#planet sorgan

[sytortuga]

"Sorgan snack"

Started as a Din hand study (first sketch here), inspired by a post by @thefrogdalorian and posted for dincember2023.

6,500 km in a moving car after and a (very likely) broken dominant thumb (ouch), this is the result, got a little bit sidetracked though 😂. I'm very happy with the outcome given the conditions😅

[sytortuga]

We want to see Sorgan in S3!!

Until our paths cross.

THE MANDALORIAN Chapter Four: Sanctuary

[techs-study-buddy]

After rewatching The Mandalorian, I'm just sitting here thinking about how nice life on Sorgan would be. You could just be a lil krill farmer- you got no worries, just your fellow villagers :) And part of me like the idea of a rainy evening on Sorgan. Just me?

[orcasoul]

Broken Part 2

Summary: Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?

Warnings: Swearing, description of injuries, angst, established relationship, use of Y/N.

Word Count: 4,564

It has been one month since Din left you as a sobbing mess on Sorgan. One month since he'd had anything resembling a good night's sleep, haunted every time he closes his eyes by the image of your devastated face and shaking frame. Please Din, please don't this! echoing on a loop in his mind. He did what needed to be done, so why can't he seem to move on? He has regained his creed, by the grace of the Living Waters, you're safe, you have friends and a new place to start over. That knowledge should be enough to to ease his conscience, so why can't he let you go?

Why does he suffer every day with crushing guilt and endless longing to see you, touch you, laugh with you? Of course he's not the only one suffering. Grogu cried for three days straight when Din told him you wouldn't be coming back. Even now Grogu seems forlorn. He's quieter than usual, not showing much interest in his toys, not constantly harassing the poor froggy's in his pond. Din tried everything he could think of to distract him, but it was futile. Grogu misses you, and in truth, so does Din. Work has been slow for the past couple of weeks, meaning once Din has dropped Grogu off at school, he's had nothing but time to ruminate on the events that led to this.

Had he been too harsh? Maybe, but although he's consumed by guilt - and a part of him wants to run to you, forgive you and hold you - he still can't see how he'll ever be able to trust you again, trust you to make difficult decisions when necessary. His heart and his mind are being pulled in two different directions. He can't take this anymore. He needs to clear his head. Getting up from the settee, he places his helmet on his head before walking out of the door to visit the one non Mandalorian friend he has on Nevarro.

The evening sun drenches Sorgan in a warm, golden hue, rays of sunlight gleaming off the krill ponds, shadows of huts and trees elongating as the sun slowly begins it's decent beyond the horizon. The evening had always been your favourite time of day on any planet. Taking time to relax and unwind after a long day was always something you'd look forward to, but not anymore. The evening heralds the approaching night, and night time is when the tears come. When the loneliness and sorrow become too much to bare and manifest in unbridled anguish and weeping. Omera has been a liferaft in a tumultuous ocean for you, allowing you to cry until you'd exhausted yourself and always ready to offer advice and support as your poured your aching heart out.

You honestly don't know what you would've done without her this past month. You'd told her everything the day Din left you in pieces and a part of you worried that she'd be disappointed in you too, but she showed nothing but understanding, adding that in a situation like that, anyone would do the same. Some nights were easier than other's to endure. Night's when your toilworn body had no choice but to succumb to sleep after spreading yourself too thin. More work meant less time to think and a greater chance of sleeping through the night.

Tonight wasn't one of those nights. The harvest had been collected and the krills had been salted and stored away, which meant for the past two days there had been a lot less work to occupy your mind. Tonight is the village festival, a chance for the community to come together and celebrate the rewards of everyone's hard work. As the orange and pink sky turned to dusk, bonfires were lit throughout the village, a signal of the beginning of the festivities. Banners and streamers hung between huts, log seats and blankets placed around each bonfire, the aromas of different delicacy's wafted from the stalls, reaching every corner of the village and the cool night air came alive with cheerful music.

Children laughed and played, people danced, friends gathered around the fires, enjoying Spotchka, everyone immersed in the exuberant atmosphere. It's moments like this that somewhat lightened your spirits, even if it is temporary. Omera sat beside you by the fire, handing you a cup of Spotchka. "Thanks," you smiled at your friend. "So, how are you enjoying your first harvest festival?" You look at Omera with a soft gaze. "It's great. I love seeing how everyone comes together. It's..." you sigh, "It's a rare thing these days."

And that's true, considering the larger, more metropolitan worlds you've visited seem to have lost all sense of community, everyone too caught up in their own lives, rushing from A to B without a second thought for their neighbours. "It is?" Omera seemed surprised by your answer, but of course she'd never left Sorgan, so this life is all she's known. "Yeah, a lot of people in the galaxy these days tend to keep to themselves, look out for number one." Omera grimaced at the thought of that kind of existence. "I'd hate to live like that." "Yeah, you're lucky here. This place is..." you look around at the heartwarming scene in front of you, one of camaraderie, belonging. "This place is special."

Omera placed a hand on your shoulder. "You mean we're lucky here. This is your home too now." Tears well up in your eyes but you blink them back and look at your feet. While you deeply appreciate what the village has done for you, this could never truly be home. Home is inside the hearts of the two people you love the most in this whole universe. A home you'll never see again. "Mama, Y/N!" Winta comes bounding over to you both, a huge grin lighting up her face. "I made these for you." She placed two little daisy crowns on both your heads.

"Thank you, sweetie. It's beautiful," Omera gushed and placed a kiss on her cheek. "Aww, thank you," you smiled softly. You've grown very fond of Winta over the past month, her happy disposition reminding you so much of Grogu. "I'll wear this proudly all night." With a giggle she turned and ran back to her friends. You watch her laughing and skipping with some of the other kids, and you feel your heart warm at the sight. Your mood quickly shifts, though, when your attention is caught by a toddler (no older than two) running into the waiting arms of his mum and dad.

Watching the sweet embrace, the joy and love so openly displayed sends a wave of pain straight through your heart. So many times Grogu had ran to you and Din like that, like you were both the centre of his universe. If you'd known that life would end, you would have held onto them both and never let go. The familiar numbness you'd been battling over the past month returns, sinking deep into your stomach. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you place your cup down and stand up. "You okay?" Omera asks. "Yeah I... I just need to clear my head. I'll be right back," you try to say casually, hoping Omera didn't notice the slight quaver in your voice.

The outskirts of the village is a little quieter, a little less overwhelming. Finding a boulder you slump down onto it, dipping your face into your hands. You inhale deeply then look up at the cosmos, wondering what Din and Grogu are doing this very moment. Are they well? Do they miss you as much as you do them? You're one hundred percent certain that Grogu misses you, but Din? Well, you can't be too sure anymore. You can't be sure of anything anymore when it comes to Din. He'd told you time and again that he loved you, but if that were true, why did he leave you instead of talking to you, instead of giving you a chance to make amends?

Maybe you'd been foolish this whole time. Maybe you loved -love- him more than he's ever loved you. Of course these thoughts had been swirling around your brain, relentlessly hounding you since that day, and you're still no closer to clarification, except for one harsh truth; that you're expendable, meaningless and not worthy of love, if the one person you'd trusted the most could just turn his back on you. A pained sob breaks free as you bury your face in your hands. In all your years nothing had ever hurt as much as this! Will this feeling lesson over time, granting you the opportunity to to learn to live with it, or will you have to face this bleak void for the rest of your life?

So lost are you in your all consuming spiral that you don't notice the screams at first. It's only when the unmistakable echos of blaster fire ring out that you leap to your feet like a startled Porg. Your immediate thoughts are for your friends. "Omera! Winta!" you scream as you run into the village. It's absolute chaos! Red streaks fly through the air, people screaming in panic as the attackers gain the upper hand. Some women run to nearby huts with their children while other's are being rounded up. The men are fighting back, but without any firearms they stand no chance. 'Winta, Omera! Where are you?!" You push through the throng of panicking people, desperately to catch sight of them amidst the mayhem. It's no use. In the dark and the rush of bodies you can't see them anywhere. "Win- arrrgh!" You hit the ground hard, a white hot burn tearing across your lower back and side. You push yourself up, gasping at the pain and, knowing there's nothing more you can do, you run.

Stumbling through the dark woods with only the moonlight to guide you, your mind tries to make sense of what just happened. Your lungs burn as you push through the woodland. You don't know where you're gong but you keep moving, until your legs can't take it anymore. A sharp pang jolts through your knees as you land on them, sweating and gasping for air. Dizziness and nausea sweep over you like a wave and you dig your fingers into the damp soil to ground yourself. As your breathing becomes less frantic, your head clears, and thats when you feel a warm wetness running down your thigh, soaking your trousers and making them stick to you.

You reach a hand around to where the pain radiates from and when you pull away, you squint at the dark, thick liquid staining your hand. The moonlight isn't bright enough to give you a clear view so you bring your hand to your nose, praying your suspicions are wrong. Your sense of smell is instantly overwhelmed by a strong metallic scent. Blood! "Fuck!" you groan quietly. I've been shot! You begin to tremble as you realise just how dire your situation has become. The sudden sounds of snapping and rustling has you jerking your head in it's direction. Voices follow the noises, telling each other to scour the woodland for any escapees. With a silent groan you force yourself to your feet and keep running.

For the past couple of days, Din has been in mental torture. His visit to Karga hadn't gone the way he'd planned. All he'd wanted was a new bounty to keep his mind off you, but instead he'd been given some harsh truths. And the more he thinks about the conversation, the more he realises what a grievous mistake he has made, his mind constantly replaying the moment he'd had some sense knocked into him.

"Mando!" Greef Karga exclaimed enthusiastically while rising from his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Din clasped his friends' arm and sat down opposite him. "I'm looking for more work." "Straight to the point as usual," Karga chuckled. "I've got a few bounty pucks, but to be honest the reward is so low it probably wouldn't even cover fuel." Din sighed and sat back in the chair. "Anyway, what's the rush? Your last two jobs paid handsomely. Why not take some time off and relax?" "I don't need to relax," Din replied, curtly, his shoulders stiffening with tension. Karga raised an eyebrow at Din's clipped response. "So, uh... how's the little one doing?"

Just the mention of Grogu helped to relax Din's tense posture. "He's good," Din answered, with a hint of affection in his voice. "He's been making new friends at school." Karga smiled at that, then clasped his hands together on the desk in front of him, focusing entirely on the black T of Din's helmet. "And how are you?" Din shrugged, "I'm fine." Karga just kept his gaze, fixing Din with a questioning look. "What?" Din asked awkwardly. "You're not doing yourself any favours by bottling everything up, you know." Din shifted uncomfortably, fists clenching as Karga continued. "Sooner or later it'll all catch up with you and -" "I said I'm fine," Din snapped.

"No you're not fine, Mando! You haven't been 'fine' since you left Y/N on Sorgan. You think I haven't noticed how distracted you've been lately?" Karga sighed and lowered his tone. "The only time you seem okay is when you're around the kid, but even then, I can't help but suspect it's a front. Just go to her. You obviously miss her. Din shook his head and let out long exhale. "Of course I miss her, but it's not that simple. "Why?" Karga asked, clearly confused, "You've redeemed yourself. You have your creed-" "It's not about the creed," Din interrupted in frustration, "It's about trust. I trusted her completely."

"Mando-" karga began but Din continued, "She went against my wishes and disrespected the creed and myself, even if it was to save my life. It was a ... selfish thing she did." Karga's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Selfish?!" "Yes! She said she couldn't lose me. She only thought about how she would feel, so yes, she was selfish." Karga pressed his lips into a thin line, shaking his head as he did so. "Mando, you're my friend so I'm going to be blunt. That's Bantha shit!!" Din jerked back at Karga's sudden outburst. "She saved your life, knowing that doing so could end with you hating her. She knew what she was risking by removing your helmet, and it wasn't just losing you, but Grogu too. She sacrificed everything so you could live, even if she could no longer be a part of your lives. That is the most selfless thing I've ever heard of."

Din is speechless. He'd been so consumed by, what he'd seen as a betrayal, that he hadn't stopped to consider what it would have really meant for you to let him die. You loved him so much that you'd risked losing everything, just for him. The sudden clarity made his stomach churn and chest tighten under the weight of such a revelation. What the hell had he done?! "I... I never thought of it like that," Din faltered as regret swept through him. "Maybe it's not too late. I'm sure you'll do the right thing," Karga smiled sincerely. Din stood quickly; he needed to get out of there, needed space to think clearly. "Thank you," Din nodded at his friend and rushed outside.

For two days Din had been obsessing over how he can fix everything, but what could he say to excuse his behaviour? Would you forgive him? He couldn't blame you if you wouldn't. He doesn't deserve it. He feels sick to his stomach knowing the pain he's put both you and Grogu through. He has to see you, even if you won't forgive him, he needs you to know how sorry he is and how much he still loves you. Din is brought out of his thoughts by the blinking of his holoprojector, a quick press of the button revealing Greef Karga's hazy image. "Mando," Karga began, "I've just received communication from Captain Carson Teva. He has a proposition for you. I need to discuss this with you in person. Can you come to the office ASAP? It's important."

Din frowned as Karga's image disappeared. He could tell from his voice that something was very wrong. Din slipped his helmet on and made his way to the office. Upon arrival, Din was met with a very somber looking Karga. This can't be good, Din surmised internally. "Thank you for coming in, Mando," Greef said, stretching out an arm for Din to sit. "You said you have work for me from Captain Teva?" Din asked as he took a seat. "Yes... uh, he's had confirmed reports that an organisation of Spice runners have taken control of a planet in a nearby system. There have also been reports of fatalities and enslavement of the local people. As the Planet is part of the Outer Rim Territories," -Din bristled at that, hoping Karga isn't going to say what he thinks he's going to say- "It's not exactly a top priority for the over stretched republic officers. That's why Captain Teva has requested the help of allies nearby. He'll pay 30,000 Galactic Credits."

"Okay..." Din replied, hesitantly, a knot forming in his stomach. Greef closed his eyes and sighed. "Mando..." he looked back up. "It happened on Sorgan. Din's heart dropped to his stomach as the words he didn't want to hear washed over him. He could barely breathe, fear and disbelief choking his airways. The room began to spin and Din had to grip the edge of the desk to steady himself. "When did this happen?" Din pressed, trying to calm his racing mind. "Two days ago, Nevarro time." Din's jaw dropped under his helmet. "Two days!" All this time you'd needed him and he knew nothing of it.

Maker knows what could have become of you in the past two days, that's if you're still- no! He can't even entertain that possibility. You're alive! You're alive and he'll come for you. "Tell Captain Teva I'm on my way!" Din spun around, ready to high tail it out of there, but then stopped abruptly. In his panic he'd completely forgotten about Grogu. Karga raised a hand, already knowing what Din was about to say. "Go. Find her. I'll get the kid from school and he can stay with me until you return." "Thank you," Din replied and ran out of the room.

You're cold, so bloody cold. The icy chill seems to be coming from inside your very bones, your entire body trembling uncontrollably, while a constant layer of sweat coats your skin. The only respite you get is when you lose consciousness. At this point, though, you're not sure what's real and what's not, how often you've woken and how often you've been dreaming becoming harder to distinguish between. After managing to stop the bleeding with a strip of your shirt, you forced yourself onwards until you came across a small cave, finally collapsing in an exhausted heap.

Time has now become meaningless. Maybe you've been here for minutes, maybe hours; there's no way to know. What you do know, even in your delirious state, is that you're in serious trouble, and if you don't get help soon... well, it's game over. Dying alone on a freezing cave floor wasn't how you ever envisioned yourself going out. Every breath is becoming difficult and every slight movement sends a burning jolt through your abdomen. Slowly, you slip back into the calm.

The fight didn't last long, if it could even be called that. Along with Captain Teva and his men and several other mercenaries, Din wasted no time in obliterating every one of those low life drug runners and freeing the villagers from bondage. Families and friends cried happy tears as they embraced each other, others crying over the loss of a loved one, and an abundance of gratitude and praise was offered up to the liberators. It was a moment of immense joy and relief. However, Din felt none of it as he scanned the crowd. Where the hell are you? he asked himself again and again. With every passing minute Din's composure threatened to shatter.

"Have you seen Y/N anywhere?!" he asked repeatedly as more and more villagers approached him to thank him, every one of them confirming they hadn't seen you. Worry and frustration began to boil within until Din felt like he was going to explode. "Mando!" a sweet little voice cried out, catching Din's attention and pulling him from his imminent spiral. Small arms wrapped around his waist and a head of dark hair nuzzled into his stomach. "Winta." Din gasped in relief, returning her embrace. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" Winta looked up with a big grin. "I'm okay. You saved us, thank you!"

Din crouched down to Winta's level, gently holding on to her arms. "Where's your mother? Where's Y/N?" he asked, trying to remain calm. "Mama's over there," winta pointed behind her to where Omera was quickly walking through the crowd towards him. "Mando..." Omera smiled, relief swimming in her brown eyes. "What are you doing here?" "I heard what happened and I had to come. Where is she?" Omera's face dropped at Din's question, taking his heart along with it. "Omera?..." Din hesitated, almost afraid to ask again but he needed to know. "Where's Y/N?"

"I don't know," Omera shook her head while tucking Winta into her side. "I haven't seen her since the attack." Din's chest seized, Omera's confirmation that you weren't there making his stomach swirl with dread. "I can't be sure, it was dark, but I think I saw her run into the woods." A glimmer of hope! "Which way?" Omera pointed to the tree line behind him, tears building in her eyes. "Please bring her back, Mando," she sniffled. "I will," Din declared with determination, placing a reassuring hand on Omera's shoulder. "I promise!" Then Din turned, sprinting towards the forrest as fast as his legs could carry him.

It didn't take Din long to spot the tell tale signs of disturbance once he'd entered the forrest. Broken branches on bushes, flattened vegetation, and most importantly, footprints. Several different tracks criss crossed the damp soil, some human, some not. Most of the human prints where too big to be you, so Din could easily rule them out, along with the non human tracks. The tracks that caught his attention, though, were sporadic, indicating that whoever they belonged to was in a hurry, but also Physically impaired as the trail was often interrupted by signs of dragging, which could only mean the tracks' owner had stumbled multiple times in their haste to keep moving.

Din swallowed down his rising anxiety at the thought of you being injured, scared and alone. Now's not the time to fall apart. Keep it together, for her! Fortifying himself, Din pushed forward, certain he's on the right path. He engaged the heat signature function in his helmet. It would be useless to track your footsteps now, the heat in them long gone, but if you're in the vicinity, he would easily spot your body heat. Din moved in stealthy silence as he would while tracking quarries, acutely aware of his surroundings. Only this time the stakes were much higher.

Your life is in his hands now. He can't fail you; he wont! He follows the tracks for several more minutes, analysing every minute detail. Rounding the corner of a bush Din stops dead, his muscles freezing as he stares at the ground. There in a patch of dried blood is the beaded bracelet Grogu had made for you in school. He'd recognise it anywhere. His legs turn to jelly and he drops to his knees. Hand trembling he picks it up. Bile rises up his throat at the sight of your blood. It suddenly becomes all too real. This confirms it; you're hurt. You needed him and he wasn't there. Pocketing the bracelet, Din rises to his full height. "Y/N?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his body turning in every direction. "Y/N! Where are you?!"

He's met with nothing but the sounds of the forrest and his echoing, modulated voice. "If you can hear me, call out, please!" The last word came out as a desperate plea. Nothing. A thorough scan of the area reveals no body heat signature but you have to be close. The tracks keep going and so does Din. The more he presses on, the more blood he discovers littering the trail. So determined he'd been about finding you, that he'd didn't stop to think about what condition he'd find you in. Would you even be alive? Din shakes the abhorrent thought from his mind.

You're alive. Surely he'd have felt it in his gut if you weren't. Din has become a man possessed, his only mission now is to find you, hold you in his arms and never let any harm befall you ever again. He stalks on, following the tracks for another quarter of a mile until the trail brings him to the mouth of a small cave. This has to be it! With renewed hope, Din charges into the cave, calling your name into the chilled air.

A series of violent shivers jerk you awake, and with consciousness comes the torturous pain spreading along your side. A trickle of sunlight filters down from a hole in the cave ceiling, bathing part of the area in a warm yellow glow. You groan as everything begins to spin in your vision, shutting your eyes in an attempt to ease the nausea trying to climb up you throat. It's hopeless; you know that now. With every waking moment a little more of your strength ebbs away. Your mind wonders to Din and Grogu. Even if you never physically see them again, at least you'll die seeing them in your memories.

A wistful smile tugs at your mouth as you imagine the antics your precious boy is probably up to at this moment, but your smile slowly drops, sadness settling deep within as the image of Din -both with and without his helmet- comes to the forefront of your mind. You'll die now, without the chance to tell him one last time how much he means to you, and that even though he broke your heart, you forgive him. You hadn't even realised until now that your face is wet, tears running down the temples of your head and into your hairline behind your ears.

"Y/N? !Y/N?! Cyar'ika are you in here?!" Din's frantic voice cuts through your silent despair. It sounds strange, almost as if he's under water. So close, yet so far away. How cruel of your mind to play tricks on you now. You hear the call of your name again, closer and clearer this time. In your disorientation, you turn your head in the direction of the voice. The last thing you see before darkness swallows you again is the gleam of sunlight reflecting off a fast moving mass of silver and black.

Part 3

[gffa]

What gets me about this ending--though, it’s not really an ending, Din is lining up work for himself, there will be further adventures to come, there’s still a lot of work to do, he’s not going to get bored any time soon--is that it goes all the way back to the first season, where I felt his yearning to stay on Sorgan. It looks a little different that it would have then--he’s still bounty hunting, he’s still keeping with the traditions of the Watch, he’s not in a romantic relationship, but he is settled on a planet that he has connections to, it’s quiet but cozy, Grogu is playing with frogs here just as he did on Sorgan, he has friends on the planet, you can feel the contentment of it. I think on some level, Din Djarin has always wanted something a little like this.  He’s not cut off from Mandalore, he’s not cut off from his religion, but he’s found the balance that works for him.  He’s found the aspects of his identity and the things he wants in his life. A quiet place to relax on the porch, his kid playing in the yard, where no one is chasing him down and the kid can relax.  Din Djarin can relax. I love that it’s a follow through on what he wanted all the way back in the first season, but on his own terms, and nothing feels missing from this picture.  It’s exactly what’s right for him here, he didn’t give up anything he didn’t want to, he did everything he needed to, and everything feels settled.  He’ll still travel the galaxy, his ship is parked right there to the side, but when he and Grogu need some peace, this place is here, just exactly all they need.

[corellianhounds]

The reason Mando does so many “side quests” is because he’s poor. He has to work for everything. He lives a self-sufficient life on the road bringing money back to his tribe to support them because Mandalorians aren’t safe and can only show their faces in town one at a time or they’re perceived as a danger because of how they look and what reputation is attributed to that appearance by many people. Almost every single episode has somebody picking a fight with Mando over the armor when he’s literally just standing there. He has to fight, scrap, save, barter, trade, and work for every single thing he has because the alternative is dying, or people he cares about dying. It doesn’t matter if it’s because they’re attacked or because they literally don’t have the money to eat, most of the Mandalorians we’ve seen live hand to mouth day by day, surviving out of sheer willpower and working together

Season 1 Episode 2: His only means of transportation (/place of living) is scavenged for parts and stolen in pieces. He’s forced to negotiate with the ones who took his stuff and do a job for them so he can get it all back before then having to rebuild the ship (when he shouldn’t have to trade anything for it to begin with)

Season 1 Episode 4: He wants somewhere safe and unassuming he can lay low with the kid and agrees to scare off some local bandits so he can have lodging. His original long term plan was to stay on Sorgan for a few months— He’s willing to fight the bandits and the Walker because that village was where he was given somewhere to eat and sleep and because he had intended to live there long term

Season 1 Episode 5: The hunter that found them on Sorgan forces him to acknowledge he’s not allowed to remain sedentary. He tries to go back to his old job, working as a bounty hunter for money; he and the kid can live on the ship, though it isn’t ideal, but he needs food, fuel, and immediate ship repairs. The betrayal of the gunslinger and confirmation from a target that word of him breaking the Guild Code has reached the literal farthest reaches of the Outer Rim solidifies that he can’t be a legitimate hunter anymore and that people who recognize him or the kid (or recognize them because they’re together) will be gunning for the reward, leading to—

Season 1 Episode 6: Mando going back to the only other life and means of making money he’s known, working shady jobs with criminals in the hope of receiving payment. The job proves even more unpredictable and dangerous than the last one and puts him back at square one again.

Season 2 Episode 1: Mando is a well-rounded character who’s been given an objective outside of just surviving to the next day. He only ends up in Mos Pelgo because he needs information, and he only agrees to fight the Krayt dragon because— as a well-rounded character— he’s promised culturally important relics of his people that he holds in the highest respect. The armor of a dead Mandalorian being given the proper respect (showing the honor he has for his people) is shown to be tied in importance with the kid. At least he’s given some food for the road because it’s clear he wasn’t being paid any money in addition to it.

Season 2 Episode 2: Chasing the barest lead on information about other Mandalorians forces him to take the dangerous passage he does; he only ends up having to survive the ice planet because of the threat of incarceration if he didn’t run. He’s not being paid in money here either AND his ship is literally barely holding together. If it was a horse he’d have to shoot it.

