter 02 | Chapter 03 | Chapter 04 |

Chapter 05 | Chapter 06 | Chapter 07 | Chapter 08 |

Chapter 09 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

THE CRESTWORLD

Chapter 01 | Chapter 02 | Chapter 03 | Chapter 04 |

Chapter 05 | Chapter 06 | Chapter 07 | Chapter 08 |

Chapter 09 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |

Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15

ON TEMPORARY HIATUS

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

26/09/24 I can’t remember what Thursday is. I was thinking “tidbit” but that’s Tuesdays. Anyway. Little piece of the next chapter of Unsinkable. (I finally get to write Peli!)

Outside, it smelled all the same, only now, without the helmet’s filters, the smell of oil and rust and a myriad of substances used in the maintenance of starships rushed around him like a sticky cloud, carried on the dry desert air.

The trio of scruffy, out-dated pit-droids popped up as the gangplank lowered. Chittering amongst themselves and briefly squabbling, they picked up tools and eagerly approached to begin assessing what the ship would need.

Din shot the sand at their feet the first time he saw them, intentionally scaring them into retreating back into their shells and going inert. Now, he found himself smiling at their behaviour. They were like little kids—carrying tools that looked too big and unwieldy for them, keen to do the job given them, anxious to impress the customer.

Peli herself came sauntering out into the morning sun, eyes screwed up against the light, her halo of wild, frizzy curls making up almost half her size.

She was talking before she even left the tower, voice rattling around the sheltered walls. Din only heard her when she came out into the open air but he knew he hadn’t missed anything more than her introductory bluster.

“You better just be here for a quick pit-stop, buddy,” she said as she approached the ship, gesturing with a clunky, old datapad, “‘cause I’m booked all the way until they scrub the spotchka outta the streets after Boonta Eve.”

She came to a stop and bent her head back, giving a low whistle as she took in the sight of the ship. Still relying on just one hearing-aid, Din couldn’t distinguish the sound she made from the general noise of cooling engines and wind, but the edge of her expression visible to him was unmistakable.

“What a piece of junk!” she declared without cushioning. Her eyes skated over the faded hull, sparing just a glance at the man disembarking in favour of assessing the craft. “It looks like you haven’t shown this old girl some love since I was a knee-high. How did she even get you here?” Her pit-droids came and clustered around her feet. She began a circuit around the front of the ship, miraculously never tripping over the clinging droids. “Oh, honey, they should just let you die,” she said to the ship, patting its hull like an animal in pain. “You deserve to rest in peace now, baby.”

“I only just got her,” Din said, feeling the need to defend himself.

Peli turned to him, for the first time really seeing him.

He braced,

This part, he couldn’t stand: someone he knew looking at him as if he were a total stranger.

Somehow, he expected it to be worse this time.

Because this was Peli with her guard up, Peli with her thick skin, Peli who had been taken advantage of too many times to be the warm, caring person she truly was. This was who he met the first time and now he had to go through it all again until he could convince her he was someone she already knew.

“Well, strap me under a bantha and call it shady!” she exclaimed, something sparking bright in her eyes, altering her entire expression and demeanor. She twisted around to address her droids. “Hey, look everyone! It’s Mando!”

“Wait. How—how did you…?” he lost his question to a stammer, completely taken over by surprise and confusion. He stood there with his mouth opening and closing like a fish dumped on land.

Peli lifted her brows and fluttered her eyelids as she tapped her ear, looking generally smug. “I never forget a voice.” She parked her fist on her hip and looked him up and down with a jerk of her head. “No armour this time? What? You forget it at the dry-cleaners?”

He chuffed, suddenly feeling at home. “No. I… wear it a little less these days.”

“Oh. I thought maybe spaceport security didn’t allow it through this time.” Peli pulled a face like she was dismissing the subject, like everything that had to be said about it had been said and finished and she didn’t need anything more, and Din realized, distractedly, that she may not have known about the armour’s meaning before.

Why would she?

He was the only Mandalorian she had ever met. Many people had heard the stories but not everyone knew about his Tribe’s ways, about how they regarded the armour as their identity, about how they viewed the removing of one’s helmet before those not of the same clan. There was every chance she had no idea the significance of him baring his face.

[handspunyarns]

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

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C       

word count: 5K    

chapter summary: Marathel leaves Tatooine. 

warnings:  angst, heartbreak, mention of incest, sexual abuse, inbreeding, and suicide, violence to women, English and Mando’a cursing    

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

You Were Marked: Masterlist 

You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 

   

It was nearly dawn on Tatooine, and the sky was just beginning to glow a deep pink.  Two windows in the palace had their shutters open, and two people were staring out at the sky.   It might have interested Din and Marathel to know that their positions nearly matched, and that neither one of them had slept.   

Din sat on his bed, his hand lightly resting on Grogu’s warm belly.  He’d removed his helmet, so that he could see the true colors of the rising suns.  Grogu coughed in his sleep, making Din turn immediately to look at him.  Grogu remained asleep, and his breathing went back to normal.  Din smiled at the boy, his boy.  His boy, who would be losing his Mama again.  Din’s smile fell and he went back to watching the sky.  He wasn’t sure why he was spending time doing this, but he knew it was preferable to walking down to Marathel’s door and telling her it was time to go.   

Give me strength, he prayed to a Maker he didn’t believe in. Help me to not take her back.  Help me not hate her for making me do this.    He asked his buir, so long gone now, for guidance.  Nothing you ever told me prepared me for this.  You taught me to fight, negotiate, come up with a plan, live my life as a Mandalorian.  You taught me how to be a man.  I was out of my element when I took in Grogu, but I had learned by watching you care for me.  What am I supposed to do now?  Where in the shab is the manual for this situation?  What ancient Mando’a chant is there to guide me on this path?  I need something, here. And you too, Frith, you not-a-rabbit son of a bitch, tell me what to do about this woman, who believes in you.  Din sighed deeply.  Clear my mind of what doesn’t matter.  Clear my mind of what doesn’t matter.  Din continued to study the sky, growing pinker, knowing that regardless, he would go as she demanded, for he loved her, and he felt compelled to do as she wished. 

Marathel sat on her bed, her hand lightly resting on the bag she had packed with her new possessions.  New clothing, her new blanket she’d been given by Eliadu.  All the little tubes of the moisturizers she’d enjoyed so much since she’d been here.  The shampoo, the soap for her hair, even though she still didn’t understand its necessity.  A new hairbrush that had been used on no one’s hair but her own. The medications from Cieroprac. The yarn and needles she’d received from Cobb at the market, but not the honey or the candy.  The two jars of honey had gone into a loaf of dark rich bread and several fruitcakes that were heavier than a Mandalorian’s helmet.  The bag of sweets went to Silnima to give to the children, as a gift from her, for she’d enjoyed hearing the happy sounds of children again.  Marathel wore the new shoes on her feet, the ones that she’d told Cobb she was not allowed to wear, but she couldn’t not wear the shoes, because they’d been a gift, and to not wear them would be rude, somehow.   

Marathel had seen many sunrises.  More than I realized, she thought.  She surely must have lived long enough to be a natural Diwhyn.  Why, why, had she been out there so long, alone?  Marathel hadn’t counted the number of times she had taken eggs to the Hold.  The Dahls laid every other season, that was, the time between the hot and the cold, and then again in the time between the cold and the hot.  How many times she had collected eggs for the Hold, she had no idea.  She remembered that the first few times she delivered the eggs to the Hold, she had entered and done the Passing-Over ceremony, which she would have performed when Din took her in, except she had usurped that moment to present herself as the Bishop’s Whyn and admit her guilt at letting someone have her before the Bishop.  But those first few times, she delivered the eggs to the Elders themselves, singing the proper part of the only song, wearing the plain knee-length skirt and unadorned tunic of the Changing Girl — the not-yet Whyn, the future cunt.  But then … Olba had told her that she didn’t need to do the ceremony anymore;  Marathel only needed to bring the eggs to the gate.  She had forgotten that. 

Thirty years.  That must be … such a terribly long time.  Why was I left alone?  Within walking distance of the Hold?  If I were so important to the Bishop … why allow me to live so long at the hut?  Was he waiting for me to come back of my own accord?  Or had he … forgotten about me? 

This thought hurt Marathel in a surprising way.  Being forgotten didn’t hurt more than being made a Belwhyn, but still somehow the same.  Perhaps she wasn’t important to the Bishop after all.  Perhaps, her presenting herself to the Bishop had been … unnecessary?  

Before she could process that thought, there was a flurry of light taps on her door.  Assuming it to be the Bounty Hunter, Marathel stood and opened the door, to see Cobb standing there with downcast eyes.  She fully opened the door and waited.  Cobb reached for her hand, raising his eyes to hers, saying, “Please forgive me.” 

Marathel allowed Cobb to interlace his fingers into hers.  “You’ve done nothing that requires forgiveness.” 

“Forgive me anyway, honey, it may be the only way I let you leave this place,” said Cobb, letting go of her hand and drawing her into his arms.  “I know Tatooine sucks.  I’m sometimes not fond of it myself; too much weird shit happens here on this backwater whirlpool of dust. But it’s a much better place with you here.”  He kissed her temple, holding her tightly.  “You’re going to go, aren’t you?  You’re going to make him take you back.” 

“Yes.” 

Cobb stepped back from her, dropping his hands, his face pinching with sadness.  “Can you … really control him, like he says you can?” asked Cobb, knowing the question sounded ridiculous as he was asking it. 

Marathel’s face was decidedly blank as she replied, “I don’t have to control him.  He is taking me back because I asked it of him … and he says he loves me.” 

Cobb backed up to the doorway, shaking his head.  “Right now, at this moment … I hate you, Marathel.” 

Marathel sighed, raising her eyebrows.  “I know.” 

Cobb noticed movement to his right; Din had come down the corridor, resplendent in his armor and weapons, the formidable sight only softened by the little child peeking out of the bag he wore over his shoulder.  The two men stared at each other.  There were many things both needed to say to each other, but they would remain unsaid.   Marathel looked at them and watched a friendship fall apart before her eyes.  This, she would greatly regret.  She meant to only sever her relationship with them, not the relationships amongst them.  Din lowered his gaze from Cobb and turned to her, asking, “Are you ready to go?” 

Marathel’s eyes dropped, and her hands went up her sleeves, and both men felt their hearts hurt at her gesture.  “May I go to the kitchen and pack some of the bread for our journey?” 

Din nodded.  “As you wish.”  Marathel picked up her bag and brushed the remaining wrinkles from her bedspread.  She stepped out of her room, and Cobb smoothly took the heavy bag from her shoulder as she passed between them. Both Din and Cobb turned to watch her go, then they looked back to each other briefly before dropping their eyes to their feet. 

“I’m sorry,” whispered Cobb. 

Din nodded.  After a long moment, Din whispered back, “Me too.” However, neither of them was fully sorry — and neither of them was truly in a forgiving mood — regardless of whether apologies or forgiveness was necessary between them.  They both stood silently in their embarrassment and regret, until Marathel reappeared with another bag, this one ostensibly full of bread.  Din turned to her, asking, “Ready now?” She nodded, and Din turned away from her and walked down the corridor without a word.  Marathel followed about a step and a half behind Din, Cobb silently following behind her.  Along the way to the landing tunnel, the solemn procession picked up three more people.   

Once they reached the landing tunnel, Din did not pause but went straight to the Crest, opening the back ramp and entering the ship.  Marathel turned to the small group that was also awake early this morning, seeing sadness and bewilderment on all their faces.  Boba happened to be closest to her, so she addressed him first. “Boba Fett, I am sorry that I did not get to know you better.  Thank you for what you have done for me.” 

Boba put a hand on her shoulder, and said, “I wish you peace, little sister.” Tears sprung to Marathel’s eyes due to the simple endearment, and she hugged him tightly.   

Fennec came next, and as Marathel embraced her, she whispered, “I’m sorry, but I have to do this.” 

“No, you don’t.  You don’t, and I will never understand why you are.” 

“Then I hope someday you’ll forgive me,” said Marathel, before moving on to Silnima, who kissed both her cheeks but didn’t say a word.  Last was Cobb, leaning on one hip in the way he had — so like Din —looking down, biting his lip.  Marathel put her hands on his cheeks, and softly kissed him on the corner of his mouth.  Cobb lifted his sad eyes to hers, and Marathel wiped a tear off his cheek with her thumb before turning and walking up the ramp into the Crest.  Din looked briefly at the four sad and confused people Marathel was leaving behind and shut the ramp. 

Shortly after, the Crest fired her engines, lifted off, and left the landing tunnel.  After the ship was gone, after standing there a long time in silence, Cobb pointed a finger at the open space where the Crest had recently stood.  “Did we … just let that happen?”  Not receiving an answer, Cobb scrubbed his nose with the back of his hand.  “Well, dank fucking ferrik.”  Cobb sighed, turned to the others, and said, “Who else wants to get drunk and eat a shit-ton of bread?” 

Boba said, “I’m for it.”  Fennec and Silnima nodded in agreement.  So, they did. 

Din walked straight down the main section and up the ladder to the cockpit.  Marathel tarried behind, taking another look at the ship’s interior, which she had only seen briefly however many days ago.  She had no memory of the days she’d spent onboard coming to Tatooine.  In the cockpit, Din flipped the power switches, and all the lights and machinery came to life, startling Marathel briefly, but nowhere near as badly as she’d been frightened the first time Din brought her in here … the day after we met.  How long ago was that?  There were green lights, and blue lights, and red ones too, and these felt familiar now to her.  Even the vac tube before her had a familiarity … although she was concerned about it being right out in the open.  And it didn’t have a seat, unlike the one she had access to at the palace.  She briefly mused on how the two — well, three, actually — were going to maneuver bodily functions on this journey.   

“Marathel, we need to take off, so come up here,” Din called from above her.  First things first, I suppose, thought Marathel, and she climbed the ladder, carefully stepping off into the cockpit as Din continued with his switches and buttons.  He quickly looked at her over his shoulder.  “Sit there,” he said, nodding his head at the aft chair.  “Strap in, so we can go.” 

Marathel quickly sat — Din was sounding quite snappish, and she didn’t want to anger him — but looked around her, trying to figure out what a strap was.  Din took another look at her, impatient now.  He set Grogu on the console, unclipped his straps with a huff, and stood, grabbing the strap ends above her shoulders, pulling them brusquely over her head and snapping them closed into the buckles by her hips, grazing her hips with his thumbs.  “Thank you,” said Marathel in a small voice.  With a grunt, Din sat again, and put Grogu back in his lap.  Marathel noticed that Din didn’t strap himself back in, which she thought was odd, but what did she know?  “I could hold Grogu for you.” 

“He’s fine where he is.”  Din fired up the engines, and the Crest rocked for a few moments, but then slowly lifted off, and left the landing tunnel.   

Marathel clutched the armrests of her seat for a moment.  She suddenly realized that she had left the palace behind, left the people inside behind, would never see them again, and she was wracked by guilt for hurting them so.  Oh, I’m so sorry, she told them one more time.  For all her talk of going back to Unmanarall, now that the time had come to leave, it was so much harder to do than she anticipated.  Marathel bit her lip, trying to not cry. She waited for Din to take the ship up and into the darkness, but he kept flying relatively low to the ground.  After some time, Din brought the Crest into a large yard that was littered with metal hulks and small droids scuttling back and forth.  Din lowered the ship back to the ground.  “What’s … what’s happening?” asked Marathel. 

“Need to refuel.” 

Oh, thought Marathel, as Grogu shouted, “Peh-EE!” 

Din chuckled as he stood, saying, “Yeah, kid, we’re going to see Peli.  Good job with the name!”  Looking at Marathel, his tone changed to annoyance as he said, “Refueling will take a little while, so you might as well get up.”  Din reached by her hips, pressing the buttons that released the straps holding her to the chair.  He immediately went down the ladder with Grogu, leaving Marathel to struggle with the safety straps, and then the ladder down out of the cockpit. 

Din had just pressed the button to lower the ramp when Grogu frowned and asked, “Mama?” 

