#the mandalorian x fem oc
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poedjarinwrites · 8 months ago
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STAR GIRL | DIN DJARIN
Masterlist
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'my mother called me her star girl...'
Din Djarin x fem!OC
Kenny, Jyn, Saviin, Bela... just a few of the names she has gone by over the years. Constantly on the run from the empire and bounty hunters alike our heroine must try to survive in this unfair galaxy.
strangers to enemies to friends to lovers -the clone wars, season 7 -kenobi -the mandalorian, season one-
Prologue, the prey
.0, mother
Act One, the apprentice
.1, like father, like daughter .2, satine .3, his favourite daughter
Act Two, the daughter
.4, thief .5, breakfast .6, stars .7, my jyn .8, dead or alive .9, master, father, anakin
Act Three, the bounty
.10, the bounty hunter .11, trade .12, carbonite .13, nothing .14, monster .15, eighty-three .16, bed side manner .17, tin .18, years gone years .19, touch .20, good old days .21, just a kid .22, deepest darkest .23, here with me .24, over .25, saviin kryze .26, din djarin .27, din and saviin
Act Three, the jedi
(originally posted on Wattpad under the username, poedjarin)
Disclaimer; I don't own Star Wars or The Mandalorian, all I own is my own original characters and plot lines. TW; violence, death, anxiety, PTSD, sexual asualt/harassment, torture, and other agressive topics will be discussed
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cowboygenesis · 11 days ago
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4: call it like you see it | din djarin x reader
part 4 of the "brown eyes" series: masterlist and spotify playlist.
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pairing: din djarin x reader
chapter warnings: none.
word count: 6.3k
series summary: din settles on the distant planet of lazure prime while seeking a safe-haven for his son. unbeknownst to him, the choice leads him to unforeseen threats—and a deeper connection he never thought possible.
notes: YES MY FRIENDS, two chapter in 2 days! when i tell you i sat down for 6 hours straight making this happen, i mean it. chapter 5 is already half-way done, too, so i'm pretty hyped for this series as you can tell. how do you guys feel about valerie's character? let me know!
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A week passes after your spontaneous gathering with the soldier-child duo, and you find yourself wondering about them more often than you’d initially liked.
When you’re out and about in town, doing errands—be it groceries or helping out a neighbor in need—the memory of his visor fixed firmly on you muddles your mind as you sat in the seat of his Crest. You remember your quickened pulse, his gaze, and the proximity. Maker.
You want to visit them: bring more baked goods and chat, cuddle Grogu, and unwind in the woods as the duo does��� whatever they do— yet each time you think about it, your throat tightens. You don’t want to push things too far, and often you feel as though you’ve stepped out of line by just looking for them in the first place.
And so Lazure Prime, with its rolling fields and soft winds, has never felt this lonely before.
There's a peculiar quiet that follows you home nowadays, leering in the dark as you catch yourself scanning the tree line, hoping to spot the familiar gleam of silver armor. For days, it doesn’t come.
It’s a feeling you’re familiar with, yet can’t quite place as you sit in your home one night. The HoloWave hums with a soft tune, harmonizing with the howling wind breezing through the windows. You’ve left them open to enjoy the downpour— trickling over your rooftop and bringing in that delicate, ozonic smell.
You sit at your dining table, blanket hanging loosely over your hip, and a hand-sharpened pencil in your hand.
The graphite glides over a yellowed page, crisp sound caressing your ears as you try to commit everything from memory to paper. The strange baby, a rouge skyline through the window, and his strong, palpable presence as he gazed over— into you near the console that night.
What would he look like under the armor, had you taken a guess?
You know his skin to be smooth and tan. Then, you picture his face worn from years of hard work, wrinkled at the intersection of his eyebrows from the times he scowls; but in your imagination, in this specific scene, there’s a wide smile on his face. A grin— toothy and boyish— amidst the features of a man who's gone through Hell and back.
And his eyes? You couldn’t tell. Are they blue like the vast oceans of Lazure, or dark like the depth of space?
Your hand shakes against the page as you draw them, as if the fantasy itself was too sinful to ponder.
Thunder strikes beyond the treeline as you fall asleep against the journal page. You dream of rolling fields, gnarled branches, and a metallic safe-haven hidden within.
Today, the market opens again; and because you’ve decided to omit setting up a stand this time around (“I’ve just been too busy,” you had told your friends), you find yourself waking late.
It’s almost noon when you finally check your chrono, and so in fear of missing the market altogether, you prepare in a great hurry.
The caf scalds your tongue as you take brazen sips between brushing your hair, the bundled knee-highs on your calves mismatched when you finally throw on your cloak and scarf. Meanwhile, you find yourself reciting a silent prayer.
As you walk down the familiar path to the heart of the city with an empty basket in hand, your chest thrums with anticipation. Silently, you wish to see them again, if only to know how they’re faring.
The last few steps you make around the bend are hurried. Eventually, you break into a jog as the town square comes into view.
It’s busy, as it is every other week; brimming with locals who stroll from booth to booth, looking for their choice of stockpiles. Children dart between stalls, their laughter echoing above the racket of bargaining voices. Vendors call out to passersby, eager to sell their wares.
Normally, this cacophony would feel lively, but today it only deepens the hollow ache within you. Your eyes squint, trying to spot a familiar head of green or suit of metal, but to no avail.
Your lips dip into a slight frown. The realization dawns on you that the day you spent on the Crest with the unlikely duo was probably the last memory you’d have of them. Yes, Din had told you he’d wanted to stay, but realistically? They had probably left sometime during the week in search of a more suitable, accepting town or planet altogether. After all, it’d probably be warranted with the difficulties they had faced here since day one.
You don’t blame them, not one bit. ‘That’s fine,’ you think throught a shudder.
Then why does your stomach sink at the thought?
You glance around once more. And nothing. No green baby, no sharp visor sizing you down.
It’s because you had grown to enjoy the feeling of company, you think. Something about the pair’s otherness felt like it aided your selfish need for accommodating another. It’s a desire you’ve long forgotten, but they’ve brought it back with a devastating force.
You were so hopeless. So naive.
You exhale softly, adjusting your grip on the empty basket, and step further into the square. Life goes on. You’ll wallow over the departure of your new friends later tonight, over a glass of spotchka.
You imagine the kid smiling in his dad’s lap, as the armored man rises the Crest into the atmosphere, then beyond. The fantasy soothes you just enough to blink the annoying tears away.
A friendly face catches your eye near the spice vendor’s stall, waving enthusiastically as your eyes focus. Spotchka? Maker, of course. Have you been feeding your friend false promises of sharing a drink since the last market?
You force a smile and make your way over, weaving through the throng. Once you’re in the epicenter, you notice she’s without the kids. Her hair flows down her shoulder in a loose braid, held together by an elastic twine. You use the same kind when you happen to choose an updo for the day.
“Val,” you chuckle dryly, rubbing soothingly at your forearm. She cocks her head with a furrowed brow, but her smile is sympathetic as she turns to you. You feel you don’t deserve the compassion.
She says your name, her voice honeyed as ever as she takes your hand.
The look she gives you is almost suffocating, like a mother reprimanding her young child. Actually, you know this is the look she gives her kids when they’re misbehaving.
“Good morning, you little Ewok. Have you been avoiding me?” she questions as if it were the most natural, non-accusatory thing in the galaxy. She’s not mad, not one bit.
Your eyes widen, fingers squeezing around hers. You suddenly realize the dryness on your tongue, and how it twists when you try to speak for the first time since waking. “No— Maker, no, I’ve— I’ve been so preoccupied, I was gonna ask about dinner last night, I—”
“Hey,” she breaks you off, craning her neck forward to match your eye level. Then, she smiles wider, and momentarily it’s all you can think about. “Talk to me.”
You frown, but allow your hands to remain intertwined. You know she’ll understand, yet the idea of venting suddenly seems obscure and out of reach.
You’ve known Valerie for years, but it feels like eons when you try to count it back. She’s the kind of person you managed to click with from the get-go, no small talk or any of that Maker-forsaken ‘warm-up’ you needed with most people— she just understood without needing anexplanation. Since the day you arrived on the planet, battered and bruised, she saw the strength in you and nurtured it.
“It’s nothing,” you shake your head, mirroring her smile. It’s not the first or last time you’ll reject her help, you know it as your tongue flows with sand. You hope she understands.
Valerie’s eyes narrow, and her grip loosens. You want to hold on for a second longer, keep the warmth of her calloused hands in yours, but you don’t humor it. You know better, you always have.
Once you separate, she sighs and lets her brow flatten. There’s a thick bundle of parsley in her arms, and she cradles it like a child.
“Tell me at least… have you been getting enough rest?” she shrugs, and her smile returns. You know each other’s buttons well enough to sense when they shouldn’t be pushed.
You nod, brushing a lock of hair out of your face.
It’s true, you have been sleeping well. Your slumber is deep when it comes, and the dreams are vivid enough to pencil into your journal. You avoid confessing what— who— they’re about.
“Good,” she nods back, placing the parsley in her woven basket. She straightens, gives you a once-over, and sighs again. You know the look, and can only give her an encouraging smile as she hesitates.
“Can I ask you something?” she finally declares, and you nod.
Valerie brings the basket closer to her hip, right hand tracing the slope of her jawline as she thinks of the most appropriate way to approach you. You find it unusual for her usually brazen personality but decide against commenting.
“Are you still seeing him?” she questions, and your eyebrows dip in awe.
Seeing him? As if you’d have the audacity to see that scoundrel after he—
But then, it dawns on you like a summer breeze; it tickles your cheeks and makes them blossom pink.
She’s talking about Din.
Your hands bunch at your front as your lips purse. Before you think to confess, your tongue makes you feign innocence.
“Who?” you question, instantly feeling yourself wince at the blatant ingenuity. Valerie’s eyes narrow, like she’s studying you. Of course she knows better than to trust that.
“The mercenary,” she elaborates, almost offended you’ve forced her to.
“The… the mercenary?” you question, and she nods. You watch her squeeze her lips into a tight line before soothing your hand with her thumb.
“I saw you leave the market with him last week.”
“What?” Your eyes widen. Were… were you being watched all that time? Had you been careless when you prioritized your amity? “You… you did?”
She nods with a shrug. You can’t read her body language; she’s eerily non-commital with her interrogation, making you shiver.
“Not just me,” she replies quietly, glancing around the square. As your gaze follows, indeed, you catch dozens of eyes on you. You’ve credited that strange feeling in your stomach all morning to paranoia, but perhaps it’s true; your act of service made you the talk of town. Obviously. Maker, what did you expect helping someone so blatantly out of place? With your own murky history, no less.
You turn back to your friend, voice lowering to a near-whisper. Your features are stern as you think of the tension between you and Din as he towered over you in his cockpit.
“Nothing happened. What did you think happened?”
“Oh, don’t blame me for worrying,” she rolls her eyes through a scoff, leaning in for some privacy. Still, the leering eyes hang over your shoulder as she speaks. “He’s not just a visitor, right? Was he… was he sent from the Em—”
“No,” you interject, tone lowering. You feel a pit dwelling in your stomach and Valerie notices immediately. She pushed a button.
“Right,” she continues, pivoting from remorse. She’s trying to diminish that bitter feeling in your mouth by rubbing at your forearms, and strangely, it works well enough. “Then… who is he?”
You look down. Should you… should you tell her? Valerie has been nothing but kind to you, even after learning of your past, but with Din?
“He’s a bounty hunter,” you half-confess with a sigh, and she squeezes you. You’re not pressured to continue, but her touch alone lets you know you can be earnest with her, as you usually are.
“Bounty hunter?” she repeats, and you nod.
“A…” you begin shakily, looking into her eyes. She’ll understand, as she always does. “…A Mandalorian.”
You watch in real-time as her eyebrows rise on her forehead. Still, the softness in her gaze maintains as she gauges your own emotions, but your heart is stuck in your throat.
“A Mandalorian?” she repeats quietly, trying the words on her tongue. Her eyes flicker from side to side while you hold your breath. “I…”
Your knuckles are white when her tight-lipped frown turns into a soft smile.
“I thought so,” she nods, almost self-satisfied while you give her a strained glare.
“There… there is no way you’re chill about this right now,” you reprimand in a tight voice, and all she can do is chuckle warmly at your reaction. “He’s the elite of mercenaries, a… a hitman for hire. You should have seen his—”
“Do you think his armor is real beskar?” she cuts you off, rubbing her chin in thought. She’s not being serious at all, and you’re not sure how to take it. Was this really just not a big deal? Have you been overreacting?
Instead, you take her comment in. Beskar, beskar… you had never seen the brilliant material in person but heard great tales of its symbol of grandeur, status, and wealth amongst the Mandalorians. But it couldn’t be.
“Beskar? There’s no way, I mean… he was wrapped in that thing,” you shake your head, feeling the tension in your body fading ever so slowly. “Would cost him a new X-Wing and then a bit to afford a whole set.”
“I heard that the best bounty hunters make enough to vacation on Coruscant every single quarter. Can you imagine the life?” she chuckles softly, “Maybe you should ask him about it next time you see each other.”
Your lips tighten. The next time you’ll see him?
“There…” you sigh as you prepare for the confession. Valerie raises a groomed eyebrow, but you’re already looking down at your feet. “There won’t be a next time.”
“What?” she questions quietly, growing curious, or perhaps sensing the downtrodden lilt of your voice.
Maker, there comes the melancholy. It’s a bit on the nose, you think, but now that you say it out loud, you realize that you’ll miss them. Deeply. Them, or the pleasant feeling their company provided in your otherwise quiet life. But perhaps that’s exactly what missing a person means— you know the feeling all too well.
You’re broken away from your silent daydream when Valerie’s hand comes up to shake your shoulder.
She speaks your name and you wet your lower lip. The watchful crowd shifts in the corner of your weary eye, and suddenly, there’s a chill in the air.
“He’s gone,” you sigh, letting out a dry chuckle. “I haven’t seen him in days, I—”
“No,” your friend asserts firmly. Your gaze rises to her face, and you see she’s peeking over your shoulder. The market murmurs.
It all starts to feel like a bad fever dream, a drunken stupor, until Valerie grabs your bicep again.
“Look!” she squeezes, and you finally feel bold enough to let your gaze follow suit.
Your heart skips a beat.
He stands there, at the edge of the square, cloaked in shadow. The glint of his armor catches the sunlight, briefly stinging your eyes with its brilliance.
You feel a little sting somewhere in your chest. It leaves almost as promptly, but when your hand comes up to cradle the pendant around your neck, you know what the feeling is. They’ve never left, and the realization fills your heart with firecrackers.
As he steps closer, you hear chatter— the village gossip you’ve feared, not for yourself, but for him. You try to spot the orb he usually carries by his side, and surely enough, it hums quietly as it hovers a few paces behind. You smile, now knowing what, or who, resides within.
Din is still as a statue, helmet tilted slightly, as though scanning the crowd before him—or perhaps, looking for someone in particular. It quiets down, and for a split second you think you can feel your pulse quicken.
The man’s visor fixes onto a point, as if he had sensed your heartbeat through the thrum.
You realize as your breath falters.
You.
He’s looking at you.
Your hands feel clammy as he steps forward. Maybe it’s just the ringing in your ears, but it seems as if the chatter has picked up again— perhaps out of respect, or more likely— fear. Things are back to normal for a moment.
Only now do you realise the grip on your bicep. When you turn to look, you catch your friend’s eyes fixed on the stranger.
“Valerie,” you mutter, and your voice is hoarse. When you clear your throat, she finally looks at you.
Her eyes are slightly widened, pupils two small islands amidst a sea of brown. She shakes her head out of the trance, or shock, and loosens her grip on your arm. You watch her wet her lips.
“You should talk to him,” she replies promptly, and you give her a disbelieving frown.
“Okay, and say what exactly?” you chuckle dryly.
When you look back to the sheet of armor, you spot him perusing one of the stalls. The merchant running it, a younger girl named Thalia, keeps her arms crossed tightly as she likely explains her wares.
“That he’s welcome here,” Valerie trails, following your gaze. There’s a dark, solemn look in her eyes the moment you catch her speak, interrupted only by a sympathetic smile. “That we don’t mean harm. Folks are afraid because they’re confused. It’s an unknown they’re not willing to discover.”
You nod vehemently, eyebrows furrowed.
“…And that you’d miss him if he left,” she adds through a smile, and you scoff. Even though she’s right.
You nod at your friend, and she smiles at you.
There it goes.
Your breath picks up with your footsteps as your worn boots carry you to him. You know the market’s natural chatter has picked up again, but you can’t hear it through the rush of blood to your head.
He watches you silently, standing beneath the extended roofing of a nearby hut. Your eyes trail to his armored body, and something about you fills with pride. You got to see the tanned skin beneath it before anyone else here.
“Din,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than anything. You didn’t ask prior, but you imagine it’s safe to assume he’d rather not be addressed by the name in public— whether it’s real or not. Something makes you feel like it was for your ears only.
His helmet tilts slightly as you still in front of him, sizing you up. Does he… does he even recognize you?
You offer a small smile. “Hey, Mando.”
Din looks at your face again, and you wonder if he’s right with the nickname. For all you know, it might be offensive or derogatory, or—
Then he says your name. It’s quiet through the modulator, but unmistakenly yours. It sends a crisp shiver down your spine, making you hum in acknowledgment.
“You remembered?” you tease slightly, and he sighs. You’re genuinely a bit surprised.
“You’re taunting me,” he replies lowly, but there’s no real danger to his tone. It’s almost like he’s… teasing you back.
You chuckle warmly, trying to ignore the soft heat creeping into your cheeks. You stand like that for a beat, taking each other in. You wonder what he’s thinking, but before you can ask, your gaze moves to the humming orb at his hip.
"You and Grogu,” you begin quietly, looking to his visor again, “You’re… you’re okay?”
There’s a beat of silence again, but it’s still as comfortable as before. You know the answer before he even speaks.
“Yes,” he nods, taking a glance at Grogu’s closed crib. You want to ask to see him, pet his little head, hear him coo, when—
“He…” Din begins anew, and you can’t help but quirk an eyebrow when he looks back at you.
You smile at him in hopes of a silent incentive, and it seems to work just fine.
“…He really liked that thing you brought him,” the Mandalorian finally confesses with a nod, and you know he means the meat snacks. “Womp rat finished it the moment you left.”
You beam at him, the grin threatening to spill into a chuckle. Your lips squeeze tight to contain it.
“You’re so mean, calling him that,” you reprimand through a smile, and watch Din tilt his helmet again.
“I call it like I see it,” he retorts, repeating your words from days ago. It makes your already blooming chest puff with glee, and that warm, trickling feeling settles in your tummy.
Your smile suddenly drops when you realise you’re not in his private quarters anymore. When you look around, you see a few stray glances thrown your way, but most people seem to be minding their business.
You look back to the cradle, then Din. His gaze is fixed on you, and you get a gut feeling he’s mulling something over.
“I need your help with the Crest again,” he begins, and you nod for him to continue.
He paces from one leg to the other, and the sight is so out of the ordinary you almost want to giggle. Is he nervous?
“The lagging thruster you found during the check,” he continues, and you’re starting to see where this is going. He lingers on this sentence for a moment, and you can’t help but grin mischievously.
“Yes?” you press, almost teasingly, as he makes a noise under the helmet. It comes out muffled and distorted through the modulator, but for a second you think he might be clearing his throat.
“I want you to take a look at it,” he finally confesses, placing a hand on each hip— you imagine its his attempt at grounding himself in an unfamiliar situation.
“I thought you’d take care of it,” you prompt, but the tease in your tone is so evident you feel his gaze boring into you.
“I did,” he explains sternly, crossing his arms over his chest. “The thrusters are replaced, an old Imperial model. I’m not familiar with the technology.”
You pause for a moment, your smile dropping slowly. Why would he ask this of you?
Before you can protest, he continues, “The Crest’s control panel is from the same period. You had no problem navigating it, so I assumed your knowledge is broad there.”
“Oh,” you reply quietly, feeling the sinking feeling in your stomach fade away. You almost assumed the worst, again.
You cross your arms, mirroring the man’s stance as you take him in. If he’s comofortable enough to ask you a favor, he must really need that check up.
Still, why not bargain something harmless in return?
“Okay,” you finally nod, and the foxy smile returns to your lips, “But— I want you to meet someone first.”
He sizes you up, helmet tilted to the side as he evaluated your proposal. It’s brief, and soon enough, you see him nod once in approval.
You chuckle at his willingness, and nod for him to follow you.
When you turn around, you see a few people staring your way, but most of them retract their attention when you notice. You were never one for crowds, but you feel like with Din around, it makes it a little more bareable.
You head through the market, looking back once just to make sure your companion is following. Sure enough, you spot his strong silhouette shadowing just a few paces behind you.
“Valerie!” you call out, spotting the woman at her stall.
When she spots you, she grins with a small wave. You lean against her stall as Din looks her up and down.
The woman���s eyes squint a bit, but she doesn’t seem afraid, or even nervous. She sizes the Mandalorian back, hands firmly on her hips as she nods.
“Good to meet you,” she greets, and Din nods back.
“Likewise.”
You exhale slowly as relief washes over you. Introductions are always a little awkward, especially when both parties have strong personalities. “I was th—”
“You’re a Mandalorian, then?” Valerie cuts you off, her gaze curious as it bores into Din. There’s a keen grin painting her lips, and you groan quietly, knowing exactly where this is going.
“Yes,” Din replies tactfully, keeping his tone steady. For now, you’ll let them do their thing and pray things don’t escalate.
“Are you looking for a bounty?” she continues, and the Mandalorian tilts his head in amusement.
“No.”
“So you’re here on holiday?” she continues, and you can’t help but chuckle in the sidelines. You realize that your friend might sate your curiosity by asking all the questions you’ve been too afraid to ask yourself.
“…No,” Mando replies, taking a quick look at you. You smile, wondering if he’s asking you for help or cursing you out for putting him on the spot like that.
“Di— Mando, this is Valerie,” you correct yourself, taking your opportunity to break up their little banter. He nods, crossing his arms.
“Mando might be staying with us for a while,” you explain to your friend, and she nods along. Her eyes don’t leave the man’s shiny helmet, and you can’t imagine why.
“…Just until I figure out the next steps,” Din adds. When you glance at him again, he looks a bit more at ease.
“Okay,” Valerie acknowledges, “How have you been enjoying Terrine?” she questions, her tone softening as she joins you in leaning against the stall.
Din looks down for a moment, then to you. For a moment, you worry he might answer with something brutally honest like ‘not at all’, but when his reply finally comes, your shoulders lower.
“It’s a peaceful town,” he acknowledges, taking a brief glance at Grogu’s closed crib— he’s monitoring him closely, still wary of their surroundings. It’s chaos compared to their little clearing in the woods. “Few things to worry about.”
“Indeed,” Valerie nods, “No guards, no bounties, little crime. You must feel a little out of place.”
Din tilts his helmet again, pondering the woman’s words.
“Your people aren’t used to heavy artillery,” he replies flatly, yet Valerie can’t help but laugh at his answer. You join her with your own chuckle, eyes glued to the Mandalorian as he sizes you up as if to ask ‘where’s the joke in that?’.
“What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right?” she elbows you, and you give her a solemn smile. You watch Din flip his gaze between the two of you.
“The people here mean well, Mando,” you add, giving him an encouraging nod. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you now, but I hope you manage to integrate, eventually. No matter how long you decide to stay.”
His gaze stays on you for a beat as he mulls over your words. You’re still unsure if he likes the new nickname, but you’ll have to ask about it later.
“How about this weekend?” Valerie interjects, and you look at her with a raised eyebrow.
“How come?” you question.
“The cantina’s gonna be lively,” she grins with a shrug, leaning closer, “And it’s the perfect chance for our Mandalorian friend to see the best of Terrine. Maybe we’ll even get him to loosen up a little, and hey— you owe me that drink, right?”
You bite your lip at her comment, fully realising she’s right. On both fronts.
“That I do,” you smile, looking over at Mando. “How’s that for your introduction?”
Din shifts beside you, his stance tightening just slightly. “I don’t—”
“It’ll be great!” Valerie cuts him off enthusiastically. “You can meet some of the locals, get accustomed. It’d be a good place to start.”
“It’s not my scene,” he replies, his tone low and skeptical.
“You deserve a break, Mando. Just one evening,” You frown a little, though not out of anger. “Besides, Gro—”
“No,” he stops you sternly, and your lips tighten.
Din exhales audibly through the modulator as he glances at Grogu’s orb. “It’s not that simple.”
“I understand,” you speak softly, tone gentler. Treading lightly is what you do best, so you try that instead. “Do what you feel is best.”
He doesn’t respond immediately, but you can see the hesitation in the slight tilt of his helmet, the way his gloved fingers flex at his sides. You glance back at Valerie, whose grin has softened.
He finally nods, and that declares the end of that conversation.
“Take your time,” Valerie nods, her tone encouraging. “We’ll both be there if you change your mind.”
You look at her with a quirked eyebrow, extending an arm towards her. “We?”
She chuckles, catching your palm in hers. “We. You’re coming.”
“I—”
“No questions asked! You’ve been keeping me waiting for weeks, and it’s about time you talk with—”
“Yes, Maker, alright!” you laugh nervously, squeezing her palm with a little more force than necessary to stop her unhinged monologuing. You’ll tell Din about that eventually, but not yet. “I’ll be there.”
“Jackpot,” Valerie grins, all self-satisfied as she gently kisses the knuckles of your hand. The gesture’s a little dramatic, but it gives you a surge of confidence as you withdraw.
You chuckle warmly, looking over at Din who’s still watching the both of you like a hawk. You sigh, stepping away from Valerie’s stall before standing at the man’s side once more.
“Alright, let’s leave before she starts grilling you again,” you sigh with jest, and your friend winks. “See you soon, okay?”
“See you this weekend!” she corrects as you’re walking away, and you laugh into open air in return.
“Yes, this weekend!” you affirm, waving at her as you and Din disappear in the crowd.
You weave through the thrum, which proves quite simple as Din walks in front for a change. The crowd spreads like a sea as he plunges ahead, leaving a comfortable path for you to follow until you reach an empty alley perched between two homes. With the market open, it sees little traction.
You make the effort to walk ahead in that moment, smiling to yourself as your back hits the wall. You watch as your companion does the same, resting his weight against the one opposite to you.
You watch him like this for a moment, taking in the way his arms cross and the quiet, distant thrum of townsfolk.
“She likes you,” you finally comment through a wide grin, and Din’s scoff can be heard loud and clear through the modulator.
“She likes you,” he retorts, shaking his head. “I’m collateral.”
“So harsh, Mando!” you reprimand teasingly, watching briefly as an elderly couple walks between you. They give you a brief glance, and you smile warmly at them as they pass.
When you look back at Din, you catch him staring as they disappear out of sight. You can’t help but smile, but you’re not sure why.
“You know, I think you should give Terrine a chance,” you confess, clasping your palms behind your back.
When the man tilts his head, you sigh.
“I just think you could find a place for yourself here,” you elaborate, taking a glance at the still-closed orb. “For him.”
The Mandalorian follows your gaze, where it halts briefly. When you feel he’s gotten his fill, he looks at you again, that sharp visor sending a sudden shiver down your spine.
“You want me to come?” he finally says, and your eyes widen.
“…What?”
“To the cantina,” he continues, and you exhale slowly. “Is that why you’re telling me this?”
Is it? You know he cares for the weak, and fights for what he believes is right. Of course you want him to have a comfortable life here, or wherever else him and the kid decide to go in the end.
“Do you want to come?” you ask, biting your tongue at the silly, almost juvenile question.
“Answer me,” he demands, voice stern but rounded at the edges. You almost gasp at the way his lilt makes your stomach flip.
“…I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” you shrug, though your nonchalance is so obviously faked it makes you wince inwardly.
Din’s helmet tilts again, and you can’t help but bite your bottom lip to stop the goofy grin that threatens to emerge there.
“Strange girl,” he mutters quietly, pushing himself off the wall. “Strange, stubborn girl.”
You chuckle, crossing your arms as he takes a step forward.
“I’m stubborn?” you counter teasingly, “You’re the one making a life-or-death situation over a kriffin’ drink.”
The modulator doesn’t mask the slight huff of amusement he lets out. “I told you it’s not that simple.”
You arch a brow, pushing off the wall to face him fully. “But why? People here want to know you, Din. Their fear might hide it, but it’s true.”
His name slips from your lips so easily, but it seems to hang heavier in the air. Din tilts his helmet slightly, as if he’s measuring the sincerity of your words.
“You don’t know that,” he murmurs.
“I do,” you insist, stepping closer. “You’ve done no wrong in my eyes.”
The Mandalorian’s shoulders rise and fall with a slow exhale, his crossed arms tightening momentarily.
“I think that the people here want to give you a chance,” you continue quietly, staring up into his visor. For a moment, you feel the urge to cradle the helmet like it’s his bare face. “You just need to give them one in return.”
“And you?” he asks, voice low, almost hesitant.
Your heart quickens, blood flooding your ears with that familiar thrum.
“What about me?” you blink as he seems to hover closer with every breath.
He studies you closely, his body perfectly still as a gentle breeze musses your hair.
“Why are you so insistent on giving me hope?” he questions, as if the idea was completely foreign to him.
You sigh, eyes trying to map out his face through the dark slits again. You wish you had a rational, satisfying answer to his question, but you don’t. Not yet, at least.
“Someone has to,” you finally reply, a foxy smile tugging at your lips. “Consider it charity work.”
His helmet tilts slightly, and you swear you can feel the weight of his gaze pressing into you, searching for something—answers, reasons, maybe even lies. But you have none of those to offer him, and the closeness and sheer intimacy of the moment makes you fearful. You know he dislikes your answer, but similarly hope he understands why it’s the one you’ve given him.
“You think I need charity?” he says after a moment, his tone teasing but resolute, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking the fragile thread tethering the two of you together in this slim alleyway of the town you’ve learned to love and cherish.
“Maybe,” you grin, gazing up again.
Only now do you become aware of the sheer proximity of his face to yours, the way he could breathe down your neck if only afforded the luxury of discarding the helmet.
His hand flexes in your peripheral. For a second you think he might reach out, but then it drops to his side again.
“Maybe?” he murmurs.
“I don’t want to give up on you,” you explain, feeling a little safer treading the territory ahead. “Is hope so foreign to you?”
You think you might have pressed a metaphorical wound in that moment when Din stiffens, but your worries are quickly washed away when his hand finally rises against all odds.
And this time, he doesn’t back down.
“Hope is a fragile thing,” he mutters, and you’re stuck under his looming stature. You feel the delicate touch of a gloved finger under your chin, soft like a feather, treading so lightly you might think it’s imaginary for a second. “Easy to find, even easier to lose.”
“So?” you counter before you can stop yourself. The words tumble out of your mouth unbidden, like the dam of your restraint has finally cracked on the surface. “Everything worth having is fragile, Din.”
His hand moves up your jaw, ghosting to your ear. He hovers there a while, and your legs turn to cotton. You feel dazed, high, drunk off the strange gesture that you’re unsure to call affection.
And when your hand rises to rest atop his chestplate, you let it.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying for,” you finally add in a half-whisper, just as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The touch is so gentle, so calculated, you begin to doubt it’s the same hand that took countless lives before.
There’s a pause, long and loaded, the air between you thick and sticky.
You feel the ghost of his touch on your jaw as he retracts his hand, never taking his gaze off of you as your hand is forced to leave his chest.
“Strange girl,” he mutters under his breath.
You grin despite the squeeze still humming in your chest. “You keep saying that, but I think you mean it as a compliment.”
His helmet tilts again, the faintest hint of amusement in his posture. “Maybe.”
You chuckle, the sound quiet and easy, and it feels like the moment shifts—less heavy, beaming. You cross your arms and mirror his stance, leaning against the wall again.
“Guess I’ll just have to keep up this charity a while longer,” you say lightly, though your heart races.
For a moment, you think he might call you stubborn again. But then, so quietly you almost miss it, he replies.
“Guess you will.”
You smile up at him. It’s wide, toothy, and radiating— you hope he sees the gesture as a silent reply as you move away from the wall again.
He watches carefully as your hand ghosts over his outer palm, gaze glued to his visor as you finally make contact. It’s gentle, chaste, and fleeting; you withdraw before you can even catch his hand twitching.
“Now hurry up,” you chuckle, your honeyed tone turning taunting again as you prance out of the alley. “Let’s get your ship fixed.”
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handspunyarns · 3 months ago
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You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One
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pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C   
word count: 8K   
chapter summary: Marathel awakes from surgery, struggles with her feelings for Din, and tastes her first ice cream
warnings:  angst, mention of female bodily functions and medical issues, past abuse, mention of murder and infanticide, mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing   
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***      
You Were Marked: Masterlist     
You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter
Marathel, wake up. 
Marathel was dreaming, and she knew it.  She’d been dreaming this same dream for quite some time.  And now, a new dream section had been added.  Knowing that it was a dream, however, did not assuage her fear or her misery. 
In the new part of the dream, which now served as a new beginning to her original dream, she was staggering through the Hold grounds, surrounded by a sea of Dahls, all growling and chattering, saying horrible things to her — saying that she was a whore, that she was a murderer, that it was all her fault that all the boy children were dying, and that she deserved all the anguish she was suffering.  
In her dream, Marathel could only speak the Oldtalk, which the girls all learned in the kitchen as the women spoke to each other, an almost secret language to separate themselves from the men, who only used the Oldtalk for pejoratives and cruelty.   
As Marathel stumbled, tripping over the blood-hungry Dahls and the corpses of boy babies, she began the apology verse of the only song, brokenly wailing, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth … {I broke your heart …  trust … broken …}”. She ran forward to pick up a boy-child before a Dahl could get to it, but it was ripped from her hands, and she cried out,  “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch … {Stop! Stop! No, DON’T! Stop, please …}” and began to cry.  She then whimpered,  “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gaal’wch th’ych’lyth … {Come back to me, Din Djarin … please, please, come back to me…}”   
But Din Djarin would not come back to her and he never would.  The Dahls continued to tell her that while filling her head with other horrible things: that it was her fault, that this was all she deserved, that they, the Dahls, were the only ones who ever loved her, Din Djarin did not love her, he’d never loved her, that she was theirs and theirs only.   
“ Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei.  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch. {You are lying to me.  Liar!  No, don’t.  Come back to me, Din … please.}”  
But Din Djarin did not come back to her, and she was alone in the darkness. The voices of the Dahls kept on, filling her heart and her mind and her soul with their foul words.  She was now in a pit of despair so deep that not even the Mandalorian would be able to pull her out.  Finally, she dropped to her knees and allowed herself to be swallowed up and drowned by the Dahls. 
Marathel, you need to wake up now. 
Then, Marathel knew she was back in her original dream.  The dream she’d been having since she and Din began the journey back to Unmanarall.   
She was standing in a small, dark place, whispering, pleading for forgiveness, “Rwy’n wethi tir’ch … Rwy’n  … daererth … {I broke your heart …  trust … broken …}”.  There was an open doorway before her, leading to somewhere outside where the sun was bright, but she was in deep darkness, far from the door.   
We must leave, she heard Din say, before hearing his heavy boots walking on a metal floor.  His silhouette filled the open doorway, and she could see Grogu  just over his shoulder, looking away from her.   
From her place in the darkness, she cried out,  “Gorau! Gorau! Na, NID! Gorau, gaal’wch … {Stop! Stop! No, DON’T! Stop, please …}” and began to cry.  She then whimpered,  “Th’ych’lyth, Din Djarin … gaal’wch, gaal’wch th’ych’lyth …{Come back to me, Din Djarin … please, please, come back to me…}” 
But Din kept walking, through the doorway, into the sunlight, away from her, taking Grogu with him, leaving her in darkness.  You will see us again, she heard him say placatingly, as if she were only a child who dropped her honey stick in the sand.  Then, they disappeared into the bright sunlight. 
“Dwy’ti'n ryl’uff wrtha ei!  Dwy’tu’ar!  Na, nid.  Th’ych’lyth, Din … gaal’wch! {You are lying to me!  Liar!  No, don’t.  Come back to me, Din … please!}” 
But Din and Grogu were gone, and she was alone in the darkness. The voices of the Dahls kept on, filling her heart and her mind and her soul with their foul words. 
Marathel, wake up.  Mando is worried about you.  
“Dwy’tu’ar!” screamed Marathel. 
“Whoa, okay, crankybritches, calm down.   Take a deep breath through your nose … in … and out.  Again, in … and out.” 
Marathel began to understand that she was waking up, and she could see sunlight filtered through her eyelids.  She obediently breathed in and out through her nose as she had been directed.  She cracked her eyes open, squinting against the brightness.  She was lying partially upright on a pillowy surface in a white place, which confused her, as her last memories had her lying twisted on the hard, rocky ground.  Marathel turned her head, and could just see a person-shape through her blurry vision.   
“That’s good, Marathel, keep breathing through your nose, in and out, deep breaths.” 
Marathel blinked several times and rubbed her eyes until she was able to focus on the person, a woman, sitting next to her.  Marathel opened her mouth and said, “You are very pink.” 
The woman laughed. “Yes, yes, I am.  Quite pink.  Anything else?” 
Marathel frowned.  “Your hair is very blue.” 
“Very good. I’m a Zeltron; have you ever heard of Zeltrons?”  Marathel shook her head no.  “Good.  That way, I don’t have to tell you that everything you’ve heard about my people is exaggerated.  My name is Siewan.  Do you have any idea where you are?” 
“No.” 
“You’re on Canto Bight.” 
Marathel took another deep breath and looked around the room.  “This is not … a wedding chapel, I don’t think.” 
Siewan laughed again.  “Another good observation.  Canto has more to offer besides casinos and wedding chapels.  You’re in a medical center.  You were in very bad shape when you came in.  Do you remember anything about that?” 
Marathel shook her head again.  “No.  I was … elsewhere.  But who brought me …?” 
“Does a Mandalorian sound familiar?  With a little boy?” 
Tears filled Marathel’s eyes.  “He came back?  He came back, he came back …” She began to weep. 
Siewan gently took Marathel’s hand.  “Yes, he came back.  But what I need to know, honey … did he do anything to hurt you?  Is he the reason why you’re hurt?” 
“NO.  Never!  He saved me, he rescued me, he took me away from that horrible place; is he here?  Is he still here? Is he all right?  Where is he?  Where’s Grogu?” 
“Okay, honey, you need to breathe now, breathe.  In and out.  Breathe in … breathe out.  He’s still here, so is his boy.  Desperately worried about you.” 
Marathel continued crying.  “I need to see him, please, can I see him?  Please?” 
“You’ll see them both, but right now you need to breathe.  You just had a procedure done, and you were under anesthesia for quite a long time.  Since you don’t respond to bacta, they had a hard time keeping you properly sedated, so they gassed you up good and proper.  You need to clear that stuff out of your lungs. Once you’ve settled a bit, we’ll take you to a room where you can see both of your fellas.  Now, keep breathing, and eat some toast.”   
Marathel dutifully took the proffered toast, and took a bite.  It tasted like nothing — certainly not like bread — but she ate it anyway, and sipped on the sweet juice Siewan gave her.  In between sips, Marathel would take another deep breath.  “What … procedure?  What did they do to me?” 
“You had a D&C.  Do you know what that is?”  Marathel shook her head.   “Well, I’m going to let the surgeon explain all the technical details, but among other things, a D&C removes all the horrible bleeding and clots of a really bad menstrual period.  Your condition was quite severe.  Has your cycle always been like that?” 
“Yes, it’s always been …” It suddenly occurred to her that Din had to care for her while in that state.  That he had to … never, never … a man?  Helping a woman with her cycle?  Ashamed, she began to cry again, and she could not seem to stop. 
Siewan clicked her tongue, and said, pityingly, “Oh honey, they gassed you up bad, didn’t they?” She pulled up Marathel’s surgery notes on her tracker.   “That gas, it will mess up your emotions right into hyperspace.  Oh, and then they gave you a double dose of hormones to hopefully chill out your endometriosis, so you are just one hot mess.” 
“My — my endo-what?” 
“Your endometriosis.”  Siewan looked back up at Marathel, who looked lost and confused.  A torture cult, thought Siewan.  Abused since childhood.  She looked at the half-healed wound down Marathel’s forehead, considered the whip marks on Marathel’s back and Din’s horrific description of her brutal rape, and put some more pieces together.  “We’re all here to help you, Marathel.  You’re not alone, and you are safe here.  I know you’re scared and confused, and that’s okay.  But my job and the job of everyone here is you make you feel better and keep you safe. Pinky swear,” said Siewan, holding up her little finger.  Marathel, confused, just looked at the nurse, who laughed.  “Don’t leave me hanging, Marathel, pinky swear!”   Marathel tentatively reached out with her own little finger, which Siewan grabbed with her finger tightly as she whispered, “Pinky swears are the strongest promises in the galaxy.  So I promise to do my best job by you, and you promise to do your best to get better.  Okay?” 
Marathel tearfully nodded.  “Okay. But … can you tell me why I have a horrible-smelling cold wet towels on my feet and face?” 
Siewan laughed again.  “Sweetie, on top of everything else, you got the worst sunburn I’ve ever seen.  And since you don’t respond to bacta, we had to improvise.  Those towels are soaked in an acidic fruit tea to help the heat and swelling.  Some old-fashioned Moorjahone remedy.  Apparently , sunburn’s a real issue there — but then they have three suns, so there you go. If we were on my home planet, we could have used hyigin plant leaves on you.  Finish your toast and juice, and we’ll get you moved to your room, okay?”  
Marathel nodded and ate the second piece of toast.  It didn’t taste any better than the first piece, but it felt good to have something in her stomach.  The juice was very sweet and reminded her of the sweet melon Cobb had bought her at the market. The memory sparked a tiny bit of joy within her heart, making her wonder if Din would be taking her back to Tatooine.  She must have smiled, for Siewan said, “Well, it looks like you’re feeling a bit better.  And I just got a page that you have your room assignment, so, we’re gonna motor.”  The nurse laid Marathel flat on her gurney and deftly straightened out the tangle of IV and oxygen and blood transfusion tubes along with the sheet and blanket covering her. 
“But what about Di-… I mean, the Bounty Hunter … will I get to see him?” 
“We’ll grab him on the way.  Oh, and … by the way, the little boy … he’s not exactly supposed to be on the ward, so I’ve asked your … Bounty Hunter to keep him concealed in that bag he carries out in the hallways.  But he can be out in your room so long as the kid goes undercover when my boss shows up, cool?”  Marathel nodded, face full of nerves and hope.  Okay, there is a lot more going on between these two than I first thought.  I don’t think it’s anywhere near as complicated as Mando says it is — certainly not from Marathel’s side of things.   
Din, meanwhile, had been nervously waiting close to five hours for what he’d believed would be a two-hour procedure. He understood bacta tanks, not surgery.  Grogu had been so fractious it was a struggle to get him to eat something that wasn’t the childcare’s pet lizard.  Both their nerves just seemed to be completely frayed.   
Din did take an opportunity to send Captain Teva some of the holos he took, slingshotting the message around a false sub-ether address some four systems over.  An old trick, but still useful.  He also spent some time reading over some forms that Karga had sent regarding the idea that Din had set into motion a couple weeks ago, just before Marathel dropped her bombshell that she wanted to return to Unmanarall. 
Din sighed, his mind relentlessly mocking him with the memory of his original intentions.  The plans he had made had been wishful thinking anyway — but to have them completely dashed as they had been was still painful.  And now Karga was getting pushy, wanting answers that Din didn’t want to consider quite yet. 
Then he finally heard the heavy doors that led to the surgical ward open, and his heart and stomach switched places as he wavered between anticipation and dread. 
As Siewan pushed the gurney through the door from recovery to Marathel’s room, she spied Mando standing next to a wall, silently watching them approach.  He gave some pats to the side of the bag he carried, and then appeared to hook his thumb on the strap; as they got closer, Siewan could just see Grogu’s tiny green hand clutching the large gloved thumb through an opening at the top of the bag. That is the most darling thing I’ve ever seen.  And I can just tell by the way Mando’s standing there that he loves this woman.  I wonder why he can’t see that? 
Before they even reached him, Marathel was already extending her hand out towards him, quietly crying again.  Din fell into step beside the gurney, allowing Marathel to clutch his hand tightly.  By the time they got to her room, she was openly sobbing, holding his hand in both of hers against her cheek — unfortunately , the one covered by the fruit tea towel — as she cried.  Siewan said, “Marathel, honey, you need to take a breath.  And I need to borrow Mando for a moment.  Mando, we need to shift her to the bed.  You get her head, I’ll get her feet.”  Din disengaged his hand from Marathel’s and helped Siewan move her into the bed, stepping back so that the nurse could get her tubes and bags and blankets arranged.  Once Marathel was comfortable, she said, “Okay, I’m going to let you rest, Marathel.  Lunch will be coming around in a little while.  This is the secure ward, so your door will automatically lock.  Each person who needs to come in here will announce themselves on the intercom before they can enter, and only those of us with the proper fob…” —Siewan held up her wristband— “… can open the door.  Okay?”  Marathel nodded, sniffling.  Siewan patted Din’s bag, saying, “Okay, take care of her, big guy.”  On a whim she patted the top of Mando’s helmet. “You too, Mando.”  Siewan grabbed her chart tracker and left the room, closing the heavy door.  There was a definitive click as the lock engaged.   
Din turned back to Marathel.  She sobbed once more, swiping the towel from her sunburned face.  She then sat up and grabbed at him, pulling him down so he was half-sitting on the bed, hugging him hard and whimpering I’m so sorry over and over. 
He let her clutch at him, swallowing a few tears himself.  Grogu crawled out of the bag, now wailing as well, crying Mama until she scooped him up against her with her injured arm, ignoring the pain it caused her, peppering her boy with kisses. 
Din, for his part, allowed one of his arms around her shoulders to help her stay upright … but that was all … and Marathel noticed.  Forcing herself to calm down, she let go of Din and wiped her eyes.  She felt a cloth being pressed into her hand, and she made herself chuckle.  “How many of these have you given me?” 
“Quite a few.” 
“I really should start giving them back.”  Marathel blew her nose, trying to smile. 
“Yeah, no thanks, you can keep it now,” said Din, trying to be lighthearted.  Marathel smiled wanly and leaned back in the bed, partially on her side, gazing at Grogu, who was now saying bad daws, bad daws repeatedly.  “He’s saying …” began Din. 
“… Bad Dahls, yes, Grogu, the Dahls were very bad.” 
Din tilted his helmet.  “How is it you always know what he’s saying so easily?” 
Marathel shrugged, and said, “I’ve had a lot more practice with toddler talk than you, I think.”  Marathel watched Din slide off the bed and pull up a chair alongside.  “The Dahls … I didn’t know it was them, Din; truly, I didn’t.  I didn’t realize they had such a power over me.  And you … I’m so sorry.  I’m so sorry you were dragged into this.  And Grogu, too.  They’ve had a hold on me for such a long time … I guess I could no longer tell.  It’s all my fault, and I’ve hurt you …” 
“It’s all right, it’s not your fault …” 
“But it is, it is.  Even Rodanthe had a hold of you, and I didn’t know. She …” Tears spilled over again, and she turned her face into her pillow.  Grogu patted her cheek, quietly saying sad Mama. 
Din put his hand on the bed, saying, “Don’t … don’t talk about it right now, Marathel.  Not until you’re stronger.  You’ve had a rough time.  You had surgery …” 
“I know.  Siewan told me.” 
“… and you should rest for now.  And breathe.  The surgery nurse told me they had to use a lot of anesthesia on you, and it’s affecting your lungs.” 
“Siewan told me that, too.” 
“Well then, what do you need me around for?” teased Din, shrugging. 
Unsure if he was joking, Marathel looked into his visor, tears threatening again.  “Please don’t make fun like that, please, please.” 
 Din immediately leaned forward and gently patted her leg.  “I’m sorry, Marathel.  Of course, I’m not going anywhere.  Besides, Grogu doesn’t show any signs of wanting to leave.” 
Marathel looked down into the crook of her arm, where Grogu continued to stroke her face with loving touches, healing her sunburn and her cheekbone.  Marathel leaned back against her pillow and closed her eyes, thinking, Din’s only calling me Marathel.  Not mesh’la, not ner kart’a, not even ma’mwsh ha’laa.  Just Marathel.  Rodanthe untied us … and it seems that was the only thing holding us together, besides Grogu.   
How long will I get to hold on to this little boy before I lose him, too? 
The whispers of the Dahls came back into her head, and she clenched her hands into fists, willing them away.  Once the whispers went silent, Marathel sighed and stared off into space.  Din sat quietly, wondering if she was deep in thought, in pain, or simply being still.  Her hands were still curled into fists, so he reached over and gently took one of her hands in his, straightening out her fingers and examining the spirals of metal encircling her fingers. He could see that several were crimped and bent out of shape, pinching her skin.  As he carefully removed one and began reshaping the metal back into place, Marathel said, “Din?” 
“Yes, Marathel?” 
Her eyes closed and another tear spilled over.  “How do you do it?” 
Din tilted his helmet.  “Do what?” 
“How do you kill people and not have it destroy your soul?” 
Oh, ma’mwsh ha’laa.   Din sighed, and said, “You did what you had to do, and it was no less than any of those men deserved.” 
“But the children ...” 
“That was not your fault.” 
“But ...” 
“It was not your fault,” said Din firmly.  “What you need to remember is that some people ... don't deserve to breathe your air.  They don’t deserve to be walking on the same ground as you.” 
Marathel frowned and asked, “Does that work?” 
Din shrugged.  “Usually.”  He knew, though, that murder — even for revenge — would be hard for Marathel to cope with, but he was unsure what would help her. 
They stayed quiet for some time.  Din carefully replaced the reshaped splint on her trembling finger, and removed another.  Marathel cradled Grogu, and she indulged her family fantasy briefly before remembering that Din had had to care for her in the most intimate way.  Yes, he’d rendered aid for her wounds the first time they’d left Unmanarall, but — Marathel wondered how a man existed like this one, so far outside her scope of what men were like that she could barely comprehend it.  “Din, I …” 
Din looked back up at her and waited.  But she wouldn’t finish her sentence, and instead closed her eyes again. “What is it, Marathel?” 
He watched her brow twitch before she answered, “You had to … tend to me again.  And this time, you had to … but men don’t …” Her face flushed almost as red as her sunburn had been.  “I’m so sorry …” she whispered before turning her face to the pillow. 
Din leaned closer to her.  “You needed help.” 
“It’s so shameful …” She began curling up tighter on herself.  
“It’s all right,” he said emphatically, gently squeezing her arm.   
Marathel turned back to Din with dismay.  “Oh, no, did Grogu ...?” 
“Grogu was concerned, yes, but he seemed to accept my explanation…” 
“Your explanation?” 
“Of what was happening to you.  He took it quite well, all things considered. I thought I would bungle the whole thing.” 
Perplexed, Marathel asked, “What did you tell him?” 
“That women, uh … have to prepare a place inside them, for a baby to implant and grow …” 
“No ba,” sadly said Grogu, patting Marathel’s belly. 
“ … but if the woman has no ba — as the kid says — then she … sheds the blood and tissue from her body.  Now, you …” 
“Hurt Mama.” 
“That’s right, Grogu, I told you that hurt Mama has a hard time, and she needed a doctor to make it better.  So … that’s what we did,” said Din with a chuckle, hoping that his misadventure would lighten her spirits.   
“Men learn of such things on other planets?” 
Din petted Grogu, who purred sleepily.  “Some men do.  I think they should.” 
Marathel’s face was less red by now, but she still had an attractive blush in the fullness of her cheeks.  She looked down at Grogu, snuggled up tight against her, with Din’s large hand on his little head, mere inches away from touching her. She opened her mouth to say something, but then Grogu sadly muttered, “No Patu Mama ba …” before drifting off to sleep.   
Marathel looked up at Din, who grunted and said, “He asked me if you and I could have a baby.  I told him no of course, since you can’t …” 
“… and you’re shooting blanks.” 
“Not … quite in those words, but yes.”  He sighed.  “I think that’s what he found most upsetting, besides not being able to help your pain.”  
No babies for us, ever, Grogu, I’m sorry … thought Marathel, before amending her thoughts: But Din could possibly be fixed.  He could possibly have children of his own.  Not that any child would replace Grogu, but … his life will now continue beyond you, Marathel, you stupid useless cunt.  You will remain nothing, not a mother, barely a woman, barely a person, barely even fit to breathe air on any planet, just like the men you killed and the babies that died and the women that will die because of you … 
Somehow, it got through to her that Din was calling her name.  “… what?” 
“You keep … going still, checking out, clenching your hands into fists.  Do I need to find the nurse? Are you dizzy?  Nauseated?  You had a concussion …” Marathel shook her head but stayed silent.  “Marathel, I understand that it’s hard for you to comprehend your actions in the Hold.  No one is ever going to blame you for what happened there.” 
“They already do.  I killed them all.  I’m the one responsible …”  
Din lifted his hand from Grogu’s head, and cupped her cheek, and his touch nearly made her faint, her heart hurt her so much.  He said, “The Dahls killed the children.  Not you.”  He felt her trembling beneath his hand.  “Marathel … are the Dahls still in your head?” 
She nervously nodded.  “Yes.  I can hear them, even this far away.  Louder than ever before.  Can’t you hear them?” 
“No.  Not since I had the … not since Rodanthe died. Marathel, you need help.  You need…” 
“All I need is …”   
Before Marathel could finish, there was a click and a tinny voice coming through the intercom.  “Siewan here.  I have a couple of people and your lunch with me, Marathel.  May we come in?” 
“Just a moment,” called Din as he picked up the dozing Grogu and put him in his bag.  “Yes, please, come in.” 
There was a long pause.  “I need Marathel to answer, please, Mando.” 
“Please come in, Siewan.” 
Siewan and company entered, and Siewan looked vexed.  She raised her perfect blue eyebrow and said firmly, “Marathel is my patient and I communicate with her.  She will speak for herself.  Do you understand?” 
Din stared at Siewan, completely abashed.  Then he understood that Marathel needed to be in control of her care, so he nodded with deference and replied, “Yes, ma’am.” 
Siewan turned to Marathel with a smile, then puzzlement.  “What the … no more sunburn?  How’d you manage that?”  She noticed Marathel glance at the bag on Mando’s lap.  “Marathel, this is nurse Ya-Bito,” she said, and a lovely woman with green skin smiled.  Her teeth were not so lovely, and reminded Marathel of the large fish that would take enormous bites out of other fish and swimming children.  “She’s going to take over for the next shift.  Anything you need, you ask her.  We have your lunch here – it's a bland diet, sorry.  And this is Doctor Dine’; she’s the one who did your procedure, and she’d like to talk to you for a little bit.  Mando, this is girl stuff.  Scat.”   Din immediately stood and stepped out, still holding Marathel’s finger splint in his hand.  After the door closed behind him, Siewan grinned and said, “Damn, he just does what you say, huh?” 
Ya-Bito nodded and said, “Wouldn’t mind one like him, no.”  The doctor coughed, reminding the nurses to have a bit of decorum.  She invited Marathel to go ahead and eat while they spoke to her.  Marathel lifted off the cover of what Siewan told her was pureed chicken stew.  Marathel thought it was an odd color — quite more yellow than she made stew — but she obediently sipped from the bowl while the doctor talked to her about her condition and asked questions.  Marathel was not exactly vague with her answers but she didn’t exactly offer a lot of information, either.   
The doctor did her best to communicate to Marathel the nature of her reproductive and menstrual troubles, but Marathel wasn’t interested in hearing about that.  All she really wanted to know was when she could leave.  The doctor informed her that she needed to stay at least one more night; they were concerned about potential infection, since Marathel didn’t respond to bacta and they had rely on old-school antibiotics.   
“Mando — and company — will be allowed to stay with you, if you’re worried about being alone here,” said Siewan.   
But that wasn’t Marathel’s worry, because this wasn’t the place that Din was going to leave her behind.  That place was elsewhere, according to her dreams and the chattering of the Dahls.   She knew, she knew, that he needed to keep moving for Grogu’s safety as well as his own, that Din had his own agenda to complete that had nothing to do with her, an agenda that she kept upsetting because of her very presence … so the voices in her head kept telling her. 
Someone was patting her arm.  “…what?!” 
The other three women glanced at each other.  The doctor said, “I was saying, Marathel, that I believe you should speak to a couple of our therapists.  You have experienced much trauma, and I believe you need help to process that trauma.” 
“I don’t understand the point of that,” said Marathel. 
“The point is to help you heal, Marathel.” 
“I will heal, but it will take only time.  No words can fix what’s been done to me.” 
“Talking about trauma can help …” 
“Talking does nothing.  Talking is just … words.  And words always lead to lies,” firmly said Marathel, hoping that she had ended the conversation.  She may be as dumb as anything, but these women before her were no Eliadu and Cieroprac.  She doubted they had serums or potions to make her speak her mind, and there was no way she would willingly speak of her past life again.  She had to tell the Reconstructionists, she’d had to tell Din,  she’d had to revisit her shameful existence far too often and it did no good whatsoever!  She simply wanted to forget and go far away from the Dahls and not have to hear them anymore.  They couldn’t talk to me on Tatooine.  I won’t have to hear them there.  I will make my days busy so I won’t have to think. I will be still and not think.   
“We’ll try again in a little while, Marathel.  Eat your lunch, and if you’re still hungry, we can get you something else.  I want you to take a walk this afternoon, as often as possible, actually.  But eat first,” said the doctor.  She and Siewan left the room, leaving only Ya-Bito, who was looking at Marathel impassively, her startling teeth bared. 
“Yes?” 
“Where is the fork, Marathel?” 
Marathel looked up at the nurse, but was unable to hold her gaze.  “There was no fork.” 
“There’s always a fork, Marathel. I used to work dietary when I was in nursing school, and I wrapped possibly a million of those cutlery sets before I graduated.”  Marathel stared at the empty bowl on her tray, her left hand under the sheet, next to her leg … clutching the fork, pressing the points of the tines deeply into her thigh.  Ya-Bito sighed and sat down.  “If we believe that a patient is hurting herself, we have to, we must, pull her off the floor and into a three-day hold in the psychiatric ward.  That’s not a good place for someone as fragile as you obviously are… we do our best, but psych’s not always so great.  I can hear you cracking up like an ice floe in spring. 
“I know that fork is keeping you together right now.  So let me make a deal with you.  You can keep the fork until you’re done with your lunch.  After that, I’m coming back in, I’m going to remove those IVs and the catheter and I’m going to send you and Mando on a little walk — you need to walk; you’re on a lot of opioid painkillers and that’s going to stove you right up — but when I do that, I want the fork back.  And if you can do that, I won’t report this. Can you do that, dear? 
“Believe me, I know, I know, the fork is helping right now.  But you can’t keep doing that.  This is one of the reasons why we all think therapy is a good idea for you.  I promise, it’s better than a fork in the thigh in the long run. I swear.” 
Marathel’s throat swelled with tears again, and she croaked, “Pinky swear?” 
“Absolutely,” said Ya-Bito, holding out her pinky for Marathel to link with her own.  “Do we have a deal?”  Marathel nodded.  “Good.  Finish up your lunch.  Buzz when you’re done.  Did you want to be alone, or did you want Mando back in here?” 
Marathel blurted, “I’d like him back …” before falling silent with a blush. 
Ya-Bito chuckled and patted Marathel’s leg.  “Press your call button when you’re done,” she said as she opened the door and saw Mando just on the other side.  “Where the hell have you been?  Get back in there,” said Ya-Bito, teasingly.  He stepped aside to let her through, and she left. 
Din sat down and pulled out an awake Grogu.  Din noticed that Marathel still had part of her lunch, so he held Grogu on his lap.  “You still have food to eat.  No, Grogu.  Not yours.  Try the ice cream, Marathel.” 
“Ice cream?” 
“Ice cream.” Din picked up the container and peeled off the lid.  “Here.” 
Wondering what in Frith Din was talking about, she took the container from Din and almost instantly dropped it back into his gloved hands.  “Frith!  It’s cold!” 
“I said it was ice cream.” 
“I don’t know what ice cream is!” 
“It’s … it’s … ice cream.  Frozen sweet cream with salt and … whatever else is in ice cream.  Just eat it, I think you’ll enjoy it.”  He handed her the container and the spoon.   
Marathel put a cautious spoonful in her mouth and was at a loss of what to do with whatever this foodstuff was, but it hurt her teeth.  “Ai!  So cold!”  She dropped the container and spoon on her tray.  “It’s soft, but now it changed … it’s like … laegg … maybe.  Oh, I don’t understand what this is!” 
Din sat there, silent, wanting so much to burst out laughing, remembering her limited scope of the galaxy.  He had to bite his lip and bounce Grogu on his knee just to keep his mouth shut. “Did you not have ice or cream on your planet?  You must have had milk of some kind; you had cheese.”  
“Well, yes, milk.  That’s what laegg means.  But ice or cream, no.” 
“What animals did you have that produced milk?  Cream comes from milk.” 
“We had cwagylans. They are … smallish animals, smaller than Dahls, but a similar-shaped head, and horns.” 
Din pondered for a moment, and pulled out his holopad and did a search.  “Goats?  Did they look like this?”  He held up the screen to her and she nodded.  “Okay … it says here that goat milk doesn’t separate easily, so … well, that explains that.   But ice … you never saw frozen water on Unmanarall?  It never got that cold?” 
“Sometimes, a few times, it became terribly cold. Once, my little stream stopped flowing and it became hard to the touch.  It burned my fingers to touch it, but it turned back into water when the sun came out.” 
“That’s ice, Marathel.” He finally let himself chuckle.  “You have a lot to learn about ... food and ... well, everything, I suppose.  Did you not like the taste of the ice cream?” 
“I didn’t notice the taste. I think I was too surprised by what it was,” said Marathel, embarrassed.   
“Well, give it another try.” 
Marathel picked up the container again, and ate another spoonful, rolling it around on her tongue to avoid her teeth, pondering the flavor.  “It’s sweet, but that’s about it, really.” 
“That looks like plain ice cream.  It comes in many flavors.” 
“It does?” Din nodded.  Marathel ate another spoonful.  “Do you like ice cream?” 
“I do.” 
“Then you should have some,” said Marathel, holding out the container to Din. 
He gently pushed it back towards her, saying, “That’s yours; you enjoy it. What else you got up there?”  Marathel held up a piece of fruit.  “That is a yellowfruit.  Make sure you eat that; they were a treat where I came from.” 
Marathel sniffed the thick-skinned yellowfruit, then went back to the ice cream. “You mean on Nevarro?” 
“No … Aq Vetina.” 
“Aq Vetina.  It’s a pretty name.  Is it a pretty planet?” 
“I don’t remember.  I was only a child when … I left.” 
Marathel tilted her head.  “And you’ve not gone back since?” Din shook his head.  “You should take Grogu there.  Show him where you came from.” 
Din shrugged and replied, “Hand me the yellowfruit, I’ll peel it for you.” 
She did, and watched as he split the skin and peeled the outside of the yellowfruit back, revealing a whitish-looking fleshy inside.  Din broke off a small piece and gave it to Grogu, who happily mashed it into his mouth.  Marathel smiled, and took the fruit back, taking a bite.  She nodded, saying, “Hmm.  I like it.  It’s soft, like the ice cream.  It’s … I can’t think of a word?” 
“Creamy?” 
“That’s a word?  I suppose it works,” she said before eating the rest of the ice cream, and then the yellowfruit. 
Yes, creamy, suddenly thought Din, like how your skin felt when I first touched it, that’s how I remember it, at least.  He watched her carefully wipe her lips with a napkin.  She sat quietly for a few moments, gazing off into the distance, and then she placed a fork back on the tray.  When did she have a fork? 
“I’m supposed to call nurse Ya-Bito when I’m done,” said Marathel sheepishly, leaning back on her pillow, her hands folded primly in her lap.  “They want me to walk.”  Din nodded, still wondering what the deal was with the fork.  He reached over and found the call button for the nurse, pressed it, and then put a protesting Grogu back in the bag.   
“I should get him something to eat …” began Din as the door opened and Ya-Bito stuck her head in. 
“I’m done with lunch,” said Marathel, holding up the fork and placing it back on the tray. 
“Excellent.  Would you give us a few minutes, Mando?”  He nodded and left.  “So …did the fork help?” 
Marathel shrugged.  “A little.” 
“Talking is better.”  Marathel didn’t respond, so the nurse went around to the other side of the bed to check the hanging bags for Marathel’s IVs.  “The doctors want you to drink as much water as possible, but we’re also going to keep you on fluids because you got so dehydrated.  We think you’re good on blood now, though.” 
“I didn’t use to be.” 
“What was that?” 
“I used to have a terrible bleeding condition.  I’ve lost all my blood before.” 
Ya-Bito looked at Marathel’s face.  “You’ve suffered greatly.”  Marathel didn’t respond.  “Siewan believes that you’re heartbroken as well.  I agree with her.  Does it have something to do with that Mandalorian and his little boy?”  Marathel nodded and sniffled.  “He cares for you greatly.” 
“No. He feels responsible for me.” 
Ya-Bito shrugged.  “That’s part of caring for another, especially someone as fragile as you at the moment.  Let him carry you for a while until you can walk on your own.” 
Marathel, puzzled, said, “I thought you wanted me to walk.” 
“I do.  What I meant, though, is allow him to help carry your sadness, your hurt, until you have the strength to do so yourself.” 
Marathel drew a deep breath, and let out a long sigh.  “My hurts should not be his burden.” 
“He seems more than strong enough, and — dare I say — willing to take those burdens for you.”   
Strong, yes, willing, no.  He will leave me behind as soon as he is able. As he should.  He was untethered, and he is now free of me. “I’d like to walk now … can I do that?”  Ya-Bito nodded, and removed the synth-blood line, then asked Marathel to lay back so she could remove the catheter.  This startled Marathel greatly; she had no idea such a thing existed, much less was inserted inside her.  Ya-Bito patiently explained its purpose and exactly how it worked, which eased Marathel’s mind.  Ya-Bito then helped her sit up on the edge of the bed to put on another gown to wear as a robe, and a pair of soft socks that had anti-slip treads.  “Oh, I like these,” said Marathel, testing them on the floor.  “I like these socks very much.” 
Ya-Bito laughed and said, “I’ll make sure you get a few pairs before you leave.  Now, can you stand?” 
Marathel carefully stood, only a bit wobbly, and took a couple cautious steps.  “I feel pretty good.  May I use the necessary?” 
“Vac-tube’s right in there,” said the nurse, pointing to a closed door.  “You probably won’t tinkle anything; it’s the removing of the catheter that makes you feel that way.  And here …” She handed Marathel a pair of absorbent, stretchy, disposable underwear.  “You are spotting a bit, which is completely normal, so you might want to wear these.” 
Marathel looked back at the bed; there was a pad there with some blood on it, but not much at all. She went into the little room and saw not only a vac-tube but also a fresher.  She hoped she could use it later.  She tried to use the vac-tube, but Ya-Bito had been correct; she hardly had any piddle at all, just more an urge than anything else.  Marathel pulled on the absorbent underwear and instantly hated them, but decided they would do for now, until she could wear her regular clothes again …  She then remembered that she left her bag behind on Unmanarall.  Oh … dank ferrik, as Din and others would say! I have no clothes, nothing!  What am I going to do? 
Marathel stepped out, worried, and as she was washing her hands, she looked at the mirror and remembered her clam shell pendant … which was now missing from around her neck.  “Oh, no,” she cried. 
“What is it?” asked Ya-Bito, who was replacing the large absorbent pad on the bed. 
“I had a clam shell … a pendant … around my neck, and it’s gone …” 
The nurse came over to her, patting her shoulder.  “I don’t know, but I will find out for you.  Okay?  What is lost will be found.  Now, let’s go walk.” 
Marathel nodded tearfully, and wiped her eyes.  As she walked to the door, pulling her IV stand, there was a knock on the door.  She cautiously opened it slightly, and Din was on the other side. “Oh …” 
“You’re standing; good.”  He came in, noticing the distress on her face.  “What is it?” 
“My clam shell … the one Grogu gave me …” Marathel began to cry again. 
“Oh, I have that …” Din dug it out of his pocket and placed it over her head.   
Ya-Bito smiled and said, “Lost is already found.” 
