#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

[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

[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.

[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

[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.

[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.

[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

[oonajaeadira]

LOSING MY RELIGION: CHAPTER 11: FUSION

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Post Season 2 Din Djarin x force sensitive reader (fem, post-Order 66 Jedi). Soft, slow burn on both sides, internal struggles and feels. Alternating POV.

Warnings: Non-explicit sex  (P&V, consensually non-protected). Disgusting levels of love and admiration, yearning, fluff. Very little plot, just a barfing of emotional sludge.

A/N: Usually the land of no apologies, I can’t in good conscience do that here. I am super sorry for this. I didn’t keep anyone else in mind but my own needs and wants and have found myself to be a very selfish writer. Every single scene is overly indulgent and I just got addicted to the serotonin-addled goo. Don’t look at me, I’m hideous in my hedonistic tendencies.

Summary: You and Din experience a synthesis, in more ways than one.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST - LMR MASTERLIST

←-Previous Chapter 10: The Deception

________________

PART 1: DIN DJARIN

Your heartbeat will pound in Din’s ear as he lays his head against your breast, sticking to you as the sweat from your bodies seal your skin to each other in a warm afterglow. But otherwise his mind will be blissfully quiet. He will match his breathing to yours, fingers still entangled in yours, legs lost among your own. He will feel an ache in his chest that will grip him so exquisitely, an ache he has only felt a small number of times in his life--the loss of his parents, laying his benefactor in the traditional unmarked grave of his Tribe, the Night of a Thousand Tears, and most recently, giving up his foundling to another guardian. But this time, the ache that will take hold in him and sting his eyes in agony won’t be tinged with grief, can’t become grief unless loss is someday added to it.

You will shift under him, try to slide away, and he will unwind his fingers from yours and cage your body with his limbs against the bunk. He will press his head heavier on your chest, anchoring you to the bottom of his deep ocean with him. And he will murmur, “No.”

“I can’t go far,” you will grin and whisper. You will put your face in his hair and breathe your words against him, “I just want to go to the refresher and clean myself up a little. You can come too, if you want.”

“No,” he will breathe. “Stay.”

Softly, so softly, you will laugh and he will watch your tummy twitch with it. He will play back your voice in his mind from only moments ago--not so soft then--how you called his name, made it into hymn, used it to beg him to follow you into euphoria, and it will cause the ache to pulse brighter within him. You will graze your hand up and down his back and kiss his hair. You will hum a content sigh and he will hear it wash around your heartbeat, feel it resonate against his cheek. “You’re holding me prisoner? Gonna claim that bounty for your own? I’m pretty sure I just proved I’m worth more to you as a consort than as a reward.”

“I don’t need the credits. Just a few minutes.” He will feel himself stirring again, awakening against your scarred thigh as you trade taunts.

You will feel it too. “Don’t sell yourself short. I think it’s going to be longer than that.”

He will breathe long and he will smile against you. He will inhale you and know your scent as home. 

“Yeah. Probably.”

________________

The Mandalorian paces around the outer rim of the cavern, looking for...something. What was it you said? Pinpoints of light? He switches through the helmet scopes, hoping one of them will reveal something that helps you. Maybe these crystals give off heat or magnetic signatures or something. He doesn’t know much about this Jedi stuff. Maybe it will be like Grogu setting off the magic seeing rock. Something in you will just switch on and the whole place will light up. He glances over to the center of the space where you sit straight-backed with your eyes closed, a glowing kyber hovering in the air before you, illuminating your calm face in a dim glow.

After you’d sat and meditated a long while in the dark with no result, he’d watched you disassemble your laser sword to get at the crystal inside, using your powers to light it up somehow. Something about it maybe amplifying your Force? Creating a resonance with any crystals that might be in the cave? That if there were any present, you might see some small white light. He doesn’t understand it, but trusts that you do.

How about the beamlight. If they’re crystals, they should reflect, right?

“Turn it off, please.” Your eyes remain closed and he’s a hundred feet away. And behind you. No way you see that.

He’s not sure exactly what unnerves him about your powers--yours and Grogu’s, Ahsoka’s and Luke’s. He only knows what he can see and hear. Even if it’s filtered or scoped, that’s more...real? Empirical. But what you can do, the things you feel and just...know… Maybe “unnerves” is too strong. “Bewilders?” “Mystifies?” It throws him off. But it usually mellows out to wonder and reverence. You’re talented and powerful and he’s unsure how to meet you in it. You...captivate him.

He sighs, punching the switch with half-irritation, plunging the cave into darkness outside the colored light hanging near you like a festival lantern.

“I know you’re trying to help. But maybe you could just wait outside?” Your voice echoes lyrically down through the deeps of the far cavern corners, feeding into the mystical atmosphere, doubling down on his odd captivation.

“No,” he grumbles, “I don’t know what’s living in here. I’m not leaving you alone in the dark.”

“You make it sound like I can’t take care of myself, Captain. You gonna make sure I don't get carried off by womp rats?”

“You’re still not steady on that leg. And you’ve taken your weapon apart.”

“Hm. I see how it is.” You call back over your shoulder. “Then at least come here and sit next to me. When you’re pacing around my senses keep getting distracted and seeking you out.”

He doesn’t have to be asked twice for any request to be closer to you and takes a seat on a cropping nearby, watching your chest smoothly rise and fall. “This where you want me?”

“Well, to be honest,” you smirk with eyes closed, “the bunk would be more comfortable. At least the first time.” The crystal flickers sporadically, ripping your concentration back through the stone. “There.”

There what? As you struggle to stand he instinctively moves to assist. Wrapping an arm around your waist, he supports you as you move toward the back of the damp cavern, as you push the glowing stone ahead of you, still slightly limping from your recent injury. You’re hyper focused on a patch of wall and upon reaching it, you probe at two tiny jagged outcroppings, laying a hand on each for a moment before they crumble free. Then your crystal dims dark, sinking the cave into complete blackness this time. 

Through his thermal sensors you are the only thing he sees, a riot of colors, warmest at your head and heart and belly, your fingers cooler as they roll the two small stones around in your palm. When you turn your gaze up to him, your face is a topographical map of places he’d like his lips to visit, your own mouth burning bright with heat, soft and wet and inviting. 

“Can you see them?”

Din barely hears you. “Hm?’

“The kybers. Can you see them shining?”

Oh. The rocks. “Not on the thermals. Wait...” With all scopes off there’s only a void. “No. I can’t see anything.”

“Blast.”

“Am I...supposed to?”

“They’re just really weak. I can barely see the glow in them, but that might just be my sensitivity. If you can’t see them at all, then…. Blast.”

You’re quiet long enough that he goes back to his thermal scopes to find you with your head hanging. A patient defeat, a warrior’s frustration.

“Hey.” He touches your shoulder. Winds his fingers under and around your jaw to cradle your cheek. “We’ll try another cave.”

“This is the third one already.”

“We’ll try another cave.”

You nod, pressing your cheek further into his palm. “It’s just… there should be more here. Zoph was the main source for generations. The only reason the Order switched to Ilum was because those crystals are a little more stable. It’s not like they mined the place down; there should still be plenty of deposits here.”

“One more try. If we don’t find any there, I’ll take you to Ilum.”

Your huff warms the palm of his glove. “I don’t think you want to go there. It’s on the exact opposite side of the galaxy.”

“That’s fine.”

“You’re sweet. But. Getting there would be the easy part. You ever hear of the Death Star?”

“Sure.”

“Where do you think they mined the crystals for the laser? Ilum is a ruin from what I hear. They tore down the temple, stripped it bare, gouged a trench around the belly of the planet, and gutted its heart. I can’t think of anywhere that’s more likely to have residual Imperial presence. Or make me more sick to my stomach.”

The thermal setting is sensitive enough to pick up a tear sliding down your cheek. Nope. No. Not acceptable. He brings you into his chest and, slipping the helmet off, buries his face in your hair. Is this comforting? Din never knows if he’s doing this right, accepted that he lives in continual insecurity with you about how to be what you need. He just knows that whenever you show tears--even from the first day he met you--he needs to do whatever he can to stop whatever is hurting you, and if he can’t do that, at least he can let you know he wants to try. “We’ll try another cave. And then another if we have to.”

There’s a faint glimmer in the darkness below him, a dim white radiance just beyond his sight. “What’s that.” He reluctantly pulls back a little, reaching out to find your hand, opening your palm to show two dim spots of white light. The crystals.

“So you can see them.”

“Yeah. Huh.”

“Maybe...it's the helmet?”

“I turned the scopes off. These are bright enough that I should have seen them through the visor in the dark.”

Your face is just barely visible in the soft glow of the tiny kybers, the light glinting in your hair and showing a growing hope in your sparkling eyes. “They’re tricky things. They’re responsive to truth and openness. Master Yoda used to say that sometimes you have to look with your own eyes unobstructed to see the light in the darkness. Looks like your helmet doesn’t have a setting for Force wisdom.”

“Okay. So that’s two. You need more?”

“Let’s see what these can do.”

________________

In the time that you’ve spent combing through the bag of parts you collected on Nevarro and assembling makeshift sabers, Din’s managed to get all of his weapons cleaned, repair a hole in one of his flight tops, and prep a meal. He has to physically lift a half-finished hilt out of your hands after he sits down behind you on the floor, framing you with his knees and providing his chest as a seatback for you. “You have to eat.”

“I will. I’m almost--” you reach out, trying to snatch back your work, “I just want to finish--”

But he stows it behind his back. “You’ve been at it for hours. Just take a few minutes. You can finish when you’ve eaten.”