“You want to wait for Mar … Mama?” asked Din, sighing.  “Okay.”  Din put the boy down, looking over to see Marathel coming down the ladder, so he headed down the ramp by himself. 

Peli had come out when she noticed it was the Crest landing.  “Now, where are you headed?” she asked when Din reached her. 

Din snorted.  “Taxi service, again.” 

“Whaddya mean by that?  And where’s Little Bug?” 

“With her.  Are you gonna fuel up the Crest or not?” 

“‘With her’, who?  Kriff, Mando, who pissed in your caf this morning?” 

“Haar’chak. Never mind, I’ll do it my damn self.”  Din stalked off, sweeping a droid away with his boot like Marathel sweeping away a chook, irritated, mostly with himself, because he was being a boor and he knew it. 

Peli looked up at the open rear door to see a tall woman, a bit heavyset, wearing what looked like Imp uniform cast-offs, holding Grogu.  Well, I’ll be.  That must be her. The not-my-lady-friend. 

As Marathel came down the ramp, Peli’s first impression of her was that fear and misery rolled off the woman in waves.  Her second impression was that Marathel rather looked like a proper mother to that little green boy.  Her third impression was that she was so glad that Mando did not prefer far-too-skinny women of the standard pneumatic variety, in either hairstyle or body implants … it made her think that even her fat ass and smart mouth had a chance at some decent person.   Peli smiled and mused on how exquisite this Marathel must look, standing next to Din, with her statuesque figure, fair skin, and long silver hair.  Oh, she’s lovely! 

“You’re Mahr?  Mando’s … oh, what was it … Marathel? Well, look at you, up and walking around! Poor thing, coming in here all banged up like a stormtrooper’s speeder like you did, Maker, did you ever make a mess!  Well, c’mon, get closer so I can get a good look at you and get at my little green niblet!” happily cried Peli, reaching for Grogu.  “I don’t bite! Well, sometimes I might, but you’re not a nerf herder, so you’re safe.  C’mon, now!”     

Marathel’s head tilted slightly at the sight of this woman beckoning to her, wearing a suit like Din, hair bushier than an ap Captain, and missing teeth … just like her.  And Mando? Another person that calls him Mando.  He has many names, this one man.  Marathel came to where Peli stood under an awning.  “Hello …?” 

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, I’m Peli,” she said, patting her hand.  “I keep that boat of Mando’s flying for very affordable prices…” — Peli shouted this last bit — “… but I also am the official auntie of this little guy!”  Peli took Grogu from Marathel.  “Dank ferrik, what is Mando so worked up about?  He’s grumpier than a nerf herder who’s been bit!”   

Grogu pointed to Marathel, and told Peli, “Mama.” 

“’Mama’?  He’s irate about ‘Mama’?”  Peli’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “It’s ‘Mama’ now? Well, congratulations! I never would have thought Mando would take that plunge …” 

“He just started calling her that a few days ago,” said Din flatly, dragging a heavy hose around the back of the Crest. 

Peli’s face went slightly pink.  “Hmm.  Just landed myself right in the Bantha flop with that one, didn’t I?  Sorry about that.  So where are you all heading, missy?  Nevarro?  Naboo?  Canto?  Lots of wedding chapels there,” said Peli, the last bit in a whispered undertone. 

“Back to my planet,” said Marathel. 

“Back to your … now why in a siluran’s spleen would you go back there?  They didn’t exactly let you leave there in one piece, you know!  No no no, no, you know better than that!  You’re pretty, you’re obviously smart, the teeth you still got look really good, and this little guy likes you and so does Mando, I can tell.  Why would you do a thing like that?” 

“Because … because …” Marathel lost her ability to speak.   

Peli frowned and gently stroked Marathel’s upper back. Her friend’s kid was a kitchen worker at the daimyo’s palace, and had told her many things about Marathel, some of which were very hard to hear.  Now, having a face to put to the name, especially this poor soul with the horrible gash on her face, unfortunately made the horrors more real.  “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t …” 

“Because I’m an inbred incestuous whore c-c-c …” Marathel did not know why she stammered cunt to this woman, when she had said it so blithely to both Din and Cobb, almost taunting them.   

“Now you stop right there.  I don’t want you calling yourself that!  No one should have that as a name,” said Peli, giving Marathel a little shake. “And the rest of that … is just a lot to unpack, sweetie, so give me a moment.” Peli paused, allowing Marathel to wonder why Tatooine residents liked to give silly names to people.  “As far as the first word is concerned, you had no choice on who brought you into this galaxy … so that’s not your fault, you can’t help that.  The second word … I know there’s species out there that prefer it, but for us humans, that’s just a no-go, and for you, still not your fault. 

“The third word … look, there are those who say that’s not a dirty word, so long as you made it your choice to earn that distinction, then take pride in it and make it fun and profitable for you!  And if that had been your choice then I would have supported you 100%!  I would have been your kriffing cheerleader!”  This made Marathel smile, which made Peli smile.  You picked a nice one, Mando, and you were right, I do like her.  “But you didn’t choose that, did you?  So that’s another name no one should have, unless they earned it on their own terms.  And you didn’t, so that’s not your fault, again! 

“And as a reason to go back to a place they tried awful hard to make you lose all your blood … that’s just a piss-poor reason, Marathel.  I don’t even know you and I know that’s womp-whacky.  And do you think Mando would let you hold little squishy here if he thought you were a bad person?  Would he be bothered that your family tree is ... well, more like a stick?   No, I don’t think so.  Worried, more likely.  Hey, I just met you and I already like you too much, to let you do something ridiculous like that.  I don’t know what you told those numb-nuts at the palace, but I don’t think you can convince me.” Peli spit into the sand.   

Marathel stood astounded at this woman, who apparently could breathe and speak at the same time.  “I … it’s because of rwy’n di’rugar.” 

“What the Trandoshan tushy is roo-een die-ruh-gahr?” 

“’My heart breaks to keep them safe.’” 

Peli looked at Marathel, frowning.  “Huh.  I suddenly have more respect for you. Look, missy …” Peli came up close to Marathel, looking at the horrible wound on Marathel’s face.  “I can see it in your face.  I can see it in both of you.  You two are pinging off each other like hyperspace atoms.  I can hear it from across the room, for kriffing out loud. Whoever you are, whatever you got, it seems like Mando accepts it.” 

“He shouldn’t have to just … accept it.  He should have better than that,” said Marathel quietly, her eyes downcast. 

Peli pursed her mouth, and patted Marathel’s arm.  “Hey.  It’s like my old man used to say, ‘you usually get what you want, and what you need … so long as you don’t get what you deserve.” Peli clicked her tongue, and said, “You know, you two have almost five days alone together on this trip.  Maybe you can work it out.” 

“Five … five days?” 

“Yeah, five days, that’s what I saw on the flight recorder after he brought you in. Ship was a wreck.  He was a wreck.  Mando slept for fourteen hours after Boba got the Crest here, and he still couldn’t walk straight, what with the knock he got on his head and trying to keep you alive.” 

“He flies, out there, just him and Grogu … for days at a time?” 

“Kriff, sweetie, for months; they live in this thing.” 

Marathel hadn’t considered either the length of time she and Din would be alone together, or how long Din flew alone, with only the child for company.  How long was he alone before then?  How many of those ‘years’ were without the benefit of Grogu?  “Peli … you help keep his ship flying?” 

“You bet I do.” 

Marathel hugged Peli, squeezing her hard, and kissing her on the cheek.  “Thank you for keeping him safe. Please keep him safe.  Please keep that thing working.  Please keep looking after him, and Grogu.” 

“Aw, sweetie, you could do a much better job of that than me.”  Peli pulled back, noticing that Din was dragging the fuel hose back.  “I wasn’t kidding, your trip back ‘home’ is almost five days.  You’ll have time to think.  A lot.  And you get a lot of one-on-one time with my pudge-pot here!  I’m jealous.  Not really. Long hyperspace trips make me itch more than my Jawa ex-boyfriend.  So furry.  Soooooooo furry.”   

Marathel, confused by the lack of dissent on Peli’s part, asked, “Do you like bread?” 

“Do I like bread?  You mean real bread?  Not the flat crap I bake on an engine block? Hell, yeah, I like bread.” 

“Then let me give you some bread I baked last night.”  Marathel went back up into the Crest as Din came over to Peli to settle up for the cost of the fuel.   

“Nice lady, Mando.  You were right, I do like her.  Now you tell me why you’re taking her back,” said Peli in a low tone. 

Din shrugged as he parceled out credits.  “She asked me to.”  Just like she told me to leave my weapons behind.  Like she told me to be still. 

Peli frowned.  “Yeah, I don’t buy that.  And you don’t buy that either.  At least not deep down.”  Peli turned to see Marathel returning with two loaves of bread.  “But like I told your lovely lady friend, you have a few days alone together to figure it out and come up with a new answer.”   

Din looked at Peli for a few moments, thinking about the stretch of time before the two of them.  “We should go,” he said, taking Grogu from Peli. “Thank you, Peli.” 

Marathel arrived just then, holding out two large round loaves to Peli.  “I thank you too, Peli.” 

“You’re welcome, Marathel.  Come by for a visit next time you’re in town.”  Peli ripped off a piece of bread and shoved it into her mouth.  “Oh, that bread is better than sex in the back of a pod racer with no shock cushions.” 

Marathel chuckled, but Din shook his head and started back to the ship.  Peli took Marathel’s hand.  “You’re a smart cookie, Marathel.  You’ll figure it out.  Thanks for the bread.  I’ll be expecting more when you come back.” 

Marathel frowned, saying, “But… I’m not coming back, Peli.” 

“Eh, I like playing on long odds.  Now go; Mister Mando Grumpypants is waiting for you.” 

Marathel, confused, went back to the ship.  Din was checking a couple of lighted panels on the wall.  “I like Peli,” said Marathel, and Din grunted in response. The early rising suns were coming into the yard at an oblique angle, reflecting in tiny prisms off the metal floor of the Crest. Marathel squatted down and ran her finger along the floor.  “What is all this stuff?” 

Din closed the panel and turned to her.  “What are you talking about?” 

Marathel stood, pieces of glitter on her palm.  “These … little flakes of shiny something.  So tiny and thin, but they sparkle! And they seem to be everywhere!” 

Din grimaced under his helmet.  Despite him cleaning the ship twice since he and Grogu were utterly polluted with glitter while on Coruscant, both by broken bottles of glittered sex lube and the naked bosoms of casino showgirls, the kriffing stuff was still sticking to every horizontal surface.  “That is … metal dust from the ship.” 

“Dust?  Metal dust?  I’ve never heard of such a thing.  Oh, this one is pink.” 

“I … can’t see colors in the helmet.”  This was the most ridiculous thing Din could have ever lied to her about, and why he did, he had no idea.  He groaned inwardly.  “We should go,” he said, passing by Marathel to shut the ramp. Marathel climbed up the ladder to the cockpit, but she misplaced her foot on a top rung and slipped.  In a flash, Din was under her, his hands on her thighs, ready to catch her, and right above his head was Marathel’s … magnificent ass.  Oh, haar’chak, what a view. One hand began sliding up her leg before he asked, “Are you all right?” 

Marathel froze in place, saying, “I’m not hurt.  I just … slipped.”  She climbed back up, away from his hands, and stepped off into the cockpit.  Grogu hopped up without using the ladder, and Din finally climbed up himself.   

By the time he got up there, Marathel was already seated, pulling the safety straps over her head.  Din sat, clicked his safety belts in place, and started the pre-flight check.  “Hop up here, Grogu,” he said, but Grogu did not comply, preferring to snuggle on Marathel’s lap.  Din looked back at her and sighed.  “Hold on to him tight; we might bounce a bit leaving the atmosphere.  Ready to go?” 

“Yes,” replied Marathel, not sounding sure of herself at all.  She held tightly to Grogu as Din did whatever he did to fly this metal box, this tiny metal box that kept all of them from flying into space and dying. The Crest lifted, leaving Peli’s yard, and began its upward trajectory through the sky, which got darker the further they went up. The ship did bounce slightly, but Din controlled the ship so well, Marathel scarcely felt it. Din banked the Crest so they could easily leave the atmosphere, and Marathel briefly saw the curvature of Tatooine as they pulled away. I’ve left, I’ve left, I’ve left them behind, thought Marathel, her throat thick with tears and regret. She swallowed the apparent hairball she had in her craw, thinking, five days. Five days alone with him in a tiny metal box where I can’t escape him.  

Din began the calculations for hyperspace, entering the coordinates of Unmanarall. Five days, he thought. I have five days to make her change her mind. Din pulled the throttle, and the Razor Crest shot into hyperspace. 

Next Chapter ->

[june-girl-86]

Chapter 54

Peli remembers a dark time and one person. In the present she is surprised with a message.

Pairing: Din Djarin x OC Female!

ReaderRating: Mature/Explicit (+18)

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence / Love / Action&Adventure / Blood&Violence / Drama & Romance / Slow Burn / Fluff&Smut

Peli made her way out of the bustle of the market with her full bag, cursing her stupid idea to go to the market herself. But she had had a feeling all week that she absolutely had to get out of her hangar. And now that she had, it didn't feel right either. From a cage, a few nunas made their presence known as the dealer took one out and showed it to the prospective buyer. At one corner, a group of Jawas chattered loudly and Peli decided to walk across the side street, today's noise giving her a headache. Sure enough, as she turned, the noise level lowered and she took a breath. Maybe it was just what she needed today: to be a little alone... She walked past the small stores, nodding to the owners who were just opening their stores now, there was little point in starting earlier that day. The market was too competitive. As Peli walked past one store, lost in thought, she faltered. Slowly she turned around and looked at the colorful fabrics in the window. She knew that Din had had new pants made here; she herself had not been here for a very long time. And yet the memory caught up with her again:

At the beginning it had been quiet and then the stifling silence followed. First the storm troopers had come, roaming the alleys, checking everyone and searching. And after they found nothing, the inquisitors showed up. Not a day went by that someone hung on the gallows, they drove suspects through the streets, hunted them down and took their lives. Hardly anyone dared to go out, those who could sent their droids to do shopping, but even the merchants were unsettled and some of the stores did not open at all. Those who did open also had to reckon with their belongings being destroyed because refugees were suspected to be with them.

Peli sat in her office, she had the radio on in case hidden messages were broadcast, but only imperial propaganda was playing. Peli felt nauseous, turned off the radio and looked at her screen. The orders, usually several pages, had shrunk. But she didn't give up hope that things would get better. Peli sighed, left her small office and climbed the stairs. At the door, she stopped, stared into the empty alley, and let her gaze slide upward into the starry sky. I wonder if the suppression was happening on all the planets right now? Or had a few already come together to stop this? Would there be a rebellion? Would they stand a chance against these powerful ones? Peli sighed again, this silence was not doing her any good. And then there was the bang and the glow of fire, there was a fire one street over. The alarm shrilled loudly, screams joined in, and shortly after she could hear the siren of droids and humans trying to put out the fire. Others had joined Peli on the street, watching as the noise level increased, the flames fortunately less so. No one spoke a word, but all were thinking the same thing. Their thoughts were confirmed when several storm troopers came to their street and sent them back to their homes. The threat that they too would soon be among them deterred many from fighting back.

Peli had tried to sleep a little, but as soon as she closed her eyes, the fire blazed. She tossed and turned a few more times, then had enough and got up. Again she went up the stairs, settled down on the chair in front of the door. The smell of the fire was still in the air, but silence had returned. The two moons lit up the night. Peli leaned back and closed her eyes. After some time, she heard this sound. At first she thought her chair was squeaking, but then this whimpering sounded again. Peli didn't think twice, got up and went towards the source of the noise until she was standing in front of the house where there had been a fire. And again she heard the wailing. She looked around suspiciously. Was she the only one who heard it? Or did everyone else dare not come out. For a moment Peli hesitated, maybe the stormtroopers were setting a trap for the residents, but if someone was lying in it and she didn't help, she would never be able to look at herself in the mirror again. Carefully, she pushed the charred door aside, trying not to be too loud. She cleared the debris aside and shone her light into the sooty room. There was water on the floor. And in one of the puddles lay a person, on top of him a collapsed shelf.