“They made sure to give it to me before you went into surgery; I’m sorry it slipped my mind.”  Marathel dropped her head and clutched the clam shell, sniffling.  Din kept his hands on her shoulders. He clicked his tongue and said,  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa …” 
Marathel gasped, her tears forgotten, and she looked into Din’s visor.  “Did you say ma’mwsh ha’laa?”  Or could it have been my mesh’la? 
“Of course I said ma’mwsh ha’laa; you’re always going to be ma’mwsh ha’laa to me.”  After handing her yet another cloth to dry her tears, he said, “Now, do you feel up to walking?”  Marathel nodded and smiled — an actual smile, Din noticed — so he held the door open for Marathel, and she stepped out into the corridor.  “Which way should we …?” 
“First of all, please …” Marathel guided his arm so that she could hold his forearm, just like Cobb had when he’d led her to the courtyard. 
“Well, when did you learn about that?” asked Din.  
“Cobb taught me.”  Din made a hmm noise and they started slowly walking, Marathel guiding the rolling IV stand alongside her. 
After a few meters, Din felt the need to place his hand over hers on his arm, which cheered him as well as her.  “Am I walking too fast?” 
“No, this is just fine.  Where’s Grogu?” 
“Back in the childcare center.  He kicked up a fuss but was distracted by a cup of ice cream.  Food seems to be a good currency for him.” 
Marathel frowned.  “I don’t understand what you mean.” 
“I can use food to make him do what I want.” 
She smirked.  “Boys are the same all over.  Promises of sweets always worked in the Hold.  Girls only wanted a hug, or praise.  Or safety.  Which was impossible to give,” she said sadly.  Din patted her hand, and they walked in silence for a while.  “I’m glad to have my clam shell back, but I’m also upset because I left my bag behind.” 
“I picked it up.  It’s on the Razor Crest. Your blanket is being laundered courtesy of Grogu’s childcare assistant.  They’ve been very kind.” 
Marathel had to take an extra breath to control her emotions.  “... Thank you, Din.”  She let out a long wobbly exhale. “So, you went to the hut?” 
“I did.”  He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.  “I’m so sorry about your kinswomen.  Ni ceta. Olba, Tymfy, Lorica, and Hylma – I recited the Manda’lor death chant in their honor.  They were good women.” 
“They were all good to me in their own way. Hylma was the only one I didn’t truly know.  I helped at her birth, but why she would be willing to help me at all; I have no idea.  And I’ll never know.”  A thought occurred to her.  “How did you learn their names?  I thought you didn’t know them.” 
“When Grogu and I arrived back at Unmanarall, we went to to Hold first.  Well, what was left of the Hold.  I seem to recall thinking that Marathel doesn’t mess around when I saw that building blown to bits.  I was impressed. You’re dangerous, woman.” 
Of all the things Din might have expected Marathel to do at that moment, it sure wasn’t laughing.  “Cobb said the same thing,” Marathel said as she chuckled. 
Unsure of how he felt about that, Din asked, “Why did he say that?” 
“I threw a mug at his head.  He deserved it.  He was being a … what did you call him?  Oh yes, a menace.” Marathel chuckled some more.  “Oh, that’s not quite true.  I was asleep, and I was very groggy when I awoke, but he was there in my room and he startled me. So, mug to the head.  He managed to duck, though!  Oh, goodness…” Marathel continued to laugh.  “Then, another time,  he came into my room while I was sleeping to measure my foot so he could find some shoes to borrow …” 
Well, now I’m peeved, thought Din.  Cobb was just hanging out in her room? Touching her bare feet while she was sleeping?  What else did that handsy son of a bitch touch? 
Marathel turned her head to look at Din, who was not looking at her.  Her brow furrowed.  “Are you … angry at me for speaking about Cobb?” 
“… No.” 
“I think you are.”  Din didn’t reply, so she decided to change the subject. “There’s another thing I must apologize for. I’m so sorry, Din.” 
“Why?” 
“Some time ago, I thought to myself, that Din Djarin never does anything I say.” Marathel chuckled.  “But the truth is … you did everything I ever asked of you.  Except leave me behind.  Twice, now, you’ve come back.” 
“The third time’s the charm,” said Din, who regretted it instantly.   
“I don’t think I quite understand what you mean.  Perhaps … it’s for the best?” 
Before Din could answer, a man and two women rounded the corner right in front of them.  Marathel had no idea who they were.  The man wore an odd uniform; it was orange with white straps and a white woven thing on his chest.  The two women wore nearly identical pants and jackets of a brownish green.  All three looked quite stern.  The man nodded at Din, saying, “Mando.”   
Din sighed deeply, muttering, “Captain Teva.”  Hearing the name Captain Teva instantly filled Marathel with terror, and she thought, there are Captains elsewhere?  Are there Bishops and Dukes too?  How does Din know another Captain? 
This new Captain, of whom she was already afraid, turned to her and said, “Marathel ap Bishop, we need to have a chat.” 
You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One point Five ->
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nathanbatemanfucker · 1 year ago
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DISCLAIMERS: * indicates 18+/NSFW content. all readers are described as having dark/darker skin than the character they are shipped with. reader is also described as having curly hair, braids or locs depending on the fic.
Moonknight
One More Time
Sprite (black!nymph!oc)*
Mosaic Whispers (black!fem!oc)*
Narcos
Tied Together*
Criminal Minds
Moon River*
The Mandalorian
Ambrosial
Triple Frontier
The Dead Horse (santi garcia)
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lady-phasma · 10 months ago
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Impenetrable
Chapter 1 of 5 (cross posted from AO3)
The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Dar'Nîla (Togruta OFC)
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, general smut, p in v sex in later chapters, D/s if you squint, plot if you squint. Written in first person fem!reader.
Summary a/n: Mando and Dar'Nîla meet and she's quite brazen. Reference images for Dar'Nîla after the cut. I wrote this during season 2, around episode 5. No beta. 2k words.
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This is my reference for Dar'Nîla from the video game The Old Republic.
I saw him walk into the cantina. I watched him over the top of my mug as he went to the bar. You couldn’t not watch him. The beskar he was wearing was so new it reflected everything near him.
What could a Mandalorian possibly get at a bar? I thought. Do they use straws? No, that’s too banal.
I couldn’t stop staring. I knew he could feel all of us watching. But how many of those eyes were trying to determine how difficult it would be to seduce him while assuring him you wanted his armor to stay on? Probably only mine.
I sat my drink down, placed my front lekku meticulously to frame my breasts, and shimmied my shirt down just a little. The thin, white fabric pulled tight across the rise of my breasts and my purple skin shone through bright and unmistakable. The leather vest rode just below like a corset. I wasn’t great at being feminine but I could give a good show. My shitty, practical boots and plain leather pants were about as unfeminine as it could get. The one asset the pants had was how they stretched tight against and accentuated my ass. I checked the room and saw I had no competition so I stood, smoothed my pants over my hips, and walked to his table.
“Hi,” was somehow the best I could manage. I was never this forward.
His head turned, deliberately slow. I was immediately aware of the advantage he had over me: he could see facial expressions that I only had to guess at. This was going to be tough.
“Yes?” he responded.
I slid into the chair across from him and propped my elbows on the table, my breasts on my arms. I was going to make this easy for him because that would make it easier for me. One lek fell in front of my carefully arranged display and I brushed it aside.
“Um, yeah, hi! I’m Dar’Nîla,” I managed.
“Hi.”
“You don’t say much do you?” I beamed at him. “I’ve heard about you. They call you Mando.” I flashed my blue eyes at him.
“Some do.”
“ Can I call you that?” I played with a crumb on the table that I found, suddenly, much more fascinating than the blank surface of his helmet.
“Sure. What’s on your mind… Dar….?” He trailed off.
“‘Nîla,” I finished for him.
“Dar’Nîla, right. What’s on your mind?” he asked again.
I stammered. I’m never great at flirting and usually better at it when I don’t have a clue that I’m actually doing it. He was just so unsettling, so disarming. He was no one. Only what I projected onto him until he spoke or moved. Those were the only glimpses allowed into his personality. How could I possibly find something to flirt about? It was like talking to my reflection.
I investigated the table, ran a finger around an old ring from a glass. This place was filthy. But my mouth had gone incredibly dry. I flagged a hand at a waitress and ordered another beer. I looked him in the eye.
“What’s on my mind is that I would very much like to have a beer with you, ahem, near you is more accurate I guess, get to know you a little better, and then try to get you in my pants since there’s very little chance I could get in yours.” I blurted all of this out at once so that he couldn’t interrupt me and so I wouldn’t lose my courage.
That was the best possible moment for my beer to arrive. I buried my face in it and looked up at him. His head was tilted just slightly. Curious? Maybe. Offended? He hadn’t run for the door. Yet.
“Well, Dar’Nîla, that was quite the speech. Did you have anything specific in mind?” he asked.
I could feel his eyes on me and hear the smirk on his lips. I don’t know if he’d had one or one hundred women but he definitely knew how to manipulate me. I gulped some more beer, mostly to give myself time to think of an appropriate answer.
“Ummmm we could sit here and talk, since you’re so chatty and all, or we could get me some dinner and make our way back to your place. Get to know you better along the way?” I looked into my beer as I said the last bit. I couldn’t look at him. I was able to say all that about pants a moment ago and now I only wanted to crawl under the table. He made me feel like he was pure and I was… was what? Unclean for having these thoughts. But I knew that wasn’t true from the way he moved. The way he stayed.
His movements were slow and deliberate. He stood and reached for my hand at the same time. His gloved fingers lifted mine and I followed. I dropped some credits on the table for the beer before we walked out.
The suns were setting. The street vendors’ food crackled over fires and the smells drifted and mingled around us. I was working hard at playing it cool. I was quite sure I was not succeeding. I made a lot of assumptions about him. I assumed he wouldn’t be eating. He probably ate alone. So I stopped at a food stall and swapped some credits for a meat on a stick. Not sure what it was exactly but the sizzling fat smelled delicious. We carnivores aren’t terribly picky eaters when we’re very hungry. I tore off a mouthful.
“So, do this often, do you?” I asked as I chewed and swallowed. I was so nervous around him that I forgot all of my manners. He completely disarmed me.
“No.”
Fuck, would I ever get more than one word out of this man? I licked sauce off of my finger and looked at my boots as we walked. When I looked up he was staring at me.
“Me either,” I said. “In fact, I don’t really talk to people I don’t know. I just… I don’t know, I thought I would risk it.”
I looked back at my feet and blushed. Hard. I could feel the heat rise from my neck, first deep violet then light pink as it hit my white cheeks. All the way up my montrals and down my lekku. Sheesh. This was embarrassing.
I felt him pause. I stopped a step ahead and turned back. He seemed to be searching for something, listening maybe. God it was so hard to tell with that helmet. He turned and looked past me.
“Here,” he said and he slid a hand around mine and started walking. I’m glad he had his back to me because my mouth hung open. I shook myself out of the shock and followed.
He gave a few credits to a man selling frozen, shaved juices. I stood, mutely, watching his movements. His head tilted just enough for me to imagine he was smiling. Maybe his helmet was more expressive than I thought. He handed me the shaved ice. The evening was hot even after the suns set. I wouldn’t have thought to get this treat for myself but since he was buying. Why not? Bounty hunters aren’t hard up for credits.
I stared at the cone of ice as if I had forgotten how to eat. I looked up at him questioningly.
“I would like to watch you eat it,” he said. It was flat with no inflection. I couldn’t object or give it back to him. I couldn’t tell him he was weird and to keep his stupid shaved juice. In fact, I wanted the opposite. My body tingled like I had touched a live wire. I wanted to perform for him. I looked directly at him and licked the sweet ice. The movements of his helmet were almost invisible but once I knew what to look for I began to see them more clearly. This one seemed to be focus, intensity, just the slightest forward tilt. I tasted it again. My face was on fire. I wanted to die from embarrassment. I could guess a million reasons he wanted this but none of them mattered.
There was nothing in the world at that moment but the two of us. The noise of the street around us faded away. I could see my distorted reflection in his helmet and that inspired me to take a longer lick from my ice. I closed my eyes, wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand. He took a step closer to me. This could not actually be happening to me. This was all a fantasy I created and I was still sitting in the cantina.
No. He walked closer and put a hand on the small of my back. He guided me toward an alley. He was touching me. I felt like I was shaking all over. We stopped a few feet into the alley. He took the cone from my hand and dropped it by my feet. I was frozen. What was happening? The Mandalorian actually wanted me? He wanted something. I wasn’t sure what but here we were.
He stepped toward me and I moved back so that I was pressed against the dusty wall. He put his hand on it beside my head. His body turned away from the street so that his cape hid me almost entirely. I exhaled. I had been holding my breath but in this small world he created for us I started to relax. To feel less embarrassed.
“Well?” he said. He was so cryptic. This air of mystery was almost overdone. Almost an act, yet… yet not.
“Well…” I replied. “I’m beginning to think this is all on your terms, so what would you like?”
He thought about this for a moment. His free hand started up and then fell back to his side. His helmet moved slightly. Then his hand was on my waist. Gentle but squeezing just a bit. I tried hard not to react but his grip was strong. I grazed my fingers over the vambrace on his forearm. His fingers tensed when I touched the metal. I traced a line up his arm and then down to his chest. Trying to read his mind was excruciating.
Slowly, letting him see the direction of each movement as it began, I placed one hand on his side and the other on the vambrace near my head. I felt the rough fabric of his shirt under my palm, the muscles underneath moving with his breath. I slid my hand around to the small of his back and pulled him closer. I pushed my hips out to meet his. I moaned through my teeth when I finally felt his body on mine.
The cuisses covering his thighs were hard against my legs. But that wasn’t all that was hard. I moved my hips just enough to feel that, yes, The Mandalorian was enjoying himself. I had read his mind well enough it seemed. I moved my hand down to his ass and pressed against him as much as either of us could stand.
He muttered something and abruptly grabbed my waist with both hands. He almost picked me up as he moved me away from him. He placed me at arms length with the concentration a child has with the placement of a doll. I think he really wanted to tell me to “stay put” or something like that. So, I crossed my arms across my chest, jutted one hip out, and pouted.
When he saw the look on my face he shook his head.
“My ship isn’t far from here,” he said.
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dindjarindiaries · 1 year ago
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DIN DJARIN ONE-SHOTS
Each story below focuses on Din Djarin, with pairings for each story indicated along with summaries.
Stories marked with an asterisk (*) contain sexual, though not explicit/graphic, content.
My ratings are as follows: G (all ages), T (13+), M (18+)
Last updated: July 27, 2024
main masterlist • series • drabbles • prompts
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the “heat” of the moment • reader The heat goes out on the Razor Crest and you’re the only one with an electric blanket to keep yourself warm.
my cyar’ika • fem!reader You and Din find yourselves in a marketplace lush with life, and you lose yourself in the fun while Din tries to keep you safe throughout it.
just fine • reader Din comforts you after you suffer through a tumultuous nightmare.
dead to me • fem!oc On the verge of death, Twila takes off Din’s helmet, later having to face his wrath and leave his ship—even though she’s pregnant with their unborn child.
everything i wanted • reader You���re trapped inside a Din x Omera love triangle, struggling to get to your lover who’s entranced with your new host.
riduurok • reader This is the story of how you fall in love with the Mandalorian bounty hunter, Din Djarin.
home • reader After the child is reunited with his people, Din takes you to a place that’s unfamiliar to you but all too familiar to him: his home.
when stars align• reader You spend an affectionate morning awakening beside your Mandalorian, who you have just recently married.
more than words* • reader On the evening of your marriage, you and Din show your deep love for each other in a manner that goes beyond words.
the challenge • reader After winning a drinking challenge, Din returns to the Crest much later than expected in a state of mind much different than usual, leaving you to deal with him and whatever words spill from his mouth.
don’t blame me• reader In the weeks following your marriage, you and Din are desperate to make up for all the physical affection you’ve missed out on—leading you to do whatever you can wherever you can.
said and done • reader With Din being injured from a past fight, you’re the one in charge of the hunts for now—and Din realizes he likes having you in control.
behave* • reader After a grueling hunt, you and Din celebrate your success at a local cantina, both ending up with a little too much that leads you to do things that are a little too risky.
a warrior’s purpose • daughter oc Din returns to the planet where he’d left his riduur many years ago to find her again—but instead, he finds someone else.
nothing so perfect • fem!reader You and Din think that you’re adding on to your family, only to learn there’s been a mistake—and now you’re both left to cope with the loss you never expected.
next to you • reader It’s been long enough since Din’s promised return for you to assume that he didn’t make it, and now you yearn for the life that could’ve been.
forever and always • reader When you and Din finally find the child’s home, it’s time to say goodbye—but then Din realizes he can’t.
reverence • fem!reader Following the birth of your daughter, Din spends a night marveling at the little life and the way you provide for her.
transmissions • reader When Din’s away on a long job, he gives you a holotransceiver and sends you transmissions to keep you both at ease.
purpose • fem!reader As the daughter of an Imperial senator, the Mandalorian’s hired as your bodyguard—but with the twisted ideals of your father putting you at risk, he becomes so much more than that.
irrevocable • reader After a hunt goes wrong and Din gets captured, you go after him and save him, but you find that they’ve removed his helmet and have done him personal damage that will last for much longer.
mine* • fem!reader With tensions rising not only in the galaxy but also in your relationship, Din proves to you in a new way that he’ll take care of you.
never alone • fem!reader In the aftermath of a bad nightmare, Din receives comfort from an unexpected source: his daughter.
tresses • reader When Din’s hair becomes the object of your and the baby’s affections, he decides it’s time for a trim—although he’s hesitant for a reason you must discover.
enervation • reader Din returns home from his new job as exhausted as ever, begging you to join him in sleep—and trying to make it happen at all costs.
take care • reader After Din sustains an injury on a job, you have to help him take care of himself—something he grows more and more fond of.
affliction • fem!reader When you and Din get recognized at an Imperial gala, you’re both taken into custody, where they begin to use Din to get you to talk—and lead you to do something completely unexpected.
take it off* • reader Your new ally extends his hospitality a little too far—and now Din’s determined to remind you of what he alone can provide you with.
cozy in the cockpit • reader After the Crest suffers through an intense chase and crash, you and Din must figure out how to survive on a freezing planet—your low odds causing your mutual feelings to come to the surface.
beneath the surface • reader You and Din get double-crossed when trying to find other Mandalorians, putting all three of you in deep waters.
touch it softly • reader When you invite Din to play with your hair, you both get a little more than lost in the moment.
alleviation • reader You continue helping Din recover from the traumatizing removal of his helmet, trying to make him understand that it’s okay to not be okay. (part two of Irrevocable)
the right thing • reader Din returns to you on Nevarro after the mission on Moff Gideon’s cruiser—without the child.
ni ceta par gar (i kneel for you)* • reader When Mando needs emotional release, you seek to fulfill your pining by offering something neither one of you can resist—something that could change everything.
in my head • reader The thought of Din plagues your mind—and it won’t be long until it’s forced onto your lips.
the marshal • fem!oc Din covers his face. So does she. Shrouded in mystery and unable to admit their shared intimidation, the two must work together to save Mos Pelgo—for both their sakes.
hold me in hyperspace • reader After a long hunt, you think Mando just wants some rest—but really, he just wants you.
ner yaim (my home) • reader After a day of work, you get to come home to Din, who’s fitting into his new role well.
mureyca (kiss) • reader The story of the different ways in which you share a kiss with the Mandalorian.
aftermath • omera After his quest has been fulfilled, Din returns to Sorgan, needing the comfort and support of someone he could never forget.
stay • omera Din wrestles with his feelings for Omera and tries to tell her how she feels—but has to let her in first.
torrent • reader When one of Din’s worst fears is revealed, you’re left to do whatever you can to put him at ease.
enterprise • cassian andor, k2so When Mando’s quarry offers him a better deal, he finds himself getting involved in more than he originally bargained for.
bloom • reader With your relationship now in full blossom, a flustered Din takes you on your first date, where he does everything he can to tell you how you make him feel.
malevolence • grogu Din experiences the ghastly side effects of wielding the famed Darksaber.
before i go • reader Imperial occupation of your covert as well as your mind lead to a devastating confrontation between you and your past Mandalorian lover.
favorite crime • reader When your ex-partner-in-crime and past lover enters your life again, you find yourself looking back on fond memories with a tremendous desire to chase them again.
solace • reader Din reassures you when your perfectionist tendencies catch up to you.
foster • obi-wan kenobi Obi-Wan comes across an orphan named Din that he can’t help taking under his wing.
intemperate • reader Mando’s indulgence in liquid courage leads him to say things you never thought you’d hear—and will never forget.
scars • reader When Din shows unprecedented hatred for his battle-worn body, it’s up to you to reassure him of everything you love about it.
seeking serenity • reader Mando, overcome with anxiety in the aftermath of a risky event, needs you to bring him back to reality—and asks for much more along the way.
liberation • reader You lead a mission to free Din from an Imperial hideout, only to discover that he’s in need of you much more than you originally thought.
contrition • reader Din comforts you after you do something drastic to save his life.
bring me home • reader You reunite with your Mandalorian lover after a long separation and realize much has changed since you last him.
safety net • deaf!reader When you and Din are reunited after a hunt that goes longer than expected, your mutual feelings for each other finally bubble to the surface—regardless of the fears you’ve both buried deep within.
selfish • reader Din, who’s helplessly in love with you, is forced to watch you and your partner until he’s forced to come to terms with his feelings.
united we fall • reader Din’s unable to control the Darksaber and accidentally hurts you with it, leaving behind a deep scar on your body and his mind.
of bounties and bartenders • fem!reader The mysterious Din “Brown Eyes” Djarin returns to visit you after a job, but trouble is the last thing he’s left behind.
as it was • din djarin’s parents The living waters beneath Mandalore bring Din back to a place—and a people—he never thought he’d see again.
people watching • grogu Observation was a skill Din Djarin had mastered for his own safety, but now it sets the scene for his very own destruction.
astronomy • reader Crossing paths with a seriously injured Din forces the two of you to come to terms with your relationship.
stardust • reader You finally reunite with your Mandalorian lover, just to learn a devastating truth.
fine line • reader Din tries his best to comfort you in the aftermath of your torturous capture.
scarlet promise • reader Vengeance consumes you when Din’s put at risk, causing him to have to pull you back to reality.
what sits in the silence • reader Your bounty-hunting rival turns to you in his time of need and brings along more baggage than you planned on handling.
when a house becomes a home • reader A new home brings new responsibilities, and there’s only one person who can teach Din how to cook a proper meal: you.
takes one to know one • reader Bounty hunters aren’t supposed to fall in love and you were okay with that. So was the Mandalorian.
love me louder • reader Your secret romance with the Mandalorian is put at risk when you find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
shattered • reader When an anxious day gets the best of you, Din seeks to comfort you.
the broken who blossom • reader At long last, Din’s returned home to the covert, but he’s brought a lot more home with him than anticipated.
in sickness & in health • reader Din does his best to comfort you when you become anxious about your health.
doomsday • reader You and Din are interrogated by Moff Gideon, who has quickly realized you’re the best weapon he has to use against the Mandalorian.
i still see you • reader In the aftermath of the Morak mission, Din’s faced with a crisis you only hope you can help to resolve somehow.
fight for me • reader When Din starts to get harassed at a cantina, you can’t help jumping in to defend him at all costs.
right where you left me • reader Din reunites with you many years after your whirlwind romance for a mission you begrudgingly accept to help him with.
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poedjarinwrites · 8 months ago
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.1, like father, like daughter
Star Girl, prologue Din Djarin x fem!OC
Masterlist
(gif not mine!)
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MUSTAFAR, OUTER RIM
'Bela.'
Her knees hurt. She's been in this position too much, too long. One arm is poised on her raised knee, the other hangs at her side, fingers curled around the black hilt of a lightsaber given to her as a child when she had no idea what a weapon was.
She lifts her head, she can no longer hide behind her hair which is brought back by a labyrinth of braids. They're tight, and pull her eyebrows closer to her hairline. Her face feels stiff, and she struggles to move her lips when she replies.
Her eyes finally meet the dark helmet above her, green and twinkling like a child's through thick eye lashes. 'Yes, Master?'
'You are ready.'
'Ready, Master?'
With one nod he turns, his cape follows behind and she knows that's her cue to follow after him. She's up in one easy push and behind him down the long corridors. Her chin is up high, her eyes look down her nose while her hands clasp behind her back.
She squeezes her fingers tightly together to prevent her rapid breathing. The heat from the lava below burns her skin, for once she is thankful when they reach the throne room and he takes his seat.
She stops beside him, keeping her gaze forward and he answers the commission from the Inquisitor.
The Third Sister's face flashes before them in a blue light. Bela's face morphs into a scowl, she's never been a fan of any of the Inquisitor's. They're strung too high with too much free power in their hands. Little control, no remorse if their actions ruin their Lord's plans.
'Where is he?'
'We have probes out. We're tracking all possible exits. He will pay for the Grand Inquisitor's-'
'The Grand Inquisitor means nothing. Kenobi is all that matters now-' As he says the name there's a shift in his demeanour, Bela feels it. The new emotion tugs at her heart and she resists the urge to move while she rubs her sternum to ease the unfamiliar ache in her chest. 'Is that understood?'
'Yes, my Lord.'
He finally leans back into his cold throne, 'I have been watching you, Third Sister. I know what it is, you seek. Prove yourself, and the position of Grand Inquisitor is yours.' Bela watches as the Third Sister's lip twitches, she doesn't have to be on the same planet to feel her pride, 'Fail me, and you will not live to regret it.'
Her face is gone in a flash, but then his attention is on Bela, who straightens more at his gaze. 'What is it, apprentice?'
It's a test. She already knows it is. Yet she still speaks.
'I don't trust, Third Sister. Her ambition will destroy her, and if we aren't careful, us with it.'
Vader says nothing, he rises from his throne and walks to the open window. She flinches when the edge of his cape brushes her shin.
Swallowing and turning after him she's quick to defend herself, 'I don't mean to-'
'If you're going to question me, follow through.'
'Not you, my Lord,' Her words are rushed out and she bows her head slightly to show her respect when he briefly looks over at her. 'Never you- My Lord. It is the intentions of the Third Sister I question.'
'I sense it too.'
He finally turns to her, she lifts her head higher, gulps, he pays no mind to the shuddering breath. 'Prepare to leave.'
'My Lord?'
'Follow her, report back to me.'
She nods, 'Of course.'
'If she alerts me before you get there do not engage.'
She turns and walks out of the corridor, with a sharp whistle her droid, an old M4 series that has been painted black by her to hide the bright orange colours, follows after her.
'Fire up the ship,' She commands, 'Once I've dressed we'll be gone.'
With that the droid rolls to the docking bay, and she retires to her quarters. She removes the uncomfortable black tunic and replaces it with plain trousers and a long sleeved black shirt. Over the top she adds a jacket and clips a utility belt that holds her saber around her waist.
She stops to stare at herself in the only reflective surface in her room. The tinted windows. Her hair has grown, they won't allow her to cut it short. She makes quick work of letting all the braids fall loose. She reties her hair, pulling the normal strands and braided strands back into her ponytail.
When she arrives at her prepared ship Vader is there, he places his hands on her shoulder. She finds comfort in the bruising grip. The touch of a parent.
'If you find Kenobi, do not kill him. Don't listen to him either. He is a liar.'
'As are all Jedi.' She tells him. She feels a small amount of pride well within him when she says that.
'Good luck, daughter.'
She bows her head, and he squeezes one shoulder. Then she's in her ship and disappearing into the dark night sky.
⋆⭒˚。⋆☾⋆⭒˚。⋆ Where are we going?
'Mapuzo.'
Boring.
She just hums in response as she leans back in her cockpit. I'm hungry.
'You're a droid.'
You programmed me to have human emotions.
She rolls her eyes, 'Emotions, not hunger. We're almost there, buddy.'
Vader is going to be there.
She nods, 'He will. His ship has left. The beacon you put on it has activated.'
If he finds out we're dead.
'I'm dead, you'll just be a pile of scrap.'
That's dead to me.
Her comm blinks and she reaches forward quickly to flick the switch on. 'Do not engage once you land, Bela. Await my command, don't be seen. The Third Sister knows I am on my way, she does not know you're already there.'
'Yes, my lord. I'll find a vantage point, watch from above.'
The droid beeps something along the line's of her being a coward which she ignores as she slowly lowers the ship and opens the canopy. 'Stay with the ship, keep in contact.'
Kicking up dust as she walks she keeps hidden in the shadows, watching the Inquisitors as they pace outside of their ship. The Third Sister is anxious, her hand tightens on her saber everytime she hears the slightest of noise. No, not anxious. Impatient.
Her head snaps in Bela's direction, but by the time she moves towards the alley to peek between the small huts the girl has gone.
It takes almost an hour for Vader to land in his ship, thanks to a string of binary from M4 alerting her he's entered the planet's atmosphere and she has a chance to prepare herself.
She hears his heavy breathing before his heavy footsteps. She lurks, waits, watches. When his hand shoots out and she feels the rush of the force around them her own hand instantly goes to her neck.
But a scream from a villager has her pausing to watch as he's lifted into the air. A boy runs after him, 'Dad!'
Bela doesn't flinch when Vader breaks his neck, not a twitch, not a single blink. Not even when he forces the boy's body into the wall and watches him crumple into a pile of flesh.
He walks forward, dragging a woman behind him. In the corner of her eye she sees a man, covered in a hood as he backs away from the village.
'Movement.'
'Stop him.'
She keeps her distance, following after the man as Vader takes a different path, no doubt to perform a dramatic entrance.
She can feel the man's fear, it bleeds out of him like a bodily odour. His first mistake.
He stills at the familiar sound of a buzzing saber, staying still he refuses to turn. His jaw is clenched, so tight he thinks he might break his teeth. He tries to reach out in the Force. To link his mind with a young Padawan, then he hears the voice.
'Kenobi.'
His shoulders fall, the tension leaves his body and he turns to meet her. 'I have no quarrel with you.'
'You do. A quarrel with the Empire is a quarrel with me.'
His brows furrow as he steps closer but she lifts her saber. It almost touches his nose, if he breathes in too deep the red may just graze his face.
'I sense your hesitance.' He lifts his hands, but does not reach for his saber like he should. 'Your lack of faith in the empire.'
'I have no faith. Just obedience. To the Empire, to Lord Vader.'
'Put down the weapon,' He requests softly, 'You are just a child.'
'Don't insult me.'
He shakes his head, his idea of reassurance. Kenobi takes this moment to think back to a long time ago. A time where he visited a desolate sandy planet like this one. Where his Master came to him with a young boy who held the same fear she has in her eyes. Then another time, a mission to an outer-rim planet full of slave traders where he'd seen the pain and suffering take over the same boy as he cut down many where they stood. He pushes away the final thought of a planet made of lava.
He shakes his head at her again. To her it's an insult, he doesn't believe she will kill him. She's killed hundreds like him. 'You don't have to fear the empire.'
He stretches a hand out, but his hesitance is clear in the shaking limb. 'Let go. And come with me.'
She lifts her saber and swipes for him but he jumps back before she can hit him. 'What's your name?' He asks her.
She swipes at him again and he catches her arm, spinning her around so her back goes to his chest and the saber at her throat. 'I'm not afraid of you.' She tells him, she lifts her chin, neck exposed to the heat of the weapon.
His hand is positioned so he can easily push it away, part of him believes she'll bring the saber down on herself. 'What's your name?'
'Bela.'
'Your real name.'
'Bela.' She says again and then kicks her foot back into his knee. He groans, twisting to the side and catching himself before he meets the floor.
He manages to hit away her saber and then she turns to lift her foot into his stomach. 'You will respond to the Empire for your crimes.'
'I'm not the one committing crimes here. You are blinded by-'
She lets out a low growl as she moves her fist for him but he hits it away, 'You don't know what you're talking about.'
'The Empire has blinded you. Your obedience to Vader has blinded you!'
He lifts a hand, using the force to push away her weapon. It's lost, buried in the sand a few paces away. She wants to prove she's just as good as him. Just as good as the Inquisitors, as Vader himself.
So she lifts her hand and calls to the Force. But it gives him enough time to run forward. He tries to move past her, but she drops, sticking her leg out to trip him.
When she moves to hold him down he knicks a knee up and hits her back. She grabs his ankle, pulling him onto his stomach and then twists his leg.
She reaches for his robes to pull him back to her but he grabs her hand and twists it behind her back. 'Don't fight the light inside of you.'
'There is no light. Don't you see? As long as the Empire lives there shall be only darkness in all of us.'
'There is both light and darkness in everyone, you get to choose which one you act with.'
She brings her elbow back and knocks him backwards then holds his wrist down while panting heavily. 'You act all high and mighty Obi-Wan Kenobi yet where were you when your fellow Jedis called for help? When we rounded them up and picked them off one by one? Where were you? Lord Vader has told me about you. How you left him for dead-'
'He lies!'
'So do you!' She tells him harshly, 'Most of all to yourself.' She tilts her head at him, 'I can feel it. You know it's the truth. You can't continue to hide from your past, Kenobi.'
He brings his head forward and cringes at the crack of her nose, then once out of her grip and on his knees he pulls her back with his arms around her neck.
She gasps, fingernails digging into his forearm. As she leans forward a chain slips from beneath her shirt, dangling over his arm, cooling the skin it touches. His eyes zone in on the familiar pieces of beskar metal attached to the chain. A piece of metal he had engraved and delivered himself. 
'Satine.'
Her brows furrow deeper, her chest heaves with each greedy breath of oxygen. He sits back, lets her go but she doesn't fight. She lifts herself up onto her elbows and watches as he holds a hand out for her.
She turns her face away, doesn't respond, doesn't take it. 'Please.'
She clenches her jaw, closes her eyes and he nods as he steps back. Promising the force he won't give up on this girl.
Then he backs away. Only he doesn't get too far, waiting just over the ridge is Vader hidden in the darkness.
She doesn't move, she lays back in the sand staring into the darkness until it's illuminated by a red light in front of her face.
'Third Sister.'
'You're weak. Like him.'
Bela raises a red brow, 'I won't fight you. We both know I'll win.'
Reva reaches out her hand pushing into her mind, but with a clenched jaw she uses all of her energy and might to keep her out.
'Stubborn,' She hums with a wicked smile, glancing over to where two sabres clash in the distance. She circles Bela like she's some kind of prey. 'Like father, like daughter.'
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handspunyarns · 3 months ago
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You Were Marked: Day Thirty-One point Five.