You lean back into him petulantly, with a huff. “As your highness wishes.”

“Hey.” He reaches around you to put the plate in your hands, letting your mood roll off him, not taking it personally. “You’ll concentrate better if you eat.”

Your second huff is a mix of disdain and gratitude as you dig in, but your eyes are glassy as you chew. You’re not really here. Din’s never seen you go inward like you have in the past few days and he’s trying to bring you back out. The events on Kessel shook you--left a mark deeper than the one on your thigh--and he doesn’t know how to make you feel safe again. What he can give you is time and closeness. You soften when you’re touched and held. That’s easy enough for him to do. If he knew the right things to say, he’d have said them already, but he’s not as good with words as you are.  

When you’ve had enough, you abandon your utensil on the plate, your head finding its home in his neck. A little food has done you good, calmed you. “I feel you...caring.”

He starts scraping a pile, finishing the plate for you. “I don’t really have a choice. I can tell you’re scared.”

“Not scared as much as... helpless. With a bounty on my head, I can’t go home. I can’t stay on Ajan Kloss and risk someone tracking me there and finding Luke and the kids--”

“You stay with me. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah? What am I supposed to do while you hunt? Stay on the ship? That didn’t work out so well last time.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He reaches back and brings out the in-process saber hilt. “Show me what’s going on here.”

There’s less of a frenzied obsession now that you’ve eaten, now that you’ve talked through your fear and you know he’s here for you. He observes over your shoulder as he eats, how the tiny crystal floats in the air to the resistor, how the pieces spin together under your will. He’s never going to get tired of watching you move things with your mind, trying to hash out how much longer it would take him to twist all those parts individually with his hands.

“Well, here goes nothing.” With a wishful inhale, you depress the switch and a short, white shaft appears from the hilt. At first it’s a triumph. Unfortunately, the triumph doesn’t last. It isn’t as substantial as your sword or the Darksaber; the blade constantly sputters and shifts in and out of existence, getting more unstable the longer it’s on.

“Well, kriff,” a bitter groan comes out of you as you switch it off. “I can’t do this without good kyber.”

“I’ve got one you can have.”  

This gets a little sparkle out of you as you splutter out a stupefied laugh and gently jab an elbow back into him. “You can’t shirk your ascension that easily, Mand’alor.”

That’s better. You’re coming around. “I’m serious. You can have it. I don’t want it.”

“I’m not going to take the kyber out of the Darksaber and put it in a training saber for kids!”

“I don’t know. Grogu could handle it. He might take an ear off first, but he learns quick.” 

It starts as a giggle. You try to suppress it, but the dry joke is too much and it’s busting out of you with a snort and a gasp of a guffaw before you’re in full-on, head-thrown-back, full-throated laughter, something that’s been curled up asleep inside you and needed to get out to stretch. It’s contagious and his cheeks take on an ache just from the pleasure of seeing you smile again.

“But why not?” he chuckles in concert with you as you calm down. “Why don’t we just take the thing apart? We both get what we need.”

It was the wrong thing to say. 

It drifts you back into a moody quiet. You’re still for long enough that he’s about to make another crack about Grogu, but you begin to slowly place parts and pieces back into your bag one by one. Then he watches silently as you stand and lightly lift the empty plate from him, moving to clean up the remnants of meal prep. 

When you answer, you do so with your back turned, in a voice so low it enters his heart before his ears. “Because it’s the Darksaber, Din. It has a legacy. If you don’t care about the Jedi half of it, you should at least respect the Mandalorian part of its history. How would you feel if I asked you to just melt your armor down?”

Brutal realization slams down hard upon him. 

You know so much about his culture, and not just his faction of it. You understand subcultures and societal history, in some ways you know more than he does. Kriff, you can even speak some of the language. And all he’s done in return is sit back on his bewildered heels when it’s come to you and your ways. He’s balked at terminology and backed off when things got too mystical for him. Why? Because he has no chance at mastering it? Pathetic. Your Force is just as real as his weaponry, he’s seen you wield it. Damn. Damn damn damn. He’s...disrespected you. Hasn’t tried hard enough. You deserve better than that. Kriff.

He can start to fix this.

“Show me how to use it.”

Turning gradually, your eyes transforming from disbelief to expectation, you have to work against a dry throat. “What?”

“You said it has tricks. Show me.”

__________________

“The Jedi were snobs about their lightsabers. I mean, to be honest, they work seamlessly with Force sensitivity, so don’t judge too harshly. But really, anyone with basic sword skills can wield them. Would you, by any chance, happen to know anything about weapons at all or have any sword skills, Captain?”

Rather than guiding his hand, you’ve spun yourself around into him, his breastplate against your back, his grip around yours on the hilt of the humming weapon, following your swing with his body as yours. His other arm is around your middle, helping to support you on your still-healing leg. In response to your sass, he pokes your flank, getting a yip and a twitch out of you.

“I dabble.”

There’s no sunlight on Zoph, nothing but a dim star in the distance radiating a ghost light down on the white clay ground. It’s enough to throw long shadows, and the melancholy landscape pairs itself with the haunting void of the Darksaber. It doesn’t exactly throw off light as much as a glow, softly illuminating your nose and eyelashes, your eyebrows set in determination as you grip the hilt. Din’s trying to take this seriously. He does care. But with you so close to him and holding a weapon, he’s also unsurprisingly infatuated and doing his best to keep it in check.

“The two unique attack techniques are the pierce and the flat swing. Obviously, you can hack and slash all you want and do a lot of damage, but a pierce,” you hitch back slightly before executing a sharp jab and the blade spasms, giving it a split second of barbed blade, “will gouge more violently. It’s good for getting through armor and bulkheads quickly. Leaves a big mess though.” Your arm swings out wide to the side, holding the blade perpendicular to the plane of your body as he shadows his being to yours. “The flat swing is just that,” you turn your wrist and palm downward, blade parallel to the ground, then swing it across leading with force from your shoulder in a wave to your wrist, causing the blade to pancake out into a flat blur. “It flattens the girth, creates less resistance and a faster, cleaner cut.”

When you step away and leave the saber in his hand he’s able to execute both of these easily, experimenting with the force of the jab, the width of the swing. Just by superior force alone he can get more and sharper barbs out of the pierce than you, a wider, razor thin blade off the swing.

After a few minutes of perfecting the swings and getting muscle memory in, he turns to find you watching him, your lips parted, hand clutching the fabric at your heart.

Looks like he’s not the only one with an infatuation.

“Does yours do this?”

“No.” You rip your eyes away from him and unhook your saber from your belt. A brighter light illuminates your face as you extend your blade, putting your weight into your better leg and giving it a whip slice through the air. “They’ll flatten a little, but not like that one. And they certainly don’t barb. The Darksaber was made by a Mandalorian. And you folk are a touch more...brutal than some.”

“What are you saying.”

“Jedi consider themselves to be elegant. Anything less is barbaric.”

He lets the visor give you his thoughts on this.

You smile. “The Order meant that as an insult. I don’t.”

“I’m supposed to take it another way?”

“Use your imagination.”

The visor almost tilts by itself. “You like this.”

You tuck your smile into your shoulder for a second before coming back to thinly-veiled control. “Something else you should know. Block.” You take a limping step forward and swing your weapon down at him, controlling the landing on the raised Darksaber.

The two weapons sizzle and whine against each other. But right at the moment they come together, he notices a slight pull. “Wait.” He retracts and then slowly brings his blade to yours, feeling them jump toward each other. “They’re--”

“So that bad boy can cut through anything except beskar and other lightsabers,” you hold steady as he tests the magnetic-like pull a few times, testing its limits. “If anyone’s going to come after you, they’re going to have to use one of those two things to stand up to you. If it’s a lightsaber, this is how the Darksaber reacts.”

Because you’re unarmed and unsteady, he pulls a few sparring-form swings on you, allowing the maximum safety but testing the best way to use the added momentum.

At one point you wobble and he uses the Darksaber to push your blade away so he can reach out to catch you by the arm. “Okay. I think we’re done here.”

“One more thing,” sheathing your blade, you topple against him. “If you want to add power to the weapon, it will react to heightened emotional states.”

“I don’t fight like that.”

“I assumed. I’m just giving you the knowledge and if you use it, you use it. If you can’t, you can’t. Look at the blade. Think about something that made you angry. Or pushed at your code.”

“Like what.”

“I don’t know. Like Salo telling you he was going to take your beskar and kill you.”

He tries to remember the feeling of being backed into that corner. The blade flickers.

“That’s what you’re looking for!” you encourage. “Push that feeling into it.”

He doesn’t know exactly what you mean, but he tries anyway. It flickers again, but dims just as quickly. “I’m not a Jedi. I can’t push the Force around like you.”

“No, I know, but I think you’ve actually got something here. Just...how about when Gideon blew up your first ship...” 

Another flicker.

“...when he took Grogu away from you--”

A flare. The blade sends a few electric crackles up its length, bright white. You gasp against him.

Din turns the hilt in his hand, not quite believing what just happened. “Was that you, or--”

“No, it’s all you! Grogu.” Another bright flare. “That’s… huh. It works differently for you. Interesting.”

“What does that--”

But before he can finish the question, your hands are on the helmet. “Let me try something?”

He nods in assent and you lift, placing a deep kiss onto his mouth before whispering against it, “Ni akarya'a at gar.” 

I am yours. I belong to you.

The Darksaber kicks in his hand, blazing with an electric looking current up and down its length. You both watch it hum and spark, he can feel it almost vibrating in his hand as much as your words vibrate through his being.

