#what is fennec and din’s ship name

[yoitsjay]

Thank you so much for posting the list of who you do write for! I apologize if it was posted elsewhere and I didn't see.

I'll go ahead switch the request from Commander Fox to FTM Trans reader x Din Djarin/The Mandalorian smut.

Have an amazing day, and also have some flowers. 🌺💐🌹🌻🌷

It's no problem at all! All characters I write for are in my masterlist which is pinned at the top of my blog :] thanks for the request!

Di'kut (MDNI 18+)

Pairings: Din Djarin x FtM trans! Reader

Summary: while on a mission, tension grows and you trip in a bed of sex pollen. Din, unaware that you were not a man before, helps you out, and is in for a pleasant surprise.

Warnings: smut, unprotected (p in v) no bottom surgery, din is sweet at first, rough sex, manhandling, cunnalingus, sex pollen, oral, sweet aftercare

Word count: 3,184

You met Din Djarin through some ‘connections’ the both of you shared, aka Fennec Shan, who was a good friend of your mothers for the most part and started teaching you how to get into the art of bounty hunting. She was good at what she did so with her training you started getting good too. So one day you were getting desperate for credits, and this was after your mother had died so you had a bit more freedom on what you wanted to do with your body.

When your mother was alive you stole credits from her and saved up to afford a surgery you then snuck off planet to get, and it was a success and now you had a deeper voice and no boobs. YAY! You liked boobs… just not on you.

But since your mother was dead and you had no way to steal any of her credits (which is what killed her when she found out) you reached out to Fennec, and asked for a job that paid well. So that led you to now, and you had been happily working alongside The Mandalorian, Din Djarin for a few months on quite an array of jobs.

He had a weird little green child which you had to swear to also protect, but you didn’t mind, the green thing seemed to like you as much as you seemed to like it. Plus you gave it treats when Din wasn’t looking.

Every job you worked you split the credits earned, and instead of spending yours, minus when you bought your own rations or ship fuel, you had saved it all in a little safe compartment you had built into your ship.

When you met Din, his new ship was way too tiny to fit two people, plus he had the green thing in the back, who’s name you learned was grogu, so you started calling him that now. But regardless his ship wasn’t big enough so you stole your mom’s old instead.

But regardless his ship wasn't big enough for two people plus Grogu so you took an equivalent of a cab to your home planet and you found your mom's old ship, which was a small attack shuttle. You fixed it up easy enough and managed to get it up in the air and back to Tatooine to get some better repairs from Motto.

And soon you and Din were up in the air and headed to your next location that Din had the bounty for, courtesy of Fennec Shand. “So where are we headed exactly?” You questioned through the comms you and Din had established. “It's a forested planet, Fennec said the bounty there had built a hut in the middle of the dense swamp area but there are no places to land close enough, so there's gonna be a bit of a walk.” Din explained

You huffed, forestry planets were not really your thing despite having grown up on Felucia. It was always so hot and humid on those planets, so you tried to avoid them to the best of your ability…But this was the last mission you needed in order to get your final surgery. “Pulling out of Hyperspace'' Din announced, and you readied your ship, pulling out of hyperspace when Din did, following him down to the landing zone that he had found.

The area around was heavily forested with a swampy ground, which was gross and you could already smell it which made this experience a whole lot worse. You armed yourself and made sure all your weapons were loaded before you met up with Din and Grogu outside, who was safe in his floating bed. “Little bastard.” You muttered, and Grogu just cooed at you. “Ready?” Din asked, and you nodded, walking beside him as he led you through the forest with the tracking fob.

-

You couldn’t really remember how long you and Din were exactly walking for, but when the marshlands started getting deeper and you started wading through thick swamp water you knew that you were getting close.

The bounty target was not smart, that you knew for sure. He had obvious traps that you and Din easily disarmed, and when you got to the bounty he screamed and froze so you tied him up and handed him off to Din, who had the bounty tossed over his shoulder like he weighed nothing.

The action made you blush a bit, but you and Din continued walking all the way back to your ship, taking a shortcut this time now that you understood the terrain a bit better… But as you and Din walked, you noticed some pretty exotic looking flowers and plants starting to surround you, pollen floating around in the air. “Hey din, you go on ahead and put the bounty in my ship lockup… I wanna examine these plants.” You told him.

Din tilted his head to the side, hesitating before nodding and walking off with the bounty, bringing him back to your ship to put him in lockup like you said.

In the meantime you had started taking pictures of the plants with your datapad, analyzing them for your planetary databank. You walked away from a group of red and white flowers, not watching where you were stepping as your foot was caught on a root that was in the swamp water, and you let out a surprised yelp as the datapad flew out of your hands, landing on a bit of dry land while you had landed in a bed of heavy pollinated flowers.

It was all over your face and body, probably up your nose too because when you breathed in you sneezed, and started coughing. Your clothes were now soaked too, yippe fucking do.

You slowly pushed yourself up, wiping the pollen from your face with a grunt. You looked around, smiling when you saw your data pad unharmed. You went to stand up, but a burning feeling shot up your spine, and you fell back down to your knees, a sharp mewl falling from your mouth as the unwanted body part between your legs burned with what felt like the power of the sun. It hurt, but that familiar feeling of arousal made you ache more.

You crawled towards your data pad, small whimpers escaping your lips upon every move you made. You eventually reached the datapad, grabbing it and clutching it to your chest as you quickly tried to identify the pollen that was affecting you.

Your vision started to get blurry even as you tried to blink it away. “Fuck-” You whined out, watching as your datapad scanned the pollen and began analyzing… and the results that came back made you gasp, as well as the throbbing feeling between your legs.

“Shit-” you cursed, sex pollen was not something you wanted to encounter today, knowing that the only cure was sex, hence the name sex pollen. “Di’kut-” You cursed at yourself, curling your body into a fetal position, hoping it would relieve some of the pain and aches you were experiencing.

Just then you heard your com going off, a loud groan falling from your ;ips as you struggled to grab it from your belt. It was Din, that much was obvious.. but what on earth were you going to say to him? “Hey din guess what! i landed in a bat of sex pollen can you come fuck me so i can feel better?”

No! That was not what you were going to say.

You pressed the button on your com, biting down a desperate little whine, panting out what you needed to say. “Din i-i mph- i fell into some- so- hnng- trouble… i need your help, please” You bit down on your tongue to prevent a moan from escaping your lips, as one of your hands had miraculously found its way between your thighs, and started to try and relieve the throbbing pain that was coursing through your body.

“I’m on my way, hang tight Y/n” Din replied, and you let your com slip from your hands. “Fuckfuck- fuck!” You grunted, trying to remove your hand from between your legs but it wouldn’t budge- at least your body wouldn’t let it budge.

“Y/n? where are you?” You heard Din’s voice, deep.. sultry and gravelly… You couldn’t stop the whine this time, and he managed to hear it, rounding in on your location before he paused, seeing your hands between your legs, the wet spot growing larger the more you provided friction.

You were sweating, significantly more than you should have been. Your eyes were squeezed shut, but when you opened them you stared right at them, a glossy sheen reflected across your eyes, your pupils blown wide thanks to the pollen that was affecting you.

“We need to get you to a hospital.” He muttered, and went to grab you, but you moved away, and instead grabbed his arm and pulled him on the ground with you, before climbing on top of him. You were heaving, and trying so hard to snap out of the haze you were in, and you managed to do so, for a brief moment.