"Help!" it whispered. Peli jerked the things aside, her hands pulled the woman up and she wailed louder. Peli cursed inwardly, putting the person against the wall. She looked horrible. Peli shook her head, alone she couldn't possibly get her out of here.

"I'll be right back!" she whispered to the injured woman and ran back into the hangar. The Pits buckled up in fright as Peli kicked them. She explained the situation to them and the droids followed. The woman had slid onto her side and was once again lying in the firewater. As gently as the Pits could, they picked up the injured woman. Her whimpering increased with each step, it was no louder than before, but on the deserted street it sounded like screams. Finally they had made it to the hangar, where she was laid on a cot in the small room behind the workshop. The droids fetched water and cloths while Peli searched for ointments, medicines and bandages. She came into the room just as one of her pits finished cleaning up the injured. It still looked bad. Cuts all over the face, hair singed, but the arm had taken the worst of it. Peli squeezed the tube of burn ointment almost empty, dabbing that much carefully on it before putting the sterile dressings on top. On her legs she also had smaller wounds, Peli took care of those as well. She carefully instilled a painkilling juice into her. The whimpering subsided and the young woman slowly fell asleep. Peli left the room and noticed that it was getting light. She leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. As she did so, she noticed how her hands began to shake. She just realized what she had done and what could still happen. If only someone had been watching her and would report her now... She pulled off her gloves, examined the dark stains on the material and realized that her skin and clothes were full of the soot. She really needed to clean herself up and wash her clothes, even a stormtrooper would recognize this at first glance and execute her immediately.

After Peli had changed, she asked the Pits to look after the injured. She herself needed some sleep now. By the time she had stood in the shower, the adrenaline had worn off and she could now feel leaden fatigue weighing on her shoulders. And as soon as she touched her head to the pillow, she was asleep.

The next few days were no different than the last, except that messages came through on the secret frequencies showing Peli that a few were confronting evil, unfortunately getting the short end of the stick. So she sent her pits to people she trusted more than 100 percent to get supplies of medicine. They took turns to care for their guest, infusing her with fluids as best they could, knowing that she actually belonged in an infirmary. While the injured woman always slept soundly, Peli kept waking up from nightmares. Each time she was caught and tortured in a different way, as she was suspected to be the leader of the rebels. She considered taking the woman to her brother, to his farm. But at this time of year there were more sandstorms, so they usually did not see each other for several weeks. If they were caught in a storm, it would be fatal for a weakened person. So Peli discarded these thoughts and hoped that one day everything would return to normal.

Peli ran her hand over her forehead, smearing the stain on it that she had gotten from working on the ship. She had almost finished it, the customer knew, tomorrow he could have it back. She took a sip of water from her bottle, glanced at the open door. Peli could see the woman awake, sitting upright and eating independently. She was clearly feeling better, but still needed to be cared for. She could not yet manage on her own. A loud pounding at the front gate startled her. The droids rushed to it, she heard the voices of the troopers. She dropped her tools, ran to the room and closed the door. Then she shoved a few things in front of it, hoping the troopers wouldn't pay it any further attention. The Pits were still chattering away at the three stormtroopers when Peli joined them.

"We'd like to look around a bit!"

She knew it wasn't a request when they pushed her aside. Outside the ship, one of them stopped and asked her to open the ramp. Peli did as he said, inside he was able to connect and find out who the owner was. Peli swallowed, asked if the men needed spare parts, but they did not respond. Their customer's data was fine, the trooper had lost interest. For that, he approached the room. He eyed the area, noting the drag marks of the crazy items, and stared at Peli.

"Why did you block the door?"

His tone had become harsher, his colleagues joined in. One of them raised his gun.

"Womp rats! Two of them! I hope they kill each other!" lied Peli.

"Why can't you hear them?"

"Been in there since yesterday. I wasn't going to check until it started to stink!"

The one with the gun pointed it at Peli and she swallowed nervously.

"Open up!"

Peli nodded slowly, gesturing for the Pits to move the furniture aside.

"But I'll hold you responsible if the rats break everything here for me!" she grumbled at the soldiers.

"It wouldn't make any difference!" one of the troopers drove at them, yet they noticed the men cautiously approaching the door. The soldiers thought nothing of it as the Pits hid behind Peli and the woman stood there with tense limbs, closing her eyes. While Peli feared being shot on sight, the men thought they were just afraid of the rats. The door was pushed open and there was silence. Peli, still squeezing her eyes shut, suddenly felt a tap on her shoulder. Startled, she flinched and looked questioningly at the three stormtroopers.

"Sorry to disturb you!"

With those words, they left the hangar. Dumbfounded, she looked after them, then heard the groan and thud. Peli rushed into the room; the young woman was slumped behind the door, her arm still outstretched. She had used her power to save them all. Now shaking all over, Peli helped her onto the cot. She was all hot, fever overtaking the young woman. She was literally burning up. Peli got cooling cloths, gave her fever-reducing medicine and took care of her arm again. After that, Peli could only wait and hope that the rescue operation would finally be the last.

Peli blinked when she sensed movement. She lifted her head; she had repeatedly fallen asleep on the edge of the bed. But this time the woman sat upright facing her, life had finally returned to her face. After the bout of fever had lasted 2 days, she was finally well. Peli turned to the little table, gave her tea to drink.

"Thank you for everything!" she smiled afterwards, extending her healthy hand to Peli.

"I'm Vivien!".

Peli shook her head as she remembered. Vivien had lived in hiding with Peli for a few more weeks until she dared to return to her store. Peli had accompanied her there, admiring the beautiful creations Vivien had tailored. Vivien herself, however, felt a stranger within her own four walls. Her arm had healed, but she kept feeling a pulling and discomfort. When Peli stopped by one day, an Iktotchi stood in front of her, informing her that the previous owner was no longer here. Peli hoped that Vivien had found a place where she could live peacefully. That is, if she was alive at all. Peli tore herself away as the door to the tailor shop opened and a customer stepped out. A bell sounded in the background.

As she walked back to the hangar, she turned around several times because she felt she was being watched. But it was the same as usual, the same figures as always. Nevertheless, she walked a little faster, but probably her memories from before had confused her again now. Finally she reached her hangar and ran down the stairs.

"What's the hurry?" she heard a voice behind her. Peli cried out and in shock she threw her bag aside. The Pits came running and ducked their heads. Peli leaned against the wall, holding her hand to her chest and looking into the eyes of a familiar face.

"Peli, I'm sorry!"

Fennec was taken aback by the usually tough woman's startle. She was pale in the face.

"I thought you saw me!" declared Fennec as she put her hand on Peli's shoulder to reassure her.

"Obviously not!", Peli screeched back, shaking her head. She watched the Pits carry away their purchases and then turned to Shand.

"I was lost in thought, of a time when things weren't easy here on Tatooine. For a moment I thought the Imps were back!"

Fennec nodded in understanding, then smiled.

"We received a coded message. I'd like to play it for you!"

Fennec held a data stick between her fingers.

"R2!" screeched Peli, and Fennec smirked. The mechanic now sounded her usual self again. When R2 finally joined them, Fennec activated the stick and R2 played the message. Peli swayed slightly and tears formed in her eyes as she looked at the images and video sequences. Din and Liara looked beautiful, the dress looked so wonderful on Liara. And then there was this child. Fara smiled happily into the camera. Liara reported what had happened so far and Peli was so proud that they had saved this girl. When Peli suspected that the news was coming to an end, Liara waved someone over. The person appeared and Peli recognized the face immediately, even though so much time had passed in the meantime.

"Vivien!" whispered Peli and the aforementioned smiled as if she had heard Peli's voice.

Peli had awakened from a dreamless sleep, blinking. She flipped the covers aside and stood up. With bare feet she crept through the workshop, only a few control lights were burning, all droids were asleep. But still she found her way to her office and opened the safe. When she opened it, she pulled out all sorts of junk she had stashed inside, along with a few wallets. Her desk was already overflowing and a few things slid down and fell on the floor. But Peli ignored it. She finally fumbled for the box and opened it carefully. The light from her monitor illuminated the silver handle of the weapon. Vivien had talked about it and couldn't remember where she had lost it. Peli had learned that the ruin was to be demolished and had once again scrambled among the rubble at night. Peli stroked the hilt of the lightsaber, noticing the small patterns and lines in it. Smiling, she placed it in the box and locked it back in the safe. Maybe she could return it to its owner soon.

_______

@rain-on-kamino

@littlemisspascal

[rebeccaotool]

So, wrote a tiny (literally) Mandalorian fic. First Star Wars story ever. Enjoy. 

[dankfarrikdrabbles]

The Mandalorian is back!

It’s finally here! Season 3 of The Mandalorian! And what a couple of episodes this has already been, we need more! But in the meantime, here are a few prompts that might help you write about that missing scene you were dying to let us know about...or something else entirely, have fun!

Quick Rules: 5 lines written in 5 minutes in a story format. Or, if you’re an artist, a sketch done in 25 minutes or less. Assign yourself a topic by a random roll then share your results!  https://g.co/kgs/WzFPxe Set min to 0 and max to 99. Make a new post and tag @dankfarrikdrabbles to be reblogged! For full rules click here.

Week 55

Objects:

1. Pirate

2. Darksaber

3. Droid

4. Cave

5. Foundling

6. Forge

7. Pod

8. Map

9. Mythosaur

0. Free Choice

Emotions:

1. Worried

2. Proud

3. Distracted

4. Uneasy

5. Drugged

6. Cursed

7. Reverent

8. Stubborn

9. Valiant

0. Free Choice

[all-about-that-rec]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Mandalorian (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Din Djarin/Boba Fett Characters: Din Djarin, Boba Fett Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Sexual Tension, Implied Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Swearing, Mutual Pining, Drinking Summary:

Tatooine brings back old memories for its new king and the reigning Mand'alor. Perhaps history repeats itself so that we can make better choices, take better chances.

[r0gerr0ger]

Once Again, I Have Meaning

Chapter Three; Cloaked

The planet’s twin suns loom above her, burning so hot the world around her glows red- the pink of the sky and the yellow of the sand melting together in a shivering haze. She’s never known heat like it. Leia has visited hot planets before, has been taken on tours through deserts, even holidays every spring in North Alderaan, with its humid rainforests and air so thick you can taste it. But this- this is un-survivable. This is death. This is walking through a grave, haunted by the twin suns that creep along behind you.

[i-was-bored-so-this-happened]

Second Star Chapter Fourteen: The Novice

Fandom: The Mandalorian Wordcount: 3.6k Warnings: Canon-typical violence, child endangerment

Okan and Peli return triumphant from their business and wait for the bounty hunters to come back. Toro Calican returns, but Mando is nowhere to be seen

Read on AO3 Previous Chapter | Next Chapter Writing Masterpost

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You did pretty good back there, Little Miss Unknown,” Peli bites into a sandit as she says it. The sugar sprinkled on the top of the bun is as coarse as the sand of the dunes and crunches with Peli’s consonants, “Does your family name not translate or do you not have one?” Signature Tatooine bluntness.

“I don’t have one.” Okan lies. She tears the sandit she’s holding in half and licks the sugar off before pushing it into the baby’s waiting hands. He plays with it more than eats it, ripping it to make fist-sized doughballs and rub odd lumps into the fabric of Okan’s cloak before deigning to put it in his mouth. She uses a corner of the cloak to wipe his mouth at any intervals he allows. Like any baby, he’s very much against being kept clean and tidy.

“Not unusual,” Peli shrugs and rests a comforting hand on Okan’s upper arm. Okan tenses at the contact and side steps. Peli doesn’t react, just goes on, “But hey, fresh, new, regular commission, I appreciate it. I can knock a couple hundred credits off your bill…grab some spotchka?”

“Are the breweries still putting that algae dust in it?”

“The spirius? Yeah, believe so. Even last drought couldn’t kill that stuff.”

“Then I guess we can have some spotchka.” Okan concedes, lifting her bun out of the child’s reach. Peli is taking them back along the path they’d taken to get to the starport, and while they walk the market goes from the day shift to the night as the suns start to show signs of vaguely considering setting. No one stays out long once it gets dark.  Hells, any solo movement in the cities past five was risky the last time Okan was on Tatooine. The stalls are changing hands between associates or being replaced by those belonging to fresh vendors. Stock is switched from dehydrated carbohydrates and quick-fix kits to gallons of treated water and piles of coloured powder under bell jars. The latter leaves Okan twitchy, whole hand flexing. 

Peli stops at several of the stalls. She seems to be one of those people that knows everyone, and knows how to talk strangers into being allies. 

“Guess y’all gotta eat, huh,” she says at one point, turning blush pink fruits over in her hands. Fresh produce can’t be sold during the day unless you’ve got a way of keeping it cold, “What’ve you got in that galley of yours?”

“Not much fresh,” Okan admits. She takes the fruit from Peli’s hand when it’s offered. It’s surprisingly soft, covered in fine hair like her arms. She almost has to restrain herself from leaving marks in its flesh where her nails sit. It is in fact not fully pink, but marbled orange and yellow to create the blush tone, “What is this?”

“A peach. That’s what they call the colour, too. It’s been a while since I’ve seen one, before the war we used to get ‘em from Naboo. You don’t gotta skin ‘em, either.” While Peli speaks, she hands over a fistful of credits, far more than she’d given for the orangey pulp the group had bought that morning. Gently, she takes the fruit from Okan’s hand and pushes it into the string bag she’s paid for. Tying the bag securely to her belt, she moves on.

Okan next drifts to a stop at a stall that holds ration packs. She doesn’t really need any of them, Mando’s got enough of the freeze-dried mid-rim stuff to last him another war, but this is Tatooine food. Their food can’t rely on rehydration so it’s thick and stodgy and makes the human eye sting without exception. Okan hasn’t known flavour like it since she left, despite her best experimental efforts. She’s willing to sacrifice the credits for a few packets of seasoning, some of vegetables, cans of lamta juice. Any simmering excitement bubbles away as they pass another stall surrounded by bloodshot eyes.

“Are they seriously selling spice at the night markets?” Peli coughs loudly to detract from the question. A pit droid whines nervously.

“Well. Well, yeah, yeah, they are,” Peli answers, “I dunno what the situation was like last time you were here but the Pykes are running the show now. They’re not particularly afraid, either.”

“What happens if one of their vendors gets caught?”

“They don’t. Or they don’t stay in custody very long,” Peli turns onto the path that will lead them back amidst the grid of hangars, “Hey, sunshine, the Empire couldn’t wrangle Tatooine even when they had the Hutts. Republic’s got no chance out here,” Okan’s brow furrows and she opens her mouth, but Peli’s elbow digs into her side, “I agree with you, but it’s not smart to say it,” finding her hangar, she inputs the code that will let her back in, “Now, who's hungry?” The baby squeaks like a womp rat’s nest in reply.

“He’s always hungry,” Okan translates, “I’m not sure he isn’t hollow,” she finds the lump of her homemade harness that covers one of the child’s feet and wiggles it to make him shriek with giggles. The door to the hangar slides open, and Peli holds an arm out to keep it from closing again so Okan can get through. The mechanic’s rattly old R5 droid is sitting on the other side of the door waiting for them. Okan can finally release the baby, lifting the helmet and untying the scarves. He totters off as soon as physically possible, trailing the pit droids. “If he gets hurt, Mando’ll make you scrap!” Okan calls out to them. The nervous one turtles.

“What’s his deal with droids, anyway?” Peli asks, having secured the hangar. Okan shrugs. She could speculate, but she doesn’t know for sure and it’s not her place. “Any idea when he’ll be back?”

“He tries to get back to us before dark,” Okan looks directly into the eyes of the suns, lifting a hand to measure the distance between them and the horizon, “But it depends how far into the Sea they had to go.”

***

“You don’t seem to be too worried about the mando.” Late into the next afternoon, Peli has found she makes more progress in her repairs without Okan’s help. Her droids have been playing crown-cards all day. They’d taken Okan’s lunch hour to teach her how to play. She wasn’t great, not brilliant with Basic numbers, and so she’s asked them to employ her dinnertime as well.