“Din Djarin,” you breathe. “I think you love me.”

He watches the blade pulse and swirl, charged with power, almost writhing like a living thing in his grip. If he knew it could do this…. He only meant to cheer you up, didn’t realize that making the effort to know more could result in revealing the most dangerous melee weapon in his locker. Dank ferrik. Lesson learned. No wonder you find this thing so fascinating, he can barely bring himself to look away. When he finally sheathes the blade to reunite with your face shining up through the dim glow, he’s realized with some reverence how much you’ve taught him tonight.

He nods. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

________________

He has to help you up the ramp and to a seat on the bunk before closing up the ship and stowing the Darksaber back in the weapons locker.

You hum from your perch. “You should add it to your belt. Use it more often.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.”

“I just mean, not only for practice. But if you really don’t want it, and you run around using it, maybe someone will defeat you and then it’s off your hands.”

“That would mean someone would have to beat me.” You roll your eyes at his hubris, overly dramatic, reeling you backward onto the bunk with a flop. It pulls a scoff out of him and the corners of his mouth curl. “Maybe I’m re-thinking. Maybe I should keep it. It’s mine now.”

Once it’s stowed, he works on peeling off a few layers. There’s no population density here, but there’s also no cover and the Crest is out in the open with you in potential danger. He’s been keeping most of the armor on when he sleeps here, just in case. Knows you’re not happy about it. But you haven’t complained.

“It’s not yours.”

“Hmm?” One of his gloves has a weak finger seam. Gonna have to fix that.

“The Darksaber isn’t yours, Din. It isn’t anybody’s.”

There’s a gravity in you that stops him, brings his focus to a meaningful gaze between you. It’s enough to make him abandon his task and come sit beside you as you lay on the bunk, taking his hand and speaking up at him. You’ve got more to teach him and he’s learned to listen now.

“The Darksaber is a piece of history. You’re really just its carrier through this part of its journey. It belongs to legacy, and you’re part of that legacy. To win it is to be strong. That is its Mandalorian legacy. To wield it is to practice the search for wisdom. That’s the Jedi history, and now you have a little bit of that in you too. I know you’re not exactly happy about it. But I, for one, think it fell into capable hands.”

He’s starting to feel the importance through you. Not just its legend, not the symbolic trophy Bo Katan made it out to be. Somehow, the weight isn’t so heavy when you help him like this, when he understands it better and he’s not just shouldering a society’s expectations blindly by himself. Especially when it makes you look at him with pride not just for who he is, but how he’s learning to honor you. 

He’s ready to know more.

“You want to try another cave tomorrow?”

His heart falls as you close your eyes and groan in defeat. “I’m starting to give up hope. Maybe we should go to Ilum. Or see if we can go negotiate with the locals on Christophsis. Although we’d probably have as much luck hanging out at Black Spire waiting for a smuggler to show up with something for trade. I’d suggest just going to the source for kimber stones and call it good, but those Yevetha are mean. I’m sorry. I really thought it would be easiest to find them here.” Din reaches over to smooth your hair, stroke your cheek. “Mmm. I don’t suppose you know anyone with a krayt dragon pearl they’d want to part with.”

“A krayt dragon pearl.”

“Yeah. Krayts can form these deposits in their guts if they eat kyber--”

“Those can be used for lightsabers?”

“Well, they sound different, but they work. They’re extremely rare, though.” You open an eye to him when you notice his hand has stopped mid-caress. “Why?”

“You ever been to Tatooine?”

________________

PART 2: YOU

“I want you to shut the panel and stay put, little bird. This might...get ugly.”

Din slipped the helmet on and started the dethaw process on Yilga’s carbonite container.

Normally you’d protest, wouldn’t want to be shut out, but you were still exhausted from the fight and the bacta, from piloting the Crest and waiting anxiously for Din to return from selling the Starless--didn’t like being alone so soon. Din had been wrapped around you all night, but you’d still had trouble sleeping, still had dreams of his death, still felt the echo of that dark thing in your heart. With a little effort, you’re able to slide yourself back into his old bunk and press the panel button, locking you into a little durasteel world.

How in the galaxy did that broad man stand to sleep in that little hatch? And with all that armor on all the time? You were suddenly grateful for your shared bunk; especially the soft padding, because his cot was ridiculously uncomfortable. 

The bulkhead dampened most of the sound, but he was right, it did get ugly. Yilga cursed and wailed and screamed like a wet lothcat and you were pretty sure at one point Din might have been using brute force or death threats to get her to talk. You barely heard his voice in all of this. He was most likely more threatening the quieter he got. You assumed. You’ve never been on the receiving end of his wrath.

When the panel opened to his soft and caring face, he scooped you up and carried you back to your own recovery bed, past a pile of black and burgundy beskar and a woman caught mid-scream in a carbonite frame.

“She confirmed Karga’s information,” he sighed, setting you down gently before going to slot Yilga into her storage space. “We’re going to have to fly low for a while, I need you to stay close. She didn’t have any names, which means the bounty was put out by someone who doesn’t want to be traced. That’s...not good. But I don’t want you to worry. Karga’s working on a counterfeit code for you. That’ll help some. As long as we stay out of ports and you don’t have to run your chain before that, we should be okay.”

You trusted him to handle it at the time. It was too much to process and you just wanted to roll over and go back to sleep, to not care and not hurt for a while. You were just aware enough to feel a blanket being pulled up around you and a gloved finger dragging your hair behind your ear.

Otherwise, the next thing you remember was waking up on Zoph.

________________

“Must be a busy port. I thought we were staying out of ports.” If you’ve been here before, you sure don’t remember it, it looks just like every other moisture-lack planet that you have trouble understanding people choosing to live on. Tatooine is a big, beige, two-sun dustball heat-shimmering beneath the orbiting Crest. An orbit you’ve been in for over an hour now. “Can’t we just set down somewhere and wait?”

“This is a Jawa homeworld. If I set the Crest down outside of a port it’ll bring trouble.” Din flips a few switches on the cockpit panel, re-sending the hail. “It’s not busy. I’m just waiting for a particular bay to open. The mechanic there won’t run a code on you.”

As if on cue, the comm snaps to life. “This is Mos Eisley tower to Razor Crest. Requested bay three-five is open and awaiting your vessel.”

“Copy that. Locked in for three-five.”

Din’s landings are always impressively smooth for someone who doesn’t run a mech droid, and the mechanic here must feel confident enough in his skills to come out into the bay while he sets down. Apparently, they’re pretty friendly; she’s already calling out as the ramp opens.

“If you’re going to get another ship, why in the galaxy would you go after another skragging Crest? You should have come to me! I could have gotten you something automated. Got some hookups over at the Mos Espa scarpyards.”

Din is busy piling up some gear at the top of the ramp, pulling on a full pack bag and hauling out a couple of small cargo cases. “Well, you can use those hookups to see if they have a spare cannon pivot. Mine’s about to go.”

“I’m not a weapons expert, sunshine.”

“Then a once-over will do. I’m sure it could use some of your improvements.”

The human woman clicks her tongue, squinting up at the ship, taking what amounts as a fond greeting and compliment from Din. “Yeah, I bet it could.” As Din moves into the sunlight she looks him over as if she’s searching for something. “Where’s the womp rat?”

“He’s...at school.”

She looks genuinely disappointed. “Huh. Too bad. Saw your ship and got my hopes up. Was looking forward to spoiling the critter. So few joys in this life and you have to send him to school? You’re meaner than you look. Seems like you have enough company though,” she tips her chin at you as you come down the ramp. You extend a hand and introduce yourself, not prepared for her hearty grip as she shakes your arm like a ship in a windstorm before clapping you on the shoulder. Hard. “Peli. Hoo lady, do I feel for you. Traveling days on end with this one?” She jerks her head at Din. “Conversation must be scintillating. Where’d you pick him up?”

“Oh, around? Found him in the back booth of some outer-rim cantina.”

“Hm. Sounds about right.”

Din’s obviously eager to get going. “I’m going to need another speeder. You got a lead on anything?”

Peli turns to shout at two of the pit droids passing by. “For the love of sarlaccs, don’t drag that, you’re going to mess up the gear panel!! You! Help him! Pick up the other end. No. The other end, he’s got that one! Seriously.” She shakes her head as she turns back to Din. “Dtoli’s got one he’s trying to offload. It isn’t pretty, but it runs.”

“Great. Thanks. Any chance his shop does detailing?”

“For a price. I mean, the speeder’s not that ugly; if you want it painted, it’s going to cost you. Didn’t think you were into aesthetics, bright eyes.”

“We’re going to need extended docking. We’ll pay up front.” He tilts the visor to you. “I’ll let you handle that. Don’t leave the bay. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

After he stalks out the door, Peli jabs you with an elbow. “You think he’s ever cracked a smile under there?” She’s a funny one, fiery energy, not someone you see Din choosing to tolerate lightly, but you can sense she’s got a good heart. He must really trust her if he’s willing to put up with her snark.

“Under the helmet? Who knows what goes on in there.”

“Huh.” She eyes you up and down, sucking at her teeth. “You, ah, just traveling with him, or…”

The bay is disorganized, littered with parts and tools. The pit droids scurry around, obviously programmed more for personality than efficiency. There’s a makeshift table near the station window, looks like you landed in the middle of a meal. And there’s something else on the table. Something familiar.

“Is that a pack of sabacc cards?” 

Her attitude immediately shifts into higher interest. “Sure is. You play?”