“Se-sex pollen… i fell- in-into sex- fuck! pollen.” You groaned, pressing your face into the cold metal of his chestplate, trying to relieve the heat in your face. “Shit.” Din cursed, and you could only groan in agreement.

The Mandalorian wrapped his arms around you, lifting you up as he got to his knees, and then to his feet, carrying you bridal style. “I’ll take you back to your ship, and we can deal with this together.” He muttered.

You didn;t know what he meant, but every time he took one step forward a soft whine, or a light moan left your lips, and you couldn’t tell, but he was starting to get aroused, hearing every little noise you made.

You reached your ship soon enough, and Din brought you to your small bunk room, laying you down on the bed as he stared for a moment as you writhed and tried to relieve yourself through your clothes.

He inhaled through his nose, and slowly started removing pieces of his armor until nothing but his helmet was left, and his underclothes which consisted of a thicker pair of light black trousers, and a long sleeved black tunic. Din took a step closer to you, but you didn’t look up, instead your face was buried into your pillows, muttering unintelligible words mixed in with moans.

Din gently cupped your face in his gloved hands, and you looked up into his visor, but to him you were looking directly into his eyes. “hey- hey… I'm going to undress you, okay?” He asked, and in your haze, you muttered a soft yes. You could say no anytime you wanted, but you couldn’t deny the attraction you felt for him, and you didn’t want to be in pain longer than you needed to be.

DIn was swift in removing your clothes, like he had done it hundreds of times before, and he probably has. But you trusted him, trusted him not to stick his dick inside you unless he was clean… Another thing you failed to mention to him was the fact that you were not biologically a male.

So when your pants and underwear were off and he came face to- well, vagina. He was a little surprised. “Your-”

“Trans-” You grunted out, gripping the sheets of your bed as you let your legs hang open in front of him, panting heavily. “I was- mph- saving up for surgery… this was the last job i needed.” You muttered through your haze. Din nodded, he didn’t judge, you were a fun person, you made him laugh, and smile even though you couldn’t see it.

“Can i-”

“yes! yes- please.” You whimpered. It's not like you haven't had sex before with that certain body part, and if it helped you, you were all for it. Of course anal was something you also enjoyed… for obvious reasons… probably.

You let your eyes fall closed while Din removed some articles of clothing. He removed his shirt, and undid the buckle of his pants before unbuttoning them too, before he paused. “Im- i’m gunna blindfold you.”He muttered, and you simply nodded, taking one last look at him before he took a piece of fabric and gently wrapped it around your eyes.

You heard a thunk not long after, and you assumed it was his helmet that he dropped to the floor.

You jolted when you felt his hand slide up your thigh before resting on your hip, jolting again when his second hand went in between your thighs to replace your hand. A groan fell from your lips upon contact, followed by a string of moans as he began circling your engorged clit with two fingers. Everything was heightened for you but even then he knew what he was doing…

Then he pulled his hand back, and a desperate whine fell from your lips, followed by a gasp as he grabbed your waist and flipped you around so you were on your hands and knees in front of him. “Din- what-”

You choked when you felt something wet press into your folds, and his fingers returned to your clit but this time you felt the sensation of skin, instead of fabric. Din was eating you out, licking and sucking up all the juices you created. You could already feel your orgasm building up in your gut, and Din could tell as your moans got louder, and more constant.

He was slow and articulate with his actions, not speeding up or doing anything to change what he was doing because he knew it would make you cum. And he was right as one loud moan left your lips, followed by a string of curses. He pulled his head back, and you could sense the grin on his face.

Your haze had lifted slightly with your first orgasm, but you knew you still had a ways to go… But you could think a little clearer, and it was nice to be able to form more coherent sentences.

“Fuck me.” You grumbled, turning to lay on your back, spreading your legs wide as if to entice him. “What was that cyare?” he asked you, teasing bastard.

“i said fuck me, Di’kut” You growled. Yes Din taught you mando’a, and it was fun to use, since you only called him an idiot every point of the day. “alright alright.” Din chuckled, his unmodified voice sent shivers down your spine, and straight to your core.

You let yourself relax, feeling the bed shift as Din’s weight was added to it. You felt his hands on your legs, a squeak leaving your lips when he pulled you down to him, your hips slotting against his almost perfectly. You felt his cock pressed between you, and you could tell that it was large, average in length, but thick.

perfect.

“You're clean?” You asked him, and he nodded, before realizing that he had blindfolded you so you couldn’t see. “Yes, I'm clean.” He replied, and took his cock into his hands, gliding the tip through your soaking wet folds before he pressed the tip to your awaiting entrance.

“Go ahead.” You muttered, and Din slowly pushed inside you. At first the stretch hurt, but the pollen kicked in and all that pain turned into overwhelming pleasure as he pushed inside of you, inch by inch until his hips were against yours.

You panted, and so did he as he allowed you a few moments to adjust and get comfortable before he slid out. You braced yourself, reaching up to his shoulders, feeling his broad and toned shoulders with your hands. And when he slammed into you your grip immediately tightened.

he was fucking you like- well you couldn’t even describe it. His style- the way he moved and pleased you was unlike anything you’ve felt before. He was rough, and dominant and yet all the same his touches were so gentle as he leaned forward and kissed up your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin on your jaw and collarbone, probably leaving marks all over your skin.

You moaned his name, repeatedly and it just stirred him on. He had one of your legs lifted up on his shoulder while the other he had wrapped around his hip. You started to get close again, and you tightened around his cock, hearing his own soft grunts and moans at the feeling.

“Din-” You choked out, digging your nails into the skin of his back and shoulders. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, huffing against your skin which sent more shivers down your spine. “I know… cum for me Mesh’la.” He grunted. And you did, like he commanded you too.

Another orgasm shot through you like a pod racer, and you whined and moaned his name, sliding one of your hands up to his hair, gripping it tightly, to which he moaned your name in response. So you did it again, and his thrusts got harder, and sloppier and you knew he was starting to get close too.

“Not inside.” You murmured, feeling him nod against your skin. He thrusted inside you a few more times before pulling out, and instead he replaced his cock with his fingers, rubbing his thumb against your clit while pumping his fingers inside of you. And just as he painted your stomach and chest with his cum, he brought you to yet another orgasm.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and leaned back to admire the mess that he had created. He smiled, and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek before getting off the bed. You laid there, unmoving as the effects of the pollen subsided, and you felt normal… well as normal as you could have been for just getting the daylights fucked out of you.

Din returned moments later with a damp cloth, and he gently cleaned the area between your thighs, followed by wiping his cum off your body. And as soon as his helmet was back on, your blindfold was removed, however at this point your eyes were still closed, and… you were snoring?

Din chuckled, cupping your cheek gently as he admired you, before dressing you in your underclothes, pulling on his own afterwards. Din was about to leave the room, but you had stirred, and watched as he turned to leave.

“wait-” you called out, watching as he turned to look at you. “We should do this again… after my surgery… and uh- without the pollen.” You chuckled, seeing the man tilt his head before he nodded.

“I’d like that… get some rest, i'll fly us back. My ship’s already docked on yours.” He explained, leaving to go start up your ship.

You smiled, and pulled your blankets over your body, chuckling to yourself. Who knew all it took was a little bit of pollen…

➺

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Din djarin tag:

[ak-vintage]

Quarry - Chapter 24

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set immediately following Chapter 13: The Jedi.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, dual POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, angst, bittersweet vibes, just a lot of love

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Note: This is the last full chapter of this story. There will be an epilogue tying up any remaining strings (posted this month, promise), but for now, this is where we leave our engineer and our bounty hunter. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. It means more to me than I can say.