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pairing: din djarin x plus size / reverse age gap / fem!O/C 
word count: 12K 
chapter summary: Din and Marathel both struggle with the truth, Marathel tells a story about an old friend, and Din goes clothes shopping. 
warnings:  ALL THE ANGST, mention of female bodily functions and medical issues, past abuse and SA, mention of murder and infanticide, mention of child SA, self-harm, mental illness, English and Mando’a cursing 
***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***    
You Were Marked: Masterlist  
You Were Marked: <- Previous Chapter 
Marathel felt completely incapable of speech.  A Captain stood before her, and she was convinced that he was there take her away, that there was another Hold somewhere out there like her old Hold, with another Hunter and another Duke and another Bishop, and there was no way in Frith she would ever go back into a Hold to become a Diwhyn and be beaten for existing and kicked for being female and her hair pulled out for not obeying whatever a male desired to inflict upon her, and she wanted to scream no  but the only noise she could make was a gurgling sound in her throat as she pulled on Din’s arm. 
Din could feel the pull of her hand, the tremble of her arm, could practically smell the fear radiating from her, and he turned towards her, wondering if she was going to fight, flee, or freeze.  He carefully gripped her hand on his arm, wrapping his fingers around the heel of her thumb, which he hoped would prevent her from slipping away.  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa,” he said softly.  Her eyes, with pupils dilated to nearly the size of her irises, flicked to his visor.  “Don’t be afraid,” said Din, in a tone he would use with Grogu.  “It will be all right.”  Marathel shook her head and pulled even harder.  “I know this man, Captain Teva.  He’s a …” She whimpered and shut her eyes tight as he said Captain, and he realized why she was panicking.  “No, ma’mwsh ha’laa.  No.  He’s not a Captain like that Elder monster.  It’s a title, it’s his rank; this is a good man.  He has helped me before.  I believe he is here to help you. Will you trust me?”  To Teva’s credit, he did not interrupt or step in; he merely stood still and softened his expression, waiting.   
Ya-Bito stepped in to create a barrier between Marathel and Teva.  “Sir, you are trespassing in a secure ward, and you are upsetting my patient.” 
Doctor Dine’ and two others Din didn’t recognize came forward from behind the New Republic officers.  Doctor Dine’ said, “They are not trespassing; they have the hospital’s permission to speak to this patient.” Just behind them was Siewan, who caught Marathel’s eye, mouthing I’m sorry.   
“Dwy’tu’ar!” spat Marathel.  “You said I’d be safe!  You … pinky swore, you …” She wrenched her hand free from Din’s, leaned against the wall, and covered her face.  Din gently touched her arm, but she shied away, which hurt Din’s heart in a way he didn’t expect.   
“I’m sorry, my mesh’la …” began Din, surprising both Marathel and himself.  Her heart leapt at the endearment, but figured it was only a force of habit, and then sank deep into despair.  Who can I trust?  These doctors, these nurses?  Can I even trust Din? 
The voices of the Dahls came to her again, sinister and so frighteningly loud.  You can’t trust anyone who says they’re going to help you. You don’t deserve help.  You are worthless, you stupid whore cu—… 
“I have had enough of you!” whispered Marathel, pressing her fists into her temples, pulling hard on her hair.  For a few moments all she could hear was her own breath going in and out, and then a new voice, this one calm and quiet: 
The only one you can trust right now is yourself, old girl.  And the truth is, you will have to tell your story many, many times.  You owe it to the four women who died for you, that you tell people what was done to every female in that Hold. If you don’t, you will hate yourself even more.     
She took one last deep breath, exhaled, and straightened up, muttering, “I’ll speak to this … Captain …” 
Din nodded and began, “I’ll be right there with you …” 
“No can do, Mando.  My specific orders are to keep you two separated,” said Teva. 
Din turned back to Teva.  “Excuse me?” 
“Lady ap Bishop goes with these doctors and officers; you’re with me.  Let’s go.” 
“That doesn’t work for me.” 
“Can’t be helped.  This is the way, Mando.”   
Din glared at Teva, who at least looked apologetic.  He turned back to Marathel, who stood there, staring at the floor, looking sad and lost and … alone.  He squeezed her arm and said, “It will be all right.”  She shrugged and looked away.  He dropped his hand and said to Teva, “Let’s go.”  The little group broke up into two factions:  Marathel went with the doctors and the female officers, and Din went the opposite direction with Teva and another man who said he represented the hospital.  As he passed Siewan, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed on Marathel’s behalf.  He muttered to Teva, “So how’d you find us?  I slingshot those holos …” 
“We sent away teams to both Unmanarall and here long before that, Mando.  We put a tracker on your ship.” 
Haar’chak.  “Nice to hear that things haven’t changed much since the Rebellion.” 
“I have a wife and little daughters, Mando; you can’t just drop hypotheticals about a planet like that one and expect me to leave it alone.”  They came to a small conference room and went inside.  As the hospital rep shut the door and frosted the windows, Teva said, “Look. I appreciate the fact you figured out where they came from, originally.  We just want to get some official findings on paper before involving the Lew’elan Parliament.”  He motioned for Din to sit.  “The reports I’m getting so far from the crew on the ground are exceptionally distressing. The women that remain run the gamut from suicidal to murderous to …” Teva sighed, unable to think of a word. 
“Propositional?” Din thought of the little Hold girl, who had offered her body to him, and shuddered. 
“You could have warned me.” 
“If you’d read the damn report that I sent with the holos, you would have seen that I recommended sending only female human scouts.  They’re terrified of everything else.” 
“So, Mando, tell me why that is.” 
Din did his best.  Answer the question and offer nothing, as buir would say. Unsure of what answers Marathel would give, he briefly described receiving a tip through the Unreliable Mercenary Grapevine (leaving Karga out for … reasons) about a sub-ether call for a bounty hunter, using an old unrecognizable language with sketchy coordinates. He glossed over the fact that he lived in her house for a full six days, the fact that Marathel had a … bond with the Dahls, and especially the fact that bond made Marathel screw his brains out.  Unfortunately, Teva wasn’t impressed. 
“A bounty, to return a woman, who lived within walking distance from the guys who wanted her back?  That makes no sense.” 
Din shrugged. “I don’t judge.  It was a job.” 
“You got paid?” 
“A few Old Republic coins.  Not worth much.” 
“Then why not just grab her and drag her up to those guys right when you got there?” asked Teva. 
“They also wanted eggs.” 
“Eggs?” 
“Dahl eggs.” 
“Those things lay eggs?” 
Din tilted his helmet, and thought fondly of Marathel as he replied, “Of course they lay eggs.  What else would they do?”   
Teva asked, “So … what?  You just hung out at her house until the eggs showed up?” 
Din shrugged.  “It was only a couple days.” 
“Long enough to … well, ‘fuck her’ as the remaining women say.  No, wait, I have that wrong,” said Teva, scrolling through his holopad.  “She fucked you, and her intended Elder got mighty pissed.”  Din sat silently, unmoving.  “Do you deny that?” 
“What she specifically said was ‘I took him’ …” 
Teva raised an eyebrow.  “And did she ‘take you’?” 
Din tilted his helmet and glared at Teva for half a minute before he continued. “Her saying that did make her intended Elder — who was also her biological father — mighty pissed, yes.” 
“Enough to … how did they put it? Make a Belwhyn out of her.   So, you just left her there to be raped and tortured?  Got your bounty and took off?” 
Din did his best to say evenly, “I made a grave mistake by allowing them to take her into the Hold.  When I attempted to rectify that, I was beaten unconscious.” 
Teva nodded.  “That was confirmed by the woman Klelia ap Duke, or, as my ground crew called her, the crazy blonde with the fireplace poker.”  Din frowned at the choice of words under his helmet.  “So, you were unconscious but were tended to by four women from the Hold: Olba ap Captain, Lorica ap Bishop, Tymfy ap Hunter, and Hylma ap Duke.  These are the same women who brought out the injured Marathel and something called a … marchwyl?” 
“A beskar hammer.” 
“Are you still in possession of this hammer?” 
Sort of.  “No.” 
“Why’d the women bring her out to you?” 
“I … Olba asked me to take her for help.  Olba raised Marathel from infancy and was her adoptive mother. Normally, when a woman is … made a Belwhyn, it is a death sentence.  But since I had come from elsewhere, and had a ship …” 
“Where’d you take her?” Din remained silent.  “Why did you bring her back?” 
“She …” Din couldn’t continue. 
Teva tilted his head.  “She what?” 
“She told me to.” 
After another hour, Din felt like he’d been run backwards through his mother’s old wringer clothes washer.  Whether Teva got the answers he wanted, Din didn’t care.  He said only as much as he felt he could without inviting any more questions, leaving out Grogu entirely, and only speaking of the Dahls as weird, ugly critters howling off in the distance. Teva didn’t want to leave that alone, though.  “These Dahls … the women of the Hold all seem to agree that Marathel could control them.” 
Din shrugged. “Marathel lived alone among them for thirty years.  Maybe she tamed a few of them.  Maybe they just liked her and saw her as part of their pack.” 
“Any explanation why these critters would suddenly rise up, enter the Hold, and rip only the males to pieces?” 
“They have good taste?” 
Teva pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long-suffering sigh before changing the subject.  Din was willing to speak about the physical evidence of the brutality that he’d witnessed on Marathel’s body, and the torturous Dilimgau. Those were important matters, not the actions of freaky goat-lizard-cat things that did the galaxy a favor, in Din’s opinion.  
Teva folded his hands and took a breath before asking, “Describe this Dilimgau to me.” 
Din swallowed and said, “It was a cylindrical tube of metal, slightly flared on one end.  The surface was studded with sharp points.  It had been … inserted into Marathel’s vagina, and then … kicked into place by the Captain, according to a little girl of the Hold, who then asked me if I would be her Elder and offered to fellate me.” 
Teva blanched.  “Sweet baby Jawas …” 
The hospital rep — not a doctor, but a bean counter, by the look of him — whispered, “I think I’ve heard enough,” and left. 
Din continued, “The women removed the Dilimgau from her on my ship when they were trying to render aid.  The screams that I heard from Marathel when they did that ... I have never heard such agony.  Then, Lorica ap Bishop threw it at my feet, blaming me for Marathel’s injuries. Marathel later told me that it was the only one, and it was never cleaned, so flesh would rot on it, and it was used as a deterrent for misbehavior from the women.  Marathel developed sepsis directly because of that … thing.” 
“Where is it now?” 
“I’m going to assume that since you tracked my ship, you have also searched it.  There is a divot on my floor from where both she and I beat the shab out of it with a hammer, and then I shot it out the airlock so she could blast it to bits with my ship’s lasers.” 
Teva sighed again and rubbed his face with his hands.  “Well, I can appreciate that action.”  He drummed his fingers on the table for a few moments, looking over his notes.  “But the rest of this situation … this is all a pile of bantha shit, Mando. It makes no kriffing sense! You said yourself you didn’t make any money on this venture.  You probably went broke ferrying this woman back and forth; why would any mercenary put himself in that position?”  Din did not answer.  “You’ve given me nothing here!  Why did she go into that Hold of her own will?  Why did you take her away from there?  Why did you take her back?  Why did you leave her there?  Why did you suddenly go back to get her?  Why didn’t you bring up the situation there to the New Republic before now?” 
“I’ll answer the last question first,” said Din, picking imaginary lint off his glove.  “Primitive culture, blah, blah, blah.” 
“So, what about the rest of it?” 
Din sighed.  “You really want to know?” 
“Yes, dammit!” 
“Off the record?” 
Teva folded up his holopad and shoved it back in his bag.  “Off the record.” 
“None of your kriffing business.”  Din stood up and moved towards the door. 
“Mando …” Din turned back to Teva.  “If her story is dramatically different than yours, we’re going to have to do this all over again.” 
Din ground his teeth for a moment.  “Are you going to extradite her back to Lew’el?” 
Teva shook his head.  “We’re not going to.  The high magistrates of Lew’el might. After all, she is allegedly responsible for the deaths of 142 men, children, and infants of Lew’el descent.  Does she wish to go to Lew’el?” 
Din shook his head.  “We haven’t had an opportunity to speak on much of anything.  She was in bad shape and required surgery; she only woke up a couple hours ago.”  Teva nodded and stood as well.  “Are the remaining women being removed?  Taken to Lew’el?” 
“Probably.  Not sure yet.  A lot of paperwork must be done before that.  It’s still a triage situation right now.”  Teva cleared his throat.  “Look, Mando … I had to interrogate you because the situation on Unmanrall is so kriffing horrible.  And weird.  None of us can wrap our heads around how horrible that place is.  You did a good thing, helping Marathel, alerting us to the situation in that Hold.  If it had been me in your boots… I don’t know.  I don’t know what I would have done.”  Din said nothing, but opened the door.  “What does your … pet think of her?” 
“My …?  Oh.  He loves her.”   
“What about you?” 
Din paused, his hand on the doorknob, but he didn’t answer.  He stepped out and saw Siewan sitting on a chair in the corridor, holding Marathel’s blanket on her lap.  Din turned back to Teva and said, “By the way, get your kriffing tracker and your people off my ship.” Teva and Din squared off for a moment.  Then Teva nodded and went back up the corridor. 
Once he’d gone, Siewan stood and came up to Din.  “Mando, I promise you; it wasn’t me. It was nurse Brey that alerted authorities.”  She sighed.  “He doesn’t quite get it, that some situations need time to let the victim work some things out themselves.  That they need … a damned moment to wrap their heads around what they’ve endured.”  She handed him the blanket.  “Marathel won’t want to see me; she believes I’ve betrayed her. She called me something, did you hear it?  Something like …” 
“Like doo-ih-tuh-air?  Yes, I heard it.” 
“She said it before, right when she first woke up.  I was sitting with her in recovery, talking to her like I normally would.  Saying things like, wake up now, you need to wake up.  But then I said, wake up, Mando is worried about you, and she screamed that word.  Do you have any idea what that means?” 
Din remembered hearing the word as well; Marathel had said it while in a semi-conscious state aboard the Crest.  He was holding her, his bare skin against hers, trying to get her warm as she’d carried on a one-sided Oldtalk conversation.  “Marathel speaks a dialect of an ancient language.  It’s befuddled a couple protocol droids so far.  It’s rather colorful.  She once told me to rhaff codieh.” 
“Which means?” 
“‘Piss up a rope.’” 
Siewan laughed.  “Damn, I like her.”  Me too, thought Din.  Me too.  The two of them started walking back towards Marathel’s room.  “What else has she called you?” 
“Oh … let me see … tymffod, which means ‘asshole’, cigpell pudyn, which means … ‘meatball dick’ …” Siewan laughed so hard she snorted.  “And then there was gwyr’dwp bai.  ‘Stupid brat boy’, apparently.” 
“What did you do to earn these epithets?” 
“Exist in her presence.”   
Siewan laughed again.  “Ya-Bito said you have a pet name for her.  What was it?  Mah-moosh hah-lah?  Is that from her language too?” 
“It is.  It means ‘wounded acorn.’  I was actually …” Din let his voice trail off.   
Siewan looked at him, waiting for him to continue.  When he didn’t, they walked in silence before running into Ya-Bito. “They’re still in there, and that Captain Teva just joined them,” she said, nodding her head towards a closed door.  “They took a short break a little while ago.” 
Din asked, “How did Marathel seem?” 
Ya-Bito considered his question for a moment, then replied, “Quietly stoic.”  That sounds bad, thought Din.  As if she’d heard his thought, the green-skinned nurse said, “It worried me.  She’s trying too hard to keep her emotions bottled up. It seems to me she desperately needs to talk about her trauma, but she either won’t or can’t.  I think you’re the only person she seems to fully trust, but …” 
“But, what?” 
I think she is heartbroken over you, thought Ya-Bito.  Out loud, she said, “I think Marathel has decided she must build a fortress around herself to survive.  What are your plans for her when she is released?” 
“I … haven’t fully figured that out yet,” said Din. 
Siewan, who had been looking at Marathel’s chart, said, “Well, you better figure it out quick.  Her chart says that she seems well enough — physically — to be released tomorrow.  If she can keep herself out of the psych ward, that is.  You brought her in wearing only that blanket.  Can you bring her something to wear for when she leaves?” 
Din thought about her bag, remembering that the only other clothes she had were a set of those blue clothes that he hated seeing her in, and those were soiled from fixing the hyperdrive console.  “Could she not … just leave with what she’s wearing now?” 
Din had never in his life received such withering looks as the nurses before him were giving. He believed that his beskar helmet might melt from the fire in their eyes.  “I … uh … what do you suggest?” 
The two women said together, “Mise-Tusil.” 
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Din grabbed his weapons from the trauma center lockers, made a quick run to the Crest, and was now walking across the footbridge that spanned over the busy traffic on the Strip below.  As he walked with the throng of tourists, he looked up this Mise-Tusil on his holopad.  Apparently, it was quite the swank and well-loved department store of Canto Bight.  It was, however, about 8 klicks away, and Din did not want to be gone too long.  He’d already left Grogu in childcare for far too long today, and now he was fretting over Marathel’s mental state.  He didn’t know what Canto’s laws about involuntary psychiatric commitment were, but he felt that the nurses were trying to tell him — without telling him — that Marathel was straddling an emotional crevasse that she could fall into at any moment. 
And yet, they send me shopping?  Haar’chak. 
Well, who in blue fuck else is going to get things for her, Djarin? She has practically nothing! 
Din figured clothes were clothes, so he walked into the first shop he saw that featured female mannequins in the window.  Naturally, he drew a lot of interested glances as he entered.  The shop featured loud music and shiny displays of even shinier clothing.  Hoping for something appropriate, he went straight to the counter, behind which a not-so-young woman with enormous yellow hair and far too precise makeup stood.  Woof, thought Din.  This is one hard-looking woman.   She thrust her enhanced cleavage back at him with a smile.  “Help you with something, metal man?” 
“I’m looking for a set of clothing for a woman.  Something soft and comfortable, please.” 
“Well, I’m sure we can find you something that fits the bill,” said the saleswoman, with a voice that sounded like she ate death sticks instead of smoking them.  She led Din to a display next to the lingerie department.  “Comfortable, you say?  Perhaps, something like … this?” She held up a strappy short — dress? — that looked about as comfortable as the rigging that held Marathel up in his fresher on the Crest, but nowhere near as practical. 
Din tilted his helmet.  “I believe I said soft and comfortable.” 
The yellow-haired woman pouted her over-lined and painted poofy lips, saying, “But this is the sort of thing I like to wear when I want to get comfortable ... with someone special … who has big guns.” She reached out with a long, painted claw and ran it down his vambrace. 
Nope, thought Din, drawing his arm away.  “I would prefer something that the woman in question could wear as she leaves the hospital.  Soft comfortable pants, and a shirt, something easy to wear.” 
“Oh, well, then perhaps something more in our athleisure line, then.  We have some great stuff if the woman is busty like me.”  Yellowhair led him with her hotpants-clad flat ass towards the center of the store, where a redheaded woman — this one simply dressed and nowhere near as overly made-up as the yellow-haired woman — carefully folded stacks of simple shirts in a myriad of colors.  “What do you think?  Something in a nice blue, perhaps?  Or hot pink?” 
“I like the yellow one,” said Din, nodding at the shirt the redhead was currently folding. 
This apparently tickled the yellow-haired tart, who sidled up against Din’s side and cooed, “Ooh, my favorite color! Well, metal man, I knew you at least had some good taste.” 
As Din side-stepped slightly away from Madam Yellowhair Hotpants, the other saleswoman said, “It is a pretty yellow, but I know that this top is a bit on the sheer side, and really form-fitting.”   
Yellowhair said, “It looks terrible on her, but it fits my form just fine.” 
Din caught a slight eyeroll from the redhead, who said, “I recommend this.  The fabric is very soft, and more substantial.”  She held up a shirt with a slightly scooped neckline in a dusky purple that reminded Din of twilight on Unmanarall.  He nodded in approval.  “What size does she wear?” 
“I’m honestly not sure.  She’s a … slightly larger woman,” said Din, reaching into the bag he carried, which held Marathel’s blue clothing. 
Yellowhair scoffed.  “Is she fat?  We don’t carry things for fat people here.  They don’t deserve to have clothing like this …” 
Din, fully annoyed now, turned to Yellowhair BitchFace and snapped, “You are excessively rude.  And ugly. I would prefer to not speak to you further.” 
Yellowhair blanched and spat, “You can’t speak to me like that!  My husband owns this shop!” 
“Then he has my complete sympathy, believe me.” 
“What … you … walking dustbin!  Peckerhead Mandalorian!  Your dick probably wouldn’t fill my left ear anyway!” Yellowhair stomped towards the front door.  “I’m going for a caf,” she screeched as she threw the door open and left.   
Din turned back to the redhead, who was obviously amused by the exchange.  “Please, excuse my behavior.” 
She laughed.  “Excuse, nothing.  She’s an utter bitch.  You made my day.” 
“Is she going to cause you trouble?” 
The redhead, who had freckles and a pretty smile, said, “Nah.  She’s only wife seven of ten.  And the only one he makes work!”  Din chuckled. “So … did you have something there I can look at the size?”  Din held up the blue shirt.  “Well, unfortunately, it’s true, we don’t have anything that will fit your lady.  This place does fit only skinny people.  I recommend Mise-Tusil.  That’s where I shop.” 
“Then why do you work here?” 
She laughed.  “I get an employee discount, and my kids love these clothes.  My cousin works at Mise-Tusil; let me see if she’s working today.”  She tapped into a holopad for a few moments.  “Yes, she’s there now.  Take this token; it gets you a quickcart ride up there. Ask for Dursi.  She’s expecting you.” 
Din took the token.  “Thank you.  You’ve been very kind.  Again, I apologize for causing trouble.” 
“Please, no worries.  I won’t see her for the rest of the day.  When she says I’m going for a caf what she really means is glug glug glug!” crowed the redhead, holding up an imaginary bottle to her mouth.  With a laugh, she sent Din on his way. 
Din stepped up to the line of quickcarts —which were little more than a droid on wheels — and got in.  He dropped the token in the appropriate slot and programmed his destination on the screen.  As the cart zipped off, he felt utterly ridiculous, riding this rolling crate that seemed only slightly larger than a scooter for a toddler.  As he was wondering if Grogu would enjoy such a toy, the cart stopped suddenly, making Din lurch forward in his seat.  “You have arrived,” chirped the cart from a tinny speaker.   
Din stepped out and looked at the impressive brass-and-glass edifice before him.  Mise-Tusil, the sign read in illuminated letters in an elegant font.  Din walked inside, the glass doors hissing. Here, he was greeted by fine marble floors, crystal chandeliers, and the sound of a musical trio playing pleasant music, music not unlike what he and Marathel danced to aboard the Crest.  Well, this place smells expensive, thought Din. 
A young Omwati man came forward and said, “Welcome to Mise-Tusil, sir.  How may I be of service?” 
“I am here to meet with a Miss Dursi,” replied Din. 
“Of course, sir, I will let her know you are here. May I offer you a caf, or tea?” Din simply tilted his head, and the Omwati said, “Well, sir, if you would be so kind as to wait here, Dursi will be with you shortly.”  
Din nodded his thanks and stood, waiting, feeling again like a ragged, drunken hobo standing somewhere so posh. At least they’re letting me hang on to my weapons, he thought as an amazingly stunning woman approached him.  She looked quite exotic, taller than he but with a broader build, her skin deeply colored as rich black velvet night but with bright golden eyes and teeth, dressed in a classically cut pantsuit as scarlet as every sin Din never had the nerve to commit.  “Mi- …” Din’s voice box failed him, and he had to clear his throat.  “Miss Dursi?” 
“Sir Mandalorian!  Please, it’s just Dursi.” 
“In that case, it’s just Mando.” 
“Excellent! I am so pleased to meet you.  Please, come with me.”  Din dutifully fell in step beside Dursi as she led him to the top floor of the store.  “I understand that you’re looking for some clothing for a plus-sized woman?” 
“I am.  She is scheduled to be released from the medical center tomorrow.  I would like to find something appropriate for her.” 
Dursi led him to a tall table in the center of her department.  “I am sorry to hear that she is hospitalized, but I’m glad to hear she is well enough to leave there soon.  It is a very good medical center; I know they take very good care of their patients.  What is her name?” 
“Marathel.” 
“What a beautiful name.  Tell me about her.” 
Din was surprised that she was asking about Marathel, as opposed to starting to find clothing immediately.  “I don’t know her size, but I do have some clothing of hers …” 
“That’s excellent and very helpful, but please tell me about Marathel.”  Din just looked at Dursi, unsure what she wanted to know.  She asked, “What does she look like?” 
“She’s … uh … she’s tall, almost my height.  She’s between 45 and 50 years old.  She’s, well, heavyset, but not overly so.  She has very pale skin and silver hair and eyes.” Din was kicking himself for not being able to describe Marathel in more eloquent terms.  He felt like he was giving a description to a marshal for a suspect in a crime. 
Dursi smiled indulgently.  “What is she like as a person?” 
“She is … kind.  And caring.  Generous. Generous of her time and talents.  Smarter than she’ll give herself credit for.  Always thinking of others first, wanting to please.  But … she’s fragile, and … sad.”  
 Dursi tilted her head and smiled.  “And she’s in the hospital.  I won’t ask why; that is none of my business. But here is a question I always like to ask about a lady I’m assisting: does she realize that she is beautiful?” 
Din’s throat felt thick at the profound question.  He thought of Marathel standing in her hut in that yellow dress, looking shocked and embarrassed that Grogu had woken him up by jumping nearly right on his groin.  That was the … the first morning after.  She chose to wear a dress when she’d only ever worn utilitarian clothing.  She … maybe wanted to look pretty for me. 
Din remembered that Dursi was waiting for an answer.  “No.  No, I don’t think she does.” 
“So, I’m hearing that Marathel needs clothes that give her comfort, as well as give her some confidence, some elegance, some pride in herself,” said Dursi. 
“Erm … sure.” 
Dursi laughed.  “And I’m hearing that you, Mando, are way out of your comfort zone.  You have something of hers in the bag?”   
“Uh, yes … here,” said Din, handing over the blue pants and shirt.  “Be careful; they are soiled with engine grease.” 
Dursi chuckled and pulled a pair of latex gloves from a box under the table.  “Thanks for the warning.”  She spread the shirt out, gave it a cursory look, and said, “Well, this is dreadful.  Does it fit her?” 
“Sort of?” said Din with a grimace.  “I mean, it is big enough for her, but it’s …” 
“The fabric is stiff and doesn’t hang well.  Tell me, is Marathel more of a rounded shape or curvy?” Din tilted his helmet.  “Does she have a definitive waist?” 
“Well … yes.” 
“Fuller on top?” Din blushed and nodded. “Any tummy?  Is her, ah … aft section also on the fuller side?” she asked, chuckling at her own joke. 
Din shifted side to side on his feet, clasped his hands behind his back and said quietly, “Erm … both.” 
It’s a good thing this guy is a Mandalorian, thought Dursi.  He’s so embarrassed I can see steam coming out from under that helmet. She unfolded the pants and saw pins holding the waistband a little tighter.  “Well, that answers that question.  Your Marathel is curvy.” 
“I hate those pants,” blurted Din.  “They are too big on her, and all those pockets make her look bigger than she is.” 
“So Marathel has nice legs?” 
“Her legs are wonderful,” said Din before he even realized he said a word, and he froze. 
Dursi grinned.  “And were the pants too long or short?” 
“Too long, actually.  She had to roll them up.” 
“Excellent to know!  I can get a measurement off these, then.”  Dursi pulled out her tailor’s tape and deftly took several measurements, jotting the numbers down on a pad. She then took another look inside the bag and pulled out a purple top and green vest that Din had never seen before.  “Well, these are quite nice.  How do these fit her?” 
“I have no idea.” 
Dursi hummed and kept looking through the bag.  “Oh, good, she does have some undergarments.  She pulled out a folded bra and pair of underpants, grinned at Din, and said, “Don’t worry; I won’t ask you how well these fit.”  She noted the sizes on her pad and put the items away.  “I think we might have enough information now to find her something.”  She folded the blue clothes and began to place them back in the bag. 
“Could you … would you just please toss those out?  They’re soiled, they’re dreadful — as you say — and I honestly would rather not see them on her again,” said Din. 
Dursi frowned, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes.  “These clothes belong to Marathel; do they not?  If they are her clothes, only she should have the power to get rid of them.  Do not take her power away.” 
Din felt as small as he used to as a child, when his father would ask him the Five Whys of Root Cause Analysis. He rocked back on his heels and muttered, “Yes, ma’am.” 
Dursi lightened her expression.  “My goodness, Mando.  I’m not going to morally censure you; I’m only reminding you that Marathel has her own mind.  Lighten up a little, for the love of Frith.” 
Din’s head snapped up.  “What did you just say?” 
“Did I say ‘Frith’?  Holy loth-cats, I haven’t said that for years.”  Dursi chuckled.  “My cousin, Meejil, the one that sent you here?  Well, we’re not actually cousins, but we grew up next door to each other.  Her great-grandmother told us these stories from her childhood about a rabbity-kind of creature called Frith.  Silly children’s stories from the planet Great-Nan came from; what was the name of it …?” 
“Was it Lew’el?” 
“Yes, Lew’el!  I had forgotten all about that.  I even had the books as a child. I read those …” 
“Books?” 
“Oh, yes.  A whole series of stories.  Great-Nan insisted they were ancient stories told for hundreds of years, back when they spoke a different old language, before Basic.” 
Din couldn’t believe his ears. “Do you … would you please write down the name of one of these books?” 
Dursi wrote one down immediately and handed the note to Din.  “And there you are. Enough of that; let’s go pick out some things for Marathel.” 
In the end, Din was exceptionally relieved that he’d finally come here.  Dursi was so efficient that they’d picked out a few essentials for Marathel in a trice.  They’d found two comfortable tops — one in a similar dusky purple to the one he’d seen in the other shop, and one in a russet-red color that he never would have chosen for her.   
“There are three colors that all women can wear:  purple, red, and teal blue,” said Dursi.  “No matter their skin tone, no matter their size.  Now, obviously, there are shades and tones and tints, but, that russet will put some color in her cheeks.” 
Din believed her and bowed to her expertise.  They also picked out a simple pair of soft jersey pants with a stretchy waist and pockets.  Here, Dursi had more wisdom. “I’m sure you’ve wondered your whole life what the hell do women want?  It’s very simple:  Women want to be treated with respect.  And women want pockets. And that’s it.” 
Din shook his head.  “It is certainly much more complicated than that.” 
“Only if you make it more complicated than that, Mister Man.  Now, let’s get her a few more foundations.” 
It was shortly after that that Din learned what foundations were: underwear, and Dursi took a bit of delight in having Din pick some panties out for Marathel while she searched out a bra in Marathel’s size.  He quickly chose full-coverage briefs in a simple black — he remembered Xi’an always wearing black because black hid a multitude of stains.  He also didn’t want to have Marathel misconstrue anything by picking out a more … brief and revealing style.  Dursi found a simple seamless bralette that had exceptionally soft fabric and hooked in the front so it wouldn’t rub on her damaged skin. She chose a pale pink color, wondering if Din would comment that they didn’t match the underpants.  He did not.  He thought about it, however, wondering if such a thing was allowed.  Xi’an was not quite so endowed as Marathel and rarely wore a bra — which would also be black.  Also, the prostitutes he’d enjoyed tended to be color-coordinated with their foundations, which generally contained one-tenth the fabric of the underwear he had in his hand. 
“This should all do for now, but I expect you to bring your Marathel in once she’s released tomorrow.  This is nowhere near enough for her to start her life over again.” 
“I never said she was.” 
“Mando, considering you brought me mostly soiled clothing and mini bottles of toiletries, I can only assume that what’s in this bag is everything she owns in this galaxy.  I’m not sure what future Marathel is heading towards, but I guarantee that she will need more than this small pile here.  I believe that even you have more clothing in your dirty laundry than what’s right here.  Speaking of …” Dulsi closed Marathel’s bag, then held it in her hands, instead of sliding it across the table to Din.  “I believe I will take home this bag and launder these things for her, so that it will be one less worry for her.  Also, that means she must wear her new clothes and show herself she is beautiful. Besides, I want to meet her.  I think I’ll like her very much.” 
As Dursi was walking Din back to the entrance, he saw a colorful display for the children’s department.  “Do you mind? I think I should see what the well-dressed toddler is wearing this season,” said Din. 
“You have children?  You and Marathel?” 
Din stammered, “No, uh … no.  The boy is a foundling, my traveling companion.  Marathel and I are not a couple.” 
Dursi, who couldn’t keep a Sabacc face if her life depended on it, managed to keep from laughing out loud.  Oh, please, Mando.  If you weren’t besotted with her, you wouldn’t have been so embarrassed by my simple questions.  Still, she asked questions about Grogu’s size and play habits, and located some items for Din to consider.  After a brief look at appropriately-sized clothing, he decided the boy had enough clothing for now.  His eyes did fall on a large, pillow-type stuffed frog nearly Grogu’s size.  Din would never admit it, but he wanted to get toys for Grogu, although he almost never did.  The Crest was too small; and anyway, Grogu seemed to be the type to prefer to play with the box a toy came in.  But the pillow frog was relatively useful as both bedding and a toy, and besides, the kid had been a real trouper lately.   
He purchased the pillow frog, making sure to use his own credit book.  Most of the purchases lately had been on the credit book that was technically Marathel’s.  Captain Teva had been correct: he’d lost practically all his funds on this venture.  He and Marathel would have to chat about that.  She’d said before that she didn’t want the money, but that was before she’d essentially become a fugitive, and she would now need to learn about how to handle finances and take care of herself. 
You also might as well contact Karga; get that ball rolling again.  Things are what they are.  It’s for Marathel’s future, and she needs all the help she can get. 
By this time, Dursi had walked him back to the concierge.  “Thank you, Dursi, for your kindness and expertise.  I am grateful.” 
Dursi held out her lovely hand for Din to take.  “You are most welcome, Mando.  I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.  Here is my direct contact information; please let me know when to expect you and Marathel.” 
“I will.” 
“Please consider also, that we have a fine restaurant here as well as a salon; Marathel may well need some pampering to rejuvenate her soul after a hospital stay.” 