________________

You lay on the ramp of the Crest, arms behind your head, one leg crossed over a knee, staring up at the stars beginning to peek through the atmosphere. The engines and the top of the ship are still getting a glow from the setting of the suns. The difference in twilight from planet to planet never gets old. This one comes with a unique soundscape.

Peli’s making a lot of noise as she closes down for the night, grumbling loud enough that you can just hear her through the window in her station, “dumb luck...raising the fees...Dr. Mandible...win it back…” Her pit droids have all crept over near you one at a time, ducking under the ship and collapsing down as far as they can into little pucks.

If she weren’t such a cheater, you might be inclined to coddle her a little, maybe explain that if you play with high agitation it’s harder to beat a Jedi at cards, and oh yeah, maybe tell her you’re Force-sensitive…. But meh. With her not-so-slight-of-hand she’s probably had her own share of shady wins. It’s good to lose once in a while. Builds character.

Not that you would know.

Between the stars above you and the tantrum in the adjoining space, you sense Din a good half-minute before he walks through the passage. Interesting. Either your bond is getting stronger or he’s riding some high emotions. Or both.

When he does arrive, he’s brought the pack bag back with him, as well as a couple more bags and a heavy piece of equipment hung by a cross-pike over his shoulders. The pike bows with its haul, but he strides in as if the load on him had no weight at all. 

There’s a crash of tools on metal as Peli slams something down in her comm room. “It’s about time! You’re late!”

As she speedwalks out into the port she nearly misses being taken down by the Mandalorian’s cargo as the bags on his crossbar swing toward her. 

Then she brandishes a finger-- “You said a couple of hours.” --and pokes him. Straight in the breastplate. 

He looks down at where she’d made contact, and then slowly, very slowly raises his gaze to her. She’s a good head and a half shorter than him, a little volcano of huffing and angry. You realize nobody her size has probably ever had the gumption to poke him before, but if anyone’s going to try and walk away unscathed, it looks like she’s going to claim that title. 

“Hey.”

“Don’t you ‘hey’ me.” Poke. “Your lady there?” Point. “More trouble,” poke, “than that baby.” Hard poke. “Ow.” Cringe. Poke.

The Mandalorian’s visor tips back to his breastplate. Then up to you. Then back to Peli.

“Yep.”

This isn’t the response either of you expected. You press your lips together in suppressed laughter. Peli presses hers together in a huff of frustration. If she were another xeno, you’d expect fire shooting out from her flared nostrils. She turns on her bootheel, storming out of the port as you both watch in an apprehensive bemusement. “Now I’m late for an appointment. Dr. Mandible had better still be waiting. Don’t you dare expect breakfast. I won’t be in early because the Maker knows I have plenty of time to once-over that heap and I’m not going to bust my hump if you’re going to take up my entire port. You’ll have to ask the droids if you need something. Have fun with that, dumb as a crate of spanners..…” her voice trails behind her until she’s far enough away you can’t pick her up anymore.

Din swivels to face you, the bags swinging behind him. 

You smile. “I like her.”

“What did you do?”

Screwing your mouth up to one side, you give him mock oops voice. “I may have played a few rounds of sabacc with her?”

“And you won.”

“Mmmmmaybeee.”

“How much.”

“Cost of fuel.”

“....And.”

“And water tank refill. And a week’s docking fees. And maybe a portion of repairs.”

He just stares. A bag swings slowly. You wish you could see his face right now.

“She’s never going to let me dock here again.”

“Sorry. Maybe you shouldn’t have abandoned me.” You shrug, pointing your chin at his cargo. “What’s in the bags, your majesty? Did you bring me a present?”

The pet name or the question causes a hot spike of emotion off of him. Something you like. Something you’ve felt at more intense moments when your skin meets his. “Maybe.” As he trudges past you up the ramp, he stops to offer a hand up, but doesn’t drop yours once you’re on your feet. Instead, he grips it tighter, pulling you into the Crest behind him, a soft chuckle slipping through the vocoder. “And I didn’t abandon you. You had your fun. Come on.”

The bags rattle to the floor and the hatch whines close. He lifts the helmet, his brown curls ruffling out from underneath it, and hands it to you, a dangerous intensity in his eye offset by the ghost of a smile. “Would you put that in my bunk?”

What’s going on here. “Okaaay…” You walk over and open the bunk hatch, laying the bucket on the cot. “You just want it on the cot or--” 

When you turn back, he’s pulling off his gloves, very plainly watching you.

“You’re not limping anymore. Looks like that leg’s about healed up.”

A rush of heat pulses through you, causing an uptick in your breathing and a tightening warmth in your core.

Well. It’s about time.

You nod. “It is.”

“Good. Is it tender at all?” 

You shake your head but keep your gaze locked to his. “It’s fine. You won’t hurt me. If you touch.”

His eyes search yours. You want--?

Yes, I want.

It takes him just two fast, long strides to get to you.

For someone who came to kissing late in life, he started off with strong instincts and only has gotten better at it in his time with you. He still loves your scent, loves running his lips along your jaw and burying his face in your neck as he inhales you, but he has become an expert at long, passionate kisses and soft, dragging nips. He likes to feel your tongue against his and taste your bottom lip before sealing his own around it, clawing his hands into your back as if there was some way he could defy physics and bring you into his occupied space, make you part of him forever.

And you reward him not only by kissing him back, but touching his face and raking your fingers through his hair; the contact makes him purr in the most beautiful way, causes him to grip your hips and yank you into him.

But tonight he reaches up while he nuzzles you, pulls your hands out of his hair and guides them to his belt buckle. The buckle you gave him, the buckle that saved his life, and now he wants you to start here and do the honors.

He wants you to dis-armor him. Completely.

You know how to do this, he’s shown you. So while you work your way through the straps and releases, running your fingers along the sides of the plates and tripping their buttons, disengaging weaponry and freeing him from cowls and capes, he makes a banquet of you, dragging his lips on you wherever he can reach, tasting what he can, letting his hands roam and squeeze and caress, seeing what it takes to distract you from the task he himself set you on. And if you give in, if you let your focus wander back to shared breath and the feel of his scruffy beard in your palms, he gently redirects your hands, moving them back to the next warm plate, teasing, willing you to be his savior and free him from the armor that separates him from you.

Once he’s down to his flight suit and lower armor, you have a respite from his lips to get his tops up and off. “What brought this on so suddenly?” You demand, breathless, revealing his tan torso, his obscenely wide shoulders.

“Suddenly? I was giving you time to heal.”

You bury your face in his broad bare chest, unable to resist. Oh stars, he smells so good. “I mean today. The second you come back from...whatever you were doing.”

He tips your chin up. “Shins and boots.” Once you kiss his collarbone and peel away to kneel and work on his bottom layers he explains, “We’ll be sleeping rough for a while. I’ll be keeping the armor on. And sand isn’t a good mix for this. It’s now or we wait longer. If you want to wait, we can, but with the dock to ourselves, I thought we might take advantage.”

“I’m done waiting.”

His mustache twitches into a smirk. “I figured.”

You strip him of his final layers and as a reward for accomplishing the task, he grants you the time you need to take him in. Waits patiently as your fingers reach out to trace scars, to skim the soft texture of his skin, to measure the breadth of a splayed hand against a pectoral. Even with the evidence of past violence, he’s perfect. He’s keeping control, his chest rising and falling steadily, but picking up as you run your fingers over the ripple of bicep to elbow, skipping over to follow the dip in the muscle leading from his hip inward and down. He is warm and ready under your hand, and when you wrap fingers around him, he inhales sharply, but doesn’t take his eyes off yours.

“Your turn,” you whisper, inviting him to take on a task of your own that involves fewer obstacles but harsher distraction.

Soft skin belies the hardness underneath, and you go easy on him, loose and gentle. He’s able to compartmentalize for a moment, focus strategically at the task at hand while your hand takes him to task. It’s absolutely lovely watching him try to control his breathing as he works, freeing you of your belt and top layers. In through the nose, out through the mouth, gritted teeth and set brow. But once he gets you half stripped, you’ve got him beat. He can’t stand it, gives a quick shake of the head and frees himself from your touch with a soft growl. 

Din spins you around, crushing your bare back to his chest, lifting you slightly so he can kick your feet wider apart, then buries his face in your hair as he plunges his hand under your waistband. You violently take on air as his fingers learn how very much ready you already are, helping you further down that path.

“Please, can we just,” you groan after a few spirals and intrusions, “can we just take this to the bunk already? It’s not your hands I want.”

He says nothing but lets you go, his hand dragging lazily out of your leggings before pulling them hastily down and off, before wrapping both arms around you and lifting, dumping you softly on the bed, gripping your hip and dragging you near, urging you to turn over.

“Hands and knees, little bird.”

A pit opens up in your heart. Really? He wants to take you from behind the first time? That’s not...how you pictured this going. 

“N-no.”

A scowl of confusion darkens his face, a mix of betrayal and concern and need. He mouths words more than whispers, “I thought you wanted this.”

“I do! But I want you...above me. I...want to see you.”

His brows soften a little, though they still bear the vertical crease between them. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

He allows you to settle on your back, his touch chasing you as he positions himself, kneels at your ingress, jaw set. He takes an anguished moment to appreciate what he’s got, running hands over you--your chest, your tummy--before gripping under your thighs and taking control, bringing you together. His strength allows both firmness and gentleness at once, slowly opening you, joining you, an easy, perfect fit, a key in a lock, a heart in a hand. Both the culmination of everything you’ve anticipated, but also the most familiar thing in the galaxy, as if he was always meant to be a part of you. 

You both breathe into it as he gazes down at you, waiting, making sure you’re prepared to continue.