---

Never had you been more grateful for the competence and steadfastness of your friends than in the hours following Grogu’s departure. There were no maudlin displays of emotion, no awkward questions or condolences offered, and not a single comment about the absence of Din’s helmet. Instead, everyone simply got to work, and you were certain that it was only the hustle and bustle of activity around you that kept you and Din both from breaking down right where you stood.

As the first order of business, Cara Dune used her secure comm link access to hail the nearest New Republic outpost and request support for prisoner collection and transport. The officer on the other end of the connection was eager to agree as soon as he heard Moff Gideon’s name, and after some logistical back-and-forth, he was able to schedule an escort of two X-wings and a prisoner transport vessel for rendezvous in 12 standard hours.

This was, of course, too long to rely on the stunning effects of your blasters to keep the cruiser’s crew incapacitated, so the marshal then recruited Fennec to help her comb through the ship to check for Imperial survivors. Anyone found alive was quickly disarmed, bound, and gathered in one of the cargo bays for collection by the authorities.

The bodies of the dead, meanwhile, were flagged and identified using the crew manifest. Cara took it upon herself to personally verify and record the deaths of each one of them before hauling their corpses onto a repulsorlift sled and transporting them to the medical bay for disposal.

It was grim work, you thought, but the two of them did it without complaint; by the time they returned to the bridge, both a bit winded and glowing with sweat, the marshal was proud to report that an additional 25 Imperials would be added to the New Republic’s prison rosters.

Koska and Bo-Katan, on the other hand, remained on the bridge. As soon as the mysterious Jedi’s X-wing was out of sight of the front viewport, the former was at her injured lady’s side draping her arm around her shoulders, supporting her weight as she bore her into a chair. The redhead protested, insisting she was fine, but even from the other side of the bridge, you could hear the hiss of a smothered wince as Koska peeled back the fabric of her flight suit. Two angry blaster wounds oozed there, twin scores in the meat of Bo-Katan’s pale thigh, both of them bloody and deep. It was a wonder that she had ever managed to get to her feet again, let again alone stand with both pistols drawn, ready to take on a platoon of Dark Troopers.

It sounded like something Din would do, and your regard for the prickly princess grew as she eventually relented and allowed her vassal to treat her wounds.

You did your best to keep your attention otherwise occupied, to give the two Mandalorians their privacy as much as you could, but even so, Bo-Katan’s bitterness was a tangible thing, rolling off of her in waves and choking the bridge with tension. From the stiffness in his shoulders, from the way a muscle in his jaw clenched and feathered beneath his stubbly beard, you knew Din could feel it, too, and you rested a casual hand on his forearm in support. He hadn’t intended to usurp the Darksaber from his ally – no one could have witnessed the almost-desperate way he had attempted over and over to give it to her and questioned that. You resolved to ask him later, when you were alone, what he planned to do with the sword now that it was in his possession. For now, you hoped that he would not take her black mood too personally.

Once you were certain that all of the loose ends on the cruiser had been tied up, you volunteered to send a subspace transmission to Boba Fett on the Firespray. “Mission complete. No casualties. Wait another 14 standard hours for rendezvous to avoid New Republic prisoner transport.”

You admittedly didn’t know much about Boba’s past, but you had gathered enough to know that having him here at the same time as the New Republic authorities would be asking for trouble. The last thing you needed was for your friend (and your ride off this ship) to be detained for questioning.

As the hour grew later and your boarding party began to tire, you collectively agreed upon a guard schedule for the cargo bay before commandeering a block of now-abandoned crew quarters. Cara had slotted Din into the last shift before he could volunteer otherwise, giving him a hard look when he attempted to protest, and you were grateful to her for it. Without the anonymity of his helmet to hide behind, the heavy weight of exhaustion was clearly visible in his eyes. Dark, dull, and listless, present but only barely, with deep creases in the corners. The man needed rest, whether he was willing to admit it or not.

When he selected a room for himself, you did not question whether you should join him; you followed him in wordlessly. You needed to be close to him, and you refused to allow him to grieve alone again.

The room was small, spartan, and completely spotless, bearing little evidence of the Imperial officer who just this morning would have called this place home. A double bed with sleek gray sheets and a matching blanket took up most of the space, its surface flawlessly smooth, its corners neat and squared in a fashion that screamed military conditioning. A long, six-drawered, black dresser spanned the far wall, and on its surface, the only personal effects visible were a tidy stack of datapads, a small vanity mirror on a sleek, white mount, and a well-loved pack of sabacc cards. A lone chair sat in the corner, a pair of black leather boots tucked neatly under it, and another door along the starboard wall stood open to reveal a dark, unlit refresher.

“A double bed,” you remarked, a forced lightness coloring your tone as you offered Din a tight smile. “What are we going to do with all that space?”

You thought you might have seen a muscle twitch at the corner of his mouth at that, but it failed to stretch into a full grin. Instead, the silence returned, thick and oppressive. The weight of the day – the battle, the victory, the loss – pressed in closely all around you, leaving a bone-deep kind of weariness in its wake. You felt wrung out, raw and depleted in a way you had never experienced, and you knew that if you were feeling it this deeply, the man before you had to be nearly dead on his feet.

And yet his face – his excruciatingly handsome face, already so precious to you despite seeing it for the first time today – remained nearly impassive, as it had for the last several hours. If you had not had so many months of experience reading his body language, you might have thought him detached, indifferent, but you knew him better than that by now. The heaviness in his limbs, the tension in his shoulders, the struggle to look anywhere other than the deck in front of him, the way he could not seem to hold your gaze for more than a few seconds without wrenching himself away…

Din Djarin was exhausted, and he was very, very sad.

Slowly, cautiously, you closed the distance between you, brought both of your hands up to rest on the cool surface of his breastplate, and murmured, “It’s just you and me now.”

The bounty hunter sighed, the sound tremulous and deep, but still he did not look at you. His gaze instead remained on the floor between you, his heavy brow casting his dark eyes in shadow.

“What do you need, ner kar’ta?” you asked him. Your thumbs traced the folds of his cape, the high collar of his flight suit. “What can I do?”

He shook his head and brought one of his gloved hands to cover both of yours. “There is nothing to be done,” he rasped, voice hoarse and low from disuse. He had hardly spoken in hours, and you couldn’t help but feel that his words sounded a bit broken, a bit hollow inside. They made your heart clench in your chest. “Though… I would keep you close. If…that’s all right.”

The pressure around your heart increased, the pain of his words a physical thing, and you felt tears spring unbidden to the corners of your eyes. You had not thought you had any more to give, but apparently, you were wrong.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere,” you replied wetly.

After what felt like several minutes of simply standing there, providing taciturn support through the touch of your hands, Din finally flicked his gaze up to meet yours. His eyes shone in the dim lighting, deep and nearly black with grief. “And what about you, cyare? What do you need?”

The faintest smile lifted the corner of your lips, knowing it wouldn’t reach your eyes. “A shower.”

That startled a breath of a laugh out him, and he shook his head at you with fondness. “I think we can make that happen. Anything else?”

Slipping your hands out from under his, you slid them up to his cheeks and cradled his face in your palms. “Just you, Din. I just need you.”

“You have me.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, and though the move was familiar, you would be lying if you said the absence of cold, uncompromising beskar against your skin wasn’t a little jarring. “Ratiin. Always.”