“Perhaps.”  Din was concerned about the costs of such things; he had little experience in these matters, and he didn’t want to overspend Marathel’s money for her.  The clothing seemed to be good quality but was substantially more expensive than what he’d normally buy for himself.  Again, he only had his experience with Xi’an in these matters, and he felt that the first store he’d visited was more her style.  Still, Xi’an had better taste than Yellowhair Hotpants, thank Frith. Damn, that woman was janky.  Belatedly, he asked, “Oh, where do I get tokens for the quickcarts?” 
“There is a vending machine on the other side of the footbridge, or, in your case, I give you one.  No, two, actually.” said Dursi, dropping two tokens into his palm.  “One for tomorrow.” 
“Thank you again.” 
“My pleasure, Mando.” 
Din left Mise-Tusil and walked across the footbridge to catch a quickcart back to the medical center.  On the way, he made a quick detour to purchase some things from a food vendor; he felt that he’d been taking some advantage of the childcare’s snack arsenal.  Hoping that Marathel had finished with the New Republic officers, Din went to the tower where Marathel’s ward was and left his weapons in their lockers before going upstairs, giving no fewer than three spit samples to access Grogu.  He gave a couple of the purchased meals to the childcare workers, collected Grogu, and went back to Marathel’s ward, where he was met by a closed and locked door.   
Siewan was now on duty, and she met Din by the door.  “She finished up about an hour ago.  The shrinks still want to talk to her, but they think she’s run out of spoons and needs a break.” 
“Run out of spoons?” Din rattled his helmet in confusion.  “Do these spoons have something to do with the fork?” 
Now it was Siewan’s turn to be confused.  “Fork? What fork?” 
“Marathel made a point of showing nurse Ya-Bito a fork on her lunch tray.  I had no idea what that meant.” 
“Oh … my.  I need to talk with Ya-Bito,” said Siewan.  “Here, I’ll let you in.  When Ya-Bito brought Marathel back here she immediately went into the fresher.” Siewan swung the door open.  The room was empty, but Din could hear water running.  The gowns Marathel had been wearing were in a pile on the bed along with her blanket.  Siewan went to the cupboard and pulled out towels, two fresh gowns, and a folded padded something that Din didn’t recognize.  Siewan tapped on the door leading to the fresher, calling, “Marathel?  Mando and his little boy are back.”  There was no response.  “May I come in for a moment?  I have towels and fresh gowns for you.”  Din heard a muffled okay from behind the door as he set up Grogu on the chair next to the bed with a box of fried fish nuggets.  Siewan disappeared into the fresher room, saying, “Honey?  Are you doing okay?” 
Din heard Marathel mutter, “I’m okay.  I’m all right.” 
Siewan then said, “I just want you to know that I wasn’t the one who told those authorities about you.  The person who did meant well, but that is not something I would have done without your permission.  I am sorry that you had to go through that against your will.” 
Din heard Marathel sigh.  “It’s okay.” 
“Can I get you anything else?”  Din didn’t hear Marathel answer; she must have shaken her head, because Siewan said, “Okay, then.  If you need some help when you’re done in here, just press that button there, and I’ll come help.” 
“Okay,” Din heard Marathel say flatly, thinking that Marathel sounded about as okay as he’d felt after that Blurrg of Kuiil’s had thrown him for the fourth time.   
Siewan came out of the fresher room and looked at Din, shrugging.  As she passed by him on the way out, she patted his arm and whispered, “Good luck.” 
In the fresher, Marathel was sitting on a hard bench that she’d folded down from the wall.  She rather liked this fresher. It was bigger than the one on Tatooine, and probably three times as large as the one on Din’s ship.  There was no lip to step over to get inside, and the drain seemed to be at one end of the cubicle instead of the middle.  She was curled over, her elbows on her knees as she hugged her shoulders, letting the hot water spray hit her upper back.  She’d unbraided her hair and it had been pushed forward by the water over the top of her head, where it hung nearly to the floor.  When she’d first sat down in here, she’d put the elastic band from her hair around her wrist, and she’d snapped it hard against her skin over and over and over, relishing both the noise and the painful sting it made.  But it visibly abraded her skin after a while.  She didn’t want new wounds where others could see them, so she removed it from her wrist and placed it on the extra fresher stool that sat against the wall. 
She had no idea how long she’d talked to the women in that closed room with her, the doctors and the women in the grey-green uniforms, and then, eventually, that Captain Teva.  She just kept talking and talking, like how she’d spilled her guts to Din on Tatooine. But unlike that time, she kept certain pieces of information to herself.  Certain things were for her memory only.  Certain things were to protect Din and Grogu.   
She didn’t tell them Din’s name, only referring to him as the Bounty Hunter.  She didn’t say Grogu’s name; she didn’t even mention the child at all.  They’d questioned that, for some of the remaining women mentioned a green child, and Marathel shrugged and said, “I don’t know what they’re talking about.” 
They asked, “How many days was he there alone with you?” 
“A couple.” 
“Did you have sexual relations with him?” 
“No.”  She was surprised at how comfortable she was, telling that lie.  But I wasn’t fully myself anyway, so, not quite a lie. 
“Why did you tell the Elders that you did?” 
“So that they would take me into the Hold; that meant the Bounty Hunter would get the coins as a reward.” 
“You knew about the coins?” 
“Yes.” 
“How many coins were there?” 
“I don’t know.  I never saw them.” 
“Where are the coins now?” 
“I don’t know.” 
“Why did the men of the Hold hurt you so badly?” 
“That’s what men do.  That’s how a Belwhyn is made.” 
“When the Bounty Hunter took you away, do you know where you went?” 
“No.” 
“Why did you want to go back to your home planet?” 
“I was too scared to be anywhere else.” 
“Why did the Bounty Hunter take you back there?” 
“I told him to.” 
“Why did you go back into the Hold, Marathel?” 
“The Elders needed to die.  They’d only ever hurt me, abused me.  They killed the women who helped me.” 
“Did you kill the Elders?” 
“Yes.” 
“All four?” 
“Three of four.  The Duke died before I could get to him.” 
“How many men did you kill?” 
“All the males are dead.” 
“Let me rephrase that, Marathel.  How many men did you directly kill?” 
This took a while.  Marathel closed her eyes and recounted each life she took, starting with the one who caught her staring at the Round Wall, and ending with the Bishop in the courtyard.  She described the manner each one had raped her on the platform, the ways they had abused her, then the manner she’d taken his life, all in great detail.  She also told them about the men that she’d injured but had not died in front of her, like the boys she’d shoved down the stairs, and the underling the Hunter shoved at her.  And then, Talric, who’d cut his own throat.  Once she’d finally finished, the women in the room whispered to each other until Marathel asked, “How many?” 
One of the Republic officers blanched and said, “Thirty-four.” 
“Hmmm,” mused Marathel.  “That many?  I suppose so.  That’s a good portion of the adult males who raped me on that platform.  The little boys who did things to me would have been in the long building.” 
“The little boys and infants that the Dahls ended up killing, yes?” Marathel shrugged.  “Why did the Dahls do that?” 
“I don’t know.” 
“How did the Dahls get into the Hold?  It was a walled and gated courtyard.” 
“I left the gate open.” 
“Why did you do that?” 
“So that I could get out.” 
“You intended to escape?” 
Marathel shrugged again.  “If I could.” 
“Did you think you might die?” 
“Perhaps.” 
“Did it matter to you if you survived?” 
“Not especially.” 
“Why did the Bounty Hunter come back for you?” 
“I don’t know.” 
“Marathel, did you know that the Bishop was your father?” 
“Yes.” 
“And you were to be his … Whyn, is that correct?” 
“Yes.” 
“We understand a Whyn to be a concubine, that is, a dedicated sexual … slave, for the lack of a better word.” 
“… Yes.” 
“A Whyn is also tasked with bearing children.  Her father’s children.  Sometimes, her brother’s, or her uncle’s children.  And sometimes, even her son’s children?” 
“That is correct.” 
“And this is done willingly by the girl in question?” 
“I don’t understand.” 
“They would — you would do this of your own free will?” 
“What other way would I have known?” 
“But you know a different way now?” 
“Yes.” 
Such a good girl.  You used to be such a good girl, my sweet girl, until you spread your cunt wide open and became a fucking whore, inbred incestuous monster whore for a criminal who feels nothing for you … 
There was a tap on the door, which startled her, and she was back in the fresher.  She turned her head towards the door, could just see it through her veil of wet hair.  “What?” 
The door opened a tiny bit.  He heard Din’s mechanical voice saying, “It’s me, Marathel. Are you all right?” 
She turned her gaze back to her hanging pendant, watching rivulets of water drain from the clam shell to the tops of her feet, down her toes and towards the drain. “I’m okay.” 
Din, on the other side of the door, looking away from where he’d cracked it open, asked, “What can I do for you?” 
“I’m all right.” 
Din didn’t believe her any more than he believed Xi’an that one time she’d tried to convince him she was pregnant shortly after the land mine incident.  He’d dragged her to a termination center, where it was discovered that she was not pregnant, but had lied to hang on to him, she’d said. He was so different after the land mine injuries, she’d said.   He might have been okay with her catching pregnant, despite his vasectomy by explosion, despite her promising that she had ten-year implants, but the lie had been the last straw.  He’d then told her, shove a blaster up your cunt and ride it straight to hell, bitch, and left her there.  Even she didn’t deserve that, he thought to himself.  That had been the moment their relationship ended, not the land mine blast itself.   
Have I always been such a bastard asshole sonofabitch meatball dick?  A stupid brat boy? 
Din tapped on the door again.  “May I come in?” 
“Suit yourself,” replied Marathel.   
Din opened the door so he could get through.  “I’m averting my eyes.” 
“It doesn’t matter.” 
Din looked at her, sitting hunched over on a bench, her hair hiding her face, the water sheeting down her back, following the lateral scars and dripping off her sides. He scanned the rest of the skin he could see and noticed a series of shallow puncture marks on her thigh.  He pulled up the extra fresher stool next to her and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, mimicking her pose again, stretching the hair band over his gloved fingers.  “I’m sorry about Teva and the Republic officers.” 
“It doesn’t matter.  I suppose I should answer for my crimes sooner than later.” 
“I don’t think you’ve committed any actionable crime, Marathel.” 
“But you’re not in charge of law and order, are you?” 
Din blinked.  “What do you know about law and order?” 
“Cobb told me.  He explained what a marshal was.” 
Cobb, again.  Haar’chak.  “Teva told me that the Republic more than likely won’t seek legal action.  They will, however, bring it up to officials on Lew’el. “ 
“Lew’el.  I think I saw that painted on the Large Round Wall.  I’d been looking at those squiggles my whole life, not knowing there were such a thing as letters, until Cobb showed me.  He … wrote, is that the word?  Wrote my name on a paper and gave it to me.  That’s how I knew they were letters.  Painted on the Large Round Wall.  Then I killed a man for calling me a cunt.  The very first one.  The first one out of thirty-four.  I even thought to myself, would Din love me more, now that I’m a murderer, like he is?  How stupid of me, thinking like that.  Now I know better.” 
Concerned that she was now babbling nonsensically, Din said, “I’m turning off the water, Marathel.”  She only shrugged.  He stood and reached across her back to shut off the spigot.  He took a towel and wrapped it around her shoulders, carefully blotting the water off her back and arms.  “Dry off and get warm, Marathel.  I don’t want you to get chilled again.” 
Again? “Okay.” 
“Do you need help getting dressed?” 
“I’m all right.” 
Din stepped out, but remained on the other side of the door, listening.  It was a few minutes before he heard her moving about.  He heard the rustle of towels, her sighing dejectedly, and some muttering that sounded like bloody things as he heard something sliding against her skin.  He then heard a sharp intake of breath and a whispered ow ow ow.  “All right in there?” 
Inside, Marathel had pulled up the hated disposable underwear with one hand but couldn’t manage to get the gowns on.  “My shoulder.  I need some help after all.” 
“May I come in?” 
“Yes.” 
Din opened the door and saw Marathel, back-to, wearing only what he assumed were some kind of hospital underwear and the clam pendant. Under the harsh light in the tiny room, all of her red and half-healed wounds on her back glowed like beacons.  He shut his eyes for a moment, and then took a gown and held it in front of her, unsnapping the shoulder closure so she wouldn’t have to maneuver her arm in a weird position.  Once on, he re-snapped the shoulder closure and tied the two ribbons in back.  He then repeated the same action with the second gown, but as a robe.  He took her by the elbows and led her to the bed, sitting her down.  He found the fuzzy socks and dropped to one knee to put them on her feet.  He stood back up, found her hairbrush, and carefully brushed her hair — it was much less tangled this time around — and braided it just as he had done before, using the hair band at the end. 
Marathel, who had been silent this whole time, said, “You were the one who braided my hair before, weren’t you?” 
“Yes.” 
“Thank you.” 
“You’re welcome, Marathel.”  Din lifted Marathel from the edge of the bed and placed her in the center, spreading her blanket over her legs.   
Marathel’s eyes fell on Grogu, still sitting in the chair, working his way through the box of fish nuggets.  “Hello, my little Godynferth.  I’ve missed you today.  What are you eating?” 
“Burra fish nuggets.”  Din peered into the box.  “Could’ve left a few for me, kid.” 
Grogu cooed and Force-carried the one remaining fried nugget to Marathel.  She plucked it from the air, saying, “Thank you, love.”  She took a bite and said, “This is awful.” 
“They’re better hot.  Grogu likes them,” shrugged Din.  He took the half-eaten nugget from Marathel, turned his back, lifted his helmet, and popped it into his mouth.  Turning back, he said, “C’mon, you bottomless pit.  Let’s wash those hands.”  He picked up Grogu and took him to the sink.   
Marathel felt her spirits lift slightly, reminded of those simple days on Unmanarall when they were a family.  “Where did you go, anyway?” 
“I went shopping.” 
“I don’t understand.” 
“I bought you some clothes.” 
Marathel colored.  “You didn’t have to do that.  I had clothes in that bag.” 
Din turned, drying Grogu’s hands.  “They were soiled.  And awful.  They didn’t fit you.” 
“Fennec bought those for me.  And I liked the pockets on those pants.  You didn’t have the right to get rid of them, Bounty Hunter,” snapped Marathel. 
Din blinked.  “I’m … I didn’t … I didn’t throw the blue clothes out, Marathel!  In fact, they’re being laundered by the woman who helped me pick these new things out for you.  I just wanted you to have something clean and comfortable to wear if they release you tomorrow.” 
“If I get released?  The doctors said I …” 
“Ya-Bito and Siewan are worried you may have to go to another ward here in the hospital for at least another three days.  A ward for people with broken minds … Like yours.” 
Marathel sat up and folded her legs under her.  “By myself?” 
“Yes.  Alone.  I couldn’t … we couldn’t be there.  And if you can’t show improvement over three days, you’re kept longer.” 
“But they could help me.” 
“They might be able to.  Maybe find the right … medication, therapy …” 
“Din,” said Marathel, looking straight into his visor.  “Maybe you don’t need to stay.  Maybe you shouldn’t take me with you.” 
Din’s thoughts went back to the sight of the small punctures on her leg.  Punctures in rows of four.  As if they were … the times of a fork.  His heart hitched in his chest, and he sat next to her on her bed.  “You’re hurting yourself?” 
“I don’t know how else to cope, Din.  Ya-Bito said that place — the psych ward — is not a good place to be, but I’m wondering if it might not be a good idea.  And I need the little bit of pain, Din, to direct the pain …” 
Din reached out and cupped her cheek.  “Ma’mwsh ha’laa.  I know the pain.  I’ve had that pain.  But I cannot leave you behind again, even though I … you’re my …” Unable to complete his sentence, Din dropped his hand and shook his head. 
Marathel said quietly, “Tell me what happened, what you experienced, after I ran away from you on Unmanarall.” 
Din took a breath, and began, “I didn’t even know which way you’d gone.  I had taken off my helmet; I didn’t have the monitors and sensors to find you.  I was screaming for you.  Then, Grogu came to me, telling me it was time to leave.  I went up into the ship, and by the time I’d closed the door, I had forgotten you.  I didn’t even remember what planet I was on.  I was compelled to leave, go to Manda’lor. 
“But I somehow remembered that I had forgotten something.  You weren’t quite a memory, not quite gone.  I found a loaf of your bread and I knew it was important.  I caught your scent off one of the blankets and I could almost see your face.  Grogu kept trying to tell me who you were, yelling Mama! And then I kept losing big chunks of time, as if I’d been sleeping for two-four hours, but still awake. 
“And then Cobb sent a holo of you.  It was during the hours that you spent baking bread, but he’d made changes to it.”   He looked through his holopad, bringing up the doctored holo. 
“He was making a recording of me,” said Marathel. “I don’t understand what you mean, though.” 
“Look closely at your image.  He took off your face-wound and given your teeth back.”  Marathel, even though she knew better, reached up and touched her forehead to see if it was miraculously healed.  “He’d never seen you without your injuries.  He said … he wanted to see who I had fallen in love with.” Marathel looked back into his visor, holding her breath. “He also said that if I had left you behind, that he would never forgive me. 
“Seeing your face, how I remembered it, how I still see you … I finally remembered you.  I couldn’t believe I had forgotten you, how I felt about you, how much I loved you.  I knew I had to turn around, come back and find you. 
“And then, it was as if I had been shot through with ice.  I couldn’t breathe, and I was terrified I would forget you again, but it turned out even worse.  I forgot that I loved you. I was calling you ner kar’ta just moments before, and then I had no more feelings for you than I would a stranger.  Marathel, I don’t know what happened.  Even Grogu felt it.  Do you know why that was?  I think you do know.  Please, Marathel …” 
“I will, Din, soon, I promise.  Just tell me the rest first.” 
“I was still trying to wrap my head around what had just happened, then I was instantly on fire.  Not just the bite mark, but my entire left side.  I was in agony.  I fell to the floor, sure that I was having a heart attack.” 
Marathel, who had just resigned herself to the loss of Din’s love, was suddenly confused. “A what?” 
“A heart attack, cardiac arrest. My heart was beating erratically, and then stopped altogether.  I fell unconscious, scaring Grogu half to death, probably.  I managed to call for help, and Captain Teva boarded my ship to provide medical help.  The medic told me I’d shown all the symptoms of a heart attack and a stroke, but without throwing the blood clots that would cause those … That must have been when Rodanthe died.” 
“You fainted?” 
“Well … yes,” said Din, suddenly uncomfortable.  “I mean, you’ve told me that the pain you experience when you lose a Dahl is immeasurable …” 
Marathel was still dubious.  Yes, the death of a Dahl was painful indeed, like being sliced by a dull knife covered in salt, but … “I’ve never fainted.” 
Din tilted his helmet, wondering if Marathel was taking the piss.  “It might have been worse, since it was Rodanthe.” 
“Perhaps it was just wai wchlas.” 
“I beg your pardon?” asked Din. 
“Wai wchlas.  That’s what we called it when the men would get sick.”  
“And what does that mean?” 
“Man flu.” 
“Excuse me?” 
Someone knocked on the door.  Marathel called, “Come in.” 
Siewan entered, carrying a tray.  “Hello, Marathel.  I have your dinner.  I’m sure you don’t feel hungry but try to eat anyway.  You need calories to heal.  Right now, all calories are good calories. Okay?” 
Marathel nodded but didn’t look up.  “Okay.” 
Sensing that she had interrupted an important conversation, Siewan said, “I’ll leave you now.  Buzz if you need anything.”  She left. 
Marathel pulled the rolling table towards her, and sat up, folding her legs under her (criss-cross-berrysauce, she sang in her head) and lifting the cover from her dinner tray.  Some sort of meat and vegetables in sauce over mashed tubers.  A thick slice of toasted bread.  A cup of tea.  Another container of ice cream.  “That all looks halfway decent,” remarked Din. 
“Siewan was right.  I’m truly not hungry.  You should eat it, since Grogu ate your portion too, apparently.” 
“No, Marathel.  I’m fine.  You need to eat.” 
Marathel shrugged, and methodically began to eat, tearing the bread into quarters, working her way slowly across the entrée, not tasting it.  Din watched her hands, realizing he’d rarely watched her eat.  She ate in complete silence, staring at the wall before her, looking at nothing.  The quiet made Din uncomfortable, so he got up and found the shopping bag with the pillow frog. 
“Hey buddy, I got something for you today, too.”  Grogu bleated, and then cooed when Din put the pillow frog in his little hands.  “You like it?  Thought you might.  You’ve been something else, lately … I just thought you might like something soft to crash on.”  As Din sat back down, he noticed Marathel gazing at Grogu with a little smile.   
“What a wonderful thing,” said Marathel.  “Is your new friend going to have a name?” 
“Fawg!” 
“Fawg, of course.  That will be easy to remember.”  Her smile faded, and she went back to her dinner in silence.  The ice cream was pink this time, and tasted like sweet berries, which she liked better than the plain stuff.  She finished her tea.  She then lifted her fork, showing it to Din.  He nodded, and she made a show of placing it on her tray, then pushing the rolling tray away from her.  She sighed deeply, and then turned her head to look at Grogu, who would alternately hug the pillow frog, then pat its plush face, quietly saying Fawg Fawg Fawg.  “I had a friend like Fawg once.  Tymfy made her for me.  She was small, made out of old grey rags she’d sewn together.  She was a lumpy thing.  Probably stuffed with more old grey rags. Shaped like a lump, too.  No arms or legs, no face, but I loved her. I remember the day Tymfy gave her to me.  It was a terrible day.  The Bishop had done something horrible to me for the first time, and I couldn’t stop crying.” 
“Did your friend have a name?” asked Din quietly. 
“I called her Fi’Basha.  That means ‘little me.’  I kept her hidden, because if the boys knew I had her, they’d take her away from me.  Tear her up.  But then, Tymfy had her first baby.  We were changing at the same time, but of course, I wasn’t getting regular, so … Tymfy had a little girl, so I gave Fi’Basha to the baby.  If it’d been a boy, I would’ve kept her.  A boy got enough attention.  Didn’t need a Fi’Basha. 
“Then Olba took me out of the Hold and brought me to the hut. I was so scared and lonely there at first.  In the beginning, Olba would come over more often.  Even the Cyiloggs coming after me was a distraction.  But they stopped trying to take me back.  In the courtyard, before I ... the Bishop finally told me why that was.  It was the Dahls.  They would attack and kill anything male that came near me.  They were protecting me from the men of the Hold.  And Olba stopped coming out so much.  She was probably getting beaten for it, going out to see me but not bringing me back, not coming back to the Hold like a good girl should.  But I was so alone, so I made a new Fi’Basha out of the scraps of fabric Olba brought me.  She was as big as Grogu, and she had arms and a head and a body.  I called her Tym’Basha.” 
“‘Little Tymfy,’” said Din. Marathel nodded.  “Why didn’t she have any legs?  Did you run out of fabric?” 
Marathel shook her head.  “I made myself believe that if she didn’t have legs, no one could hurt her there.  Such a stupid thought.”  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.  “By this time, I’d made a drop spindle and my loom.  I spun brown yarn for her hair, and I put brown eyes on her, from tree nut shells.  I wove my own fabric and sewed little dresses for her.  I loved Tymfy, so I wanted Tym’Basha to look like her.   
“But then … Olba said it was silly for me to have Tym’Basha.  I was a full-grown woman, regular or not, and no full-grown woman needed such a childish thing.  So … I took her apart.  Took her apart right back down to all the scraps I’d sewn together.  Then, I took the pile of scraps to the cliff and threw them off the edge. I went back to the hut, and I folded the little dresses and shoved them to the bottom of a basket. 
“Then … however long it was after that … you and Grogu showed up.  The Dahls left you alone and allowed you to come to me.  They killed every other male, but they left you alone.  And when I saw that little pitiful rumpled pile of clothes you had for Grogu, I remembered those little dresses.  I found the dresses and cut them shorter to make those little shirts for Grogu.  I made the jump-ups from whole cloth I had, but the shirts, I made from the dresses.  I saw no point in keeping them in the basket if they would fit Grogu.  And I knew I was going to die anyway, and I loved Grogu, just like I loved Tym’Basha, and …”  
Marathel’s throat closed, and she could no longer speak.  Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared at her blanket.  Grogu jumped from Din’s lap to the bed, holding up his new pillow Fawg to Marathel.  Marathel timidly took the pillow frog and hugged it tightly while she cried.   
Din stood up and removed his pauldrons, his cuirass, his rerebraces, and his vambraces before climbing into the bed with her.  He drew her back against him, holding her tightly against his chest as he lay back on her pillow.  Grogu climbed up on Din and held on to Marathel’s thumb, both holding her while she wept until she fell asleep against Din’s shoulder, clutching pillow Fawg.  After a while, both Din and Grogu, both so sad for Marathel, dozed off too.  Sometime later, Siewan quietly came into the room to collect the tray.  Smiling at the sleeping trio, she took the tray, turned off the lights, and left, locking the door behind her.  
You Were Marked: Day Thirty-Two
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draculasfavoritewife · 7 months ago
Text
Hunted
Summary: Tatooine is a planet filled with old ghosts, and when one of yours rears its ugly head again, your Mandalorian takes matters into his own capable hands.
Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader
Warnings: Canon-typical violence and minor OC death at the end. Allusions to hunter/prey roleplay and bondage, my voice kink makes a couple of cameo appearances. I the writer was particularly thirsty for Din Djarin the day I wrote this and thus take full responsibility for the results.
This is really one of the most blatantly self-indulgent things I've written, born of many long daydreaming sessions and my love for any episode where my man rubs elbows with the delightful and despicable denizens of the OG desert planet. I truly can't explain it, Tatooine Din™️ just hits me different, so please enjoy this very long fic about it.
*Translations of less common words/phrases in Mando'a at the end
You step into the crowded main street of the city, taking a moment to let all of your senses adjust to the stark difference. The last week or so has been spent on the ship in a cold vacuum, the gleaming blur of hyperspace and the steady thrum of engines a constant gentle halo in the background. It was nice, if a little quiet for your personal taste. Your partner certainly doesn’t talk much, and you tend to spend much of your time alone with him less conversationally inclined as a result.
He’s rubbed off on you that way. 
Now the twin suns of Tatooine scorch down on you from above, making eyes that have become accustomed to soft darkness sting. A throng of street vendors, lowlifes, and ne’er-do-wells streams through the ragtag market on all sides, moving bodies chattering nonstop in floods of Basic, Huttese, Aqualish, Droid, and snatches of more exotic tongues. 
A moment, and you feel yourself suddenly at ease again, as your brain resets back to your old lifestyle in the Core Worlds. It feels like putting on a well-loved shaak-leather coat that remembers all your contours just right. 
“You look happy,” the Mandalorian observes from beside you. 
You always wonder about him, how he's actually faring under that helmet, so shiny in this harsh light that you come away with spots in your vision after glancing at him too long. Din walks with the easy confidence of a man that’s walked these alleys many times before, but you know him more personally than most. He’s a quiet man under that shell, one who vastly prefers his solitude and finds the company of most beings in the galaxy a soul-stealing chore after two minutes. 
And unlike you, he never relaxes. 
“I am.” You side-eye him, briefly admiring his prowling stride as he diligently scans the moving figures surrounding the pair of you. “Sometimes I really like big crowds.” 
“You’re crazy,” he remarks. “This many people add too many variables.” 
“Your comment stands.” You draw closer to him in order to reach into the satchel slung across his body and ruffle the Kid’s long ears. “But to me, it’s almost easier. I can usually read people’s intentions pretty well. Bodies speak louder in crowds.” 
“I suppose.” He hasn’t stopped his surveillance yet. You can guess at how his eyes are darting here and there beneath the visor. He probably has at least two escape routes planned out already, if not more. 
You want nothing more than to tell him to relax and enjoy himself — you’re not even here on hunter business, simply to refuel and stock up on supplies before your next run — but you know that’s a useless endeavor. 
“I found that strangely hot, by the way,” you say instead, since it HAS been taking up space in your mind for some time. 
“What?” 
“Finding out you speak Tusken. That’s VERY attractive.” 
It was. When he had to negotiate with the scouts on your way into town, you couldn’t deny the fluttering in your stomach at hearing his low, smoky voice bark out the harsh sounds as he supplemented his meaning with crisp sign language. 
And besides the sound of it, you certainly find it very hot for a man of his stature to be so willing and ready to communicate and settle fraught situations peacefully. 
“I — what — I don’t — ?” 
It still makes you grin, how easily flustered he is when you catch him off-guard with flirting. 
“Don’t you think so, Grogu?” You poke the Kid’s tiny nose. “Isn’t it attractive when your buir talks like that?” 
The little one squeals enthusiastically in response, probably more to your teasing than the actual question. 
“Stop that, don’t encourage her.” Din casts a disapproving look first at the Kid and then at you; it strikes you as funny how well you can translate such a simple tilt of the helmet. “And don’t you ask him that, he’s just a kid.” 
“I think you’re blushing under that bucket,” you smirk, sidling away. 
“I’m not.” 
You subside with the teasing for the time being, and the Mandalorian releases a sigh of relief as you start wandering, letting handmade jewelry and stoneware snatch your attention away from him. He’s getting better at keeping up with your rapid changes of interest, but somehow your more romantic moods still manage to get the better of him when you’re out in public. 
He blames the environment. When it’s just the two of you alone, he can see what’s coming in the slant of your lips or the way you suddenly decide to plant yourself right in front of whatever he’s working on. And he’s almost as likely to initiate now, so long as the Kid’s not in the same room. But out here, as his field of vision constantly shifts in the sea of bodies, and his right hand drifts between Grogu in his satchel and the pistol at his hip, he just doesn’t possess the bandwidth to also process what the kriff could possibly turn you on so much about his language skills. 
He tucks that particular piece of information away in a metaphorical corner, to dissect and possibly use at a later time. 
You return to him after your little side trip, flirtation seemingly forgotten for now. “I saw a ring at that one booth —” you gesture over your shoulder “— that I’m almost positive is dolovite. So pretty. I’m not even sure the vendor knows what he’s got. It’s tempting.” 
“I bet.” He notes the tone of your voice, the way you glance back one more time as the pair of you move on. 
“But we are here for the essentials, first and foremost. Maybe if it’s still there by the end of the day.” 
He nods thoughtfully, and listens as you ramble through the list of what the three of you need, both in terms of provisions and to keep the ship flying. 
The sooner you’re all able to leave this crowd and noise behind, the better. 
He doesn’t care for the feeling that his little clan’s safety isn’t completely under his control. 
Hours later, stewardship of the satchel carrying the Kid has passed over to you. Din carries the day’s purchases, slung from either end of the pole balanced across his wide shoulders. He watches affectionately from behind his immobile visage of beskar at the sight of you spiritedly haggling with a Twi’lek vendor over the price of fruit. The arm not being used to illustrate your point cradles Grogu, half-asleep, close to your torso, and it touches something deep inside him, to see you care for his foundling so naturally. 
The image almost — almost — lulls him into something resembling a dangerous sense of peace.
Almost, but not quite. 
Which is why, when the blaster bolt narrowly misses your shoulder and instead blows a crate of produce into a violently sticky explosion, he’s only a half-second slower than he normally would be as he pivots sharply and yanks out his own weapon. His shot drops the sniper leaning out of a second-story window across the street, a Rodian crumpling to the ground in a tangle of ragged cloak. 
His armor-clad body is positioned in front of you in another second, keeping you and the Kid sandwiched between the booth and his beskar as he rapidly searches for any more guns to rear their ugly muzzles. 
The market has dissolved into chaos around you, but no more fire is heard. 
You slip your DL-44 out of your back holster with one hand and push the satchel carrying Grogu further out of the way with the other. The road had cleared in seconds, the trembling fruit vendor ducking down behind his wares. The atmosphere is suddenly quiet, too many people holding their breaths all at once. 
“See anything?” you whisper to Din. 
“Negative,” he mutters back. “He was acting alone, or else the others have retreated. Looking for heat signatures is useless, they’re everywhere here.” 
A grim suspicion starts to rise in your chest, but you keep your voice removed as you step from behind him and give him a sharp nod. “Cover me? I need to take a look at our shooter.” 
He stalks behind you as you cross, your trigger finger settling into its well-worn spot in readiness. Grogu is silent; only the tips of his giant ears poke up from the top of the bag. 
For a kid, he’s been in enough firefights to know the drill by now. 
Arriving beside the smoking form of the Rodian, you flip him over and push aside the cloak, your hand drawing back when you see exactly what you were afraid you would find. 
The sigil of a sand ape emblazoned on his jacket in red. 
“Talk to me,” Din urges, voice tight. “Do you know why he was targeting you?” 
You straighten up and bite your lip for a second, struggling over the best way to break the news to him. You’d thought it was long enough ago that old scores would be forgotten, but on Tatooine, grudges rarely die, instead simmering deep beneath the filth like a krayt dragon awaiting its next meal. 
And now you’ve unwittingly brought your riduur and his ad’ika into danger. 
“I lived in Mos Eisley for a bit at one point.” You sigh. “And I left under…difficult circumstances. I’m a bit of a loose end as far as a local gang is concerned, Din. They paid well for some mercenary jobs — it was a nice temporary setup. Last hit I was hired for turned out to have a Guild bounty on him though, and they paid more to have him delivered alive. I saw a business opportunity and didn’t look back. But I made some powerful people here pretty angry.” 
“Dank farrik.” He curses under his breath. You can nearly hear his exasperated thoughts — can’t I have ONE uneventful outing? Just ONE? — but he shakes it off swiftly and is soon all business again, his next query clipped and brusque. “Does he have a tracking fob?” 
You shake your head. “They don’t want Guild here anymore, if you recall. No, it’ll be a more intimate affair, I’d bet my blades on that. This is about revenge and closure; if there’s a reward payout it’s from the boss man himself, and probably only advertised by word of mouth.” 
The Mandalorian refocuses his thoughts from where they ever so briefly derailed at your casual misuse of the term “intimate affair” and grunts his acknowledgment. “I gather the boss man wants you alive, then?” 
You laugh, a dry, ironic sound. “Oh, he will. I have a feeling he wants to watch me suffer a bit before he kills me. Or who knows?” With a shrug, you shove the body into an alleyway and return to where you both left your purchases, only the dance of your tense fingers across the grip of your blaster giving away your readiness to protect yourself. “Maybe he’ll make me his own personal slave instead. I knew all that club dancing I did would come in handy someday.” 