“I’m not,” Okan glances towards the ship, now dusted with sand. The hull door has sunk somewhat into the grit, and there are still globs of fuel dirtying the ground that the pit-droids have to chase the child away from, “I have insurance.” Finding herself within arm’s reach of a broom she advances towards the Razor Crest with the intent to clean, “He won’t leave this ship behind.” Mando won’t thank her for letting the hydraulics get gummed up with sand. Peli laughs, loud and just a little gravelly,

“He’s the sentimental type, huh?” she asks without a trace of seriousness, “The ship, not you and the kid?”

“Oh, we’re more trouble than we’re worth.” Okan finds herself in a familiar stance reminiscent of being at the farm. Of sweeping up sand and rust-coloured earth she’d tracked in. Cleaning up broken shards of glass and collecting the rocks that had broken the windows. More trouble than she’s worth indeed. 

“Forgive me if I find that hard to believe.” Peli chuckles to herself. She has good reason to laugh. Okan, though taller than the average human woman and visibly strong if one takes the time to look, doesn’t present as particularly threatening. And the baby is very clearly a baby who doesn’t even reach her knees and struggles to walk unaided for longer than fifteen minutes.

“I forgive you.” Okan tells the mechanic, with a neat little flourish of the broom. Seeing the child watching her she tosses the broom into the air, spins on the ball of her foot to encourage her cloak to kick out, and catches it again in her opposite hand while keeping it spinning. She continues her turn, repeating the toss. The third toss she throws higher, high enough to give her time to leap off the hull door and entirely flip herself over in the air. She completes the aerial, her arms held out in a horizontal line to complete the star shape her body makes, before landing with a thud and catching the broom again, instinctively bending her knees to absorb the impact of the landing.  The cloak snaps behind her with the quick movement, and she’s familiar enough with the move that it doesn’t trip her. That precious millisecond in the air of feeling weightless, the surety of knowing she can and will catch herself. Spontaneity. It’s wonderful. The child’s wet, gurgly laugh may well be the tinkling of a high bell, the suns spotlights.

“Y’all sure are interesting characters.” Peli gives her head a little shake, the cloud of curls following and giving off a spray of sand. The child, sitting by her foot, is showered in the stuff and seems to enjoy the sensation, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid getting the grains in them. 

A slow, deliberate clap brings their attention to the hangar doors. A humanoid figure has entered. Shorter than Okan, wrapped in leather. Peli shields her eyes to see better while Okan just squints, trying to figure out if anyone else is nearby.

“Impressive.”

“Toro?” Okan calls. It’s the young, inexperienced bounty hunter who had hired Mando. Strangely, he’s here with no bounty. And no Mando. Alone and nonchalant. 

“Okan! Peli,” he waves to them, striding confidently through the sand towards the ship, “And,” he tilts until he sees the child, and a smile splits his face, “The baby.”

“Toro?” Okan moves forward, confused. Warmth tingles in her fingers, as though she has slept on her hands and the weight has reduced them to nought but sensation “Where’s Mando?” Toro Calican hums questioningly, as though he hasn’t heard her. When Okan passes Peli she says her name, and the mechanic squats and lifts the child into her arms. A quiet click in the back of her throat prompts a pit-droid to roll towards her. R5 rattles nervously in his corner. “Where’s Mando?” Okan repeats, her voice low in pitch but still loud enough that she knows she was audible the first time. 

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll catch up eventually.” Toro and Okan are still moving, slowly closing in on one another. Okan steps towards Peli and the child, encouraging Toro to circle in the other direction, and she keeps her hands out and open. Her feet warm in the sand. All she has is the broom. His eyes hold ambition. Greed.

“What happened?”

“You didn’t tell me the truth. About who you are, none of you did.” Shit. Shit. Heat rushes to her fingers, fear penetrating deep into the bones. Mando’s gone. Not dead, he’ll catch up, suggests an injured state. Or a delay. Had Toro taken both speeders and abandoned him in the Sea? He’ll never make it out of there alone. Okan moves to bring her hands together as though to clap, but her gloves have hardly touched before Toro draws a blaster. He doesn’t even aim it at her. If it were to be fired it would hit Peli square in the chest.

“What do you want?” Okan puts distance between her hands again, recognising that any move towards aggression would get Peli killed and put the child at risk. “You have no reason to hurt us, and we’ve no reason to hurt you.”

“I thought your people valued honesty. Is lying to me not reason enough?”

“Since when did humans value honesty?” Peli asks, trying to inject some light-heartedness into the stand-off. 

“They don’t. But she,” he gestures at Okan with the blaster, “Isn’t human. She’s worth at least seven million credits if I get her to a Guild base, and the child? Who knows?” Toro strolls forward, comfortable in his position as the one who has taken hostages. He watches as Okan’s eyes take in a full rotation of the hangar, trying to think of something, anything, to do, “I think,” he’s within six feet of her now, “We’ll wait for the Mandalorian to come back. Complete the collection.” Arrogance, that’s what else sits on his face, and arrogance can disguise stupidity. Sometimes. Gods, she hopes so.

***

If Toro has deeper levels of stupidity, he hasn’t shown them yet. Thus far, he’s made annoyingly smart decisions. Peli’s wrists are bound in front of her so she still has some mobility and can be ordered about, while Okan’s hands are tight against her back and she can’t do shit with her gloves on. More than that, it’s getting dark outside. It’s getting cold. Okan’s no use in the cold, and Mando…Mando’s out in the Dune Sea. Dehydrated, hungry, tired, likely injured. She’s given him as much time to get back to them on his own as she dares, but if she manages to get rid of Toro she has no way of finding him. No idea where he had gone, and no idea if her old contacts in the Sea are still around. She needs to install a tracker on that man. If she can find him. If.

“What’s your name? Your real name?” Toro Calican is leaning against the ship, watching Okan while she processes. She stares back at him without a reply, “I know you speak Basic now, you can quit the stupid off-worlder thing. What are you, anyway?” He doesn’t know? He’s taken her hostage and he doesn’t know, “I mean, obviously I have some idea. I’ve heard the stories.”

“Oh, good, then you know all about the sky-dragons.” Okan rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t treat me like a child.”

“How old are you, exactly? Have you even seen your third decade?” Peli calls. Toro rounds on her with a protest at the ready, but she just laughs at him, “Y’ain’t gonna shoot me. You shoot us, you lose your bounty.” This isn’t her first rodeo. She jostles the child awkwardly to try and keep him calm.

“You think that’s all I care about? The money? I shot the last bounty. She’s dead. Because she’s small potatoes compared to these two.”

“Then what are we, topatos?” Okan asks. She waits until Toro turns to her to reprimand her before she powers forward and slams her forehead into his face. He reels backwards, then doubles over. He won’t shoot her, she’s sure of that. He’d shot the last bounty, yes, but only once he realised she wasn’t the most valuable piece on the board. He won’t shoot her. When he doubles over Okan introduces his jaw to her knee. The child is warbling but whether he’s scared, concerned or amused isn’t clear. Peli’s laughing and the sound of sliding sand tells Okan that the mechanic is running for the door. Peli is the bargaining chip and she’s running away with the boy’s prize. A pit droid is squealing and whirring, waving his gangly arms at Okan until she makes to follow the others but Toro…Toro has recovered enough. His hand catches the edge of Okan’s cloak and multi-coloured stars burst in her peripheral vision as the fabric snatches away any breaths she’d intended on taking. With her hands bound behind her back she can’t balance herself and seems destined to faceplant in the sand, but Toro’s up and winding the fabric of her cloak around his arm.

“Come back here or the spark dies!” his voice is young but with that youth comes strength, as though he’s slammed a brick wall down between Peli and the exit. She skids and for a moment seems to consider running anyway, which Okan can’t entirely blame her for.

“You won’t. You won’t get such high praise if you kill me.” Okan tells the boy. Blood oozes from his nose and between his lips, crystallised with sand. He must have bitten his tongue when she’d hit his jaw, his s sounds are a little thick. 

“I dunno. I hear they want you for parts. Doesn’t much matter if you’re cold,” Toro informs her. He shouts louder to address Peli again, who hasn’t quite turned around yet, “Give me the kid.” He repeats this even louder and blood sprays from his mouth. Had she broken some of his teeth? Peli turns. She comes back. She’s watching Okan, direct eye contact as though she’s trying to convey a message. Okan doesn’t get it. Toro releases Okan, takes the baby and pushes all three of them up onto the hull door of the Razor Crest.

Mando walks into the hangar hardly a minute later. Oh. That was what Peli was trying to tell her. Okan catches her relieved breath before it leaves her. He isn’t limping, there’s no blood trickling down into the sand. Those were the worst-case scenarios. The very worst was that he wouldn’t turn up at all but he had. 

“Took you long enough, Mando,” Toro calls. His letters are even less clear now, he’s making up for it by talking loudly, “Looks like I’m calling the shots now, partner. Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.” Once Mando complies, he gives Peli a set of binders, shoves her in Mando’s direction and presses his blaster into Okan’s side. Peli ambles towards Mando, taking her own sweet damn time. She has not enjoyed being ordered around by this spitfire of a wannabe bounty hunter and she’s going to make sure he knows about it. Okan stands remarkably uninjured, but remarkably still lest that condition change. “You’re a Guild traitor, Mando. And I’m willing to bet that these are the targets you helped escape. Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild. It’ll make me legendary.”

“Telling us your plan isn’t the brightest idea, kid.” Mando says. Is he…stalling? Is he hoping to take most of the fire? What-

Brightest. Idea. Code. That’s code. Code he taught her months ago for events just such as these. Hostage situations, that is. If you ever, ever, hear me say something is a bright idea, it means I’m about to use a flash charge and you should cover your eyes. Okan had tossed about the idea of her carrying some flash charges and was quite quickly shot down, but maybe after today he’ll rethink. They haven’t been able to translate this into baby terms but with hope the loud noise will scare him into closing his eyes before the flash temporarily blinds him. Without further hesitation, Okan squeezes her eyes shut. The high sound of the flash charge going off, like a firework, spears through her ears. A secondary sound is that of blaster fire, at least until Okan elbows him hard enough to make him fall down. It’s all very confusing for several seconds until footsteps patter up the hull door and hands pat their way down Okan’s arms.

“It’s me, you maniac,” Peli swats at Okan’s shoulder when Okan tries to wriggle away thinking it’s Toro, “It’s me, you can open your eyes.” Okan does so while Peli scrambles around under her cloak to find the binders. Okan does her level best to keep her emotions tamped down lest Peli brush against any exposed skin. 

“Mando! The baby?” Okan calls, trying to stay still while Peli curses at the binders.

“Got him.” Mando calls back. 

“Got it!” Peli shouts triumphantly, ripping the binders off of Okan’s wrists and tossing them aside. The smoke from the flash charge has cleared by the time Peli and Okan have reached Mando. He stands over Toro’s dead body with the child in his arms.

***

They leave Tatooine as soon as they can. Okan will miss it, if she’s honest, but she had used her share of Toro’s money to buy more Tatooine rations so she can have the taste of the planet with her a little longer. She’ll mourn the loss of the warmth of course, it had given her a wonderful boost of energy, but she knows how to travel now. In silence, for once, in her chair in the cockpit. She’s done all her talking for today. Mando’s uninjured, he’s eaten, and every time he sticks the straw of a water bottle up his helmet he shakes the bottle at Okan first so she knows. Hey. It’s Tatooine. We’re lucky we got out with all of our limbs, Okan had said, Dehydration I can handle.

“Where are we going?” Okan asks as she shifts from one side of her chair to another. She can’t help asking.

“Don’t know. We might be in space a while,” the helmet tilts up and she’s learned that at that angle he can see her in the reflection on the window. She gives a little wave, “Get comfortable.”

“I think I can manage that.”

“Maybe sleep in your bed.” Mando suggests.

“Rather be around people,” Okan answers, tucking her knees up into her chest. She sits like that for several minutes with her eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of the ship. An image of Toro trying to say the word people splutters behind her eyelids. “I broke his face, didn’t I.”

“You really did,” Is he smiling? Is that what a smile sounds like? “Good work.” He adds. Okan smiles back.

[corellianhounds]

Toro Calican Lives AU

Chapter 1 — First Shot

Media: The Mandalorian

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 5,345

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Art Credit: Christian Alzmann, The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

Series Summary: What would have happened if Toro Calican hadn’t betrayed the Mandalorian? How would the story have changed if he had lived?

Chapter Summary: Beginning in Season 1, an important thing to note is that I’ve swapped episodes 4 and 5 in the timeline and moved forward with the story from there. Mando steals the kid back from the Client and leaves Nevarro in a hail of gunfire, intent on finding somewhere quiet to lay low and stock up on supplies, and is forced to land on Tatooine following a dogfight just outside the desert planet’s orbit. We pick up here directly after Mando and Calican have subdued Fennec Shand.

—

Toro’s shoulder screamed in pain as the mercenary wrenched his arm tight, her submission hold around his neck cutting off his oxygen. It was only when the Mandalorian stepped into view with his blaster raised that she let go.

“Nice distraction,” he said dryly.

Toro grunted and tried to get his bearings, rolling his shoulder to see if it was still in its socket and wincing at the twinge he knew would probably be there in the days to come.

But to see Shand sitting sullenly in the dirt did him a heap of good humor. He’d suck it up and walk off the pain if it meant saving face even a little bit.

“Yep, good work partner—”

The Mandalorian watched the mercenary carefully as Toro got to his feet. “Binders?”

Toro unhooked the brand new pair from the back of his belt. “Cinch-lock, top of the line,” he said.

The Mandalorian shook his head and untucked a pair of his own. “Magnacuffs are stronger. Ignore the newer models. Go find your blaster.” He tossed them to Shand, saying “Cuff yourself.”

Toro grumbled as he hooked the binders to his belt again and went in search of his gun. Leave it to Mando to throw away half his gear for the Sand People and insult the rest in front of a target. He could hear Fennec speaking behind him in a voice that sounded completely unbothered by her predicament, as conversational as if she were discussing the weather and without a trace of the exertion and dying adrenaline Toro felt after a fight like that.

“Karking she-devil,” he swore under his breath. He grabbed his blaster and stuffed it in his holster, heading back to the pair. “He could’ve at least gave her a warning shot for all the trouble I went to while he caught up…”

The Mandalorian was walking the mercenary down to the speeder bike when Toro rejoined them. “You know, I really should thank you. You’re my ticket into the Guild once we turn you in.”

“You’re welcome.”

—

Nightfall on Tatooine brought with it a bone-deep cold that was hard to shake. The Mandalorian had gone in search of the dewback at Toro’s behest which left him and the mercenary in a stare-down for an hour before Toro perched on the speeder-bike and stretched his legs. Fennec’s eyes narrowed to a blade-thin glare as she propped her back against the rock face, and waited.

Calican had been uneasy at the prospect of being left alone with Shand given the aptitude with which she’d bested him at close range, but so long as he remained vigilant and she didn’t find a way to slip free, he was fairly certain she wouldn’t do much while he still had the Tempest trained on her. The hair-trigger of the modified DL-44 fit snug against his pointer finger and weighed practically nothing. Even a warning glance off one of her limbs would do enough to get his point across, and Mando would be back before long. Truth be told, he wasn’t opposed to the idea of dragging Shand back to Mos Eisley, but he wasn’t about to share a seat with the Mandalorian. There was only so much dignity he was willing to sacrifice for a job.

Morning started to break not long after it appeared Fennec had woken up. She made a show of yawning and rolling her shoulders as best as she could, but remained seated and bound. Fennec looked out across the dunes.

“It’s been a while,” she said thoughtfully. “You think he got lost?”

Toro didn’t take the bait. Fennec continued to list her unhelpful observations.

��Oh look, the suns are coming up. That’ll feel good under all that new leather.”

“Quiet.”

“How long are you willing to wait for him? I imagine you’re probably impatient to see a broker by now.”

“Quiet.”

Fennec sat back as Toro watched the dunes, but the silence didn’t last for long. “There’s still time for me to meet my contact in Mos Espa,” she said with a hint of persuasion. “If you take me to them, I can pay you double the price on my head.”