Season 2 Episode 3: Bo-Katan is his last lead on information about a Jedi. The child needs a Jedi teacher so he’ll be safe. By this point Mando is desperate and BKK forces him to do a dangerous job in exchange for information. He’s not getting any money this season because all of the jobs he does are in exchange for information and it’s a lot easier to manipulate and force people who need a favor from you to do whatever you tell them because you have something more specific than money they can’t get anywhere else. He doesn’t have enough money to cover a good fix of the Crest but doesn’t have anything to leverage against the mechanic who did a partial job for all the money he did have left, meaning—

Season 2 Episode 4: He has to call in a favor from a friend. Karga’s willing to cover his fuel, repairs, and docking fees, but oh Mando while you’re here I have this pesky Imperial infestation and since it’ll take a while for your ship to be repaired and you’re not busy…

Season 2 Episode 5: Now he’s finally found a Jedi. Now he may finally be able to give the kid to somebody who can protect him and teach him how to protect himself. Now the kid may finally be able to live a long, safe life, even if it means it can’t be with him. Oh right except this Jedi says she isn’t really a Jedi anymore, and also she’s kind of busy, but maybe she’ll think about it if you help her do her own thing in liberating a town—

Only for Ahsoka to then go back on her deal because she has her own thing going on. Considering how important the whole Thrawn mission is shown to be later, I’m not all that convinced she was ever going to take the kid as an apprentice. She may have been on the fence and maybe considered doing it if Elsbeth didn’t give any information up, but if the whole Ahsoka show was about her search for Thrawn, it’s obvious she has a lot more involvement in that than she’d be able to afford if she took the kid as her ward. The idea that the kid’s too attached to Mando for her to take him as a student seems like a pretty convenient excuse considering she knows this guy has zero clue about anything to do with the Jedi. It doesn’t matter if she’s right or not, she could have been upfront about having more pressing matters she was devoted to so he would have the option of not wasting his time there or doing a job for Ahsoka he wouldn’t be receiving payment or an exchange from.

And then the rest of season 2 is the bigger plot. Episodes 1, 3, 7, and 8 of Season 1 were the overarching plot.

Mando has to live life on the road in a dangerous and unpredictable galaxy doing dangerous and unpredictable jobs. He’s poor. He’s a survivalist. He’s desperate. He makes friends because interpersonal ties are often the only other form of currency he has, and those ties still often come with requests for favors or work in exchange for what they can do for him. Hardly anybody is giving him anything, and even when they do, he still feels obligated to pay them back.

[netherfeildren]

The Cassandra Complex : Chapter I : Apollo

Series Masterlist

(Din Djarin x F!Reader)

Summary: Enter: A man who is not so much a man, but an effigy, a wound of steel and armor and Creed – secrecy and masked faces, above all else. 

Enter: A girl who is not a girl, but a creature helmed in darkness and spit out unto the galaxy broken and unmoored. 

Enter: The creation of myth.

Content Warnings: Dominant Din Djarin; Unprotected sex; Creampie;Size difference; Size kink; Rough sex; Overstimulation; Spanking; Brat taming; Touched-Starved Din Djarin

Rating: Explicit 18+

A/N: Hello, friends, and welcome to the new story! 

A few notes: We are starting prior to season one’s canon, and I am doing what I want and making it so that Din already knows about the Force and the Jedi. I make free use of canon and the timeline in whatever way I see fit to suit my own horny purposes, sorry. If things aren’t canon or don’t make sense pls don’t tell me. I am naught but a fragile flower who wilts under harsh criticism. 

Please note as well, that I do describe the FMC as having two different colored eyes although I do not specify what color they are. 

Also, I will be updating the tags as we go along so as to avoid spoiling too much too early on. 

Thank you and enjoy!

Word count: 8.1K

Read on AO3

PART I

CHAPTER I : APOLLO

Is it a god inside you, girl?

Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

The first time you meet, he’s sitting in the corner of the shithole cantina on the shithole backwater planet you currently find yourself on: Nevarro. Sometimes you were wont to flight – in search of a nowhere place in the middle of a nowhere part of the galaxy to lose yourself. And the barren landscape of the volcanic planet, a broken star of red, the only interruption in the black field of ash, no wind, no life, no sound; it provides the perfect environment for getting lost when necessary.

And then one day, unexpectedly: him. He is a shining, metallic, mountain of a man. 

Mandalorian. 

Whenever you’d felt too suffocated, strangulated, in need of a moment, a breather, a reprieve from the reality of what you were… what you are becoming – this place is enough of nothing to be just the perfect something. When you’re not busy flitting from planet to planet, sector to sector, looking for something to fill the gnawing void within you. Before landing here, you’d been on Sorgan for a time. It’d been… nice… peaceful, or whatever approximation of peace you could partially recognize after an existence such as that which you were currently trying to run from. A temperate climate, kind people, but after a while, you’d happened upon a community one day, and they’d been so… so together, so familiar. Happy, they’d be so openly, unabashedly, uncomplicatedly happy. It was simple, and it had made a terrible lance of poisonous jealousy roil through you. Jealousy and anger and bitterness and a loneliness so painful that you’d had to flee, as far and as fast as you could from the reflection of all your envy and shame. And so you’d come here instead, to Nevarro. A more barren, emptier sort of place – better suited to your ilk. 

“I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” you croon up at him, smoothly sliding into the booth he’s currently occupying in the furthest dark corner of the cantina, only the gleaming silver crescent of the curve of his helmet visible from the other side of the room. 

This is the first of many lies you will tell him. 

No response. Only the dark, yawning pit of his visor faced slightly away from you. 

The stark curve of his helmet gleams brightly. Beautiful. He looks strong, thickly built. His shoulders, so broad. The armor adorning his torso is beaten and worn, and yet, there’s something so… what’s the word? Lived, perhaps, about the facade of him. This is a creature who has lived – who has seen things, who has battled and survived and most assuredly killed. 

Maybe a little like you, but good. For this you know with certainty about Mandalorians – a flash of a pained scream, beskar crumbling beneath the force of you, for not even what could be considered the most endurable alloy in the galaxy could withstand something of your nature, blood, so much blood, and the sound of such defeat as you do the unforgivable– they are good and honorable and worthy – great warriors. But perhaps, on the surface, with a face of shared, painful history, of survival, maybe there are some things between the two of you which could be called similar. 

“I’ve always been curious, though… Always wanted to meet one.” You sidle closer to him. There’s something about him, the weapons, the breadth of his shoulders, the silence, which starts a chilled little shiver of fear that flashes and coalesces into something hotter and wetter deep in your belly, the closer you get to him. And the feeling of it – of apprehension, of standing in the presence of something other, something that could perhaps best, even you, it is exciting and arousing and different to everything else you’ve ever encountered.

Still no response. 

“You’re hard to come by now. Not many of you left, right?” A curdle of shame and regret hidden beneath your wry tone, “A girl’s got to get extra lucky to find something as interesting as you nowadays… something as pretty too.”

He does react to this, finally, and a little shock of victory fizzes in your belly at the fact that he’s at last deigned to give you even a semblance of his attention, for you are desperately in want of it, as he turns his helmet the fraction of an inch in your direction at the sound of you calling him pretty. So, it seems even a Mandalorian is victim to vanity. 

“Oh, so you can hear under there,” you quip, “I was beginning to worry…”

And then his voice, deep, and of potentially the lowest and smoothest baritone you’ve ever heard, comes through the modulator, “I can hear.” Clipped, and even maybe, a little cold. 

“And he speaks too!” He flexes open the fingers of the gloved hand that lays on the table. You’re annoying him. “How exciting.” You cross one knee over the other, elbow propped up on the edge of the table and chin cupped in your palm, looking up at him. He’s tall, even sitting. Your joint presses into the hard muscle of his thigh, and you feel him scoot just the tiniest bit away from you. You have the uncontrollable urge to snap your teeth at him. You must surely be at least half his size, especially with all that beskar covering him. Don’t act so scared, big, bad Mandalorian. I’m just a little girl. You don’t know what I actually am.

Helmet now turned entirely in your direction to keep an eye on you, he says, “What are you?” Or… whoops, maybe he does know. 

You ignore his question. “You know, I met a whore once – who claimed she’d fucked a Mandalorian. Is it true you just pull out the important bits and get on with it? Seems a bit cold, no? Even for a paid fuck?” He jolts a little at your vulgarity, and you flash him a wide grin, wriggle one delicate eyebrow provocatively. “No game?”

He turns his body to face you more fully now too, his thigh pressing into yours once again as he takes you on directly. Perhaps a warrior's instinct that can sense he is not in the presence of something to be trifled with. The helmet cocks slowly to the side. Silent, silent. Not one for many words this Mandalorian, although, it seems you’ve provoked him now. 

“What are you?” he says again, voice measured. 

“How do you mean?” You let your voice end on an upward lilt, and he shifts minutely, as if agitated at your uncooperativeness. 

“You’re not– I don’t–” The helmet tilts the other way as if inspecting you, and you cut him off before he can finish. 

“Oh, so many things.” You roll your hand on your wrist in a fluttering wave, tapping your fingers quickly against your thumb one by one, flexing a muscle you’ve not allowed yourself to use in a while and repressing it, all at once. You’re watching him so closely you see the small pivot of his neck to glance at your hand, and then back to your face. “Who can keep track anymore? So many strange creatures roaming the galaxy after the fall of everything. The Empire. We’re all just madly careening around as whatever the moment requires of us, aren’t we?” He’s quiet, still inspecting you, and you feel his gaze like a brand on the skin of your face. Like fire, like something that you remember from a nightmare, and that you think should be painful, but now only feels exciting. “So, what are you, Mandalorian? What does the present moment require of you?”

He goes silent again, and you watch the subtle downward tilt of his helmet as he inspects the length of you. You wish you could see if he was ogling the tight swell of your breasts beneath your dark clothes. You tilt your head side to side, smile big at him again, and you’re pretty sure you hear an agitated little huff of annoyance slip through the modulator.

And then: “I’m not interested.” He turns back to face away from you, both fists now firmly planted on the table’s surface, clenched into tight balls of clear annoyance. “Go away.”

Oh, he’s funny too. You throw your head back in a quick laugh, “Did I offer something?”

Silence.

“Dirty mind, Mandalorian.” You drag the vowels out to irk him just that extra bit more. “What? Just because I made one little mention of a whore means that, I too, must be peddling my wares?” And you knock your knee into his beskar clad thigh again. He scoots a smidge away from you, and you follow him, laughing again. Oh, you really should stop provoking him, but it’s just turning out to be too much fun. And you’d been watching him for weeks now, every time he came in here for a new bounty puck. You’d so wanted to talk to him, had snooped around to find out he’s in the Guild, and now you finally are. It was just too much for a girl who had too much time on her hands, and too many ugly thoughts she’d rather forget, roaming around in her mind, to look away from a moment of distraction such as this. 

“Stop,” and it sounds like he’s gritting his teeth. 

You snicker. “Stop what?” in a sing-songed lilt that you know must be grinding his gears. Poor, shiny Mandalorian. 

“Whatever it is you’re doing – speaking to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want something from me.”

“What could I possibly want from you?” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Who’s the one peddling their wares now, Mandalorian, hmm?” He says nothing now, and you know you’re pushing him, you can see the vibration of his restrained agitation in the lines of his thick arms, but there is something needling and annoying and obnoxious inside of you that wants his attention, that wants to incite him. And so you make a mistake that perhaps, is not a mistake at all, but a call for something more, for a reaction from him because as you slowly start to lift a single finger up towards the curve of his helmet, you say, “Tell me, what do you have to offer?” At the same time, he pivots and snaps up to grasp the thin of your wrist in a bone crushing grip as you’re about to make contact with the smooth surface of the gleaming beskar helmet. And you know you were asking for it, that you should never have even insinuated that you were going to touch a Mandalorian’s helmet, and that this is only your own doing, but as his harsh strength makes contact with you, so unexpectedly, he’s so fast, that you’re caught almost entirely unaware, you react on pure instinct. A reflex so embedded into the deepest and most poisoned recesses of your mind, that despite the fact that you know this is the last sort of reaction you should exhibit, that above all else you needed to keep this part of yourself hidden and secreted away from the rest of the galaxy, you can’t help yourself when, at the moment that his crushing strength slams your hand back down onto the table, twisting painfully so that you’re crying out in shock and hurt, you weren’t going to do anything to him, you just wanted to touch a little, you can’t help it when you let go of the reins on your power, and you feel the Force snap out of you like a band of rubber, to crack out and wrap around his arm and rip his painful grip away from you. Another inviolable tendril shoves against his chest plate to push him back. His movements, too abrupt, too unexpectedly aggressive to give you a moment to temper your reaction, to give you a chance to remind yourself that this is not one of your painful, dark memories, that you’re free, you’re free, you’re free, and suppress your reaction to not reveal yourself.

The two of you pause for one long moment, him by force, and you in shock and fear and slight nausea as you pant breathlessly. It’s been a long time since you’ve lashed out like this, since you’ve used the Force in front of another person, and the sensation of being perceived, of being seen for what you truly are is disequilibrating and terrifying and sickeningly liberating all at the same time. 

One thick arm of his is held up and pinned against the back of the booth the two of you are ensconced in, hidden from prying eyes, at least. His legs start to shift restlessly, seeking purchase or trying to kick out, and you pin him there too, lest he try and hurt you again. 

“I do not like to be handled so,” you admonish him, clicking your tongue. You can feel the seething fury rolling off him. “I wasn’t going to do anything to you. I am not going to do anything to you.” He’s got a blaster strapped into a holster at his thigh, and you’re sure his vambrace is hiding several other nasty tricks up his sleeve. You eye them both. “If I let you go, are you going to try and hurt me again?”

“No,” he growls out.

“No,” you mock back, but release him anyway, letting an impenetrable wall settle between the two of you. He immediately goes for his blaster, and you block his reach which has him furiously growling and lurching towards you, only to be met by the invisible Force impeding his attack. He spits a frustrated volley of curses in a language you can’t understand, but that you’re fairly certain is Mando’a. 

“Ah, ah, no blaster,” you tut, and he settles, going suddenly, shockingly still, watching you watch him. “You really are quite poorly mannered and surly.” There’s a part of you that is still slightly unbalanced, heart beating painfully against the cage of your ribs, but you’re trying to hide it behind a wry smile and light tone. Echoes of pain and hurt and cruel and unyielding hands molding you into a thing that was just as cruel and unyielding. You cannot tolerate being handled like that anymore, and you feel contrite that you’d provoked him into doing so. Sometimes it is still difficult for you to remember how it is you’re supposed to behave around other people. 

And then something you weren’t expecting, for he says, “You’re a Force weilder. You’re a Jedi.”

You let out a barking laugh. “What do you know of the Force?”

“Are you?” He presses.

“Yes, but no, definitely not that, no.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing. Or… whatever the opposite of a Jedi is, I suppose.”

“The opposite?” He shakes his head, “I don’t–”

“Hmm…” you cut him off, turning to make sure the two of you still haven’t been noticed. “Not anymore. I don’t use it anymore.”

“Oh, no?”

“Well… you’ve gone and ruined that now, haven’t you?”

“You started–”

“All I was trying to do,” you interrupt, “Was make nice. I’d always wanted to meet a Mandalorian,” Lie, “Haven’t you ever heard of a little flirting? And I fear, now, you’ve painted them all in a very poor light,” Lie, “Look at how rude you’ve gone and been, when all I wanted was to be friends,” Another lie, “A shame…” you heave a big sigh, “You really are very beautiful.” Truth. That fist clenches again, and you cock your head to the side, getting one last good look at him. You feel suddenly sad, you don't want to go. You’ve enjoyed this brief moment you’ve gotten to talk to him. Even if you’d gone and pissed him off and ruined it all now. 

“It was nice meeting you, shiny. Even if you were an abominable beast about it.” You give him a nod of your head, and a quick two fingered salute before you’re sliding out of the enshroudment of the booth and slipping out the back of the cantina, into the dark alleyway, leaving him behind. 

The last glimpse you catch of him out of the corner of your eye before the door shuts behind you, is the sight of him scrambling out of the booth and starting towards the door to follow after you. 

A glutton for punishment, then, so it seems. 

You flit through the dark, dirty alleys, scampering from shadow to shadow. The city streets around you, gone quiet now as the sun over Nevarro sets quickly, and you can feel him hunting after you. He’s strong, and you can almost feel the heavy weight of his life force even at a distance, almost as if the goodness and honesty of his character is a presence of its own, sentient in a way. And he’s angry, and you can feel that too, charging after you, provoked, even if he does it on entirely silent and measured feet. You can sense that ravenous curiosity and frustration at being bested and evaded pressing up against you, chasing after you. As if there were some dark red thread connecting the two of you from spine to rib bone, leading him to you, pulling him along your trail. You tiptoe the lines of the shadows silently, making your way through the winding city streets, feeling him getting closer and closer, trying to confuse him, even as he gains on you anyway. 

And then he’s there. 

You feel a massive hand, strong and sure, clamp around the back of your neck, but his touch is measured this time – he’d heeded your warning. His other hand wraps around the bend of your elbow, twisting your arm back behind you, and then he’s kicking open the nearest door, what seems to be some sort of storage alcove, the space dark and humid and mildewed, and pushing you inside. He shoves you away from him once you pass together into the darkness, and you catch yourself on the edge of what feels like some sort of table or workbench.

You laugh breathlessly. Overwhelmed by the thrill of the chase, of the feel of his hands on you, the surrounding darkness, the sound of his own panting breath through the modulator of his helmet. You hope he’s just as overwhelmed, disequilibrated, as you are now. 

“Oh, you again?” you laugh, turning to face him, bracing yourself back against the table. All you can see of him is the silver crescent of the curve of his helmet, the outline of his wide shoulders in the dim light of the moon seeping in through the cracks of space around the door. He is a steel giant.“Did you forget something? Need me to hand your ass to you again, Mandalorian?”

“You’re a fucking brat. Anyone ever tell you that before?”

You gasp mockingly, “Me? Never.”

“Why is it that everything you say sounds vaguely like a taunt? Like you’re trying to provoke me.”

And, oh, he sounds just so unbearably serious and put out by you, that you pout, forced to match his serious tone with one of your own. You force the smile to leave your voice, “Maybe because I am,” and your voice goes quieter, softer, because again, truth. There is something about him that incites provocation, you want him rattled, come undone. “Maybe I want to see what happens when a man made of metal loses control.”

“I can’t – I don’t–” His voice, even through the modulator, is its own flavor of foreplay. “I don’t know…” he says again, whispers it, his tone seeping through the helmet, entirely uncertain, or at war with himself. 

He takes one menacing step forward, made even all the more intimidating by the vast difference in your heights, the sheer breadth of him, the darkness wrapping around him so that all he’s made into are slivers of gleaming silver flame here and there. You feel the whisper of one leather covered finger skim lightly over the outside of your right forearm, another soft touch to the left side of your waist, and you shiver all over. 

“Not a virgin? Your Creed lets you fuck?”

“No.”

“No, what? Use your words.”

Silence. Stubborn, silent, tin can.

“Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Whores?”

A grunt. 

“Aha! Gotcha.” You start to toe your foot forward, bending your knee to make contact with him when you find his leg, tilting slightly away from the table so that you can slide your thigh between his legs. “Is that what you want me to be for you?”

“No.” Fucking monosyllabic–

“Then what do you want from me? Why did you follow me?”

“I don’t know…”

“Don’t lie.”

“I want to fuck you.” Your cunt goes soaked and tight at his words, because yes, yes yes, this is what you were leading him to. Finally, he’s caught on, and then he’s planting a strong, broad hand to the center of your chest and pushing you back into the table, and pressing the hard, unyielding length of himself against you. He’s hard and swollen beneath his pants, you can feel the thick heft of him against your belly as he presses into you, and you bring your palms up to slide against the unprotected sides of his strong waist, sending him into a full body shudder as you touch him, helmet falling forward on his neck as he hunches over you, hands planted on the table behind. You can hear his labored, panting breath huffing through the modulator as you run your hands along the planes of him. He’s huge, pure muscle beneath unrelenting beskar, and if you weren’t the creature that you are, you’d feel slightly frightened at the unbelievable strength he’s made up of. He is a thrumming effigy of restrained power beneath your hands, different to that which makes you up, and you feel the strength of him once again, humming through the Force. His light burns so bright, almost blindingly. He’s strong. 

You slide one of your hands up his chest plate, tucking your fingers into the top-most edge to bring yourself up and closer to him as he curves over you, bending you back into an arch over the table’s edge. Your other hand reaches for his wrist braced against the table, wrapping around it, so thick your fingers don’t meet, to tuck your fingertips into the space where his sleeve meets his glove, and at the feel of your bare skin on his, just there, just there, he growls, deep and savage in his chest at the same time that you let out a breathy, warbled moan. His other hand shoots up to grasp at the small of your back and press you into him, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. He’s burning hot, sweltering, and he slides his palm lower, tilting your pelvis into his as you hitch one of your knees up the outside of his thigh to his hip, and then your cunt is rocking against the thick length of his cock, and another breathless, pained groan from the both of you as you make contact there, pushing and pulling against each other. You want to taste his skin, his tongue, you want to kiss him, to feel him licking into your mouth. You pull yourself in closer by the hand tucked into his chestplate to press your face into the warm space between his helmet’s edge and the folds of his cowl. He smells so good, like leather and sweat and metal. Something earthy and musky, something that proves to you that despite the beskar, there is only a man of flesh and blood and want beneath. 

His palm slides to grip the lush of your ass, rolling you onto his length harder, pressing deeper as if he could fuck you through your clothes. 

“Are you going to let me fuck you, little brat?” he pants, ending on a stuttered groan as you hook your calf around his waist and press your foot into the small of his back to grind particularly sharply onto him, pressing your clit into the edge of his utility belt, “Please, just– just–” you gasp, head falling back on your neck. And then he’s spinning you abruptly and pressing between your shoulder blades so that you're bent entirely over the table, cheek smushed against the hard surface. That wide palm slides down the slope of your spine, squeezes your asscheek harshly so that you’re moaning out in lust or pain, you can’t tell.

“Was that a yes? Who can’t use their words now?”

“I liked it better when you weren’t talking,” you grouch, but then his fingers have somehow snuck their way up beneath your tunic and under the edge of your trousers, and he’s ripping everything down to leave you bare and unprotected from the sudden onslaught of that huge expanse of leather clad palm cracking down painfully on the soft skin of your ass so that you’re scrambling to find the opposite end of the table to pull yourself away from him. A pathetic little screech claws its way out of you, and he wraps the length of your hair around his fist to pull your head back and up, turning you into his own little bow string, head resting back on the hard pauldron over his shoulder. 

“Where do you think you’re going? I caught you, you’re mine now.”

“Fuck off–” You try, but he clamps his fingers around your jaw, squeezing the fine bones of your face to cut you off, his other hand in your hair gives a sharp tug that makes the tips of your breasts go hot and tight and your cunt clench around nothing. You can feel yourself dripping down the insides of your naked thighs. 

“Open your mouth,” he orders, shoving the thick of his fingers inside to press down on your tongue. You try and moan around him, protest or something, but you can’t help but run your tongue around the digits, tasting the smokiness of blaster residue, the tang of whatever he must use to oil his gloves. “Finally, some silence. I like you better like this,” he taunts you with an imitation of your previous words. He bends his head forward, “Get them wet,” he murmurs, voice soft and sultry through the modulator, and the moan you give him now is all desperation as you let saliva pool heavy on your tongue to coat the leather. 

When he pulls them from your mouth, tugging your head back further so that you can look up into the dark tee of his visor as he slides his spit slick gloves between your thighs to press against your throbbing clit, your whimpered little mewl has a chastising tut filtering through the helmet, “Slippery, little thing.” He starts to press slow circles to the aching bundle of nerves, sliding down on every other swirl to press gentle, teasing pressure to your clenching opening. “Did my chasing do all this? Do you like being hunted, brat?”

“Not–” you moan as he presses down hard on your clit, then back to the mouth of your cunt, giving you just the tip of his finger, “Not a brat,” you struggle to get out.

“No?” He starts to press two fingers inside at once, both of you groaning in tandem. “Maker – fucking tight–” He scissors his fingers inside of you, twisting his wrist to fuck you open, making room for himself inside of you. “Don’t know if I’ll even fit in here.”

“No,” you groan, low and drawn out, and then, yes, whispered breathlessly, one of your arms reaching back to hold onto the wrist of his hand still twisted in your hair, trying to find purchase on anything to anchor yourself with. Because the stretch of just his two fingers inside of you – you can hear the slick squelch of your wetness as he starts to fuck them in and out of you slowly – is so unexpectedly obscene. You had not expected to find yourself in this position with any man, especially not one like this – had not thought you were yet ready to be touched by another person. Not so soon after– “Please – m– more. I want–”

“You think you’re ready for my cock, little one? Have I stretched this tiny cunt out enough?”

“Yes– yes. Just do it.”

