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the-blind-assassin-12 · 3 years

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Resol’nare - Part Three

A/N: Raise your hand if Bo-Katan bothers you but you put up with her because you have to... (Din is raising his hand and so am I.) Anyway, I was unaware it was Sunday all damn day. So happy Sunday, apparently.

*this story will regularly be using words in Mando’a. for a good list of references click here.*

Summary: Rebuilding the Tribe, re-forging the armor, restoring the traditions and culture of the Mandalorians have become more than a way to pass the time alone for Din, they have become the penance that he inflicted on himself for breaking the Creed that he swore all those years ago. But perhaps The Way has more paths than he previously thought.

Word Count: 5.2k

Tatooine.

The Mandalorian’s hands moved swiftly over the illuminated switchboard, pulling levers, adjusting knobs and pressing buttons with focused precision. Air rushed in short bursts from the ship’s thrusters to kick up clouds of dusty desert sand as the Promise made its descent into hangar 3-5. He had contacted Peli once he’d come out of hyperdrive, making sure that he would be clear to land. The woman’s strident tone coming through the speaker had almost been enough to make him smile.

“‘Course you’re clear to land, Mando, who do you think you’re talking to here? Honestly, it’s like you forget completely that I’m the one who-” A loud crash followed by a series of panicked sounding mechanical beeps on her end of the holo pulled her attention over her shoulder then, and she directed her tirade at the droid that had caused the ruckus. Turning back to him with a sigh, she shook her head, her springy curls bouncing slightly. “Listen, I gotta go before these droids wreck what’s left of my spare parts stash. Knowin’ you it’ll only be a matter of time before you turn up needin’ extensive repairs, so-” Another avalanche of clanging interrupted her, and she lifted one hand in an exasperated gesture. “See what I mean? Still can’t get good help around here, I’m tellin’ ya.” Mumbling something about needing to charge more for having to work with such mediocre employees, she jabbed a finger at a button he couldn’t see, ending the transmission abruptly as per her usual.

The trip from Trask had gone smoothly and without incident. Since he was no longer on the run, trying to keep Grogu safely one step ahead of the enemy, there was no need to take long convoluted routes as he traveled the Outer Rim. No alarms blared to warn him of incoming fire or approaching ships. If he wanted to, he could have taken long stretches away from the cockpit, setting the course and letting the autopilot take control while he caught some sleep in his bunk. But despite the fact that the mattress, while thin, was more comfortable than the pilot seat, he rarely used it.

Sharing the small onboard sleeping quarters with Grogu meant that for all those months while they traveled together he never slept without his helmet, but the man didn’t mind. He wanted to be close to the child so that he could protect him or provide comfort as necessary, so he sacrificed a modicum of his own comfort without pause. Climbing into bed each night after removing every piece of beskar aside from the one that kept his sworn secret, he would watch the small lump wiggling in the hammock above him until the movement stopped and the stillness was punctuated by soft, rumbling snores. Knowing that the child was resting peacefully, he would close his own eyes and find sleep within seconds.

It wasn’t until he tried to sleep without the hammock strung up over his head, without the sleepily murmured coos and rustling sounds of the blankets, without the rhythmic snores and soft breathing, that he realized he couldn’t. The space between his bunk and the ceiling seemed to leave too much room for the sounds of the empty ship to bounce around. The whir of the engines, the clicks and beeps of the equipment muffled by two sets of closed doors, the sound of his own breathing as it spread out in the small room, free from the echoing confines of his helmet all proved nothing but the fact that he was alone. Sleeping in the cockpit was something he had done frequently before Grogu had ever come into his life, so falling back into that habit came far more easily to him, even if it was more uncomfortable.

I’ll sleep tonight, it’s fine.

After delivering the reclaimed beskar safely back to the Tribe, he would have some time before Bo-Katan was expected to arrive on Tatooine. According to her position from the last contact he had with her, she and her crew were roughly two days behind him on their return from a different location along the Outer Rim. He knew that she was eager to discuss tactics for retaking Mandalore, that she’d immediately want to begin drawing up plans and determining where and when to make their first strike. It was her home, and it has been lost. At one time her sister, her own flesh and blood sat on the throne. He had never set foot on the planet himself and therefore struggled to feel the same calling or desire to see it restored that she did. Mandalore wasn’t his home, and he had no family there. But he understood what she felt, because had lost both of those things himself. He knew that if presented with the opportunity to get them back, he’d stop at nothing.

I’ll see you again. He closed his eyes as his own words of assurance echoed in his head. I promise. If how he felt about Grogu, the child who had become his own, was anything like what the heiress carried for Mandalore, then he understood.

Descending the ladder into the ship’s hull, he sighed as a sudden thud from outside accompanied the sound of his heavy footsteps. Droids. Frenzied beeps and clicks followed by another, softer more controlled thunk confirmed that Peli’s mechanics were tripping over one another to refuel his vessel. The small copper colored units always seemed happy to see his ship in their hangar, always racing to get started with whatever needed to be done before he even lowered the ramp. It was almost as though they were competing with one another for which of them would get the honor of scraping off carbon scoring or tightening bolts on the landing gear. He had no doubt it was because they remembered the way that he had taken care of Toro when the rookie bounty hunter had taken control of the hangar, holding Peli and Grogu at gunpoint. I didn’t do it for them, I did it for the kid. But it didn’t matter, the heroic action making a lasting mark on the droids and earning him three loyal mechanics for life. At least they’re useful. The distinct sound of the refueling hose being misaligned with the tank nozzle drew another sigh from him. Most of the time.

Crossing the hull to head for the ramp, he paused as he stepped in front of the doors to the weapons locker and storage container. Though he didn’t like carrying the darksaber on his person, he knew that leaving it on board the Promise while he traveled across the Dune Sea to deliver the beskar, even if it was locked away, wasn’t safe. To him, it was still just a weapon, but he knew that it was a very powerful and dangerous one if it fell into the wrong hands. He still wasn’t sure that his were the right hands, but he knew that he at least had the duty to keep that from happening. I’ll take it with me when I go. While he trusted Peli, he didn’t trust a second soul in all of Mos Eisley. Where he was headed though, he had no reason to worry about trust or risk. It will be safe there. The Darksaber, the beskar, the Tribe- it would all be safe there.

First though, he had someone to see. With a press of a button the ramp dropped open, the arid heat of Tatooine’s desert air filling the cabin instantly. Quickly entering a code into the panel on one of his vambraces, he activated the cooling gear inside his armor, a rush of super chilled air flowing through the plates to keep him from cooking under the blaring suns. Before he had taken two steps out into the bright light, he was greeted with a wave and a shout from the short woman striding quickly towards him.

“You did make good time, didn’t you? Oh!” She stepped back, her sun-tanned face scrunching up in mock surprise as she appraised the Promise. “And you weren’t lyin’ about stayin’ outta trouble this time either! So you can fly a ship without getting shot at? Huh! Look at that!”

Some things never change. “It’s nice to see you, too.” Though she was abrasive on the surface, and always had her bottom line near the forefront of her mind, he knew that Peli was a good person. It was because of her that he even had a ship in the first place. When he returned to Tatooine without the Razor Crest or it’s smallest passenger, she began making arrangements with contacts that she had helped through the years. Thanks to an intricate half truth and a convoluted cover up that allowed a mistakenly accused Wookiee to escape unfair imprisonment at the hands of the Empire a few years back, she was able to call in a hefty favor in the form of a newly refurbished ship straight from the depot on Kashyyyk.

“You’re gonna owe me big time for this!” She had said, her arms crossed as she nodded at the ship and then to the dumbfounded Mandalorian. But she had yet to mention any form of repayment other than the regular fees to dock, refuel and repair his ship as needed. He had a sneaking suspicion though, that she’d never actually ask for that repayment, preferring instead to tell him often that he wouldn’t get anywhere without old Peli in his corner.

Though he had spent a great deal of his life alone, whether by choice or necessity, the time he spent with Grogu had taught him many things, not the least of which how important it was to appreciate allies wherever he found them. A sarcastic mechanic? A re-programmed bounty droid? An ex-imperial soldier? Mandalorians who removed their helmets freely and Jedi that wielded mystic blades of pure energy- the list of unlikely allies that he wouldn’t have given a second thought to prior to the child’s presence in his life stretched on, and while it was still new for him to have more than a handful of acquaintances, to have people that he actually trusted and respected? He found himself glad that some things did change. The hollow, listless way he was left feeling when those lift doors slid closed and that enormous pair of eyes was gone… he couldn’t imagine navigating that alone, let alone the things that he was expected to navigate. A planetary takeover, reuniting warrior clans that have been tearing one another and their homeworld to pieces for centuries, finding a balance between his beliefs and responsibilities. Not for the first or last time he found himself wishing that Bo-Katan had not turned down his offer. But she did, and it was his burden to bear.

Once he’d settled up with Peli, paying her for the fuel and for the amount of time he expected to occupy her hangar as well as the rental of one of the speeders she kept at the ready, the Mandalorian returned to the ship to pack for his trip. Unlocking the storage compartment next to the weapons locker, he removed the three camtonos of beskar he had recovered from Tirzeg on Trask, as well as the large sack of ingots and mismatched vambraces that he relieved Barlag of on Mon Cala. He carried it down the ramp in two trips, refusing help from the droids, much to their enthusiastic dismay. It was heavy, but like the Darksaber, it was a weight that could only be carried by a Mandalorian.

Returning to the ship, he quickly grabbed a bag of personal items for his stay away from the Promise. He always traveled light, only ever packing what was necessary for hygiene and survival. The only object that held any real personal meaning was something that he always kept with him, tucked in one of the small pouches on his belt. The smooth, shiny silver ball went everywhere he went. He knew without question that he would see Grogu again. He didn’t know when or where or how, but he knew that when he did he would want his favorite toy back. I’m holding onto it for you, kid. He told himself that he carried the trinket, one of the only things that had survived the explosion on Tython, just so that he’d have it handy when clan Mudhorn was again a clan of two. But he knew that it was just as much for himself as it was for the child, and he would find himself absently turning it over in his palm at night when he couldn’t sleep, the stars flying by in silence.

His final stop, as it always was when he readied himself for a trip or mission, was at the weapons locker. He had picked up a few of the weapons that Tirzeg’s crew had discarded, adding them to his arsenal so that more of the pegs were filled now. Holstering a blaster, a small vibroblade and the beskar spear, he reached last for the hefty hilt of the saber. He knew that if he was truly meant to wield this blade he would need to become familiar with it, would need to learn to control and direct the current of energy that passed through it’s core with each swing and swipe. His gloved fingers closed tightly around the grip, the leather creaking against the metal. But who am I supposed to learn that from? Pushing the question aside for another time, he clipped the sword to the belt at his waist. Putting the ship into lockdown, he double checked the straps that he fastened the beskar to the speeder with, and satisfied that they would hold for the duration of the journey, he climbed onto the bike and in a cloud of dust, put the hangar and the entire spaceport behind him.

The journey across the Dune Sea to the Covert’s new location was a long one, and though he could have flown directly there, he didn’t want to attract attention to the one place that he knew was safe for his people to rebuild. Though his new ship wasn’t nearly as recognizable as the Razor Crest, he knew it was only a matter of time until the Promise was as easily noticeable. Making the hours long trek across the sand on the speeder was safer, and so he did it without complaint. He knew that the Mandalorians that gave their lives for him and Grogu on Nevarro were only following the tenets of The Way when they made their sacrifice, but he would do whatever he could to ensure that those who had survived that bloody standoff would have a chance at a safe future.

Fett’s new residency on the throne that his former employer once sat upon had proven to be more square footage than the man desired, and he had offered the subterranean complex of Jabba’s palace to the Mandalorians who had made it off of Nevarro, as well as the ones who Bo-Katan and Koska had recruited. They had been able to convert the network of tunnels and chambers into living and training areas with space dedicated for teaching foundlings as well as a forge for the Armorer. While he wasn’t convinced that Mandalore could be won, Boba admired the effort and the commitment to the cause that the new Mand’alor was inspiring. “Don’t need those dank tunnels anyway,” he’d grumbled from behind the rim of a spotchka jug, “Your lot can take them.”

He was more grateful to the man than he could articulate, and luckily he knew that praise and thanks were the last thing that Fett was looking for. The two of them understood one another well. While neither owed the other a debt, neither would think twice before offering assistance or allegiance. It was a brotherhood that came from the armor that they both proudly wore and the trials that they had both gone through to secure that armor. Revving the throttle on the speeder’s handle, pushing the vehicle to go faster, the Mandalorian’s eye was drawn to the blue triangles painted on the handplates that covered his gloves. It was the only piece of armor that was salvageable from the body of the man who had raised him, the man he had known as his kin despite only knowing him by the way the dim light of the covert’s halls reflected off of the blue and silver beskar that he wore. The man wasn’t his birth father, but he had taken him in as a frightened, scrawny child, protected him and taught him how to protect himself. He was the only father the Mandalorian remembered, and though he wished he had more of the man’s armor than the hand plates, he was proud and honored to wear them. He knew that Fett felt the same way having reclaimed the armor that had been rightfully passed to him from his own father. With a slight turn of his head he glanced out the corner of his eye at the signet he wore on his pauldron. One day, this armor will belong to Grogu, if he wants it. He would do everything in his power to ensure that not only the Mudhorn signet, but the blue painted handplates as well, both made their way into his own son’s hands when it was time. The thought gave him solace, hope, something of himself and his past that he could leave for the future of his clan.

It was another reason that reclaiming the beskar that had been stolen from his people was so important to him, and would be regardless of whether or not he was meant to lead them. By bringing the metal back one brick at a time, he was bringing back the chance for families to pass down meaningful heirlooms from one generation to the next. Each strike of the Armorer’s tools as she pressed and hammered the molten beskar into weapons and armor was another line of history rewritten, another chance for Mandalorian tradition and culture to make a comeback. They had nearly been scratched from existence, but now they had a chance to carve themselves back in.

In a way, he saw it as a penance for the things he’d done that had broken the Creed. He’d removed his helmet and revealed his face, and even though he’d put the beskar back on as soon as the child had left, he felt that he had passed a point of no return when it came to reconciling with the rules that he lived his life by. So even though he worked endlessly to provide enough armor for all the existing Tribe members, as well as any foundlings or newcomers, he had yet to deliver the beskar straight to the Armorer herself. As the leader of his covert, she had always been the voice of reason, the one to settle disputes and to remind them all of the Resol’nare.

“Have you ever removed your helmet? Has it ever been removed by another?”

Though it had been nearly a year since the last time he’d heard the woman ask those questions, her voice rang clearly in his memory, just like the clanging of her hammer and the crackle of the sparks that illuminated her visor as she worked. His helmet had still never been lifted by anyone but himself, but he had shown his face not only to the foundling in his care, but in front of a room full of eyes. He knew that it was forbidden in his Tribe to ever show one’s face once the Creed was sworn. The only exception was when a Mandalorian chose a partner. The vows that were sworn in marriage bonded the two as one so that neither was an individual anymore.

"Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde"

We, not I or you. Mandalorian bonds were unbreakable and therefore had no seems, no ending or beginning, no place where one collided into another. The forming of that kind of bond was forever, and so through marriage and the swearing of those vows, a Mandalorian could lift the helm of their partner without breaking the Creed, as then it would be the same as removing it themselves.

But that’s not what I did.

He had never met anyone who he cared about, who he wanted to know as deeply as he knew himself. He had no partner, no second soul to walk through life with, and so what he did was not the same. What he did was not the same at all, and it was precisely for that reason that he could not face the Armorer, that he had always arranged to meet with another Mandalorian who would then transfer the beskar to the forge. He took his turn in the training rooms, sparring with younger fighters and monitoring rounds between others. He studied the language and helped teach it to the foundlings. He did everything he could to take part in all of the things that were required to rebuild. But he could not bring himself to face the woman.

As he pulled up to the looming round structure that was only a fraction of the complex’s actual size, he wondered if he’d ever feel like he had done enough to absolve himself of his sins. He wondered if the fact that he didn’t regret them would stand in the way of forgiveness. It doesn’t matter. He parked the speeder in one of the designated alcoves and dismounted before removing the spear from his back. Sliding the handles of the camotonos along the shaft, he balanced the weight of the three bins, plus the two bags that he carried over his shoulders, and made his way towards the meeting point where he’d hand off the beskar. I’m not going down there today.

There were several entrances to the underground areas, and he chose the one that was closest to the forge out of convenience for both himself and for whomever’s turn it was to accept the deposit of raw materials. The designated hand-off location was on a landing that separated the subterranean portion of the palace from the topside, and he waited there at the base of the stairs for his contact to turn up. The last few times the other Mandalorian had always been waiting for him, or else they had shown up at the same time, coordinating their arrivals almost perfectly. But this time, the seconds ticked by for longer than usual, and while he heard plenty of sounds that told him that everything below was fine- the laughter of children running through the halls, the modulated voices of men and women speaking, the clang of steel on steel as students in the fighting core practiced their striking- he started to grow uneasy. Did they forget? He opened a panel on his wrist, and was just about to signal his contact again, when he heard something else. Footsteps striking the sandy stone staircase from below shook him from his thoughts. Finally. “You’re late.” He spoke to the shadows before his contact had fully entered the room. “I thought maybe you-“

“I know what you thought, Mand’alor.” The clear voice rang out just like in his memory as the armor clad figure came through the doorway. He froze as the woman stepped into view, her profile unmistakable from the points on her helmet to the fur that trimmed her cape. “What I want to know is why you haven’t come down into the forge yourself.”

Dropping his chin, he looked down at the ground so that she wouldn’t have to look directly at him when he answered. Or so that I don’t have to look at her? He wasn’t sure. It doesn’t matter. “I… dishonored the Creed. I…” Grogu’s tiny hand reaching for his cheek flashed behind his eyes. “I removed my helmet in front of another.” With a small shake of his head, he confirmed both his lack of regret and unwillingness to forget what he’d done. “I am no longer worthy of-”

“Stop.” The woman walked closer to him, not ceasing her advancement until he could see not only the tips of her boots, but a long object that she held. “Do you not speak our language and preserve our traditions? Do you not reclaim what has been stolen for the betterment of the clans? Do you not wear the armor and use it to fight for our people?”

Raising his eyes he leveled them with hers, where they would be, if they were not concealed. He sighed, knowing that he needed to answer her. “I do. But I have also-”

“Did you not act with the best intentions of the foundling that was in your care?”

“I did.” But…

“And,” she went on, taking another step and lifting the object that she held so that he could see it more clearly. It appeared to be some sort of weapon, sheathed in black leather. “Are you not the one holding the Darksaber, the Mand’alor that has begun to unite the clans, here?” She looked up at the vaulted ceilings to indicate the enormous fortress.

“Yes, I-”

“Your self-inflicted punishment must come to an end now. Your people need their leader strong and present, not hiding from the things that he thinks make him weak. You are not weak, Mand’alor, and you have done far more to honor the Creed than you could ever do to dishonor it. Shoulder the blame how you will in private. But you must shoulder your mantle for all to see. No more hiding. This is The Way.”

The four words gave him chills. He had told himself that he would never hear them from the woman again, never stand in her presence and receive her wisdom. “This is The Way,” he responded with a slight bow of his head. It wasn't a complete absolution that she granted him, but it was more than he thought he would get, and it was a start on the road to self-forgiveness and the re-evaluation of his personal beliefs. It felt easier to breathe.

Wasting no time and sparing no emotion, the Armorer continued, lifting the item that she held. What is..? “I have been told by the weapons master that you still do not spar with the Darksaber.” No, I don’t. She tilted her head. “Why?”

He let out a short breath. “It...is unlike the weapons I’ve trained with. It’s-”

“It is yours, Mand’alor, and you must learn to make it so. You must learn to wield it like no other can. But you cannot do that if it remains clipped to your belt.” Raising the item in her hands, she held it between them for him to take. “This will help you become accustomed to the Darksaber.”

Unwrapping the item in reverent silence, he could feel that the weight was the same as the black blade, though it was no sword made from energy or light. The blade he held was one of folded beskar, the ribbons of dark metal shining back blindingly up at him. He had never seen anything like it before, the blade coming to a long lethal point, the hilt perfectly balanced with the weight of the blade. “It’s…”

“A beskad,” The Armorer nodded. “The very first type of sword that Mandalorians conquered and ruled with. The sword that Tarre Vizsla modeled the Darksaber after in size and shape. Forged from the excess beskar that you have supplied for the Tribe, and the perfect way for you to become comfortable with using a weapon like it.”

Upon closer inspection, he saw that the Mudhorn signet had been etched into the blade near the grip, and he ran his fingertips over the animal’s profile. “I...don’t know what to say.” Once again, the Armorer had bestowed upon him the knowledge and direction that he needed exactly when he needed it. “Thank you.”

“This is The Way.”

He returned the phrase and with that the woman lifted the camtonos and with heavily clunking footsteps, made her way back down into the forge where those very bricks would be melted down and hammered out before she laid her head down to rest that night.

The next morning, after the first good night’s rest he had gotten in weeks, the Mandalorian was woken by an unexpected transmission coming from the communications holo in his bag. Digging it out, he fit his helmet back onto his head before answering it, expecting Bo-Katan’s figure to appear to tell him that she was landing ahead of schedule and asking when he would be available to meet. But it wasn’t her- two figures appeared instead, those of Cara Dune and Greef Karga, both a surprise.

“Mando,” Cara greeted him with a nod, forgoing the use of his name even though she and Karga both knew it. “You still looking for stolen beskar?”

He immediately looked over at the wrapped blade that was presented to him the night before. “I am.”

“Well, my friend, we may have something you’ll want to see for yourself.” Karga rummaged in his robes and pulled out a second holo device, setting it down in view of the one that he was using to speak to him with. With the press of a button, the second device flickered to life to show a security recording of a man and woman sneaking into a fenced off area on an ex-imperial base.

Cara explained what he was looking at. “Caught footage of these two casing this airfield, likely smugglers looking for a faster ride.” Karga pressed another button and the image zoomed in closer. “Take a look at her armor, it looks-”

“That’s a beskar helmet.” He knew it without having to question it. “But the rest looks…”

“It looks like a common thief using Mandalorian armor is what it looks like,” Cara suggested for him. He had to agree. “We can try to stall them, if you want to come check it out for yourself, intercept them when they come back to hit the base, but you’ll need to get here quickly. Can you leave today?”

The Darksaber sat next to the Beskad as though reminding him of Bo-Katan’s imminent arrival. But the beskar… I can’t leave it in the hands of a thief. Making the decision that the heiress would just have to wait another week while he traveled back to Nevarro, he told Cara that he’d leave shortly, and that she should expect his transmission with an ETA before nightfall. Besides, he thought to himself as he began the process of donning the armor, fighting a thief is the perfect opportunity to practice with my new blade.

Thank you for reading! Please feel free to let me know if you would like to be added to or removed from the tags! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @alraedesigns @pheedraws @valkblue @malionnes @gollyderek

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mandoalorian · 3 years

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Sinner [Dark!Din Djarin x F!Reader] *SMUT*

Summary: The Mandalorian has been attending confession for weeks now, with the sole intensive purpose to see you.

Rating: 18+ smut

Warnings: Dark!Din, implied age difference, religion kink (don’t come for me...), sex in a place of worship, smut: loss of virginity, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation, unprotected p in v, cunningless, death mention, alcohol mention, brothel mention.

Word Count: 4000+

Masterlist

REBLOGS APPRECIATED!<3

He’d been coming to confess for about a year now. He’d gone off the rails when he lost the kid. You’d heard rumours about the Mandalorian — strong, fierce, brave... a warrior. You certainly wouldn’t have pinned him for a man of faith. You’d seen him a few times when you were shadowing your father in church. He was tall, broad shouldered, and only came during the dead of night, when the abbey was completely isolated.

“Hello,” you greeted him, your soft voice echoing throughout the chambers. Your crimson red heels clicked against the marble floor beneath you as you approached the masked figure. Curtseying politely and removing your hood, you couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes in the direction the Mandalorian. “It’s quite late. I was just closing for the night.” you admitted, biting down on your lower lip in hope that he’d understand.

“I thought places of worship aren’t supposed to close?” He countered quizzically, an air of amusement in his voice.

“You’re right, technically,” you hummed, picking at your nails as a wash of nerves flooded over you. “But my father is out of town and... I need to sleep.”

That’s where he recognised you from— you were the daughter of the Grand Bishop. He’d seen you before, doting around the abbey in your signature black gown and red robes. You were hard to miss, your beauty being beyond standards of measure. Yes, he knew you. He had noticed you watching him from the pillars above, when you thought nobody was looking. He noticed the way you’d deliberately brush past his body... desperate for just the slightest touch. He recognised your scent too; it was sweet like honey. And your ruby coloured lips. He’d dreamt of them plenty of times. It was really you.

“Where is he?” The Mandalorian asked after a beat of prolonged silence.

“He was requested by Senator Berenko to present evening mass on Naboo, for the Festival of Lights.” you explained, probably offering a little too much information.

“When will he be back?”

“Next week.”

“Well, I’ll be back then.”

No, you couldn’t just let him leave. You couldn’t just let him walk away from you. This was your chance. In a fluster, you extended your arm and pawed at his bicep. He froze under your touch, and you hoped that you hadn’t overstepped.

“Are— you’re here to confess. Aren’t you?” you asked him with a nervous gulp. Maker, why were you so nervous? The Mandalorian didn’t say anything, so you heeded to continue. “I’ve seen you come by before. I know you speak to my father usually but— I can do it. The confession, I mean. I’ve been shadowing my father for the past few months— training with him. I can do it. If... if you’d like me to.”

The Mandalorian took a moment to process your words. Maker; you were a sight to behold. Your eyes were starry and reflective of the galaxy he’d spent so long venturing. Your skin was soft and delicate. You were pure— untouched— holy. He was afraid the discussion of his sins might be a bit too much for you to handle.

Or maybe there was something more.

Maybe he was afraid that once he’d start opening up to you, he wouldn’t be able to stop. He wouldn’t be able to resist you.

“Aren’t you a little young?” The Mandalorian scoffed incredulously, bringing his leather gloved hand to his helmet, his thumb grazing the cloth between his chin and his neck. His rude manner didn’t surprise you at all, but yet, you kept a strong posture and held your head high.

“I’m old enough.” you declared, not ripping your gaze from him once. Even through the dark tinted visor of his helmet, it felt like you were looking into his eyes, staring deep into his soul.

So, he agreed. You told him to wait in the confession box by the altar. “I won’t be long, I just have to lock up and turn out the lights.”

As you walked down the aisle, you lit a match and ignited some candles. They were tall and made from beeswax, and the flicking amber flames provided barely enough light. But it had to be enough. It had to do. The wax dripped down the sculptures and chambersticks, pooling into swirls of hardening ivory.

The Mandalorian waited for you in the confession box, having already discarded the plates of his beskar armour. It was hard to wear, and heavy on his back, but he felt safe… here, with you. He had no reason to be still wearing it. No more fighting tonight, he hoped.

The image of you couldn’t escape his mind, no matter how hard he tried. Dirty thoughts — it was wrong of him. You were the Grand Bishop’s daughter for Heaven’s sake.

When you entered your side of the confession box, your full intention was to follow the ordinary strict protocol. There was no reason for distraction.

“State your name for the records,” you requested, shuffling around as you worked on getting comfortable in your chair.

“Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin. It was a beautiful name. Your mind immediately went to pairing his last name with your first name, and then you cursed yourself for the inappropriate thought.

“Din,” his name left your lips like the sweetest tasting honey. “Why are you here today? What would you like to confess?”

“I went to Corellia over the weekend,” he announced, his voice cold through the modulator. “The bad part— well, it’s all bad over there,” he corrected himself before continuing. “Got into some trouble gambling at Lady Proxima’s casino and a bunch of white worms surrounded me. So I killed them, all of them. I didn’t have to. But I did. I murdered them in cold blood.”

It was in that moment you learned how dangerous of a man The Mandalorian was. His beskar armour was just as cold as his heart.

“Wh— why did you kill them?” you asked timidly, almost afraid to know the answer.

“For the release. The adrenaline. The feeling of power. I can’t escape it. Have you ever killed?”

“N—no.”

Din scoffed incredulously. “Of course you haven’t.”

“What do you do after you kill?” you inquired, hoping to change the subject.

“Corellia has the best brothels… cheap too. I sought them out and look for a quick fuck.”

“Out of wedlock?” you pondered with a queasy frown.

Din laughed. “You’re asking if I’m married?”

He was right, it was a foolish question.

“Do you enjoy your time at the brothel? Or do you regret it soon after?” you wondered.

Another laugh— and Maker, he made you feel terrible. Were you really that bad at this?

“Yes, I enjoy myself. The girls there are pretty little things. Needy. Desperate. But— it’s not special, you know? It’s not… not exactly what I crave.”

“What do you crave?”

“To touch someone untouched. Pure. Holy…” the Mandalorian trailed off. “So, when I fuck the girls at the brothel, I tend to think of the Grand Bishop’s daughter.” He revealed, feeling his cock harden in the confines of his pants at the memory. You swallowed, a wave of heat immediately washing over you. You. He was thinking about you.

This was ridiculous. Was he messing with you? He had to have been messing with you. Sure, he’d seen you around before but neither of you had even held a conversation, prior to today. And he’d been thinking about you while he was sleeping with other women? You had to suck it up and remain professional, no matter how much it irked you. He was here to confess and you couldn’t let this become personal.

But it was so hard. Maker, why was it this hard? Was it because you’d thought about him too? Because you’d imagined his cock in place of your fingers, at night when everyone else is sleeping? You yearned to know more. You ached to know the details. Surely that was fair. He was speaking about you, after all.

You could already feel your panties begin to dampen with arousal. How could one man have such an effect on you? In your place of worship too. You wanted to punch him, kick him, take out all your anger on him. But most importantly, you wanted him. His touch. His hands on your body and his cock splitting you open. That’s what you wanted the most.

“What did— what did you think of?” You swallowed, anticipating the details. You were glad he couldn’t see how flustered and hot you were right now. It certainly wasn’t in the code for you to ask about details such as this but… surely one question would do no harm.