With a bit of convincing, you managed to coax Din into the attached refresher with you, the two of you crowding close under the vibrations of the sonic shower in a way that achingly reminded you of that night on the Razor Crest. It may only have been a handful of weeks ago, but it felt like a lifetime had passed since that moment. So much had happened in the intervening days, and although the memory of that night would glow warm and bright in your heart for the rest of your life, you couldn’t help but mourn that it had been tainted a bit, colored bittersweet with the knowledge that your life would never again look as it had that night.

Unlike then, however, as you ran your fingers over each other’s bodies or threaded them through each other’s hair, there was no heat to your touch. There was only care. And when you crawled into bed and tucked yourself against his side, the warmth of his bare skin against yours did not inflame but rather soothed. Almost instantly, your eyelids began to droop, the comfort of his closeness and the weight of the blankets tucked securely around you making your exhaustion impossible to ignore.

“Sleep now,” Din murmured into the top of your head. His breath was warm against your hairline, his nose buried your hair, and you smiled weakly at the feeling of his stubbly beard catching against the strands.

“Mm. Love you.”

The soft, warm pressure of a tender kiss against your forehead was the last thing you registered before drifting off, and the sleep that claimed you was deep and dreamless.

---

When you finally woke, you were alone in a rapidly cooling bed, the sheets beside you just barely clinging to the heat of your bounty hunter’s body. Half-conscious and bleary-eyed, you drew yourself up onto your elbows and blinked into the dimness.

“Din?” you called softly. Your voice scratched and grated against your own ears, your throat painfully dry from sleep.

The room beyond your bed remained mostly dark with only the faintest glow of cool white baseboard lighting outlining the edges of the cabin, but it was enough to see him there – sitting in that corner chair, fastening his boots. He was fully dressed again, the flawless beskar of his armor gleaming in the low light.

“‘S all right, cyar’ika,” he replied, keeping his voice low. “It’s my guard shift. Go back to sleep.”

Something about his voice sounded off – a mechanical quality to it that had you frowning at him as your sleep-fogged mind struggled to keep up.

Rubbing your eyes roughly with the heel of your hand, you asked, “You sleep at all?”

The broad outline of his pauldroned shoulders shrugged, the movement only barely visible in the dark. “A bit. More than I expected.”

“That’s good.” You melted back against the pillows then, drawing the blankets up to your chin. “Be safe, okay? Meet you on the bridge later?”

“Yes, I’ll be there.” Again, that odd, mechanical timbre colored his words, but sleep was tugging at the edges of your consciousness once again, the lure of the mattress and body-warm covers too powerful to fight against, and so you did not question it. Your eyes were closed again before the door into the corridor hissed open, before Din stepped through it and it shut behind him.

It wasn’t until you woke again some time later and recalled the brief conversation that you were able to put the pieces together. His voice, the strange, cool, staticky tone that had confused you in the darkness. It was his vocoder.  

Din had put his helmet back on.

---

The promised escort arrived right on time around midmorning that day, the two X-wings landing in the launch bay while the prisoner transport docked against the cruiser’s airlock. As the only member of the party who was explicitly friendly with the New Republic, Marshal Dune took point in coordinating the transfer of the Imperials, all of whom had returned to consciousness overnight only to find themselves bound at the hands and feet. Once all of the formalities were taken care of, there was little for Din to do other than observe as the prisoners’ identities were logged one-by-one in the New Republic register, their injuries were catalogued, and they were escorted onto the transport vessel either by a guard or by a field medic.

He didn’t even really need to be there, he knew; Cara was more than capable of managing such a task on her own. He could have taken his leave after this guard shift ended, could have blown off some steam in the ship’s armory with a little target practice or sought out the mess hall to see what he could scavenge for your breakfast. However, he could not seem to shake the feeling that he needed to be present for this. Or, more accurately, for one prisoner transfer in particular.

Moff Gideon had been kept away from the rest of his crew overnight, Cara choosing to house him in isolation in the same brig where Din had found Grogu the day before. She had stayed awake all night guarding his door, unwilling to trust his keeping to anyone but herself, and although he could tell from the dark smudges under her eyes that the fatigue was starting to get to her, the Mandalorian was immensely grateful for her diligence. Had such a capture happened on another day, he would have insisted on watching over the moff himself.

As it was, he had been in no fit state to be trusted with such a responsibility. How could he? Grogu was gone once again, this time likely for good. And once again, Din had defied his Creed in the name of a boy who was not truly his ad, who now never would be.

The first time – during his infiltration of the Imperial base on Morak with Mayfeld – had been out of necessity. Or at least, it had been easy to tell himself that he didn’t have a choice; his options had been either to allow his face to be scanned by the terminal or to give up, to retreat back to Fett’s Firespray empty-handed with no other way of locating Gideon’s light cruiser. That had been an unacceptable alternative. If pressed, Din might even have made the argument that allowing Grogu to be taken into the hands of the Empire without exhausting every possible avenue of rescuing him would have been a more egregious violation of the Creed, as it would have involved the harm of a foundling child in his care.

To a Mandalorian, there was nothing more important than the well-being of a child. Not even a buy’ce.

But this time… This time, he had had a choice, and still he had chosen to remove his helmet. Try as he might, the bounty hunter could not refuse Grogu’s soft, vulnerable, earnest eyes as he had peered up into his visor. The plea in those eyes could not have been any more apparent had he spoken the words aloud in perfect Basic. And when he had reached out his tiny hand and patted Din’s beskar cheek…

Well.

The Mandalorian felt the backs of his eyes begin to sting at the memory, and he blinked rapidly to banish the swell of emotion. What was done was done. It would not serve him or the child to dwell on it any longer than he already had, and the number of tears he had already shed was more than enough. Any more, and he did not think he could bear the shame. What was most important was that he had completed the quest set upon him by the naur’alor – he had cared for Grogu like he was his own, and he had found a Jedi to train him. He had done the right thing.

And that, perhaps, was the root of it all. Even in his guilt and his shame, even in his grief and his longing, he could not help but feel – to the very core of his being – that he had done the right thing in agreeing to remove his helmet. The joy and the recognition on the boy’s face, the warmth of his little three-clawed hand on his skin, the opportunity to look the mysterious Jedi stranger in the eye with his own eyes before he had handed his son over to him. All of these things had been priceless experiences, things he couldn’t regret even if he knew he should.

And you! Your sweet face when you had seen him for the first time, the hungry, urgent way your gaze had traced over his features, cataloguing each and every detail even as you offered him back his helmet. It had been uncomfortable to be observed so closely, to be studied so intently, and yet nothing about it had felt wrong or immoral. On the contrary, he had wanted you to see him, to know him in that way. It had felt right.

How could it have been, though, if it was in direct contradiction to the Creed? The Creed was his life, his moral center, the principle around which he had structured his entire existence. Breaking it ought to have been painful, not…satisfying.

Before he could spend any more time contemplating it, however, two of the New Republic prison guards appeared at the end of the corridor, a bruised and limping Moff Gideon between them. Shoving the riot of thoughts and emotions to the back of his mind for the moment, Din drew himself up to his full height and dropped his hand to hover over the grip of his blaster.

The older man looked a bit worse for the wear after his night spent in the brig, his normally flawless uniform rumpled, his sleek hair disheveled. He had a great black bruise forming across his jaw from the butt of Marshal Dune’s blaster rifle, and dried blood clung to corners of his lips. However, in spite of his haggard appearance, there was no pain or weariness or look of defeat in his dark eyes. Rather, he seemed almost eerily calm, as though the night in solitary confinement had centered him. Had Din not been able to see the binder cuffs glowing around his wrists so clearly, he would have questioned whether the man understood that he was being taken into custody. He looked entirely too…unbothered for a man who was bound for a war tribunal that would almost assuredly find him guilty.