________________

PART 3: DIN

Din counts one breath at a time, looking at you splayed before him on the bunk, absolutely kriffing stunning, standing by for you to signal that you’re ready for him to begin. He expects a nod. 

But he doesn’t get a nod. 

He gets...your arms. Reaching for his shoulders. Pulling him forward and down until he is flush against you. On top of you.

The heat of your soft skin against his. Your breasts pushing up to his chest. Your thighs pressing against his own, your arms embracing him. And then your sweet mouth on his, all at the same time, a sensory pool he swims in as every new point of contact yanks a breath out of him, pulling him into the deep.

And It's still not a nod that tells him to proceed. It’s your hips moving up to him, coaxing him further into you, drowning him in you completely.

Oh.

Above you. On top.

This is not something he can do when he’s wrapped in beskar. Can’t crush someone under the armor, can’t move like this with a breastplate and thigh guards between bodies. Easier to pull down pants and take from behind. “On top” has only ever meant kneeling upright or standing at the edge of a bed, meant pulling at hips with roughness, meant just getting it done without fuss or intimacy if his partner wants nothing but the authority of an emotionless visor looking down on them. And sometimes, that’s truly all they wanted from him.

He was prepared to do that to you--take you rough and hard and wanton--if it was what you wanted, but he’d hoped to line up flush to your back and curl himself up as tight behind you, feel as much of you and be as close as he possibly could. Dreamed about it. Pictured it while folded up around you in this very bunk watching you sleep and recover. 

But this. This is infinitely better.

You are a galaxy of firsts for him, each one shining bright and accompanied by a million more around it like stars. You are the first to share sleeping space with him. The first allowed to lift the helmet. You were his first kiss--taken in the swirling midst of a festival when you didn’t even yet know his face.

And now here you are, breathing against his neck, yearning against him as his body surges over you, clinging to him furiously as if he’d ever want to leave, wanting all of him, supple and melting and combined into him. His hands want to touch everything at once, his fingers finding soft places to dig in for greed or clamp onto for leverage, and every nerve in his body swells toward every perfect piece of you he can possibly touch.

Though, it doesn’t stop at the skin.

Stars, you can see him, you’re looking directly into his eyes. He’s completely vulnerable; no visor to hide behind, and it shoots through him, a touch beyond touch. This is a powerful first; a heartache he cannot explain, an enlightenment as he moves not just in you but with you.

When you begin to whisper his name though, something primal hooks into him and his body knows you are asking for more. So he gives you more. Your whispers become soft pleas. And he gives you more. Pleas evolve into their final life of song from your pretty lips, your chin lifting to expose your neck ripe for his mouth and teeth, his name coming from a place in you that is tightening around him and traveling up and out to ring in his ears in sweet building agony--

Din has never given his name freely to anyone before you and this is how you use it. 

If this is what you do with the things he gives you? 

Then he wants to give you everything.

Clutching desperately at your face, he tips your chin back down, asking for another first from you.

“Open your eyes, little bird. Open your eyes. Look at me. Let me see.”

And you do. He can see it’s hard, but you do so well. He gives you just a little more--just a small, hot push and grind over the edge--and then you break open for him, truly becoming his, shuddering and clenching and aching. This is the most beautiful you’ve ever been to him, something he thought impossible until this very moment.

Din curses. Too...good. Not quite overwhelming, but overpowering. The overall physical stimulation is one thing, but you...your kriffing heart...right there in your eyes… He wants to protect and ruin you all at once and the only way he can express it is to help you come apart  beneath him, wants to tell you how much it’s destroying him, but it only comes out in anguished groans and growls.

It doesn’t take him long to finish with one final first, a permission given in words some days before, an assurance that all would be well, as he’s allowed to find his euphoria inside you, surrounded by your wetness and your warmth, encircled by your limbs, laid bare by your eyes, his voice rumbling through him--although stars knows what he’s saying or how loud--wave after wave of want pulsing from him to you before shattering on top of you with shuddered breath through gritted teeth, not sure he will ever breathe normally again, but sure that he doesn’t particularly care.

Stars. 

He just wants this. From now on. You. Under him. Around him. As in love with him as he can possibly make you, although it will never be enough, can’t ever compare to how he aches for you in this moment as he gives your name back to you in your ear and presses his forehead breathlessly against your temple. 

Against you.

You.

You.

________________

Some hours and a few rounds later, you emerge from the refresher, clean and glowing. Pretty. Ready for sleep if you can get it. If he’ll let you get it. If he can control himself.  He watches as you step down from the cabinet, stumbling a little, your legs wobbly and weak, and you reach out for the ladder to steady yourself.

“You okay?” Din chuckles from the edge of the bunk where he’s been waiting, pack bag at his feet, his hair a mess of cowlicks and curls where you’ve been tugging and raking.

“I think you broke me. I just got steady again and you broke me. You’re not allowed between these legs for a while.”

“Too bad. You’re going to be riding behind me on a speeder, so you don’t get a choice. Come here.”

“What’s that?” You make your way to him as he holds up a handful of garments.

“Suit up.”

“I thought we were going to sleep. Is this some kind of game you--”

“It’s your present. Where we’re going tomorrow, you’re going to need this. Try it on.”

One by one, he starts pulling the pieces out of the bag while you’re distracted with the flight suit. Two pauldrons. Two bracers. Chest plate. Back plate. Helmet. When your head emerges from the magnetics vest and you catch sight of the armor laid on the bed, he watches your face freeze in shock, then your brow tighten in confusion. He waits for the slow, stunning shift into realization before he speaks, just above a whisper.

“I should have asked what your favorite colors were. I just decided to have them match your saber. I hope that’s okay.” 

Oh, the look on your face. He’s watched you cry in shock over realizing that Grogu was safe. He’s seen you laugh and despair at the same time when you were scared and hurt. He knows what love looks like when it rides your features. But this level of reverence and awe, he’s only seen this look on your face once--the first time you held the Darksaber--standing exactly where you are now. 

“I need you to understand something about this armor.” He begins to assemble you, starting with the backplate. “It doesn’t really belong to us. Yilga found it on the black market. I don’t know how it ended up there or if the owner is still alive.”  He moves onto the pauldrons.”If by any chance we find out who that is, we’ll need to return it to them or their tribe. But judging by the last time this was style forged, chances are they and their clan are long gone.” Then the bracers. “I had your comm set into this one. I’ve already got it linked to the helmet.”

“Din.” The uncertainty in your voice stops him. “Is this really okay? I’m not...I don’t want to be disrespectful.”

His heart twists at your concern, at the dignity you hold for his people. He tilts your chin up and forces you to look into his eyes, does his best to smile and reassure you. “Hey. It’s beskar. It’s in the possession of a Mandalorian. You are under my protection and,” he has to steady his voice, “you said yourself you belong to me. That means you get clan allowance, okay?”

You nod, giving him the quietest “okay.”

Finally the breastplate. As he attaches it in place, feeling his eyebrows arch in hopes you’ll like it, he watches as you reach up and touch the upper corner. Your fingertips trace the insignia painted there, slowly moving over the sharp peaks and valleys of the mudhorn skull.

Tears well up fast in your eyes and you do your best to catch them as they tumble over your beautiful cheeks, wiping frantically and sucking back sobs, well aware that tears should never fall on Mandalorian armor. Din himself doesn’t hold to this sentimental rule, but he knows how you like all the traditions and lore, and he’s happy that it means enough to you to honor it. He cups your face with his hands, being of service as your faithful tear-catcher, allowing you to have your moment and gathering as much of it for his memory as he can.

The way you’re looking at him right now, your easy ability to cry and laugh all at once, your eyes are telling him everything he needs to know, everything he already knows, in a language that does not translate into words but gets written deep into his very being.

“I’d say let’s stop here for now, but I need to make sure the helmet fits. It’s actually the piece you’re going to need most. You ready?”

When he takes his hands from your cheeks, wet with your tears, there’s a moment where he’s not sure what to do with them. He’s not wearing anything, nothing to dry them on. The mention of the helmet has you near to welling up again. So he just looks you dead in the eye. Ruffles his tear-stained hands through his hair. It has the intended effect as your face breaks into a wide grin. And then you hiccup out a laugh and shake your head as he realizes he must have left his curls comically unruly. Good. As long as you’re happy.

“Okay. Helmet.”

Perfect fit.

Now it’s his turn to hold back what’s rising in him as he looks you over, pride welling in his chest at his little bird, his star, his consort, wearing so well the armor of his order. You look...so good like this. There might have been a time when he would have balked to see an outsider in the beskar, but you have shown in every way that you hold the honor and bravery and understanding  to wear it with respect--even more so than some actual homeworlders he’s met. With his Tribe scattered across the galaxy, you and your warrior’s heart are the closest thing he knows to another of his kind. He’s damn happy he was led to you.

But you’re not quite complete--

Din picks up your belt from the floor, fastening it around your waist, your lightsaber hanging down your hip. 

There. 

Jedi legacy. Mandalorian legacy.

A respect. A fusion.

Both of you. 

A matching pair.

________________

Chapter 12: The Camp -->

Update: Artwork for this chapter commissioned from @miranhas-art

“Din Djarin,” you breathe. “I think you love me.”

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[worshipcircle01]

Every time I saw chapter 5 of TBOBF (and I saw it like 7 times already 🤣), I just can't believe how spot fucking on my Peli of "A spear and a couple of legs" is. And I wasn't so far away with Din's attitude and reactions.