You could just about hear Din chuckle, from the other side of the wall, and it made your slick wet cunt clench around absolutely nothing. He was driving you feral. “I’d think about her ruby red lips and how they’d look wrapped around my cock. I’d imagine fucking her mouth, making her gag— wanting her to cry. I’d want to see the tears stream down her cheeks as I give her my all. And finally, I’d imagine her letting me cum down her throat.”

There was something about him talking about you, to you, in third person. Like you weren’t supposed to be there, listening. Like this information was not made for your ears.

Your panties were soaked at the thought. You couldn’t believe it. All this time, all these sessions of confession with your father, and it had only stirred him on more. He’d been going to confess, only to see you.

“Tell me, princess. How does that make you feel?”

Shit. He could not be serious right now. You placed your palm flat against the wall and took a deep breath. “Mando, you’re here to confess. Not me.”

You tried to shut out his words, but your body ached for him. Ached to feel him… touch him. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you — but it would be wrong. It would be so wrong.

Another chuckle. You hated when he did that. As if all of this was some kind of joke to him. Did he even know what he was doing to you? It was like torture.

“See, the Grand Bishop’s daughter… oh wow. She’s a vision. She dotes crimson red lips and she walks around as if she owns the place, her stiletto heels clicking against the floor. She’s bad, like the devil in disguise, and yet, I know her. She’s young and untouched. Her father will probably marry her off to some other minister in the outer-rim, ship her away for good. And she’ll be forced to deal with very mediocre sex for the rest of her life. Which is a shame, really, because she deserves better. You deserve better.”

“You have no idea who I am.” you spat out, feeling your cheeks burn with rage. How dare he make these assumptions about you and your family. This crude, older man with a tongue that could kill. How dare he.

You wanted to be mad at him so bad. He couldn’t possibly get away with this. But he was going to. Because what exactly could you do?

“She’ll never know how it feels to be stretched open by a real cock,” Din gritted out, dismissing your comment completely. “F—fuck.”

Din was palming himself through his pants, desperate for some kind of release. His sleuth, dirty words set a fire blazing in your core. You wanted it too. You wanted it so bad. You contemplated all the things you could do, all the actions and their consequences. You and the Mandalorian, both in the confession box. You couldn’t even see one another… the prolonged silence on your end prompted Din to get up and leave when he heard your honey velvet voice speak once more.

You had to say something.

“When the lights are out and everyone is asleep, I think about you,” you confessed, hating the way the croaky admission left your lips. You’d done it now. Din’s head snapped upwards to face the wall and oh how he wished he could see you right now. You were squirming around in your chair and when you heard the zipper of his pants become undone, you knew it was your queue to continue. “I touch myself. It’s hard to keep quiet… thinking about you. I imagine you touching me… running your gloved hands all over my body,” you bring your hand to your breast and give it a little squeeze. “I figure.. maybe you don’t take the gloves off. You praise me when you feel how wet I am, and I tell you that it’s all for you. I’m all yours. To use however you like. I want you to ruin me. Spoil me for any other man. Fuck me until I cant walk. Bite me, give me marks I have to hide during tomorrow’s mass.”

Din made a fist around his cock and began to pump as he listened to the dirty words that left your holy lips. His grunts and groans echoed throughout the box and went straight to your core. Oh how you wished you could see him right now. Peeling up the hem of your robe, you slid your fingers under the waistband of your panties and began to rub tight circles into your clit.

“You’re a virgin?” he asked, although it came out more so like a statement. Like he already knew the answer.

“Ye-yeah,” you whimpered, quickening your pace.

He was achingly stiff now, beads of milky white precum already dripping down his shaft.

“You want this?” He quizzed. “You want my cock right now? Think you deserve it?”

And in that moment, you made your decision.

Maybe this life that your father had given you, just wasn’t for you.

“Y-yes, oh God yes. I deserve it.”

A low and dark chuckle left Din’s lips. “You’ve been a child of God your whole life. But you want this, yes? You’ve been waiting for this?”

He was right. You had been waiting for this.

“P-please Din, please. Wreck me. Ruin me.”

“In the chapel too?” he laughed, rising to his feet. “You really are desperate. C’mon then.”

In a fluster, you practically fell out of your side of the confession box.

The Mandalorian stalked towards you with his cock in his hand, jerking himself off as he got nearer and nearer. His eyes didn’t leave you once and although you couldn’t see his face, you could only imagine the predatory glint in his eye. Maker he was huge, and thick, and you wondered how you’d ever be able to take him.

You weren’t used to this— Maker, you’d never done anything like this before. There was no way your fingers would ever be able to compare to the size of the Mandalorian.

“Are you sure you want this?” he grunted, releasing his cock and grabbing your throat, giving it an experimental squeeze. You nodded your head desperately and subconsciously licked your lower lip. “I must know. If I start, I won’t be able to stop. Do you want me to claim you?”

Just like Hades claimed Persephone? You shut the absent thought out of your mind and agreed to his proposition.

“I do.”

If it was so wrong, why did it feel so right? You had dreamt of this moment. How could you ever deny him?

He pinned you against the altar and tapped at your thigh, gesturing for you to open your legs up. His eyes dropped straight to your dripping core and he had to hold back a guttural moan.

Din wasted no time and rubbed his cock along your slick wet folds. For a second you were afraid he’d knock over the many burning candles that you had lit earlier in the evening, before your little confession session had begun. But, to no surprise of your own, the Mandalorian had extremely good coordination.

“Oh f-fuck, such a pretty little thing. So warm, bet— bet you feel so fucking good.” Din mumbled utterances of praise, his grip tightening around your wrists as he propped you up.

Every now and again the bulbous tip of his cock rubbed over your clit and the sensation practically sent you into orbit. You were touch starved, having never experienced intimacy like this with anyone before. “Do you want me to fuck you now, huh? Want me to fuck that pretty little cunt of yours?”

You whimpered a small ‘yes’ and Din chuckled darkly, tapping his cock against your cunt before sliding into you with one swift movement.

You let out a squeal, your fingernails digging into the muscles of his back as he seated deep inside you. Underneath his helmet, his perfect lips were parted into an ‘O’ shape as your fluttering walls clenched around him and made him feel like he was home.

“Fuck— so tight, so fucking tight. Just like I’d imagined.” He murmured, feeling like he was already seeing stars.

Din thrust upwards into you, the curve of his cock stretching you open and pulsating inside of you. His movements were rough and bruising, as his fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as he held onto you for support. Just like you’d requested, he was completely and utterly using you.

“How’s that?” his gasp rolled into an achingly long groan as his balls slapped against your cunt, creating the most obscene wet sounds.

It was uncomfortable at first. He wasn’t soft or gentle by any means, but you’d anticipated that. After just a few thrusts, the intrusive pain turned into bolts of pleasure that coursed through your veins. It clouded your vision like white noise— like what the red berry wine you’d drink during Sunday mass would do to your mind. Din grabbed at the thin cloth that covered your chest, and ripped it off, exposing your bare breasts to him. A sheen of glistening sweat glazed your skin like the most beautiful honey dew. The Mandalorian was tall and broad, and as he towered over you, he coated you in his dark shadow.

His large hands palmed at your breasts and you moaned at the sudden, unexpected contact. He continued thrusting, fucking you mercilessly. With every movement, he hit that sweet spot inside of you, and you knew he’d been doing this for a long time. He was definitely experienced.

He dropped his hand for your chest and lowered it to your clit, expertly moving his two fingers across your bundle of nerves. That feeling, combined with his thick cock, was enough to send you over the edge.

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” you chanted his name like it was a prayer— and he felt powerful.

The Mandalorian grinned wolfishly under his helmet as he increased his speed. You were seeing stars and it felt like your whole body was trapped under a spell. His spell.

“I ca- oh I can’t, I’m close, I’m close,” you cried as he continued to rock his hips into yours.

You hugged his body into yours, wishing the pleasure would never end. With every twitch of his cock he watched you intently. He watched the way your body reacted to him, revelling in the way your face screwed up in heated pleasure. Din adored the way your brow knitted together and your mouth parted as the most angelic noises omitted from your plush lips.

“Have you ever felt so alive than you do right now, with me inside of you?” Din queried with a grunt.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head profusely. “Please don’t stop.”

Your orgasm ripped through you like a tornado and without warning, The Mandalorian split his seed deep inside of you, his salty cum roping your perfect walls as they gripped down around his cock. Now he had marked you for life.

Din returned to confession a week later when your father had returned from the Festival of Lights. There was no reason for you to see The Mandalorian anymore.

“Forgive me, Grand Bishop, for I have sinned yet again.” Din announced, his voice clear as daylight after discarding his beskar helmet. He ran a gloved hand over his face.

“Another kill?” your father inquired, but from the other side of the wall, Din could only smirk.

“I’ve met a woman. A holy woman. And she has consumed my every thought. When I think about her I feel more inclined to sin, over and over again.”

It was true. Your ruby red lips, high heels, thin robes… Din had become completely enraptured with you.

Your father spent a moment contemplating the Mandalorian’s words, finding that he was speaking a lot differently than ever before. Not as ruthless or dangerous— but almost genuine.

“Would you give your body to this holy woman, if she requested you do so?” The Grand Bishop asked, not realising he was speaking about you, his own daughter.

“I already have,” Din confessed, subconsciously licking a stripe over his lower lip, at the memory of your taste. “And I would do it again.”

-—-—-—♡—-—-—-

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stormkobra-5 · 2 years

Text

The Heir of Djarin

Episode 1: Fledgling

Summary: Din Djarin has spent nearly a decade in retirement on the uncharted moon of Yëa in order to hide Grogu from the First Order, but he’s in his late fifties and is fearing the day when the little guy is left on his own. Never did he expect a girl to drop out of the sky at such a perfect moment.

A/N: Welcome to the eight-episode event that is the beginning of a re-imagining of the Star Wars Sequel Trilogy. This story I’ve been thinking up for awhile, after finishing the whole Star Wars series from start to finish recently (and developing an unhealthy infatuation with one Oscar Isaac...). Would Mando still be alive at the time of the Sequel Trilogy? It’s hard to say what he’d be up to if he were. This is written, of course, before season three of The Mandalorian, so... Inaccuracies are gonna suck after it comes out. This is also before reading the Poe Dameron comics by Charles Soule; I’ve only read up to vol. 2. In either case, this story is supposed to take place just before, maybe overlapping with vol 1? Although Poe already has Black Squadron formed...

Notes: I’m somewhat new to the technicalities of this fandom. Sure I can tell the difference between T-65 and T-70 X-wings, and I can remember almost every name and face, but a helluva lot of my knowledge for the Mandalorian culture comes from watching The Mandalorian and Googling my questions. You have been warned.

Warnings: This story is rated 14+ for canon-typical violence, action, and language. The OC main character is recovering from a traumatic backstory for the sake of the plot, so there is mention of distrust, social anxiety, self-doubt, and emotional damage. Later chapters may involve mature themes for drug usage (spice), excessive alcohol consumption, and clubs that imply adult entertainment (the main characters do not take part). Nothing explicit in any chapters.

_______________________________________________________________

STRENGTH is life, for the strong have the right to rule.

HONOR is life, for with no honor, one may as well be dead.

LOYALTY is life, for without one’s clan one has no purpose.

DEATH is life, one should die as they have lived.

This is the Way.

This is the Creed of the Mandalorian.

- - -

Resol’nare, The Six Actions:

Wear the traditional armor

Speak, read, and write Mando’a

Defend yourself and your family with the traditional arts

Raise your children to become Mandalorians

Contribute to your clan’s welfare

When called upon by the Mand’alore, rally to the cause

_______________________________________________________________

It’s the cold water on my face that wakes me up. Little droplets of freezing cold rainwater smack into my forehead, my eyelids, my cheeks, and I jump up, eyes snapping open and hands flying to wipe the water away. I’m overcome with dizziness-- the type that makes the world tilt dangerously, that makes you feel like you’ll just slide right off the Earth. I lay immediately back down to brave the cold rain with a pathetic groan, waiting for it to subside. Where am I? The question doesn’t even to begin to explain the confusion I feel as my vision clears and I start taking in my surroundings. Tall, green grass. There are some pine trees nearby. The overcast sky rumbles faintly with thunder, but no lightning flashes. This doesn’t make any sense at all, because the last thing I remember is laying down for a nap on the couch at home. My family... I’m annoying as hell, sure, but I very much doubt if they’d have drove me out into the middle of nowhere and dumped me. They wouldn’t do that to me. Besides, there are no pine trees anywhere near where I live. Not enough to make a forest solely of them. They’d had to have driven pretty damn far if that were the case. So what? Somebody break into the house and I manage to sleep through it? They decide to dump me for some reason? Was I drugged by the intruder? Did I sleepwalk right out the front door and nobody noticed? Though I haven’t sleepwalked since I was about four years old, so. Even after the dizziness subsides, I lay there in the growing puddle of mud trying to figure out what happened, why I’m here. I’m even considering alien abduction and a sudden ability to teleport when I hear footsteps. Footsteps means I’m not alone. Means someone might have answers. Maybe the one who did this to me? I don’t dare to move. Whoever it is has a heavy step, and something jingles, like a cowboy’s spurs. The grass rustles, shifts, and I’m greeted by a very strange sight. Leaning over me is a man wearing leathers underneath of a full set of mirror-shine silver armor, complete with a helmet akin to something a Spartan warrior might wear, without the mohawk of dyed horsehair. His cross-shaped visor is filled in with black glass, so I can’t see any details of his face. Or anything of him, really. Every ounce of skin is covered by leather, metal, or both. Hanging from his shoulders is a tattered old cape, and he wears a bandolier full of what looks like ammo. He has numerous pouches around his waist, holsters on his legs, and he holds a very long, sniper-looking rifle, though I’ve never seen anything like this gun before. For several minutes, the only thing to be heard is birdsong and the rain plinking off his armor. Then, he talks. “...You okay, kid?” He has the calm, stern voice of a soldier. I spend a lot of time around them, so I know this and take solace in it. I always feel safer and more at ease around military personnel. Always have. Though because of his helmet, it sounds like he’s speaking through a walkie-talkie. I’m surprised at the clarity, though. After a moment, I manage to nod, and start to push myself up. He leans down and helps me into a sitting position, offers me a flask of what I hope is water. Reluctantly, I take it, because my throat is dry and my thirst wins over my distrust of strangers. “Where am I?” “Yëa,” He replies, “It’s an uncharted moon, so I won’t be surprised if nobody finds you here. The interference from Elika probably messed with your sensors.” I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m even more scared than I was before. “...Ship?” It’s all I can manage to say, all I can manage to pick out of the slew of confusing words he’s just spouted off to me as if I should understand him. “Yeah,” He answers calmly, “It was nothing but a fireball. It’s a miracle you survived at all, though how you were flung and remained unscathed is almost more of one...” He must see the terror in my face, because he adds, “You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” I shake my head, but remain silent. Now that I know I’m in the presence of a whackjob, my social anxiety has taken over and I want to run, very very far away, as fast as possible. He looks up at the sky, remembering his phony fireball, and sits down beside me. “Where are you from?” What am I supposed to do? Make something up? “Cincinnati.” I expect him to say something. Cincinnati where? Cincinnati, Ohio? Cincinnati, the home of the Bengals? Cincinnati, that’s not too far from here. What I don’t expect is for him to stare at me blankly. As if he’s never heard of it. “...Cincinnati,” He repeats, rolling the word around on his tongue like some weird new food. “What quadrant is that in?” “Quadrant?” Wonderful. I’m lost, have no idea why, and my only source of information is a crazy man. “Yeah. Quadrant.” When I give no answer, he tries something else. “What territory are you from? Outer, Mid, Inner Rim? Maybe you don’t know. What’s the last thing you remember?” “Laying down on my couch to take a nap,” I reply honestly, annoyed with how tiny and squeaky my voice is. What else am I supposed to do? I have no idea where I am or how I got here, and whether or not I’m lying or telling the truth, this crazy cosplayer is the only way for me to get home. Besides, he has a gun, even if it does look unusual, plus a lot of other guns and knives. He’s heavily armed. If I just keep my head down and play along, maybe he’ll point me in the direction of the shiny machines that carry people around. If I can find a road, I can find my way home. This, however, surprises him. He balks. “...You... A nap?” He asks this like this is unfathomable. Meekly, I nod. He stares at me for a second, then, “...That explains why I can’t find any wreckage of your ship, then.” Of course you can’t. Because it doesn’t exist. He points behind us, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You came from that way. Fell right out of the sky and landed here, though it seems awfully gentle for somebody going that speed. I can tell you this makes no more sense to me than it does to you.” I turn to glance where he’s pointing. I only meant to glance. But then I do a double take, stop short, and stare, stunned, at what I see looming over the treeline. The man sees what I’m doing and watches my reaction. Watches as my jaw hangs and tears spring to my eyes, as fear overwhelms me and I start shaking. Because this, whatever this is, can’t be real, can’t be, is impossible, and suddenly I’m hearing Dorothy’s voice from The Wizard of Oz, her words entirely too close to home: I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore. All of a sudden the concept of alien abduction doesn’t seem too far-fetched now, or I am in one very vivid dream that’s not at all lucid. Because there, on the horizon, just visible as the gray overcast starts to pull away in the distance, is a great, looming mass of fire and black rock and lava in the place of where maybe the moon would be if you could see it in daytime. What’s worse is that I can’t even jump to my feet in alarm because when I try, I fall right back down after tripping on my own ankles. It’s a planet, a giant fiery planet. No, I am definitely not even on Earth anymore.