Din makes a hissing sound of annoyance at your flippant tongue as he follows. There’s something about the way you can talk so carelessly about such degrading fates that truly distresses him. He knows you don’t need his protection on the same level the Kid does, but the thought of either of those options actually befalling you under his watch makes his hands clench into fists, leather gloves protesting as they stretch across his knuckles. But he knows too, that dark humor is often your way of dealing with stress, so he endeavors to let it slide and not see red. 
“Do you know where he is?” he demands suddenly. 
“The boss man? I used to. And there are people I could ask.” You take the satchel with the Kid off and hand it back to him, opting to take the parcels instead. He can fight with a baby strapped to him better than you can, and knowing you’re the primary target this time, you’d rather keep him safer. “Why?” 
“Later.” His voice has gone tense again, he must have seen something you don’t. “Right now we have to get out of here. You’re too exposed.” 
Your gaze falls on a nearby speeder bike with no obvious owner nearby. “They’ve gotten lax without me around,” you smirk, straddling the bike and revving its powerful engine. “Leaving their valuables all helpless and unattended. It’s a real shame.” 
The Mandalorian is staring at you, the drop of his shoulders suggesting surprise at your brazenness. 
“Get on,” you encourage him, laying the carrying pole across the seat behind you. “You’re getting twitchy, so there must be trouble. What’s got your cape in a twist?” 
He takes a seat behind you and settles his pulse rifle across his knees. “There’s a couple more in similar jackets closing in,” he reveals in an undertone. “And I just haven’t seen you…steal a vehicle before, is all.” 
A shot pings over his helmet before you can properly react to that. 
“Drive!” he orders, pivoting to return fire. 
You oblige, gunning the motor and tearing off down the main thoroughfare. “There’s still a few things you haven’t seen me do, Cyare,” you toss back as he dusts one of the gang members on your way past. “You and the Kid made me go soft.” 
He huffs doubtfully and nods to a narrow opening between buildings up ahead. “Can you get us out of sight?” 
“If you hang on tight enough.” You execute a tight turn at the last moment and shoot down the alley, glad the bike is compact enough to follow the cramped tunnel between the crumbling dwellings. “It’s gonna be rough ’til we’re in the open, though.” 
Din doesn’t answer in words, but his free arm wraps around your waist and you can feel the Kid’s small body tucked between the two of you. 
And it’s almost an oddly pleasant feeling, outrunning any would-be pursuers with the two of them held so close. 
By the end of the hour, supplies have been loaded into the ship and Grogu has been left in the doting care of Peli, who as always is more than happy to entertain the little guy as long as you and Din keep trouble far away from her repair station. You and the Mandalorian are now camped out on a rooftop overlooking the marketplace, a tattered fabric canopy mercifully providing some scant relief from the sunlight if not the oppressive heat. As always, your riduur appears totally indifferent to such a thing as physical discomfort, leaning out from under the awning to scope the street below through the sight of his rifle. 
Does his armor have an internal cooling system? Or are Mandalorians really just that tough? 
“You know, we could just leave,” you finally suggest. “It’s not like this particular group ever goes off-world.” 
“We could.” 
You can tell there’s a reason why he won’t. 
“But I return to Tatooine semi-frequently. And I don’t want you to constantly be looking over your shoulder every time.” 
You sit back with a sigh, idly tuning up your blaster. His ways are still foreign to you sometimes. Before your partnership, you made a life depending on adaptability and quick thinking. Having only yourself to worry about, and knowing there was no one else out there worrying about you, made it easier to simply uproot and go elsewhere whenever the heat was on you. 
Din is nearly the opposite. If there’s a way he can make things more secure for those in his care, if there’s a good enough reason, he won’t ever back down from a struggle.
He already has his mind made up. 
It’s just a bit jarring to realize that you’re the good enough reason this time. 
“What are you thinking, then?” you prompt. 
He doesn’t break his focus on the area below as he answers. “I’m thinking I just killed a couple gang members and got some interesting information out of them. I’m ex-Guild and looking for work, and being a ruthless mercenary, I might just be willing to turn on a crew member if the price is right.” 
You can’t help your sudden intake of breath at his ingenious plan. “And once we get there?” 
He finally turns to face you, his next words cold and hard as tempered beskar. “Then we kill him.” 
And there’s something a little bit more menacing in there than simple pragmatism. He has taken on the role of cabur for you and the Kid; this isn’t just about keeping trouble off your backs in future. 
Someone has threatened you, and he will not rest until that threat has been put down.
That is his duty, and he will not shirk it. 
“I love you,” you murmur, barely above the hot breeze that rakes through your hair. 
He rises to his feet, shoulders his rifle. “And I you. Which is why we’re going to have to make this look convincing. You get a two-minute head start. Whenever you’re ready.” 
You swipe a dull sand-colored cloak from a stall as you pass, immediately diving into the heart of the throng, which seems to have recovered from the earlier incident. Mos Eisley is nothing if not desensitized to crime and violence, and for a moment, you almost lose yourself in awe at the apathy of the average citizen as you let the flow of movement carry you along. Nobody cares what happens around here, so long as it doesn’t happen to them. 
It’s…odd, to remember how it felt to think that way. 
Shaking yourself back into the moment, you weave between beings of all shapes and sizes, focusing on making yourself forgettable and not appearing in too much of a hurry. You know Din will find you no matter where you end up — he’s just too good at his job not to. So for the moment you let yourself enjoy this little game, a moment spent as the quarry of a very desirable predator. 
It would be a lie to say you haven’t fantasized about this before. 
A ripple passes through the crowd to your left and behind you, people shifting to make room, like river currents split by a large stone. Only one person you know could possibly cause such a stir.
Only idiots choose to stand in the way of a hunting Mandalorian. 
Which means he’s here. 
Your heart accelerates and you try to think of a way to stall him just a little longer. Reluctantly pulling a few credits from your belt pouch, you regretfully let them scatter in the dust, knowing the only thing that reliably beats fear is greed. The people nearest to you devolve into pushing and shoving in their eagerness to get their hands on them, a writhing wall springing up between you and your pursuer. 
With a grin, you slip backwards, drifting in the opposite direction of where you had been headed before, catching the barest glimpse of sun glaring off metal as you pass. 
That's a little longer. 
He’ll expect you to be thinking the way he thinks, not the way you do, so you stamp down the inclination to think that way and instead travel into a seedier part of town, seeking out more raucous company. Wandering through cantinas and gambling dens, you pick up a refreshing blue milk along the way and almost start to let the tension ebb from your muscles. But when you see him emerge from the street and gaze through the window of the same building you were just about to exit, your adrenaline shoots up again. A dash through a maze of alleys and one stolen ride on the back of a droid rickshaw later, and even you aren’t so sure what part of the city you’ve made it to. 
The twin suns are finally beginning to sink lower in the sky as you thoughtfully chew on a piece of bantha jerky and walk through a crowded residential section, no doubt where the lower classes live. It’s much quieter here, the low-income strata not having the credits to spend on frivolities at the market. 
It’s almost…too quiet. 
You hear him before you see him, an almost deceptively musical clink of the explosive charges on his belt against his vambrace as his arm brushes past. There’s nowhere to run anymore, so you pull back your hood with an admittedly dramatic flourish and discard your savory treat, hands sliding to the twin vibroblades sheathed at your thighs. 
“So, its finally come to this, Mando.” You pull your knives and take up a fighting stance. “No use in trying to sweet-talk you out of this, is there?” 
He doesn’t answer, just pulls his own blade and gestures with his chin as if saying “Try me”. 
So you do. 
The pair of you has sparred many times before, and this altercation is brief but outwardly brutal. Finesse is nice, but necessity calls for any potential advantage to be pressed and pressed hard. For the agility your much lighter choice of clothing grants you, you can’t dent him when fully armored, so finally you resort to simple but effective tactics and throw dust in his face. 
Even a visor with a heat sensor takes a second to recalibrate from that. 
You do, however, have a scripted ending for this outing, and as you sprint off, his grappling cable snakes around your hips and down your legs, dropping you in the sand. He strides up to you, tosses a pair of binders down next to you. 
“Cuff yourself,” he orders, breath coming in heavy pants after your scuffle. “I’m taking you in.” 
And since it’s him who just captured you, who would have captured you eventually no matter what because he’s just THAT good, you don’t mind. 
No, you reflect as he hefts you over his shoulder and walks away from the few scattered spectators your fight drew out, you really don’t mind this arrangement at all. 
Maybe you’ll have to tell him that, later. 
Your former employer’s headquarters are still where you remember them, and you almost smirk at the sense of uncomfortable familiarity when Din lowers you to the floor and unties your legs. Still cuffed — and a bit tired after spending the afternoon trying to outwit the best hunter in the parsec — it’s not difficult to look angry and beaten down, kneeling there in the dust. 
The boss man rises from his seat at the table, a hulking Devaronian with a chipped horn and a hungry grimace. He swaggers over, nods at the Mandalorian standing behind you. 
“I suppose I can turn a blind eye at the loss of a few good men for this. You have absolutely no idea how this one little troublesome scavenger has been occupying my thoughts.” 
Din remains silent, simply holding out a hand, a wordless demand for payment. 
Your old boss grins, nods to a couple of lackeys to bring over the credits, hauls you to your feet by the back of your shirt. 
The Mandalorian’s hand brushes past your leg as you move, and one of your knives is quietly returned to its sheath. 
“Since you turned tail and ran so quickly after disobeying me, I assume you have some idea of what I do to clever little turncoats, don’t you?” sneers the Devaronian, leaning altogether too close for your liking. 
Your cuffed hands lower in seeming fear as you shrink beneath his intimidating glare. 
“This is going to be fun,” he threatens, a hand drawing up your neck and along your jaw. “You need to learn some respect, and I’m going to —” 
The vibroblade sunk deep into his chest cuts his words off rather suddenly. 
There’s a lot you can still do, even in binders. 
The outraged lackeys are swiftly dropped by precise shots from Din, and the two of you are left gazing at each other in a now oddly quiet room. 
“I don’t know if I’d call that ‘fun’," you remark to your limp ex-boss, crouching to retrieve your knife. “A little anticlimactic, actually. Bit of a shame I had to do that. But also satisfying to see your plan turn out so well, don’t you think, Mando?” 
Din doesn’t answer right away, tucking away the bounty that he earned by catching you. “We should be on our way,” is what he finally grunts. “There’ll be more gang members swarming this place any minute now.” 
“I agree.” Rising to stand in front of him, you hold out your arms expectantly, casting a flirty smile up at his dark visor. “And, much as I enjoyed being your prisoner for a day, you can let me go now.” 
There’s a long pause. 
He stares down at your bound wrists, up at your face, down at your wrists again. He appears to be pondering something very intently, and your breath turns a little choppy for some reason. 
“I don’t think I will,” he says simply, after a little more consideration. 
“You won’t?” 
“Not yet.” His large hands tenderly find your hips, and he throws you over his shoulder again, walking out the exact same way you came in. “You’ve caused me quite a day here, you know. Keeping track of you like this might be the only way to make sure we don’t run into any more trouble.” 
“What would happen if I screamed ‘Help, I’m being kidnapped!’ as you carry me down the street?” 
He snorts. “No one’s going to help you here, Cyar’ika. Who’s going to challenge a Mandalorian over his prisoner?” 
You smirk. “No one in their right mind.” 
“Besides, you just said you enjoyed this.” There it is, a sly edge to his filtered voice, the indicator that he has more going on in his mind than simply staying out of more trouble. 
“Oh no, caught by an attractive bounty hunter! I’ll probably never see the light of day again.” You groan dramatically and drape yourself a bit more comfortably as he loosens up into an easier stride. “I’m completely at his mercy — who KNOWS what devious things he’ll do to me behind closed doors?” 
“This bounty hunter is hot and tired, and in need of a shower, if that gives you any consolation.” 
“Ah.” You poke him in the back. “Are you saying you’re all sweaty under this shiny shell, Cyare?” 
A hand slides up the back of your thigh, a subtle reminder that you ARE currently at his mercy, as you just said. 
Undeterred, you try again, knowing he must be getting more riled up than he lets on. “Have I ever told you how much I like it, when you take all these awful layers off for me and you’re all sweaty underneath…?” 
“I would rein in my suggestive tongue a little, if I were you.” He’s still looking straight ahead, but the edge beneath his words is a bit more strained now. “If you behave for me until we get back to the ship, maybe I’ll even take those binders off.” 
“And if I don’t?” 
He sighs. “My belt compartment back there. Take a look.” 
You manage to get it open, and can’t quite stifle a delighted sound as you pull out the dolovite ring from much earlier. “You sneaky son of a — ! How — ?” 
“I gave you a two-minute head start,” he shrugs, by way of explanation. 
“I adore you,” you inform him as you slip the ring onto your finger, admiring its burnished color. “I’ll be a good little prisoner for you, Mando, I promise. And who knows…,” you nudge him again. “Maybe I’ll let you keep these binders on me after all, since you’ve been so good to me today.” 
He can’t find anything to say to that, but by the fact that you can see the flush creeping up the back of his neck in that tantalizing gap between cowl and helmet, you know he’s definitely sweating now, if he weren’t before. 
“Is my big bad bounty hunter at a loss for words?” you tease softly. 
He clears his throat. “Just saving my voice, Mesh’la. If you’re REALLY well-behaved, I might — possibly — be persuaded to talk Tusken to you later. Possibly.” 
The idea takes a moment to fully crystallize in your brain; Din, and a shower, and binders, and if you just stop teasing him so naughtily in public he might actually bring that unreasonably provocative language into the bedroom? 
You finally let yourself relax into his hold, and after a bit you hear his breathy sigh of relief that you aren’t going to keep tormenting him anymore for the moment. 
After all, he has put forth an offer you can’t refuse. 
Ad'ika = Little One/Small child
Cabur = Protector
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apricityxoxo · 1 year ago
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Uncertainty II
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
hello yall this is pt 2 of this!
Din Djarin x fem!Reader
wc: 3,090
Summary: You are confused, you're always confused around him. He's always on your mind and you don't know why. You hate it. You always put a bit more effort around him. You want to impress him and you don't know why. Maybe it is because he's so irritating.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
Info/Warning: angst, fluff, suggestive material (teeny tiny part not a lot), argument, an oc makes an appearance. lmk if I forgot anything. remember when i write i always have poc in mind, especially black women.
enjoy
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
So, he’s amazing…that’s all you have to say. He’s absolutely perfect and it doesn’t get any better. You know that absolute perfection is basically impossible but if anyone is perfect, it's him, you want him to be here forever. 
His big eyes and green face are the most adorable things created by the Maker. Even though he has wrinkles and the fact that he has hair but is bald at the same time, he’s still cute. You feel like during these two weeks something changed in you because you immediately wanted to keep him forever.   
If this child was a flower, he would have bloomed overnight. You watch as he makes himself comfortable in your home, making a fort with pillows to sleep on the floor. You watched as he played with the trinkets you had lying around. He tried to bring live frogs into your home, which gave you a mini heart attack from reacting quickly to get the slimy amphibian from your home, as gross as that was at least he was comfortable to try. 
Not only did he grow comfortable with you, but with your other students and kids that you taught. You told the Mandalorian during the day the child would accompany you to the school. He would sit in on the classes where you would teach him with the other children and pack him lunches so that he could eat during breaks.
The Mandalorian dared to disagree with you, to suggest that you cancel two weeks of school so you can focus entirely on the kid. “First of all, you’re not the only one with responsibilities, my students are also my responsibility. Second, I’ve taken care of children since I was still merely a child and it might do him some good to spend time with other kids.” You told the Mandalorian, now extremely irritated, he didn’t trust you and now he’s trying to tell you what to do.
You’re glad the Mandalorian reluctantly agreed because per usual, you were right. He made friends immediately; all of your students loved him. The child became more talkative, even though no one could understand him, he was a social butterfly. He made friends and played with them, ate with them, and learned with them. 
When you woke, you were excited. Today was the day the Mandalorian will return, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Definitely not because you want to see him, you’re just excited to share with him how well his son did, how much he grew in two weeks. You want to tell him, suggest to him that while he’s on Nevarro the child should be enrolled in school. 
You get up from your small bed and start your morning routine. This morning is different, this morning you put in a bit more effort and you don’t know why. Why do look at your face a little more closely this morning? It's definitely not because of that feeling you get whenever you are around him. 
You think back to the day when he dropped off the child.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
“Thank you for watching him…” he says in an uncertain tone. That irritated you, you feel like he thinks you’re incompetent. He’s always given off those “vibes”. Maybe he hates you? Maybe he thinks, you’re not skilled enough to watch his son? He’s always sent you these mixed signals. 
“It’s not a problem,” you said annoyed.
“Remember to watch him, don’t let him put anything in his mouth, don’t let strangers near him, and if anything goes wrong call me, my transceiver is always on. My transceiver code is 7 -”
“-75292MRC?” you cut him off, he’s told you all this at least four times, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. 
“Um yes that’s right…” he’s said followed by an awkward silence. 
“And um…thank you, I’ve never left him alone this long before so I apologize if I’ve been… irritating.” He says, sounding shy.
You feel bad now, what’s wrong with you? Of course, he’s skeptical of you, you would be the exact same way if you had to leave your child alone with someone you barely knew for so long. You’re about to apologize but then he takes both of your hands and you go mute.
“Thank you… sincerely. I know you do a lot for the children here so I’m so grateful you agreed to watch my son.”
You’re stunned and all you can do is nod to him. Before he lets go of your hands, he gives them a gentle squeeze. He walks over to his son and talks to him with a stern tone before giving him a hug, probably telling him to behave. He picks up his son and walks back to you and you feel your heart racing. He hands you his son and you jut out your hip to carry him on your side. 
Even though you can’t see his eyes, you feel like he looks you up and down. He stares at you for a second before he finally says goodbye to you, and you’ve never felt so warm from someone just saying your name. And you stare as he walks off.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
You put more effort this morning, you do your makeup with a little bit more focus. You try to accentuate your features, like your lips. You add a nice dark outline to them, adding a nice neutral color to the middle. You add a little color to your eyes, making them darker with a bit of brown pigment, you feel you look natural but different. You unwrap the scarf you put on your head last night. You were excited, so excited that you prepped your hair to be styled in the morning. You spend the rest of your morning styling your hair, taking your time instead of just wrapping your hair in a scarf and calling it a day.
You put on a brown wrap dress that was the color of Caf. The dress had a low-cut V-neck, definitely lower than you're used to wearing. It has long flowy sleeves that are wide at the end. The dress is long and you pair it with some boots. You add some jewelry and finish by admiring yourself in the mirror. 
You even go as far as wanting to spray a bit of perfume. You look at your perfumes “Which would he like?” you ask yourself. You internally cringe because who cares which he would like, you for sure don’t. You settle on your favorite, a warm and mature perfume that you haven’t worn in a while. You usually spray this perfume when you go out with your friends or on special occasions, today feels like a special occasion. 
When you finish spraying, the baby monitor goes off. The child is up and whining, he's definitely hungry. You need to make him some breakfast and soon, if you learned anything in the couple of weeks it's that this child can eat. You prepare a full breakfast, a traditional breakfast from your home planet Lah’mu. 
You get sentimental while cooking food from your home. You make a traditional grain and you top it with an assortment of vegetables that look like the ones you grew on your family farm. You top it off with three large eggs. 
You talk to the kid while you cook, and ask if he’s excited to see his dad. You tell him about the food you’re making, you tell him the origin. You tell him what ingredients to use like which vegetables are necessary, which rice grain is best, and which seasoning must be added. You know he can’t understand you but it’s nice to have someone to talk to. You finish his food and serve it to him. 
“Enjoy cutie, should I make more for your da-” Before you can finish you are cut off by a deep groaning sound coming from your kitchen sink. You rush over to inspect the sink and open the bottom cabinet to look at the pipes. You have a leak. Now you’re irritated. Irritated by the problems you get from owning an old home. The creaky floors that make it impossible to sneak up on anyone, the outdated appliances that require older parts when being fixed, the uneven stair steps inside and out of the house, and now a leaking kitchen sink pipe. 
“Kriff!” you curse to yourself, looking for a bucket to place under the sink. When you place the bucket under your sink you search for your transceiver. You start to dial the
number by memory but before you hit ‘Enter’ you hesitate, it takes you a second but if you want this to be fixed you need to call.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
 “Thank you for coming, I know it's short notice and you usually need to make an appointment so I'm sorr-”
“Don’t worry about it Mama” he cuts off your rambling with a wink and a cocky smile.
Mazian Xorsson, you’ve known him for a long time now, he’s definitely…interesting. He’s around your age. He’s very tall and you always see his physique under the tight black shirts he always wears. He has short buzzed hair that is a nice golden blond color and light skin. He had dark deep brown eyes and you’ve always had a thing for deep brown eyes. 
He’s nice to you at least, he's a bit cocky and a big flirt however he's very considerate and funny. He was one of the first people you met when you moved to Nevarro. He helped you move and spent time with you when you felt lonely. When you first met, you asked what he did for work, he told you a little bit of anything, he was a handyman and plumber, and he even knew a good amount about fixing ships. Those were good jobs but that never explained why he always seemed to have money. He made you nervous in a good way, but not the same the Mandalorian made you feel. 
 You internally want to beat yourself up because why are you thinking about the Mandalorian right now. You literally have a tall and handsome man in your house right now. 
 “How much do I owe you?” You ask going to get your wallet.
 “C’mon, you know you don’t owe me anything,” he says with a smile
 “Pleaseeeee Maz, I didn’t pay you when you fixed the fresher! Let me pay you” you whined
 “You can pay me with a kiss,” he says with a wink and turns his cheek to you.
You roll your eyes and begin to walk away, not before saying “You're such a flirt” You go to the kitchen and see that the baby has finished his food already and he looks at you with a giggle. You pick him up and take him out to the family room walking past Maz as he walks into the kitchen with all his tools. 
You sit and you wait for the Mandalorian, your knee is bouncing and you don’t know why. The kid is in your lap playing with the belt of your wrap dress as you zone out waiting for the Mandalorian. 
You jolt when you hear a knock at the door and run to the door with the baby in your arms. You check the peephole and see a ‘T’ shaped visor looking around your front porch. You give yourself a second to try and catch your breath but you open the door when you see he is going to knock again
 “Hi,” you say breathlessly.
“Good morning,” he says back.
 “Come in,” you say and move to the side so he can step in. He goes to sit down on the deep armchair you have that’s facing the couch. He sits down and adjusts himself by spreading his legs, wide. You look at his thick armored thighs and you feel like you're being disrespectful. You shake those thoughts out of your mind and walk close to him to hand him his adorable son. 
“He did such a wonderful job, you have such a great baby,” you tell him with a big and bright smile on your face. You tell him how he made friends and how talkative he has become even though you can't understand him. You tell him about the things you tried to teach him and how well of a learner he is. You told him how good he ate and all the new foods he tried, for some reason, he’s not a fan of poultry but a big fan of red meats and eggs. He's an angel and you made sure to remind Mando of such. 
“Maybe when you’re here… he can come over or visit the school?” you say quite shyly.
“Yeah maybe, I think he'd like that…” he replies
You try to suppress your smile, excited not only to spend time with the kid but also to see the infamous Mandalorian more often.
“Alright, I’m all done but I’m still waiting for that ki-… oh I didn’t realize you’re having guests,” Maz says as he enters the room and sees the Mandalorian. You and Mando both stand but the Mandalorian stays and watches as you walk over to the man.         
You walk over to your purse and find your wallet to give him the credits. “Here, this is all I have but I should have more by the end of the month”.
“It’s all good, don’t worry about it” Maz replied
You both went back and forth for a few minutes and you could feel the Mandalorian staring at you. You finally give up and thank Maz for his work, you see him out and give him a hug before he leaves.
Awkward. That’s how you felt, that’s how the room felt.
“Anyway, how wa-”
“Who was that?” he said, his voice stern and serious. He said it like he knew the answer.
“My friend, Maz… my sink broke so I called him to fix it.” You said and you hated that you sounded so nervous.
“I thought I told you, no strangers. “He said, he took a step closer to you.
“You did, he’s not a stranger”
“He’s a stranger to me”
“Everyone’s a stranger to you, he’s my friend and I trust him,” You told him with an attitude, ‘why is he always questioning you like a child’ you thought to yourself. 
“I asked you to watch my son and you can’t follow some simple rules”
You’re pissed. You’re mad and you feel disrespected. “Why are you treating me like a child, I followed your rules and I would never let a stranger near your child, let alone in my damn house. I’m not an idiot so stop treating me like one.”
“Stop acting like one. Why can’t you follow some simple rules?  Do you think I’ll ever let you watch my kid again?” He argued.
That broke your heart. You only spent two weeks with the kid and now you are already attached. Fine. 
“Fine, you’re right. I’m an idiot, I’m a idiot. So, you’re right, you happy?” You ask, you’re so upset.
“Yeah”. He says, he sounds cocky and you hate it.
“Get out.” You’re done, he crossed the line and now you're pissed off. You go to get all of the child stuff. You shove everything in a bag. You’re angry and when you’re done you throw the bag at the Mandalorian feet. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t me-”
“I don’t care, get out. Now.” You say and you watch as the Mandalorian grabs the bag and walks out the front door. He turns around like he’s about to say something but you shut the door.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
You ignore him. You can possibly seem to understand why he keeps trying to talk to you. He’s made his point clear, and you’ve accepted it. He’s dropped off the kid to the school for a couple of hours but you know he’s close by. Every time he comes to pick the child up, he tries to talk and you ignore him. 
Maybe you’re petty, it has been a whole week and you can’t stop thinking about it. You’re currently wrapping your hair, trying to complete the final step of your nightly routine but you’re distracted.
Every time you do think about the incident your mind wanders. First, you think about the times he tried to talk to you after the incident. Then you think about the time he asked you to watch his son and he held your hands, or the time he helped you down the steps of your home and held your hand. 
Your mind wanders even more, you think about when he came to pick up the child. He sat down and spread his legs. You think about that a lot, late and night, and imagine his gloved hands on your body. You imagine sitting between his spread legs.
There’s a knock at the door, and your thoughts and routine are interrupted as you pause. You listen to make sure you heard that right. You finish wrapping your hair quick and you go to the front door. 
You rush to the front door and look out the peephole. There is no one there, not even on the street below and you are now on edge. Maybe today is the day you get kidnapped and die and with that thought in mind, you open the door. You look out and no one is there but before you close the door something on the floor catches your eye.
Flowers.
Your favorite flowers to be more specific. Skeleton flowers in a dark green vase with a red ribbon attached to it. You take the flowers inside and set them on the small dining room table. There’s a note attached to the vase and you’re surprised that you're a little excited to open it. You open the note and all it reads is:
I’m sorry, forgive me.
-M
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
next part will be mando's pov lol
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sansaorgana · 6 months ago
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STAR WARS MASTERLIST
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BACK TO MASTERLIST
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✿ ANAKIN SKYWALKER // DARTH VADER
➽ “You Can’t Leave Me” — Anakin Skywalker // suitless!Darth Vader x fem!Gray Jedi!Reader
➽ “The Prodigal Daughter” — Darth Vader (and kinda Anakin Skywalker) x fem!Dark Jedi!Reader
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✿ OBI–WAN KENOBI
➽ “A Man of Secrets” — Obi–Wan Kenobi x fem!Reader
➽ “I Don’t Want To Be Your Friend” — Obi–Wan Kenobi x fem!Jedi!Reader
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✿ POE DAMERON
➽ “Don’t Call Me Princess” — Poe Dameron x Padmé Solo (OC)
➽ Having a baby with Oscar Isaac’s characters — Poe Dameron x fem!Reader
➽ “The Hero and The Traitor” — Poe Dameron x fem!First Order!Reader
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✿ HAN SOLO
➽ “Scoundrel” — Han Solo x fem!Reader
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✿ BO–KATAN KRYZE
➽ Being Bo–Katan Kryze’s girlfriend — Bo–Katan Kryze x fem!Reader
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✿ AXE WOVES
➽ Being Axe Woves’ girlfriend — Axe Woves x fem!Reader // fem!Mandalorian!Reader
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dindjarindiaries · 1 year ago
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The Rising Phoenix - Chapter One
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series masterlist • main masterlist • ao3
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pairing ➵ din djarin x fem!oc rating ➵ mature (18+) tags ➵ enemies to lovers, fluff & angst, emotional & physical hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, injuries & blood, trauma, eventual/mild smut, strong language, sexual references word count ➵ 3.847k chapter summary ➵ This year's team of Mandalorian recruits embark on their journey to Kyrbej, their home for the next brutal cycle.
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CHAPTER ONE
I tie off my right boot and stand up, facing the reflection of myself in the long piece of reflective transparisteel. The leather of my training gear groans at the movements. I bite my cheek. That will take some getting used to.
Damn. I look disproportionate as hell with my beskar helmet and absolutely no other armor joining it. That will be another thing I’ll have to get used to.
Not that there will be any mirrors for me to see myself at Kyrbej. The training grounds on the other side of Concordia’s surface are known for their practicality, not any type of luxury. Certainly not anything more than what we already have in our stronghold. If I want to look at myself, I’ll have to bring my own shard of reflective transparisteel.
Given Linessa’s warnings about how the next cycle will go, though, I’m fairly sure I won’t want to look at myself, anyway.
I’m only able to heave one more breath before there’s a rapid knocking at my door. “Rhi! Hurry! You’re barely giving me any time to say goodbye!”
I swallow the sudden knot my twin sister’s words tie in my throat and pick up my rucksack. It’s heavy as hell, but given the fact I’ll be living out of it, I’m surprised it’s not even heavier. I slide my door open and Rowyn’s standing there, her emerald helmet adorned with gold embellishments flashing in my gaze as she lunges forward to wrap her arms tight around me.
The rucksack falls to the floor as I hug her back. For the first time since we were younglings, our paths are diverging. It’s the Way, as Mom has reminded me so many times before, as the Ancestors have called us each to our own unique paths.
“I’ll see you soon.” I say the words to Rowyn with confidence, even if there’s a wide-open chasm of uncertainty in my chest. I’ve been preparing for this for years, ever since I slid this beskar over my head. My hand cups the back of her helmet. “You better have a full suit ready for me when I get back.”
Rowyn manages a short laugh at that. “First of all, I’m not in charge of giving you armor.” She pulls away and holds my own emerald helmet between her hands, though I can see the white accents I added to each curve of the beskar reflected in her visor. “Second of all, I’m gonna need more than a cycle to learn how to make a full fucking suit.”
I laugh with her. Our helmets touch, silence sitting between us, before I step away and hold her hands in mine. “Tell the Armorer to go easy on you." I squeeze her hands. “I know how easily you blister.”
“I could say the very same about you.” Rowyn’s thumb runs over my palm. “But I think I’ll have it easier over here than you will over there.”
I scoff. “Have you met the Armorer?”
Rowyn can’t laugh this time. I don’t need to see her face to identify her concern. After years without seeing a single person’s face, it’s easy to spot emotions in other ways, especially the people I know best. “Just be careful, Rhi.”
“I will.” I give her hands another squeeze. “You’ve seen how well I can kick ass.”
Rowyn’s helmet tilts, her substitution for a smile. “Yeah, that makes me feel better.”
I chuckle and sigh, going in for one last hug. “I’m gonna miss you so fucking much, Row.”
“I’ll miss you too, Rhi.”
“Rhiane,” Mom’s voice calls for me further down the corridor. “It’s time to get going.”
Rowyn and I step away from each other at the same time. I pick up my rucksack and nod at her, taking in the last of my twin sister before I turn and start to walk towards Mom. Rowyn, however, adds one more thing over my shoulder. “And Rhiane!”
I whip my helmet around. Rowyn jogs to get closer to me, lowering her modulated voice so only I can hear.
“Kick Din Djarin’s ass for me.”
I huff at that, as much as the sound of his name alone sets my chest aflame with deeply planted bitterness. “Easy.”
“Rhiane.” Mom’s voice is more stern now. I wince and turn to face her again, her battle-worn emerald suit of armor serving as a warning rather than an inspiration right now. “Let’s go.”
I look at my boots as I follow her out of the part of the stronghold I’ve called home for twenty-two cycles, now. Hopefully, Dad’s waiting outside, or else I won’t have a chance to say goodbye. There’s no way Mom’s going to let me back inside, and I can’t blame her. The last thing I’d want to do is either hold up the whole group of this cycle’s recruits or have to run like hell to catch up to them.
The maze of the stronghold soon gives way to Concordia’s swirling atmosphere, and as I look up, I can see the distant image of Mandalore. The familiar ache of curiosity and nostalgia I have no need for hits at the sight of our people’s homeworld. I wonder if earning my place as a warrior will ever grant me permission to visit our history there. Even Mom and Dad seem to miss it after running a few missions there when I was little.
Speaking of Dad, he stands with the other parents of my fellow recruits, who will see us off as we head to Kyrbej. There are less parents here than there are recruits, even if there aren’t that many of us. I push the unnecessary observation away and focus on the last goodbyes I have to make.
“You’re late, Rhiane,” Dad greets me, his gloved hand tapping the side of his helmet—and no doubt powering down the chrono within his visor.
Mom offers him the answer. “Rowyn.”
Dad nods in understanding. He approaches me and sets a strong hand on my shoulder. “You’ve been waiting a long time for this day, verd’ika.” I smile to myself at the nickname. I’ve had it ever since I tried to force Rowyn into wrestling matches when we were kids. “I know you’ll make us proud.”
“Thank you.” I nod, maintaining my composure and respect in light of the fellow Mandalorians who surround us.
“The Fighting Corps isn’t ready for you.” Mom speaks up next. She presses her hand against the back of my emerald helmet to make it meet her own. “But you are damn sure ready for it.”
My eyes start to sting, my nose prickling and my throat tied up in a spikey knot. Shit. I told myself I wouldn’t get emotional, even if my beskar could hide it—but I hadn’t expected my parents to show me anything more than tough-love in front of others. “Thank you.” I force the words through my tightened throat.
“The cycle will be over before you know it.” Dad steps towards me when Mom gives him room to, his helmet also meeting my own. “You’ll be a full-fledged warrior next time we see you.”
“Just a full-fledged recruit, Dad.” I manage to maintain my usual smartass tone even amidst my emotional struggle. Dad huffs and steps away. I look between my parents and lower my helmet in love and respect. “This is the Way.”