“Oh, really?” Toro put a hand to his chest in mock surprise, oozing sarcasm like a slug. “And I’ve been personally summoned to officiate a Hutt’s wedding.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not worried about getting paid.”

“What makes you so sure that Mandalorian is going to give you your share of the bounty? Those nomads are so few and far in between they have to work hand-to-mouth just for table scraps— I wouldn’t be surprised if he dropped you out of the loading dock and turned me in without you. They don’t have ‘friends.’ ”

“I said, Be quiet.”

Fennec shrugged. “All I’m saying is, there’s a reason you don’t see many around anymore. Mandalorians get picked apart by bigger hunters first and vultures second.”

“He’s not the one in binders. Probably accounts for something.”

“Your faith in him is admirable, but how much has he really done? He used you as bait last night, didn’t he?”

Toro grit his teeth, trying not to overthink the ambush. He’d heard the stories about Mandalorians, their alleged prowess on the battlefield, but as much as he hated to admit it, Fennec had a point; Mando had waited until nightfall before racing across the dunes to the ridge and just so happened to get shot off somewhere far enough behind him that Toro had to close in on Shand alone. He figured his partner was catching up, but it wasn’t until the assassin had him in a chokehold that Mando put a stop to it.

The Mandalorian also hadn’t put up much of a fight to stay with the merc hours prior. And it had been a long time since Toro had seen him go after the dewback.

“… What are you saying?” Toro asked suspiciously.

Fennec raised an eyebrow. “What do you know about that Mandalorian?”

“I hired him. He works for me.”

Fennec scoffed. “Seems to me like he’s the one calling the shots.”

“Shows what you know. I’m the one getting into the Guild when I bring you in. All I have to do is show up with you and I’m golden.”

“You think the Guild is going to welcome you with open arms if you walk in alongside a Guild traitor?”

That gave Toro pause. “… You know him?”

She shrugged, crossing her ankles. “I’ve heard things. Seems interesting to me that a Mandalorian in a brand new suit of beskar shows up here after the Guild on Nevarro got blown to hell last week by a hunter turned saboteur. From what I hear, the one matching his description sprung a target after he received payment and went rogue. Set off enough charges to level a street.”

“Hold up,” Toro demanded; he’d heard about Nevarro when he docked in Mos Eisley— The spacer chatter he picked up said something about a feud between local factions that garnered a lot of attention and collateral damage. “He took a bounty back? Why would he do that?”

“Who knows?” Fennec said. “Mandalorians are loyal to their own interests above all else.”

“How do you know all this?” Fennec wasn’t giving him all the facts, but Mando had done little more.

“You think this is the first time I’ve been on Tatooine?” She scoffed. “You know who I worked for. Information’s easy to find when you know where to look. I can help you take the Mandalorian down in exchange for letting me walk away. Turning him in would make you legendary; for a Mandalorian without much fight in him, what do you have to lose?”

Toro flexed the hand near his holster. “Why should I trust you?”

“You don’t have to trust me, but I’ve been in this game a lot longer than you have. Uncuff me—”

“Not a chance.” Toro shook his head. “I know what you’re capable of.”

“All the more reason to have me on your side,” Fennec implored him. “Uncuff me, we ride back together, and we get to Mos Eisley before he does. Corner him at his ship, take him down nice and easy, we part ways and you get the reward for live capture.”

Toro’s hand flexed in agitation as he shifted his weight. “… How can we be sure he’s the right guy?”

And finally, Fennec smiled.

“Word is he still has the target with him. I’d bet shillings to fillings we’ll find them on that ship.”

—

The wind whipped around them as they rode pillion across the Dune Sea. The mercenary navigated with easy maneuvering, skiffing sand off the crest of dunes and landing gracefully on the other side as they slithered towards the horizon. As the suns overhead bore down mercilessly, Toro held fast to Shand’s belt with one hand and to his sidearm with the other. It was set to stun but he hadn’t felt the need to reveal that when he insisted she drive and he rested the barrel against her ribs enough to be felt. Shand had given him a withering look for the trouble.

Toro mulled over the plan as he leaned with her into a turn, his thighs aching from the position they’d held for hours. By his estimate they’d make it back to the hangar sometime in the evening, and by the time the Mandalorian caught up it’d be well past nightfall. As long as they could get the mechanic out of the way and everybody neighboring the shop minded their own business with the usual Tatooine indifference, it’d be a quiet and clinical job. He was somewhat disappointed the first hunt turned out to be less flashy than anticipated but the more he thought about the name he would make for himself, the more enticing the prospect was. He could probably even get the armor off of the hunter in addition to the Guild purse.

The bike arced through the air as the canyon pass came into view and Fennec opened up the throttle. Victory and prestige were so close he could almost taste them.

Mercenary and rookie zipped through the streets of Mos Eisley as the suns descended, coasting to a stop outside an alley behind bay 3-5. The moisture vaporators rattled and hummed. Shand eased the bike into the narrow crevice between the old buildings, sandstone snagging their trousers and catching on Toro’s boots. Toro’s back protested at the strain of righting himself and dismounting, envious of Fennec’s apparent lack of discomfort; the mercenary glided off over the bike’s casing and surveyed their surroundings. Jawas chittered and laughed, scuttling past the mouth of the alley, and Fennec motioned silently for him to follow her lead. Just how he was going to vault up the sheer face of the outer wall, he was unsure.

—

Toro slunk behind Fennec on the terrace of a neighboring building, waiting for her cue. The mechanic was easy to get the drop on; Fennec landed soundlessly on the other side of the garage wall and crept up on her as she was realigning the laminar thrust buffer, firing a stun shot into her back. The older woman dropped to the ground and pit droids squawked and ran for cover— Toro dragged the mechanic to a storage closet while the mercenary dispatched with the droids.

However, as Toro exited the alcove between the mechanic’s office and the generator, the power to the entire hangar went out.

Lights winked off, every hum and clatter of machinery falling eerily silent. He whirled to the gangplank where Fennec had been just moments before and, finding it empty, cursed and wriggled out to make for the ship. He hadn’t accounted for the possibility that she’d simply steal the ship and jet off-planet, but now that she was here there really was no incentive for her to keep her word; it would be all too easy (and frankly within her best interests) to leave him for a very angry Mandalorian to find with the proverbial smoking gun, having practically handed off not one but two targets, in addition to his ship.

Movement to his right made him freeze mid-step and reroute his momentum, curling in without choice behind the free-standing tool cabinet. The *clink* of quiet spurs accompanied heavy footfalls.

The Mandalorian had returned.

Inside the ship, Fennec held her breath. Either the Mandalorian’s plan had been to come straight to Mos Eisley after catching up with the dewback the whole time, or he had friends with faster transportation somewhere out in the dunes. There wasn’t time to reassemble the MK— Shifting sand gave away his location, and his approach to the ship she couldn’t allow. Hopefully the rookie was well hidden. She had what she needed.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Fennec said lazily, taking her time to come halfway down the ramp. “You found your way back to the roost after all.”

The Mandalorian stopped short at the sight of the kid in her arm, her blaster tucked into the boy’s side. The boy whined softly, and Fennec smiled.

“What do you want with the kid,” Mando said bluntly.

“Same thing I imagine every hunter wants with it— The price on both your heads rises by the day. All I’m asking for is some cooperation. Drop your blaster. Hands up.”

The Mandalorian complied.

“I have more pressing matters elsewhere that require your ship, and I know you don’t want anything to happen to this, hmm? So how about we make a deal?”

Statuesque, he watched her. She could see Calican creep from the shadows and come up behind Mando; she jutted her chin to him, then addressed the Mandalorian. “Your turn to cuff yourself. Nice and slow.”

“Let the kid go.”

“No,” she said simply. “Cuff yourself and you won’t get a blaster burn to the back. My partner is eager to bring you into the Guild himself— You and your quarry are both items of interest these days.”

“Doesn’t sound like much of a deal.”

“Would you rather both of you be dead, or just captured?”

Toro came level with the Mandalorian, the barrel of his gun resting in the middle of the hunter’s back. To his credit, the novice hunter had adapted well to the unexpected change of plans, remaining out of sight until he received the signal from Fennec. Calican reached around with one hand, binders proffered, and the Mandalorian took them with obvious loathing. His visor remained on Fennec as he locked in one wrist and Calican secured the other. “Bring him up,” she called.

Toro prodded Mando and the two trudged forward under Fennec’s watchful eye. Mando walked slowly, as much for the kid’s benefit as his own. The boy’s plaintive cries tugged at something in his chest. His mind turned; he needed time to think.

“You Mandalorians are a sentimental lot,” Fennec said. “You should know by now the only skin worth saving is your own.”

Din’s lip curled in a snarl. He could only look at the little boy in the mercenary’s arm and pray that if they made it out of here alive, he would forgive him.

The rookie’s face was inscrutable behind the wall of beskar. He hadn’t said a word in the entirety of the proceedings. If Fennec had been a hair faster, a touch more keen, she may have seen Mando’s cape ripple enough to cause some curiosity.

What happened instead under the darkness of a bay pitched black was the slightest shift in aim, the long barrel of Toro’s gun tucking between the Mandalorian’s ribs and bicep and firing straight.

Fennec grunted in pain— Plasma seared her side and sent her reeling off balance to her left; the gunslinger had shot her. She fell from the ramp into a roll, somehow still squeezing the kid to her chest with her good arm. Two more shots rang out above her and she pushed off the ground, rolling backwards with a growl beneath the belly of the ship.

The rookie yelled Shand’s name as he leapt off the gangplank of the Crest to follow her descent, leaving Mando bound and alone. Mando yelled after him but didn’t have time to figure out whose side he was on— He glanced down to the binders, thinking quickly. With a quick breath he braced himself and reached out with his bound wrists, bringing his arms back on either side of him, hard— The center links of the binders met the beskar plackart over his midsection with a loud SNAP. He tore the bindings apart and grabbed his blaster, leaping with one fluid motion into the fray.

Toro ducked as a laser bolt sailed past his ear, feeling the heat from another as it scorched the paneling above him. Fennec’s footsteps faltered in the sand somewhere near the display console with the Mandalorian’s not far behind. Toro checked around the corner of the office wall, squinting in the dark, the details of the garage layout only visible between Shand’s blaster fire and ricochets. He scrambled out to double back towards the bow and raced around it, hoping he was fast enough to cut her off. Holding a gathering charge on the Tempest, he saw movement in the shadows near an engine hoist. The handle of the blaster was starting to overheat but he needed a clear shot: Fennec’s braid whipped around as she grabbed the oscillating arm and threw her weight back into it, and Toro fired.

Too late it seemed, as she turned just in time to see him and drop into a crouch. The overcharged shot sailed past her and Toro cursed, the gun’s frame arcing with electricity.

Mando grunted in pain as the arm of the hoist swung into his chest with a CLANG that reverberated in his ears. Fennec had held tension in it until he’d rounded the starboard side of the ship before letting go, and the taut cord snapped back, the hit sending him off kilter and rattling his teeth. It was hard to find her in the dark; even with night vision she was as lean and lithe as her shadow, and he needed clarity of details the thermal imaging wouldn’t give him at this range. Now Calican was off somewhere trading plasma with Shand shot for shot, and Mando still hadn’t seen the child.

Stumbling to his feet Mando shook his head again to clear it, breathing heavily. Movement caught his eye beneath the landing gear and he ducked below the ship, catching Calican’s boot in hand and yanking him back.

Mando growled, hauling Toro up and slamming him against the hull. “Where’s the kid?”

Toro’s head hit metal and he gasped in pain— His eyes, unfocused, widened at something beyond Din’s shoulder. “Behind you!”

Toro grabbed Mando’s forearms and sunk to the ground; Din grunted at the dead weight, dropping along with him to the sand.

Ionized light spattered off the hull. Toro scrambled away as the Mandalorian ducked, and Toro shot behind him again, managing to fire Fennec’s blaster from her hand— She hissed in pain and pulled a blade from her belt instead, whipping it in Toro’s direction before immediately flinging another at the Mandalorian. The clumsy throw was easy to block, glancing off his vambrace instead and ricocheting toward the tool cabinet— It pierced a canister, depressurizing in a plume of thick gas. Toro yelped in pain, scrambling back farther and shielding his face. Several canisters of liquified gasses clattered against each other and fell as he grabbed the work table and vaulted away. Fennec flung another knife and Toro grunted, stumbling beneath the engine.

Mando’s whipcord shot out and caught one of Fennec’s ankles, pulling her foot out from beneath her as he yanked her closer. The kid cried out plaintively, and Din swore to himself that if the child was hurt he would kill Shand then and there without remorse. Fennec snarled, using her other boot to hook around the cord and plant it on the ground, hard, jerking him forward— As the line went slack she immediately brought both feet up and kicked him in the chest, sending him back into a stack of crates as he fell. She leapt to her feet and ran.

The Mandalorian stood and charged after the mercenary, the fury of lightning hot on her heels. He caught her at the stern, jabbed a well-aimed fist into her back and grappled for the kid; she doubled over, slamming a fist against the inside of his knee and buckling him with a yell. Her elbow cracked back against his helmet, and she took off towards the bow.

Fennec was starting to wheeze. Calican’s shot had lanced between her ribs at close range, and with every blow she traded with the Mandalorian she could feel herself breathing around fluid. At this point if she could get onto the ship and get airborne she’d consider it a victory, but every turn she’d taken around the crowded hangar had been met with a volley of blasterfire and near-misses. The kid wriggled against her weakening grip, her glove slippery with blood.

The silhouette of the Mandalorian appeared in front of her and she snarled again. The battering ram of approaching beskar halted in its tracks as she brought the kid up in front of her, her final blade jammed up against its side.

“If you take another step,” she seethed, “I will kill him.”

The Mandalorian was silent.

“Hands. Up.” Blood trickled from her nose and hair stuck to her face. She couldn’t hear any sign of Calican. She hoped the Mandalorian had snapped his scrawny neck. “If you so much as flex your wrist I’ll send this runt to the void. Don’t move.”

She circled him as he turned in place, keeping her eyes on his hands as she neared the gangplank. She backed up slowly, her breath hitching with every step. Her boot hit the edge of the ramp and she stepped up, back where she began not ten minutes before.

“Why’s this kid so important anyway?” Fennec spat viciously. Her curiosity would never be satisfied if she didn’t know. “Why break the Code? He’s not worth taking on a warlord and his army alone. Nobody is.”

“… He is to me.”

There was a moment suspended in time where they watched each other, motionless, before a blinding flash of light illuminated the bay, blistering her vision white. Fennec yelled and dropped the child, instinctively shielding her eyes from the flash.

And in a moment of searing, violent clarity Fennec Shand froze, illuminated by a burst of sparks. The sharp report of a blaster echoed through the night as she crumpled, lifeless, to the ground.

Mando kept a firm grip on his gun as he watched her for any sign of movement, cautiously crouching over the child in worry. He’d lunged for him the second Fennec let go and he pulled the trigger— The boy’s robe was smeared with blood and Mando didn't know what of it might have been his, but now as he examined the boy it seemed like the mess was entirely external. The child cooed, reaching for him without any notable signs of distress, and Din felt the weight of grief he’d readied himself for lift from his chest. The boy tucked his face into Mando’s cowl, curling his fingers in the fabric.

Toro came into view from behind the mechanic’s work table, the expended flash cartridge in hand. As the smoke cleared Mando regarded the rookie warily, turning his pistol to the gunslinger as he tucked the child into his chest and away from Toro's sight line. Toro's hands raised in a show of good faith.

"She told me you were a Guild traitor," Toro said, his expression unreadable. "Said you took back a target. That bringing both of you into the Guild would make me a legend."

He looked down to the child in Mando's protective hold and he sighed.

"She didn’t tell me the target was a kid."

He looked down at Shand and nudged her with his boot. The mercenary didn’t move.

“Guess that’s the end of that,” Toro muttered. “Whole job’s a bust.”