- - -

I hear the man saying something to me, but it takes a second before I can hear him. “Are you okay?” “Where am I?” “I told you,” He says, and I realize he’s not crazy, “You’re on Yëa. The uncharted moon of Elika, that planet you see there.” He’s standing now, looking down at me and clearly thinking, like I am. Except he’s calm where I’m panicking, trying to wake myself up my pinching my arm so hard it leaves a bruise, or even using my short nails until I bleed. Nothing happens, and the pain is all to real. “...You said you were from Cincinnati. Is that a city?” I nod. It’s all I can do. “What planet are you from?” “Earth,” I reply. He’s staring again, or maybe he’s closing his eyes. I can’t tell with his helmet on. “...Earth.” He crouches. He’s treating me like an injured, scared animal. I might as well be. “...Everybody learns about Earth in school. It’s where we all came from, eons ago...” I stare. I listen. And I try very hard not to scream. “...It’s a fairytale. A legend. But that would explain what I saw.” He looks back toward where he had seen me come in. “Everything went silent. The sky kind of... warped. There was a flash of light. A beam, a fireball... and then, I found you instead of a ship.” He looked back to me. “...What were you doing before you decided to take a nap?” “I was... I was...” I’d been doing what I did every day. I got up. I studied to prepare for my upcoming college classes. But I was so damn tired... Neither my brother or sister rejected the idea of me taking a nap to recharge. “I was at home,” I finally am able to say, “I was at home, with my brother and sister.” He swings back on his heels, not losing his balance even in all that heavy steel. “...At least, I know you’re not lying.” “How do you know that?!” I exclaim plaintively. “For all you know, I could be crazy!” He regards me carefully for a second. “I have a little friend who told me you were coming. That you’re special. Now I see what he means. You’re just lucky you didn’t end up on a Star Destroyer, or right in the hands of a Sith. You’d be dead or brainwashed by now.” Star Destroyer... Sith... Now he’s giving me words that I know I should remember but don’t. They sound familiar, but that’s it. He recovers his flask from where it landed in my staggering scramble away from the flaming planet in the sky. “Can you walk?” “I-I think so...” But I’m wrong. He helps me to my feet, but my legs give out almost instantly. I feel weak, like I haven’t eaten in days. All I did was skip breakfast. Thankfully, he says nothing. He leans down and scoops me up, carrying me toward the woods. “Do you have a name?” “I’m Laylah,” I reply, glad to have something I’m sure of. “Laylah Evergreen.” “I’m Din Djarin,” He says. “Din Djarin?” I repeat. His name sounds familiar. Too familiar. Like something I should know. Something I should automatically relate to a specific person... “Have you heard of me?” He sounds curious. Rightfully so. I would be. “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. Maybe if I keep being honest and nice, he won’t turn on me like all the others. It’s never worked before, though. Not in my life. I better appreciate how nice he’s being to me now, because I know how quickly people can shift. Minutes, hours, days, sometimes even weeks. Never in my life has anyone ever stayed nice. I’ve never known why. I’ve just come to expect it. I need to get all the information I can out of him before he turns away, too. “...I bet that you’ve got memory implants,” Din Djarin says. “Huh?” He shakes his head. “Sometimes when a slave escapes or a First Order traitor slips out of their grasp, when they’re caught, they implant artificial memories and abandon them somewhere. Drives the person mad while they try to figure out who they are. It’s a sick form of torture.” “Oh,” is my squeaky reply, because that thought is terrifying. The thought of my mother, my brothers and sisters, none of it being real... It’s something that I’m gonna pretend isn’t a possibility. So I try to bring the conversation elsewhere. “Why do you wear that armor?” “This is the Way,” He tells me as he carries me into the treeline, following an old, beaten path. Under the shelter of the green pines, the rain subsides a bit. It’s a relief. “I’m a Mandalorian. What I wear is pure beskar, straight from the mines of Mandalore and very hard to find. I doubt any exists now, with the Empire having destroyed the mines and destroyed the planet... Its impenetrable. Not even lightsabers can get through it. It's a part of my sworn Creed to wear it with honor, and none can ever see my face.” “Why?” “This is the Way,” He says again, and I know that’s all I’m going to hear about the beskar. “What’s a lightsaber?” “The weapon of choice for Sith or Jedi. Laser swords. Very rarely, someone who is not either might have one.” “Are they like you? Following Creeds?” “In a way.” My stomach drops as he starts to walk a log suspended over a gorge. A waterfall barrels loudly and violently below, pounding into a river. One wrong move and we’re both dead. But Din’s strides are confident and unwavering, and before I have time to hold my breath we’re on solid ground again. “I know little of either of them. My people are the ancient enemies of the Jedi, but the few I’ve met have been alright. They’re more wizards than warriors, though.” “So, what? Space Harry Potter?” “I don’t know what that is.” “They’re just a bunch of fictional wizards.” I want to ask more questions-- about the Mandalorians, the Jedi and the Sith, about where I am-- but I go silent. I know that if I talk too much, he’ll be less inclined to answer me kindly, if at all, and I’m relying on his kindness right now. I need to time my questions carefully. Thankfully, the Mandalorian doesn’t point out the fact that I’ve gone silent. He seems just as eager to keep to himself as I am. Good. I don’t want to talk. With the adrenaline fading, my social anxiety and severely-introverted feelings are coming back. I’m suddenly aware of the fact that he’s carrying me, and I really don’t like it. It feels alien and is completely unwelcome, being this close to someone. I have to resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut and wait until it’s over, or just fight my way out of his grasp and run screaming. Fight past it, I tell myself, and force myself to remain calm, You need the assistance of Din Djarin. He’s your only source of survival. Luckily for me, the journey is over quickly enough. It feels like an eternity of discomfort, but probably only twenty minutes have passed. Our destination is what looks like a cave at first glance, but upon closer inspection I can see that the branches and underbrush have been placed specifically to hide a little wooden door. It’s a hut hidden in the rocks, one most people would pass by unless you were being taken right to it. Carefully, Din sets me down on a rock. The door is jammed into a crevice in the rock rather than locked, so it takes him a minute to open it. Inside, it’s very dim, lit by candles and one hole between two massive boulders that serves as a window. Smells of cinnamon and what might be mint tea waft out, comforting me. Cinnamon has always calmed me, and I’m thankful for the unexpected familiarity. Am I dreaming, or is what Din says true? Has my whole life been just a fabrication for a traitor or escaped slave? If I’m dreaming, then all I have to do is wait to wake up, although I’ve never experienced a dream where I feel every second, every minute, as realistically as I am now. Where I can smell and feel so vividly. It’s so much like real life that I’m suddenly worried about Din’s theory being true. If that is the case, though, and my whole life has been nothing but an implant for a fugitive... it would explain a lot. It would explain why my life has been a series of one bad thing after another, an essential prison for the seventeen years I’ve been alive. Although the thought of my family being nothing but a lie terrifies me. They were all I had, all I’ve ever had. My mother, Rochelle, my older siblings Thomas and Julia, my younger siblings Tristan and Jade. If they weren’t ever there, then does that mean I’ve always been as alone as I’ve felt? They have to exist. Even memory implants have to have something to go off of, right? So maybe they do exist, in this place where a galaxy actually has territories. I just have to find them. Once Din has the door propped up, he carries me inside. It’s small but comforting. There’s a single bed against the far wall, covered in pelts for blankets. Beside it is what looks oddly enough like a baby carriage. Hanging from the ceiling are herbs to dry, and what I think are rabbits and pheasants except they’re odd colors of green and have more limbs and eyes than I remember. I’m starting to feel a lot like I’m in Wonderland. Except I don’t remember chasing any white rabbits. There’s a table with a stool, a very small kitchen, and an open lean-to which holds changes of clothes. He sets me down on the bed and retrieves a blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders. He starts a fire in a tiny fireplace that doubles as a stove. Movement out of the corner of my eye startles me, and then I see something that probably tops the flaming planet and the six-legged green rabbit with a ring of teeth instead of a face. At least, it’s cute and non-threatening. Sitting up out of the cradle is something that looks a lot like Gizmo from Gremlins, except he’s hairless and green. He’s dressed in a tiny burlap robe, and his long ears twitch curiously when he sees me. He blinks, slowly, with large dark eyes that seem to know more than an infant should. “Say hello, Grogu,” The Mandalorian tells him softly from across the hut. “Badu,” Grogu says to me in the sweetest little voice, and waves a three-fingered hand in my direction. For the first time since I got here, I smile. I’m overwhelmed with a sense of relief and safety that I didn’t feel before. It feels like something is connecting me to the little guy, and maybe it’s the fact that this might be the friend that the Mandalorian was talking about-- it’s a ridiculous prospect, that a baby told him about me, but I’ve got this odd, strong feeling that I’m right. “Hello, Grogu,” I reply with my own wave. “I’m Laylah.” I want to ask Din what Grogu is, but that seems insensitive. Instead, I ask, “Is the the friend you told me about?” “Yes,” Din answers, “He sensed you coming hours before you arrived. Those Jedi I was talking about? They use something called the Force. It’s some kind of celestial energy. I don’t understand it, but it gives them strange abilities-- glimpses of the future, communicating telepathically, moving things with their minds... Sometimes, very rarely, Grogu will make an effort to tell me something if its important, but it tires him. So when he told me that a special girl was going to fall out of the sky, I watched until you did.” “Special?” “Badu,” Says Grogu. I smile again, reaching over to take his little hand. He’s tiny, and fragile, being so young; but as soon as our hands meet, I feel something... odd. A surge of power, a static and palpable energy that bursts into my arm. I feel it like the cold liquid of an IV, being pulled up into my veins and dispersed through the rest of my body. I snatch my arm back with a gasp. Grogu doesn’t look surprised by my reaction. His big eyes narrow almost knowingly as we stare at each other. “What is it?” Din asks. He’s stopped what he’s doing to see what’s going on, but only Grogu seems to know. “What did you do?” “N-nothing!” I cry, terrified that now I’ve lost my only means of survival over a misunderstanding. He’s going to kick me out into the woods because he thinks I did something to his kid, and I’m not sure I could survive out there-- I’m not Katniss Everdeen. “Not you,” He specifies, and my heart falls from my throat back to its proper location. “You, Grogu, what did you do?” “Du.” Grogu only grunts and buries himself deep into the blankets in his cradle. I’m rubbing my hand up my arm under my sleeve, trying to get the feeling back into it. Pins and needles prick at the whole length of my arm and my body feels fuzzy. “He always do that?” “No,” Din answers, setting the stool across from me. He hands me a cup of what I’m going to believe is tea, and I hold it in both of my freezing hands, grateful for its warmth. “I’ve only seen him react like that to someone once.” “Who?” I immediately reprimand myself internally for asking such a personal question-- but really, who would have been able to resist? Gizmo-baby from space injecting people with magic power isn’t exactly normal. “Sorry.” He waves me off. “Her name was Ahsoka Tano. She said that he was communicating with her, through the Force.” He pauses for a second, maybe for dramatic effect. “She was a Jedi.” I can’t help but scoff, though it’s also partly a laugh. “So you’re saying I’m a Jedi?” “There’s a difference between being a Jedi and being Force-sensitive,” Din explains softly, absentmindedly leaning over to tuck little Grogu in. “Being a Jedi means that you’ve been trained to harness the Force, be one with it. Being Force-sensitive means that you are aware of it, more so than most. It can be useful to you, I’ve heard. Some people who are Force-sensitive do end up becoming Jedi, but with you, we’ll have to wait and see.” “So Grogu...” “He’s a Force-user,” Din tells me, “Once, he was being trained in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, and when it was attacked, he was the sole survivor. He would have been a very powerful Jedi. When I found him, I took him to Luke Skywalker, but Grogu decided that he would rather stay with me than swear himself to their training. Skywalker let him go, but Grogu can still utilize the Force. I’ve seen him lift creatures larger than speederbikes, stop explosions, heal fatal wounds, and even calm a rancor. Now, he’s sensed you... and at precisely the right time.” “...Right time?” Here’s the catch. There’s always a catch. The Mandalorian leans back, using the table to support his back. “I’m getting older. Any self-respecting bounty hunter in their late fifties is still out there, doing their job, but with the rise of the First Order, I took Grogu and went into hiding. He's powerful; if they found him...” He leaves the apparently horrible ending of his sentence for me to interpret, and I get the feeling this First Order isn’t very friendly. “The interference from Elika is the only thing that’s kept us safe. I can’t protect him like I used to. We haven’t left Yëa in a little under ten years.” My silent question is obvious. My eyebrows shoot to my hairline as I point to Grogu meaningfully. Din shakes his head. “His race ages slowly. He’s only the equivalent of a two-year-old human. Maybe in another fifty years, he’ll be more able to fend for himself. But I am human. I don’t have fifty more years in me. I’ve outlived all of my trusted friends, or the First Order has made their worlds unsafe. You can imagine how hard it is to try and find someone to take your place when you can’t go out and look.” I cock an eyebrow. What, you don’t have galactic internet? Though I guess if you’re trying to hide, posting a big Help Wanted: Need a Lifelong Babysitter for Space-Wizard Gizmo ad on your space-Facebook would probably be counterintuitive. But I see what he’s getting at. Here he is, worrying about dying of old age and leaving his kid unattended, vulnerable. Then I literally fall out of the sky, ripped from my home and my world for no foreseeable reason. “Not only that...” Din continues, blatantly ignoring any expression I might have as he watches Grogu sleep. He starts to rock the cradle. “But I’m one of the last Mandalorians. I don’t even know if there are other Mandalorians anymore. My legacy is over. I have no wife or children; my only family is Grogu. He’s a foundling, yes-- but it will be many years before he can continue the Creed.” “The Mandalorian Creed?” “Yes. He cannot do it on his own, not yet.” “And... you want me to follow in your footsteps.” He hesitates. “...Maybe. We’ll see. If you were to continue my legacy, I would have to take you as my daughter. You’ve only just arrived here, even if Grogu says you’re special. After all, how do I know you’re not crazy? Or a wanted fugitive with memory implants? In fact, there’s only one way for me to tell for certain.” His words leave me shifting uneasily. He wants me to take his place... And the fact that he would have to make me his daughter because of a Creed sets me on edge. The only father I had ever known was negligent and abusive. I’d come to associate that term with fear, unease, and abandonment. Just the word makes me want to run very far, very fast. I’ve been having a lot of urges to run recently. The Mandalorian seems to look me in the eye. “You were clearly sent here for a reason, Laylah Evergreen. We just have to figure out what it is. I know someone... if your arrival was that spectacular, she may have sensed you already.” “Another Force-sensitive person?” “In a sense. Her name is Maz Kanata. She always seems to know everything that’s happening everywhere. If anyone, she’s the safest person to go to, save for a Jedi, and nobody knows where Luke Skywalker is. She won’t speak a word to the First Order about us.” I scoff. “Seems just about everybody but you and me know more about my coming here than we do.” “So it would seem,” He agrees. “It’s going to take her a few days to get here after I send the message. Until then, you can stay here. Make yourself at home.” Oh. Wonderful. I’m grateful. Really, I am. If not for Din’s hospitality, I’d still be laying in a mud puddle. But I also detest the thought of staying in the same little hut as a stranger. I’d much rather be on my own. But I can’t actually voice any of this. “Thank you, sir.” Din nods, standing and moving over to the closet. He pulls out a couple of items-- a longsleeve shirt, pants, a belt made out of rope-- and sets them next to me on the bed. “You should get out of those wet clothes. These aren’t going to fit you very well, but maybe Maz can bring you some.” Before I can even finish saying thank you, he’s already back by the door. “I’m going to go send the message. I’ll knock before I enter.” After struggling with the door a bit, he exits the hut and closes it up. I hear him pull some of those branches over the door to conceal it. I wait until his footsteps and jingling belts fade before I so much as move. I put the tea on the table and change as fast as possible. The clothes he’s given me are soft and comfortable, dark brown-- but he’s right, they don’t fit at all. I’m swimming in them. I have to roll up the pants several times at the ankles and the hips, looping the belt twice around my waist to hold them up. The shirt is better, since it’s more of a dress to me and I can easily cover myself with that blanket for now. What’s worse is I hardly eat; I’m so skinny the pants threaten to fall down at the slightest movement. I fold my own outfit neatly, taking in how strange the skinny jeans and green flannel look against the homespun outfit I’m now wearing. Once I’m done, I set the clothes on the stool and sit back where he had originally placed me, blanket and tea and all. I try to sip it. It’s warm and sweet, like honey. I wonder if it’s drugged. What are Tristan and Jade doing right now, I wonder? I always tell them never to let me sleep for more than an hour. At fifteen and ten, my little brother and baby sister are fully capable of handling themselves, but has the hour already passed? It sure as hell feels like it to me. Have they tried to wake me up and discovered that they can’t? Din is knocking sooner than I expect. I jump, heart leaping into my throat. “I’m dressed,” I manage, voice cracking. He enters and wordlessly takes the clothes outside. I want to ask what he’s doing with them, but refrain from doing so. He turns in the doorway as if sensing it. “I wash all my clothes in a bucket at a nearby stream. I’ll put yours in with mine.” I thank him and he departs, leaving the door open behind him. When he returns, he closes the door most of the way but leaves it cracked. Outside, the sun is shining and birds are singing. At least, I hope it’s the sun, and not that planet, and birds instead of freaky rabbit mutations. Din pours himself a cup of tea. “So... How old are you?” The question catches me off-guard. It’s clearly an attempt at conversation, but I overthink and wonder why he’s asking. I clear my throat after a moment and answer him. “Just turned seventeen last December.” He stares at me. Now it’s my turn to ask, “You have no idea what December is, do you?” Din takes a deep breath and sits himself on the stool. “Well, Laylah Evergreen... It seems we have a lot to learn about each other.��

- - -

The first few days I spend with Din Djarin are peaceful but hellish. In all my life, I’d never had one kind instance with a stranger that has stuck. Everyone has always treated my family and I like enemies, and so we had grown used to it. Grown to expect it. Not to mention, social anxiety and being an introvert are making it very difficult to seem normal around a stranger. I speak very quietly and only to ask a question, or in response to something he says. Otherwise, I comment on nothing and make no attempts at conversation despite awkward silences. I ask where I should sleep, and he makes a new bed in thirty minutes with a couple of sticks and a stretch of hide. He gives me a few hide blankets and a pillow made of burlap and bird down, and I’m grateful. I watch how he does it and make mental notes, learning. He notices and gives tips and shows me tricks, which knots hold best and such. I’m grateful, but I don’t sleep. I can’t sleep because Din Djarin’s house is full of weapons. He’s very clearly trained and could overpower me in a second. My only option is sprinting as fast as I can out of the door he usually keeps open, using Din’s age and armor against him if he attacks. I can’t sleep because Din Djarin sleeps in his armor, leaving early in the morning to wash it and bathe before making his rounds, checking his snares and traps for food. But he sleeps in his armor, as if always prepared for battle. I don’t ask him about it because I’m scared of his reaction, and a part of me knows that his response will be “This is the Way.” Maybe he was a soldier once and old habits die hard. The only thing that puts me at ease is the fact that he sometimes shifts, half-asleep or maybe fully awake, to rock Grogu’s cradle. During the day, in my own clothes, I ask him what I can do to help with the daily routine. I don’t want to feel useless and I need to keep moving. He has me collect firewood. He shows me where I can wash clothes and where his traps are, how to collect the animals without damaging the meat. He shows me his garden, where he collects herbs. We split the daily duties, half-and-half. I’m terrified of doing something wrong, like I always do, and then Din will return to doing it all himself, leaving me useless. But when I do get something wrong, Din only quietly shows me how to do it correctly once more, and then I get it. The worst he got was showing mild frustration when I brought home one of the demon-rabbits with a torn leg. “Dank farrik, did you just pull on it?” “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.” “Let me show you how to save what you can of the catch.” He’s being nice, and I’m not used to it. I want to tell him to yell at me and tell me how I need to be doing it, why didn’t I do it that way in the first place, why can’t I get it? But he doesn’t. He remains calm and honestly it’s scaring me. I cry a lot in those first few days. Privately, of course, because I vowed a long time ago that nobody would see me cry, especially strangers. It would take a lot for me to cry in front of somebody. My “safe place” was always the bathroom, curled up beside the tub, where nobody could reach me. But there’s no bathroom here, only an outhouse, so I cry all my tears when I’m in the woods by myself. I think maybe Din might be able to tell sometimes, when my face is still red and splotchy, but he never says anything to my relief. Because if he asks me what’s wrong, I know I’ll break down, and if I cry then I show weakness. Weakness isn’t something that I can afford. Already, I’m too quiet, but quiet means thoughtful and careful. Wary. Weakness, on the other hand, means vulnerability. And if I’m vulnerable... No, I won’t let Din or Grogu see me weak or vulnerable. Sometimes I think maybe I am like Katniss. I feel like her a lot, trekking through the woods to collect game and forage. Although my braid, however, is much longer. Dark and thin and entwined with a russet ribbon, it goes all the way down to my mid-thighs. I keep it long in honor of my Cherokee heritage; I’m quarter Cherokee, and I’ve always been proud of it, even if my skin is pale instead of tanned. A very special thing to me I always carry on me, and still thankfully have, is a bear claw on a suede cord, the head of which has been carved into an eagle’s head. It was given to me by my grandfather, and since I’ve only ever taken it off to sleep and to shower. Now, I don’t take it off at all. I won’t lie, I miss my family with everything in me. But whatever this is-- death, coma, a dream, even recovering from memory implants-- I’m starting to feel more and more like it’s home, even with the presence of Din and Grogu. Here, everything is easy. At least, for us it is. We eat, we work, we live. There’s no struggle for money. No struggle for jobs that won’t hire. No struggle for college or constantly hearing of one catastrophe after another. Of course, there’s the war. Between the Resistance, a band of rebel fighters led by General Organa, the once-princess of Alderaan and an esteemed senator; and the First Order, a cruel organization bent on ruling through power and force. Merciless, without empathy, they steal children to brainwash into mindless soldiers designated by numbers rather than names, and are ruled by a mad Sith Lord named Kylo Ren-- although not everybody is convinced that they’re all bad yet, and they’re not exactly at war. Yet. The Republic remains unconvinced, so General Leia Organa has formed a Resistance to oppose the First Order. This galaxy isn’t perfect, not by any means. There’s cruelty and loss and a constant battle between good and evil. But it’s a hell of a lot better than having everything condensed onto one, suffocating planet. Ten days have passed since my arrival here. Ten days since Din sent out the message to Maz Kanata. Sometimes now, I’ve fallen asleep, whether out in the woods or at the hut, and I’ll wake up to Din having found me and carried me back or placed a blanket over my shoulders. Exhaustion has won over my distrust, and I can sleep again, although the strange location still has me waking up long before I used to. Din and I are up just before dawn most days. And just when I think Maz Kanata isn’t coming, Din gets a call on his comlink in the middle of breakfast, making all three of us jump. A whole two weeks for the Galactic Standard Calendar, Din has only just told me. A whole two weeks of days named strangely on a calendar with ten months instead of twelve and 368 days instead of 365. Grogu nearly spills his gruel. Din-- who was eating outside because I can’t see his face since he strictly follows the Way-- does drop his food, and it clatters onto the rocks before the front door. He pulls his helmet down before kneeling down to pick up the bowl. “Dank farrik...” He comes inside to grab the comlink off the counter and goes right back out. I hear him talking to somebody as he walks away, and I’m suddenly nervous. Butterflies do somersaults in my stomach. If Maz gives me the option to go home, will I really take it? I’m comfortable with my family, but we suffer. I don’t want to leave them behind, but I don’t think I could bear to leave this paradise where I might be able to grow used to Din Djarin and Grogu the space-Gizmo-wizard. I might even be able to grow used to the disturbing wildlife. And honestly, the more Din has taught me, the more appealing becoming his apprentice sounds. I want to live here. I want to learn the Galactic Standard Calendar, their letter system of Aurebesh, their slang and even Mando’a. But saying all of this is very difficult for me, especially when I don’t trust Din. I’m still waiting for his kindness to fade. Although, he’s making it very confusing for me. Seventeen years of mistreatment has left a lasting imprint that I hate, but can’t fight. My instincts are torn between thinking I might be able to trust him and warning me that I should not. The fact that I’m wearing one of two outfits he helped me cut and resize so that I have something more fitting to wear only adds to it. The fact that he’s simply accepted the girl that was suddenly flung onto his planet, disoriented and confused, makes it even worse. I wonder what Mom would do. Or what any of my siblings would do. They’d stay, definitely, so long as we were all together. But this decision I need to make for me. They may love me, and I love them more than anything, but if this is my path... Strangely enough, I hear the voice of Din echoing in my head: “This is the Way.” Din returns shortly. He peers around the corner, gesturing to someone behind him. Following is a very old woman-- but she’s not human. She’s a spry elderly female humanoid, but the resemblance to a human ends there. She’s completely hairless, her wrinkled skin the color of apricots. She squints at me from behind a pair of silver goggles strapped to her over-large head, her spindly body fidgeting as if anxious to move. “Hmmm...” She drawls out. I stand, nervous. I hadn’t been prepared for her visit. My hair is still messy from bed and I haven’t changed out of the outfit that I designated for pajamas. It’s been splattered with gruel from Grogu’s spasm when the comlink flicked to life, and I’m nervously trying to smooth down the shirt-tunic and pat my bedhead down all at once. Din clears his throat. “Maz Kanata, this is Laylah Evergreen. Laylah, this is Maz.” “I know who she is,” Maz replies mysteriously, adjusting her goggles and coming closer. I may be short, but I still kneel to be at her eye level. “Everyone Force-sensitive in the galaxy knows who she is.” “That’s dangerous,” Din says, and I know I’ve bought my ticket to getting shipped away just by existing. Maz waves a hand, but doesn’t take her eyes off me. “I said they know who she is, not where she is. Most people only felt something off. I’ve been hearing about the disturbance for days now. Those of us whom are more in-tune with the Force...” She reaches forward and grabs my chin, moving my head from side to side. But here’s the problem: it takes every fiber in my body not to leap back from the sudden contact, especially there. Imprinted into my brain is my father trying to make me look at him, and fearing his wrath, I hadn’t been able to move. Every time someone touches my chin-- which, it’s rare for anyone to touch me at all besides my family-- I see his face. It brings tears to my eyes, but if Maz notices, she doesn’t say anything. She steps back, and I take a few shuddering breaths, trying to push the thought of my father out of my head. Maz’s eyes bore into mine. “...We saw her. Leia sent for me immediately. Luke, I’m sure, wherever he is, saw her too. Horribly enough, this means that we know Kylo Ren saw her. Thankfully, they don’t know her location. They only know her as The Girl Misplaced. She’s not from here. She’s from another time and space entirely. The Force wouldn’t have reacted so otherwise.” “Wh-what does this mean?” I mutter softly, now wondering how many other people saw me before their eyes. “It means,” Maz says, “That your destiny is meant to play out here. Which is why you are here. I haven’t felt a ripple in the Force like that in a thousand years--” I balk at her age; she doesn’t look that old, “--and I doubt I’ll see it again for another thousand, by which point you’ll be long gone.” “So... You mean...” “Leia knows that I came to you; she told me to tell this to you gently, but I can’t think of any other way to say it,” Maz shakes her head, taking my hands in her tiny ones. “This is your home now, Laylah of Earth. I would make your peace with it now, and accept your fate sooner rather than later, else it will come upon you too quickly.” I’m crying before I realize it. I’m screaming at myself internally for showing weakness in front of not one, but two strangers, but I can’t help it. I missed my family, but I didn’t realize that I should have been grieving this whole time. I can’t go home. I’m stuck here, for the rest of my life. But isn’t that what I’ve always wanted, to get away from Earth? Isn’t this a good thing? My siblings would be upset-- Mom would be devastated. But I know that given the option to come back and I was happier here, she’d want me to stay. Our happiness has always come first for her. But knowing that I’ll never see the faces of my family again hits me hard. I don’t even have any pictures. All I have is the bear-claw pendant at my neck, all I have left of them. I squeeze it hard enough for the edge to cut into my palm, trying to sear their faces into my mind. Their voices, their smiles and laughter. All the good memories. Every time I look at it, I’ll think of you. Always and forever. If I’d have known that nap would have been my last day on Earth, I would have told Tristan and Jade I loved them. I’d have called Mom at work. I’d have called Thomas and Julia. But they know I loved them, right? Maz pulls away, turning to Din. “She’s in your charge now, Din. This child-- she needs your protection and care. It’s unlikely that the First Order will find her here, but you can never be too careful.” “I know, Maz,” Din replies, and I realize that he’s already come to this decision. Taking me in, like he took in Grogu. He’s been teaching me since the day I got here, because he knew I would likely never be able to go back. She hands him a bundle. “Clothes for the girl. When she’s ready... don’t question her path.” “I won’t. And thank you.” Din bids her farewell, and I manage to thank her as well, and then she’s gone. As if she hadn’t just delivered life-altering news. For several minutes, Din stays in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Grogu has somehow managed to climb down from his chair and is resting his hands on my thigh, babbling soft noises of sympathy. I scoop him up and hug him, the first hug I’ve had since my arrival here. After a moment of hesitation, Din sets the bundle down and crosses the room, wrapping his arms around both of us. “I’m sorry, Laylah.” “I already knew,” I managed, torn between hating the embrace and leaning into it for some semblance of comfort. Grogu uses his sleeve to dab at my face, and I can’t help but smile. Your destiny lies here. I refuse to lay here and bawl my eyes out for days. I’m going to do what I was sent here to do, wherever my path takes me, for better or worse. I’m not going to let my sudden breach of time and space have been for nothing. Then I really will have always been useless. I refuse to repay Din’s kindness by becoming lethargic and wasting away. I’ll get strong, and I’ll... I’ll learn the Way. What else can I be meant to do? Din needs an apprentice, and I just happen to land here of all places? I’ll accept that as more than coincidence. For you guys, I think, envisioning my family. I’m still crying though, even as I smile. I know the grief will last for a long time before dulling, but I’ve been through loss before. Hasn’t everyone? “Foundling sounds stupid for a girl my age,” I choke out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “Makes me sound like I’m four years old. How about fledgling? Sounds like I’m just about ready to sprout wings.” Din chuckles and rubs my shoulder. Grogu chirps excitedly and squeals, hugging me tighter. “Fledgling it is.”