“This is the Way.” Their comforting voices are a chorus that wrap around me like a sweet embrace as I force myself to turn my back on them. I join the group of recruits and get in formation, falling into the empty space in the two-by-two line that’s been saved for me.
“It’s about time your ass turned up.” The recruit at my side’s tone is full of nothing but amusement as she tilts her purple helmet at me. “I was starting to think you were having second thoughts.”
I shoved my shoulder against hers. “Fuck off, Sahra.” I tilt my helmet back at her. “As if I’d be the one between us to stay behind.”
I could almost feel the hot waves of Sahra’s embarrassment warming my black leathers. “That’s different. Since Thiio’s due for his training next year—.”
“—You’ll be spending two cycles apart, not just one. I know.” I find her hand and give it a squeeze. “But this will be good for you two. You’ve been inseparable ever since they moved his family’s wing closer to yours.”
“And?” Sahra’s curt response is almost a challenge.
“Selfishly, it gives me more alone time with you.” I let her hand go and shrug. “Plus, who knows. Maybe training will bring out something new in someone that you’ll like.” I gesture with my  helmet to the path we’re about to take. “There’s gonna be a lot of extra adrenaline we have to take care of out there.”
“Fair point.” Sahra becomes more amused again as she crosses her arms over her chest. “And who exactly do you think you’ll be choosing for that task?”
I shrug again. “I’ll have to wait and see.” I spot a familiar shine diagonally across from my position, about four rows of recruits ahead. “I do know who I won’t be choosing, though.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” My visor snaps over to Sahra. She dramatically fires my own words back at me. “Maybe training will bring out something new in someone that you’ll like.”
“Fuck no.” I find the silver helmet again, the only one in this entire group that hasn’t been painted, and tighten my jaw. “That doesn’t apply to him.”
“Really, Rhiane?” Sahra is using the tone of voice that makes it hard to tell if she’s being serious or not. “I always thought you two would be a power—.”
I shove my elbow hard enough into her ribs to make her lose her breath for a moment.
“Damn, fine then. Comm received.” Sahra rubs her hand over her ribs. “No more jokes about Djarin.”
The sound of his name causes his silver helmet to turn over his shoulder. I don’t let my visor stray from his, instead challenging him to look away first. My hands curl into fists at my sides and I wish I could swing them in his direction. I’ve already sparred with him enough times to know, though, that I won’t win—but neither will he.
The question now, then, is who’s going to win this staring contest of ours.
“Recruits!” A booming voice announces from the front of the group.
Another draw it is. We look away from each other at the same time, focusing our attention to the black-armored Mandalorian ahead of us. Captain Hosnan has been running the Fighting Corps’ training for cycles, even before more than half our ranks abandoned the Way during the Clone Wars.
“You’ve been training for cycles to see this moment. You’re now mere minutes away from embarking on this journey, a Mandalorian tradition that’s been in place for thousands of years.”
My stomach twists with nerves I’m not used to having. The historical weight of this training isn’t lost on me, especially when I remember who my ancestors are. Settling for anything less than the goal I’ve made for myself in my mind is unacceptable.
“You’ve sworn the Creed. You’ve earned your most valuable piece of armor: your helmets.” 
Each one of our helmets is unique in some way, all adorned with special colors and embellishments—except for Din’s. For some reason, it makes my blood boil even more.
“Now, you will go on to earn each piece of your full suit of armor with each challenge you undertake. It won’t be easy, but the generations before you have proven it can be done. I’m the first captain to have no deaths reported at Kyrbej in three-hundred years, so don’t be my first.”
I swallow hard. No pressure.
“But don’t be mistaken. This isn’t because I’m softer than the other captains.” Captain Hosnan crosses his arms over his cuirass. “It’s because I’m tougher, and that toughness yields results. So, if any one of you feels you’re not up for the challenge, do us all a favor and walk away now while you can. As for the rest of you…”
Captain Hosnan lowers his arms to lift his fist to the center of his cuirass, right over the kar’ta. 
“Welcome to the Fighting Corps.” He lowers his helmet. “This is the Way.”
We all mirror his gesture, crossing our right arms over our chests and lowering our helmets. “This is the Way.”
The family members beside us are the last to say the phrase. “This is the Way.”
Captain Hosnan turns and begins to walk forward, and our group of recruits follows in obedient formation. I pull the straps of my rucksack higher on my shoulders and give Sahra a look. “Are you ready, Private Auren?”
Sahra tilts her helmet at me. “As ready as I’ll ever be, Private Voss.”
▼▲▼
As it turns out, the hardest part of our cycle at Kyrbej is fucking walking there.
After endless hours of non-stop travel across this desolate moon we call home, Captain Hosnan has finally allowed us to make camp. We don’t have the supplies to pitch tents, so we settle for various alcoves in the nearby rock structures that have defined Concordia ever since it was settled—or, at least, mined.
My feet are throbbing and my legs nearly give out when I sit down beside Sahra at our makeshift fire, but at least this walk is breaking in my boots. I chew on the ration pack Rowyn helped me acquire from the kitchen of our wing, sliding the material in the gap between the lip of my helmet and my skin. There’s no chance I’m gonna be able to hunt something out here.
The recruits are scattered throughout the alcove in their small friend groups, the ones made long before Kyrbej was even on the horizon. I’m well aware these groups will be drastically different by the time we all complete our training, and not just because of Linessa’s warning. It’s common sense. The shit we’re about to go through this cycle changes people from the inside-out.
“I’ll be right back,” Sahra speaks up into our comfortable silence. She stands and brushes the dirt of the alcove off her leathers. “I’ll let you know if I find a decent corner of privacy for relieving ourselves.”
I snort with amusement and watch her as she strides away. I’m not on my own for long, though, as another person soon comes to take her place. I don’t bother fighting the snarl underneath my  helmet or the roll of my eyes behind my visor.
“Voss.” Din’s modulated tone is curt as he stands over me.
“Djarin.” I all but bite his name out.
His arms cross over his chest. His broad chest. Shit, does that tiny detail really matter? “You seem tired.”
I scoff. “What a fucking compliment.” I sit up more and tilt my helmet. “Are you not exhausted from walking for at least six hours straight?” When he starts to reply, I hold up my hand. “Wait, let me guess. You’ve somehow been training for this specific part along with everything else.”
Din tilts his helmet back at me. “You’re catching on.”
Frustration pumps through my veins like hot, molten lava. “Well, what the hell do you want? Or did you just come over here to be an asshole?”
Din doesn’t waver at my hurled insults. “You tell me. Your friend was the one who said my name earlier.”
I narrow my eyes at him and hope he can somehow see their wrath behind my visor, even if it breaks the Creed. “Can’t live with the fact your name’s said in conversations you’re not a part of, Djarin?” I let out an amused huff. “Because I hate to tell you, people are allowed to say your name when you’re not around.”
“I would’ve been content to leave you to it.” Din shifts his weight to one hip. “But you were looking at me, so… naturally, I assumed you had something to say.”
“Nope.” I’m suddenly grateful for the Creed again that keeps my warm, embarrassed face from Din’s line of vision. Ancestors, forgive me. “Consider it a mistake.”
Din’s helmet straightens. “Let me give you some advice.” He gestures with his helmet to the view of Concordia outside the alcove. “There’s no room for mistakes at Kyrbej. Even one could move you down the ranks, and fast. My advice, then?” He drops his arms back to his sides, conveying his severity. “Don’t let it happen again.”
My anger becomes so volatile that I’m relieved I don’t have a metal suit of armor covering me. It would just melt into my skin. “So now you’re giving me orders?” I shake my helmet. “Hell no. And you say that as if I don’t already know.” My anger unties a cruel knot within my throat and unleashes its full wrath. “Unlike you, I have a fucking legacy to maintain.”
Din stiffens, but it only lasts for a moment. His hands curl into fists at his sides, but it’s not an unusual action for him. “Good.” He nods at me, having the audacity to remain civil after my harsh bite—and making me feel like the asshole here. “I expect it won’t happen again, then.”
He turns his back before he can see my middle finger extended up at him. I curse under my breath and wrap my arms around myself for more warmth, glancing at the unfinished ration pack on my lap. I’ve lost my appetite, and I could use the rest for breakfast, anyway.
No. I am not letting this man make me eat myself alive because he was the one who approached me in the first place. He’s trying to get to me mentally, since he can’t beat me physically. I won’t let him win.
Sahra returns and sits even closer to my side than she had before. “Damn, what did I miss?” Her visor gives me a once-over. “You’re tenser than a lariat.” She points at my unfinished ration. “And I expected that to be crumbs by now.”
“What do you think happened?” My visor’s glaring in Din’s direction, even though he’s become lost within the fray of recruits. I find his silver helmet amidst a group of other foundling recruits. He’s the biggest of them all.
“You mean, who do I think happened?” Sahra huffs. “It’s not really a question.”
“He was an asshole for coming over here, and then he made me be an asshole back.”
Sahra tilts her helmet at me. “He ‘made’ you?”
I finally turn to face her. “He wanted to know why you said his name earlier, before we left.”
I hate the way I can practically see Sahra’s purple helmet grow brighter, as if the fire suddenly got more powerful. “Yeah? And what did he have to say about my brilliant joke?”
“Your brilliantly fucking stupid joke? Yeah, he doesn’t know about it.” I huff in indignation. “He just threatened me not to make the ‘mistake’ of using his name without telling him about it again.”
Sahra’s shoulders tense at that. “What the hell?”
“Exactly.” I rest even further against the smooth slab of stone supporting me.
“So, how exactly were you an asshole in this context?”
I cringe, squeezing my eyes tight behind my visor in embarrassment. “Don’t judge me.” The only person who knows the Creed better than me is Din himself. The man’s a stickler for the rules and customs of our people. The foundlings are the future.
“Let me guess.” Sahra’s fingers tap over her thigh in unnecessary concentration. I already know she’s going to get it right on the first try. “You made a jab about him being a foundling?”
I palm my helmet with one of my hands. “Why am I such an ass about that sometimes, Sahra?” I shake my head.
“It’s the only leverage you have on him.” Sahra shrugs and pokes at the fire to keep it burning. “He’s not the most open about his life before his rescue, and he’s definitely not the type to tell anyone how he feels about it—or anything else.”
I stare at the fire. “That doesn’t make it right. He just…” I clench my hands into tight fists, “shit, he makes me so damn angry sometimes.”
“It may not be right, but it’s understandable.” Sahra nods at me. “You were predicted to be the top of our cycle from a young fucking age. Then Djarin just comes in, and… well, he’s the only one who can threaten that.”
I exhale deeply and close my eyes, feeling the weight of this day and situation upon me. “I don’t want to think about that day anymore.”
Sahra’s hand gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I understand.” I hear her shuffling around as she leans back next to me. “Get some rest. I have a feeling Hosnan’s gonna have us up and at ‘em as early as possible.”
Sahra’s right. It feels like I’ve been asleep for all of five minutes when the sound of beskar-on-beskar rings throughout the alcove.
The rest of the recruits and I jolt awake, looking to see Captain Hosnan with his gauntlets crossed over each other. “Morning, recruits! You have five minutes to fully put out your fires, pack your rucksacks, and relieve yourselves before we continue on!”
I groan and let my helmet hit the stone behind me for a moment. We’re not even at Kyrbej yet, and I already understand why I’ve trained like hell for this cycle.
But we will be getting to Kyrbej today, and that excitement alone is what gets me moving faster than anything else.
Once we’re all back on our feet and in our two-by-two formation, Captain Hosnan continues on our path to Kyrbej. Sahra’s quick to notice the sudden hop in my step. “What’s got you so excited to walk another six hours straight?”
I shoot her an incredulous look. “Kyrbej.”
“Right.” Sahra’s visor rises to the swirling sky for a moment. “I almost forgot the destination.”
“I’ve only been training my whole life for it.” I smile to myself, experience my first true wave of joy since leaving the stronghold. “Plus, I’ll finally get to see Linessa.”
Sahra’s helmet snaps back towards me. “Oh, shit, that’s right. She was team leader last year.”
“Damn right she was.” I tilt my helmet towards her. “She’s a Vizsla, after all.”
Sahra snorts. “If Paz was my older brother, I’d work my ass off to be team leader, too.” She gives me a knowing look. “But I’m not even gonna try when I know who it’s going to.”
I bite my cheek. “You don’t know that.”
“By the Ancestors, Rhiane, don’t lose your confidence already.” Sahra nudges my arm. “Your jab at Djarin may have been brutal, but it’s true. Even if he could possibly manage to beat you out in skill, when was the last time they made someone who’s not tied to a clan or a house a fucking team leader?”
My jaw remains wired shut. She’s right. The revelation floods relief through me. “Fair point. I’ll give you that.”
I don’t have another option; I have to believe her. Failing to become team leader isn’t an option. I won’t be able to face Dad, Mom, or even Rowyn if I don’t earn the title.
The hours go by surprisingly quickly, either because of the haziness of my exhaustion or because of the verbal games Sahra and I play to keep ourselves entertained. That haze, however, is quickly replaced by shocking clarity as the adrenaline kicks in at the sight on the horizon.
The unmistakable pillars of Kyrbej frame a tight group of Mandalorian warriors, those who will be serving as our officers, leaders, and teachers for the next cycle. I’m already searching for Linessa’s telltale blue helmet, but as much as I love the woman who’s like another sister to me, she’s not the only reason why my heart is racing with excitement.
After cycles and cycles of waiting, I’m finally at Kyrbej. I’m finally facing my long-awaited destiny. Not even my doubts about Djarin or team leader can quell my pure anticipation.
I don’t have to be Force-sensitive to know that I—and Kyrbej itself—won’t ever be the same after this moment.
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series masterlist • main masterlist • ao3
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poedjarinwrites · 8 months ago
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.3, his favourite daughter
Star Girl, prologue Din Djarin x fem!OC
Masterlist
(gif not mine!)
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TATOOINE, OUTER RIM
She feels his presence and she is glad that the ship has a rocky landing as it hides the way her legs weaken. Vader barely waits for the ramp to lower before he's stepping out, Bela is quick to follow after him.
'Where is he?'
'I have him secured inside, my Lord.'
'I will bring him in myself.'
Bela doesn't follow. She waits outside, her gaze set on the Third Sister who watches Vader until she can no longer see him.
'Why haven't you killed Kenobi?'
She smirks as she turns to face, 'You mean your father?'
She ignores the snide dig. She has no time for petty comments which are only said to try and get a rise out of her. 'If your anger for him runs so deep, so thick, why is he still alive?'
It dawns on her then.
The Third Sister has always been filled with rage. A deep longing for revenge. Only Bela only feels that when Vader is around. Not when they were on the base with Kenobi. But now, with his retreating figure it's even more prominent.
'You're not after Kenobi.'
'Are you going to stop me, Kenobi?'
Bela lifts her head. The Third sister's mouth twitches and she nods with a small satisfied hum. Then with the same dramatic flare she's gone down the corridor after him. ⋆⭒˚。⋆☾⋆⭒˚
Before the Third Sister can successfully land a strike on her target, Darth Vader. A red saber meets her own, stopping it just before his neck.
'Kenobi.'
Bela lifts her foot and kicks her back a few paces, 'General Bela to you, Sister.'
She ignites the other side of her saber and burns her side causing her to yell out as she drops to a knee. Using the force she pushes her aside and moves forward towards Vader.
It takes no effort for him to over power her, taking the double sided saber from her possession and splitting it in half. She yells in frustration accepting his challenge and taking a half.
Bela stands, clipping hers to her belt as she watches them fight.
A powerful Sith Lord against an angry girl.
The Third Sister kneels before him as he wields both sides of the saber against her. He moves slowly, his steps in time with her breathing.
Bela can't help it when she flinches at the saber through the Third Sister's chest. She yells, one final scream of agony - no, a scream of anger and frustration- and then she falls to her side.
'Did you really believe I did not see it, youngling? You are of no further use.'
She steps aside as the Grand Inquisitor moves forward, a sly grin on his ugly pale face. 'Hello, Third Sister. Revenge does wonders for the will to live, don't you think? Your rage was useful. Now it is tiresome. We will leave you where we found you. In the gutter where you belong. Goodbye, Grand Inquisitor.'
Bela doesn't move, she remains in the corner, watching as she struggles to reach her saber.
With a flick of her wrist it's in Reva's hand. And then she's turning, leaving her behind once and for all.
Before she moves away she hears the flickering voice of the Imperial Senator Bail Organa. 'If he's found them, if he's heard of the children. I'll head to Tatooine. Owen - help the boy.' ⋆⭒˚。⋆☾⋆⭒˚。⋆
She watches as Vader's ship lowers to the planet below, the moment the bridge gets the confirmation that he's touched down she heads for a ship of her own.
'General?'
'I'll assist in the backup. Update me if he gets bested.'
'It's Lord Vader.'
She ignores his comment and heads for the ship, turning to her droid to follow after her. But she doesn't go for the planet, with a few simple cut of some wires her tracking system is down, and she's plotting a course for Tatooine in the star map.
You're going to get us killed.
She sighs leaning back in her pilot's chair as the droid nudges her foot, 'Happy beeps, buddy.'
I'll beep how I want. He replies, Especially in my last few moments.
She rolls her eyes, yet still finds herself resting a hand on his hard metal head. A comforting thing for herself more than for the droid.
I don't like sand. It ruins my motoring abilities.
'Stay on the ship then.'
⋆⭒˚。⋆☾⋆⭒˚。⋆
Reva looks around, an angry yell as she can't find any of her targets. She lifts her arms yet stills unable to move.
Bela feels the panic within her. The fear. She thinks it's Vader holding her back, coming to finish the job.
Reva's eyes glance around and finally she catches sight of her as she steps into her view. 'Kenobi junior.' She hums, as if she's the one in control.
Bela keeps her head held high, a hand by her side to hide the shaking limb from Reva's view. She's not as strong as Vader with the Force, nor Reva. It's always been a struggle of hers, to wield the force as a physical matter. Her strong suit is to listen to the force when it talks, to use it to be able to understand other people. Not to bend it against its own will.
The Third Sister manages to break free and drops to her feet in exhaustion.
'Don't be good, Bela. You're not good.'
Bela shakes her head, 'I'm not. But you are, Reva.'
Reva yells and gets to her feet but she easily twirls away not needing to ignite her own saber. Once again the woman is on her knees, panting as she uses her saber as a staff. It digs into the sandy ground and she slips again while trying to regain balance.
'We were both children, Reva. Taken from our families, our homes. Forced to live the destruction.'
'Did Vader send you to do his dirty work? To finish me off?'
'No.' She pauses, wiggles her jaw and then with a single breath says, 'I killed him.'
'He's dead.'
'Yes.' She says, 'He was fighting Kenobi, distracted, held down by his old Master. Kenobi couldn't bring himself to do it. So I did it. I brought this very saber down on his chest.'
Reva stares for a few moments, then breaks out into a round of hysterical laughing. Her head is thrown back, eyes squinted at the sky as a mad sound escapes her chest. Bela steps back at it.
'Bested by a child?' She lifts her saber, and Bela realises she didn't fall for it, 'By you?'
Bela swallows her annoyance, then lets her eyes linger on Reva's saber. The red moves closer, and suddenly she's six years old again. In the middle of the jungle with an unknown man standing before her. A red saber in his hands and anger in his heart.
'You're a terrible liar.'
'Let the boy go.'
Reva laughs again, 'You don't even know who he is. Why are you here Bela? Not to kill me.'
Bela lifts her shoulders, 'A feeling?'
'A feeling?'
'The Force, it told me to stop you.'
Reva swings her saber at her but she jumps back, 'Now, it sent you to your death.'
With a flick of her wrist she pushes her back, but no matter how much stronger she is when it comes to bending the Force to her will she's still injured.
Bela ignites her saber and swipes at her leg causing her to fall to a knee. Reva yells in frustration and throws her back against the wall opposite them.
With a groan her saber is lost, rolling a few feet away and Reva is then standing before her. Her saber is gripped tightly as she looks down at the girl.
She raises it in the air but when she meets her eyes all she sees is her younger self staring back at her. Terrified as Anakin Skywalker's figure reflects in the youngling's eyes. 'Choose your own path, Reva.'
Bela moves, she stands but lifts her hands at her sides, an opportunity for her to be killed. It's a cowardly move, she believes Reva will kill her. It's her way out. Of the Empire of the life she's trapped herself within.
She steps closer, the step is a wish. A wish Reva will take the darker path, that she'll continue down her road of suffering just to end Bela's. It's selfish, and manipulative, traits given to her by Vader himself. Or maybe they were always within her. They've always said Mandalorians and Jedi don't mix. Maybe this is why.
Together they create selfish, manipulative, hate filled younglings who'll only destroy the galaxy.
Reva shakes her head and turns away, not without her saber grazing Bela's side. She hisses, leans into the heat and then stumbles a step when the saber is put away. Clipped onto her belt and hidden by a dark cloak.
'The boy went towards the dunes.' Reva tells her, then she's climbing out of the small home in the middle of the Tatooine desert.
Bela falls back, leaning on a pile of wooden crates. She's going to give up, to leave, go back to Vader, act as if it didn't happen.
She has no other choice. She was built to serve the Empire.
Save him.
It's a voice in the back of her head. One that appears in her most vulnerable moments.
The Force.
⋆⭒˚。⋆☾⋆⭒˚。⋆
She sees them in the distance. Three figures filled with worry and anxiety.
Owen spots her first. He races to her and cups the boy's face then takes him from her arms. When the boy's gone her arms feel empty.
Obi-Wan is in front of her then. He mirrors Owen's actions, cups her face to look at her better. 'Saviin.'
Beru moves forward to places a hand on her shoulder, 'Thank you.'
'See?' Obi-Wan turns her with a hand on her back to watch as Beru runs after Own, both of them holding Luke. 'You are good, Saviin.'
He faces her again, 'Come with me,' She can feel his desperation leaking through his palms like sweat. 'We could be father and daughter.'
'Vader is my father.'
His hand falls from her back, she readjusts the position of her shoulders to make herself taller, 'No he's not. He doesn't have to be. Come with me. Leave the Empire, we'll be safe here.'
She glances back at Luke and his small family. It warms her heart, she doesn't like it. She can't ruin this family. She can't have her Obi-Wan killed. She needs to get away, to get on a clean ship and to a planet with no connections.
She can't get him killed.
She shakes her head at him, then finally meets his eyes. They're those same scared ones from before. 'My father is the worst man in the galaxy. And I am his favourite daughter.'
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gingersnappe-9 · 2 years ago
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In a Crowd of Thousands: Beskar vs. the Dark Saber (16)
Din Djarin/Mando X Fem!OC || Star Wars/The Mandalorian Universe
Series List || #star wars anastasia || PREVIOUS || NEXT
5.4 K words
Warning: canon violence (lethal weapons use), near death experience(s)
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A/N: chapter banner art by @followwhereshegoes​ & myself
The plan was to announce her reunion to Leia and reaffirm their family’s legacy of fighting for the greater good of the galaxy. 
Ava tried convincing herself that it was for the best. No, that it was her rightful place to be by her sister’s side fighting the good fight with the Rebellion and serving as a diplomatic attache to underprivileged reaches of the galaxy. It’s what they talked about at least, but the more Ava experienced it, the stuffier she rediscovered it all was. She recalled how much she disliked wearing dresses that she could potentially trip over and fall on her face in front of some important foreign dignitary – she actually remembered doing that once when she was younger – She had forgotten how most of the individuals in law and diplomacy were decades older than her and never quite appreciated her humor. Ava accidently scandalized a maid when she dropped a book on her toe while practicing her walk – like he did back on the Crest – and swore like a spice runner. 
Try as she might, Ava was just having a far more difficult time fitting in to her birthright. She’d watch the maids flit around and coo about the fine jewelry and dresses she and Leia would be wearing to the event. She had to agree though, the gowns and finery were stunning. The material felt like starlight across Ava’s fingertips. The bright colored gemstones of her necklace were as red as sand stone. A pair of crowns, however, remained in their storage boxes. Leia suggested they hold off on donning their headdresses until they arrived at the venue. 
“They’re gorgeous but I’ve knocked mine off my head getting out of a cruiser or two.” The sisters shared a good laugh. Ava wasn’t sure what being a “someone” should feel like but only deep down in her subconscious did she consider that she really only needed simple things… perhaps a simple person. 
Sooner, rather than later, everyone was dressed and being ushered into sleek, black cruisers. Leia and her secretary or personal assistant immediately began chatting about her schedule and future events. They didn’t seem to need her attention so Ava allowed herself to gaze out the tinted windows and onto the passing by cityscape. The light had already begun to bleed from the sky as dusk settled over Canto Bight. The lights streaked by not unlike the stars at lightspeed, though they paled in comparison.
They arrived at the Starfield Legacy Center far earlier than even the ravenous reporters who were always far more interested in capturing the glitzy regalia or a moment of weakness between a supposedly madly in love couple. Ava and Leia calmly walked through a side entrance with grand capes covering their ensembles with ushers following closely on foot with the crowns, locked away in protective boxes. One of the event coordinators brought them up to a secluded room where they could freshen up and wait in privacy before the speeches and press rounds. Ava sat down quietly on a plush chair tucket into the corner. She fiddled with her opera length gloves to keep herself from messing up her hair or makeup or her dress. She watched as Leia moved through the motions with ease. How her sister handled unexpected questions with ease and firm command. Leia was a natural born leader and Ava adored watching her in her element. If Ava had been left to her own devices, she would’ve shown up with a smear of grease on her cheek, a pair of work coveralls all rumpled and disheveled only to say, “Hi, I’m her. So, yeah that’s it”. 
Lost in thought, Ava didn’t even notice that Leia had approached her with one of the large lock boxes balanced in her arms. She had already placed her silver crown neatly on her head. It resembled a solid halo that sat across the center of her head with five slender peaks jutting out. Alderaanian jewelry was rather simple, but in its simplicity they were always striking. The necklace – small squares of Alderaanian silver linked by delicate jump rings – was a piece that their mother wore often. The necklace must’ve been stored off-world at an embassy for it to have been saved from the destruction of Alderaan.  
“I believe it is time.” 
Ava stood up slowly as Leia rested the box on the nearby side table. When the cover was lifted, the light in the room seemed to shift to a golden hour. The halo-shaped crown was fitted to her scalp with a tapered point resting just below the center of her hairline. Teardrop shaped pearls rested across her forehead. The thin bands that reached out were like rays of the sun with even more pearls inlaid in between. Ava let herself adjust to the weight of it, glad that Leia suggested she hold off wearing it until necessary. There was music beginning to play from the hall, though muffled it signaled the evening was beginning. 
The two of them walked over to a large full-length mirror on the other side of the room. They looked very much like the sun and moon – Ava in her striking gold crown, cream colored dress with a deep green sash; and Leia in her midnight purple gown, silver jewelry, and similar sash made of a maroon satin – Their father used to call them his sun and moon. Leia placed a hand on each of Ava’s shoulders and allowed her cheek to rest on her sister. They stood there taking in the sight of one another. Taking in the other’s presence and the reality that against all odds they were together again. Family. 
Leia squeezed Ava’s shoulders and took a step back. “You look so much like her.” 
“Who?” Ava responded quietly. 
Leia only smiled. “Mama. You have her presence.” 
The younger of the two sisters smiled right back. “You remind me of Papa. You’re always so sure, and just as fair.” 
“You’ve done well, you know,” Leia spoke calmly, “I know none of this has been easy. But you’ve done really well with handling everything that’s come your way.” 
“The journey was interesting to say the least.” Ava quipped. 
The two of them stood silently together for a moment more. But only a moment before Leia took Ava’s hands and helped her slip her gloves on. For some reason, when she focused on the gloves, she thought of Mando and how his gloves slipped on and off his hands. 
Leia half smiled. “But I can't help but wonder if it’s what you really want.” 
Ava pulled her hands back while Leia regally collapsed hers together. “What does that mean?” 
“I just mean… You were born into this world. It was your destiny from birth to wear that crown and carry on the legacy of house Organa as much as it is mine to carry on the Organa and Skywalker legacy,” Her voice never waivered, never accusatory or disappointed, just very truthful, “But I can’t help but feel that it might not be meant for you after all.”
The pair of them stood in the room alone in silence for a moment after Leia finished. Ava had similar thoughts float into her mind but she’d always dismissed them as trivial since everything the Mandalorians had told her was a lie to get her sister’s money. “Whatever happened, happened. I can’t change it and I will not go back to it.” 
Leia gave her a look only older sisters could make. “He must have been special then for you to be digging your heels like a ton-ton.” 
After she had to throw back a lighthearted grimace at being called a ton-ton, Ava didn’t know what to feel. No, she knew exactly how she should feel. It was a lie for money. A cash grab. Nothing more, nothing less. Ava knew Leia could sense her feelings so there was no point delaying the obvious. 
“They did what bounty hunters do. They delivered their quarry and now they’re probably halfway to a new sector by now.” She said with more sorrow than intended. It hurt to put power into her fears. Out of the corner of Ava’s eye, she caught her sister with a somewhat hesitant look. “What?” Leia’s face shifted rather quickly to one with a soft, knowing smile. 
“Aurie, he didn’t take the money. And I can’t imagine their withholding information makes you feel better, but for what it’s worth, they brought you back to me. But this is the life that I have chosen for myself. I supposed, now, it’s your turn to choose.” 
Leia let go of Ava’s hands and began to walk towards the door and didn’t turn back to see if her sister was following until she opened the door. When Leia turned back, she truly looked like their mother. Though Ava knew the two weren’t blood related, it was in the way Leia carried herself. Her poise, the way she tilted her head and said, “Ava, Aurelia, it makes no difference to me. You are mine and Luke’s sister. We will always love you.” And then she calmly walked out into the world Ava was uncertain of reentering. 
It felt as if the world had spun off its axis and was floating farther and farther away from its sun. So Ava decided to go outside and take in some fresh air. 
The gardens were large and expansive – but most importantly empty – on a large earthen terrace that overlooked Canto Bight. From its vantage point, Ava could see the city cresting out towards the bay. The calm waters glittered in the early moonlight. Distant sounds of life were carried in on the wind. Below, each and every person walked their own path. Difficult ones. Easy ones. Some that were hard one day then a breeze the next. What path will I take now? She’d found her family. More than she was expecting, two whole siblings who expressed their unconditional love for her. What was next? 
What indeed?
A foreign voice echoed in her mind and all of a sudden Ava’s body stiffened. She turned around quickly and found the path empty. But something or someone was out there. A new energy swirled in the air. Ava felt like her nerves were on fire as her blood began to pound behind her temples. The energy, the presence, she’d felt it before crawling in the back of her mind. It was cold and filled with a quiet and dangerous rage. 
“I know you.” Her voice wavered as she spoke out into whatever darkness was drawing closer. 
A man appeared. The same stern face and severe eyes. His hands were placed behind his back as he walked with precise steps. In a word, elegant, or more accurately, predatory. His dark eyes stared her down, hungrier than his demeanor gave off.  
“Yes. We’ve met before. In a manner of speaking.” He continued to stalk forward. 
She put her hand out – as if the gesture would protect her – “Who are you?” 
“My name is Moff Gideon, your Highness.” He gave a short nod after her title. 
A chill ran through her spine. “You have me confused with someone else.” No sooner did Ava try to turn around, a powerful feeling wrapped around her mind giving her a splitting headache. It nearly made her drop to her knees. 
“Oh, I’m not confused at all. You are the lost daughter of Senator and Queen Organa,” His voice was cold and seemed to strike with a blunt edge with each word, “Though my plans need a little adjusting you’ll do just fine.” 
She turned around to face the man and slowly backed away with each step he took; but even so, she felt like she was being backed into a corner. “Stop.” 
He kept advancing with a ceaseless gaze. 
“Stop.”  
Her head hurt.
“Stop.” 
Everything seemed wrong and her hands twitched. 
“STOP!” 
Ava thrust both of her palms out towards him and felt a surge of energy release. It was like a pulse, her pulse, magnified outward. It was not unlike what she experienced at the opera with Mando. 
She opened her eyes, not even realizing she’d squeezed them shut. Ava saw Gideon down on one knee, huffing to try and bring air back into his lungs. Ava channeled whatever courage she could muster, and tried to remember Luke’s lessons. But it felt like her memory was failing. A few stints in force sensitivity training did not a Jedi make. 
In her mind she asked for help from the cosmic forces of the universe, the Maker, Luke… Mando… anyone. 
A terrible sound came from his throat. It was strained laughter, or at least some form of it. “Excellent. Most excellent.” Gideon pushed himself up with visible struggle but quickly regained his footing. He moved his cloak to the side and revealed a hilt clipped to his belt, took it in hand, “You do indeed have what I want, Princess” and ignited the blade. 
It was unlike anything Ava had ever seen. It mimicked the way Luke’s lightsaber emitted light, but it was dark. The blade was black with white edges. The energy surrounding the weapon was just as dark. Ava sensed how it wrapped around Moff Gideon’s mind and body, twisting and warping what was already malevolent to begin with. It was consuming him. Alarm bells screamed out in Ava’s mind. Run. 
She took off in an instant without direction or awareness. Ava gathered as much of the dress into her arms as she could, but the weight of the fabric still seemed to slow her down. It didn’t help that she’d lost sight of the building between the impossibly tall greenery. Ava figured her best bet would be to hide where he wouldn’t expect to look or would be least likely to find her. So Ava ducked into a nearby cluster of trees. 
The more she pushed her way through, however, the sleeves and hem of her dress caught and snagged on branches and twigs. It ripped the delicate overlay of her dress and muddied her heels. Finding they only got stuck in the dirt and undergrowth, Ava kicked them off and daringly threw them away in hopes it would possibly fool Gideon into going a different direction. 
It felt like her heart was going to burst from her chest. The more time she spent in suspense, the harder her blood pounded. The greater the ringing in her ears became as the sky grew darker and the shadows became more and more menacing. Her mind felt cloudy. She couldn’t hear anything or anyone. They must’ve been deeper into the garden than she’d realized. Despite her mental haze, Ava gently tried closing her eyes and reaching out to feel for presence. She’d barely touched the surface when something came screaming into her mind. It felt like claws digging into her nerves. Her skin became so cold so quickly it felt as if it were burning. And despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help but scream out in agony. 
I found you. 
Before she even knew it, a deep reverb echoed in her mind alerting her not a moment too soon before a blade struck out just millimeters above her head. 