I just... I'm SO happy that I didn't write these characters so much off their actual canon personality. Even when some readers will debate on my views of Luke 🤣

[lilyofthesword-writes]

The Healer

Summary: You are a traveling healer and have been running into Mando and his little green son as of late. Or three times you meet Mando and the one time you stayed.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Reader

Word Count: 6,227

Warnings/Disclaimers: Mild violence. Mentions of blood and injury. I try not to go into too much detail on any of this.

A/N: This boyo took up a lot of my time this week. Been needing to do a Mando piece for a while. I love writing for Loki but I needed to take a step back for a bit. This whole piece takes place after the end of Season 1 and throughout Season 2.

Masterlist

Had the first tug on your pants leg been any lighter you would have thought it was the slight breeze of one of the cantina’s patrons rumbling by. The second was more insistent, indicating more.

Patuu!

The squeak pulled your attention down to the floor where the most curious of creatures stood at your feet. Pale green skin, comically large pointed ears and round brown eyes that could be mistaken for black if you weren’t looking close enough. Its head tilted to the side as it met your gaze, an ear gently flopping with the motion.

“Well, hello there, little one. Where did you come from?”

The warm smile you gave it was reciprocated with a toothy grin. It waved its arms above its head, making grabby hands at you. Bending down from your seat, you scooped it up and placed it on the bar in front of you, earning you a quick, happy squeal.

You had never seen anything like this creature before, but it was strangely adorable. Was it someone’s pet? No, that can’t be right. Its starlight filled eyes held a peculiar intelligence, an understanding as its gaze bored into you. Someone’s child maybe?

“Are you lost?”

It shook its head. Then, it pulled out something from underneath the oversized robes that swallowed its body and chewed on it.

“Okay… Are you here with anyone? Family?”

It nodded, holding out the object it previously had in its mouth to you and pointing to the door behind you. You let the creature place the metallic item in your palm. The shiny silver and black pendant took the shape of an animal-like skull.

A mythosaur? Haven’t seen that symbol in a while.

“A foundling, huh? Guess that will make it easier to find your caretaker. Just gotta find a Mandalorian,” you thought quietly out loud.

The youngling cooed as it took back the pendant, resuming it gnawing. After a final swig of your drink, you placed the money for your meal on the counter, offering a quick nod to the owner.

“Okay, kiddo,” you grinned and swaddled it to your chest. “Ready to go back to your family?”

It babbled and clung to your shirt with its tiny clawed hands. Hopping off the bar stool, you left the cantina.

Where to start the search…

The marketplace would probably be good. Mandalorians were not common, especially on this planet. Whoever they were would have had to travel. They’d need supplies. And the market wasn’t too far from the cantina. It was certainly closer than the hangars. It’d have been easy for the foundling to find its way to where you were.

Veering down a short alley, you hoofed it down the dusty path and in between a couple of stalls at the end. You groaned inwardly. Of course, it was the busiest time of the day. You weaved through the customers, sticking close to the stalls on the outer edges, a quick apology on your tongue for anyone you would inevitably bump into.

You had almost made a full lap around the ring when the hot sun began to descend overhead, but even the creeping, cool shadows didn’t do you many favors. The foundling was still clutched to you chest. The little thing was warmer than it had any right to be. It would have been perfect in a colder climate.

A handful of gasps murmured through the crowd near the middle of the marketplace, snatching the foundling’s attention away from some candied fruit nearby. Patrons were shuffling and scurrying to the edges and alleys. Sounds of scuffling and grunts were coming through clearer as people filtered out to create a ring around the opponents.

Great… Another fight…

You wanted to keep the little one safe, but in your experience, if a Mandalorian was in town, there was going to be a brawl. Too many people wanted to steal their beskar or try their hand at taking down an elite, heavily armored warrior. Might as well see if your theory held true.

Shifting the foundling to your side, you squeezed through the throng of people far enough to get a glimpse of the fight. Shining silver nearly blinded you when you stepped around the last person. And the theory was right.

“Where’s the kid, Mando?” one growled.

Think we found him, little one.

But who was this other guy looking for the child tucked firmly into your side? Not wanting to take any chances, you pulled your cloak so part of it hung over your shoulder and wrapped it over the foundling. It patuu’d in protest, having either wanted to see the fight or recognized its caretaker.

The Mandalorian in question remained silent as he slammed his vagrant-looking opponent into the ground. In the moment the Mandalorian took to whip out his blaster, a shot rang out from across the way and hit the unarmored part of his arm. He stumbled slightly from the impact but held a tight grip on his weapon. He swiftly took out the enemy on the ground before swinging around and firing at the top of a building behind him. A body tumbled from the roof to the dirt, a loud thud echoing off the buildings.

Silence turned to whispers in the crowd as the Mandalorian holstered his weapon and knealt down next to the first corpse. He rifled through the vest before pulling out a blinking tracker. Rising to his feet, he dropped the tracker and easily crushed it with his boot. The helmeted man looked up, his T-shaped visor challenging anyone in the crowd who might oppose him. Everyone looked away to slowly go about their own business. Everyone but you.

When his gaze met yours, it locked into place so hard you swear you could have heard gears clicking together. You knew he was looking at you and you alone. With a quick nod, you motioned for him to follow, the foundling still hidden under your cloak. It was halfway down a nearby alley that you felt the end of a blaster shoved against your spine.

“Where is he?” The modulated voice sent a shivering fear through your body.

Clearing your voice, you turned around slowly. “He’s right here,” you spoke calmly, hoping the slight waver of your voice wasn’t noticeable to anyone but yourself, and pulled your cloak back.

The Mandalorian’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly when he saw his foundling unharmed. It blinked up at him and squealed in delight, reaching out for him to take. Who were you to deny the child his caretaker? You held him out to the beskar-clad man who hesitantly replaced his blaster to take the little one in the safety of his arms.

“What were you doing with him?” the Mandalorian ground out.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “He found me… Actually. In the cantina… We came out here to find you.”

His helmet angled a tad as though he were saying an incredulous, “Really?”

Shrugging, you continued, “It’s not like you have to believe me. You’ve got your foundling back, right? That’s what matters.”

Silence.

You felt like you were being studied under a magnifying glass, your skin prickling under his stare. Not that you were surprised, though. All of your other Mandalorian encounters, as few as they were, went similarly, especially if a foundling was present. He was deciding if he could give you the smallest pinch of his trust. So, you stood there and let him continue his inspection.

And why not do one of your own? His armor was immaculate save for the dirt that had been kicked up in the brawl. You weren’t sure if it was the armor or just himself, but the man cut an intimidating figure. No matter how tall you were compared to him, he made you feel tiny. The way he stood exuded confidence and not the cocky kind either. He knew what he was capable of and what he was doing. How anyone thought they had a chance at beating him was beyond you.

Your eyes trailed over his body until you reached his arm, the arm that had been shot. You had expected to see some blood, but not that much. It did more than just graze him. It was soaking through his sleeve, darkening the already near-black material.

“May I?” You motioned to his wound.

He stiffened. Just as he was about to step back, his foundling whined and reached out for his injured arm, looking back between you and his helmet. With a defeated grunt, he raised his arm towards you.

A couple of gingered steps and you were at his side, inspecting the wound. You did your best not to touch him. He probably would not appreciate that. “Well, it doesn’t look like you hit a main artery… Although, it will need stitches. I can help with that, if you’d like.”

“I have a cauterizer on the ship. I’ll be fine.” Had you not been paying close attention, it would have sounded like he snapped at you. Even through the modulator, you could hear a hint of softness like deep down he appreciated that at least one person was willing to help him.

You scoffed out a laugh. “And how many times have you used it only to pass out?”

“I’m used to the pain,” he deadpanned.

Steeling yourself, you dared to place a gentle hand on his vambrace. “Wouldn’t it be nice to not have to go through it even for just one time?”

You were met with a stifling silence. Then, an audible sigh bled through the modulator.

Your lips curled into a smile. “I’ll get the extra stuff I’ll need. Which hangar?”

He grumbled out the location and left you to get what you needed. While you kept quite a bit of medical supplies on your person, some items took priority over others. You went back to the inn, grabbed your stitching materials and rushed back out to the hangars where you found an old, pre-empire ship. And there he was waiting at the top of the open ramp. You followed him inside and got to work.

Mando, the name he offered for you to use, sat atop a crate he had repurposed as a chair while his foundling was playing on the makeshift table next to him. You had cut through the sleeve of his shirt for better access and were currently cleaning up some of the dried blood to see what you were doing. Hints of various scars that lightened and littered his skin made themselves visible as you worked.

“Guessing you use that carterizer more often than you should,” you teasingly broke the quiet of the ship.

Nothing. Not a sound or motion that told you he registered what you were saying.

A sterilized needle later and you started on the stitching. You had to admit he held it together extremely well. Most people flinched the moment the needle punctured the skin. Mando was a statue. Only the tiniest flux of his chest signaled he was a breathing entity.

It didn’t take long to finish. With the stitching done, you gently applied bacta gel and wrapped his arm in gauze. By this point, the foundling had stopped playing and was sitting on the edge of the table, watching your every move with an inquisitive yet serious intensity.

“There. All set,” you concluded, beginning to pack up your supplies. “I’m assuming you know how and when to remove the stitches?”

“Yes.” The helmet bobbed.

“Good.” You were about to stow your last tool when you looked back up at him. “Are there any other injuries you want me to check while I’m here?”

This time he turned, visor pointed right at you. He was studying you, again. This time, the silence was suffocating. Even the little, green foundling seemed aware as he whined and reached for you. Of course, you obliged with a light chuckle, booping his nose before stroking his ear. You guessed that appeased him. It earned you a squeak of delight.