Not that it mattered, Din supposed. Still, something about his nonchalance rankled. The man would be lucky to ever see the light of day again; what right did he have to feel so…confident?

---

By the time you managed to drag yourself out of bed and make your way to the bridge, the prisoner transfer had concluded, and the New Republic forces had departed with the surviving Imperials in tow. You were surprised to find a bundle of credits in a sleek, black bag waiting for you there – more than you had ever seen in your life, to the point where you felt a bit faint at the idea of counting them all. Apparently, because you had been part of the crew responsible for the capture of Moff Gideon and his crew, you were due a cut of the reward money from the New Republic government. This was news to you, as you certainly hadn’t gone into this task with the expectation of any payment, but given that all of your meager possessions had been destroyed with the Razor Crest, you weren’t in any position to decline.

Tossing the bag playfully into the air, you quipped, “Does this make me a bounty hunter now?” You waggled your eyebrows at Din, who offered you a light, crackling scoff through his vocoder.

“Think you have to complete at least one more job before you could be called a professional, cyar’ika,” he replied easily. “Though Moff Gideon is quite the notch in your belt should you decide to take it on full time.”

Cara Dune, as it turned out, had received a field commendation from the prison transport vessel’s captain for the victory, which she took out of a pouch on her utility belt to show you at your request. A small, gold pin featuring the sigil of the New Republic gleamed back at you from her black leather palm.

“The captain said he’d be in touch again,” she admitted, her voice soft and thoughtful. “Said they could use more people like me on the front lines. Hunting down Imperial remnants. Rooting them out.”

You raised your eyebrows at that. “That sounds like a big deal. You had said you were starting to feel a little…well, bored on Nevarro. If they called you up, do you think you would go?”

“I don’t know.” She rolled the little pin around in her grasp as you watched, her dark brows cinched in thought. “Nevarro’s great. And Karga’s been good to me.”  

“True, but you said it yourself. You’ve never been one to stay in one place for too long.”

Cara glanced up at you through thick lashes, cracking a wry smile. “You’re not wrong.”

The Firespray arrived precisely when you had instructed, the worn exterior of the vessel a sight for sore eyes after the events of the prior day. You told Boba Fett so when he hailed the cruiser, to which he chuckled gruffly and replied, “It’s good to hear everyone is still in one piece. I take it you have retrieved the child?”

You swallowed heavily and spared a glance toward Din, who met your gaze only briefly before looking out the viewport instead. “…we did,” you confessed after a beat of hesitation. “But he won’t be leaving with us. It’s a long story. We can catch you up once we’re back on board.”

For a moment, dull, hollow silence echoed across the connection – the sound of an open comm line with no voices to fill the space. Thankfully, however, it did not take long for Boba to recover from your revelation. “Understood. I’ll save my questions for the return journey to Nevarro then. If you all are ready to depart, I will prepare for docking.”

“Ready on our end,” you confirmed. “Feel free to proceed.”

As the distant thud of connecting airlocks rumbled through the deck plating, all but Bo-Katan and Koska prepared to disembark. Weapons were gathered, stolen foodstuffs from the mess hall were packed away in bags Fennec had liberated from the ship’s stores, and goodbyes were said. The two Mandalorian women would be keeping custody of the light cruiser, as had been your agreement, though as each of them offered you a cool, formal nod, you could not help but wonder how long the two of them would continue to travel together after this.

The dynamic between them had been openly strained since the moment the Jedi took his leave, taking their already stiff and stoic way of interacting and ratcheting it up to a degree that you could only call frigid. Bo-Katan had become almost unrecognizably surly and standoffish in the face of the loss of the Darksaber, while every offer of service and support from her vassal appeared reluctantly, resentfully given. It was difficult for you to discern which of them was the true source of the brittle tension – whether Bo-Katan was driving Koska away in her resentment of her circumstances, or if Koska was already beginning to detach herself from the princess now that it seemed certain that she would never be Mand’alor.

Either way, you supposed it was none of your business for now. Perhaps your paths would cross again one day, but until then, they had held up their end of the bargain, as had you and Din. Until he said otherwise, the complexities of Mandalorian politics were not your concern.

Your departure was quick after that, the four of you making your way onto the Firespray as efficiently as you could manage through the narrow airlock. The scent of the familiar ship filled your senses – durasteel, dust, and caf with an undertone of something distinctly masculine, and you could not help but sigh in relief as you felt the tense muscles in your shoulders loosen almost immediately. You weren’t certain at what point over the last few weeks Boba’s ship had begun to feel like a safe haven, but it had, and after spending the last standard rotation “behind enemy lines,” as it were, your relief at being back was palpable.

Of course, you hadn’t expected you would return without Grogu. His absence was like a physical thing, a hole in your heart and an emptiness in your arms that you knew would not fade for a long while.

“Feel free to settle in,” Fennec said. “I’ll be in the cockpit catching Boba up while we get into hyperspace. Should be a pretty short jump – no more than a day or two.”

You, Din, and Cara all nodded your acknowledgement before making your way over to the ship’s central ladder. You dropped off the bags of supplies you had taken from the light cruiser in the common area on your way down, and without needing to say anything, you and Din ducked into the bounty cell you had claimed as your own the last time you were on the Firespray, while Cara continued down the ladder to her own cell.

It was the first time you had been alone with the bounty hunter since the night before, you realized. Vague, sleep-clouded memories of his departure from your shared quarters this morning hung in the back of your mind, but the last time the two of you had truly spoken, you both had been raw and wrung out, and Din…

Well. Din had been helmetless.

You weren’t certain whether you had expected him to remain helmetless, but the fact that he had turned down your offer to put it back on right after Grogu left had made you wonder…

Choosing to take advantage of your momentary solitude, you closed the cell door behind you. If he was ever going to start giving you some insight into the innerworkings of his mind, you supposed now was as good a time as any.

---

Hours later found the Firespray deep in hyperspace and you wide awake in your bunk, rolled up onto your side with Din tucked in close behind you. A heavy arm draped around your waist kept your back pressed firmly against his chest, his grip preventing you from rolling off the edge of the narrow bed onto the unforgiving deck below you. You didn’t know how the two of you had spent so many nights sleeping like this on your journey to find Moff Gideon’s vessel; even after one night in a two-person bed, you felt as though you had been spoiled for space. Now, you felt more like a tightly-packed tin of rations; one wrong move, and you would burst from the edge of the mattress and never be able to pack yourself away again in the same way.

Your attempt at discussing the reappearance of his helmet had gone nowhere, the Mandalorian brushing off your inquiries with gentle but firm rebuttals. Removing his helmet had been in defiance of his Creed, he had insisted. Mandalorians kept their helmets on at all times in front of others. Yesterday had been an exception, an anomaly. That was all there was to it.

Never mind the points you brought up about Bo-Katan and Koska. Never mind your reminders of how every person aboard this ship had now seen his face other than Boba Fett, and not for a brief moment, but for hours and hours. Never mind your insistence that he had done nothing wrong, that he didn’t need to make up for allowing himself a few seconds of connection with the boy who had become like a son to him. All of it had fallen on deaf ears, and although he had been kind and patient with you throughout the discussion, his stubbornness hadn’t abated. He hadn’t budged an inch.