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Thanks for reading! New episodes are posted Wednesday nights. If anybody wants to be tagged, just let me know!

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writings-of-a-british-fangirl · 4 years

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A Lesson In Mando’a [Din Djarin x Reader]

Title: A Lesson In Mando'a Summary: You'd been a bounty hunter most of your life; you were use to sleeping rough, fighting for your life, the harsh realities of life. What you weren't use to was the soft feelings of comfort, the warmth of a family. Warnings: Like one swear word I think ? Request: N/A

A/N: I posted this about half an hour ago, but it wasn’t showing up in the tags, so hopefully this one does!

A/N 2: Let me know if you have any other Din or Star Wars requests!

PART 1: A Lesson In Mando’a PART 2: A Lesson In Tradition PART 3: A Lesson In Touch

Din Djarin~A Lesson In Mando'a

Despite not fully understanding 'the Way', you had come to respect it. You particularly admired (almost envied) the beskar armour that came with it. It was certainly one of the better perks that came with being a Mandalorian. That, and the instant fear reaction most had whenever the Mandalorian walked into the room. Din (you had recently learned that was 'Mando's' real name) was quite a character as he strode into any cantina. He drew the attention of many patrons that occupied the bar, whether they chose to avert their eyes or stare at him. His shiny new beskar, along with the menacing helmet, was quite a sight to behold.

And, yet, you found yourself -on more than one occasion- staring at the Mandalorian with admiration... Affection almost. You knew it wasn't allowed. It wasn't compatible with Din's lifestyle, nor yours; it didn't make any sense, logically. On the surface, you knew that, but deep down you longed for a connection with the Mandalorian, one that served as more than a business deal, or an alliance of convenience. For a while, you had tried to asses Din's feelings about you.

At first, you were pretty sure he hated you: you did, after all, steal a bounty from him. It wasn't your fault that both your employer at the time and the guild he worked for had given you the same target, and it certainly wasn't your fault you were faster. As soon as you had caught the target, you were out of there: you knew of the Mandalorian's reputation, and you were smart enough to not want to fight him head to head. You didn't get to meet Din face to face until you had both been in the same town, both being hunting down by the Imps. You'd helped him escape them directly, and he'd offered you a lift in his ship, the Razor Crest. And, then you met his son... And, kind of never left.

You'd intended just to leave as soon as you can, to be dropped off at the next planet. You didn't want to over stay your welcome; your companion didn't seem like the type to host company. Though, if you were being honest, you didn't think he'd be the type to have a child either. He was cute: the child. And, while you didn't have many parental feelings, you had to admit the little green gremlin was pulling on your heart strings.

You sat in one of the chairs in the cock pit, with Din in the main front one flying. You suspected he'd put you there so he could keep an eye on you. And, while you couldn't blame him, you did start to feel tired. Did this ship even have beds? It didn't seem like a traditional living vehicle, definitely not built for comfort. Your eyes scanned around the cockpit, wondering if you could sneak down to the hull and take a nap there. While your eyes were wandering around, you spotted something out of the corner of your eye: the child. You smiled at him as he gazed a you. He turned his head slightly, his ears flopping to one side. The child looked curiously at you: you were a stranger, and you doubted he'd interacted with many people besides the Mandalorian. He seemed quite protective over the kid.

Before you could realise what was happening, the child had wandered towards you and was reaching up at you. You hesitated for a second before picking him up. You didn't want to offend Din by over stepping any boundaries, but who could say no to those big, pleading eyes.

You held him carefully, gently placing him in your lap, being mindful of how small he is.

"He seems to like you," Din murmured.

You jumped, a little bit startled; you'd be trapped in the moment, your eyes trained on the child. He smiled up at you, enjoying being held, and the feeling of warmth. You imagined your robes were much more comfortable than the beskar.

"Huh, I'm usually not good with kids, but he is a cutie," you smile up at the Mandalorian, "Is this what you look like under the helmet?"

You feel him tense up.

"Sorry I didn't mean offense by it," you pause, pursing your lips.

"No, its fine. Not too many people make jokes with me, that's all," he reassured.

"Well, no offence, you don't seem like the joking type," you shrug, "Or, maybe, who knows: you might be laughing under there all the time and just nobody can tell."

"Yeah, I'm the life of the party," Din dead panned.

You chuckled a little, and although you didn't know it at the time, Din's heart skipped a beat. 'That was weird,' Din thought, 'That's never happened before...' He tried to bury it, hide the thought away, as he did with a lot of his emotions. This one, however, seemed to stick around.

And, so did you.

It had been a few months since you'd joined him. Originally, you offered to help on jobs, fix the ship, take care of the child, whatever he wanted- to repay him for stealing his bounty. Well, that's what you told yourself. Originally, you believed you were in his debt, but over time you grew more and more fond of his company- and the child of course. He was adorable, and he offered a light distraction from the chaos the universe seemed to be in. Not to mention, your growing affection for the Mandalorian was keeping you pleasantly occupied.

~~~

Din was off hunting a bounty. Usually, you'd go with him, but he had insisted it would be an easy job. Besides, you weren't going to fight him on this: you liked spending time with the kid, and it'd give you some time to catch up on your sleep. The Crest wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep, and you always felt slightly on edge because the Mandalorian practically slept battle ready. It was the perfect excuse to have a rest day- those came few and far between.

The Razor Crest was parked safely in a remote location, with all security measured engaged. You told yourself it would only be a small nap. Besides, the kid was tired too. You'd fed him recently, and he always napped after food. If he was tired, you might as well sleep beside him- for his comfort, of course.

Originally, you were going to put him to bed in the little make shift cot Din had made for him, but you figured he'd be just as comfortable in your arms. You made your way up to the cock pit. It was nightfall, and the stars visible from this planet were quite a sight to behold. Gently, you held the child and began explaining to him all the different star constellations, and what they meant. You weren't sure he understood basic, but the way he looked up at you, and then to the stars, you figured he was understanding something.

"And, this one," you pointed out a large cluster of stars, "Is called 'The Warrior', just like your daddy, little one. That one is 'The Queen,' and this one-"

You stopped yourself. The kid had finally fallen asleep. You gently wrapped the blanket around both of you, and leaned back into the chair. Within a couple of minutes, your eyes had drooped, and sleep had overcome you. Before you completely drifted off, you had one thing on your mind: you hoped you would see your dear Mandalorian soon.

~~~

When the bounty hunter turned dad returned from his latest outing, he was tired. He threw the bounty into carbonite, and trudged further up the ship. It was only after he'd had a moment to breathe, that he realised there was no sign of you- or the child. His heart began to race. He opened the closet, praying to find the child inside a sleep.

He didn't.

Fuck. This was bad. He should've never left the child- what if he was hurt now? What if you were? Surely, you hadn't taken the child. You wouldn't do that to him... Would you?

His last resort before tearing apart the place was to check the cock pit. Logically, he knew you could be up there, but you usually spent most of your time in the hull. That's where your bed was, where the food was, where the child usually played. That's where he thought you'd be.

Din climbed up the ladder, keeping an eye out in case anything had happened to you or the child- in case it was a trap. Instead of any sign of the Imps, droids, or guild interference, he saw your sleeping body. In your arms, was the child. Din pulled himself up and landed as quietly as he could, so as to not disturb you. He watched you for a second; you looked so peaceful, and so well rested. He was envious. His eyes dropped down to the child; he was curled into your body, with his fingers gently wrapped around your thumb. He was softly snoring, almost purring as he slept. Din took one step forward, but his armour boot clanked against the floor a little too loudly. The child perked up; his ears flinched at the sound, and he woke up. When he saw it was Din, he cooed for him, and began to wriggle in your arms.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, and reached for the kid. You began to wake as well.

"D-Din?" you ask, eyes fluttering open, and when you registered it was him, you sat up, "You're back!"

You then registered that the baby was trying to wiggle out of your grasp. Adjusting your grip on him, you lifted the child up and offered him over to Din.

"Sorry little guy, did you want to go back to your daddy?" you asked, and the baby cooed in response, "Here you go."

Din gently took the child from you and held him close.

"How was it? An easy job?" you asked.

He was lost in thought. About you, about the child, about his new found family. His heart had fluttered when you had called him daddy. Well, it wasn't technically you, but he felt it in his heart nonetheless. He had been feeling that a lot around you lately: especially when you held the child. It almost felt like he had... Like he had a family. Din hadn't known what that felt like for a long time. Sure, he had the fellow Mandalorians, but they offered no affection like you did. He didn't feel as warm around them as he did with you. He-

You were still expecting answer. Your smile dazed him.

"Yes it was, cyar'ika," he murmured, looking down at his son, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed my company"

"Maybe," you smiled, "The child did at least."

That was enough, for now.

Din was about to turn around and go back down the hull, when you spoke up again.

"Din, you keeping calling me... Ah, c-cyr-"

"Cyar'ika?"

"Yes, that!" you pause, "What does it mean?"

"Oh that," Din could feel his face heat up behind the mask (which he was very thankful for at this moment, other wise he feared he'll die of embarrassment from the deep blush on his face), "I- Ur, it means... It's Mando'a for beloved."

"Oh," you felt your face heat up, "I-"

"-I can stop if it makes you feel uncomfortable-"

"-No! No, I... I like it."

It wasn't quite a full admission of your feelings, but for now... For now, you were happy. With Din, with the child: with your family.

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manndo · 3 years

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i see you [din djarin x reader]

gif credit

pairing[s]: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader (no descriptors, no y/n)

warning[s]: slight angst, fluff, kissing, mentions of arousal (barley there & nothing really descriptive) and ridiculously canon divergent (see notes).

word count: 4.0k

prompt[s]: from this list, based off the prompt ‘overhearing they have feelings for you’

summary: you just wanted to tell the child a bedtime story, and apparently, you had something you needed to get off your chest. but you weren’t aware you had an audience besides the child.

author’s notes: alright, for the last day of 2020 (i’m still in 2020 over here, unfortunately), i’ve decided to take a leap of faith and post my first mandalorian fic! i started writing this before episode 13 of season 2, before we learned the child’s name and way before the separation (i am still recovering from the emotional strain of this ending). and obviously, i didn’t finish it until now -- almost two weeks after the last episode. so, as i mentioned in my warnings, this is canon divergent -- basically anything from episode 13 to 16 did not happen in this fic. so, this means that grogu is referred to as the child/the little one/the kid in this fic. in the future, i am hoping to write more canon friendly fics, but who knows?? the season finale was bittersweet and honestly?? i just want my dad/son duo back together. 😢but anyway! any and all mistakes are my own. please feel free to comment/like/reblog, whatever you see fit. enjoy! ❤️and goodbye 2020, hello 2021! 🍻

You were tinkering with a malfunctioning blaster down in the hull when you heard him. At first, the cry was soft, barely there — perhaps Mando had said or done something to irritated him while they sat in the cockpit together. However, after another few moments, the cries grew louder and longer. Carefully, you set the blaster aside, and wiped your hands on the cloth next to you before pushing yourself off from your seated position on Mando’s bunk. Within seconds, you were climbing the ladder and entering the cockpit to find Mando standing from his seat, holding the child away from him as the child wailed. Immediately, Mando lifted his head toward you.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching him?” he asked, a hint of irritation in his modulated voice. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could imagine the glare he was giving you.

You sighed heavily, shaking your head, and took two steps forward to grab the child from Mando’s outstretched arms. Unfortunately, the child did not stop his crying. You tucked him against you. “Technically, yes. That’s what you hired me for, but you know this little one has his ways of sneaking around,” you muttered, reaching out to grab the little one’s tiny hand. Even through his wailing, the little one’s finger immediately wrapped around your thumb. You hummed soothingly and began to gently bounce him, keeping your eyes trained on him. “And, it wasn’t like you were complaining ten minutes ago when he was being a perfect little angel,” you mumbled, rubbing your thumb gently over the little one’s finger and looked up to Mando. Mando snorted, but said nothing as he sat himself back down in the pilot’s chair, and turned himself away from you. You knew he didn’t need to be there — the Crest was in hyperdrive and most likely on autopilot — but, you found he preferred it to other parts of the ship. Then again, when you’re always on guard like him, well, it made sense to be in the cockpit.

“He’s probably just tired, Mando,” you said, glancing away from him and back to the child, who was, thank the Maker, not wailing anymore. However, he was still crying, still taking in big breaths and looking at you with wide, glassy eyes. “Just needs a little nap. Ain’t that right, little one?” The child gave you a sniffle, and hung his head. “Come on,” you said quietly, giving the child’s finger a little squeeze, “let’s get you tucked in.”