“Fuck–” You listen to the wet little pop as he pulls his fingers from you, and the clink and shuffle of his belt and armor as he pulls himself out of his clothes, and then he’s shifting behind you as you brace against the edge of the table. The burning hot blunt tip of his cock skimming against the round of your ass, and you feel him spread his feet wide, bend his knees, and then his cock is there at the slick mouth of your cunt, and he’s thrusting up and into you on the downward roll of your hips, and Maker, he’s deep like this. Suddenly, twin strangled groans of pain or relief ripping from your throats in tandem as he grinds deep, deeper, for a moment. You feel the heavy kick and throb of his cock inside of you, and he is too big, too thick – he forces you to take it anyway. Stretching you in a way you’ve never been before, your eyes smart, forcing your body to make room for his inside of you, it leaves your breath to stutter out in a weak little puff of shock. 

And you moan, using the palms of your hands against the edge of the table to grind yourself back onto him while his hands clamp tightly around your hips, his fingers so long they almost meet at the center of your belly beneath your navel. 

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. That’s so good.

You can’t tell which one of you is speaking. You can't even tell if you’re still breathing. And then he starts to move. 

You knew he’d fuck hard, from the first moment you’d seen him, you knew.

He pulls his hips back, the slick wet, the grasping walls of your cunt trying to suck him back in, and then the scorching slide of him pressing back in, in, in, grinding again, those long fingers pressing down on your belly so that you feel him from the outside too. 

“Harder,” you beg, because of course you want more. You are a creature made of greed and hunger. You always have been. 

“Quit. You’ll take whatever the fuck you’re given,” but his hips slam back in, a savage growl punctuating the movement. 

He gives it to you almost brutally, without pause or thought, fucking punched out breaths and whines from you. 

“Shut up,” he spits on the end of one particularly deep, harsh thrust that’s followed by a high pitched mewl from you. “You want every piece of shit on Nevarro to find you split open on my cock like this?” Your head lolls back limply on his shoulder, the wet slap of his heavy balls against your clit overwhelming the sound of your thoughts. You can’t speak, your brain is currently being jostled within the confines of your skull by the force of his cock splitting you open. “No? Then be a good girl, and be quiet,” his voice, rough, even through the modulator is almost drowned out by the wet, obscene sound of him pounding into you. 

He brings one of his hands back up to your jaw, turning your head slightly so that your nose is almost smushed up against the chrome of his visor. He wants to look at you. The hard beskar of his chest plate rubs harshly against your back on every push upwards of his hips, and you’re sure that’ll hurt later, but right now you just can’t seem to care. You can feel the humid, warm air of your panting breath, foggy against the gleam of his helmet, and you bring one of your hands up to the wrist holding your face, holding on for dear life, sanity, you’re not sure what. Your other hand twists back into the hanging fabric of his cloak so that you can pull yourself more tightly back into him as he slows his thrusts, making them longer and more drawn out. “Yeah– like that. Settle… good girl.” Your eyes flutter shut. Too much, too much. It should hurt. You wanted it to hurt. Not gentle, you don’t want it gentle.

“Harder,” you whine, plead.

“No. How I say.” He rolls his cock into you over and over, your slick sliding down your thighs, the backs abraded by the plates of beskar over his own legs. He’s so deep, so big it hurts so good. Even if you want it harder, it still hurts so good. The hand at your face slides down to rip open the fastening of your high necked tunic, reaching inside and under your breast band to pull out the heavy aching weight of your tit and pinch your nipple, rolling it between his strong leather clad fingers – more high, desperate mewls that have him groaning deep in his chest. You’re sure if your face wasn't so close to his you’d never be able to hear them through the helmet, low and rumbly and so delicious. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs low, cupping your breast to plump it up, massaging it in his palm.

“What? You can see?” 

“Yeah– fuck yes, I can see.”

“Not fair,” you whine. It’s so dark in the little room he’d pushed you into, you’re not even going to get to take a good look at his cock before this is all over. 

“You don’t need to see. You just need to be good and take it.”

“Do you ever kiss?” you ask him suddenly. Irritated by the fact that you’ve not gotten to ogle him – or kiss him. If he even does that.

Another deep roll of his hips, a tight squeeze to the swinging globe of your breast, “No.”

“That’s a shame.”

And he responds immediately, voice subdued and even, underneath the helmet, despite the fact that you feel like he’s cleaving you in two. “Maybe next time,” he says. His palm slides down to your belly then, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to fold you over the table, hands moving to wrap around your hips and lift you up and back onto his impaling cock so that the tips of your toes are left skimming the ground beneath, your fingers scramble and claw for purchase against the wood of the table. You can feel the wide tip of his cock punching against your womb on every thrust in and stars flash behind your eyes, mouth hanging open pathetically. 

There is nothing gentle about the way he fucks you. Like he wants to split you in two, like he wants to make sure the shape of him is branded into the center of your body so that you’d never forget this. The sticky sweet coil of your orgasm starts up low in your belly, and you feel molded in his image for one second, pushed out of yourself to stand on the sidelines and look upon the sight of your much smaller form draped over the table and being fucked into so savagely by this silver blade of a man.

And then: they’re fucking bare, they’re fucking raw, and it has been so, so long since he has felt the touch of another person, someone else’s skin on his that was not bestowed upon him in violence or with the barrier of a sheath between. It is an almost overwhelming feeling, that of your hot, soaking wet cunt pulsing around him, you’re about to come for him, he can feel it. The fluttering of your inner muscles, delicate thing that you are, your thighs shaking as you struggle to push yourself back on to him to get it harder, deeper. He is, almost, made faint with the feeling. And those eyes… you’ve got the strangest multicolored eyes. One enshrouded entirely in darkness compared to its bright counterpart – as if one had forgotten to take that last step into the light. You’re fucking beautiful and–

You snap back into yourself. No, no, no, stay out of his head. Stay out of his head. Focus. You push yourself up again so that your back is against his chest, and he bands one tremendously strong arm around you, gripping your breast tightly. You feel him bend his knees framing your thighs to change and deepen the angle, and then he’s pounding right into that tender, devastating place inside of you, and your cunt twists and floods with your orgasm, electric shocks of pleasure numbing your fingers and toes. You can do nothing more than let him do with you what he will. Your toes aren’t even touching the floor. 

He presses as deep as he can, grinds for a moment, and then he folds you over the table once again and presses down harshly on the small of your back with one heavy palm as he pulls his cock from you and finishes himself off. You listen to the wet thwack, thwack, thwack of him pulling on his cock, and then the searing hot spurt of his come is hitting your ass and the exposed seam of your fluttering cunt, a savage growl ripping through the modulator as he squeezes all of the air out of you with that unyielding hand. You’re like a pressed flower between the pages of a book – wilted and frayed, but still held in the image of that which you once were. At the last spurt from his cock he brings his hand to your ass, spreads you apart to rub his spend into the tight furl of your ass, and then further down into your throbbing, overly sensitive clit. All you can do is cry and whimper weakly, still trembling from your own orgasm. “T– too much, nooo,” you whine pathetically.

“Easy – easy, settle.”

You feel him fall to a crouch behind you, pulling you apart with both hands by the meat of your ass to look upon the sight of your blushed, fluttering hole. Messy, little cunt, you hear him whisper. He rubs his come into your trembling thighs, over your swollen clit again, inspecting every vulnerable inch and crevice of your sex, and then he’s pushing two of those thick fingers back inside of you, the passage made slick and fucked open by your mingled come. “Just one more, little one. Want to see it up close,” he murmurs. You try and wiggle away, tears of oversensitivity brimming beneath your lashes, I can’t, I can’t, you think you whisper, but he’s inescapable. He clamps one hand painfully over your asscheek, keeping you spread apart for his inspection, the other one buried deep inside of you so that his fingers are hooked against your g-spot where he presses over and over, quick and relentless, his fingers almost vibrating inside of you until your vision is going white hot and a buzzing sound rings in your ears, and you’re crying for what you think might sound like mercy or something equally despeerate. “Yes, fuck, yes. Just like that.” Your answering sob does not prompt him to abate, for he keeps his fingers pressed against that spot inside of you until you’re leaking an embarrassing amount of wetness down your thighs, until the rippling throbs of your orgasm have finally settled. You feel his head fall forward, the beskar of his helmet pressing against the space where your asscheek meets your thigh, and he holds there for a second against your burning hot skin, the scorching soothed by the cool metal.

You can’t stop shaking, you feel, suddenly, like you might cry. You were not prepared for something of this intensity, to be touched like this, and now that it’s happened you’re left reeling. You don’t even know his name. And now you’re sure he’ll go away to wherever it is that Mandalorian bounty hunters run off to, and you’ll never see him again, and you’ll have to live with the memory of this forever. And something like this… amidst all the other horror that lives within you, you’re sure that the intimacy, the fervor of this, will make it hurt all the more, even compared to all the rest. 

He uncoils behind you, rising up to his towering height. You listen to the rustling of his clothes, and then he’s smoothing a large palm over the slope of your trembling back and reaching down to pull up your trousers, tucking your breast back beneath your tunic, righting your clothes for you without commentary. When you think you’ve finally caught your breath, or can at least pretend you’ve done so, enough to push yourself up from your position over the table. Your eyes feel pinched and hot, your heart beating so hard, almost painfully, within the confines of your ribcage that it feels as though your bones are rattling beneath your skin, knocking together in the imitation of a death rattle so that he’ll surely know that you feel two paces away from falling apart entirely. 

“You’re… Are you okay? I didn’t hurt you?” Voice stilted.

“No more than I wanted you to.”

He’s silent for a moment, uncomfortable. You can feel the sensation of him pulling away, getting ready to make a run for it. “That’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Do you– do you spend much time on planet?” He’s awkward, uncomfortable now with this unnecessary notion of seemingly required small talk.

“No.” Lie. You like Nevarro, you spend more time here than anywhere else. 

“What’s your name?” It shocks you that he asks, for you know he’d not give you his if you asked it of him in return, but for one infinitely painful, insanely uncharacteristic moment, you want to tell him. You want to give him your real name desperately, tell him who you are. But if you were to do that, then you might tell him what you are. And then he’d hate you, and the memory would be ruined, and you have so few good ones, that this one must be protected at all costs. 

So instead you say that which you have no real desire to say, do what you have no real desire to do, and make sure that he thinks you’re not interested, that you have no desire to ever see him again. Maybe next time. Your heart gives a surprisingly painful pinch, your eyes growing hotter by the second. “This was just a fuck, don’t get all sentimental on me now.” Your voice is so cold, so uncaring. You hate the way you can make yourself sound sometimes. You sense him snap with tense shock, and he nods once, succinctly. “Very well. Thank you… for this. I suppose.”

You lean back against the table, trying your hardest to appear as unaffected as you can. You turn your face to the side, roll your cheek over the hill of your shoulder. “It was my pleasure.”

He turns to go, his cape snapping with the sharp abruptness of his movements, and he pulls open the door of the little storage room letting a flood of moonlight sweep in to shed light on the construction of this memory you’re assembling brick by brick to preserve in your mind for as long as you possibly can. Your eyes sweep over the length of him ravenously, trying to catalog every single detail of him, the incredible breadth of his shoulders, the silver gleam of his beskar helmet, the sweep of his cape, the arsenal of weapons strapped to his body, lethal. He turns back to look at you for one moment, the yawning darkness of his chrome visor, “Don’t get killed, Mandalorian. There are so few of you left now.” And truth, truth, truth, for it would be a shame beyond imagining for a creature such as this, something so strong and beautiful and other, to perish when so few like him remain. He pauses to take you in, as well. You wish you had the courage to ask him what he sees when he looks at a thing like you. The tears are right there, and you hate them and feel weak and disgusted, but also relieved, and you could fall to your knees, in this moment, to thank the Maker that you still possess the ability, the heart, to cry, to succumb to something as trife as tears. You hope he cannot see them. The helmet cocks to the side for one second, perhaps he too is cataloging you to his memory. He nods once, and then he’s turning and gone away into the night. The door snicks shut behind him, and you’re alone once again. 

You pause for a moment, hoping that relief will come. He’s gone, you got what you wanted from him. You should be glad. But there is only the screaming thought of wait, there was still more, there was still more that I wanted from you. 

You let yourself sink slowly to the ground, hand braced against the edge of the table he just fucked you over, lest your shaking legs give out and have you planting face first into the dirt. You fold your legs beneath you, tuck your wild hair gently behind your ears, your movements measured, trying to breathe deep and slow, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Don’t cry, there’s no reason to cry. But shouldn’t we be glad we can still cry? Isn’t it a sign that not all is lost? That there is still a part of us that feels enough to shed tears? This should be a good thing. And so you let the tears fall. You fold yourself over as small as you can, one hand pressed over your hot, leaking eyes, another over your mouth to keep your sounds contained, and you sob as quietly as you possibly can. It was so good and you’re crying and you’re alive and you’re free. You are free, and you should be glad of this. Cry, cry, but cry for your own victory, for your own freedom, for the chance to cry. This is what victory feels like. This is what it is to be alive. 

And so, here is your truth: It is a difficult thing, to shed the facets of the dark side after you’ve lived with it for so long. To be a Sith is to forsake all connection, all peace. There is only passion to strength to power to victory to the Force, but it is always alone. Always against someone or something else. So, yes, it is difficult to shed the facets of the dark side that have made you the thing you’ve been for more than half your life, since the time you were stolen from your cradle, your parents slaughtered, and spirited away into the shadow of a cruel and unforgiving master. What is it to know exactly how your life will play out, to see everything, to be so aware of what you will be – and to still be lost? Part agony, part madness. The pieces of you that are secretive, that like to hide, to run, these are especially difficult to let go of, and you are so, so interminably sad, you live in it. It’s all you feel you are now, after the dark, after the fall of the Empire and the Sith, after escape, after freedom, after you’d so forcibly ripped its claws, that were so deeply sunk within you, out by sheer force of will, by sheer force of desperation, you worry that it’s taken a piece of you with it, your soul. That it had eaten a piece of you. That you don’t have one anymore. 

You don’t even know his name. And even if you’re certain he would not have given it to you, for one moment, you feel an incredible lance of regret that you did not give him yours. 

But then: a person without a soul could not cry. 

And so this must only be proof of the fact that you must still possess yours, as shriveled or weak as it’s been made, you must still have one. You must. You must. 

And you think: I am not unfamiliar with this half life – there is a wound inside of me – dark and putrid and festering. But perhaps my tears will heal me. Seal the wound closed. 

You feel lonely – worse, you feel strange. Once, you were terrible – now you are only yourself. So you cry for the passion of the moment, for the way he made you feel, for the loss of a name, for the truth of freedom.

Chapter II

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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[nerdieforpedro]

He told me his name

The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x plus size female reader

My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 1.3k

Summary: It's not clear if you enter The Mandalorian's orbit or you enter his, but slowly the two of you are growing closer.

Warnings: vague mentions of mechanic work, HANDS (It's my thing about Din okay?!), fluff, some violence, blood, injuries and first aid

Notes: I've wanted to write another Din fic for a while and didn't have any sparks. Then I read @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin 's Din fic (Sorgan girls Are Easy) she put out yesterday which is excellent. I had my spark. ⚡️ Though the fic I wrote isn't similar to hers at all. Not even in the same category. 🤣 My fic is very moody. I might write a follow-up one shot to this.

Dividers are by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist / Din Djarin Masterlist /Our Journey Across the Star Ocean

Lingering near your workstation had you curious, but you chalked it up to just being curious about how you worked. You’re aware that your organization, separation and tinkering can be slower than other mechanics but it also means you don’t need to double check your work as often.

The Mandalorian was intimidating and never rude or even commanding. In fact he was polite and let Peli speak to him pretty casually. You only said hello and goodbye.

That’s why it struck you with surprise when Peli asked during one evening card game with the droids if you’d consider riding with the “walking tin can” as she put it. You blinked and asked why you, shouldn’t he be asking her to come with him. She told you that she had a business to run and she’s not gallivanting around with a trigger happy bounty hunter who has to keep track of an adorable but absurdly strong baby. 

“You need some excitement anyway. You’ll just waste away here without any good memories or fun stories to tell. It will just be a life of regrets of paths not taken.”

Her words rang in your head as the small green child sat in your lap. The Mandalorian was at the controls, silently charting their course. Was this a good decision?

He allowed you to come with him when he got his tracking fobs and when he turned in his bounties. The first touch was between your shoulder blade to your back, guiding you and the child through the market back to the Razor Crest.

The second was when his gloved hands touched yours while trying to improve your aim using a blaster. His voice was more gentle than his normal flat one. Closer to what he used with Grogu but still not as much warmth. It was enough to have you believe him to be kind.

The third happened after he brought a bounty back to the ship and he saw Grogu patting your cheeks as you spoke to him. Explaining about what different bolts did, it looked like you were organizing your tools again. His gloved hand was placed on your shoulder which had you peer up at his t-visor. He gave you a nod and went to inventory his weapons. Maybe it wasn’t just kindness. Maybe he believes you to be useful, a smile creeps along your face.

Such small gestures continued until you took Grogu out for a walk. 

It was a fairly green planet and Din said it was safe, you didn’t wander far from the ship as it was still in view. The first crawling plant you saw and shot it through and through with your blaster. The second, nipped your leg but you were able to knock it off and shot it twice. On the way back to the ship you were clear, but one jumped the gangway and a tentacle sliced across your back before you were able to turn and shoot it. You limped back into the Razor Crest and were able to clean and dress your leg but not your back. Grogu wouldn’t stop screaming and you kept moving him away from you to not get blood on the poor child.

The bounty hunter saw you, quickly put his bounty on carbonate and grabbed the bacta spray. He spoke to his son and was able to calm him slightly as he ripped your shirt and bra to try and access the wound on your back but the blood and secretions in your wound from the tentacle made it increasingly difficult as you bled. 

“I apologize for this. I’ll need to cut off the rest of the back of your shirt to clean and apply the spray and…” He paused. The Mandalorian you know never paused, he was always measured in his speech, even with Grogu. “It may be easier for me to do if I remove my gloves. They’ve become too slick with your blood. Is that alright?” You found it puzzling that he was asking permission considering it’s one of the main tenets of his religion. You didn’t care either way as long as the bleeding and pain stopped. 

“It’s fine Mando. Do what you need to do. Grogu’s okay right? I didn’t get any blood on him, I think.”

You closed your eyes and heard the Mandalorian give a few curses as he removed his gloves, warm calloused fingers were dabbing your back and applying pressure. After holding it a few minutes, you felt the cool spray of the bacta and some patches being applied with more pressure. There seemed to be less pain and your back didn’t feel like a dripping pool so you counted your lucky stars and thanked the Maker that the bounty hunter had come back earlier than later. You felt something soft spread over your body and you were lifted off the floor of the ship and brought to your cot. How did he lift you so easily? Did beskar help with that? You didn’t think so, but you know next to nothing about the stuff. It was there that you drifted off to sleep.

When you awoke later, Grogu had tucked himself on your pillow with a small green hand on your cheek. It made you feel happy to see the little green one next to you, but you felt something in your hand. It was what had been on your back. Mando had one of his gloves off and was holding your hand with his bare one. His other hand was touching Grogu’s back but his glove was on. You turned away for a moment to let a tear fall. He cares about you, you’re more than useful, maybe.

Grogu remained asleep but Mando awoke, squeezing your hand in his. “You’re awake? Has the pain subsided? I should check-” You turned back to shush him and carefully sat up, the blanket falling off your partially and he released your hand to pull it around you. The back of your shirt was open and had fallen forward some when you got up, but not expose anything thankfully.  “You should keep warm. We’re on our way back to turn in the bounty. I-I am sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry. They came out of nowhere. I was able to not get killed because of the blaster shots you had me practice and Grogu’s safe so-” Since you’re not holding Mando’s hand any longer, you grasp the blanket, to have something in your hand.

“You were not safe. You were hurt badly. Do…I would not blame you if you wanted to leave.” His register is low, not threatening, but there’s sadness in it. He was sitting at your bedside mere moments ago. You wished to hop back in time and keep still so you wouldn't wake him. Just to have stayed in that moment a bit longer…

“I refuse to go. I will not. You’ll have to toss me off. I’ve seen so many things and places and I want to see that much more. You’re stuck with me Mando.” The blanket drops as you release it and you grab his bare hand with both of yours. “I’m not going to but. I just don’t want to go.” Speaking as you lock your eyes on his t-visor, a deep hum is heard from the hunter, but you remain firm.

“I am called Din. Please do so while it’s just the three of us.” His thumb ran across your palm and tickled your skin making you chuckle. “You will remain and hopefully I will hear more of your laugh.” Your smile only grows with his answer. “Please rest for now. Our journey isn’t over.”

Part Two

Space Buddies: @linzels-blog @maggiemayhemnj @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @missladym1981 @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @daddy-dins-girl @magpiepills @megamindsecretlair @anoverwhelmingdin @theincredibleinkspitter @alltheglitterandtheroar @mrsmando @drawingdroid @harriedandharassed @i-own-loki @lady-bess @undercoverpena @pedroshotwifey

[drawingdroid]

To be taken care of

Pairing: Din Djarin x AFAB!Reader

Summary: Spotchka makes Mando show his desire to take care of you.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Bounty Hunter!Reader, soft!Din, set before Season One, smut!!!, little plot for context, but also FLUFF!, v fingering, no gendered words used, no y/n, alcohol, dirty talk, drunk sex, hint of praise kink, mirror kink, feelings???, reader is clueless about them tho, kind of sinful use of the helmet sorry armorer!

A/N: Hi!!! This is the first time I’m writing for this fandom OMG. I have little experience writing fics and I’m not 100% happy about this, but hey I had fun while typing smut at work! Also English is not my mother tongue and I have no Beta only Grammarly, although I edited this thoroughly, so sorry if this is awkward hehehe, I’d love to hear your thoughts about it!

You both probably had exceeded your tolerance limit with the spotchka that the kind people of Sorgan had gifted you on your last visit to the planet. Everything started with an excruciating hunt that had taken a toll on you and your bussiness partner. When the trandoshan male you’d been persecuting for weeks was finally frozen in carbonite, both of you sighed in relief and then your gaze met with his behind the visor. Neither of you were very talkative, your silences sometimes speaking louder than words. In addition, you both where extra grumpy that night because of the tiredness. Limping because of your sore muscles, provoked by hiding lying down on the hard floor for hours, you went directly to the spot where your provisions were. He tilted his head, curious. Normally after a hunt, you run to the shower to clean the grime accumulated from the days on the run.

Mando's questions were rapidly resolved when you triumphantly showed him the blue bottle and two metal mugs you used for everything. You must be a minimalist in a ship like the Razor Crest, which was definitely not designed for habitability. You also showed him the reusable straw you got him so he could drink in front of you on the field without worrying about his Creed. He fixated his helmet on you and finally nodded, so you poured him the spotchka filling the cup to the brim and then did the same for you. Next you let yourself slip down the metal floor with a heavy thump, too exhausted to stand for a minute more. He followed you and soon you found yourselves toasting lazily on the ground and drinking in silence.

“You did great today, mesh’la.” He said after emptying his mug for the first time that evening. You downed your beverage on your lap and looked at him as if he had gone nuts. In your time with him, he’d never praised you for your work. It was just expected that you gave your 100% in your hunts, right? You were after all partners, business partners. Associates. That sometimes fucked, alright. But you both kept things professional. So why did his praise affect the color of your cheeks that much?

“Thanks, Mando.” You muttered after finishing your spotckha too, offering to fill his mug again by raising the bottle towards him. He nodded and his gaze didn’t leave you this time. The truth was that Din was impressed by your performance in this last job. He knew you were a capable bounty hunter, of course, or he wouldn't have asked you to join him in the first place. It was only for one job initially, but you’d been so resourceful and worked so well along with him that he had to request you to join him full-time.

In the field, you always had his back, saving his metal ass more than one time, and your perception and ability to read people’s intentions was incredibly useful. Even though you weren't Mandalorian, he respected you as a warrior as if you were one of them. Not only respect, he felt admiration towards you.

And then it was the other side of your partnership. The one that occurred in the dark, rushed, your flushed skin against the cold beskar and soft sighs fogging his visor. The first time occurred after a near-death experience, the adrenaline ended in you being pressed against the wall in some alley by his beskar-clad body. He discovered you weren’t only outstanding at bounty hunting, but in other disciplines too.

Your intercourses would usually happen after a hunt gone south when both of you were especially frustrated and needed to let some steam off. You had three unspoken rules about them: you never talked while fucking, it was always done in the dark, and you never mentioned it afterwards. And of course, the helmet stayed on. You could never have imagined that you'd break all of the rules the current night.

You both had emptied the second round by the moment Mando spoke again. "I'm glad you accepted to be my business partner." His voice through the modulator caught you off guard, as you were lost in thought at the moment. He wasn't looking at you this time. You wondered if he was already drunk because he was behaving so off-character.

"You only say that because you love my stew." You chuckled nervously while pouring another mug for yourself. He asked his to be filled too and half of the spotchka was already gone. You could feel your palms against the glass sweaty: this opening-up-with-Mando thing was new for you.

"No…Yes, I mean… I do love your stew." It actually was the best he'd tasted and a great change from the ration packs he'd usually consume while on the Razor Crest. Mando played with the metal straw in his drink as if it was filled with your star recipe. "But what I'm saying is…it's nice to have you around." You looked at him quizzically, without a clue about where this conversation was directed or what was he referring to. Like he enjoyed your presence? Impossible. You rarely even spoke and didn’t know a lot about each other. Just enough to know you could trust your partner in the field. Maybe he was referring to sex. You knew he enjoyed it, as you did too. It was hot and somewhat felt forbidden. But anything in his cryptical tone indicated he was talking about sex, and it would be a first between you. Finally you decided he must be speaking about your job, you worked well together for sure.