You weren’t sure how long this would be the case, but one thing was clear; the helmet was back, and the chances of you catching a glimpse of the bounty hunter’s handsome face again any time soon were slim.

Releasing a soft sigh, you twisted a bit in Din’s grip, looking back over your shoulder to trace the impassive beskar surface with your gaze. He was handsome even with the helmet, you knew; it was how you had fallen in love with him and how he would always appear in your mind when you closed your eyes and thought of him. Only days ago, you had expected to go the rest of your life having never seen his true face. You could go back to that, you thought. Or at least, you could try.

What you couldn’t do was sit idly by while Din compromised his needs and his desires for the sake of some ambiguous religious statute that you could tell he was already beginning to question. You had always respected his beliefs, but never at the expense of his own happiness.

Your mind abuzz with your thoughts, you felt – perhaps for the first time – restless in your Mandalorian’s arms. You wouldn’t be getting any sleep any time soon; that much was certain. Gently, with all the stealth you could muster in the darkness, you wrapped your fingers around Din’s wrist and lifted his arm from around your body. He stirred as you slipped out of bed, a heavy sigh rasping through his vocoder, but thankfully, he settled again quickly, and you were able to sneak out of the bounty cell without waking him.

You made your way up the ship’s central ladder as quietly as you could manage, your way lit only by dim runner lights that dotted the edge of the shaft. When you arrived in the common area, you almost didn’t notice the shadowed outline of Boba Fett’s broad form sitting at the little mess table.

“Ah, welcome,” he murmured gruffly, offering you a nod of acknowledgement. “Sleep eluding you, little one?”

He wore no armor, you realized as you approached, his black linen nightshirt and loose, billowy pants a sharp contrast to his usual sage green beskar. The light of a single lamp illuminated his scarred face, the golden sheen of it reflecting warmly off the smooth skin of his bald head, and he had a steaming durasteel mug cradled in both hands.

“You could say that, yeah,” you replied, the corner of your mouth tugging into a small smile. “You?”

He nodded. “Mm. You’re welcome to a cup of tea, if you would like.” Gesturing toward the kettle keeping warm on the cooktop burner behind him, he continued, “I find it helps settle the nerves.”

“Thank you.” With practiced familiarity, you retrieved yourself a mug that matched Boba’s and proceeded to pour yourself a measure of the fragrant, bitter liquid. “So what’s got you up this time of night?”

The older man shrugged a shoulder and took a sip of his drink. “Even a well-disciplined mind is vulnerable in sleep. Old memories one might prefer to leave in the past can make themselves…difficult to ignore.”

Your smile widened, the expression taking on a wry tinge as you slipped into the rusty, well-worn chair opposite him and settled your cup on the table before you. “I can relate to that,” you mused.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each of you absorbed in your own thoughts. The tea he had brewed was a strong one, bracing and soothing in equal measure as you let it float over your tongue, and absently you wondered whether he might share with you its varietal and planet of origin before you reached Nevarro so you might seek some out for yourself. Primarily, however, you found yourself studying him in the low light. This was another Mandalorian who chose to remove his helmet, who chose to allow others to see his face. He seemed more comfortable with it on, perhaps, but he did not shy away from taking it off when it made sense to do so.

You could not help but wonder why that was, and the question was out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Could I ask you a…personal question?”

Boba arched his eyebrow at you curiously. “You may try. Though I make no promises that I will answer.”

“Fair enough,” you agreed with a grin. “It’s just that… I was curious about your helmet.”

“What of my helmet?”

“You take it off. Regularly.”

He inclined his head at you in agreement. “I do, indeed. Speak plainly with me, little one. What is your question?”

Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you voiced the thing you had been itching to ask him since the day you met, since the moment you saw him dressed in the weathered green armor that had once lived in armaments storage on the Razor Crest. “Do you consider yourself Mandalorian?”

Your words hung in the air for a beat, then another, and you swallowed nervously against the pressure of the growing silence between you.

“Ah,” he finally sighed, voice low and rasping. “That is a complicated question.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. You see, my father was Mandalorian – he, like your companion, was a foundling, taken in as a child and raised among them,” he explained thoughtfully.

You heard the words he did not say just as clearly as the words he did. “But not you?” you pressed.

Boba seemed to hesitate at that, shifting in his seat and weighing his words carefully. “The circumstances of my birth were…unique,” he eventually confessed. “I was raised by my father on a planet called Kamino. The teachings and values of the Mandalorian culture were certainly a part of my upbringing, but I was still a boy when my father’s life was cut short. I made my own way in the galaxy after that.”

You felt your eyebrows raise in sympathy at the revelation. “That sounds lonely.”

Cocking his head, the man across the table took a moment to study you, his flint-dark eyes narrowing ever-so slightly as though puzzled by your response. “It’s no easy thing, to forge a path for yourself without a tribe.”

You nodded. Again, his sentiments felt familiar to you. As a child, you had had a tribe of sorts. Your father, your mother, the other children in your little community on Chardaan.

Before the shipyards. Before Orron Halcard.

“What is it that troubles you?”

You glanced up at Boba, your fingers twisting anxiously around your mug as you took another thoughtful sip of tea. “I’m worried about my…companion,” you admitted after a heavy swallow. “He’s struggling. With being Mandalorian, with what that means. I hoped maybe understanding you a bit better might…help me help him.”

Dark eyes softening at that, you watched as a rare smile quirked the corners of his lips. “You have a kind heart, little one, but I fear my story may create more questions than answers.”

You nodded, returning your gaze to the dark liquid in your cup, watching the whisps of steam twist and rise into the air. You had feared as much.

“What I can tell you,” he continued abruptly, pulling you back out of your thoughts, “is that from the day I drew my first breath, there were people who believed they had a right to tell me who I was. The genetic engineers on Kamino told me that I was a product – payment in exchange for the services of my father. The other children who shared my face told me I was an aberration, an abomination with a faulty genetic code and no true purpose in the universe. The bounty hunters who took me in after the death of my father could not seem to make up their minds about me – to some, I was a prodigy, to others a burden.”

You listened with rapt attention, watching as Boba’s strong, wise face morphed into something fiery, something fierce.

“The Republic, the Separatists, even the Empire all believed that they had the measure of me. But no one has that right,” he hissed emphatically. “I had to decide for myself who I was. What do I believe? What do I value? What do I want? I must be the one to make those choices if I wish to control my own destiny. Perhaps the time has come for your companion to ask himself those questions, to choose for himself who he is and what that means to him.”

Slowly, softly, you smiled at the older man and nodded your agreement. “I want that for him. Very much.”

“Then you have already given him all the support he needs.”

With those words, so confidently and simply spoken, a wave of calm washed over you the likes of which you hadn’t felt since your last night on Nevarro – Din tucked in by your side, Grogu between you, the chattering of an old holovid serial rattling in the background as you dozed together. It was a confidence, a sense of rightness that you had thought had abandoned you the day you landed on Tython, and the relief you felt at its return was staggering.

Boba was right. All you had to do was be there for Din – allow him to ask the questions he needed to ask, encourage him to seek his own answers, and support him whatever his choice. Because as long as it was his choice, it would be the right one. You loved him enough to want that for him. You loved him enough to be his anchor while he worked it out on his own.

Swallowing the final dregs of tea from the bottom of your mug, you rose to your feet and – before you could question it – allowed one of your hands to rest on the older man’s shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze through his linen nightshirt. “Thank you for the tea,” you murmured quietly. “I hope you’re able to get some sleep.”