You turned on your heel, and carefully made your way down to the hull once more, all the while whispering comforting words to the child in hopes to quell his cries. It seemed to work — for the most part. He still seemed upset, even if he wasn’t really crying anymore. More like, sniffles and whines. But, he was still restless against you. Even if he was overtired, it was clear he wasn’t too keen on actually being put down because the moment you had set him into the makeshift, hanging bed that Mando had crafted for him, he tried to pull himself out. “Ah, ah, little one, don’t you even think about it,” you reprimanded him softly, pushing him gently back down into the swinging bed. He let a small whine in disagreement, but didn’t try moving again.

“Maybe I should tell you a story,” you said, your voice low, calm. He blinked at you, his eyes still looking a little watery, and gave you another small whine. You began to rock the bed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve really told you any stories since I came on this ship,” you said, reaching up and running a finger over his ear, from base to tip. He made a small coo of happiness, and you smiled. “Granted, it hasn’t been that long since your dad hired me, has it?” You’d only been traveling with them for six months, give or take. You still sometimes had to, metaphorically, pinch yourself that this was your life now — galavanting around the galaxy with a Mandalorian and his charge.

You felt a small push against your finger, which had been resting on the tip of the child’s ear, followed by a small whine. You let out a short chuckle, and moved your finger, running it over his ear again. He leaned into the touch. “You know, the first time I saw you and your dad, I didn’t know what to think. I’d never met a Mandalorian before, but I knew of them, knew the stories of them. Who hadn’t?” You moved your hand from running to over his ear, to the top of his head. He cooed softy, eyes fluttering closed. “But, what surprised me the most was you, little one. Not because I had never seen creature like you. No, that wasn’t it. It was because you were with him. A Mandalorian and a child,” you whispered, noticing that the little one’s eyes were only half open now. You gave the top of his head a small scratch, and his eyes closed completely. “Even if you are older than both of us,” you added, a small chuckle escaping your lips as his eyes opened again, a bit slower than last time.

“It’s funny,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes trained on him. You watched as he snuggled himself a little deeper into his bed. “I never would have thought that one minute, I’d be fixing a blaster your dad needed repaired, then the next being on his ship, taking care of you.” A brief pause. “You know, he saved me, little one?” You felt a lump form in your throat, and you swallowed it. “Life hadn’t been easy when you two came around. Sure, I had a roof over my head and enough credits to keep me fed. But, it had been a lonely life.”

You took a deep breath. “My parents had been gone for a few years, and I had no siblings to seek comfort in. I worked for a nasty man, who liked to belittle me every chance he got, even if I was a better technician than he was. I had a few acquaintances, a few people I’d chat with every once in a while, maybe grab a drink with them at a cantina, but I didn’t have any real friends,” you paused. “Well, I did. At one point. But, things happen.” A heavy, dejected sigh escaped your lips. “People change. Life changes.” Absentmindedly, you ran your finger down the child’s cheek. His eyes were now half-open, the child hell bent on staying awake. Stubborn, like his father for sure. “But, now I’m here. And, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.” You pursed your lips in thought. “Well, it would be nice to have a larger, more comfortable bed. But, then I wouldn’t have you, and I wouldn’t have your dad.” The little one cooed quietly, and you chuckled pulling your finger from his cheek.

You became silent then, let yourself just watch the little one. He was settling nicely into his bed, looking more relaxed, his eyes staying closed. It should have only been a few more moments, and he’d be asleep. Just a few more moments and he’d be resting peacefully, and you could go back to working on that blaster. Just a few more minutes.

“I love him, you know,” you said, your voice barely a whisper. It was only when you heard the little one coo that you realized that you’d said that out loud. Your eyes widened as you took in the little one, his own eyes now open once more. He was looking at you, head titled slightly, big brown eyes focused on you. He blinked once, twice as if he was waiting for you to elaborate.

Fuck, you hadn’t planned to say that out loud. But you had — to the little one, no less. Sure, he couldn’t tell Mando what you’d said, so that was an advantage. But, Maker, what were you thinking?

You had only just admitted to yourself you were in love with the Mandalorian. You had spent weeks denying your feelings. After all, you hadn’t known each other long, there was no way you were actually in love with him. It had to be, you figured, because of your living situation — you two were in constant contact with each other, barely any room for privacy or time alone. He was the only person you could hold a full conversation with (not that you didn’t have conversations with the child, but it was very one-sided). So, maybe, it was just the situation. It had to be. But, as the days passed by, you realized that wasn’t the case. You had fallen for the Mandalorian. You were in love with him. You were in love with Mando.

A heavy sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, and let your head fall into your hands. “You weren’t supposed to hear that, little one,” you said, the words slightly mumbled against your palms. “Nobody was supposed to hear that. And, especially not your dad — not that I don’t want him to know, I do. But, we haven’t been together long — in the sense of me being on the ship, you know — and I fear it will make him distant again. He was so distant when I first came aboard, but now.” You let out another heavy sigh, and move your hands away from your face to glance up at the little one. He has pulled himself up to look over the edge of his makeshift bed, his tired eyes looking down at you. There is a sad look up on his face, his large eyes searching yours. “I don’t know exactly how he feels, little one. But, I’ve seen his heart. You’ve seen his heart.” You paused and took a breath. “It’s in the little things. The way he sits with you when he flies. How he tries to teach you things — even if they backfire in his face,” you said, and a smile crossed your lips. The child gave a small tired little giggle. “Making this bed for you,” you said softly, reaching up and running your fingers over the material. “Making your little pouch. All those things, and more, show me his heart, show us his heart.” You leaned forward and pressed your forehead gently against the child’s. “He would do anything to keep you safe, little one. Anything. And that, makes him a good man.” The child let out a soft sound, and you pulled away from him, a soft smile on your lips.

There was a brief silence that settled between you. You let it hang in the air for a brief moment before speaking again. “Alright, come on, you need to go to sleep now. Apparently, trying to tell you a bedtime story is not the way I should go,” you said with a small chuckle. The child gave a small whine. “Don’t try and fight with me. We both know you’re tired. So come on, close those big, beautiful eyes,” you said, your voice dropping in volume. His eyes fluttered closed, and you reached out your fingers, letting it brush against his tiny hand. “There you go,” you muttered, continuing to brush his little hand with your finger in a soothing gesture. His eyes stayed closed, and his body seemed to relax into his bed. Another few moments, and his breathing had evened out, and you knew he was finally asleep. You let out a small sigh of relief. “Sleep well, little one,” you whispered, and with on final brush to his hand, you stood up from the bunk. You pressed the switch, shutting the bunks door with a small clink. You had barely turned away from the door when you heard a loud thunk, and found yourself coming face to face with Mando.

“Maker!” you yelped, practically jumping out of your skin, hand slapping against your chest. You could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as you looked at Mando with wide eyes. “Mando,” you said, voice slightly out breath as you pressed your hand a little harder to your chest, physically and mentally willing your heart to slow down. “You can’t — fuck, you scared me. You’re lucky I closed the damn door before you did that. What if he’d woken up? I had a devil of a time getting him to sleep, you know,” you muttered, hand falling from your chest and back to your side.

“Did you now?” he asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tinny voice. You furrowed your brow, as he took another step closer to you, his beskar helmet only a few inches away from your face. He titled his helmet, and you could swear, if he didn’t have it on, there would be a smirk on his face. You felt a twinge of panic fill your face — had he, had he heard you? You mentally shook your head of that thought. You were being paranoid.

“I did,” you huffed as you turned away from him, taking a step toward where you had left the malfunctioning blaster.

“Maybe if you hadn’t talked so much,” he muttered, and you felt your entire body freeze, “he might have fallen asleep faster.”

It felt like you couldn’t breathe. Blood was rushing in your ears. Maker, he heard you. He heard you blabbing your feelings, you feelings for him, to the little one. The quick landing, the sarcasm you had heard— it all made sense. He had been there, above the two of you, listening, hearing every word you said. Your confession. You felt yourself begin to get warm with embarrassment, and you willed your body to move. You wanted to run, but where could you run? You were on a ship, in the middle of space — there was no where to go. Nowhere to hide.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breathe before you slowly turned back to face Mando. You didn’t have to see his eyes to know he was staring at you, but Maker, did you wish you could see them. Wish you could see his face. Maybe then you could tell what he was thinking. Did he feel something too? Or, was he disgusted at the thought of you having feelings? Was he about to dismiss your feelings, maybe even drop you off at the next inhabited planet, leaving you there. Leaving you alone, again. No Mando, no kid. You swallowed that fear, those thoughts. “Listen, Mando, I—”

“Close your eyes.”

You blinked in confusion. “W—what?

“Do you trust me?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then, close your eyes. And, promise me, you won’t open them.” You blinked, too stunned at his request to answer immediately. His gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, a barely there touched. “Promise me.” It should have been a demand, but it came out more as a desperate plea.

You looked down at the hand gently holding your wrist, then back at the beskar helmet in front of you. “Yea,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a whisper, “I promise. I promise,” you repeated. There was a moment of stillness where neither of you moved before you took a slow, deep breath and let your eyes fall closed.

You felt Mando let go of your wrist before you heard a clicking sound, followed by a soft hiss. It was followed by a loud clink of metal against the floor of the ship, near your feet, you thought. Then, there was a gloved hand on your cheek, the fabric rough against your skin. You felt the brush of his thumb over your cheek, and your breath hitched in your throat. “Mando, what are—”

The end of your question was gently swallowed by his lips.

Maker, you had not expected this. Immediately, you had wanted to open your eyes, because you weren’t sure this was real. Was he — was Mando really kissing you? But, he was kissing you. His soft lips were pressed against yours, not bruising, but not gentle either, and it didn’t take long before you felt his tongue swipe across the seam of your lips, seeking permission. You parted your lips with ease.

At the first slide of his tongue against yours, a small whimper escaped your lips, your hand darting out as you blindly grabbed at his shoulder. You fisted as much of the material of his undershirt in your hand while the other part pressed against the cool beskar, and tugged, pulling him flush against you. You felt, more than heard, him groan when your bodies met, his hand tightening ever so slightly on your jaw while his other arm wrapped around your middle, holding you against him. You could feel warmth spreading in your limbs, and an excitement you hadn’t felt in a long time filling your veins and culminating between your legs.

You would have kept kissing him, would have let yourself suffocate in his kisses, but a few seconds later, you felt him begin to pull away. Before his lips could leave yours completely, you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth, giving it a quick nip. And, fuck, the sound that came out of his mouth. You felt another spike of arousal course through you, and you almost, almost opened your eyes. But, you promised you wouldn’t, and you knew what it meant if you did. So, you forced yourself to keep them closed as you tried to regain control of yourself, your hand still clutching his shoulder.

There’s a moment where the two of you stand there, your breath mingling with one another as you both tried to calm your racing hearts. But, it is brief, and before you know it, the hand that was resting on your cheek falls, and the arm around your waist loosens and you feel him step away. Immediately, you want to pull him back to you, bring his lips back to yours. But, you don’t. You’re frozen once more — in fear, in shock, in elation, you’re not quite sure.

You took a shuddering breath. “Mando—”

“Din,” you hear him say, and it sounds pure, smooth. It’s then you realize the helmet is still off. You can’t help the butterflies that form in your stomach at the sound of his unmodulated voice. His voice. It sounds like liquid gold to your ears. But then ,you hear the sounds you heard before he kissed you, the click and hiss, of the helmet falling back into place.

You wait a beat before you let your eyes flutter open, and you come face to face with the beskar helmet once more.

“Din Djarin,” he repeated, and reached out, brushing one of his gloved fingers down your cheek, over your jaw, and stopping at the nape of your neck. “My name is Din Djarin.”

His finger began to draw an absentminded pattern across your shoulder. You could tell by the tilt of his head that his eyes were focused on that finger. That finger that kept moving as the moments ticked by, never stopping, never making any sense against your skin. For the first time since you’d met him, you could tell he was nervous.

You knew he didn’t tell his name to anyone. You had asked when you’d met him what his name was. He had told you to call him Mando. You had thought it odd, but did not think it was your place to push him (you had only just met him, after all). So, you called him Mando, as did everyone else you had come in contact with. But, four months later, you decided to finally push the subject. He told you that he had not used his birth name since he was a child, since he was sworn into the Creed. There were only a few who knew name, and only due to an extenuating circumstance, he had said, making it clear he did not tell anyone. Nobody should have known his name — and from what you could tell, he had no plans of telling any one in the future.

But, here he was, standing in front of you, telling you his name. Willingly giving you this piece of information about himself. You knew he couldn’t show you his face — not yet, not now — but he could give you this. He could give you this part of himself. If the kiss wasn’t enough for you to know that he felt something for you, this sealed the deal. It wasn’t an outright “I love you”, but to you, it was something more, something deeper than that. This was him trusting you, him giving you a part of himself. It filled your heart with joy.

“Din,” you whispered, letting the name roll of your tongue, and filling the space around you. His finger had stopped its’ random movements, and his head tilted up, and you were face to face with the all too familiar beskar helmet. You smiled softly and wondered if he was smiling behind it too. You reached out, and let your fingertips dance over the cool metal. “Din Djarin,” you said, letting yourself try out his full name.

It was beautiful. It was him.

“It suits you,” you said, resting your palm against the side of his helmet. “I love it.”

Din let out a small, breathy, modulated chuckle. “You do?”

You nodded. “I do, cause it’s you.” You leaned forward, pressing your forehead against the cool metal of his helmet, your eyes fall closed. “And, I love you, Din Djarin,” you whispered softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. You wished you could have seen his face, but instead, you heard an intake of breath before you felt a strong arm wrap around your waist, hand splayed over your hip. His gloved fingers pressed into your hip bone.

“You mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You hummed and nodded, letting your free hand fall onto his chest, right over his heart. You couldn’t feel his heart under the beskar chest plate, but you imagined it was beating rapidly, just like yours. “I do.” Perhaps, it was too early to say such things, to declare that you loved him. Most people might think you were crazy, and maybe you were, but that didn’t matter. You loved him — you loved Din.

“Even without,” he paused, and you heard him take a breath. You let your eyes fuller open, and you pulled back a hair, just enough to be able to take him in. He didn’t have to finish his sentence for you to know what he was talking about — even without seeing his face.

“Hey,” you said softly, making sure his he was paying attention to you. “I don’t need to see your face.”

You heard a small, disbelieving chuckle. “Don’t need to see my face, eh?”

“Nope,” you said, popping the ‘p’. You tilted your head in thought. “Well, I mean, do I want to see your face? Absolutely.” You moved your fingers across the cheek of his helmet, to the visor, letting it trace the T-shape. “I want to see the color of your eyes, your nose, your mouth. The wrinkles and lines on your face. All of it.” You let your finger come to rest at the bottom of his helmet, just on the rim. You ran your finger over the smooth metal. “But, I know what that means for you, and I’m willing to wait for that. Your face is your face, and I’m sure it is a handsome face.” Another small chuckle escaped Din’s lips. “But, I don’t need to see it to know what I feel in my heart, Din.”