"I suppose…we make a good team." Your half smile was timid and Mando surprised himself when his heart skipped a beat at your smile, but he was a bit disappointed. That was not what he was referring to. Sometimes he wished to be as talented with words as Greef Karga. He nodded and sipped half of the liquid courage remaining in his mug when he heard you giggling.

"What?" He asked drily. He almost felt hurt, where you laughing at him after dodging his attempt to tell you how he felt? You tried to stop but the alcohol had started to take a toll on your self-control. Especially on your empty stomach.

"You…you look so…so cute with your straw." He now fixated his visor on you, and although you tried to stop your laughter with your hand he only made it worse by looking deadly while sipping his spotchka.

"So you bought it in order to make fun of me?" You couldn't discern if he was joking or not but you started to be too drunk to care. He was marveled by this relaxed version of you, looking careless while sprawled on the floor. Even during sex, you'll keep it together, always looking composed. Was a bit of spotchka the one thing it took for you to get loose? If that was the case, he'd buy supplies for ages on the next planet.

"No dummy, I got it because that time you got dehydrated on Tatooine! You scared the shit out of me." Mando hardly remembered how that hunt ended, since in fact, he ended up fainting because of the lack of liquids due to being glued by the hip to you all the mission. It was certainly embarrassing. But what really made his cheeks flush was the endearing tone you had used to insult him.

"I appreciate how you always take care of me." His voice was softer than usual and the impact it had on you was totally unexpected. You stared at him frozen. Was he dehydrated again? You looked at the bottle of spotchka confused. Sure, it was a bit stronger than usual, but not that much.

"Mando… Are you drunk?" You asked carefully, and then he rotated all his body towards you.

"I want to take care of you, too." His voice came strained while he ignored your question. Your face couldn't be redder and your heartbeat started to go out of control. This couldn’t be happening, right? Where you reading well the room?

"Well, I could really use a massage. You know, my boss had me laying all day in some kriffing hole as if I was his personal sniper and my back is killing me." You said nonchalantly after a long silence, avoiding his face on purpose. He sighed in defeat and lay again in the position he was before, his long legs stretched on the floor.

"Your boss looks like an asshole." You could hear now a smile behind the helmet in his voice that warmed your heart.

"He's a tough bone, but he ends up growing on you." You winked at him and then got up, feeling suddenly how drunk you actually were. You stretched your arms over your head and then your neck and Mando could hear the crack of every one of your bones.

“I’ll give you that massage.” You weren’t expecting that he’d taken it seriously at all. He was no stranger to your body, but this new behavior of his was getting on your nerves. You had already spoken more than in all the month you were on board the Razor Crest. Slowly you nodded.

“Let me shower real quick first.” Without further notice, you locked yourself in the refresher to have the fastest shower in history, leaving The Mandalorian with his thoughts while you replayed your conversation in your head, trying to figure out his intentions.

After refreshing, you looked through your possessions, finally finding the small bottle of scented oil, and then returned to the hull while drying your hair a bit with a towel. The shower hadn't diminished your drunken state at all, and you were feeling feisty now. Thinking about how Mando was going to give you a massage had ignited your desire. And you could work with that. Because even though emotional intimacy wasn’t your forte, you new plenty about the physical one.

Mando was in the same place you had left him, now his back against the wall in a relaxed demeanor. He looked at you and then he was thankful you couldn't see his face. Of course, he had seen you in your undergarments before, but always in a non-sexual way like attending to your wounds or just a glimpse here or there. When you fucked you’d both keep most of your clothes on. He’d never appreciated you in all your glory towering over him like this. He gulped and felt his pants somewhat tighter.

You then sat nimbly in front of him, your back facing his front, and left the oil in your right so he could reach it. You noticed that another quarter of the spotchka bottle was missing.

"Confiscated." Giving him a mischievous glance, you twisted your body to reach the bottle and opened it to have a sip directly from it. Mando still hadn't moved a millimeter. A single drop slid along your throat and suddenly he wished he could lick it so badly. He had noted that your demeanor had changed, no longer nervous but confident in your body and sexuality. And that kriffin made him snap. His large hands snaked around your hip bones, dragging your body closer to his chest in one movement You gasped at the sudden contact, but this was familiar. Rough Mando, pressing you from behind against the nearest surface.

His long, muscular legs were spread around you, and you couldn't but appreciate his width and strength, seduced to caress where the beskar wasn't covering them. The time started to go slower as you stroked his skin through the flight suit. Sometimes it was difficult to remember that under all the metal a living red-blooded man resided. And said man was shivering now under your soft touches, praying that you didn't notice his neediness. He was a warrior with a task.

"Mesh'la, let me take care of you." His voice was gentle and raspy when he spoke next to your ear, and if he hadn't been wearing a helmet, you could have felt his breath tickling your skin. The tone in which he pronounced the foreign word made you feel a lot of things, some of them directed to your lower abdomen. You heard the tap of the oil and goosebumps of anticipation covered your skin. When the first drops slid down your column you were the one shivering this time.

When you felt his hands over your skin, you melted. You hadn't noticed when he’d removed his gloves. He rarely did it, and feeling them on your abused shoulders was like warm honey. You almost moaned from the touch of the rough skin of his big palms, his strong thumbs working on the knots that always formed over your shoulder blades. It felt heavenly.

“Is this okay?” If you didn’t know better, you’d swear his voice sounded a bit shy, but it was always difficult to tell through the modulator.

“S’ perfect Mando.” Your tone was breathy as you started to get a bit much worked up by his touch. He hummed and continued with his ministrations in silence. The moment felt fragile: you’d never had this intimacy together before. You noticed he was taking his time with you, feeling every muscle and curve of your strong back, tracing some scars scattered here and there. The alcohol and the massage were finally relaxing your tensed body, and then a moan you couldn’t stop escaped from your lips. His hands, which were working on your lower back at that moment, stopped and you could feel his entire body tense.

“Is this turning you on mesh’la?” All shyness was gone in a second, now his voice was thick with lust, a timbre you did recognize of him. His hands now had a harder grip on your back, like he needed to hold onto something. Sex with Mando was familiar ground, you felt relieved.

“Why don’t you check yourself?” Spotchka made you cheeky like that and you could hear Mando taking a heavy breath, confirming that your words had the effect you desired. Without warning, he dragged you towards his chest plate, the cold beskar biting your back while he positioned his helmet resting on your shoulder. Your heartbeat started to accelerate with anticipation. In this position, you could feel his chest rising every time: he was as worked up as you.

Painfully slow, he started to go over your outer thighs with a feathery touch with his calloused digits when then abruptly, he grabbed them and separated further making you gasp. The heat between your legs was unbearable and the thing you wanted more was for him to touch you. His grip on your inner thighs was almost painful, not that you minded, but you couldn’t stand more teasing.

“Mando, please…” You begged.

“Please what?” His fingers were now hovering over your clothed core, the fabric drenched in your slick. It wasn’t like your business partner hadn’t fingered you before, but it was always as a preparation for you to take his girth, never in this unrushed, lazy manner. Although you were going to explode from anticipation, you were loving every moment of it.

As Mando was too. The sensation of your plush skin filling his hands, your body pressing against his and dank farrik, your smell. It was driving him crazy, so much that he wanted to remove his helmet so he could appreciate the delicious smell of your wet pussy. His head was starting to spin and he couldn’t identify if it was for your fragrance or the quantity of spotchka running through his blood. He decided that the teasing was over then, and unceremoniously hooked his thumbs on your waistband and slid the piece of underwear down your legs, the soaked spot in the middle so evident it embarrassed you and turning him on even more. But he wasn’t still touching you where you needed him most. You were so done.

With your smaller hand, you grabbed his and placed it in your cunt letting go a snort and leaving Mando stunned.

“You wanted to take care of me? Then go on.” You said sassy, but your face was redder and hotter than a Sith’s lightsaber. He kriffing grunted and your breathing stopped when he finally put one of his thick fingers on your entrance to collect your slick. He amused himself at the fact that you were dripping because of him, feeling between surprised and a little proud about it. Then he started tracing lazy circles around your clit while spreading your pussy with the other hand. Mando relished himself in how soft and warm you were, imagining your flavor between his lips. In the confine of his flight suit, his cock twitched, impossibly harder. But today was about taking care of you and he was a man of his word.

His middle finger started tracing your slit up and down and you can’t help but waggle in his lap, feeling the pleasure spreading through your body. You inhaled hard when you notice the prominent bulge against your ass, growing only wetter at the sensation, and Mando could literally feel how your slick slid down your hole. While still rubbing your clit, he took advantage of the dampness to slide one finger inside, looking at that magic spot in your entrance that made your skin tingle. You moaned louder and he licked his lips under the helmet. An all-consuming desire was growing inside of him, the alcohol inside his veins whispering to him that he should indulge in his fantasy. You moan again in his arms and he’s a mess. Needs to taste you, to smell you to see your pussy drenched because of him. Every part of his body is in contact with yours, his helmet against your cheek. He’d love to bite your shoulder and mark your neck, and his need grows stronger while fantasizing about the idea.

“Mando…another finger…please.” Your voice was labored and so sexy he needs a sharp inhale to bring his brain the oxygen he needed. You were a beautiful mess. Your lips parted, cheeks red with lust and a sheer layer of sweat making your skin glow under the lights. This was nothing like taking you from behind in some cantina bathroom. He was done.

“Wait for a second mesh’la. And don’t turn around.” You nodded obediently, at this point you’d do whatever it took to be touched by The Mandalorian. Then you heard the hiss, you panicked a moment, knowing what the helmet meant for him. But inside you couldn’t deny the excitement from the anticipation about what he was going to do. Soon you had the answer. With a loud clank, he let his helmet rest between your spread thighs and then he breathed heavily, finally inhaling your sweet scent. It seemed odd to you that he didn’t choose another spot for his helmet, but then it hit you like a ton of bricks. Filthy bastard.

“Keep your legs spread for me.” His bossy tone made your pussy clench, you were used to his dry commands but in this context it made you drool. His unmodulated voice was like his hands, rough and gentle and warm at the same time, just like him. You found yourself wanting to hear more of it.

Mando’s hands traveled south once again and then he was spreading your lips, totally messy and wet. “Dank Farrik mesh’la look at you.” And you looked. The helmet, well-polished, silver beskar. His position between your legs wasn’t unintentional. You looked at your cunt at display, his large fingers caressing it like it was the most precious thing in the galaxy. You felt embarrassed and your first reflex was to close your legs. But he wasn’t having it.

“Mando, you’re shameless!” His strong hands didn’t let you close your legs but he spread them further. And when he had you like that, his fingers collected your slick determined to finally taste you. You could hear how he sinfully licked every finger and a more sinful, hoarse moan. You’d never hear him make a sound like that and it turned you to putty.

“Your cunt tastes as delicious as it looks.” Now, that was shameless. Who had imagined the reserved, soft-spoken Mandalorian had such a filthy tongue? His fingers were toying with your clit while he explored your hole with the other hand. Pleasure was filling every cell of your body and tiny moans were scaping more frequently from your lips, more aroused every second you looked at his movements reflected on the beskar surface.

“I’d love to taste you too Mando.” You teased grinding your hips on his cock, provoking a delicious sound from him.

“Another time mesh’la, I’m taking care of you today.” His voice was thick with drunkenness and desire and you couldn’t get enough of it. Then a perfect place stroke made you arch against him, leaving your neck at display for him. That delicious-looking skin was calling for him. A sharp bite startled you, provoking a loud moan from you. Even though he had removed his helmet, you didn’t expect him to use his lips on you. It looked like he was sporting a mustache and facial hair. Somewhat, it fitted the mental image you had of him and you siled internally. He continued sucking and biting all over your shoulders and neck, taking his time in your pulse point and you were a panting mess between his thighs, at this point, your slick even pooling on the floor.

His pace on your pussy was faster now, and you could feel and see how his fingers were knuckles deep in your insides, curved toward that delicious spot you could only reach with toys but he easily achieved to stroke. Dank Farrink, he did know your body. You realized he had to be paying more attention than you thought during your intercourses and that somehow made you hornier.

“Mando, I’m not gonna last much more…” Your voice was small, all your cheekiness from behind gone. You felt raw.

“That beautiful cunt’s gonna cum? Lemme see it mesh’la, give it to me.” Mando slurred as worked up and drunk as you. His words sent electricity directly to your pussy and your walls clenched against his fingers. “Kriff your body is amazing…you’re amazing.” His movements over your clit were now frantic and your vision started to blur. You succumbed to the sensation letting it hit you and then you were cuming all over Mando’s tan fingers with a loud cry of pleasure. He kept touching you until you shivered from overstimulation, dragging his fingers slowly from your puffy entrance. The vision was totally sinful. He started drawing lazy circles around your lips, caressing them. Your breath was still heavy while you came down from your high.

“Mando that was…” You didn’t have words for what had just happened.

“Do you feel better now cyar’ika?” His voice was soft again, even sleepy.

“Yeah, thank you for…taking care of me.” The alcohol and your orgasm were making your body drowsy, and you let yourself sink into his arms.

“Anytime.” He then kissed the point where your shoulder met your neck, something he hadn’t done before. You shivered at the sensation of his facial hair against your own skin and couldn’t help but smile fondly. In his odd way, he was sharing this private part of him with you and surprisingly your heart fluttered at the idea. He started then to drag his nose caressing your shoulder, it felt prominent, his mustache provoking goosebumps. You relished in his tenderness and at that moment you didn’t care anymore that this felt too intimate, wondering how it’d feel to kiss him. It was probably the spotchka why you were indulging in these thoughts and the reason you sighed like a teenager when his cheek leaned on yours. Probably tomorrow everything would be back to normal when both of you were sober, but for now, you’d let yourself enjoy how it felt to be taken care of by The Mandalorian.

[eatommo]

Like Real People Do [d.d]

Summary: You and Mando have a history of broken hearts and are both looking for a place to land in the galaxy you live in, but you'll always have each other.

A/n: Not beta'd! mistakes are my own! and look a Hozier song to a Pedro fic what's new! I love this. I hope you do too! 6.2k

Cw: Canon typical violence, mentions of human trafficking, use of weapons, mutual pining, discussions of loss, discussions of war, brief mentions of grief, Reader is from Alderaan (trauma that comes from that), the reader has some of my tattoos because we love a self-insert, broken glass, pubic hair?, unprotected p in v, mentions of marking, hickeys, mentions of oral sex m/f receiving, fingering, the helmet stays on, breeding kink if you squint, as always touched starved Din, themes involving depression and loss, takes place post season 3 but has a flash back to season 1, I probably missed something but let me know!

It had been ages since you’d seen him. You’re not sure how many rotations, but not a day has passed that you didn’t think about him.  But there, just passing the entrance to the trading post, his shiny beskar helmet flashes over the crowd.  

You put your head down, looking at the spare parts you were hoping to auction off for some measly credits at a holiday festival for some caf and to help you hopefully buy some piece of junk craft to get you off this dusty and dry planet.  

Maybe you’ll be lucky and you can slink away, and evade an awkward reunion all altogether.  You found an outcropping and a small table covered in different smoked meats and small roasted animals.  

You try to sell the fact that you look busy while you think about the last time you spoke to him.  Your conversation about the rebel symbol marred into your skin with black ink, Cara had done it herself, and you’d helped her put the very same symbol on her cheek. The pain felt good, it mirrored the grief that felt immeasurable and it almost felt like a release of all of the terrible thoughts of your family’s final moments.  Had your family suffered? Did they even know what was coming for them?  

You were young and had just gotten off the planet in search of something greater, a higher purpose. Something to believe in, and the empire stole everything you’d ever known in one simple explosion. 

It had handed you a purpose, for a time. Working with the rebellion, standing with your Princess, and fighting and punishing the Empire for the loss of Alderaan.  Cara and you were hiding out on Sorgan after leaving your post as shock troopers. You were in the fresher when they started to tousle outside, you expected some gruff Klatoonian who she sharked in a bet, as it often was.  Instead, she lies on her belly, a blaster pointed at a chrome-covered Mandalorian, who is lying on his back with a weapon drawn.

The only thing that holds your attention is a little green baby holding a cup of soup, mirroring your amusement waddling up next to you.  

He coos, looking between you and his companion like he expects you to save him.  “Sorry bud, I’m with her.” 

An aggravated harsh pant cuts you off, “Stay away from him.” The blaster shifts to you, but you raise your hands and keep an even temper.  He looks between the two of you, who clearly have no intention or idea what he is in possession of, and offers to buy the two of your dinner.  

He didn’t speak much at first, but as you and Cara drank away a flagon of spotchka and you shared your interest in his ship, having to grow up around the rebel's fleet and wanting to see such an old military craft, he offered to show you.  

“It’s a short walk, the kid is falling asleep in your lap anyway.”  You look down at the little wrinkled green monster, blinking slowly with his massive eyes as you stroke his ears, you can’t help but fawn over him.  

“I can’t believe they’re hunting a baby.”  Whispering, as you feel the warmth of his tiny body, heartbroken at the idea of an imperial remnant looking for children.  

“He is older than I am.” His surprisingly playful voice almost startled you, he’d been quietly walking by your side as you carried the little guy nestled into your chest.

“He’s” you struggle to find words, but you can feel an energy emanating from the little creature in your arms “magnificent.” 

The Mandalorian hums lowly, agreeing with you.   There’s a pause for a few moments while you look over at him, “Did you find a lot of purpose? With the rebellion?” 

It's your turn to be broody, “For a time.” Suddenly feeling subconscious you speak a little bit more quietly, “Just waiting for the next thing to believe in I guess.” You sigh, gazing down into the dark black ink just above your rebel stripes, “It feels like I could keep fighting forever, but hearing all this, seeing such a small child threatened by the same evil as I was, it feels like I already have.” You’re not sure if he understands you,  or even what side of the war he stood on.  

“You feel like there’s reasons to fight.” He looks down into the baby drifting to sleep in your clutches.  “But afraid that you have no fight left.”  You half expect him to be criticizing you.  Mandalorians have lost almost as much as you have, but are warriors by nature and have fought and continue to be feared across the galaxy as mercenaries and bounty hunters.  His voice is soft, and understanding, as if processing his words himself. 

 You spot the ship ahead, falling silent in your admiration you trudge through the leaves and sticks that have fallen from the ship clearing its landing.  The ramp hisses as it falls open to welcome its pilot, but you stop outside to admire the twin engines and their decades-long wear and tear.  

Walking around the ship to admire her heavy laser cannons and her yellow markings.  He watches you with a quiet but proud silence, as you eventually shuffle up the ramp to set the little one into a floating pram.  Your eye catches a glimpse of a carbonite freezing chamber, and a little anxious butterfly seems to stir in your belly, how much do you trust him?  

“I always thought I’d die looking for a bounty when I got too old, too slow, or just in plain luck.”  You turn heel to face him, heartbeat clipping unsteadily in your chest, but you raise an eyebrow, encouraging him to continue.  He hesitates and sets himself on top of one of the shipping containers. “But protecting this child has made me dream of a life I never thought I could fight for.” 

You can feel your body soften at his confession, cursing yourself for thinking lowly of a man whose been nothing but kind and trusting of you.  “I’m sure it's lonely.” You take a small but calculated breath, “He is lucky to have you.” The smile is soft, and you try to reassure him despite yourself. 

He looks at you standing but a few steps away from him, and nods, “I’m just as lucky.” 

The bustle of the holiday market slows to accommodate him, traversing through the stalls as all shapes and sizes scurry out of his way.  You swear to yourself, turning away and buying some meat you can’t afford.  When you hear your modulated name fall out of his mouth like a prayer, soft and delicate.  He steers around the crowd, veering right into your path as a child walks in front of you blowing bubbles from the straw of a festive drink.  

The Mandalorian approaches you with purpose, his walk deliberate and commanding as if everyone in the vicinity answers to him.  “Mando.” you smile briefly, warmth heating your cheeks, and the never-fading crush you have on this man skipping around your belly.  “Hi.” 

His gaze stays fixed as he reaches for your arm, touching a patch of ink that not only is new to him but you completely forgot about.  His glove runs over it and when it doesn’t smear it might’ve made his knees buckle. “The Crest.” 

You peer into the helmet, glad to have him near you again, and realizing how much you missed hearing his voice, a rush of blood washes over your cheeks again.  “Yeah,” you fumble around doubting your reasons for getting that tattoo in the first place, “I’ve been adding a couple of ships that are important to me.” 

You hear a small noise but are unable to determine the emotion behind it, “I was hoping to see you on Nevarro,”  your heart rate picks up in your chest, and of course, his helmet picks it up, “the last few times.” 

“I’ve been moving around, looking for something new.” There’s a sleepy squeal coming from his satchel, “is that?” He swings it around to the front and opens the top of the bag to reveal your favorite green forehead. “Handsome man! I’ve missed you little mudscuffer.” 

Mando chuckles under his breath as you pull the baby from his confines and offer him a piece of the meat you just bought. He swallows it down greedily.  “I swear he eats. He just woke up.” 

You smile and give him a playful look, “Is daddy feeding you enough munchkin?” You hand the baby another strip, Mando is glad you don’t see him adjusting his pants as the word daddy slips between your lips innocently, “Don't worry I’ll get you something sweet too.” 

Mando rests his hands on his hips, and shakes his head in mock defeat, “He’s not gonna want to leave.” He follows at your back as you carry the child through the marketplace, sometimes letting his palm rest on your back to keep close to you.  

He would not be one to admit but seeing you carry the child around reminds him of the times on Sorgan, of the weeks you spent together and his floundering inability to court you.  Even now the way you look at him has him hiding behind his beskar helm like a foolish schoolgirl.  

“He doesn’t have to, are you here for business?” You cast a look over your shoulder, “He can stay with me while you take care of whatever you need.” You find a stall selling some fruity overpriced drink for the planetary holiday. 

You look into your bag, coming up just a few credits short, and cursing at yourself.  Starting to walk away, “I’ve got it.” He cuts in front of you while gripping your shoulder and standing over the top of you, handing more than enough credits to the man in exchange for two drinks.  

Yet another blush creeps into your cheeks, “No need to spoil me.”  You offer the child his drink and he snatches it away from you eagerly with a screech.

“I want to.” That causes your brows to knit together and a deep ache below your belt to settle and warm. 

You sip away at the luxuriously sweet drink, wishing you could at least share it with him. “I have a room at an inn,” you offer, “or we could go back to the Crest, and catch up.” 

You lean against one of the walls so that you don’t accidentally traverse even further from his bounty.  “I don’t have the crest.” 

Your drink turns to ash in your mouth, “What? Is she in disrepair? I’m sure Karga-“ 

“It’s rubble on the planet Tython.” He’s sad, of course he is, but his hand finds the mark on your skin again, and you can’t help but mull over the memories, the connection you shared on that ship eviscerated. 

“I’m so sorry.” You let your head hang low, remembering how many conversations you shared hoping he’d invite you aboard as crew.  “I loved that ship. I mean not as much as you I’m sure.” 

He chuckles, thumb brushing over the silhouette as he speaks, “You don’t happen to know how to rewire an N-1 starfighter engine?”  

“I’m sure I could look at it, but I don’t think I’d be much help. Where the hell did you find one?” You’re a bumbling mess, wanting so eagerly for him to scoop you off this planet like he had before, but also knowing your heart couldn’t bear to watch him leave a third time.  

“I didn’t think so but I have no idea what you’ve been up to and-“ he pauses, stopping himself to watch you take a sip of the drink after licking some whipped cream off of the straw.  

“And?” You prompt him to continue, but he stares between you and the child who have matching bright red tongues and are both sporting some whipped cream out of the corners of your mouths.  

You catch a hint of strain in his voice, “We can rest at your place for a while. He’s due for a nap.” You squint at him a little, easily reading his stiff body language and the change of subject.  

At the word nap, the baby babbles away while chewing on the straw of his drink, “There’s a lot of sugar in this, so we might have to wait it out.”  

Mando lets out an exasperated sigh, “What have you gotten us into.” You’re both sitting on the floor of a modest single room with the little one taking turns climbing up and over the two of you.  

“You bought it,” raising your hands in defense, smile splitting ear to ear,  “I was going to split one with him.”  You reach out to try to grab his surprisingly quick body but he darts away with a giggle.  

“He’ll crash, eventually.” You could hear him talk about the baby for hours,  to sit with him and watch the two of them play together always felt like a treat on its own. “Get down from there.” 

“He’s fine, this place is a dump anyway.” You smirk over your shoulder as he climbs up onto your bed, rolling around and giggling half to himself while chewing on the mythosaur skull pendant around his neck. 

“How did you end up here?” Your face falls a little, but he’s kind, and soft, and you can tell he doesn’t want to pry but his curiosity is getting the best of him.  

“I was tracking a bunch of smugglers, the republic got word that they were hauling children to Canto Bight, and exporting them maker knows where.” You continue, trying to keep your breath even, “Cara had asked me as a favor, but I had a run-in with a group of pirates who saw my stripes and stole my ship.” 