Through the dimness, he bowed his head to you, eyes flashing with something warm and almost fond. “The same to you, little one. I’ll see you in the morning.”

---

Your retreat back to your bunk was a quick one, your heart and mind feeling lighter than they had in weeks. The absence of Grogu still ached, but it felt somehow more manageable; not necessarily easier to bear in that moment, but there was the promise of a day when the loss of him would feel less sharp, when the good memories and the love of him would be greater than the pain of his departure. And as for Din, you were confident that he would find his way. He was the strongest person you knew, cunning and resilient and stubborn to a fault. If anyone could work his way through the mess that he had found himself in over the last several weeks, you knew it would be him. Like Boba had said, all you needed to do was be there for him while he did it. Everything else would fall into place as it was meant to.

You were silent and cautious as you slipped back into your bounty cell. The heavy durasteel door proved easier than you expected to close gently, and with a hand braced against the wall, you shuffled out of your boots and crossed the floor in stocking feet. Din’s beskar armor gleamed in the darkness, and you smiled to find him precisely where you had left him – back pressed against the bulkhead, arm outstretched as though to embrace you, helmet carving a deep indent in the single, thin pillow you shared between you.

Drawing your lower lip between your teeth, you eagerly slipped back under his arm, this time pressing chest-to-chest along the front of his body. His grip on you tightened reflexively, drawing you even closer as you tucked your head under his chin and buried your face in the folds of his cape. The chill of his breastplate nipped at your skin, but you paid it no heed. Instead, you simply dropped a tender kiss to the little geometric pattern right in the center and allowed your eyes to drift closed.

Your parents were gone. The Razor Crest was gone. Grogu was gone. But Din remained. And as long as you were together, you did not need to have all of the answers. It was enough to know that you had each other and that together, there was no obstacle you could not overcome. He was your home now, and you were his.

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum,” you whispered. Your breath fogged up the surface of his armor, that bit at the center shining with moisture. It felt significant somehow, as though you were speaking directly to his heart even as he slept. “I will know you forever, Din Djarin. I love you.”

---

Mando'a Translations:

ner kar'ta - my heart ratiin - always cyar'ika - sweetheart, darling buy'ce - helmet naur'alor - smith, craftsman, specifically a metalsmith that works with beskar. It's a title that's called out in the Kyr'tsad Mando'ad, a manifesto of the Death Watch and is later recognized in the book The Bounty Hunter's Code by Boba Fett. Given the Children of the Watch's connection to Death Watch, this felt like an appropriate formal title for the Armorer. ad - child, gender neutral Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum - I love you, literally "I will know you forever"

[writeforfandoms]

Shatter Me 18

Find the series masterlist

Well. Here we are. Two more chapters to go after this. And then the interlude, and then part 2.

The rescue efforts continue. You mostly observe.

Warnings: Swearing, canon typical violence, feelings of inadequacy, Mech's continuing issues.

Word count: 1.8k

Out of the way was a lot easier to do on a ship that wasn’t full up. Din, Cara, Fennec, and some newcomer named Mayfeld had taken the available seats, leaving you up with Boba Fett. And, maker, part of you was still reeling. Boba Fett. Even you had heard stories about him. 

The point was, they were plotting, and you were… extraneous. You knew the ship was headed to a planet called Morak. You knew they were planning something dangerous, something to help them find the kid. To find Grogu.

Beyond that, you didn’t know anything. 

“Alright there, little one?”

The rough voice of Boba Fett jerked you out of your own thoughts, and you blinked a few times. The green helmet was still facing forward, but you knew he was paying attention. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

He nodded once and didn’t say anything more, but you had a feeling he didn’t stop paying attention. Which made sense. He had been a bounty hunter, he probably knew when people were trouble.

And you counted as trouble now. You almost laughed at the thought. 

If nothing else, your time with Din Djarin had made you an accessory to an interesting person. 

The ship landed, and the ramp groaned a little as it lowered. Something to look at, maybe. A quick fix, if you were lucky. Boba Fett passed you on his way down to conference with the others, and you sat for a moment longer. 

Until Din poked his head up, tapping gently on the side of your seat to get your attention. “We need to go take a look at what we’re dealing with here,” he murmured. 

“Go,” you agreed quietly. “I’ll take a look at a couple things on the ship.” 

He hesitated for a moment, unmoving, visor focused on you. Then he nodded, just once, and vanished from sight. 

You waited until you’d heard them leave to slide down and start poking around. The ramp was first - it would be an easy fix, and fortunately not even a lengthy one. But you didn’t stop there, doing just as you’d told Din. You poked around the ship to see what else needed maintenance. (The amount of sand in the nooks and crannies reminded you of working in Peli’s hanger, made your heart ache.) 

The engines could do with a tune up, and the rotation mechanisms needed a bit of help, but nothing dire. 

You did startle when Boba Fett came back onto the ship, pausing to look at you. 

"Checking for repairs," you told him quietly, shoulders hiking up a little. "I'm a mechanic." 

He nodded once. "You've got an hour," was all he said before heading up into the cockpit. 

An hour was plenty of time to get the ramp fixed. Which you did. And then you worked on blowing out some of the sand from the landing gear. 

“On or off, make your choice now.” Boba Fett’s voice came from the front, carrying to you easily enough. 

You knew enough of the plan to know that things were going to be a bit rough. As much as you wanted to be of help, as you wanted to see Din and see if he’d gotten what he needed to find Grogu… you chose off. You’d be no good in the ship, and you had no desire to sit through another firefight. 

You stayed on the ground, finding a good spot to sit and wait. The dense forest covered up much of the noise, only a few explosions making it through. A loud one followed by a burst of bright blue light made you look up, shielding your gaze against the sunlight and the blue light from the explosion. 

Hopefully that had been on your end, and not theirs.

The sound of engines approaching was familiar, and you relaxed. That little whine was definitely Boba Fett’s ship. You listened, head tipping, waiting for the noise to get closer before you stood. The ship sounded like it was landing not far away. Good. 

It took moments to walk to the ship, and you stood back, away from the exit. More rustling of leaves made you look over to see Cara and Fennec approaching. So, no trouble on their end. Sounded like things had gone about as well as could be expected. The ramp lowered, already sounding better.

“Well, looks like it’s back to the scrap heap,” Mayfeld said as he and Din walked off the ship. You stood to the side, watching, separate from the group. Fennec raised one eyebrow at you as she passed but didn’t ask, footfalls near-silent as she walked up the ramp.

“Thank you for helping,” Din told Mayfeld, helmet gleaming in the sun. 

“Yeah. Uh. Good luck getting your kid back.” Mayfeld spoke quietly, more sincerely. You were rather surprised, given how he’d acted before. “Alright, officer. Take me back.” A sort of resigned humor crept into his tone as he put his hands together in front of him. 

Silence held for a moment, and your lips twitched. You had an idea what was coming. 

“That was some nice shooting back there,” Cara said. 

“Oh, you saw that? Yeah, that, uh… that wasn’t part of the plan.” Mayfeld looked between Cara and Din, uncertain but not afraid. “Just… getting some stuff off my chest.” 

“You know, it’s too bad Mayfeld didn’t make it out alive back there,” Cara said, turning to Din. From your spot, you could see the humor in her face. 

“Yeah. Too bad.” Din sounded even dryer than normal, and you stifled a smile. He was kind of a terrible liar most of the time. 