Din's steely gaze didn't waver. The younger hunter had managed to double-cross and get the drop on a master assassin and come out still standing on the other side. It was a feat rarely seen from greenhorns fresh in the field, much less from a spoiled rich kid from the Inner Rim. The thought of Din shooting him didn’t even seem to be on his mind. Toro Calican looked marginally worse for wear, nursing a gas burn and a wound on his shoulder from Shand’s blade, but there was no indication the gunslinger was planning to fight any longer.

“You really did break my binders too, didn’t you?”

Despite everything that had transpired that evening, the look of mild despair and accusation on Toro’s face almost made Din want to smile.

“Thanks for paying attention.”

There was a clatter of noise from behind the two of them: the hunters whipped their blasters around just in time to see Peli Motto barging in waving what looked like a wide-barreled, old-fashioned slugthrower at the two of them, stumbling over debris and the squawking pit droids hot on her heels.

“—ck off my lot before I fill you with buckshot!” she screeched, coming into view. “Which one of you hit me?! Where is she?!”

Din holstered his blaster, angling the kid away from Peli’s aim. “Easy, lady, it’s okay. She’s dead.”

Peli’s eyes darted to the body on the ground and her hackles lowered enough for her grip on the gun to slacken. “Oh. Oh good, okay. What about that one?”

Din looked back to the sheepish rookie.

“… I don’t think he’s going to be a problem.”

—

It took a hefty sum of credits from the kid and about an hour of baby therapy from the other kid before Peli largely forgave the two hunters for the ruckus they'd caused. Toro offered up the speeder bike in addition to a few gold centicreds for her work on Mando’s ship, which went a long way toward earning his way back into some measure of Peli's good graces. Before long she was back to disguising her usual good humor and mild chicanery with brusque customer service and gruff foremanship, ordering the droids to drag off the body while it was still dark and making Mando and Calican do some heavy lifting while she cleaned up the kid. She even managed to get a few jokes in at Toro's expense, prodding him when she thought he wasn't working hard enough and pushing him to stay busy.

When it came time for them to depart, she waved them off with a disinterested salute, hollering, “What are you waiting for, a kiss on the cheek? Get outta here!”

Toro snorted as the mechanic went back to the entrance of the bay to barter with some passing Jawas. He turned to Mando as Mando packed the rest of his gear.

"So listen," he started. "I know the job was a wash, and- You know, the whole deal with Shand, I…”

He huffed, putting his hands on his hips. The child amused himself toddling after the scrap mouse hopping in circles around him.

"I'm sorry the kid got put in danger." The apology sounded like it tasted bad, but he gave it anyway. "But... Look, I want to be a hunter and I could really use the mileage. You're good at what you do, and- and at the first sign of a problem you can dump me at whatever port you want, but I think we can work together, and I want to keep hunting. I’ll do anything you tell me to. Anything to get off Tatooine."

Mando knew it was coming, and he shook his head. "I'm not planning to take Guild work anytime soon." He knew Karga (if the covert hadn't killed him) would have suspended his credentials and flagged his Guild ID after he escaped with the child. The dogfight with Riot Mar and even Shand's knowledge of his breach of the Code solidified his status as a wanted man, to say nothing of whatever the Imps wanted the kid for; Din had thought he’d have more time to hole up somewhere before word started to travel. Now there were too many conflicting interests involved for them to stay anywhere but off the grid. "The kid and I are laying low for a while."

"Please," Toro implored him. "I need something to turn in to the Guild— Even proof that Shand’s dead won't get me much. They won’t believe me. I can take other contracts, build a reputation, I don't care, but I won't get far either way by myself."

"Freelance doesn't come with Guild resources or insurance." Mando continued to pack supplies. "They're gutter jobs for a reason and they don't guarantee pay if the client gets stingy once the job's done."

"Any trade takes experience," he argued. "If I get a reputation, the Guild's more likely to give me more work.

"You can't eat credibility."

Toro slammed a hand against the hull in front of the Mandalorian, blocking his path. "I already told you, I'm not worried about getting paid— I have my own money." The boy's eyes blazed with determination. "I'll pay my way if I have to, and you can have whatever we make on commissions. I promise. I’ll do whatever it takes. I just need this job."

Mando’s visor slowly turned to the younger man, waiting long enough for some of that fire in his eyes to die down. Toro’s jaw was set, but he dropped his arm back to his side.

“Answer me this,” Mando said after some deliberation. “Why do you have to be a hunter? Because if there’s anything else you can possibly do, do that instead.”

For the first time since the beginning of their conversation, Toro looked like he wasn’t going to tell him what was on his mind. Din scrutinized his expression, gauging his response.

“I have my reasons,” Toro said evasively. “If you really think I’m not worth your time, I’ll find somebody else.”

But then Toro unhooked the pouch of credits from his belt, holding it up.

“But I know I can pay you for passage to the next system.”

Mando weighed his options. Calican had a few redeeming qualities (as well as an envious amount of expendable cash on his person), but his double-cross was still fresh on Din's mind. The possibility of him doing more damage down the road wasn't something he wanted to gamble on. The mess with Shand had nearly cost the child his life, and Mando had only barely saved the boy from Nevarro a week ago. He normally traveled alone.

The child by Toro’s feet tripped and flopped onto one of Toro’s boots.

… Normally.

The boy looked up at the hunter with a grin, righting himself and climbing up onto his boot with both hands dug into the fabric of his pant leg. Toro smiled right back, balancing the kid on his foot and bobbing him up and down a few inches off the ground, much to the boy’s amusement.

Din cocked his head, watching him.

“… Okay,” he decided. “Passage to the next system. We’ll see where we go from there.”

Toro whooped in triumph even as Mando stooped to pick up the kid and brushed past him to board the Crest. Toro stuffed the rest of his belongings into his rucksack and called out confidently after Mando.

“You won’t regret this, partner!”

The Mandalorian stowed his gear, carrying the child with him as he remotely initiated the preflight checks. The rookie hurriedly grabbed his pack, boarding the gangway with a grin.

“Let’s hope not,” Din muttered to himself, and he climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

Notes:

A big thank you to @oloreaa, whose enthusiasm, encouragement, and willingness to listen while I talked ideas out is a big part of why I stayed motivated to finish and post this AU and chapter <3

The name of Toro’s gun comes from the model of airsoft pistol his prop in the show is based around

I don’t know if the term “baby therapy” is more a widely recognizable term or if it’s just one I’ve heard my own friends/family use often enough that it makes sense to me, but it’s meant to imply the level of calm and happiness one gets from cuddling a happy baby for an extended period of time. I don’t necessarily think it fits in with the in-universe style of writing I use for SW, but I couldn’t think of a more concise way to convey the idea lol

Next chapter >

[christinamadsen]

Don't Blame Me: Series

Summary: " The noise level in the cantina, dropped to zero slowly. Nadia frowned at what had caused it when her eyes landed to the doorway. A Mandalorian. She heard the stories. The fiercest warriors that could kill in seconds and lived for the danger and one was now standing in front of her."

Don't Blame Me can also be found on Ao3 and Wattpad

SEASON ONE:

Chapter One: The Mandalorian

Chapter Two: Nevarro

Chapter Three: Warming Up

Chapter Four: Weakling

Chapter Five: Starry Night

Chapter Six: Prepare For Battle

Chapter Seven: Toro Calican

Chapter Eight: The Real Traitor

Chapter Nine: The Bad And The Ugly

Chapter Ten: Close Call

Chapter Eleven: Assembling A Team

Chapter Twelve: Those We Can Trust

Chapter Thirteen: Moff Gideon

SEASON TWO

Chapter Fourteen: Mos Pelgo

Chapter Fifteen: Dragon Hunting

Chapter Sixteen: Crashing Down On Us

Chapter Seventeen: Frozen Fingers

Chapter Eighteen: Crossed Lines

Chapter Nineteen: My Girl

Chapter Twenty: Old Friends, Old Threats

Chapter Twenty One: Menace Aura

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Once Upon a Time on the Razor Crest

Summary: First steps to friendship

A/N: Hello lovelies,

I hope everyone had a good week. I just want to put this out there as someone who works in the medical field, please be kind to doctors, nurses, technicians, receptions, and cleaning crews.

Just be kind in general. I had a rough week with a very rude patient. It might not seem like much but after a while it takes a toll. So to everyone and anyone who needs to hear this, thank you for all the hard work you do.

Love oo

Due to the past history of the OC there will be discussions alluding to past domestic abuse, please note that as it could be a trigger for some.

Warnings: discussions of lunch, trying to avoid isolation, mentions of past trauma (blink and you'll miss it), discussions of being dirty (physically), possible mud (use your imagination). If I miss any warnings, please let me know.

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THE CRESTWORLD

CHAPTER NINE

As we watched Taika and Misty munching away, it made me remember we needed to eat too, “Din, what do you want for lunch? There’s some leftovers from last night’s dinner or I could make us a sandwich and salad …”

“You know…” he cut her off, realizing he needed to make more of an effort with her. 

Sure she was his employee, but he was also the only person she knew out here. Cobb and Fennec were always busy in town and the surrounding areas,  and Fennec had even less time than Cobb, being Boba’s right hand. Then there was Grogu, and as fun and enjoyable he was for a little kid, it wasn’t the same as having someone around her own age to hang out with. 

He nodded to himself, resolving he needed to do better, “You did a really good job today, Ann. Looking after Bessie, milking her, noticing there was something off about her. You could’ve easily brushed it off, or not even bothered to tell me about it. But you did, and because you did, I can tell you there will be a new addition to the ranch. Nerfs have a faster gestation than most quadrupeds. We should have a new addition in a month or two depending on if it’s a bull or calf. Not to mention you fed the nunas and collected the eggs, even though I know it freaks you out a little. I even noticed that you stamped the eggs with the date, and put them away. Cleaned out the pens as best you could … before I got here.” He smirked.

I tilted my head to look at him, resting my head on my arms that were propped on the railing of the corral. I didn’t say much, simply looking at him as I narrowed my eyes at Din, “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me, or if you’re being genuine”

He chuckled, as he glanced over to her, shaking his head. “Genuine, I’m being genuine,” he turned back to look at Taika and Misty, “plus, I owe you for this morning.” 

I smirked, focusing back on the horses, “So … does this mean, I’ll get a pay bump?”

“Ha! No.” He stood stretching, “However, I do believe, your good work today, and for my …”

“Assery?”

“That’s not even a word.”

“Words aren’t words, until you start using them more often”

Din shook his head laughing, “Anyway, I do believe this entitles you to lunch on me. How about we go into town for lunch? I know a good restaurant.”

“Oh, um … yeah, I guess…”

He hadn’t expected that reaction, “Do you not want to?” Din glanced over to her.

A thousand scenarios ran through my mind, my biggest concern was bringing danger to this small town, but … Fennec went through a lot to cover my tracks so I could make it here. I couldn’t keep hiding on the ranch like I was. I needed to stop letting my ex dictate terms. I needed to start living again. 

I closed my eyes, and reminded myself, I wasn’t that same weak girl, he initially married.

 “No. No.” I focused on the landscape before, taking in the beautiful mountains, the crisp air. I was far away from him. “I’m up for going into town. After all, I need to see more of this area, get to know the town and people. As beautiful as this ranch is, I can’t exactly be holed up here forever.”

“No. You can’t” he smiled.

 I smirked, as my eyes glanced down, looking over my dirty outfit, “Maybe I should change? Take a shower at least?” My hand subconsciously went to my forehead and hair, wiping away some of the sweat and dirt.

Din shrugged, “You can if you want to but there’s no need, we’re going to a diner, not some fancy five-star high-end Coruscant restaurant. Plus this is a farming town, we’re all used to being a little dirty.”

“Hmmm … Well, I guess, if you’re going like that” I motioned to his shirt, “then I guess I can go like this” I motioned to my less than stellar outfit.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” He looked down, sure there was dirt, hay, dust, some grass strains, and something … he hoped but wasn’t entirely sure was mud. The more he thought about it, the more he changed his opinion, “You know, now that you mention it, maybe a change of shirt wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

I chuckled, nodding in agreement, as he tried to flick a nondescript dark matter off his shirt towards me. I squealed, flinching away from him, increasing the distance between us. “Hey …” I held up my finger as I moved further away, “I’ll have you know, I have enough of my own questionable dark matter on me, I don’t need to take on yours, too.” I shouted over to him, when I was far enough away and headed back into the house.  

Din watched as she headed back to the house, slipping off her boots before she went in. 

He stood in the open glancing over to the pens, the horses grazing, and Bessie chewing away as she stood there looking at him, and he couldn’t remember a time he felt this content from cleaning the pens and grooming Taika and Misty. He shook his head, pushing his thoughts aside as he headed into the house to change.

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@littlemisspascal @sprout-fics @liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24 @spicymcnuggies @lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @tortor-mcgee @sarcasmismyonlydefense24 @chiyo13

[idungoofed]

Peli’s Wedding!

Din Djarin x Fem

Yeah yeah I know I know the crest is gone but it is alive in my head and how is one meant to get ready for a wedding in a teeny tiny N-1 Starfighter huh? HUH? (I am ignoring your screams for literally anywhere else.)

It’s Peli’s wedding! She’s getting married to Mok Shaiz’s Twi’lek majordomo, (As far as I can see he never got given an official name, and I thought it was funnier to work with that than use a name generator) and you’re invited along with Din and Grogu as well as some other familiar characters. Any wedding traditions I have pulled from my own personal experiences, and weaved it into my very limited knowledge of the Star Wars universe it is what it is. This had been super fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, just so much fluff. Soft!Din, helmet comes off, no use of Y/N, allusions to sex but no actual smut, and some fictional alcohol consumption.

Word count: 3,872

___

“Why do we have to go to this thing again?” Din sighed outside the fresher door, his voice coming out modulated beneath the helmet.

“Stop calling it ‘this thing’! It’s Peli’s wedding/” You say for what felt like the 100th time that day.

“And who’s she getting married to?” Ask’s Din, his tone challenging.

“The Twi’lek guy that used to be Mok Shaiz’s majordomo-“

“You don’t even know his name!” He exclaimed.

You could imagine him outside the door now, finger pointing as he accused you.

He wasn’t wrong, you had no idea what he was called; for some reason that guys name just wouldn’t stick in your head.

But that wasn’t important, you were all going for Peli anyway, and that was that.

It had been a surprise when you got the invite on the holopad, you’d seen Peli since your last visit to Mos Espa but she hadn’t let on she was even dating the Twi’lek, let alone wanting to marry him.

But you weren’t blind, and you saw the spark between them in the aftermath of the Pyke Syndicate showdown and Boba’s rancor destroying half of Mos Espa. They were an unlikely couple with Peli’s fiery nature and no nonsense personality, and his air of grandeur and love of the finer things in life, but you know all too well that opposites attract.

You’d been with Din for just over a year now, after he got you out of a sticky situation with a sore-loser Wookie and a game of sabacc.

Since then you took on the role of baby sitter to his adorable green kid, occasional mechanic, and what you liked to think a giant loveable pain in his arse.

You were a talkative ray of sunshine compared to Dins brooding quietness. (And he realised quickly his menacing, helmed stare had zero effect on quelling your bouts of talkativeness.

He could of gotten rid of you, but he didn’t, because under all his sighing, arm-crossing and unimpressed head tilts at you, he would miss you too much if you were gone. The Crest felt brighter to him with you around, and Din had needed that light when things got dark.

You’d seen Din through some rough times what with losing the kid, getting him back, and then watching the heartbreak of Din giving him up to the Jedi.

You grew closer after that, seeking comfort from the gaping green hole that was left in both your hearts. The simmering attraction between you two seemed to break like a dam, and one night on the Crest, after too many spotchkas and reminiscing of your time with the child, you ended up in a tangle of limbs in Dins small bunk. It was the only good that came of the loss of Grogu- you and Din realising how much more you needed each other now.

Then who showed up in the middle of a war ground in Mos Espa? Grogu. Of course. Saving his father with the force at the last minute once again. Your happy family together and complete.

—

You finished the last few touches of your hair having opting to wear it down for once, and rechecked your make up.

The dress your wore was made of a silky green material that hugged your curves in all the right places. It was the first time you were getting to wear it, having impulsively bought it in a market on Coruscant.