“Does she know?” He shuffles closer to you, folding his knees in so that he can run a hand soothingly across the skin of your leg.  

“I don’t know,” You clear the tightness in your throat, “At least I don’t think so.” You find the words pouring out of you as if he is comforting you into realizing something you’ve been fighting for a long time.  “I don’t think I can fight like this anymore, and I don’t know how to tell her that.” 

He is quiet, giving a simple solemn nod, before pulling the rising phoenix from his back, and laying it on the floor.  He scoots closer to you, settling next to you as you both lean against the foot of your bed.  His beskar shoulder plate is cold on your cheek, as you lean against him, seeking reassurance you haven’t felt in so long.  

Silently a tear falls down your face, and as if prompted by his little superpowers the baby, climbs into your lap nuzzling your cheek and touching your face gently with a warm hand.  There are a lot of things this child is capable of, things you can’t begin to understand, over a lifetime that is marred with more violence and confusion than you will likely ever know existed. When he touches you, you can feel his pain and loss, but he also shares with you a joy and unfathomable curiosity over the smallest things he remembers.  

“I can’t take you on the N-1,” his voice startles you out of your stupor with the baby, “but if you’ll give me a few days, I’ll be back to pick you up, and you can stay with us on Nevarro until you find somewhere else, something else to do.” 

Your breath is shaking, and you’re not even sure the last time you felt safe enough to cry.  A small piece of you wants to run because that's what you've been doing for these last 10 or so years of your life.  Running from the Empire, running after them, and then running from yourself.  “I don’t think I could.” 

“Why not?” he reaches for your shaking hand, setting his gloved hand on top of yours, driving the energy in the room with the ease of piloting a speeder bike.  

“You’re a family, he has a routine, you’ve settled into this beautiful life that you’ve worked tirelessly for.  I couldn’t impose.” You try your best to sound strong like you’ve got a plan ahead of you, and the idea of not being around the two of them doesn't make your heart ache. 

He hums, and for a moment your cry is less of confusion and more out of pain.  His hand is gone from yours, and the lack of his warmth feels like a slap into reality, as you pinch your eyes shut to stop yourself from being embarrassed even further. 

You jump.  There's a much larger warm hand caressing your cheek, and turning your head into the dark stare of his visor.  You can see the tanned skin of his wrist as he turns your face slightly, wiping away a stray tear with his thumb. “It is the greatest mistake of my life leaving you on Sorgan.” 

You sniffle, the words sorting through the emotional fog of your brain, searching the blank emotionless canvas of metal for a hint of human connection, a flutter of an eyelash, anything.  You can’t find anything, until you hear the faint sound of his breath from beneath his mask, stuttering and insecure, his chest rising and falling like he’s fighting a battle with his own emotions.  

You feel it again, a swell in your chest of love and admiration and then you feel the tiny claws digging into the skin of your bicep. You look down at the tiny man as he steps between where your chests are separated by mere inches, “Could I have her come and get us?” You’re quiet as a loth cat, voice heady and rough. “I don’t think I could watch you go.” 

He lets the little one settle into his lap after a moment, this time you can hear relief and a half-broken smile in his tone, “Let’s just wait until he falls asleep, I’ll go to the ship and send a transmission.  I’ll come back with his pram, and then where we go. You go.” 

You clear your throat again, wanting so desperately for this to be real and aching to touch him.  “Okay.” your voice barely makes a squeak, he pressed the cold beskar helm to your temple.  

Wondering if he feels as raw as you, you place your hand on top of his suppressing the need to comment on how large it is, and tangle your fingers with his.  You stare at his hand, tanned and massive and warm. Human. You fold your legs in on themselves and shift your body so that you may properly look at him. 

The glove sits in his lap, and he looks so imposing in this tiny half-furnished room, polished and chrome in the dingy and ill-lit space you've called ‘home’ for these last few cycles.  You take his other hand, and look up to see if he’s going to stop you, but he is still and silent, so you slip the glove off his hand.  You trace from the tip of his middle finger, down his palm and up towards the pulse point of his wrist. 

He shudders beneath your touch, thankful for the mask to hide the crimson flush of his cheeks. He’s never had the opportunity to enjoy a tenderness like this, to feel his pulse quicken and the nervous butterflies he’s heard described during love stories on a holodrama.  It’s terrifying, he feels like he could vomit, but the way your delicate fingers trace circles over the palm of his hand makes him want to run his hands over every last inch of your body until he knows it inside and out like his blaster. 

The child settles into his lap, leaning his head against your arm as his head and eyes grow heavier with sleep.  “Why don’t we walk to your ship together?”  

Your eyes are bright, and he can tell by your posture that you feel better, but he can’t stop the audible grumble, not ready to let you or even your hand slip from his.  He nods and swallows harshly to clear his throat, “Alright.”

You walk across the market again, and the crowd parts before the two of you except this time you are holding onto his hand, and rather than trying to avoid his gaze like every other soul walking the market, you cling to his him trying to suppress the smirk curling the corners of your mouth.  

Nevarro has changed so much, you spend the first few days just getting accustomed to the new layout of the town.  Dropping the child, ‘Grogu’ (it took a while but it grew on you) at school, and then going to spend time in the market picking up some rations and some of the seasonal veg you’ve been coaxing into the little one’s belly.  

The domestic bliss that comes with living with Mando is both welcome and intoxicating.  You’re awake at odd hours of the night, talking and sharing stories about Jawas and your run-ins with Ewoks,  and sharing your dreams and hopes for the galaxy.  

He shares stories about Mandalore, about visiting there for the first time and bathing in the healing waters, about Bo Katan seeing a Mythasaur alive. All things you heard about as a young child, and symbols that brought hope and purpose to the entire creed were real and were aiding to heal the planet and its inhabitants. 

Then there were times when you both laid on the floor, watching the little one interact with a metal sphere, using his magic to hover it just out of your grasp and giggling himself to a peaceful sleep.  You’d lay together, wrapped in the comfort and protection of his house, and stare at the little man as he sleeps occasionally peaking into the reflection of yourself in his helmet, and blushing when you catch your own heart racing.

You want to tell him how you crave to be with him, how addicting his presence and his mind are to you, but you’re afraid.  Afraid to move too fast, to step over his barriers, but also knowing that each second without knowing the softness of his mouth is torture. 

The first time you see him in his sleep clothes, a plain dark green shirt with three buttons on the top and loose-fitting black canvas pants, no metal aside from his helmet, you choke on your cup of Jawa juice.   He’s large even without the metal beefing up his silhouette, his back broad and the fabric thin enough for you to see his muscles move as he opens a drawer for silverware. Even treating yourself to a glimpse of his waist and the way it tapers to his ass and hips.  

It’s become more common, in fact when he gets home, he almost immediately strips out of the armor in favor of something more casual and comfortable.  

Tonight the energy is different. The kid passes out early and you’re soaking a pot you used for dinner in the sink when he emerges out of his room.  You hear his footsteps, but they’re muted and soft, he’s barefoot. As you glance over your shoulder as he offers you a glass from his bedroom you see he’s in briefs, (the house is admittedly warmer as the seasons change) but the shock is plain as day as you turn so quickly away the glass slips from your hand and shatters on the floor. But the image of his chest spattered with hair that trailed down his soft belly and into the top of his black undergarments. 

You both are silent for  a moment, hoping the noise isn’t loud enough to wake the baby, in his silence you swear, “Kriff, don’t move I’ll get a broom.” You shy away, looking to the ground for a safe path.  

He cuts you off arm darting in front of you to halt your movement,  “I’ll get it.” His hand comes to rest on your hip stalling your movements with his warm palm. 

His other hand reaches out and before you can grumble in discontent he's lifting you onto the counter. You sit there, flustered with your hands tucked between your thighs as he fiddles with the control of his helmet flicking through to see which would help him find the scattered pieces of glass the best.  

It's moments, but it feels like an eternity as he searches for a broom, sweeping the glass into a neat pile before discarding it into the bin silently.  He settles between your legs, silent as a mouse.  

“I'm sorry.” You smile sheepishly, struggling to maintain eye contact as he hovers in front of you, inches separating your face, and if it were any cooler you would’ve fogged the front of his mask with your breath. 

He chuckles dryly, “Don’t be, I’ll take it as a compliment.”  His posture is full of confidence, but also comfortable and relaxed.  You long to touch him, to run your hand over his chest and abdomen, to feel the muscles shift in his back as he- “Mesh’la?” 

You blink yourself out of a daze, “You should, you’re so handsome.”  He braces his hands on the counter next to your hips and leans ever closer.

“Yeah?” His voice is hot like a pant, stroking a fire in the room that neither of you are able to ignore any longer. 

“Yeah.” You smirk at him, emboldened and smoothing your hands up the strong plains of his arms, squeezing lightly around the muscles of his biceps.  You let your foot run across his calf, urging him closer to your body, his hands find your waist, firm but careful as his thumbs stroke the skin just below your breasts.  You curse yourself for even bothering with a bra band.  

“I like having you here.” His head tilts, you can almost see the gears turning in his brain as he continues, “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” He uses his strength to pull you a little closer to him, so with each breath your chests touch and your core is flush to his abdomen.  “Having you in my kitchen, sitting on my counter looking so pretty, so-” He swipes the hair off your shoulder exposing your neck and throat, “edible.” 

Any chance you had of playing it cool is gone, you want nothing more than to bend to his will.  His hand disappears from your side, and he tangles it in your hair, using it to fix your eyes to his through the helm, as he strokes your cheek with his thumb.  You feel completely safe, but there’s something about him thats dangerous, hungry even, and it makes your skin damp with sweat.

He sounds like he’s in agony, like each passing moment without consuming you is torture, and you ache for him in a way that astonishes you, embarrasses you, not even sure that you could stand on your own two feet.  

“I need you.” He whispers, breath uneven almost a growl, “Tonight. Now.” He reaches between your legs, letting his fingers ghost over you ever so gently, as if asking, no begging, for permission.

You swallow hard, his helmet tilts, admiring you, and you hardly manage to stutter a yes.  Part of you expects him to be quick, tearing at your clothes and taking you right here in the kitchen. 

 He doesn’t.

 He goes slow, letting the crest of his helmet fall to rest on your forehead, taking his time to caress your hips, tracing up your sides and taking your shirt with it.  His hands are warm, but bring goosebumps to your skin as he touches you, hands squeezing your breasts and rubbing your nipple.  You keen, pressing desperately against his hands.  You lean in, placing a kiss to his collarbone, gentle and moving slow so he may stop you if he wants, but he drops his shoulder and tilts his head to expose his neck.  

You kiss his collarbone again, letting your tongue dart out to taste his skin, he’s vibrating beneath you. Trembling as you kiss the hollow of his throat and nibble at the skin of his neck.  You run your hands down his chest, basking in the intimacy and living for the scent of his skin.

He lifts you in a fluid motion, whisking you out of the kitchen and into his modest bedroom.  Laying you on the bed, he runs his hands down your legs and removes your pants.  You blush, unable to hide your arousal but noticing the prominent tent in his briefs, your mouth waters and you get to consider getting on your knees for him briefly.  

He’s faster than you, and not thinking about himself.  Ripping your underwear from your body and running the tip of his index fingers through your folds. “All this for me?” He circles your entrance, gathering your slick before brushing across your clit with leg-shaking precision.  

You chase his touch, the pleasure coating your tongue and fogging your brain even more than you can put into words. You beg for him to get closer, to press your bodies together until you weren't sure you'd ever part.

You're expecting to feel shorted by the absence of his mouth on yours.  No taste of him, and not getting to hear his words directly from his mouth, but his touch is consuming.  Like he's worshiping and waking each cell with caresses and adoration that's as palpable in the air as his sheets were soft on your back.  

There are noises, words you think, that he is muttering between each supple squeeze and tease, words you've heard him say before but their meaning is only now defined by his actions.  

Love.  He loves you.  You can feel it in the heat of his hands as he spreads your legs apart and admires the way you part for him, and he sinks two fingers into your fluttering pussy, pushing up and stroking something dangerous. 

His erection is nestled against your leg, and he shifts his hips with every twist of his fingers for a few moments, pressed between your bodies he feels a glimmer of relief with a groan, as much as he wants to bathe you in attention, he thinks that if he waits any longer his heart might give out before the best part.  “Mesh’la,” he twists his fingers as if to be sure you're listening, “Please.” 

“Yes,” you nod, swallowing harshly as he slips free of his underwear, cock springing free of its confines.  You gawk, unabashedly, as he did to you just moments ago. He's large, intact, leaning slightly to his left, and the skin is tanned brown, slightly darker than the rest of his body, thick and weeping out of the brilliantly flushed pink tip, the base adorned with sparse but dark hair that trails up to his navel deliciously.   When he steps between your legs and lets it rest on your abdomen to press your forehead together again, you feel its heady weight against you and stoop so low as to beg, “Please.”

You're echoing each other's moans as he grinds against your folds, coating himself in your slick before sinking into you in a single brutally slow thrust. When he bottoms out, you do your best not to squeak as the girth of his member breaks you open, it doesn't hurt, rather it feels like you've both waited an eternity to come to this very moment, euphoric and fulfilling the needs of your body and soul.  

He grinds his pelvis against yours letting his hand shift to cup your cheek, staring at you, he hopes somehow you can sense it. How he is barely able to stop passing between the pout of your lips and the deep pleading look in your eyes, begging him for the same thing his heart is calling for.   He could weep, having finally shorn the armor to dedicate himself to you, because the truth is, all you needed was to ask. He would've dropped his creed, everything he had achieved, and the meek life he'd planned for himself to grovel at your feet for the rest of his human life.  

Devotion, that's what it was called.  He had felt at many moments of his life that he was in the right place, blessing along his journeys that started out as miracles, friends, familial bonds he didn't think he deserved.  It felt misplaced, the little blessings that had entered his life so quickly that he swore they had to have been accidents. It had taken losing the child and abandoning you on that god-forsaken planet, for him to reflect, and to realize that the life he deserved was not determined by some blasters and an army, nor his home planet.  He had the life he wanted in his palms once, and watched it slip through his fingers with the charred remains of his ship.  His grip tightened instinctively, twisting the sheet in his fist. 

It was you.  You were the representation of all of the things he wanted but never thought he deserved.  A family, a place to call home, and you even had committed something as passing as his ship to your skin with a permanence that scared him.  

Here your skin was warm, surrounding him, nurturing him, squeezing him, and his mind was trying so hard to be a person, not a machine, loving someone else for the first time.  

He found the words, he said it to you, over and over with his pelvis angled just right as he ground his hips into you.

He was throbbing inside of you, you could feel the slick slide and pulse of him with each thrust. The pleasure was so intense you were whimpering and mewling beneath him, wetness smearing onto your thighs and running on the sheets below.

You've had sex before of course, and now you seriously doubt you've been doing it right. You kiss at the hollow of his throat, and in response he hunches over you, arms on either side of your head, animalistic yet praising affirmations go straight to the building heat in your core.  

You let your hands, come up to his back digging your nails into his skin.  He moans in shock as his thrusts grow more frenzied, spurred on by the bite of pain at his back.  He reaches between you and circles your clit with his thumb, pulling you headfirst into your orgasm.  You're body goes taught and relaxes all at once, the pleasure blinding you as your vision goes white and each tilt of his hips makes you stutter out an overstimulated moan. 

The fluttering of your sex around him would be enough to send over the edge but as you catch your breath you begin to beg for him to finish inside you.  He does, still feeling you shivering through the after waves of your own, as he groans and revels through the most intense orgasm he’s ever had, complete with curled toes and a knuckle-popping grip on the sheets.  He’s still looking at you, the rise of fall of your chests bumping into each other and your breath fogging the front of his helmet so much that when you kissed right over his eye, he could see the imprint of your lips for just a passing moment. 

“I can’t believe we waited so long.”  You chuckle, all smiles but looking as dazed and spent as he felt. A shiver coming over him as the small sounds cause you to tighten slightly around him as he softens, his body incredible sensitive. 

“I’ll spend the rest of our life making up for it.”  You note the sound of him speaking through the grit of his teeth, and do your best to lie still, not wishing to be parted just yet.

Months later, you’re married in a private ceremony in front of friends and his brothers and sisters of the clan.  It's quick, and everything you had expected of a warrior’s wedding.  You get the mudhorn symbol tattooed into the skin nestled behind your ear, wearing it proudly and with your vows you are made a family, a clan of three in front of all the important people you care about. 

You’d be remiss if what had you most excited isn’t the filthy promises he’s made to you about that night, taking his helmet off and kissing you everywhere he can for as long as he wishes.  Promising to leave a mark over your new clan sigil as he marks the rest of your body for him, as you’ve done to him many times over. You get to admire his face and the most handsome man in the galaxy who kneels before you with reverence and vows to take care of you with more than just his words. 

[peri-phonics]

Ael’niir lore post 1/3

Ael was born on the planet Sorgan, a sparsely populated swamp planet who’s inhabitants are mostly simple folk. She was raised in a community of farmers, her mother a Chiss and father a Togruta. Her life was simple and mostly involved learning the skills needed to help out.

Her community believed all life to be sacred, and when it came to meat consumption all of the animal was used to show respect to the creature. They did little to impede the natural world, which meant few defences…

[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d.| 14

Don Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Canon violence. Fucking FLUFF

Author’s Note: Thanks for all the love. This is it! This isnt the end I lied Jk. Listen to Getaway Car if you’re inclined <3333

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Way

There was no time to treat her wound, leaving it exposed to the elements as they tore through the capital city of Senex. The speeder bike was easily commandeered from someone at the party, allowing Din and his princess to escape as Han and Leia distracted Calisto and Gideon. Several party goers joined the fight as well, supporting their princess and her attempts to escape. But many evacuated, allowing for the two to sneak out with the crowd.

The Crest was not far off, allowing for them to get a headstart on their getaway. But Din knew better than to assume they were safe; they were far from it. Storm troopers were hot on their trail, though he had the advantage of the Crest being hidden away. They were together, however, and that’s all Din cared about as they skid to a stop outside the Crest. With the ship’s hatch opened and ready for them, he hopped off the bike and took her good hand, leading her into the ship. 

“We need to get off this planet,” Din announced, flipping switches in the cockpit of the ship.

“Really? I thought we’d get married in the fields,” she retorted, sliding into her own seat. 

He rolled his eyes under the helmet, handing Grogu to her once she was strapped into the seat. “We can’t go back to Sorgan; it’ll be the first place they look.”

“Or Nevarro –I’m certain your bounty hunter friend wouldn’t be thrilled with us.”

“We need to find the other Mandalorians,” he settled, starting the engines of the ship. 

Blaster fire suddenly rained down on the ship, and she ducked down over Grogu to protect him. Din looked over at her, frowning deeply as he pushed the ship to take off, but the damn thing was too old for it’s own good sometimes. The engines were too cool, and with Calisto and Gideon’s men trying to keep them down –Din had to take the offensive.

“You know how to fly?” He asked, standing from his seat.

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Kind of. My father tried teaching me, but our ships were newer –,”

“Doesn’t matter,” he pointed out, motioning at each control and explaining the purpose of each one. She watched closely, moving out of her seat and into his. If their lives weren’t in danger, it would have been a hell of a sight. “When I say, you need to get us into the air.”

“What are you doing?” She demanded as he started climbing down the ladder. “Din, you cannot take on a squad by yourself.”

“Didn’t you tell Calisto I’d like my odds?”

“I was trying to scare her. Not encourage you.”

He waved her off, climbing down into the hull. Opening the armory, Din pulled out several grenades and attached them to his belt then took out his pulse rifle, looking it over for a moment. Then, he opened the hatch on the roof of the Crest, climbing up and keeping his feet hooked into the ladder. 

“Can you hear me?” He asked through the comms, into the cockpit.

“Uh, I can, yes,” she responded, though her voice sounded muffled through the speakers. “The engine is still heating up. Please be careful, Din.”

He didn’t respond, instead opting to lower himself against the metal of his ship and take aim. As the chaos of the troopers shooting raged around him, he tried to remain calm and focused. Din knew that his skills were the only thing standing between them getting out of Senex alive. As he fired shot after shot, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was what he was born to do - to fight, to protect, to survive. And he would not stop until everyone trying to hurt his clan was taken down.

“How’s that engine looking?” He asked as a trooper dropped onto the roof of the ship and swung a boot into Din’s face. He grabbed their ankle and dropped them though, shoving a knife into their leg and shoving them off the roof.

“Almost there,” she promised as the ship began to shake with preparation. “I’d hold onto something if I were you.”

Din couldn’t, given the situation at hand, but he appreciated the concern as he aimed at the speeder bike that was barreling towards him. One calculated shot later and the bike –and two others –were blown up and the Crest was taking off into the air. He thanked the Maker as he dropped back into the ship, shutting the hatch, and rushed back into the cockpit.

Grogu was sitting in her seat, hands in the air as she pushed the throttle forward and the ship took off over the capital city. Din hovered behind her, hand gripping the back of the seat as he pushed various buttons and prepared to exit the atmosphere. But other new ships were appearing around them; Imperial ships that he was certain belonged to Gideon. 

Din's heart sank as he realized how outnumbered they really were. While he knew a clean getaway was a long shot, he should have known better than to assume Gideon wouldn’t have brought an army of his own. He quickly assessed their situation, trying to come up with a plan of action.

"We’ve got company,” he said, his voice low and urgent in her ear. 

"I see them," she replied, her hands moving deftly over the controls as she tried to evade the incoming ships. 

Din activated the ship's weapons systems, ready to defend themselves if necessary. He knew that they were outnumbered, but he wasn't going down without a fight. As they flew through the sky, lasers from the Imperial ships streaked past them, narrowly missing their ship.

"We can’t fight them, Din,” she pointed out as he took control of the ship’s blasters. 

“We don’t need to fight them if we can distract them,” he offered as reassurance, turning the ships guns on the Imperial fleet that was catching up to them.

But the ship needed to gain more speed if they were going to jump into hyperspace, and he needed it to last long enough against Gideon and Calisto’s forces to do that. Din gritted his teeth as he fired the ship's weapons at the incoming Imperial fleet. He knew that their best chance of survival was to distract them long enough to make the jump to hyperspace. But he also knew that their weapons weren't strong enough to hold off the Imperial forces forever.

"We need to go faster," he said, his eyes scanning the control panel for any way to increase their speed. "Can you give me more power to the engines?"

“I don’t think so,” she admitted, looking over the panel herself with a deep frown. “Din, I-I don’t know if we’ll get out of here alive.”

“We will,” he promised, returning his attention to the fleet that was on top of them.

“Din, tell me the vows,” she insisted, her hand reaching out to grab his arm.

“No,” he snapped, looking down at her for a moment. “No, not like this.”

Din felt a surge of energy as the ship's engines roared to life, propelling them forward at an incredible speed –the engines were finally catching up to the urgency that engulfed the cockpit. While the Imperial ships were caught off guard by their sudden burst of speed, Din took the chance to pick off a few more of the fleet.

But the Imperial fleet was relentless, and their ships were quickly closing in on them. Din knew that they had to make the jump to hyperspace soon, or it would be too late.

“Tell me the vows,” she demanded again as a blast hit the side of the ship, too close to the engines for comfort. She yanked on the exposed part of his arm, drawing his attention to her. Her eyes were watery with unshed tears. “Marry me, Din Djarin.”

The dawning realization that they might actually not make it hit him hard, and he couldn’t argue. “Repeat after me, okay?” Din remained focused on firing the weapons as he spoke. “Mhi solus tome, we are one when together”

“Mhi solus tome,” she repeated, eyes locked on the ships that she was maneuvering around. “We are one when together.”

“Mhi solus dar'tome,” he continued, bracing against the controls as another round of shots hit the ship. “We are one when parted.”

“Mhi solus dar'tome,” she closed her eyes for a moment as Grogu cried out, as if he knew something was going wrong; that they were on more danger than ever before. “We are one when parted.”

“Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” Din concluded, looking down at her finally as one of the engines stuttered. “We will share all, we will raise warriors."

“Mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde,” she finished, looking up at him now as well. “We will share all, we will raise warriors.”

Din couldn’t pinpoint why it felt right to marry her right there, in the middle of battle, but it did. Perhaps it was the adrenaline pumping through his veins, or the realization that life was precious and fleeting. Maybe it was the way she stood by his side, fearless and determined. Whatever the reason, Din knew he couldn't let her go.

“Kiss me, Din.”

His heart almost broke, realizing now that they were married –and very well could be dying at any second. But he nodded, finally abandoning his post at the weapons control. His hands here on his helmet, hesitant for just a moment, before he lifted it and set it down. Decades of wearing the helmet, not showing a single living thing what he looked like –all abandoned now as he faced his wife for the first time. 

She stared up at him with wide eyes, the tears finally falling as she reached up to touch his cheek. Her touch was warm against his face, where her fingers stroked the scars that had settled there. Blood still caked her nails, but her wound was wrapped and he had to look away. He could see the worry in her eyes, but he also saw the trust and love that she held for him. He leaned in slowly, savoring the moment, before finally pressing his lips against hers. It was a gentle kiss, but it held a depth of emotion that words could not express. For a moment, the fight around them faded away, and all that existed was the two of them, locked in a tender embrace.