Mando’s shoulders relaxed as though he was finally comfortable with your presence. You pet the child’s ear one more time before gazing back at Mando expectantly. He just shook his head.

“Alright, then,” you said with a smile. Dropping the last tool in your bag, you deftly tied it off and threw it over your shoulder. “I’ll be off. Try not to get yourself too beat up.” You shot Mando a teasing grin.

Just as you were about to reach the ramp, he called out, “Wait. How much for your services?”

You faced him with a shrug. “For that? Don’t worry about it.”

He stalked towards you, boots thumping heavily on the metal floor. “I don’t like being in someone else’s debt.”

Is he trying to threaten me to take his money?

“There’s no debt to be paid,” you tried to wave him off.

He just took a step closer, hooking his thumbs onto his belt.

“Ugh,” you groaned dramatically. “How about this? If we meet again, you can buy me dinner or something. If not, no debt to be paid. Deal?”

“Deal,” he nodded.

Why did you always have to pick the most unbearably hot planets to spend the most time on? You had been in Mos Eisley for a couple of weeks when you had been called out to one of the hangars. One of the mechanics suffered from a serious electrical burn. So now you were attempting to stay in the waning shade as you patched her up. You couldn’t figure out which was worse: A tropical planet that was so humid the sweat poured off of you, or here on a desert planet that seemed to suck the liquid from your body before it had a chance to escape your pores.

“Jeez, Peli… You really did a number on yourself,” you scolded while applying some bacta to her hand and arm.

“Well, how was I supposed to know one of the droids took initiative and turned the power back on?” she vehemently defended. “They weren’t even supposed to be working on that project with me.”

You laughed as you wrapped gauze around her burns.

“You know, maybe I should follow Mando’s lead and go with no droids,” she yelled the last part out to where her metal minions were hiding.

“Mando? So you’ve met a Mandalorian?” You perked up. It had been months since you last saw Mando and his foundling. How are they doing?

“Oh yeah! But just this one. Adorable kid with him. Never seen anything like ’im before. Big eyes, pointy ears, green skin. Haven’t seen ‘em in a while though. Mando better be taking good care of him.”

She probably would have continued had the comm in her office not started beeping.

“One sec!” she hollered, dashing off to answer the call.

You took a look around and saw the three droids still shivering in a dark corner. Grinning and waving, they poked their heads out a little more out of curiosity. Once Peli started making her way back, they shrunk back out of sight.

“Well, you’ll never guess who’s stopping by for repairs!” She leaned on the wall next to you.

“No! Really?”

Was the Mando you knew really about to land in this hangar as if your conversation had summoned him?

A ship’s engines could be heard flying overhead, gearing down to land. Yup. That was the same ship, for sure.

You stood quickly, staying in the background as Peli rushed to meet the patrons. Mando clunked down the ramp with a brown satchel hanging behind him off his shoulder. You could see the familiar brown eyes peering out to take in the scenery. As the beskar-clad man reached Peli who was already giving him grief, those big eyes landed on you. The foundling popped its head out of the bag with a loud squeal. Mando’s visor went down to the child before snapping up to see you.

“Hey,” you waved awkwardly. “Long time no see.”

“Wait. You two know each other?” Peli’s gaze bounced between Mando and you rapidly.

Mando shrugged, so you left your spot, taking a place next to Peli, and answered for him. “We met once. Fixed up a blaster shot.”

“You got shot, Mando?” Peli threw her hands out. “Please tell me the little guy was safe when that went down!”

“Yes,” Mando huffed, not wanting to go into anymore detail. He swung the satchel around so she could see the child.

She immediately plucked him into her good arm. “There you are, kiddo! Has he been taking care of you?”

Peli wandered off to her office, now completely distracted with the foundling. That left you alone with Mando.

“So…” he spoke up. “I owe you dinner.”

You stifled a snicker. “I guess you do.”

Honestly, you weren’t really expecting this. You’d figured Mando would have forgotten the encounter. And yet, here he was, asking you where you wanted to go.

You both wound up at the cantina. You didn’t need much, and there was no way you were going ask him for an expensive meal, not that there was anything high quality around here. Settling in a booth across from each other, you placed your order. The meal was brought out quickly enough. Bar food never did take long.

The whole experience was strangely pleasant. Mando didn’t eat anything. He just kept his gaze on you without speaking much. Most people would have found this uncomfortable or intimidating. But this… It was hard to describe fully.

You felt open like the air. The lack of conversation was depressurizing in the sense that there was nothing to maintain. There was no obligation to be social, and you were okay with that. Over the years, your customer service self was always on. You always had to interact with someone, always called on for your medical know how. This was one of the few times you could turn it all off and just exist.

Mando did pipe up a little bit after you finished eating, asking about what led you to become a traveling healer.

“Well, I’ve always had a knack for it, and the learning opportunity was available. But I mostly wanted to travel, so I figured why not combine the two,” you replied simply.

He leaned forward on the table which whined under the extra weight. “You don’t want to settle down anywhere?”

“No… Not right now at least. When I can’t travel as much, sure. But not now. I enjoy roaming about.”

“You don’t get lonely traveling by yourself?”

“Sometimes. Everyone feels alone at some point in their lives. I’ve just gotten used to pushing past it.”

“Everyone? Does that include Mandalorian bounty hunters?” A teasing lilt snuck through the modulator.

You snickered, “Yes, I’m lumping you in everyone. But you do at least have your foundling. He’s probably as much of a handful as he is adorable.”

A sound you hadn’t heard blurted out the modulator. Did he just laugh?

“Yes, he is. He keeps me busy.”

The rest of the conversation turned towards Mando’s foundling, from chortling over how many amphibians he had managed to eat to pressing buttons he shouldn’t mess with. It was late by the time you left the cantina, prompting Mando to offer to walk you back to the inn you were staying at.

It wasn’t normal to run into the same person multiple occasions on different planets, and yet it happened for a third time. At this rate, Mando was going to think you were following him.

You had landed on Trask about a week prior. Between the various fishing boats on this ocean planet, you had your work cut out for you. Anything could go down when they were out of the port. Almost always, a crew member or two would come back with a poorly patched injury. It just seemed a part of the job.

Word had gotten around about a traveling healer, and you were approached by a frog-like man along with a translator. He had gotten word about his wife returning to him with their eggs. He asked for you to come check on their development once they were fertilized. It sounded more like something a midwife would do, but he had nowhere else to turn. Well, it’s not like you couldn’t help, so you agreed.

The Frog Man called for you a couple of days later. His wife welcomed you in after the first knock, motioning you towards the tall tank with her eggs. You didn’t know exactly what happened on her trip, but she had at least managed to convey she had been in colder temperatures that could have damaged them.

As you were running your check up, a secondary knock on the door resounded through the home. It opened revealing Mando holding his foundling in one arm. The frog couple greeted him ecstatically with open arms. You guessed he was taken back when he found standing in the middle of the room as he didn’t respond immediately. The child, however, was a different story. The moment he saw you, he made grabby hands in your direction.

“Well, hello again, little one,” you beamed.

In one swift motion, you skated around the frog couple and scooped the child into your arms, gifting you another infamous patuu. If Mando wasn’t stunned before, he certainly was now. Not many would make that bold of a move, especially with a Mandalorian.

He shook his head and turned back to the Frog Lady. An agreement was settled that she and her husband would watch over his foundling while he was out on a mission.

“How long will you be in town?” His visor pinned you down while you were letting the child play with your fingers.

“Mmm… Not sure yet. Part of it depends on how badly my services are needed,” you shrugged.

Mando’s shoulders slumped barely a centimeter. Was he disappointed?

Snorting a laugh, you added, “I’m not leaving tonight, if that makes you feel any better.”

A curt nod was his only response before heading out the door.

Either time flew by so quickly you didn’t register it or Mando finished his mission in no time at all. It felt like you had been in the frog couple’s home for maybe an hour or two, holding onto the child as you watched the eggs develop, one of which was getting big enough to break through its gooey barrier.

As much as Mando’s foundling wanted a closer look at the eggs, he whined every time you tried to set him down. Your arms pulsed with an ache you hadn’t known for quite a while when you were finally able to place him in front of a bowl holding the newly formed tadpole. He was finally enraptured enough to not fuss at you. The Frog Lady encouraged him to dip his hands in the water to play with their new offspring. You had to admit it was an adorable sight - The two parents fawning over their child while the foundling acted as a big brother seeing their newborn sibling for the first time. It was in this moment that Mando returned.

The door swooshed open, the air in its wake causing his cloak to billow out. He stood frozen in the doorway like when he first showed up before entering and gently coaxing his son away from the bowl.

“Thank you for watching him. We should be going. We don’t want to overstay our welcome,” he spoke curtly but not unkindly.

His visor set in your direction just as he turned to leave, giving you the slightest of nods.

Nevarro had certainly changed from the first time you were here. It used to be a haven for bounty hunters. Now? It looked like a legitimate, family-friendly town. Even children could be seen playing in the streets when they weren’t in school.

The new education system was the biggest surprise to you. That old cantina you had visited a few years back to meet with a bounty hunter whose partner had been injured became the school house. You took a peek inside after hours - Well-lit and clean. You’d say the cantina was a shell of its former self but that would make it sound like it used to be a good place. The school was a much needed improvement.

All in all, Nevarro felt safe. The need to keep a hand on your vibroblade while you slinked through the crowds seemed unwarranted. Now, that isn’t to say that all the riffraff had run off. There were still a few hiding in the alleys and underground tunnels, only coming out when the shadows grew long and they could keep their cover. They didn’t want to give up their home, but they also didn’t want to draw the attention of the new Marshal and her crew, the Marshal who was currently out. Magistrate Greef Karga was helping out in her stead.