You looked at yourself in the fresher mirror one last time.

“Are you almost done?” Called Din through the door, “We’re going to be late if we don’t-“

His words died in his throat by you pressing the button to open the door.

You stood before him, slightly taller than he was used to with your heels on, and looking more beautiful than he had ever seen you.

Dins silent stare unsettled you, and you started worrying about your appearance, your hand coming up to fiddle with the tendrils of hair around your face.

“What?” You ask, brow crinkling. “Is it too much?”

Din took two slow steps towards you, his body crowding yours. “You look… beautiful.” He said, his hand coming up to cup your face as his other came to the lip of his helmet and pulled it off.

You only caught a glimpse of his handsome face before his lips claimed your own. His hand that was on your face traveled down, landing on your hip, his thumb making small sensual circles.

“You know, we could just go to the evening reception?” He said pulling his lips away. You’d gotten to know the look in his eyes all too well over the past months, and you couldn’t deny it was tempting, but you hadn’t spent the best part of the last hour making yourself up for nothing.

You bring your hands up to his face, and lean in close as if to kiss him, but before your lips connect you pull back. “What? And risk ruining my hair? I don’t think so.”You pat his cheek. “Down boy.” You can’t help the smirk that spreads across your face at the sight of Din rolling his eyes. You duck under his arms out of reach, but not before catching sight of the resigned smile on his face.

You walk over the where Grogu was currently napping, gathering him in your arms and transferring him to his floating crib. He coo’d in his sleep as you fuss over a little ribbon you’d fashioned into a bow tie, and attached to his clothing under his chin.

“Okay, I think we’re ready.” You say when satisfied with the child’s appearance and turn back to Din, his helmet firmly back in place. “Just one thing before we go.”

“What?”

“You really wearing that?” You ask, gesturing to his usual attire of brown flight suit and shiney beskar armour.

Din crosses his arms over his chest, his weight shifting to one leg as his visor stares back at you menacingly.

“Just kidding!” You say as you walk past him and out the shop door, unable to hold in your burst of laughter.

You wouldn’t have him any other way.

__

It doesn’t take long for you and Din to walk to the wedding venue - Peli’s ship yard. Although it was hard to even recognise the place with all the decorations.

The bulk of the yard had been cleared out, which basically meant any ship parts had been pushed to the sides. Streamers were hung from one side of the yard to the next, while colourful flowers adorned the walls and sat in anything that could be used as a container.

In the middle of the yard two rows of chairs sat facing a small makeshift podium adorned with an floral arch. Two pit droids were currently tugging a chair back and forth in an argument over how many were needed for each row.

There were a number of other guests milling around in the yard already, many you didn’t know, however there were a few you did.

The Frog Lady you and Din had helped get to Trask was standing to one side, her husband next to her as their three froglets played at their feet.

You wave at them and as soon as the now awake Grogu spotted them began to fuss in his crib wanting out.

“Okay kid, you can say hi.” You say, picking him up and setting him on the ground, but in an after thought say, “But try keep clean, don’t forget you’re the flower kid!”

“And no trying to eat them.” Din says to Grogu, wagging his finger which earns him a long-suffering look from the green child.

Making the most of a second alone, Din wraps his arms around your waste and pulls you to his chest. “You really do look stunning today, cyar’ika.”

You place you hands on the cool metal of his chest plate, smiling and look up into his visor. “Thank you, Din, you’re looking particularly shiny today.”

He huffs a laugh out at your silly compliment, shaking his head.

You hear your names called from across the yard. You turn and leave Dins embrace, and spot Boba and Fennec walking over to you.

Boba was in his usual attire of green and red Mandalorian armour, although you could tell it had been polished recently and there were fewer dents that usual. Fennec, was attracting stares from the male - and some female, guests. Looking stunning in a black dress, not too dissimilar to her usual attire, it had a practical style with thigh splits for easy movement and where you could see glimpses of multiple weapons holstered, and a high neck and capped sleeves.

“Boba! Fennec!” You greeted them, pushing Boba’s out-stretched hand out the way and going in for a hug, before moving on to Fennec.

He was another man in your life who you refused to let their cold exterior intimidate you. You saw yourself how he coo’d over his rancour; he was a big softie under that beskar.

As the four of you made small talk the droids started gathering the guests towards the empty chairs ready to begin the ceremony.

You turned to get Grogu, who to all appearances was attempting to lick one of the froglets arms.

“Grogu!” You scold, scooping him up, luckily before Frog Lady saw. “Was eating half of their unborn siblings not enough?” You whisper to him.

Grogu stared up at you, the picture of innocence.

“Yeah, you’re lucky you’re so cute.”

___

The ceremony went off without a hitch, Grogu did his job perfectly, leaving a little trail of petals down the isle. Well almost perfectly - he did stuff a few handfuls in his mouth as he went, much to the amusement of guests.

The word beautiful didn’t do Peli justice, she looked straight up bad ass as she strutted down the isle. She wore a white fitted jumpsuit and topped it off with a matching blazer with black lapels. Her curly hair bounced around her face and was adorned with tiny white flowers.

You almost made it through the first set of vows before you crumbled, the joyous emotions of the day finally getting to you. Luckily you weren’t the only one, a Jawa in the opposite row seemed to be taking it pretty hard.

Din glanced at you, doing a double take when he saw your teary eyes. “Mesh’la are you really crying?” He whispered, not unkindly.

You nodded, grabbing the only thing you could to try mop up your face - Dins cape.

He let out an amused sigh next to you. “Do you have to use that? You’re gonna get it all snotty.”

“I just love love, you know?! Look at them, they’re just so happy together!” You hiccup, eyes on the bride and groom.

Din didn’t take his eyes from your face, bringing his hand up he caught a stray tear on your cheek with a gloved finger. “Yeah, they really are.”

__

Confetti showers around you as Peli walks back down the isle, hand in hand with her new husband. You still didn’t know his name as Grogu let out a loud gurgle during the vows causing you to miss it again.

Grogu squeals on Dins lap as he tries to catch the paper flecks in his tiny hands.

You hadn’t been able to stem your tears yet, you couldn’t help it - weddings just made you feel all gooey and emotional with love

Din wraps his arm around you. “Did you see Peli slip him the tongue?”

You laugh-sob and dab at your eyes with Din’s cloak still clutched in your hands. “Yeah” You say, sniffing. “It was beautiful.”

You hear a modulated huff of a laugh in your ear as Din lowers his head down to bump gently against yours in a chaste keldabe kiss.

__

The evening reception started with the bride and grooms first dance. Peli led her Majordomo on to the dance floor and then proceeded to lead in the dance as well. It was typical Peli, but her new husband didn’t seem to mind.

You adored watching them glide across the floor to the music, eyes only for each other. It was beautiful, but turned slightly awkward when they unabashedly started making out, Peli’s hands making their way south to grip her new husbands butt.

The other guests that had been watching started finding their feet or the decorations above very interesting, and you took that as your cue to take Grogu back to his crib.

The music wound down as you stepped away with Din behind you, but before you could go far you heard Peli screech your name.

“Where are you going missy?! I’m about to chuck this thing and I need you front and centre!” She called to you, waving her bridal bouquet in the air.

You turned back around, eyes darting between Peli and Din. It’s not like you didn’t want to join in, you loved wedding traditions, but this one? You loved Din, and knew he loved you - you’d told each other as much when your relationship shifted from friendship to more, and although of course you wanted to be more - Din’s riduur, you didn’t want to feel like you were forcing the idea on to him.

Before you could make your next move, Din stepped in front of you and plucked Grogu from your arms.

He leaned in close to you. “You better not keep the bride waiting.”

You looked up him, your brows knitted together. “You know what this tradition means right?” You ask.

Din simply nods his head and nudges you forward. You didn’t catch what he whispered to Grogu after.

A grin stretches across your face as his words sink in. You jut your chin forward and straighten your shoulders, and with an air of confidence take your place among the small crowd of other female guests.

Peli tosses the bouquet over her head, and you’re jostled by the women around you, getting pushed towards the back of the group. Peli had over-shot, the flowers on course to tumble over your heads. However just as you thought it was going to pass you by, it seemed to hit an invisible wall, stopping it in its tracks, and causing it to tumble down into your waiting hand.

You raise the bouquet over your head victoriously, while the other females groaned in disappointment. Your eyes find Din, and you excitedly skip over to him.

You can hear his husky laugh as you reach him. “That’s my girl.”

“You know some would call that cheating.” You say not in the least bit mad about it, and then ruffle the top of Grogu’s head. “Thanks little guy.”

“So Mando! I guess it’s your turn next!” Taunts Peli good-naturedly from behind you.

Din looks down at you through his visor, and although you couldn’t see it, a smile was forming on his handsome face. “I guess it is.”

___

The party was in full swing, the band from the local cantina playing up-beat numbers that have you wiggling your shoulders and tapping your feet in your chair. The dance floor was starting to fill up with people throwing shapes.

“Okay I’m going in.” You say downing the last of your drink and turning to Din. “Fancy joining me?”

“You know I don’t dance.”

“Oh come on, just one? Please?” You plead, it wasn’t as fun dancing on your own, and Grogu was fast asleep again in his crib.

“No. I’ll watch.” Said Din, and you knew there was no point in begging by the finality of his tone.

“Fine.” You huff and shimmy towards the dance floor. You turn and try once more to change your Mandalorians mind, swinging and catching him with an invisible lasso, but he just crosses his arms and shakes his helmed head, so you shrug and dive into the crowd.

__

You come back to the table a few times, the first to kick your heels of, and then only in quick visits to gulp at your drink in an attempt to cool down before darting off again.

“Instead of staring at her longingly why don’t you ask her to dance?” Said Boba across the table from Din, which was littered with party poppers and empty glasses.

“I can’t dance.” Replied Din matter of factly.

“I don’t think she cares, Mando, I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She’s turned down every male here who’s asked her to dance, she only wants you.”

Din looked from Boba and back to you, as you hold your nose and mime going under water with the Frog Lady and Peli.

He sighs heavily, knowing Boba was right, and pushes himself up from the chair to head towards you. As he does the song changes to a slower number, and he watches as Frog Lady and Peli pair off with their husbands.

You stand there, looking around at the different couples pairing off to dance together, and are unable to stop the pang of jealousy. You turn, deciding you better go back to the table to wait the slow dance out. Although as you do, you almost walk straight into Din.

“Will you dance with me, mesh’la?” He asks, his voice only loud enough for you to hear.

The smile that lights up your face makes Din wish he asked you sooner. He places his hands on your hips as you wrap yours around his neck, resting your head against his chest plate, and start to gently sway to the music.

Din says your name. “I’m sorry I can’t dance.”

You look up to him and follow where his visor is pointed - at the Frog Lady and her husband who were gracefully pirouetting around the dance floor.

You bring your fingers to the side of his helmet, turning his face to yours. “Hey, I don’t care about that, just having you here is enough, I love you Din, a few bad dance moves won’t change that.” You finish with a smirk.

Your Mandalorians shoulders judder under your arms as he lets out a chuckle. “I love you too cyar’ika.” He said, lowering his head to yours.

___

As the evening winds down to an end, you bid goodnight to Boba and Fennec who were finishing off another bottle of spotchka - those two could drink, and wave goodbye to Frog Lady.

The bride and groom had disappeared into Peli’s office a while ago, and you were /not/ about to interrupt them. You didn’t need that image burned into your brain.

You both approached the Crest arm in arm with Grogu still fast asleep in his crib floating in front of you.

“I’m not quite tired just yet, I’m going to look at the stars from the roof.” You say, entering the ship.

“No!” Din busts out, causing you to snatch your hand away from the ladder you were about to climb.

He clears his throat, tripping over his words. “It’s just… I… Grogu wants you to put him to bed!”

You raise an eyebrow, and look over at Grogu. “But he’s not even awake-“

“He told me earlier.” Din says, dashing to the ladder and disappearing through the hatch.

“Ohh-kay.” You say completely bewildered. Told him? How?

When you carry Grogu to the his little hammock he wakes briefly, wining at the disturbance, but he quickly settled back down into the nest of blankets you create for him. All the while you can hear Dins heavy footsteps moving around above you, at one point hearing something skitter across the floor and a resulting, “Dank Farrik!”.

After you hear him climb the second ladder to the ships roof you double check Grogu is asleep, stop by the fresher and then head on up.

Your head breaches the hatch and your eyes widen at the sight before you. Candle’s flicker on the roof, their soft light glinting off the metal exterior and the armour of the man standing before you. His helmet is discarded at his feet next to Peli’s bridal bouquet.

“Din? What’s-“

“Come here, mesh’la.” He says, his voice soft and his hands reaching for you.

You move toward him, picking out a path through the candles, and when you’re in front of him he takes your hands in his. He’d removed his gloves and his hands were soft and warm against your own.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you… ask you something for a while now, I just didn’t know how yet.” He says, voice hushed as he studies your entwined hands.

You blink up at him, waiting for him to reveal where he was going with this.

He breaths your name, and looks up into your eyes. You swallow down a gasp at the raw emotion behind them.

“You’ve been the brightest star in my night sky, if I didn’t have you by my side after Grogu left… I don’t think I would of gotten through the heartbreak.”

You open your mouth but he shakes his head as to say he’s not finished. “You held me together, and didn’t stop or let go even when he came back. You’re a part of our family… and, if you’d like, I’d like if you were a part of our clan too.”

Your eyes are brimming with tears at his confession, your heart so full you feel you’d be able to see it thudding in your chest. “What do you want to ask me, Din?” You say barely above a whisper.

“Will you be my riduur?”

You’re only able to utter a simple “Yes.” before Din’s mouth crashes down to your own. You kiss him back with equal passion, tears spill over as you close your eyes and relinquish yourself to him. There’s so many things you want to say that you instead pour into the kiss. How much you love him too, how long you’ve wanted him to utter them words, and how complete it makes you feel to be officially wanted as a part of their clan.

You break the kiss to catch your breath, and Din’s fingers swipe at the tear tracks on your cheeks.

“Don’t cry, sweet girl.”

“Sorry, I just love-“

“Love.” He finishes for you, chuckling. “I know.”

Din takes leads you to the blanket you hadn’t yet noticed under the candles, and you both settle down on it, lying back with you snuggled under Din’s arm, head resting on his broad chest.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” Asks Din.

“You might of mentioned it once or twice.” You answer playfully.

“Hmm, not nearly enough then.” He says, holding you tighter.

You glance over to his other side where his helmet sits next to the flowers, and a thought clicks in your head.

“Peli was totally in on this wasn’t she?” You ask, hearing laughter rumble through Din.

“She might of helped.” He admits.

You both break into laughter, clinging to each other, your future together spread out under a blanket of starlight and Tatooines three moons hanging full in the night sky above.

__

Thanks for reading!💕

Don’t mind me just tagging some lovelies: @insomniamamma @heythere-mel @whataenginerd @mildlyhopeless

[martamatta95]

In my head, at the end of Season 3 of the Mandalorian

Din is preparing for the final battle, there are all the allies and friends he met in the past seasons (the Nite Owls, Ashoka, Luke, Peli, Paz, The Armorer. In short, everyone he met).

The latest arrivals before the battle are Boba and Fennec aboard Slave I.

Din goes to greet them along with the others, but is paralyzed as soon as he sees Cobb getting off the ship.

"Hey Mando", greets the marshal with his charming smile and showing an elaborate prosthesis in place of his right arm, "I felt, you needed all the help we could and...".

Din runs towards him, frightening the marshal from his reaction and fearing that he has done something wrong, the same thought is felt by all those who look at them.

But Din hugs Cobb tightly, placing his forehead on that of the marshal in a clear kiss from Keldabe.

"I thought you were dead..." Din tells him sincerely.

Cobb smiles returning the hug and pressing his forehead with more force on the cold helmet.

"You know what they say, the news of my death has been exaggerated", Cobb replies with a smile.

Din laughs, hugging him harder.

Never before have those present heard Mando laugh so easily.

Peli snorts a laugh, "If I had known before that there was a specimen of this kind among those Dunes I would have rushed to look for it... For Mando of course...".