But the ship still rocked from gunfire, reminding them that the end felt too close. They pulled away from one another just barely, foreheads resting against one another. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as her eyes traced over his face, taking in everything she could. He had never felt so exposed, yet so liberated. It was as if he had shed a heavy burden that he had been carrying for so long. He reached up and cupped her cheek, staring deeply into her eyes. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to express, but the words eluded him. Instead, he simply leaned in and kissed her again, pouring all of his emotions into the tender touch of his lips.

“Falcon to Crest, do you copy?”

Both of them looked to the comms, then at each other before finally pulling away. His helmet slipped back on, ensuring it was only her who would ever see him.

“This is Crest,” Din announced, leaning against the control panel.

“It’s Han,” the pilot explained, and gunfire could be heard in the background. “Leia and I are holding them off –got a handful of Senex fighters on your side out here.”

He looked to her, then back out the window of the Razor Crest. “You hold them off and we can get out of here.”

“That hunk of junk can hit hyperspace?” Han ribbed, and Din knew the man was smirking. “Gotta love classics.”

“Gideon got away,” Leia pointed out, voice gravelly through the comms. “So did Calisto. But if you get to the Outer Rim again, you should be safe for a while.”

“If you’re gonna jump, now is the time,” Han warned as Din moved her from the pilot’s seat and took over again. “Good luck with whatever the hell it is you two are up to.”

She laughed and Din glanced at her, smiling beneath his helmet. With his hands on the controls, Din hit the switch and pushed the throttle forward –the jump to hyperspace knocking them both back into their seats. As the stars streaked by in their blur, Din felt a sense of relief wash over him. The battle was over, at least for now. They had emerged victorious, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to relax.

Beside him, his wife let out a contented sigh, her hand reaching out to take his. He laced his fingers through hers, relishing the warmth and comfort of her touch.

“I can’t believe we did it,” she whispered, taking a deep breath as she looked up at him.

Din turned to her, his heart full. “It’s not over yet,” he reminded her gently, taking his hand back for just a moment. She watched in curiosity as he lifted his helmet, revealing himself once more to her. “But whatever is out there –we’ll handle it.”

She stared at him again, slowly standing from her seat. Her hands –covered in dried blood and streaks of sweat –reached for his face. For a long time, she simply stood above him, eyes and fingers tracing over his features. One hand held his jaw as the other ran over the bridge of his nose, up to his brow and over his eyes. Her thumb skated over his cheek, against the stubble that had grown over the last several weeks.

“You have brown eyes,” she whispered, both hands now resting on his jaw to hold his gaze. “You have brown eyes and you are so beautiful.”

He’d never been called beautiful before, and the compliment made his heart ache as he reached up to hold onto her wrists. Her touch was warm and gentle, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, lost in the intensity of their emotions. It was as if they were the only two people in the galaxy and nothing else mattered except the connection they shared.

Finally, Din broke the silence. "I love you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled at him, a soft and genuine expression. "I love you too," she promised, her voice barely more than a breath. “I get to look at you for the rest of my life.”

Din felt his heart swell with love for her. He knew that he had found something special, something worth fighting for. And no matter what the future held, he was determined to keep her by his side. As they soared through the galaxy, her touch on his skin, Din felt a sense of hope for the first time in a long time.

Grogu cooed suddenly, drawing their attention to him. He held his arms up and she laughed again, lifting him into her arms. Din took off his gloves, tossing them to the side, so he could run his thumb over their child’s face.

The future was uncertain; there were still threats out there. People hunting them down. But with his princess and their child with him —he knew this would be The Way.

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @r4iner @sgt-morgan @mingeniee @darling1darling @teriolan-blog @venusfalling @double—take @sunshine96 @lovelessprick @mxtokko @ellesvoid @waddafaknik @c-ms1ut @kokoirne @sl-ut @munsons-queen @intense-sneezing @geekrenaissance @dilf-din @tizylish @ruleroftides @aheadfullofsteverogers

[ravenalla]

Okay I swear this will be my last rant post before the next episode airs but I have to get it off my chest cause I keep seeing the argument made that people disappointed Din gave the darksaber away are forgetting the lack of plot in the previous seasons, which I very heavily disagree.

I can’t speak for everyone, but at least for me when I’m saying I’m disappointed Din did not become Manda’lor I am not saying I hated the adventure of the week side quest format they had. That’s what I liked best about the show! It was great in season 1 feeling like Din was just the random guy off on his own adventure with this baby he found, I would have loved for it to have kept that small space western feel. Season 3 becoming this big interconnected universe with a corrupted New Republic plot connecting to the sequels is what I was most worried about just because I personally don’t like that direction. The more they’ve tried to go the Andor route and make this show about the Galatic politics, the worst it’s become imo (we literally have two white dudes writing a plot point about droids liking being underclass and serving the soft democratic people that is ruled with the help of a former Nazi, but ohh it’s okay it’s Jack Black and he’s funny and the Space Nazi and the Space Nazi doctor are really sorry for what they did, look the New Republic is just as bad as the fascist imperials 🥺🥺)

What some people are not getting is that the darksaber is ALL. DIN. HAD. LEFT. There was no driving force or goal for him after episode 2, they reunited him with his child in a spin-off show, they have him redeem himself fairly easily without any emotional impact, and now they took away the opportunity to do one last interesting thing with him. Din does not have his own actions or thoughts throughout most of the season, and when he does it’s just retracing the character development they already gave him in previous seasons (i.e. the whole droid fiasco). He’s a plot device, meant to further Bo-Katan’s character and help her with her goals or have him in danger so she can save him. It was okay if Din did not become Manda’lor, but they can’t just make him having the darksaber out to be a huge deal, show him trying to learn how to train with it, and give it up so stupidly through a loophole just so Bo-Katan can lead again when she has done nothing to actually earn it or apologize for the way she disrespected Din’s entire culture again and again. She was a terrorist who has done a 180 into suddenly being an honorable character just because of a few action scenes, no introspection or interesting conflict between her and the covert about their differences, nothing about her actually thinking about her past mistakes, just the covert being there to look like dumbasses who settled on a dangerous planet where their children get eaten so Bo can lead missions, look a million times more competent in comparison, and suddenly be the one who deserves to lead.

There doesn’t have to be a big plot each episode, but it’s not being executed well like it was in the first two seasons. The goal was getting Grogu to a Jedi, and we were given the interesting side adventures on that journey. Din needs to find somewhere he can lay low, he goes to Sorgan and becomes tempted by a domestic life. Din needs credits, he takes a job with some old acquaintances and sees what kind of slimy person he could have been. Din needs to find other mandos to help him find a Jedi, he runs into a small town desperate for help with a Krayt Dragon and showcases his pride in being a Mandalorian but his respect for other cultures and his willingness to do the right thing. He travels to a planet ruled by an former Imperialist because the Jedi he was searching for was there and helps her to save a town both for their sake and his need to give his son the best life he can have. See the pattern? They were side adventures, but they weren’t a random hodgepodge of ideas, they fit the story and the tone, giving us interesting side characters and helping to develop our main characters. Din showed his leadership, his growing kindness, his frustrations, his annoyances, his fears, Grogu becomes more adventurous, vocal, and attached to who he’s starting to see as a father figure. They both aren’t talkative characters, but they had feelings and personalities we saw. They had moments between them that wasn’t just exposition for the plot or a push towards an action scene, it showed their lives and values, their relationships. Little moments like Din being happy to hear Grogu’s name, Cobb sharing his story and why he valued the armor, Omera talking with Din about his life and wondering if he could stay, Frog Lady wanting to get her eggs safely to her husband and Din comedically trying to make that happen. The story was driven by these characters decisions and their personalities.

Season 3, on the other hand, has taken away all the life of these side adventures in its goal to tie in a larger Star Wars narrative that connects to other shows. They are not character driven anymore, and instead the characters are being twisted and molded to do and say stuff that’ll get us from point A to point B instead of the other way around. The point of Din breaking his creed is not to see what that would mean for his identity or how he wants to live with Grogu by his side, the point is to take him to Mandalore so that he can ultimately get trapped and fall down a hole so Bo-Katan can see the Mythosaur. The point of Bo-Katan’s crew leaving her and her staying in a random castle for no reason doing nothing all day isn’t for her to recognize her past failings or show us what their relationship was like and what it meant to her, it’s to have an easy offscreen explanation so that she can come to the covert without anything challenging in the way. The point of Din’s coverts staying on a monster-infested planet where Paz’s son is kidnapped isn’t because it makes sense they’d be there or that Paz suddenly even has a son we’ve never seen before, it’s so they can put in CGI monsters they thought were cool and have Bo save the day so they can have a flimsy reason she does need to be leader again. The point of spending time with the covert and having random pirates attacking Nevarro wasn’t to develop the other mandalorians as actual characters, it was to have them accept Bo easily so that she can “walk both worlds” and give Carl Weather’s character more screentime. And so much more.

Things are happening, but it doesn’t matter whether they make sense or fit the characters anymore, because all the side quest are focused on is bending over backwards trying to make you believe this Bo deserves the darksaber narrative. Before that it wasn’t like the Covert was planning to take back Mandalore, Din wasn’t planning to take back Mandalore, Bo didn’t tell anybody what she saw so there was no real stakes for anybody. Nobody in the main plot has had any purpose as more than side characters besides her. Din may have been the main character, but the people he met on his journey didn’t just do stuff to contribute to his own character or finding a Jedi. Omera had her own goals, Cobb had his own goals, Fennec had her own goals, Boba had his own goals, and they all still worked well with the narrative without diminishing each other, Din developed on the way by learning from the other characters and them him. What the fuck does Din want this season? Paz? The Armorer? The answer is whatever will make it easiest for the plot to retake Mandalore and have Bo be the Manda’lor for these writers, despite it being shown previously they have no reason to care or like Bo-Katan.

Like, some character moments are there. Bo is changing. I’m not saying that’s not happening at all. But it’s being done in a way that is sabotaging every other aspect of the show to force this plot that they wanted, the sidequest are feeling duller because they aren’t for these characters to have fun adventures we get emotionally invested in that simultaneously furthers the actual main characters goal, it’s let’s just have a CGI dragon, let’s have Lizzo and Jack Black guest star, let’s have Zeb from Rebels be in there for no reason. Unless again you count Bo as the main character, but like honestly she’s not even having natural character development. She went from being an antagonistic ex-terrorist to suddenly being kind and charitable with hardly any buildup or insight into her feelings. It doesn’t feel organic. I know she lost everything, but they still made it seem like she blamed Din for it only to have her rescue him once and completely abandon that hostility. The best we really have gotten is Grogu remembering his past while with the armorer and setting up his future as a Mandalorian, but even that feels cheapened when the armor he was given isn’t even talked about with the person who he shares the symbol with him that signifies their relationship, making me think it’s just another merchandise decision.

We wanted Din to learn to rule because, even if we did have to say goodbye to the adventure of the week type format, it would have been in service of his character evolving into something he doesn’t think he deserves or is good at. It would have been the next step in his journey, accumulating everything he has learned, the growth he went through using both diplomacy and his skills as a fighter time and time again. Instead, they chose to really quickly ditch any of the conflicts he had so they could have him free to do this instead. If they had waited one more season, this could have possibly been done well imo. Din’s arcs could have been brought to a meaningful and satisfying conclusion, and then you could have made him and Bo-Katan become co-leads. It wouldn’t have mattered as much then if they decided to focus a little more on her. But instead they essentially abandoned Din’s story they’ve spent two seasons creating to go ahead and tell her own.

The side quest aren’t what people are complaining about. It’s that they have no meaning for our characters other than having everybody circling around Bo most of the time or creating some big connection to the sequel triology and setting up the Star Wats MCU, which wasn’t the style of writing this show did. I don’t care how many ways people want to argue against it, Din is not the main character in this season, which is not what they have been selling us all year, and he doesn’t even have any engaging story or arc as a side character either. That is the problem, and that is why these side quest and the lack of an actual plot do not work.

[burnwater13]

Concept Art by Ryan Church depicting the interior of the Razor Crest bridge filling with water as the Mandalorian stands within it. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 3, The Heiress.

Back in Reality

It took every beskar enrobed fiber of  Din Djarin’s being to not laugh as Grogu walked back and forth, waving his arms, stomping his feet and then shaking his little green fist. The kid wasn’t having a tantrum. Not really. It was clear that he was angry about something, but he wouldn’t slow down enough to explain what he was angry about. 

The best information the Mandalorian had gotten from his apprentice was when Grogu began to curse in Mando’a and he heard something that could be roughly translated to ‘stupid Sith ruin everything’. Djarin couldn’t disagree with that. Mandalorians might have spent a huge amount of time fighting the Jedi, but the ‘darjetii’ were considered an even bigger problem. 

But why Grogu was ranting about that while they were just having a pleasant afternoon on Nevarro completely eluded him. They hadn’t had any problems with Imps lately. They’d been planning some trips to visit friends like Peli Motto and Cobb Vanth on Tatooine, with a possible stop over on Sorgan or even Takodana. The only thing he’d told Grogu was that he really didn’t want to visit Trask this time. 

The last time they were there he’d found seaweed and a couple of those ridiculous looking, but tasty octo-crab critters. He hated when that happened to the Razor Crest, but it was even worse in the N-1. The stupid thing was scuttling around his seat and managed to get a good pinch in before he had a chance to deal with it permanently. Djarin was glad that he had a small supply of bacta, but he’d had to wait until they actually reached Nevarro before he could apply it. 

He didn’t think that Grogu really cared about missing out on Trask. Niebla and her husband, along with Tad and their other children, were actually off planet visiting family on Glee Anselm. Djarin had checked because Grogu had really wanted to Tad to see how much taller he’d grown since they’d last met. Djarin supposed that every centimeter counted when your species fell somewhere between Anzellans and Jawas on that parameter. 

No, it must be something else. Grogu hadn’t liked Trask very much even when they were just there to visit their frog friends. It had been smelly, cold, windy, and unfriendly, except for Niebla and her family. Even the other Mandos they had met there hadn’t been on anything like their best behavior. He wasn’t really surprised at Axe Woves or even Koska Reeves, but Bo-Katan had been less of an ideal leader and Djarin hadn’t really forgotten that, even with all the time that had passed since that visit. 

Maybe that was the problem that Grogu was ranting about? Djarin had suggested that they make a visit to Mandalore. Axe had asked him to visit and they really didn’t have anything better to do. But between the comments about who Mandalorians were and weren’t, what the Creed demanded and what it apparently didn’t care about as long as the former Mand’alor did it, Grogu had expressed, more than once, his general frustration with all things Mandalorian. 

Grogu had summed it all up in one of his rare comments in Gal Basic. “Not fun”.  He wasn’t wrong. Nothing about that trip had been fun. Djarin still had pains in his back and shoulders from that wretched mech-using critter, among other things. Having to fight so many warriors and then protecting him and the former Mand’alor when Axe crashed the Imp ship into the planet to destroy their dank farrik hidden base there… that hadn’t been fun for either one of them. 

“Hey, buddy, are do you have a minute? I thought we could talk about our next trip.”

Grogu looked up at him and Djarin was certain that he’d seen a brief glimmer of irritation. When Grogu ranted he liked to just do it and get it over and done with. It was pretty clear to the Mandalorian that Grogu was in no way, shape, or form done with whatever internal monologue he was engulfed by and wouldn’t be for a while.

“You know what, I’m sorry I interrupted you. Carry on.”

Grogu trotted off and continued with his silent diatribe and again Din Djarin had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He was pretty sure he’d just fall down and roll on the floor because there was just something so comical about his son’s behavior. Instead, he went back to the food prep area in the multipurpose room and began to make them both something to eat. 

That was always the best thing to cure Grogu of a bad case of the internal monologue. Feed him. As soon as he’d had a flash frozen froglet, or a gorg on a stick, or even a fire stack, he relaxed and whatever tension had been causing the rant seemed to leak right out of him. He slowed down a little. He actually chewed his food. He grinned at his dad. And as long as he didn’t forget to keep his mouth closed while he did it, Djarin found it kind of endearing. On the occasions that didn’t happen, well, he and Grogu spent too much time searching for errant frogs and cleaning up after them. 

Just as he was heating up a small pot of bone broth for them to share, he felt a thud against his right leg. Grogu was hugging it as if he might never let go.

“Hey, buddy. It’s okay. Everything’s fine.”

Grogu was looking up at him with tears welling in his eyes. 

“Love you, Dad”.

“I love you too, Son. I love you too.”

Dank Farrik! Now Djarin’s eyes were filling with tears. 

This is the Way.

[alltheirdamn]

A Bounty for Reward (Mando x f!reader)

CHAPTER 7

Summary: Sometimes, the past comes back to haunt us. Warnings: so much fucking angst it HURTS, rough sex (bordering on hate sex??), edging, orgasm denial, jealous f!reader, language, mentions of past trauma, mentions of past SA Word Count: 6k A/N: Listen, I love a good, vulnerable moment. Mix it with some rough sex & a mad sprinkling of angst, and I am a happy girl.

Sorgan was the last place Mando wanted to be; he would rather be in any other place in the galaxy. He knew, though, that if they wished for quiet safety, this would need to be their home until Bo Katan was ready to attack Oba Diah. 

Mando wanted to remain in the deeper parts of the forested planet, but he was reminded that the carbonite chamber was running on borrowed time. He had checked on the valve a few times during their flight, only to realize her brief solution of the problem wasn’t withstanding time. She had told him they needed to buy a new part, and he acquiesced, flying the Crest into the village that hid all his ghosts. 

They hadn’t spoken much since Trask, leaving one another to their usual routine. Occasionally, Mando left the cockpit to check on her. She spent most of the travel either curled up in the bed or sorting through the tools around the hull. He had thought of a million different things to say to her, yet not a single thing managed its way out. Everything inside of him ached to be near her. He wanted to see the familiar furrow in her brow or hear the sharpness in her words. Even if she was angry, at least she was regarding him in some way. He would take anything she gave him because he was a desperate man, and she was slowly painting over every thought in his mind. 

Mando’s throat constricted as he landed the Crest near the village, the outline of the huts coming into view. It had been nearly ten years since he stepped foot in this village—ten years since he saw her. Omera. The one woman who almost broke his loyalty to the Creed. Sorgan was once a sanctuary for him, but now it left an ashen taste on his tongue. 

“Will the village have what we need?” She asked, breaking his train of thought. 

They had been working shoulder-to-shoulder on the valve for an hour, more or less to distract Mando from making the decision to walk into town. She was a salve on the wound, slowly reopening under the armor he wore. If he could just focus on her…then it wouldn’t hurt as bad. 

He couldn’t form any response other than a simple huff of breath, letting the silence between them linger longer. She worked with deft hands on the valve, twisting it until the panel lit up again. The system would last a bit longer, but Mando? He didn’t know how long he would last without breaking from the inside out. 

“All good?” 

She gave him a soft nudge, her hair disheveled from running her hands through it in frustration. It still shocked him every time she stared at him with those big doe eyes, as if nothing else around them existed. That wound inside him started bleeding slowly, now filling his chest with unchecked emotions. If he barely escaped those emotions last time, how would he do it now? 

“I’m fine,” he said, but it came out harsher than he wanted. 

She flinched at his tone, her brows furrowing together. A question was on her tongue, dangling between them, but she collected herself with resolve and brushed past him. Mando’s eyes trailed her movements, watching her grab her vest off the bed and wrench it over her shirt. Even in the dim lights, he could see her composure slipping. They had agreed on trusting one another, but trusting her with his pain was something he could not do. 

Not yet. 

“Did I do something?” She snapped. She secured her blade to her thigh before sulking towards him, going toe to toe with a wild look in her eyes. Maker, her rage was intoxicating in the best way. 

“No,” he exhaled. “Let’s just go and get this over with.”

Mando left no room for her to respond, turning to the ramp to let it lower down. This was it. This was facing the past. 

Each step through the damp soil was another sharp pain inside him, shooting through his chest and daggering into his heart. The clouds overhead must have shown up to complement the storm brewing in his chest because they loomed heavy and dark in the sky. As they neared the village, she wrapped her fingers around his bicep, forcing him to halt his slow steps. 

“What’s wrong, Mando? Really?”

“Nothing,” he sighed. 

Her fingers squeezed the muscles in his arm, her eyes searching for his beneath the helmet. Even though she couldn’t see it, he diverted his eyes away, looking anywhere but at her sad eyes. 

“Do you trust me?” She echoed the words he had said to her days ago. 

“Yes.” He was all too quick to answer. 

“Then tell me why you’re so on edge.”

Was it that obvious? Or was she just that good at reading him?

“I just don’t—.” He drew in a heavy breath. “I just don’t like being here.”

She loosened her grip on his arm, shifting to turn back toward the village. Mando followed her like his bones were tethered to her gravity, letting her shift his world on its axle. So long as he was with her, he felt okay. He could keep the past at bay with her beside him. At least he hoped as much. 

The village was just as he remembered it: docile and mundane. Children ran through the streets in herds, shrieking with laughter as they chased one another. Mando veered around them, their tiny legs shuffling around the heavy boots on his feet. A young girl knocked into his leg, squeaking an apology in the wind as she danced away. 

“You’d think with all that shiny metal, they’d be able to see you,” she huffed a laugh. 

Mando bit back a chuckle, that sour taste filling his mouth again as they neared the village’s mechanic shop. They were greeted by a middle-aged man and his wife, both mulling over a pile of credits on the counter. Mando’s footsteps sent both their gazes flying upwards with a startled gasp. 

“Oh!” The woman plastered on a welcoming smile. “How can we help you?”

“Freezer valve,” Mando grunted. He couldn’t even form a coherent sentence while he stood in the village. Pathetic. 

“We’re in need of a new freezer valve,” a small voice beside him explained. 

The woman gave a weary glance back at Mando, then turned her attention back to the girl beside him. 

“We’ve got a few in stock,” the woman said. “Come take a look and see what would work best.”

“You go look,” Mando nudged her. “I’ll be outside.”

“I’ll need credits,” she grumbled. “Bounty, remember?”

Mando dug into his pilot suit, dropping a handful into her open palm. With one last concerned look, she turned and followed the woman through the shop. 

He couldn’t escape faster, finding himself wandering aimlessly through the village. The townspeople eyed him cautiously, some nodding a simple hello as he paced, others shrinking back into their hut. He wasn’t there on a mission like he had been last time, and most villagers probably didn’t even remember what he had done for their village or planet. 

Slipping away into the village cantina, Mando sulked alone at the bar's edge. The bartender tried to hide his unease as he continued to clean glasses, and Mando shifted his body toward the door to try to relieve some of that tension. The last thing he wanted was to draw more attention to himself—well, any more than usual. 

After a few minutes, she walked through the entrance, freezer valve in hand, dropping the remaining credits on the bartop without a word. Mando’s helmet tilted, inviting her to speak up. With a roll of her eyes, she leaned against the bar, tapping her fingers quickly against the bar. 

“Ready to leave?” She prompted. 

“Do you want a drink?” Mando countered. 

She smirked, flicking her eyes toward the bartender. “That your way of thanking me, Mando?”

“Something like that.”

She waved her hand at the bartender, ordering a drink with a grin—one he never got enough of. Guilt crept in slowly, overtaking his already worsening mood. As she sipped the drink, now in her hands, Mando wondered if letting her go would be something he could do. Freedom was beckoning her, and who was he to deny her what she deserved? 

He watched as her cheeks slowly flushed from the alcohol coursing through her veins, reminding him of the way her body bled in rich colors of pink and red when he was deep inside her. Drowning that nagging dread in his body with sex wouldn’t solve his problems, but maybe it would satiate it, even only for a short moment. His hand roamed up her thigh, settling at her waist. He noticed the tension tighten the muscles in her body, reminding him that just a simple touch could either debilitate her or ignite her. He hoped for the latter. 

“Finish your drink,” he growled, leaning into the warmth of her body. 

Her breath hitched, and she obediently downed the last of the liquor in the glass. Mando’s gaze caught onto the wetness of her lips, and he groaned internally at the thought of them wrapped around his cock. 

They needed to leave. Now. 

With a firm hand on her back, Mando guided her out of the cantina and back toward the Crest. She gave him a quick glance over her shoulder, the look of desire amplified by the drink no doubt clouding her mind. He flexed his hand on her back, urging her to move quicker through the village. But as they neared the edge of the village, Mando caught a glimpse of dark hair and tanned skin, completely paralyzing him in place. She was blissfully unaware of his inability to move, her legs moving twice the speed towards the Crest. He wanted to call out and tell her to stop, but not a single syllable left his lips. 

Omera was crouched before a young girl, engaged in a soft conversation. As if she felt his presence, Omera turned her head, catching him a heavy stare. Mando couldn’t breathe. She stood slowly, her grey dress falling past her knees. The young girl beside her widened her eyes as she followed Omera’s direction of vision. Before he could escape, she walked toward him, her mouth set in a soft smile. 

“You’re back,” Omera smiled. 

Mando swallowed thickly, only responding with a simple nod. 

“For how long?” She asked. 

As he was about to answer, the young girl ran up and clung to the fabric of Omera’s dress. He noticed the similarities in their features, and something inside him died. 

“This is Winta,” Omera spoke slowly, testing the waters. “My daughter.”

The wound inside him gushed open, bleeding out and seeping through the cracks of his armor. Mando reeled in any emotion that threatened his composure, his helmet glancing from Winta to Omera. He cleared his throat, saying hello in a hollow voice. 