Greef was the one who tracked you down at the inn you nestled yourself in. There had been a scuffle in the market, and the medical center was still being established. They needed someone to step in. You readily obliged.

As you were tending to a Mythrol’s shoulder, Greef disappeared to check a comm message. He returned when you had moved on to the bandaging.

“Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day!” He grinned, nudging your arm. “You’ll finally get to meet the Marshal. Cara should be here within a couple of hours.”

You scoffed a laugh. “Not much left here for me to do. Besides, I doubt she’d want to meet me right when she gets back from her trip.”

“Nonsense, friend!” He leaned on the desk behind him, a mock frown on his face. “Of course she would want to see the healer who helped us in our time of need.”

“A few lacerations, a bloody nose and some bruises don’t really count for an ‘our time of need’ scenario,” you smirked, standing after finishing the bandages.

“Maybe not in a dramatic sense, but it was still nice to have someone step up and help.”

“Alright, alright! I get it!” you laughed. “I’ll stay and meet with her since you want me to so badly.”

And with that he offered you a drink and conversation to pass the time. The Mythrol who you had tended to after the others timidly joined in. Turns out he was working off a debt owed to Greef and should have been in the very office you all were sitting in, not meandering the market. You swallowed down your giggle with a sip of spotchka, observing the squabble that inevitably ended with Greef’s victory.

Just as the pair was telling you about the recent changes to Nevarro - from Moff Gideon shooting up the cantina, the Mandalorian covert that had been living in the underground tunnels, Mando taking Gideon down and to finally rebuilding to a more savory setting - the Marshal stepped through the door. Trailing in her wake was a man dressed in imperial armor, cuffed and gagged. He was languidly entering the room when in a flash of silver, he lurched forward with a half-assed shove.

Mando…

Other than the helmet’s visor halting on you for a beat, he made no indication of your presence. Instead of strutting in with the grace of an apex predator, his boots lightly scraped the floor. His movement cleared the space for two more people to enter, partly making you feel like you should have left when you had the chance. The room wasn’t big enough for this many people. Another Mandalorian clad in green-painted armor and a woman in black with her hair braided in unrealistic perfection stopped near the entrance. They were an intimidating pair for sure.

The Mythrol, who had been next to you, half hid himself behind your form as though you could protect him. Did he not see what you were noticing? Exhaustion rolled off them in waves, Mando even more so. With him, there was something else there, something that wound its way past his impenetrable beskar armor and ate away at his soul.

Greef seemed to catch on. He looked his Mandalorian friend up and down, brows furrowed in concern. He parted his mouth to speak only to snap it shut when Mando whipped his head to stare him down. The Magistrate looked at the two who had yet to introduce themselves, receiving a head shake from the woman. That’s when it hit you.

Where was Mando’s foundling?

The silver Mandalorian directed the Imperial into the room the Marshal had opened, letting the door slide closed behind them. The silence burned your ears as it washed over the room. No one wanted to make eye contact, their gazes glued to the floor. You feared the worst. As much as you wanted to tear through this weighted blanket of silence to ask what happened, it didn’t feel appropriate. So, you swallowed back your concerned curiosity.

The office door swooshed again with Mando stepping out. He nodded at the other Mandalorian and woman who reciprocated in kind. Apparently, that was all they needed to communicate before disappearing outside into the street. Mando’s shoulders slumped, his gloved fingers curling and straightening at his sides. Greef kept glancing over at him. His mouth twitched like he wanted to say something but the words kept derailing, never reaching their destination.

Suddenly, Mando’s helmet snapped up to you, and he motioned for you to follow. As he made his way out, Greef shot you a confused look to which you just shrugged and sprinted after Mando. You could have traveled behind him, allowing him his space. However, something told you that wasn’t what he wanted. Walking at his side, he took you down through the maze of a market to an old building. Its only door consisted of a tattered cloth. He brushed past it, leading you to a nook tucked away in the back. Through it and down a set of spiraling stairs, you found yourself in the tunnels you had only known through word of mouth, the former home of Mando’s covert. He swiftly traversed the paths in a memorized stride.

So many questions addled your brain as you walked alongside him. What had happened to him since you last saw him? Where was he taking you? Why did he want you of all people to come with him?

You were so caught up with your thoughts, you almost didn’t notice Mando come to a grinding halt outside an open door. His helmet angled upwards at the overhang where the silhouette of a mythosaur skull branded the wall. He then trudged onward into the room he knew so well with you tepidly entering after him.

A certain sacredness still lingered, feeling strongest around the cryo-furnace centered in the space. Despite its obvious abandonment, it felt wrong to share the air of the pilfered armory. You awkwardly shifted the weight on your feet as Mando approached the centerpiece. A tentative hand rested on it before he finally spoke.

“He had been taken,” the modulator covered the waver in his voice that would have been present otherwise. “Moff Gideon took Grogu while I was searching for his people.”

You stared at Mando’s backside as he sucked in a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling with it. “We came together and stormed his ship. Took out him and his army. Everything had been going according to plan. Grogu was safe. But…”

Gliding up beside him, you placed a gentle hand over his, urging him to continue. It was strange. Even in Mos Eisley he didn’t speak this much. Deep down, you knew he needed this.

“But… Not all of Gideon’s army was down. He had Dark Troopers. Had it not been for the Jedi who found us…” His hand tensed under yours as he gripped the edge of the cryo-furnace. If it weren’t for the gloves, you’d have seen his knuckles turn white. “The Jedi defeated the Dark Troopers like they were nothing. Grogu went with him… With his people.”

You laced your fingers between his, coaxing him to loosen his iron grip on the metal rim and focus on you instead.

“I don’t know what to do now… I knew this day would come, but I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready for anything on that ship.” He fiddled with something clipped to his belt before ripping it off and holding up for both of you to see. “I lost him and my ship, broke my creed and now after ‘winning’ this thing, I’m the Mand’alor, the leader of all Mandalorians.”

Your heart ached upon hearing his voice crack. This was too much for one person to have thrown at them all at once. Yet, at the same time, you admired his strength, the strength that held him together until now, the strength that let him confide in you.

“How do I move forward from here?” The modulator barely picked up his query.

“What is it you want?” you whispered to match him.

His helmet turned towards you. “I… To- to go back to how things were. When life was simple. But… After Grogu… How can I do that?”

The leather of his glove squealed quietly in protest against the grip on the object in his hand. His thumb glossed over a section of it, and the end burst to life with a black light that formed the shape of a blade. Although you had never seen a light saber before, you had at least heard of them. This one was different from the stories. The light… It was hauntingly beautiful. The reverberating sound echoed through your bones, whispered across your skin, raised the hair on the back of your neck - the telltale signs of danger.

Mando shut it off just as quickly as he had turned it off, retracting the energy that was seeping into you. “With this… This Dark Saber…I have more responsibility than I ever wanted.”

Worrying your bottom lip, you mulled over your next words. He didn’t want this thing or anything that came with it. “You said you won the saber, right?”

“Yes,” he nodded defeatedly. “When I fought Gideon. Apparently, it became mine when I defeated him.”

You finally met his gaze. “‘Apparently’? So you didn’t challenge him specifically for it?”

“No. I didn’t know it existed until after.”

“Then, it sounds like you have a choice.”

His helmet tilted. He wanted you to continue.

“The whole reason you were there was for Grogu, not this weapon. You didn’t challenge him for it. Therefore, it was not technically up for grabs. You’re not obligated to accept it.”

Mando turned his attention back to the saber. “And if I don’t… I don’t know if I can…”

You free hand toyed with the hem of your tunic. Maybe it was time…

“No one said you had to go it alone,” you murmured.

His visor snapped onto you. “You…”

“Yes,” you cleared your throat. “That is… If you want me to come with you.”

“I thought you had gotten used to traveling on your own?”

And there it was. He was starting to pull himself out of his pit of despair.

“Never said I enjoyed it,” you teased back.

A chuckle escaped his throat, and he placed the Dark Saber on the edge of the cryo-furnace. He then pulled away from your grip as he brought his hands to the sides of his helmet.

“Mando,” you protested. “What about-”

“Din. My name is Din.”

“D-Din, what about… what about your creed?” you stammered, panic bubbling in you. This wasn’t quite the turn you had expected.

“I broke it, remember? I showed my face… Twice… For Grogu.”

“But-”

“I want you to see.” He left no room for argument and began to slide his helmet up.

Your arms hung limply at your sides as you watched the reveal - the patchy stubble on his jawline, the hint of a mustache, the warm brown eyes, the messy dark brown hair. You hadn’t expected to see such a soft face on a Mandalorian, but it wasn’t unwelcome. You barely noticed when your lips unconsciously curled into a smile. You could get used to seeing this everyday.

He hooked the helmet under his arm, a bashful smile threatening his face when he saw how you were looking at him. “I guess you like what you see.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

His unoccupied hand reached up and ghosted your cheek. You found yourself leaning into the touch, an action that gifted you a full blown smile that reached his eyes. Stars, he was expressive.

He pulled back and grabbed hold of the Dark Saber. He leaned over the edge of the cryo-furnace, it innards long since cold. The way he placed the hilt in the middle held a certain reverence. Din still had respect for it, for what it represented, but it was for someone else to wield.

Stepping down and away from what you now considered a shrine for Mandalorian culture, Din held out his hand. You took it without hesitation.