“You don’t?” He sounded surprised,

You shook your head. “I don’t. Because, I’ve seen you, Din Djarin,” you said, your voice filled with conviction as you looked at him straight on, right where his eyes would be behind that beskar helmet. “I’ve seen you.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines #my writing

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heyitmelexie · 4 years

Text

Falling In Love

Din Djarin x riduur!F!Reader

Word count: 3444 Warnings: mention of wounds and blood Rating: Teen and up

A/N: Day 9 of the December Writing Challenge by @honeymandos! ❤️

This was also my first time ever writing for Din!

I know it’s late but I’m currently pretty occupied with uni etc. Hope you enjoy anyway!! ❤️

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The sweet smell of Bantha-butter pancakes tickles your nose and pulls you from your peaceful slumber.

As you open your eyes you see soft beams of sunshine creep through the window, illuminating your exposed legs and bathing them in warmth.

You smile and stretch, hearing the sizzling noise of the pancakes coming from the kitchen, accompanied by soft talking, gentle coos and occasionally one or the other clank.

The door is slightly ajar, but you can still see the domestic scene playing in the other room.

Din, in only his pants and with his hair still mussed, stands with his broad back turned to you. He’s making breakfast while quietly talking to your little green son, who sits on the counter right next to him. You see his ears occasionally perk up, followed by coos and little giggles, making you smile.

“Look, now you flip it. Just like this” you hear Din say, before (you assume) he tries to flip it with the pan. You expect to hear the loud sizzling again, indicating that the uncooked side of the pancake landed safely back in the pan. Instead, you hear a dull splash, like a wet fish falling onto tiles, followed by strings of curses coming from Din and a loud, hearty laugh from that little womp rat.

You laugh softly at that, getting out of bed to make your way into the kitchen.

Upon hearing your laugh coming from behind him, Din turns and looks at you, a sheepish smile playing on his flustered face.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, cyare” he says before quickly cleaning up the mess he made.

“Not really. I woke up from the smell of my favourite breakfast” you hum, before kissing your son’s wrinkly little head. He coos happily and then stretches out his arms to make grabby hands at you. You chuckle softly and then proceed to pick him up. He immediately snuggles against you, one of his little claws clutching onto your shirt.

Din smiles, before gently kissing your lips and then continuing to make the breakfast.

You take the time to go outside into your little garden with the child in your arms.

The sun immediately engulfs you in its warm light and you lay down in the soft grass between the flower beds. The little one moves to get comfortable on top of you, snuggling into your chest and cooing contently.

You smile at him and gently caress his big ears.

Din and you had built this little hut on Naboo together just about a year ago, finally deciding to partially settle down and have a somewhat quiet life. He would occasionally still go on a few hunts to get some credits for the three of you while you would stay home with the child. He would always make sure to not stay away for too long. Din had gotten really used to this simple life with you.

As you now lay there in the grass, admiring yours and Din’s handiwork, you think back to how you two met.

And what had made you realize that you had deeply fallen for this beskar-clad warrior (and honestly sometimes tin can dumb bitch of a man).

You grew up in a very small village that was hidden in the lush forests of Naboo. People there were kind and caring, always helping each other and even going so far as helping out strangers that desperately needed the help.

And that’s what had led to meeting him.

You were some sort of healer for the people of your village. Mixing concoctions, ointments, bacta gels, etc. Taking care of wounded and ill people. They trusted you with their lives and that had filled you with a great sense of pride.

One day, while you were collecting herbs in your little garden, you could hear a loud commotion coming from the marketplace. The noise steadily grew louder until five people stormed in, carrying a person covered head to toe in fabrics and metal, that was bleeding profusely from a deep wound in their lower abdomen. A pool of blood was very quickly forming on the floor and then on the bed once they put the person on it.

You dropped everything you held and rushed inside, immediately starting to cut off the fabric from around the wound to get better access to it, not even thinking about removing the armour and pants. You knew what that would mean.

You had heard about Mandalorians before. Strangers come and go; they spend most of their time at the small cantina. Many of them weren’t very social and would mostly just ignore the questions they were asked. But others, they would talk and then wouldn’t stop, much to the delight of the folks here.

That’s how one day you met a woman called Rook Cava.

She was unlike any other person you had ever met before. Just like this wounded person, she was covered in fabrics and metal armour, from head to toe. The specially shaped breast plate was the only certain physical indication for you that assured you she was a woman. The armour had been painted a very deep purple, the paint was already chipping away here and there. On the helmet, around the visor, there were golden, intricate symbols. She was mysterious and, even though you had no idea what she looked like, you thought she was breathtakingly beautiful.

She emitted such strength and power. The armour made her look bulky, but the fabric underneath laid snug against her skin and you saw her biceps. She wasn’t bulky, no, she was strong and muscular. You had never seen a woman like her before. She rendered you speechless and at the same time there were so many questions you wanted to ask her. But you didn’t want to overwhelm her, so you kept these questions to yourself.

So instead, you let her rest for a bit, she had obviously been travelling for a long time before taking a break on Naboo.

Rook was a step ahead of you though because the next morning she knocked at your door. She explained that she needed a few ointments and new bacta gel for the next few weeks of her travels and that everyone had told her to go seek you out for that.

Without hesitation you had let her in, offering her a seat and something to drink which she politely declined.

You sat in comfortable silence for a bit, while you collected the things she needed and also freshly mixed some of them so she could take a bigger amount with her.

Rook noticed that you held back your questions, always glancing at her, at her armour. She smiled under the helmet, amused and also astonished that you hadn’t drowned her in your questions yet.

She slightly shook her head in amusement and leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms behind her head.

“What do you wanna know?”

Your head snaps up to look at her, eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Her question had caught you off guard and she had laughed at your shocked reaction, heat creeping to your cheeks in embarrassment.

“It’s fine. I know I’m not a very common sight. Go ahead, ask your questions” she said, her voice warm and friendly. The complete opposite from her fierce appearance.

“Uhmm… what exactly are you?” ‘What exactly are you?!’ You wanted to slap yourself across the face for such a stupid question. But Rook didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m a Mandalorian. Have you ever heard of those?” You shook your head no at that and she nodded, showing you that she understood.

“To be clear, a Mandalorian is not a race. It’s a creed. You can be born by Mandalorian parents and grow up to become one yourself, or you could be a foundling. Those are children who lose their families at a very young age. They can be taken in by Mandalorians so they have a home and protection. They will grow up and become warriors as well, they will swear the oath. They will live their lives in anonymity, protecting their creed.”

You let that sink in and crush the herbs in your little bowl. Your eyebrows furrow and you take in her armour again.

“Anonymity… What exactly do you mean by that? I mean, I know your name. So, that isn’t very… anonym, is it?” She smiles, but you can’t see it.

“I decided to go by my name because I was just tired of everyone calling me Mando. I hated it. Some of my kind decide to keep their names to themselves, only revealing them to their loved ones and children. Others, like me, are okay with sharing that information. And, by the way, do people check if the name is real anyway?” You laugh at that. She was right. She could tell everyone a made-up name and they would believe it. Nobody checks.

“But, unless you are the wife of a Mandalorian, you will never be able to put a face to that name. We don’t reveal our faces to anyone but our families. If a Mandalorian takes off the helmet in front of another living thing, the Creed would be soiled, the oath you swore - broken. And we are nothing without our Creed. It’s our religion, it’s sacred, holy. It’s what makes us who we are. And we will kill anyone who tries to take that from us.”

“Is that why you declined the water? And why you asked for the food to be brought to your room last night, so you wouldn’t have to eat in the cantina? Because you can’t take off your helmet?”

She just nodded and you hummed in response, thinking about your next question.

“What happens when you get hurt and someone has to access, let’s say, your thigh. Do you just have to risk dying or are others allowed to see other parts of your body?”

She seemed to think about that for a moment, trying to come up with a good answer.

“Technically we aren’t allowed to show any part of our body to anyone. But wounds are, let’s say, a little loophole. If the wound is dangerous and could possibly kill me, then we can let them assess it. Let’s take your example.” She taps one of her thigh plates.

“If I had an awful wound on my thigh that I couldn’t take care of alone and would need help with, I can take off my thigh plate. You can’t take off my pants but you can cut a hole into the fabric so you can access the wound properly. You couldn’t see much of my skin. My Creed would be intact and you can save my life.” A loophole.

This brings you back to your current situation.

“You need to take off his armour! And his clothes! How can you dress his wound like that?” one of the villagers says, not understanding why you just cut a whole into that person’s pants.

You assumed it was a man, his shoulders seemed to be too broad for a woman and his chest plate was quite flat.

“I can take care of his wound like that just fine” you say, telling them what you needed in order to close and disinfect the wound.

It took you a bit over an hour until you had finally finished stitching it up and wrapping gauze around his thigh.

He still wouldn’t move; the blood loss must have weakened him. You had checked his pulse just to be sure he was still alive and then bundled him up into blankets

Just when you finished cleaning the blood stains and tidying the room, he jolted awake, startling you.

He quickly scanned the room before pulling the blankets off of him and attempting to stand up. You saw his knees buckle slightly and rushed over to steady him, carefully pushing him back onto the bed.

“You need to lie down and rest for a while. You lost a lot of blood” you told him, getting him a glass of water and digging out a straw from your drawers.

You held the glass out for him to take but his visor was focused on your face.

“Who are you? Where am I?” His rough and rather deep voice sent a shiver down your smile that you tried to suppress. You just smiled and told him your name, gently pushing the glass into his hand but he didn’t drink yet, still looking at you.

“You’re on Naboo. A few hours ago you were brought to me because you had a very nasty wound on your abdomen, bleeding like mad. I took care of it, but you need to rest or the stitches will break open again and you’ll risk an infection. And you need to drink” you say, pushing the glass a bit closer towards his face.

When you turn around to put the trash away, he tucks the straw under his helmet and quickly empties the glass. He’s relieved to notice that he immediately feels a bit less lightheaded and puts the glass on the little table before lying back down. For some odd reason he feels like he can trust you.

“I didn’t take off your armour or your clothes. And especially not your helmet, so don’t worry. I must admit though that I put my hand under your helmet as best as I could to see if there would be any blood. But I looked away while I did that, I promise. I know it’s forbidden” you turned back to him, a gentle smile on your face.

“I… Okay. Thank you.”

You felt relief wash over you, glad you hadn’t somehow done anything wrong or harmful, internally thanking the Force for sending Rook your way those few years ago.

The Mandalorian spent about a week at your house, resting and healing.

You had learned that he was hunting a bounty and somehow they had managed to ambush him. The wound on his leg was caused by a warspear the bounty had rammed into his thigh in a moment of inadvertence.

Din had to admit to himself that he… liked you. You were kind and caring. You weren’t one of those people that would ask him when the last time was he took off the helmet or if he’d ever taken it off in front of someone else. None of your questions or conversations were focused on his appearance or his life, which he was very grateful for. He trusted you, but he didn’t want to share such private information with someone he didn’t know well enough.

You simply took care of his wound, made him drink enough water and you would leave him alone whenever he needed to eat.

Not even the conversations with you felt awkward.

You willingly told him about your upbringing, what you had done so far in your life and you also told him about your encounter with Rook Cava.

He knew that he was lucky you had this knowledge of his Creed. What if you hadn’t known it and would have taken off his helmet? He figured that he must have killed the whole village then in order to somehow keep his Creed intact… That thought sends a shiver through his body, once again he felt lucky that he ended up in your care.

When he felt stronger and healthier again, ready to leave Naboo behind, the thought of you sitting in his co-pilot chair flashes through his mind.

He didn’t want to leave you. He didn’t know why, but he wanted you to come with him and stay by his side.

‘I just need someone with her skills’ is what he tells himself.

And when he asked you to come with him, he was surprised at how quickly you said yes, agreeing to leave your home behind to travel through the galaxy with him.

As much as you loved the village, you really wanted to see other parts of the galaxy. So you quickly said your goodbyes and packed your things. You were excited to start this new chapter.

You ended up staying and travelling with him for the following 6 years, before you settled down last year.

During this time, your little green rascal became a part of your family, making you a clan of three. That filled Din with great pride and whenever he looked at his little clan, he felt happy and warm. You two were his entire galaxy and he would make sure that nothing ever happened to you.

One evening, you two had been ‘dating’ for about two years now, the kid was sleeping in his pram and you sat on his lap in the pilot chair, his arms around you. You had asked him a question that had floated through your mind for quite a while.

“When did you know you loved me?” You stared out of the windows, the stars just streaks of light during hyperspace. Din stopped caressing your back for a moment and seemed to think about this.

“Pretty sure it was the first time you smiled at me” he said, making you laugh softly and swat his chest.

“Sure thing, shiny” you giggled, making him smile at you under the helmet.

He held you closer to him and leaned his helmet against your shoulder.

“I think it was the moment I realized I couldn’t leave Naboo without you” he said, continuing to caress your back. “That whole week, you took great care of me and I’ve never felt this comfortable around anyone outside of my tribe before. For whatever reason I trusted you right from the beginning. That first smile you flashed me, if I didn’t already sit I would have probably had to sit down. I never felt like this before I met you. Your presence was calming and kind of made me giddy. I don’t know how to describe it…” You smiled and pressed a kiss to the side of his helmet.

“Like butterflies fluttering inside you? The constant urge to smile?” He thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Grateful for his helmet covering his face because he was sure it was just as red as a tomato.

“The thought of leaving without you, it… it kind of hurt. I was imagining you sitting in my co-pilot chair while I would fly. I even dreamed about you… Back then, I didn’t know I was in love with you. I had never loved anyone this way before. You changed my whole life. To the better. I thought I would die alone. No family, no friends, nothing. But then you strut into my life with that stupid little smile of yours and you gave me hope.”

Your chest swells with pride at his confession, warmth spreading throughout your whole body.

You gave him hope. Home. A family, even before this little womp rat waddled into your life. You made the love of your life believe in a happy ending for himself and that was more than you could ever ask for.

“But what about you, cyar’ika? When did you know you loved me?” he asked, while gently putting a hand on your thigh.

“I think it was the first time I saw you straddle that speederbike back on Tatooine. That was pretty hot.”

He laughed at that, gently squeezing your bum and tutted.

“You are unbelievable.”

You didn’t realize you fell asleep again until a gentle hand shakes you awake. Your eyes flutter open and you look right into the face of your riduur. He smiles at you and kisses your nose, making you giggle before you gently kiss him.

After a moment he slowly breaks the kiss and sits next to you in the grass, a big plate full of pancakes in front of him and a bottle of chee-chee berry syrup in his hand.

Before you can sit up, the kid scrambles off your chest and goes to launch himself at the plate of pancakes, but Din is quicker. He scoops him into his arms and then puts him into his lap.

“They’re for all of us, ad’ika” he softly tuts, before taking a pancake and slowly tearing it into little pieces to feed him.

You smile and sit up, pressing a kiss to your riduur’s cheek and one to your son’s head.

The Force had blessed you with such a beautiful little family. And soon there would be another little one moving and kicking inside of you. But you had yet to tell your lover.

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@absurdthirst @dindjarindiaries @tangledlove27

#Din Djarin #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian #The Mandalorian x Reader #Pedro Pascal

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