“I never thought you’d be back,” Omera said. Though her expression was soft, sadness was swimming in her dark eyes. 

“I—” Mando stuttered over his words. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

Her face fell, crestfallen. 

“Another mission?” 

“No.”

“Well, I hope you stay a while. I’ve missed you.”

Mando clenched his jaw, biting back words of anger. She missed him? She nearly broke him the last time he was here. The hole she had burrowed within him had threatened everything he had sworn to protect: his creed, his Clan, his loyalty. Now, she stood before him, shamelessly reminding him of the mistakes he almost made. 

“I’ve never seen a Mandalorian before,” Winta marveled, stepping out of her mother’s shadow. 

Omera crouched beside her, running soft fingers through the waves of brown hair that framed Winta’s face. Looking up at Mando, she gave him another soft smile enough to churn his stomach. What once was a smile he couldn’t stop dreaming of was now something he couldn’t bear to look at longer than a moment. 

“He saved our village,” Omera explained. “Many, many years ago. Before you were born.”

“Wow!” Winta exclaimed, eyes growing into saucers. 

“I’m sure he’d love to tell you about it,” Omera nuzzled her face into Winta’s shoulder, eliciting a small giggle from the young girl. “Why don’t you meet us for dinner, Mando?”

“Sorry,” Mando faltered. “I can’t.”

Mando couldn’t stand it any longer. He said a soft goodbye to Omera and Winta, rushing to the Crest. Each step away from Omera was another stab at his heart, too reminiscent of the last time he saw her, and the closer he got to the ship, the closer he was to falling apart. Once his foot hit the edge of the ramp, he was nearly running into the hull, quick to close out the world that suffocated him. 

“Who was that?” 

Mando whipped his head around to see that familiar figure looming in the shadows of the hull. She emerged slowly, her lips curled up in a scowl. Even drenched in darkness, he knew there was a fire lit behind her eyes. 

“Don’t,” he warned. 

“No,” she argued, stomping toward him. “Tell me.”

Mando growled her name, taking a step back. He didn’t trust himself not to come undone entirely if she pushed him any further. But he knew better; he knew she wouldn’t relent. 

“If she’s someone special—” she spat the words, hardly getting them out before Mando shoved her against the metal wall.

“She’s not!” He raged. 

“It didn’t fucking look like it!” She yelled, her face an inch away from his visor. 

“Leave it. Now.” The slice of his words were deadly.

But he knew better.

She wouldn’t let it go.

“Should I go ask her myself?” She threatened, her chest brushing against his. He was on the cusp of snapping and dragging her down with him.

“Omera is none of your business.”

She looked at him incredulously, her lips turned up into a snarl. Mando caught onto her movements, catching her wrist before the blade hit his cowl-covered throat. She kept the edge steady against him, knuckles turning white on the handle. 

“You want my business to be yours, but I can’t know a damn thing about yours?”  Her voice rattled around the empty ship, bouncing off the walls and reverberating through his helmet. 

She pressed the blade further into his cowl, despite his grip on her wrist, another threat dangling on her tongue. 

Mando couldn’t stand it any longer. His other hand shot up, knocking the blade loose and letting it clatter onto the floor. Pinning her wrists against her chest, Mando pushed her further into the wall.

“I swear to the Maker,” Mando hissed. 

“What’re you going to do, Mando?” She threatened.

All Mando wanted to do right now was fuck her until she couldn’t walk, fuck her until every memory of Omera was erased from his mind. Spinning her around, he pinned her to the wall, holding her wrists above her head. Her body writhed against his, not in protest but in need. She gave into his desperation, needing as much of this release as he did. If fucking out their anger made it better, then Mando would give in to that burning desire.

With one hand enclosing her wrists, Mando used the other to strip her pants down, barely letting them hit the top of her knees before he freed his cock and buried it inside her. Fuck, she was drenched and fluttering around him, crying out when he hit that sweet spot inside her. Mando drove into her harder, a cry erupting from her mouth, ragged and uninhibited. He was starved for those noises, spurring him on with each rough thrust into her. Her cunt clenched hard around his cock, and Mando wound an arm around her stomach to leverage his strength as he pistoned into her.

“Fuck!” She mewled, nails scraping at the wall under his grasp. 

In this position, she could do nothing but surrender to his dominance, taking everything he gave her. 

Mando was relentless with each snap of his hips, her whines echoing around them. He kept his pace aggressive until he could feel her body seize up with an oncoming orgasm. He was desperate for it, feeding into the way her body responded to him, and with a final deep thrust, she let out a wracked cry and squeezed around his cock tight. 

“Get… off… me…” she panted through the shudders coursing through her body. 

Mando felt her words like a punch to the stomach, his mind reeling with an onslaught of guilt. Had he hurt her? Was everything wrong with what he did? 

But before he could even process the emotions swirling inside him, she yanked her pants back up her body and turned to him with a wild look in her eyes. 

Dropping to her knees in front of him, she grabbed his cock and stared up at him with rage behind her eyes. 

“What—?” Mando could barely form a word.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Her mouth wrapped around the head of his cock before he could object or reason with her, shooting shocks up through his nerves. The groan he let out was embarrassingly loud, but maker, her mouth felt so fucking good. She took him deeper, letting her tongue draw against the underside of cock. Her eyes never left his helmet, watching with rapt desire as she hollowed her cheeks. 

Mando was right at the cusp of release, clenching his fists to refrain from grabbing her hair and fucking her throat. He could feel the muscles in his body coil up, his balls tightening for release… and she stopped.

She pulled his cock from her mouth, a string of saliva falling from it, and looked at him with the most intense expression.

“That is for lying to me,” she hissed. “I know she means something to you, Mando and your distrust in me isn’t fair.”

Her hand started to work him slowly, that oncoming urge to explode coursing through Mando at an alarming rate. Right at the cusp of it, she pulled her hand away, granting him a satisfied grin as she denied him for a second time.

Mando fisted her hair, forcing her neck to crane further back as he leaned his helmet close. The rage overpowered him, his vision turning red around the edges. She was so fucking wrong about everything. Omera wasn’t special. Not anymore, at least.

She was special. 

“She means nothing to me. Not like you do.”

Mando’s voice was stern and uninviting to any more arguing. “You’re a pain in my ass, and I am so fucking addicted to you. I can’t—I can’t think straight around you.”

She licked her lips, a retort just a breath away, but Mando continued.

“How much more do I have to prove to you how special you are to me?” He was practically begging.

“Maybe be fucking honest.”

His fingers gripped at the hair at the base of her neck, and her face twisted up in pain. 

“Honesty goes both ways, angel.”

“I’m not a fucking angel.”

“You are to me.”

Her mouth gaped open, finally at an impasse on what to say or do. Mando’s body was radiating with a deep, consuming need to claim her, to prove everything he said. He’d explain it all to her. He’d bear all his emotions to her so long as she understood the severity of her presence in his life. He still couldn’t understand why she meant this much to him, why he was allowing his heart to attach itself again to someone. She was nothing like Omera; she was strong and thick-skinned. She had been through hell and back, as much as he could imagine, and she reminded him so much of himself. He wanted to show her that the world could be kind and forgiving. That he could be that for her if she let him.

“Swear to me you’ll be honest,” she begged.

“On my life,” he breathed.

And her mouth was back on him, enraptured and desperate to make him cum. As much as he wanted to bathe in the luxury of the warmth of her mouth, he wouldn’t fucking last. It barely took thirty seconds, and he was coating her tongue with his release. Mando’s body slumped, the weight and tension slipping off his shoulders as he let the wave of his orgasm pass through and returned to the present with a clear mind.

Her fingers worked his cock back into his flight suit, zipping it up slowly and rocking back onto her heels. 

Mando slid a crate behind him, slowly sitting, and studied her intently before speaking. Honesty. He could give her that.

“I was here on a mission ten years ago when I met Omera,” he began. “It hadn’t intended to be an extended stay, but the pirates that raided and attacked their village were brutal. I had someone from Nevarro helping me, but we two weren’t enough. Omera was kind enough to open her home to me, allowing me to stay and rest when I needed it. We grew… close. She was quiet amidst the chaos around here.

When the mission was done, I had plans to leave and return to Nevarro to continue hunting for the Guild. Despite how close we had gotten, I had no intentions of staying, but I promised her I would return when I could. After a few months, I did. I considered settling down and living an easier life with much less danger and killing. When I returned, she was with another man from the village.”

Her eyes softened as he talked, misted over with tears that went unshed. 

“She broke your heart,” she sighed.

“She has a daughter now. I met her before I came back here to you.”

She reached out to hold his hand, squeezing her fingers around his. “I’m so sorry, Mando.”

“I swore I would never get attached again. I was so close to abandoning my Creed.”

“Why would you come here if you knew what was waiting?”

Mando raised his free hand to cup her face, smoothing lines over her cheekbone.

“Your safety matters more than the past,” he said.

The tears streamed freely over her cheeks, dampening his gloves and turning her eyes red under the dim lights. Seeing her hurt for him unraveled a new string of emotions winding around that gaping wound inside him. 

“What did she say back there to you?” She asked, sniffling.

“She invited me to join her and her daughter for dinner,” Mando noted, not telling her that Omera had said she missed him. 

“Is that something you want?” She could barely get the words out.

Mando knew the situation wasn’t settling well with her and that the thought of him with Omera might be something she opposed. Truthfully, he didn’t want to see Omera. Today exhausted him despite the lack of hunting or chaos, and his entire body ached with fatigue and simmering frustration. He didn’t know how to act around Omera or how to face her. 

“No.”

“You could get the closure you need,” she insisted.

She was trying to be understanding and attentive to Mando’s feelings. He didn’t deserve her.

“I’ll think about it.”

She nodded, gingerly moving to stand. Mando noted the way her thighs quaked still, the ripple of her muscles apparent under her pants. He had been so rough with her, taking what he wanted without a second thought. But she had taken what she wanted just as quickly. There was a symmetry between them, a stark reminder that their pasts had jaded who they had become. Maybe she could do the same if he could open up in this way with her. He could help her navigate her past and tear through the walls she built.

“You fucked the shit outta me, Mando,” she chuckled, a slight change in her gait as she walked towards the refresher. “Gonna feel you for days.”

Fuck. Mando had to focus on not getting hard again, but the thought of her body aching from him had his cock straining against his pants. Even after such a moment of vulnerability, she found a way to lighten the mood and change the course of their conversation. He was more than grateful for it. He welcomed the distraction. 

The refresher door slid close behind her, a trail of silence left in its wake. Mando’s helmet fell into his hands as he drew in a ragged breath. He swore he would never get attached again, but it was proving to be so much harder this time around.

**

You had spent far longer than intended in the refresher, slumped against the tiles as the water poured over you. You weren’t angry at Mando, not anymore, at least. When you saw him with Omera, something fractured inside you, splintering into a million pieces. You couldn’t explain it. Mando wasn’t yours; no clear lines were drawn in the sand to prove he was. He was caring for you, keeping you safe, occasionally fucking you senseless. You were trying so hard not to attach yourself and focus on the freedom and future you had so desperately worked for. You stole for your freedom, risking your life until you made it on that passage to Coruscant. Nothing was going to stand in the way of going back. Yet, Mando always found a way to invade your thoughts and crush those hopes. You had found a comfortable place beside him the last few weeks, settling into a rhythm that made sense. There was silence. There was understanding. There was protection. 

How could you leave it?

Mando’s honesty and vulnerability shocked you. You had asked for the truth, and he gave it tenfold. You ached for the person he had been ten years ago and the heartbreak he had endured. You had been involved with someone in your teen years back in Mos Eisley, Tylo. He was an apprentice to your father, always lurking around the junkyard, stealing glances at you and making small talk. Within a standard year, you both became infatuated with each other, sneaking away into the desert at night and fucking until the suns peaked over the dunes. But he left. Like everyone did. He had made enough money from your father to buy passage to Coruscant and never returned. Maybe that’s why you chose the planet when you ran away, hoping to rekindle that connection. But you never sought him out. You were broken beyond comparison, and the thought of letting someone close to you again filled you with so much fear.

Everyone you loved had died or left you.

You’d be damned if you let that happen again. 

If Mando were the binary suns, you were the sand in the dunes burning in his wake.

No matter how desperately you clung to his every move and word, you couldn't allow it. 

It took you some time before you left the refresher, piecing yourself back together on tender legs. You shoved down the emotions curling in your stomach, swallowing the words you wanted to share. You wanted to come clean to Mando and tell him everything. He deserved as much. But that meant you’d have to let the ghosts of your past wander through your mind, and you weren’t strong enough to fight them off. Not even Mando could fight them off. It was a battle you had to endure alone.

Returning to the cargo hold, you found it empty. Mando had laid your knife on the bed beside a folded blanket, and you wrapped yourself in its warmth. You climbed up to the cockpit on shaky legs, finding Mando hunched over the nav panel with twisted wires between his hands. Whenever things were strained at home, you turned to fixing things. Mando wasn’t much different.

“Need help?” You piped up, making your way to the passenger seat beside him. 

With the blanket still folded around you, you analyzed the spectacle in front of Mando, seeing a slew of problems in his wiring. He had a toolbox propped up on the flight panel, a litter of tools scattered around him. His helmet turned to the side to acknowledge you, only for him to resume the task without a word.

“I used to do this, too,” you admitted. “Back home in the junkyard. Whenever we had run-ins with bad traders, or if it was just a bad day, I would tear apart speeders just to put them back together again.”

“Did it help?” He asked as deft fingers untangled two wires. 

You settled into the seat, watching as the sun faded behind the tall trees of the planet. 

“Sometimes. Is it helping you?”

Mando laid down his tools, reclining in the seat to enjoy the view with you. You tilted your head towards him, watching the colors of the sunset reflect off his armor. Maker, you wished you could see what he looked like underneath. There was no doubt in your mind he was beautiful, rugged as his exterior, and seemingly soft. It was the first time the thought even drifted through your mind. You hadn’t dwelled on the idea of the man beneath the layers, but the more of himself that he gave to you, the greedier you became. You wanted more, and you knew it was wrong.

“I don’t think I’ll meet Omera for dinner,” he said, startling you from your thoughts. “She’s moved on now. She has a daughter. There’s no sense in digging up the past when she’s already moved forward with her life.”

“Are you sure?” 

His helmet rolled toward you, trapping you in a silent stare that you were becoming all too familiar with. Once, it had scared you, but now you craved the faceless stare of the person you had grown accustomed to. You enjoyed that he regarded you even in the simplest ways.

“I’d rather be here,” he exhaled. “Once I put the nav back together, I’ll fly us somewhere more secluded. I can train you some more if you’d like.”

“With weapons?” You teased, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“With weapons,” he agreed.

You hummed quietly to yourself, your eyes fading shut as you listened to the sounds of the ships around you. Faintly, you could hear Mando resume his work on the panel, though his movements were quiet enough not to disturb you. You welcomed sleep and let your mind drift away.

Hands were all over you, touching your skin in colors of black and blue. Every one of your senses was muffled, your eyes refusing to open, your ears deaf to any sound. Someone was pinning down your body with a heaviness so great your bones felt like they could crack. Not even your hands functioned to fight back. They were on you, all over you, inside you. Something wet pressed against your mouth, feeding poison into your body until you went numb. Nothing felt real, yet everything was so consuming you had no choice but to give in to the reality that you were trapped within.

This was your life.

This is what you deserve. 

Because you failed. You failed your parents. You failed yourself.

You opened your mouth to scream, to cry, to say anything, but you were paralyzed in an endless cycle of abuse. No one cared. You heard nothing yet felt that heaviness above you quake with laughter. You knew it was laughter in the way they shook, the way their body rattled against yours. But you were so tired. You had no fight left to give. 

All you could do was lay immobilized and stripped apart for everyone to use.

“Angel.”

The word traveled through the stream of memories, slicing into them like a blade through a tree. Each syllable came down with a heavy force, knocking down the barriers of that paralysis that entrapped you. It took an exhausting effort to crack open your eyes and settle on the outline of Mando leaning over you. 

“I’m—I’m okay,” you choked, the rush of air to your lungs happening all too quickly.

Your muscles contracted and flexed inside your arms and legs, and you unraveled yourself from the cocoon you had burrowed into against the seat. It happened again. The nightmares had crippled you beyond amends, leaving you vulnerable and raw as you fully regained consciousness.

Mando’s hand reached to touch you, but instinct forced your body to flinch away. He retracted it just as fast, letting it close into a fist at his side. Through bleary eyes, you tried to hold onto the grasp of reality and remind yourself where you were.

You were in the Crest, with Mando, on Sorgan.

You were safe.

“How bad?” You winced. How bad was it this time?

“I couldn’t get you to wake up.” His voice was agonized. “Scared the fucking shit outta me.”

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, squeezing the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

The day had seemingly disappeared behind the curtain of nightfall, his silhouette cloaked in a spattering of stars that twinkled in the windshield. Mando was here. You were safe.

“You were screaming,” Mando explained. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whispered. You swallowed a lump in your throat, trying to force those memories behind a metal door in your mind. Why was it when you were at your most vulnerable that they escaped and ran wild? 

“Talk to me,” he begged. “Help me understand.”

You shook your head, too afraid of what would happen if you did tell him. You couldn’t control the memories that tortured you when you slept; how would being awake be any different? 

“I can’t,” you said, the tears welling up again.

Maker, you cried so much lately. You weren’t as tough as you used to be. 

“Whatever happened to you, whatever Kesi has done… I swear to the Maker that he will suffer in his death,” Mando promised. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

You stifled the sob, begging to escape, choosing to instead fall into his weight and wrap your arms around his torso. He pulled you tight against his body, his hands rubbing your back slowly. Just being in his embrace made the pain inside you subside; it waned back into the corner of your mind you kept it hidden within. 

“I just want to be free, Mando,” you whimpered. “From all of it.”

“I know, angel,” he crooned into your ear. “I promise to give you that.”

Against his chest, you let the cries erupt from you, saturating his armor and wetting your cheeks. You don’t know how long he held you, but as the crying subsided, you couldn’t find the strength to pull away. Mando guided you to your feet, walking you down the ladder as you leaned your weight into him. As if you weighed nothing, he lifted you into his arms, cradling your neck on one arm while the other stabilized your legs. Lying you onto the bed, Mando took a moment to let you curl into a ball, watching silently as you pulled the blanket above your head. The cot beneath you dipped, and only then did you realize he was joining you. It was a tight squeeze for both of you, especially with him fully armored, but you basked in the warmth of his body as it wrapped around you.

You fought off the urge to sleep, too scared to revisit the past that awaited you behind tired eyes. Instead, you focused on the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the hum of the cargo hold as it floated through the silence. Mando didn’t speak but didn’t have to—he was there. 

And that proved to be enough.

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Clan of Three - Chapter 3

Chapter Three: Sanctuary

Plot: A Mandalorian, an infant with a history of the jedi, and a teenager with similar powers with an undiscovered lineage. An unlikely group to travel the galaxy together.

Word Count: 7.7K

Pairing: Father Figure!Din Djarin x Platonic!Teen!Reader

Warnings: fighting/violence, injuries, almost character death, some wholesome moments

------

You could describe the past couple of days as the most eventful days of your lifetime. You were kidnapped, hunted by bounty hunters, betrayed and taken by the empire, killed your first person, to then be saved by the man who betrayed you, to end it all with a major gunfight getting shot at before escaping. Yeah, you were open to a boring life after all this.

“Jeez, why are you so heavy-handed!” You shout out in pain as he drags the cloth against the wound. The bullet had only grazed your arm but it is the first and hopefully the only time you were shot so it hurt a lot.

“You’re lucky it only grazed you, what were you thinking joining in the fight?” He says scolding you like you were his child, he sprays the bacta spray making you wince in pain before he wraps a bandage around your arm. He moves from your arm putting a salve along your neck for the bruises.

“It’s not like you were winning, we only got off that planet because of the other Mandalorians.” You retort and he ignores you grabbing your leg your boot already off and looking at your ankle. It was swollen a gross red and purple. He slowly rotates it and you grab the chair to focus on something else and the ship shakes slightly making Mando pause. He wraps the bandages around your ankle before standing up.

“Looks sprained, be grateful you didn’t break it.” He says moving back to the main seat and seeing the child touching buttons making the ship shake more. He grabs him moving him to his lap, “Stop touching things.” He pushes buttons pulling the holomap before a planet appears and you read the name of the planet.

“Sorgan?” You question shifting your weight keeping your foot stretched out returned back in the boot. You hope this planet had no bounty hunters ready to kill you. What you needed are a warm meal and a hot shower.

“Looks like there's no starport, no industrial centers, no population density. Real backwater skug hole. Which means it's perfect for us.” Hearing the description of the planet makes you groan. Guess no hot shower on this planet. “You ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months, you little womp rat?” He says looking down at the child and glancing back at you.

“Who you calling womp rat?!” You say and he looks forward to setting the coordinates on the hyperdrive and traveling to the planet. Soon the planet appeared your eyes widened seeing the lush green of trees and grass and wide ponds of water, something you’d never seen before. Flying over them before Mando finds a clearing landing the ship. Turning off the engine he stands up turning to look at the two of you.

“Nobody's gonna find us here. Now listen. I'm gonna go out there and I'm gonna look around. It shouldn't take too long. Now, don't touch anything.” He says aiming at the child before looking at you, “And no tampering with the ship.” You raise your hands frowning. It was literally one time and you made it better. “I'll find us some lodging, then I'll come back for you. Just stay there. Don’t move.”

“Okay go already.” You say and he gives you a look before leaving the cockpit and you hear the ramp opening up. You look over at the child understanding the look he was giving. Mando walks down the ramp pausing looking back seeing you and looking down at his foot seeing the child clutching his boot. He sighs looking up at the sky.

“What the hell? Fine..come on.” He says grabbing the child and the three of you make your way. Your eyes are darting everywhere taking it all in. Your hand traces the tall trees feeling the rough bark and the softness of the tall grass as it flows in the wind. You’ve never seen anything so beautiful before.

“Stop dragging what’s got you like this?” Mando calls out looking back and seeing you trailing back a few feet looking at the most captivating flower. You look over at him with a look of awe in your eyes as you hobble over to him still taking in nature.

“I’ve never seen this much green before.” You say and Mando looks down at you. How could he forget, you came from a desert planet and have never traveled the galaxy, this all was new to you, with the planets, the people, everything. Following the wooden path until you reach a large building the smell of meat and spices filling your nose. Sitting at a table Mando situates the child in a children’s chair and a human worker comes over with a friendly smile on her face.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?” She says,

“Bone broth, for the little one, and a regular broth for the girl.” He says pointing at the child and yourself.

“Oh, well, you're in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there's plenty.” She nods writing it down, Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?”

Mando shakes his head “Just the two.” The woman nods and you look around the common house seeing in the corner a woman, she had black hair styled on one side wearing green armor. You see around her armor some sort of tattoo and it seems like Mando noticed her as well, “That one over there. When did she arrive?” He nods over to the woman and the waitress looks over.

“I've seen her here for the last week or so.” She says and Mando keeps looking, “What's her business here?” 

“Business? Oh, well, there's not much business in Sorgan, so I can't say,” She hesitates to say before Mando pulls out a few extra credits to pay for the food and the information and the woman quickly accepts, “She doesn't strike me as a log runner. I will get that broth to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka just for good measure.” She says stepping back, “I will be right back with that.” She walks away to get your food and you see Mando look back to keep eyeing the woman but she’s long gone. He stands up as the woman comes by with the food and drinks.

“Keep an eye on the kid.” He says to you before disappearing around the corner. You shrug taking a sip of your broth, the warm liquid soothing on your throat settling nicely in your stomach. This was step one in your plan next a nice relaxing shower…or maybe a hot spring. Does this planet do that? A few minutes had passed and you look at where Mando once sat and the other woman. He better not have gotten himself in a fight. Looking at the child you stand up pulling it from its seat still holding its broth.

“Come on let’s go find that idiot.” You say before quickly turning to grab the bottle of spotchka taking a swig of it. You instantly make a face the burn of the liquid making you gag. Maker, how did anyone like this stuff? Following the same way Mando had left you follow the path before you hear the sound of fighting coming from an alley. Turning down you see Mando and this random woman with their blaster pointed at each other both in a stalemate.

“Are you done?” You call out the two adults turning to look at you leaning against the wall and the child beside your feet sipping his broth. Mando sighs looking at the woman, “You want some soup?”

The four of you sat around the table with three bowls of broth in front of you all except Mando and the large bottle of spotchka that makes you shiver remembering the taste. “Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor. Mostly Ex-Imperial Warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They'd send us in on the drop ships. No support, just us. Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, and suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for.” The woman who said her name was Carasynthia Dune but told you to call here Cara explains. You were surprised she was a part of the rebellion.

“I’ve heard so many stories about the rebellion, did you see the first Death Star blow-up, or was it the second one? Did you fly an X-Wing?! I heard that Luke Skywalker came from Tatooine where I’m from.” You ramble off before Mando gives you a look that has you quieting down and Cara smirks seeing the fascination on your face.

“How'd you end up here?” Mando asks and Cara takes a shot of the spotchka,

“Let's just call it an early retirement. Look, I knew you were Guild.” She says and you freeze hearing the mention of the guild.