"Who the hell is he? Why does he have all this confidence with the Mand'alor?!", criticizes Paz.

Fennec snorts, "From the way they behave, his future husband".

Boba: I'm sure Cobb doesn't know that's a kiss.

The Armorer: I'm sure Din don't know that a kiss from Keldabe performed in front of relatives and friends is tantamount to a marriage proposal.

*

One of my dreams is to see Cobb take on Paz, after he threatens or offended Din for some reason, and kick his ass in front of Din.

[604to647]

Sweet talk, dirty talk, our boy’s got a mouth on him 🥵😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Thank you so much for reading and your support!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Safest with You - Ch. 3 (The Drycleaner)

3.2K / Modern AU Retired Mob Enforcer!Din Djarin x fem!reader

Summary: You listen to a sign from the universe and it leads you to Din.

Warnings: Some pining and then more fluff 💕 although Reader is a bit of menace as she straight up ogles Din like a piece of meat 😂, brief mention of female masturbation, reader is described as shorter than Din, first use of pet name “Pretty Bird”.

A/N: The series is slow but sometimes falling in love be like that. I pinned a series masterlist, so you can always jump to the smutty one shots that happen later in the timeline when these two are in an established relationship if you need a fix. The fact that Din boxes is 100% attributed to @djarinsbeskar's Boxer!Din AU which was the very first Din fic AU I ever read on Tumblr and remains one of my favourites and one I revisit often; making Din a former boxer/owner of a boxing gym is my small but humble homage to Rachel's genius. Also from that same AU is this piece of art from one of my favourite artists, @kate-komics that I think about often also. Thank you both for the inspiration!

“He bought you books?!?”

“Well, technically, he bought us all books.”

The whole table laughs; your friends were delighted when you handed out the books, but they’re entralled at the background story that comes with.

“And he didn’t leave you his number or anything?”

“No! Told the cashier he didn’t want to want me to feel ‘obligated’.”

“It’s okay, babe.  We’ll find him,” nods Katie, whipping out her phone. 

Bea starts typing on her phone as well, “Right.  He said his name is Din?  How do you spell that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it short for something?”

“I don’t know.”

“How old is he?”

“I don’t know.  40s?  He’s greying,” you picture Din’s soft curls and bury your face in your hands, “it looks so fucking good on him.” 

“Where does he work?”

“I don’t know.  Not downtown.”

“Well, what does he do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Babe. What do you know?”

“I know his coffee order is Ice Quad Expresso in a Venti cup with extra ice and six shots.”

“Ok, so we know he probably has a heart condition.”

Everyone bursts out laughing.  Your friends have good reason to be so enthusiastic – it’s been ages since someone has caught your eye.  You don’t date a lot, and that’s always been your preference.  You have a picky temperament to begin with, but the truth is, you’re happy and at peace with the way your life is now after years of hard work.  There simply hasn’t been room or a need for a partner, and your friends don’t push you to date (except Jen who always reminds you that there’s a guy at her firm she wants to set you up with, but even that’s more in good fun than anything).  But right now, you look flushed and besotted over this stranger; positively smitten.  They love it for you.

After a few minutes, no one has found anything on social media, any dating apps or Google – admittedly, there wasn’t much (anything?) to go on, but you’ve seen these girls work internet detective miracles before.

Oh well. 

You sigh, “I need to get drunk and forget him.  Or painfully obsess over every detail I can remember about him.”

And you all cheers to that.

---

Huh.

A week later on the Saturday, you’re out running errands, and you find yourself standing in front of your drycleaner which has unexpectedly closed.  A handwritten sign in the window reads: “Emergency Closure.  Reopening to be announced.”

The drycleaner’s is supposed to be your first stop of the day and you don’t really feel like carting your dirty clothes with you to run the rest of your errands.  Moreover, you’ll need a few of the items in the coming weeks.  You take out your phone to look up other drycleaners in the area when something in your mind clicks: Peli’s Drycleaning on 14th.  You search it and see it actually exists, and has a pretty good rating to boot.  But, it’s sort of out of your way, not really in the same area you’re in at all.

You shouldn’t go.

Should you go?

And what if you do?  Do you… ask about Din?  That’s weird. 

But you’ve been thinking about him non-stop all week: daydreaming about his soft smile during your work commute, remembering the flex of his strong hand covering yours as you answer emails, getting lost in thoughts of his big brown eyes while out walking the dog.  You flush at the memory of touching yourself in bed while recalling his deep and rich voice.  Every attempt to forget your handsome Quad Ice over the past week has utterly failed.

Eff it. What are the chances that you unexpectedly need a new drycleaner, and it happens to be the only thing tangentially related to Din that you know.  Maybe the universe is trying to help you out.

Before you can characteristically overthink it, you flag down a cab and give the driver the address you looked up; your heart pounds the entire ride over.

When you step into drycleaner’s, a little bell above the door jingles to signal your arrival, and a short woman with a huge amount of curly dark hair appears from the back.  You think she might be Peli, but you can’t be sure; she gives you a huge smile and gestures to take in your clothes.  Finding her to be super friendly and chatty, the two of you make easy small talk as she neatly lists out your items by hand on her notepad.  When she gets to the coffee stained skirt, she lets out a low whistle, “Oof.  Been there, done that!” she quips.  You decide this is probably the best opening you’ll get, “Actually, that coffee stain is probably why I’m here.  Someone saw it and recommended your place.”  Peli raises her eyebrow as you press on, “His name is Din, he said he’s a friend of the owner?”

This gets her attention; the woman stops what she’s doing and studies you with great interest.  Her face breaks out into an impossibly wide smile and she exclaims loudly, “Din sent you, eh?  And he said we were friends?”  she lets out a deep belly laugh, “Babysat him when he was a kid, but yep we’re friends. Ha!  Hi, I’m Peli!”  She shakes your hand as you introduce yourself. “He said to mention his name and you would try harder not to lose my clothes,” you tease. 

“That scamp!” chortles Peli, “Don’t worry!  We’ll take good care of you!  You know… because of Din.” She rolls her eyes good naturedly.

“Of course.  Because of Din,” you grin back, “So…does he send a lot of… people who need drycleaning, your way?”

“Nope!  You’re the first!  And honestly, now that I think about it, why hasn’t he been sending me more business?”

You figure it’s now or never, “Do you know where I could find him?”

If possible, Peli brightens even more at your question, “Oh yeah, for sure!  At this time of day, he’ll be at his gym.  It’s about 2 blocks that way,” she points in the direction for you, “can’t miss it!  Big sign that says ‘Mando’s Gym’.”

Peli finishes taking down your information for the clothes and lets you know when everything can be ready.  You give her an enthusiastic thanks; when opening the door to leave, you have a moment of hesitation, but looking back, you find Peli already pointing in the direction of the gym.  You give her a smiling nod and head that way.

---

Peli was right.  You can’t miss the sign; it sits atop of a standalone three story building that’s set further back on its lot.  The front area of the lot looks like it might have once been a driveway of sorts, but is now used as a parking lot; a handful of parked cars lets you know the gym is fairly busy today.  The front of the building has giant windows that look like garage doors and makes you think that the building might have once been a mechanic repair shop; from the little of what you can see inside, you think the gym occupies the first floor of the building and possibly the second.  The big set of garage door windows are separated in the middle by an entry way that you walk through, slightly nervous.  Once inside, you see a reception but currently no one behind the small desk; instead, you peek around the partial wall behind the desk and see that the space opens up to a clean, spacious room that has about 8-10 people working out on various machines and boxing bags and equipment lining the walls, all leading to a larger group of people clustering near the boxing ring centered at the back of the room.

You’re making your way towards the back, scanning over the group looking for Din when you spot him, right in the middle of the ring.  He’s got his gloved hands up, blocking part of his head, but you can still tell it’s him; when you hear him shouting encouraging words to his sparring partner, his familiar voice sends a shiver up your spine.  He’s wearing a sweat drenched grey t-shirt and his hair is messy and wet from his work out, but he looks even better than you remember.

Actually, he looks fucking delicious.  From this angle you can see the cut of his jawline and how it tightens as his grunts and pants.  His arms are flexed from his forearms up to his biceps, and are so muscular they’re straining hard against his shirt sleeves.  You must be straight up ogling him because you don’t even realize when Din notices you; you’re too busy looking at his legs and admiring how his thighs fill out his navy blue shorts so snugly.  You only look up when those same legs start walking in your direction and come to a stop at the edge of the ring.  Din is leaning towards you against the rope with a heart-stopping smile, “It’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me,” you grin, repeating back his words to you from the bookstore.

Din thinks he must be dreaming, or maybe he’s been knocked in the head one too many times today.  He had just paused the fight to show Jimmy the new combination again, when he looked over to see the prettiest sight.  You, standing in his gym, soft and dainty, with a wide eye expression on your face.  You’re looking in his direction, but when you don’t make eye contact with him immediately, Din allows himself the smug thought that you might be liking what you see and he puffed his chest out a little before making his way to you.

Now you’re looking at him with that same pretty smile that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head for the last week, and he can’t wait to talk to you again, “Are you okay to wait for 5 minutes?  We’re just finishing up this training session.”

You nod agreeably, “Sure, I can wait.”  There’s a bench running along the right side of the ring where you take a seat to better enjoy the show.  You’ve never seen boxing up close before, so you don’t know what to expect, but you find yourself mesmerized by everything Din is doing in the ring.  All his movements are intentional and graceful; he’s in total control of every motion he makes: ducking, blocking, punching.  All his muscles are flexed and his shirt stretches tight, barely containing them as if Din himself is an extension of the explosive power harnesses in his fists.  The legs that you were drooling over earlier are quick and agile; it’s true you don’t know his age but his sparring partner looks to be in his mid-20s and Din is having no problem out maneuvering him.

As he circles the other fighter, you think you spy some ink on a flash of some exposed skin and the idea of exploring what’s underneath Din’s shirt has you swallowing hard.  In short, you can’t take your eyes off of him. 

The 5 minutes is action packed and over before you know it.  In one continuous smooth motion, Din ducks under the rope, jumps down and grabs a fresh towel from a stack on the other end of the bench you’re sitting on before sliding over to sit next to you.  He looks at you almost bashfully as he towels off his hair and wipes the sweat from his brow and neck.  You think you could get used to seeing him like this: cheeks pink from exercise, bright eyes glued to yours and a grin so wide it reveals a deep dimple in his right cheek that you’re discovering for the first time.  He’s taking your breath away and you haven’t even been back in his presence for more than 10 minutes.

“What brings you to this part of town today, pretty bird?”

If anyone else had bestowed a pet name on you so soon after having met, you would have immediately gotten the ick, but the endearment rolling off Din’s tongue sounds so natural and sweet, it has you melting, “Some handsome guy bought me a thick stack of books and then made it nearly impossible for me to thank him.  Tracked him down to this gym.”

“Handsome guy, eh?”

“Yep.  Real handsome.  And sweet.  You know anyone around here like that?” you tease.

Handsome.  You think he’s handsome. Din thinks his heart is in danger of no longer fitting in his chest.  He holds his hand up to his brow, as if to shield his eyes from the light, and mines looking around gym in an exaggerated manner, “Nope.  Just a bunch of smelly, sweaty ruffians.  Owner’s a handsome guy though, maybe you’re looking for him,” he says, eyes twinkling.

“You own this gym?”

“Sure do.  Used to be my dad’s.”

“Well, he would be proud of you and what you’ve done here, Din.  It looks great.”  You mean it, and you look around the gym with a renewed sense of awe now that you know Din is the one responsible for its operations.

Din’s not sure how you knew the exact thing to say to make his heart swell, but he knows without a doubt that you’re being genuine and he is reminded again of your kind nature. 

You look back to see Din looking at you with a soft expression and before you let yourself get lost in his eyes, you force yourself to pull it together, “Oh Din!  I can’t believe I didn’t say this right away: Thank you!! Thank you for the books.  It was so incredibly unexpected and sweet!  My friends also say thank you – a few of the books you bought were for them.”

“You’re very welcome.  Have you enjoyed the books?”

You’re warmed by how thoughtful Din is, and you let him know the books are turning out to be great and you and your friends can’t believe how long you’ll have to wait for the next instalment to come out.

“Do you have plans to read tonight, or would you happen to be free?”

Even though you had been hoping that Din would ask you out, your heart leaps into your throat now that it’s happening.  “I think I should be!  If I finish up this list of errands I’m supposed to get to today, that is.  Giving Peli my drycleaning was only the first item,” you lament. 

“Peli!  Is that how you found me?  Clever girl.”

You beam at Din’s praise.  You realize you haven’t explained how you knew where he was, “As luck would have it, my regular drycleaner was unexpectedly closed.  Nearly derailed my whole errand day until I remembered you mentioning you had a friend who ran a drycleaning business.  Something else I need to thank you for.”

“I’m glad I could help.  Well, if you have a bunch of errands you have to finish before you can go out with me tonight, I’m going to scoot you out of here right now so you don’t cancel. Scoot!”  Din adds a silly shooing motion with his hands as he says this, so you know he’s not seriously trying to get rid of you.  You giggle, but nod, eager to get on with your tasks so that your date with Din might come sooner.

Din asks you if you need a ride, but you tell him you’ll be fine and tease, “Hey!  I don’t want you putting off your work and then backing out either, mister.”

“Not a chance,” grins Din.

As you walk together towards the front of the gym, Din lets you know how much he’s been thinking about you,  “I’m really glad you came to here today.  I was about to camp out everyday at the coffeeshop in the morning and then that bookstore in the afternoon until I found you again.”

“Who would have looked after the gym if you did that?”

Din looks around at the gym; some of the boxers and staff that had been watching the two of you look away quickly and pretend to busy themselves to avoid being caught staring.  “Shoot.  This place probably would have burned down.  Looks like you just saved the gym.”

You can’t help but giggle again and Din feels a growing sense of pride in being able to make you laugh.  “How about tonight I take you out to dinner as a thank you?”

Giving him an incredulous look, you answer, “I should be taking you out to dinner to thank you.”

“I don’t think so, pretty bird.”

The nickname shoots straight to your core again. 

Din stretches himself up to his full height and looks down at you with mock stern expression, cocking his eyebrow.

You can’t say you’re at all intimidated even though he towers over you; you’ve long since felt that Din’s company spelled safety.  But to play along, you counter by looking him up with your biggest pleading eyes.  Din feels instantly disarmed and knows in this instant that he will never be able to refuse you anything.

He suggests a compromise, “How about we go for dinner and fight about the check there?”

“Ok.  But just so you know, I’m not used to losing,” you challenge playfully.

“Me neither.” Din tilts his head slightly to draw your attention to the wall you’re standing next to.  It’s the other side of the divider wall you rounded when you came in, and you see that it’s covered with awards, certificates, and articles lauding Din’s boxing accomplishments.

Amazed, you skim over the honours and achievements, “This is you?  Wow – you’re incredible Din!  …9 times weight division champion? Oh man, now I don’t know if I can take you.”

“I bet you could,” from the look on Din’s face, you’re sure that the double meaning is meant as a tease, but you can’t help squirming a little.

Blushing, you relent, “Ok, you can pay for dinner.  But I still have to thank you for the books.”

Din is finding your persistence on this point to be adorable, “Your ‘thanks’ is enough.  No need to feel like you owe me; it was a gift.”

“I know.  I just have an outrageous sense of reciprocity.  I really do want to find a way to thank you somehow.”  You reach up and put your hand on Din’s shoulder to hold yourself steady as you lift up onto your toes and kiss him on the cheek.  Despite having just gone who knows how many rounds in the ring, he smells incredible and you can’t help but linger your lips on his cheek.  You exhale softly and hold Din’s gaze as you slowly lower down to your normal height.

Din looks as effected as you feel, “Remind me to buy you some more books.”

Both of you laugh, now giddy about the prospect of seeing each other again in a few hours.  You exchange numbers and Din promises to text you later with the address of the restaurant he’ll meet you at tonight.

Heading down the street, heart aflutter and fingers trembling with excitement, you take out your phone and text the group chat: I found him.