Ava scrambled to her feet and ran back out onto the path. Her body still cried out in pain, and her breach into energy opened like a flood gate. Gideon was still gaining on her. She reached out and felt the finely laid stone beneath her feet; she focused on the craggy surface and motioned with her hand as if she were clawing it out from the ground and flung it back with all her strength. A large chunk flew up and back at her pursuer. Ava heard rock crumbling, and when she looked back, saw the slab sliced in two. 
Impossible. 
“No, not impossible, my dear.”
Somehow the lunatic was in her head. He was the clawing in her mind, like a poison slowly creeping into her bloodstream. 
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice felt hoarse and her body was only growing weaker. 
“Why does anyone do anything? Power. Power is the way of the world. It always has been. It brings the greatest change and is the strength of the longest lasting empires. And with the dark saber and you, my goals for the galaxy are well within reach.” 
“You’re forgetting that most power-hungry madmen are spineless cowards who use others to get what they want.” Her voice was horse and growing strained. 
Gideon chuckled with a false humor. It was cruel and mocking. Ava could feel it pulsing behind her eyes and the pain brought her down to her knees as he skulked closer. 
“You’ve just never seen true power before. This,” He brandished the blade up towards her face. So close, Ava could feel the cold energy pulsing off it. “This is what power really is.” 
She’d never seen energy like it before. The blade both emitted light and yet somehow seemed void of it. As such close proximity, she felt it draining her energy even more. Only one sort of thing in the known universe drew in energy like that – a black hole. The dark saber was some sort of contained black hole. It had to have been. It appeared to be the antithesis of a lightsaber which projected the wielder’s energy. The dark saber fed off it. It pulled in the life force of its wielder, even those around it. 
“That thing is killing you.” Something flashed quickly across Gideon’s face. He wasn’t expecting her to say something like that, and Ava caught it. “But you didn’t know that, did you? How could you, you don’t know anything real about power you-” 
He quickly slashed the blade through the air and swiped Ava’s cheek. It burned. It was cold and yet burned hotter than anything she’d ever felt in her life. The pain rendered her speechless as she was knocked to the floor grasping her cheek. 
“I know more about this power than anyone else in the galaxy,” The tip of the blade hovered precariously close to her face, “Pity. You could’ve been something great. But you’re just like all the rest of those feckless fools in the Resistance. You’re just standing in my way.” 
Ava’s world suddenly came to a screeching halt. She’d heard those words before spoken in that very same voice. Out of nowhere she recalled crouching behind a hallway corner, then a hand falling to the floor. It had been her father’s hand. Ava could hear her mothers scream before her body hit the floor with a sickening, and lifeless thud. “It was you…” Her voice caught in her throat, “You killed them.” 
When Ava looked up at Moff Gideon his face was twisted into a mad grin. He relished in her horrifying realization. 
His eyes were wide and wild, “I’ll take what I need. But don’t worry, you’ll be with them soon enough.” Gideon raised the darksaber to dish out what could only be a mortally wounding blow. 
Please… 
A blaster shot rang out, as if from thin air, struck the flat side of the saber blade, ricocheting off into the ground. 
A feeling swept over Ava, it was good and young. Grogu. And where the tiny green creature found himself, another was never far behind. 
Ava turned her head in the direction of the shot and saw a familiar silhouette slip into the shadows. She sensed how he stalked through the dark and cover of the greenery ever closer. His watchful gaze never left hers. Ava could feel in her own muscles the way his pulled and strained against his bones. The strength in his hands as he gripped his blaster artfully. Teeming with energy and an overwhelming urge to seek and destroy. 
Without realizing, Gideon slashed down again.
Ava’s body reacted before she could even think. Her palm extended outward just as the saber came down. The scene around her became perfectly clear in her mind. The stone surface of the pathway through the soft and tearing material of her dress; she became one with the plant cells slowly blooming while others had fallen to the ground and went through the final stages of decomposition. The air molecules surrounding the blade snapped and popped as it moved through the air. And just before the saber made contact with her flesh, it stopped. 
It stopped the same way two magnets of the same polarization repelled one another. The blade held against nothing in midair. The two of them stared at each other with a look of awe but even during that moment, Ava could feel her control slipping. 
Another blaster shot, this one straight to Gideon’s hands, knocking the saber from his grip. The next thing Ava saw was the bulk of Mandalorian armor hurdling out from nowhere and tackling Gideon to the ground. The two men grappled on the ground for the upperhand. They seemed to match each other blow for blow. Though Mando was strong, Ava could sense something in Gideon had been altered by the blade. He fought back like an animal possessed, clawing and punching and the soft points between Mando’s armor. Gideon somehow managed to rip off one of Mando’s thigh plates and used it to completely slap Mando clean across his helm. 
The sound of pure beskar striking beskar was loud for Ava, so it must’ve been somewhat deafening for Mando. The Mandalorian stumbled back and Gideon managed to reach for a blaster hidden on the opposite side of his hip. Ava cried out just as Gideon pulled the trigger, striking Mando in the shoulder, just below his pauldron. She barely registered the distressed sounds coming from Grogu’s pram just a few meters away. He tried to come forward, but Ava intentionally held his little craft back. 
In the moments afterwards, it felt like the shot kept ringing in her ears. 
“There is a reason his kind is all but extinct,” Gideon’s voice was wicked and chilled, “Too noble for their own good.” He took aim again, this time, where the hollow of Mando’s throat would be. She could feel his pain rippling throughout his arm, she felt his racing pulse slow. Mando fought to maintain his composure as his thoughts grew fuzzy till they all disappeared into unconsciousness. 
Ava’s hands twitched again. They needed to hold on to something. They needed to defend. Her mind reached out, and no sooner could Gideon place his finger on the trigger did the dark saber skitter across the ground and fly into Ava’s hand. She surged forward with a speed she didn’t know she had. The blade sliced up through the barrel of the blaster as if it were nothing. The force of her attack was strong enough to knock Gideon back a few paces. 
Something took Ava over. She felt a thrum of electricity coursing through her. She felt like a star about to explode, just teeming with potential power and energy. So she took off. 
Gideon barely had enough time to react. The saber came down hard against the plate. It was beskar versus the dark saber. Blow after blow, Ava continued to swing with every ounce of her strength that she could muster, and the blade responded in kind. She let her anger roll through her like the undercurrent of a torrent river. It was a rage she’d never felt before, or had only become aware of the moment she realized Gideon was the man who slaughtered her parents. Ava slashed and punched and kicked and all he could do was use his small shield against her. The ground beneath them quickly bore the marks of their opposing efforts. Scorches here, slashes there, the concrete and stonework ripped from the ground. Sweat crept down Gideon’s brow, the weapon he once envisioned himself conquering the galaxy with had been turned against him. It drew on his fear. 
He was responsible for her suffering. He was the one who’s greed had led to the deaths of so many innocent lives. He’d nearly killed Mando. He had tried to kidnap and do Maker know what sort of horrible things to little Grogu, and possibly even her. Ava’s hands grew hot from the fury surging through her body. It felt as though her eyes glowed in anger. The dark saber responded, it hummed and sang in her mind to the very same tune of revenge. It craved it as much as she did. Moff Gideon needed to pay for his crimes, and they decided he would. 
With a swift punch backed by the force, Ava swiftly knocked the air clean out of Gideon’s lungs. He lay on his back atop the wreckage they’d both created. Ava hadn’t even realized how far they’d traveled till she caught a glimpse of herself in some sculpture. The polished metal reflected back an image of herself that Ava didn’t recognize. Her dress was torn and mottled with dirt and debris. Her crown was long gone and her hair was coming undone. What startled her most was her eyes. They weren’t brown anymore, they seemed brighter with flashes of red on the outer edge of her iris. She was changing before her eyes. The blade sang out in protest of her stalling. 
Ava paused and looked for a moment at the strange sword. She listened to it with a more careful ear, and what she heard was different from her initial judgment. 
The blade wasn’t inherently evil. It wasn’t anything much at all. Energy was constantly flowing through the crystal within. Raw potential. It called for revenge because she had wished for it in her mind. Standing there and witnessing how quickly hate had made her change frightened Ava. The potential had always been there, but it took the blade to make herself realize how much of her emotions she had been ignoring. It stung. The hilt grew heavy with doubt, and it was in that split second Gideon acted. 
He lunged up from the ground like some feline creature with his teeth bared ready to sink into the soft flesh of its prey. 
His hands wound around her own on the hilt of the dark saber. The two of them grappled with strained muscles. Ava nearly bit into her lip with the amount of effort it took to keep the blade away from Gideon’s effort to drive it into her throat. The man’s eyes were as wild and feral as her own, but Ava felt her anger slipping away. It pained her to look him in the face – the man responsible for her mother and father’s deaths – but a new sensation began to whisper in the back of her mind… 
We will always love you. 
We are with you.
It was Leia. Luke. Her parents. Everyone who cared for her, near and far, alive and gone. Their essences melding together like a balm that soothed her soul. Their love and spirits were with her. They would remain in and all around her. No matter how angry she was, how hurt and betrayed by fate she felt, Ava realized that would never die. It would sustain her, it had thus far. She’d traveled clear across the galaxy for a feeling she did not have a name for… but it was the love for her family, found or otherwise. 
In her hands, she could sense the saber mirroring her conflicting emotions. How it cried out in confusion from her influence as well as Gideon’s. It was the oldest song in the galaxy: one of struggle, light and dark. Only Ava seemed to be listening to it.  
“Why don’t you seem to understand?” He hissed, close enough Ava could feel the heat of his breath against her face, “The only way to exist is to take and maintain order.” 
Ava was close. Even with her limited knowledge of sabers, she felt for the housing unit within the hilt. She could feel the power circuits and the wiring leading to a central unit. All the while, Gideon’s grip had become so fierce he pushed her palm so hard into the hilt they’d begun to bleed against the detailing. His fingernails bore into her skin leaving red crescents dribbling. 
There. 
The image of it came clear in her mind. It was no bigger than her thumb, deep like onyx and vast as a moonless night. 
“For take, there should be give. After death, life should grow,” She planted her feet and dung down deep, “The galaxy will continue forward long after any of us leave this world. Any attempts to out last it are foolish.” 
She bore down on the housing unit. Felt it break and warp under her pressure. Release. Gideon sensed it too. He began to yell and scream in vain. Ava had already cracked in, uncontained energy had begun to spill out. 
“The way of existence is balance.” 
It broke and like a supernova, energy poured outward. The saber sparked and burst, sending out white hot particles. Ava and Gideon were knocked back with scorch marks across their exposed skin. 
Ava landed hard on her back, the wind knocked clean out of her. In her attempts to pull air back into her lungs, she struggled to look around. Gideon lay in a smoldering pool of his black cloak. Unmoving. The crystal lay amongst the debris of the destroyed hilt, calm. She pulled it into the palm of her hand with little effort. It was indeed as black as the void of space, so much so, it seemed her hand had developed a blackhole. Vengeance no longer silently plagued her mind. That part was done and over. It was time for growth. 
Ava whipped her head back to see if Grogu had avoided the flair. The doors of his pram opened with a soft hydraulic hiss and sweet eyes gazed down at her as he floated in her direction. 
“Where’s your dad?” She wheezed. 
Grogu hovered off in a direction and Ava stumbled behind as if she were a babe just learning to walk. When Mando came into view the adrenaline had begun to wear off. From the distance, Ava couldn’t even tell if he was still breathing.
All of her strength gave out leaving her no choice but to crawl the last few feet to Mando. His beskar was scorched and scored from the saber. Bits of his flight suit were singed and the place beneath his right pauldron was soaked in red. Panic seized her heart and muscles. Her once steady hands shook uncontrollably as she lifted the pauldron up and off. The site was black and oozing. Knowing she didn’t have enough strength to see if the shot had gone clean through his shoulder, Ava had to lean her entire upper body weight to apply pressure. His breathing was shallow, his heartbeat slow. The bleeding had been prolonged without any intervention and his body was showing the toll. Her entire body shook. She was beaten and aching. Shrapnel had certainly lodged itself in various points of her body, but none of that mattered. Ava reached for whatever energy she had left. 
She felt the dimming hum of Mando’s life. It was slipping away. 
“No,” Tears fell across the motionless helmet, “Not you too.” Her voice was barely there. Desperation and despair thick enough that she practically choked on it. “Please… I need you… I… love… you.” 
Grogu appeared beside her. His small hand reached for the site. Ava wanted to pull his untainted fingers back, no child should have to witness and partake in such misery. But something washed over her. Energy pooled in a different direction the closer Grogu came. 
She rested her hand atop Grogu’s significantly smaller one. Ava allowed herself to follow the gentle current. Beneath her trembling fingers, Ava could feel Mando’s skin shifting. Torn cells joined again. Layers of epidermis repaired itself slowly as the current flowed from hers and Grogu’s hands. Mando’s heartbeat rose. But Ava’s dipped. She was giving so he could take. 
Slowly but surely, with their conjoined effort, the wound was mended. The viscous remnants remained, but the bleeding had stopped. He took a deep breath which meant Ava could finally take one herself. 
By then, there was shouting and disturbance from the crowds above. Ava sent off a brief moment to her sister and to Luke. Whether or not they sensed it, Ava didn’t care. Her eyes were heavy and her body had already slumped across Mando’s chest. The coolness of the beskar soothed the heat from the mark across her cheek. Grogu had already succumbed to his much needed rest. Whoever would find them would be in for a surprise. 
A princess, a bounty hunter, a small child all together. 
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handspunyarns · 2 years ago
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You Were Marked Masterlist 
a multi-chapter Din Djarin x *reverse age gap* *plus-sized* *fem* *afab* O/C 
**** please feel free to review, comment, criticize, reblog, and otherwise speak your mind. ****
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Pairing: din djarin x *reverse age gap* *plus-sized* fem!O/C  
Rating: will be 18+  
Story summary: Din accepts an ambiguous bounty for an impressive sum. It takes him days out of the charted galaxy through hyperspace to an unknown planet with inhabitants ruled by men, secretive, and unlike anything Din had experienced before. He meets a woman living alone outside of the protected boundaries of the community…
Story warnings: Mando'a and English cursing, explicit sexual content, non-con sexual content, extreme violence, rape, torture, misogynic culture, revenge, and gluten 
**** please feel free to review, comment, criticize, reblog, and otherwise speak your mind. ****
Click Here to read on AO3
Prologue
Day One
Day One point Five
Day Two
Day Two point Five
Day Three (18+, MDNI, sexual situations)
Day Four
Day Four point Five (18+, MDNI, violence, sexual situations)
Day Five
Day Five point Five (18+, MDNI, sexual situations)
Day Six (18+, MDNI, violence, rape, SA)
Day Six point Five
Day Seven (18+, MDNI, rape, torture, violence, SA)
Day Seven point Five (18+, MDNI, rape, torture, violence, blood, SA)
Days Eight through Eleven (18+, MDNI, rape, torture, violence, blood, SA)
Day Twelve
Day Thirteen
Day Fourteen (Din) (18+, MDNI, sexual situations)
Day Fourteen (Marathel)
Day Fourteen point Five (Marathel)
Day Fifteen (Din)
Day Fifteen (Marathel & Cobb)
Day Fifteen point Five
Days Sixteen to Nineteen, Part I
Days Sixteen to Nineteen, Part II
Days Sixteen to Nineteen, Part III (18+, MDNI, rape, violence, sexual situations)
Day Twenty (18+, MDNI, rape, violence, sexual situations)
Day Twenty-One (18+, MDNI, rape, violence, sexual situations)
Day Twenty-One point Five (Din)
Day Twenty-One point Five (Marathel)
Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part I
Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part II. (18+, MDNI, violence, sexual situations)
Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part III (18+, MDNI, blood, sexual situations)
Days Twenty-Two to Twenty-Six, Part IV (18+, MDNI, violence, rape, sexual situations)
Day Twenty-six point Five.
Days Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine (Marathel). (18+, MDNI, rape, violence, murder)
Days Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine (Din, Part I).
Days Twenty-Seven to Twenty-Nine (Din, Part II).
Day Twenty-Nine point Five. (Mention of bodily fluids and menstruation)
Day Thirty.
Day Thirty-One.
Day Thirty-One point Five.
Day Thirty-Two.
Day Thirty-Two point Five, part I
Future Days (coming soon)
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beardedjoel · 2 years ago
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Part One of the Signs of a Lifetime Series
Pairing: Din Djarin x OC / fem!Reader
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 4k
Warnings: smut, mild violence, language
A/N: i wasn’t sure about posting this but I’ve been working on this OC nonstop for ages now and love her dearly, so I hope you enjoy her story! 
entire story is posted on AO3 if you wanna show me some love there!
Summary:
Bounty hunter Alya Kesyk was completely unprepared for the day she met the Mandalorian. She wasn’t looking to make any new friends, let alone change the entire landscape of her life going forward.
As a loner for the last decade, the last thing she expects is to meet someone who captivates her like this, and eventually changes her for the better.
Story begins pre-season one and may continue into the main story of the show.
Alya Kesyk was completely unprepared for the day she met the Mandalorian. She wasn’t looking to make any new friends, let alone change the entire landscape of her life going forward. It was just another day on the job for her as she swirled the dark liquid in her glass and peered around the moderately crowded cantina she was sitting in. The main bartop may not be the most inconspicuous place to be seated with plenty of more private booths lining the walls and corners of the room, but it gave her the best view of her surroundings. Over the years she had mastered the look of someone simultaneously not suspicious and not to be fucked with, which typically led to her remaining unbothered by other patrons when she was on a job. The ones that tested those waters with her found out quickly that they had made the wrong choice.
Alya took a sip of her drink as the main doors of the tavern slid open. She felt a bit of the cooler air from outside breeze past her as she turned with a deliberately passé look to see who had entered. Her facade almost faltered as she beheld the man covered completely in armor that entered. She could have sworn that the room quieted at the sight, even stilled a bit with new tension. A Mandalorian .
She wasn’t sure if this meant trouble just yet, but Alya turned her attention away from the door while keeping her ears open. The last thing she needed was any kind of scene caused by some drunk, aggressive asshole who might try to pick a fight with a Mandalorian and mess up her chances of finishing this job. She had been biding her time and gathering any last intel or movements on her quarry before moving in on him, and would be damned if anybody screwed this up for her.
The Mandalorian slowly sauntered up towards the bar, seemingly unfazed by the extra attention placed on him as he had entered the room. Alya figured that he was used to it by now - Mandalorians weren’t the most common sight after all, and they were perceived as dangerous to the average person. They were raised to be fighters, warriors, and absolutely not to be messed with. Even she found herself slightly unnerved by the genuine strength radiating off of him, but it was met with equal intrigue about who he was. He had on a shiny, pure beskar helmet that looked rather new compared to his other armor pieces - scratched up mismatched red-brown plates covering the rest of him. The Mandalorian seated himself with just one bar stool between them, and Alya felt her hair stand up slightly when her instincts told her something was off. No, not off, just… electric . The prickling beginning in her nerves was interrupted when the Mandalorian suddenly inclined his helmeted head towards her and spoke.
“You a local?” he said, his voice modulated to hell but with a quality that Alya instantly found herself attracted to. Focus , she hissed to herself in her mind.
“Depends on who wants to know,” she replied with a casual sip of her drink and a slight smirk. The alcohol warmed her throat, giving her that little bit of extra courage to sass this dangerous man with at least two weapons visible that she could count. She realized her suspicions upon first seeing him were correct and he was looking for intel on the exact bounty she was here to hunt.
She could have sworn she heard an exasperated scoff through his modulator. “Me” he said flatly. Alya silently praised herself that she had passed off looking like enough of a local for him to even ask, not that she had ever doubted herself. Something about him filled her with an instinct to trust, so she decided to go against everything she typically stood for on this strange whim that was stirring within her.
“I’m not local, but I sense we might have… mutual interests here” Alya peered over at him and the Mandalorian’s head seemed to look over at her more quickly than he had been moving before. It was impossible to read him through the helmet, but she sensed he was taken aback.
“Oh? And just what exactly do you think that would be?” he said while turning his body more fully towards Alya.
She discreetly pulled the bounty puck out of her pocket to show him and then slipped it right back in a few moments later, looking back up at her new companion with searching eyes. He made a sort of amused chuckle noise through the modulator in response but didn’t say anything.
“If my assumption that you’re a Guild member as well is correct, which I know it is, then I have a proposition for you.” Alya tried to keep her tone steady, detached but she felt her heart rate pick up a little.
“I’m listening,” Mando leaned even closer to her. She could see her reflection a bit better in the helmet and smoothed the few loose strands of her pulled back red hair behind her ears slightly.
“I’m thinking of a collaboration of sorts. Don’t ask me why. This is a high profile bounty which means good money for me, and not to mention I was here first and should be taking one hundred percent of the reward, but for some reason I find myself feeling generous today.” Alya held out her hands, palms open, and shrugged slightly. Something had absolutely struck her senseless about this mysterious man, and maybe her sudden urge to share a bounty for fuck’s sake was just to keep him around a bit longer. “You help me wrangle this guy up, we split the bounty, and then neither one of us leaves here empty handed.”
She watched Mando ponder for several moments, and began to worry she had said the wrong thing, pissed off the wrong asshole today. She had a bad habit of doing that, didn’t she, she wondered to herself.
“Okay.”
Alya quickly glanced up at where she assumed his eyes would be under the helmet and felt the corner of her mouth turn up slightly. “It’s a deal, then” she said, holding out her hand. She was surprised when Mando took it and shook her hand, her fingertips poking out of her fingerless leather gloves touched his gloved hands. While there was no skin to skin contact she found it electrifying all the same.
“Alright, tell me what you've got, we can compare notes,” Mando implored her, folding his hands together.
“The quarry has been hiding out here on Canto Bright long enough to actually secure a job somehow. And you’ll never guess where he works.”
The small chuckle came through the modulator again, quickly becoming music to Alya’s ears. “So you know the quarry works here, and you’re just… drinking at the bar?”
Now it was Alya’s turn to laugh. “Even bounty hunters deserve a break, don’t we? I’m actually scoping the place out instead of going in guns blazing, but maybe that’s not your personal style?” she teased back.
“Hmm. Fair enough,” he replied, crossing his arms. “So, how did you know?”
“Know what?” Alya raised her eyebrow slightly, looking at him.
“What I was here for. That I’m with the Guild.”
Alya smirked slightly. “I… had a feeling.”
“You’re just that smart, huh?” The Mandalorian’s voice sounded amused as he taunted her.
“Actually, yes.” Alya crossed her arms indignantly. “This isn’t exactly my first trip around the galaxy, y’know. It’s not every day that a Mandalorian just walks into the cantina where you happen to be getting a quarry asking questions, so I put the pieces together.”
“I can see that… clever girl,” he replied with a tantalizing tone that made Alya’s hair on the back of her neck stand up slightly. He seemed to have leaned closer to her as she was speaking, and she studied him carefully, taking in all the details of his armor. She simply raised her eyebrows, looking at him confidently.
“Are we gonna catch this guy, or what?” Alya pressed, and Mando laughed heartily at her aggressiveness.
After giving themselves another ten minutes to quickly make their plan, and for Alya to finish her drink, they were standing up from the bar and slowly walking towards the door to the tavern’s kitchen. Alya felt unbelievably powerful walking next to this mass of metal armor, having all the eyes in the room darting between the two of them and the patrons likely wondering what they were up to. They reached the door and stood on either side of it, holding off for a moment. Alya gave a slight nod to the Mandalorian to signal she was ready, and he returned it before they burst through the door together, blasters out.
The quarry knew within an instant, had likely been looking over his shoulder for weeks just waiting for this to happen. He turned and ran, his sudden momentum causing him to push metal bowls and utensils off the counters, falling with a loud clang that momentarily disarmed Alya. She snapped out of it quickly and realized he was likely heading for some employee entrance to escape. The Mandalorian called out after him and began sprinting, Alya following closely behind. Damn, he was fast, she thought, watching with amazement at his graceful speed despite all that heavy armor.
The chase went on longer than some Alya had encountered with her quarries as they weaved through a few streets and narrowly avoided groups of people jumping out of their way, but he was no match with both her and Mando chasing after him. She pushed her body, feeling the familiar pump of her legs and steady breaths she had done so many times in her self-training, and managed to push ahead of the Mandalorian at the last second and tackle the bounty to the ground, placing her thighs on either side of his body and holding his arms down. Mando halted in front of them with his blaster trained and ready to shoot. While his weapon was pointed at the quarry, he seemed to be staring at her for a few extra moments under that helmet before turning his attention back to the work at hand. She felt a small shiver at the prospect of his eyes lingering on her that she tried to quickly ignore.
“You just had to choose the hard way, didn’t you?” Alya said, sighing hard, as Mando handed her a pair of cuffs. She quickly slapped them onto the squirming man underneath her and stood up, stepping over him before letting Mando pull the bounty to his feet. Their catch made the usual grumbles at attempting to make a deal with them, offering them more than the bounty was worth, and other bullshit that they’d both heard so many times they lost count. Mando shoved him forward and they began their walk back to their ships.
Alya felt the usual high that came after chasing and catching a quarry, and having someone who understood the work by her side the entire time had been unexpectedly fun. She was used to working alone, and had been for almost ten years now, but found herself considering the idea of a partner in a positive light for the first time in a long time. Feeling self conscious, she tried to suppress her smile since she couldn't read the Mandalorian’s mood at all under his helmet.
"If you try anything --" they both started to say to the bounty at the same time, and then quickly looked at each other. Alya let out a laugh, and joked, "You stole my line.”
"I could say the same thing.” Mando put his free hand on his hip, holding onto the bounty with the other.
"Alright, so which one of us is turning the quarry in?" Alya pondered for a moment before adding, "Or we could head there together? Might make things less complicated."
"I can go. I have to make a drop anyway," Mando offered, seeming to ignore her suggestion of going there as a team.
They were mostly silent with Alya feeling a bundle of nerves, much to her dismay, as they brought the quarry the rest of the way up to Mando's ship - a Razor Crest . So very him, she thought fondly. She tried not to cringe as he got frozen in carbonite, but was impressed that Mando had the technology as she hadn’t even thought to look into that for her own ship. Her bounties had to ride along in a small holding cell and typically annoyed the hell out of her until she could turn them in.
As they stood somewhat awkwardly outside of Mando’s ship afterwards, Alya suddenly realized she had no idea how it would even work to split the bounty, since Mando was the one to take him on his ship. She also noticed at that same moment she didn’t like the idea of them splitting up so soon, feeling her heart sink slightly at the notion of it.
"So take him to Nevarro, get the credits, and have him leave half for me next time I'm there to collect from Greef?" Alya confirmed with the Mandalorian, trying to hide the disappointment from her voice. Maybe it had been taking it too far to think he would consider continuing on together. She tried to remind herself that she’d worked more than well enough on her own for years.
The Mandalorian nodded his head in response. “You trust me not to take it all for myself?” His tone sounded light, but he had a good point considering they had just met a few hours earlier.
“Should I have a reason not to?” Alya raised her eyebrows, genuinely surprised by his returning her sarcastic energy. This was not the impression of Mandalorians she’d gathered from all the things she’d heard about their culture.
“I’m a man of my word. Don’t worry,” he said with conviction, putting Alya at ease. She hadn’t truly thought about it until he brought it up - she had put an inherent trust in him, which she almost never did with anyone. How strange it felt to do that so automatically with Mando, she thought to herself.
"Good.” She bit her lip slightly, uneasy at the words she knew were about to come out of her mouth. “I know it was unconventional, but I did enjoy this for a change of pace. Having a... teammate, or partner, or whatever the hell." Mando remained silent, so she went on, feeling like she may be daring just a bit too much to say what she was thinking, but figured to hell with it. She probably had a low chance of seeing this guy again with the entire galaxy out there.
"I can say I do hope we run into each other again sometime." Alya offered a half smile his way. She had no idea what was driving her to be so open, so bold with this virtual stranger, but she tended to follow her gut most of the time, and this was no exception.
After a few more moments of silence, Mando answered, "Me too.” She smiled in return, hoping he was doing the same underneath that helmet. “You’re a hell of a bounty hunter, freckles. It’s not every day I find another Guild member at the same… level of expertise as me,” he added a moment later.
“Oh really? That full of ourselves, are we?” She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. She actively tried to forget the nickname for her he had just thrown out there like it was a completely normal, everyday experience between the two of them.
“No, I…” he stammered for a moment, “I just meant… more about you. You were impressive out there.”
“Don’t worry, Mando, I was just fucking with you.” Alya said, giving him a quick wink. He let out a small, relieved laugh and Alya felt her heart skip a beat at the sound. She silently cursed herself - she had a hard and fast rule not to get attached to anyone or anything. Ever. And yet...
"Let me, uh, walk you to your ship," Mando seemed to blurt out, sounding as uncomfortable as she had heard him thus far.
"Okay, yeah." Alya said, filling him in on what landing bay her ship was in as they set off.
They walked in silence for a few moments, their hands dangerously close. Alya wasn't sure if it was just in her head, or if the tension between them was palpable to him too.
"Do you know where you're heading after making this drop?" Alya asked into the silence.
"Likely just some more Guild business. Guess I’ll see what comes up.”
He hadn't asked her about her next whereabouts and seemed very keen on them not dropping this quarry together so she finally accepted that he definitely didn't want any company going forward. It was probably just as well, she thought.
"Through here, it'll be quicker," Mando steered them into an alleyway to the right of them, touching her arm in the process. A slight buzzing went through Alya's head and she couldn't be sure if it was still the alcohol from earlier tonight or the feel of his glove on her bare forearm. She took a small breath to steady herself and followed his lead down the alley. As much as it made her cringe, her desperation to know her new companion better, to see more of him was taking over. One last shot , she thought, to try and see him again sometime.
"Uh look, if you don't want any company to drop the quarry, then maybe -" Alya started, but was cut off when Mando suddenly whirled towards her, backing her into the nearest wall behind her. His large, powerful form came at her so fast that she felt unsteady on her feet for a moment, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"And what is it that you want?" his modulated voice was lower, filled with something new, something more that she hadn't heard yet. Desire? His body pushed closer to hers and she realized she had forgotten how to breathe normally.
"I - I -" she struggled to form words, her head spinning. His sudden change in demeanor and tone had shaken her typically calm and collected mask. She was reeling - just a moment ago, he’d seemed like he never wanted to see her again, and now he was doing this? She simply looked up at him, blinking, trying to convey with her eyes and expression what she couldn't with words. Him. She wanted him.
He seemed to read it loud and clear, because the next thing she knew, his entire body was against hers, and he quickly pulled off his gloves before reaching up to grab the back of her head and taking a handful of hair. He used his other hand to tilt her head up so that she was looking where Alya assumed his eyes were under the helmet.
"Hmm? Is this what you want?" Mando pulled slightly on the hair he was holding and then reached the other hand to begin toying with her belt.
Alya felt her senses come back to her enough to hastily breathe out a yes. Mando quickly started undoing the buckle on Alya's pants, and taking his lead she reached for his as well. He stopped abruptly and grabbed her wrist, stopping her, and shook his head.
"No. Just you.” He said in a low voice. Alya nodded slightly, still in complete shock, her breath picking up as he continued undoing her belt and unbuttoned her pants. Her breathing hitched as he reached his hand under her waistband, sliding it down.
"Fuck," she said through gritted teeth as he moved his hand lower. She knew he could feel how wet she had already been because of him, and he made a satisfied noise at that fact as his fingers slid past her clit and felt it. Alya reached up and gripped the back of his neck and shoulders, wishing more than anything this damn helmet wasn't between them but she didn't dare try pulling it off.
He started stroking her clit slowly at first, but quickly increased the intensity as Alya let out a small moan. She grabbed at anything she could on him, finding his armor in the way but she clung onto it nonetheless.
"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you were back there?” He murmured close to her ear, “I couldn’t wait to get you alone.”
“You have me,” she whispered through her panting as she somehow moved her body even closer to him with the little space that was left. Mando simply made a noise of what she assumed was approval as he slipped his fingers inside her, continuing to expertly circle her clit as he pushed the other fingers in and out of her at the most perfect, toe-curling rhythm.
“Maker, you feel so good,” he said, and she could hear his breathing quickening through the modulator. The fact that he seemed just as turned on by this nearly sent Alya over the edge. He leaned his head closer to her neck, trying to get as close as possible. “So good…” he murmured again, in her ear this time.
For a few moments there were just panting breaths between the two of them, Alya’s eyes half closed with desire. She could already feel the pleasure building in her core at just how fucking incredible his fingers felt, and he snaked his free hand down through her hair, trailing her back, and finally landing on her ass. He gave a short groan as he squeezed her ass, his body pressed so close there was barely room for his hand in between them.
Alya suddenly felt pleasure bursting through her, and while she had been trying to keep quiet in this very public alley, her moaning and panting were coming out at a completely uncontrollable volume. She tried to reach a free hand to cover her mouth or bite down on her fist, but Mando reached her face first with his and cupped the side of her cheek. He pulled his head back from where it was buried close to the side of her head and used his hand to tilt her head up, intently watching the waves of pleasure come over her face. He continued to plunge his fingers into her, letting her ride out her climax onto his hand. Alya felt her knees go weak as she came down from the height of her orgasm and tipped her head back against the wall behind her. Mando still had her head in his hand and she leaned her face into it, breathing heavily.
“Beautiful girl,” he said quietly, stroking her cheek, and she thought she could almost feel his eyes on her through the helmet, taking in the slight sheen of sweat on her face and her disheveled hair. He pulled his hand out from her pants and began to gently rebutton them and work on her belt when a loud beep interrupted them.
“Wh-“ Alya began to ask, still half delirious, and she heard Mando let out an exasperated sigh.
“Shit, it’s my comm signal, I set it up to alert me if anything or anyone is getting suspiciously close to my ship. And on a planet like this I don’t think that can be good news,” Mando explained. Alya felt her heart sink, but she nodded and gave a convincing half smile.
“You know I get it. How valuable our ships are to us. Go,” she said, inclining her head in the direction they’d come from.
“I… I’ll make it up to you,” he said, slowly backing his way through the alley, still facing her.
“I know,” Alya said, watching as he reached the street off the alleyway and reluctantly turned and started walking out of sight.
She stood, stunned for several moments, taking a few deep breaths and trying to understand the events of the evening. The only thing clear to her right now was that she didn’t think her life could be the same again now that he had entered it.
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