“I figured you had a fob on me,” Mando says casually while you were silently panicking expecting this woman to grab you and the child and run off for her reward.

“That's why I came at you so hard.” Cara says and Mando nods “Yeah, that's what I figured.”

Cara finishes her broth before standing up and looking at the three of you, “Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She says leaving through the main door and you look back at Mando to come up with the next plan.

“What do we do now?” You ask as Mando stays silent.

Moths fly over the lamp attracted to the only light source at night. Mando is working on repairing parts of the outside the Razor Crest, you sat beside a fire you created adding sticks every so often to keep the flames alive. The sound of engines grows louder and you look up pausing in your movement as two speeders appear before you. Mando seems to ignore them as two men climb off their bikes giving a nod in your direction as you watch them silently walk toward the bounty hunter.

“Excuse me…excuse me, sir..” One of them calls out to him and he speaks to them with his back to them continuing to fix his ship.

“There something I can help you with?” He asks and one of them nods slowly as Mando turns to face them,

“Uh, yeah. Raiders. We have money.” They say, seeking his service.

“So, you think I’m some kinda mercenary?” He asks and the two men look at him nervous to be around him.

“You are a Mandalorian, right? Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor.” One of them says pointing at his helmet the symbol of his creed, “That is Mandalorian armor, right.” Mando nods and the man turns to the other, “It is. See I told him.”

The other man speaks up, “Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people…tribe. If half of what I read is true…we have money.”

“How much?” He asks and the man looks desperate, “Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen. Krill. We're krill farmers. We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.” He holds out a bag filled with whatever credits were inside and it looked like a lot.

“It’s not enough.” He says walking past them and turning towards the fire adding more wood that you collected not liking the look of your fire as you watch the conversation.

“Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is.” The man begs and it seems he’s unwilling shaking his head,

“I know it's not enough. Good luck.” He says waving them off as you look at him surprised he was rejecting the money.

“This is everything we have. We’ll give you more after the next harvest.” They beg but Mando is final in his opinion. They sigh turning away, “Come on. Let's head back.” 

The other man sighs getting onto his speeder bike, “Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere.” Those words make Mando pause turning to face them.

“Where do you live?” He asks and the two look at him confused and slightly offended.

“On a farm. Weren't you listening? We're farmers.” One of them says

“In the middle of nowhere?”

“Yes.”

“You have lodging?”

“Yeah. Absolutely.”

Mando nods motioning the two men to the crates, “Good. Come up and help,” The two men hop off their speeders starting to aid having gained their help, “I'm gonna need one more thing. Give me those credits.”

Now joined with Cara you traveled with the humans toward their village. The child was in a bag resting on Mando as you four sat on the back of one of the speeders.

“So, we're basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?” Cara says looking at the two peasants back to Mando.

“They're quartering us in the middle of nowhere.” He responds, “Last I checked, that's a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we're a deterrent. I can't imagine there's anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn't handle.” He says as your travel to this new village begins. It was morning when you arrived at the village. You had quickly fallen asleep on the speeder and you woke up just before you arrived at the village. Looking at the people watching you all as you arrived at the many areas of the town as they get shouted out, “Everyone, they're here!”

The speeder stops and you all board off Mando gives you a hand so you don’t worsen your leg, “Looks like they’re happy to see us.”

“Looks like.” He nods looking at the people who quickly crowd you all, children younger than you run up looking at the child in interest as he makes some noises at them causing laughter from them.

“Hi. He's so cute.” “Aw!” Some of the children say before some of the older ones that look around your age help unpack the speeder. Looking at the kids your age you watch the way they carry themselves and interact with each other talking and joking with one another. 

You follow Mando with the child into what looks like a barn, parts of it look cleared out probably prepared, a woman enters followed by a child who is clutching onto her hand, “I am Omera I hope this is comfortable for you. Sorry that all we have is the barn.” She says and Mando nods dropping his pack as the child wanders into the barn looking at the large baskets of what looks like krill.

“This will do fine,” Mando says and Omera points over to a corner that has blankets laid out,

“I stacked some blankets over here.” Poking from behind her legs is the small girl who glances at you all before hiding further behind her legs, “This is my daughter, Winta. We don't get a lot of visitors around here. She's not used to strangers. This nice man is going to help protect us from the bad ones.” She says picking up her daughter who mumbles a quiet thank you from her mother's neck. She smiles looking at you three, “Come on, Winta. Let’s give our guests some room.” The two leave as you situate yourself in the room. Mando had set up a sort of cradle for the child while you sat looking at your ankle, it still hurt to put a lot of pressure on it but you were able to walk around. What you needed was a shower or something to clean the dirt, sweat, and blood off you. You probably looked insane walking around like this. You push yourself up after pulling your boot on.

“I’m gonna go look around,” You say to Mando as you get ready to leave.

“Kid,” Mando calls out and you look back at him and you see he’s holding out his knife. You look at the knife and him in surprise, he was giving you his weapon, “Be careful. Don’t go too far out.” He says and you slowly take the blade tucking it in your belt and nodding. He dismisses you and you leave the barn just to see Omera and Winta coming over.

“Ah, we were just coming by to give some food..” She trails off never catching your name which you give. “Are you not going to eat Y/n?”

“I was actually wondering if you had a place to bathe just wanted to freshen up,” You ask and she nods pointing towards a building.

“My home you can use anything that you need, leave your clothes on the small chair and I’ll be sure to wash your clothes and have them ready for you when you are ready.” She says and you give your thanks before making your way toward her home. Entering her home seeing touches of her personality and thing that shows it was lived in especially with a child. You make your way into the room containing a large tub covered by a privacy stand, leaning over and turning the handle water pours begin to fill the room with steam. Thank the maker this planet had warm water. You strip off your clothes placing them on the chair that she must be talking about wrapping yourself in a towel. Peeling off the bandages around your arm and the ones on your face putting them aside. Dipping your hand in the water feeling it warm enough before setting the towel aside and stepping into the bath. The hot water makes you hiss slightly in pain but once you settle in you feel your muscle relax. Leaning back in the water you feel truly calm for once in the past few days. Though you weren’t dumb the knife Mando gave you rests right on the lip of the tub in case someone tries to pull something. After relaxing you dip your head under the water bringing yourself up and starting to clean yourself up. There were some natural soaps and creams you assume are homemade that you use to wash the dirt and grime off you and clean your hair. You’re extra careful around the wound on your arm it was still closing up due to the bacta spray but it had stopped bleeding which was good. The warm water felt nice on your ankle and soon the water began to chill and changed from clear water to cloudy with dirt and excess blood. Draining the water you step out wrapping the towel the smell of the soap is pleasant smelling like the trees and grass. Leaving the privacy curtain seeing your clothes moved now to the table looking clean and dry as well. How long were you in that bath? Getting dressed find a brush to get rid of the knots from your hair before you pull your boots on, tuck the knife into your belt, and leave Omera’s home. Stepping outside seeing the sun long set it now evening and you head towards the village center. Looking around at the people speaking to one another their children playing out in front of them. You spot Omera and Winta who seems to be playing with the child. She notices you as well waving you over, “I see you enjoyed the bath, you look more awake.” She says and you nod you definitely felt more awake and feeling better. You see her gaze move to your arm her eyes widening slightly.

“Your arm!” You look down seeing it bleeding just a bit, guess you were wrong about it healing well. You see her grab something from her bag beside her pulling out a bottle and some cloth. She pours the liquid on your skin and you wince slightly from the sting but you watch the wound bubble clean itself before she wraps the cloth around your arm making sure it is tight and secure. “There it should be better now, do you have any other injuries?” The cut on your cheek and temple had long healed by now with the bacta spray not as serious but other than your arm it was just your ankle.

“Just my ankle it was sprained but I’m keeping off it. Where’s Mando?” You say pointing at the foot that you were keeping your weight off and Omera nods. You couldn’t see the familiar helmet or even Cara.

“Your Mandalorian and that woman went out to gather information on the raiders. For your ankle, I may have something back at my home.” She says and the two of you stand up to head over when you spot Mando and Cara returning. The villagers all gather around ready to hear the news.

“Bad news. You can't live here anymore.” Mando says bluntly shocking them who all voice their disagreements.

“Nice bedside manner.” Cara elbows Mando who gives her a look, “You think you can do better.” Cara shakes her head stepping forward, “Can't do much worse. I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

One of the villagers the man you met on the speeder shakes his head, “You took the job.”

“Yeah, that was before we knew about the AT-ST,” Cara says and the villagers look confused even you were. You never heard of anything like that.

“What is that?” Someone calls out, “The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us.” Cara's retorts and the help you thought were simple raiders had become something that involved the empire. Their pleas to help seem to go unanswered the enemy seeming too great for Cara and even Mando. “This is a big planet, just most somewhere else. Trust me I’ve seen smaller.” Cara says and some of the older villagers refused angrily at the two.

“My grandfather seeded these ponds,” One of the framers says, “It took us generations.” Another but in.

“I understand. I do. But there are only two of us.” Mando points out that the difference between fighter and farmer was clear, these people were only civilians they probably never needed to fight in a war before.

“Please give us a chance there’s at least 20 here,” One of the farmers begs and Mando shakes his head, “I mean fighters. Be realistic.”

“We can learn. We can.” One of them says and they all make sounds of agreement, the idea that these people were going to learn how to fight to be raiders that had years of combat experience.

“I've seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes,” Cara says the memories of her time in the rebellion trying to be a warning. Omera steps forward looking at Mando,

“We’re not leaving.”

“You cannot fight that thing!” Cara says pointing out into the forest and looking at Mando who was silent.

“Unless we show them how…you got two problems here,” He says out to the people, “You got the bandits, and you got the mech. We'll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods. And I don't have to tell you how dangerous they are. Cara Dune here was a veteran. She was a drop soldier for the Rebellion, and she's gonna lay out a plan for you, so listen carefully.”

Cara steps forward speaking to them all. “Now, there's nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on this thing, so we're gonna build a trap. We're gonna need to dig real deep, right here, so that when it steps in, it drops,” She points out to the ground right in front of their village and the large pond, “The two of us will hit their camp. Provoke them. That'll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us.” The plan is to lure the raiders out and trap the AT Walker forming.

“I'm gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges. I need it high enough so that they can't get over, and strong enough so that it can't break through.” Mando calls out pointing to the large trees from the forest that would build their barricade, “Okay. Who knows how to shoot?” You look around at the crowd of people and only see one hand raise seeing it to be Omera.

The sun is bright the next day the village was very active, some are working on chopping wood to build the barricade, others were with Cara who was teaching them basic hand-to-hand combat with sticks, and Mando was teaching the villagers to shoot. With pots and pans as targets many are missing but you see Omera hit her target. Sitting on a large rock viewing all this you were carving the wooden sticks making them sharp at the ends for fighting. Silently watching while carving when you see Mando saying something to all of them before stepping away. He comes over standing beside the rock you are taller than him sitting on the large boulder.

“How’s it coming along?” He says looking at the pile of sharpened sticks that you’ve been working on for the past hour.

“Just working at it…do you think they can do it, fight against the raiders?” You ask looking at him the villagers practicing shooting and fighting but would these quick lessons be enough? Mando is silent probably thinking about the fight that was ahead of them.

“Come on,” He says holding out a gloved hand and gesturing you to come down. Dropping the stick you were working on into the pile tucking the knife in your belt, and taking his hand he helps you off the rock. You put most of your weight off your bad foot almost falling slightly if it weren’t for Mando’s hold on your hand. He starts walking towards the target practice area as the people working on shooting switches with the people training with Cara. Standing in front of one of the practice targets he pulls his blaster from his holster holding it out to you. He nods his head for you to take it and you grab it with two hands moving to stand in front of the target that is feet away.

“You know what you’re doing?” He asks as you stand silently the gun clutched between your hands. You can only picture the target being the stormtrooper in the room. The bolt hit him right in the chest dead instantly, before you followed suit with the others…and that one bounty hunter, and the man at the Razor Crest. You killed all those people. Would you have to keep doing this until you were home?

“I’ve never killed anyone until Nevarro…” You say out loud the blaster feeling like a weight in your hands. Did they have families? People to go home to? Sure they were a part of the empire and the bounty hunter was trying to kill you but they were still people. Living breathing people. His hand rest on your shoulder a grounding feeling.

“It’s not an easy thing to do…but they would have killed you. Think of that when you have to kill.” He says looking down at you, you probably were living a normal life in Tatooine. You probably had to fight to survive but you didn’t seem like a killer and because of him…because of who you are…you now were. “So stand tall, bring one foot out in front, and keep your weight balanced.” He says his hands grabbing your shoulders making you stand straight as you wipe your face getting rid of the lingering tears that clouded your vision. Looking ahead at the target you listen to his words.

“Keep your knees flexed to absorb the recoil, keep this arm straight the other supporting it,” His hand straightens your dominant arm while fixing the other one, “Make sure your main sight is in focus then move to the fine sight…remember to breathe…” His hands rest over yours before the world around you grows quiet and you can hear each breath you take in and exhale. You can feel the blaster in your hands grounding you, the dirt under your feet the vibrations of the earth. The feeling of Mando’s hands leaving yours, but another feeling. A feeling that covers you like a blanket connecting you to everything. The breeze in the air washed over you, the river flowing into the pond, the sun breathing life into the planet all around you. It connected you to it and you to it…the feeling you felt many years ago, and when you first witness the child.

“And shoot.”

The bolt hits the pan dead center it knocking over as the world grows loud again everything returning to focus as you look forward at the target down. Your hands drop down holding the weapon to your side. Your skin felt on fire a sensation you’ve never experienced before.

“You did well.” Mando says and you look up at him before nodding slightly returning the weapon to him, “Keep that up and you’ll be a sharpshooter.” You can’t ignore the warmth that fills your chest hearing the compliment and noticing the pride that was in his voice. The confident feeling didn’t leave you for the rest of the day.

Dusk arrived and the village had prepared the barricade and set up the weapons prepared and it was up to them to protect their village. Those who weren’t equipped with blasters had sharpened sticks. Mando and Cara were preparing themselves to leave while you also prepared for the battle.

“Kid,” Mando calls out as you finish bringing the children and the child inside the barn turning right outside the door.

“The kids have the child so we can focus on the fight.” You say pointing back at the open door, when he shakes his head a look of confusion was only necessary.

“No, you’re not getting involved in this.” He says and you can’t help but feel frustrated.

“But they need us, they need fighters. I can help!” You say trying to plead your case, why else would he teach you how to shoot, why did Mando give you his knife? You were meant to be out there. But he wasn’t backing down on his decision.

“You need to protect the child, that’s what you can do to help,” He says and you see him pull something out from his pack another blaster, “And if something is to go wrong I want you to take the child and get to the Crest and leave.”

“But what about the village? The people here we can’t just abandon them!” You say you weren’t about to run off and hide if the plan fails.

“What matters is getting you two off this planet away from the fight. If this is to fail you’re safer off somewhere in the galaxy than with those raiders who won’t hesitate to kill you both.” His hands are firm on your shoulders making sure you’re looking right at him and understanding his point. “You leave this planet, understand.” You nod silently biting your lip to not spill out any more words. You take the blaster holding it in one hand and he looks at you once last time before you watch him leave with Cara. He better win this fight.

The night was silently the children hidden in the barn, blankets, and baskets surrounding them as you stand by the door the blaster clutched within your hands waiting. It wasn’t until you hear the rumble of what you assume was the AT-ST that you knew that battle had begun. A loud explosion coming from outside made you jump and slight cries come from the children. The sound of gunfire further away filled the night before you felt a sense of panic fill your lungs and you turn just in time as the laser hit the barn.

The AT-ST shot out into the village hitting the homes of some of the villages until one made Omera scream out panic and pain in her voice, “THE BARN!” Mando felt something in him chill as he viciously killed one of the raiders looking back at where the barn is burning only one thought in his head, the kids.

The fire was hot against your skin as the burning planks of wood of the barely held-together barn were floating up in the air. Your hand was shaking slightly as you held the heavy planks and studs as the children ran out of the barn, “Quickly go now!” You yell out sweat dripping down your face. You’ve never experienced this much power before never trying it against something so heavy, seeing the last child out you threw yourself out rolling on the ground as the barn crumbled the flames burning bright. The rain and darkness wet all out of you as you clutched the blaster in your hands. Mando’s voice rings clear in your head, ‘I want you to take the child and get to the Crest and leave.’ but the children crying out in fear quickly took those thoughts away.

“Come on we gotta move!” You shout out holding your hand out and waving the children to follow you, one of them Winta was holding the child in her arms. Leading them through the rain and darkness hearing the battle raging just a few away. Seeing another large barn you rip the door open, “Everyone inside!” You yell as the children run inside right as you were about to enter something snatches your collar ripping you away from the door and throwing you against the mud.

Looking up seeing one of the raiders with a large blade in hand. A crackle of thunder and lightning fills the air as you roll out of the way. Pushing yourself up as the blade swings down where you once laid. The rain and mud made the ground and view hard to see but the glint of silver have you leaning out of the way of the metal. Kicking your leg out hitting him in the chest pushing him back and you look around for your blaster. Seeing it laying on the ground beside him you were at a disadvantage. Pulling the knife from your belt holding it out dodging his swipes trying to strike out being blocked by his blade. His hand pulls on your hair making you fall on the ground you go to swipe out at him but he kicks your knife out of your hand giving you a cut along your arm. You scramble backward in fear as you watch him raise the blade to deliver the killing blow. You quickly raise your hands up to block yourself when you hear him shout and the sound of him crashing on the ground. Looking up seeing him feet away pushing himself up from the mud. You see the blaster scrambling for it as he runs at you, blade raising a yell coming from him. Your hands wrap around the blaster quickly relaxing your arms and pulling the trigger. It hits him dead center and he falls to the ground. Dropping your blaster falling to your back the rain pours down on you as you catch your breath.

Forcing yourself up you wince in pain in your ankle as you grab the muddy blaster and find your knife holstering it. Looking back at the barn and back to where you see flashes of red and the blaster fire from the AT-ST whipping through the village. You clutch the blaster in your hand before racing toward the fight.

The AT-ST walker hadn’t fallen for the trap leading to Mando and Cara rushing into the pond trying to provoke it as well as fight off the raiders, “It’s not falling for it!” Cara yells out using Mando’s pulse rifle to draw its attention. Mando shoots down a raider coming by Cara punching another that was trying to attack him.

“We gotta get that thing to step forward!” Mando yells the rain beating down on all of them, his mind was torn between two places seeing the barn up in flames hoping you all got out safe and stopping this walker.

“I’m thinking!” Cara yells back, the walker looks down at the two of them bright red lights shining down and the whir of the gun preparing to fire down on them. They couldn’t dodge that in time and even beskar can’t take that large of a blast. A crush of metal fills the air and they see the legs of the walker bend in the wrong way, and the turrets of the guns bend forward to face the walker. Mando looks back, his reaction one of shock hidden behind the beskar helmet. The rain pours down on your covered in mud the flashes of lightning highlighting you. Your hand was held out as your close your fist the metal of the walker crushing more before it falls into the pond.

“It’s now or never!” Cara yells out having seen the AT-ST fall into the pond making Mando look back forward only to see you disappear in the rain. Rushing towards the walker charging a thermal detonator plunging it into the walker’s chassis and blowing it up. The explosion of the walker has the few surviving raiders fleeing back into the woods. The village cheers the battle won as Mando tries calming his beat heart the only thought in his head. What are you?

Weeks had passed since the battle, time to heal and to relax. You had expected a yelling from Mando he saw you during the battle when you were meant to be at the barn, but he hadn’t said anything of the sort patting you on the shoulder. You were showered with thanks from the villagers having protected their children and sort. Healing was a bitch though, you felt absolutely exhausted right after the battle sleeping for hours and during that time Omera had tended to you checking on your ankle you strained more, to the cut you obtained. You probably never slept for that long since being taken from Tatooine. But having decent medicine and not leaving to travel allowed you to heal properly. Soon the cut from the battle and the blaster ray during Nervarro had healed nicely scars as a reminder. Your ankle had gotten better after 2 weeks and you were up and at it taking this free time on this planet exploring. Spending your days joining in on hunts with the adults or traveling with some of the few kids around your age to visit large rolling hills of wildflowers or the large waterfalls that covered your howls and laughter. You felt carefree and happy here something you haven’t felt in the seventeen years of your life.

Mando watches the child playing with some of the kids resting against the support of one of the homes, “He’s very happy here..so is the girl.” Cara says as Mando looks further down the road seeing you with a group of teens your age, a wide smile was on your face as you listen in to one of their stories another was braiding your hair in a style he’s seen some of the women and girls in the village wear.

“So, what happens if you take that thing off? They come after you and kill you?” Cara asks and Mando shakes his head,

“No. You just can't ever put it back on again.” Mando says the rule of his creed is strict, the Mandalorian way of never revealing your face has stuck with him since he was saved by them.

“That's it? So you can slip off the helmet, settle down with that beautiful young widow, and raise your kids sitting here, sipping spotchka?” Cara says clearly seeing the connection the Mandalorian had with the woman of this village. Anyone could see it.

“You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks back. It's too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on.” Mando points out, it wouldn’t be long for some bounty hunter or anyone with an eye for a few extra credits to come looking out here.

“Would not wanna be the one who's gotta tell them,” Cara says, the joy on both of your faces enough to warm her heart, just a few weeks of meeting you three to gain an ally and a friend.

“I'm leaving them here. Traveling with me, that's no life for a kid. I did my job, he's safe and she’s better off here than on some desert planet. Better chance at life.” He says, he felt content leaving they were going to be safe here, but the small twinge in his chest was growing tougher to ignore. No, he couldn’t form an attachment it would never end well.

“Come on. Come on,” Cara sighs looking back at the two children and then at Mando who was walking away, “It's gonna break his little heart and she really looks up to you. You compliment her and she’s glowing the rest of the day.” Mando doesn’t look back and keeps walking.

“They’ll get over it. We all do.”

You had trailed off from the group the sounds of nature were calming around as your hands trace the rough bark, the grass brushing along your legs, it felt like a dream. The number of colors was everywhere unlike the sands of beige and tan on Tatooine. The songs the birds sing as they fly to their nest as you come across a clearing where you see a fawn eating the grass while its doe and buck watch over it protectively. You slowly crouch down watching with fascination unaware of the slow footsteps coming from behind a weapon raised to aim.

A blaster bolt rings clear in the air startling the creatures in the forest and the village right beside it. Mando stiffens Omera jumping in his grasp.

“The children!” Omera yells as they rush off to where the children as looking around in fear with some other adults but when he sees them all alright including the child his head whips to the forest.

Mando rushes through the forest his blaster in his hands when he hears Cara’s voice, coming upon a clearing where she is holding standing over a body and his blood chills maker was it yours? He lets out a breath seeing you stand out of his view and looking down at the body your eyes widen still in shock specks of blue blood from the hunter decorate your face. He holsters his gun and comes over to you grabbing you by the shoulders.

“What were you doing out alone!?” He shouts at you shaking you as your gaze is still glued to the body on the floor, he had come to kill you. You almost died. He shakes you again the shock still glued to you, “Are you listening to me?!” He yells and your eyes snap back to his he was sure you were staring right through his helmet, tears were brimming your eyes. He’s pulled off you by Cara as you turn away from the gruesome look trying to calm your breathing.

“Hey calm down,” Cara says to Mando giving him a look before glancing at you who is trying to calm yourself down. He takes a breath his anger for you fading as he steps toward the bounty seeing a blinking fob. He was right..it was going to happen sooner or later. They knew you and the child were here. You were only lucky somewhere was there before anything could have happened.

The sled was beginning to be loaded as the villagers, Cara and Mando load his supplies to be brought back to the Crest. “Are you sure you don't want an escort?” Cara asks willingly to help as they load the final items.

“I appreciate the offer, but we're gonna bypass the town and head right to the Razor Crest.” He says as Cara nods before holding her hand out,

“Well then, until our paths cross.” Mando accepts her hand both holding on shaking,

“Until our paths cross.”

You look at the small group of friends you had made, hugging them each goodbye before stepping away to Omera who smiles holding a small item wrapped in cloth.

“A salve for if you are to gain any more injuries in your travels.” She says cupping your face and trying to wipe off some of the blood that has dried on your face. You accept her gift wrapping your arms around her she quickly accepts the hug,

“Thank you for everything.” You say before you pull away moving to Cara who pats your arm,

“You look after each other alright?” She says and you nod and she rubs your arm.

“Goodbye Cara.” You get a sad smile as you climb onto the sled the child gets a hug from Winta as you watch Omera speak a few words to Mando before hugging him. He pulls away loading his rifle before climbing on as you watch the village grow smaller the villagers waving goodbye as you leave.

The Razor Crest is silent as the child sits in his cradle playing with his small ball while you were sat in your seat, your hands slowly undoing the braids down in your hair. You were happy there and how quickly it was snatched away from you. “Hey kid,” Mando’s voice calls out and you look up seeing him holding a cloth. Unlike the heavy hand, it’s lighter as it cleans the blood from your face. He pulls away putting the cloth to the side as he takes his seat not moving before he looks back at you, “I’m sorry…for yelling.” You’re staring out the window not looking at him, your hair out of the style of the people you grew to know blocking your face from him.

“Let’s just get off this planet.”