“What are you talking about?” Mayfeld looked confused, looking between them, weight shifting uneasily. He hadn’t caught on yet. You were almost tempted to tell him. Almost. 

“Looked to me like prisoner number 34667 died in the refinery explosion on Morak,” Cara said, still looking at Din, refusing to look at Mayfeld. You put your hand to your lips to hide your smile. 

“Does that–does that mean I can go? Huh?” Mayfeld finally caught on, hands out, slowly shifting away from the two. “‘Cause I will.” 

Din jerked his head, a familiar motion that made your heart swell. No malice, no anger. Just a silent motion telling Mayfeld to go. 

Mayfeld took a few steps away before he turned and looked back one more time. Cara had finally turned to watch him go, and nodded once. “Alright,” Mayfeld muttered to himself before turning back around and leaving. This time, he didn’t look back. 

You had very little idea of what had happened out there, but it must have been enough to convince Cara and Din to let him go. That was enough for you.

Besides, you’d likely never see Mayfeld again, and you were just fine with that.

“You get the coordinates on Moff Gideon?” Cara asked, humor gone now. Your ears perked up.

“We did.”

“What’s our next move?” 

Din was silent for a few moments before he nodded towards the ship. Cara glanced at you before she nodded, taking long strides up and into the ship. 

“Come on,” Din said to you, finally turning to look at you. It was impossible to tell with his helmet on, but you thought he’d relaxed a little. “We have planning to do.”

“I won’t be much help,” you murmured, though you didn’t protest, moving closer to him. 

“You’re part of this, too,” he insisted stubbornly. “I won’t leave you out of this.”

You ducked your head, smiling at the toes of your boots for a moment. How like Din. You could hardly believe now how scared you had been of him in the beginning. “Okay,” you agreed. Din motioned you up first, and you acquiesced, walking up the ramp into the interior of the ship again. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Cara asked, deceptively relaxed. 

“We’ll need more help,” Din said, his hand briefly touching the back of your arm as he stepped up next to you, and then past you. “But first, I need to send a message.” 

The others gave him space to record, although he didn’t remove any of his armor. You watched from the side, careful to stay out of the way, as he set up the recording. 

“Moff Gideon,” he said, and you startled. There was a banked anger in his tone, anger that quickly turned to cold violence. “You have something I want. You may think you have some idea what you are in possession of, but you do not. Soon, he will be back with me. He means more to me than you will ever know.”

A chill ran down your spine, and you swallowed. That… should not affect you so. It shouldn’t. 

But it wasn’t fear that made your heart beat faster in your chest, or your breath catch in your throat. 

“We’ll need more than just coordinates,” Boba Fett rumbled once Din was back in the main hold. 

“I know some people who will help.” Din didn’t sound concerned. If anything, he sounded eager. Ready to go. 

Not that you could blame him for that. You itched to have Grogu back, to know he was safe. 

“Where do we start?” Cara asked this time, one hip leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over her chest. 

“Pershing,” Din answered, holding up the data stick. “If we get him, we can get to Moff Gideon.” 

Fett held out one hand, taking the data stick and plugging it into the nearest console. The star chart that popped up was unfamiliar to you, but that meant very little. You’d never spent much time studying those, much more interested in things you could get your hands on (and subsequently take apart). The others, however, seemed to understand it better, talking about interception points and security. 

You just waited, watching them figure out what they’d do. It was fascinating to watch, especially since everyone but Din forgot you existed. He glanced back at you every so often, as if to check if you really were still there. 

You were, every time. You didn’t move. Just watched. 

It felt… almost familiar. Almost like things you tried to keep buried. But not quite. You were more comfortable here, and certainly safer. 

The legality of the meeting was most certainly in question, but if that was the worst of it? You were much better off here than you were in your memories. 

You smiled next time Din looked back at you. You could have imagined it, but you thought you saw the line of his shoulders relax.

[burnwater13]

Image shows Fennec Shand, Din Djarin, and Boba Fett standing in the bombed out shell of Garsa Fwip's Sanctuary in Mos Espa. Caption reads: This is my city. These are my people. I will not abandon them. - Boba Fett Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu appreciated that the Daimyo was concerned about the citizens of Mos Espa and by extension all the people on Tatooine. He seemed to understand that the people of that planet were independent, but had a hard time doing anything but the work it took to live from one day to the next. Someone was going to have to drive the syndicates off the planet and if he was that someone, well fine. He had good reasons to do it and no good reasons not to do it. Grogu supposed that was part of his nature as a Mandalorian.

Grogu would have thought that Cad Bane also understood that. He might have been Boba Fett’s mentor for some period of time (the Daimyo had told Grogu all about that) but you didn’t just absorb all the behaviors and knowledge from your mentors. Sometimes you barely picked up any of their behaviors at all. Every Jedi Master at the Temple on Coruscant had tried to improve Ian’s behaviors, but Grogu’s friend had been particularly resistant to that sort of influence, a very odd thing for a Jedi youngling. If that was the case for a Jedi youngling, Grogu couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to influence a Mandalorian youngling when you didn’t have the whole weight of Mandalore and the Creed to help you.

He could just imagine the young Boba Fett, quiet, serious, waiting to carry out whatever orders his dad had given him. Asking questions and paying attention because that’s what Mandalorian younglings were supposed to do, but only for other Mandalorians. Then a guy like Cad Bane shows up and tries to order him around and its simply chaos. Boba Fett didn’t learn by being talked at, any more than Ian had. He learned by doing things. Of course learning that way was probably a lot more physically painful, but it was undoubtedly effective if you survived. 

Grogu thought about one of the last times he had seen Ian. They had both managed to sneak into the hanger where all the starships (which were mostly small) were managed and maintained and performed an assessment of them. During their assessment, it became very clear to Grogu that his criteria for a ship and Ian’s criteria for a ship were very different. Grogu liked the ships that had large, private privies, multiple seats on the bridge, and a full galley. Since he could sleep in a hammock without much effort, he hadn’t really cared about cabins, storage, weapons, or sensor arrays. Ian, of course, was just the opposite. He wanted small nimble craft with impressive armaments, top of the line sensors, and preferably just a few hidden compartments that made hiding stuff easy. 

That meant that Ian liked the ship that Anakin Skywalker often used, while Grogu was a much bigger fan of Master Yoda’s ship. They both agreed that in a pinch, if absolutely necessary, they could deal with the ship Master Kenobi used. It met a few, but not all, of each of their requirements, but had the one benefit of being properly maintained at all times with no damage to it. Grogu wasn’t sure why that was the case, but Ian had told him you couldn’t look a gift gundark in the mouth. Grogu had replied that he hoped never to know people who thought of gundarks as gifts. Those critters were dangerous. 

“Kid, you crack me up. You’ve looked right down the gullet of some of the biggest critters I’ve ever seen and pulled Master Kenobi’s cape out before it was digested. Why would a gundark bother you?”

Grogu explained and Ian had laughed.

“Of course they smell bad on the outside. Just imagine how bad they must smell on the inside.”

Grogu hadn’t wanted to imagine that at all. 

Had that happened to Daimyo Fett when he was learning from Cad Bane? They both appreciated different things and worked out different ways to achieve their goals, but somehow, managed to work together when absolutely necessary? Or had the youngling realized that he was just safer if the scope’s target was trained on the taller man? Grogu had no doubt that Fennec operated that way. She was far more conscious of everything around her. Daimyo Fett cared about people right up to the point where they clearly demonstrated that they didn’t care about him. Then they were in trouble. 

Grogu wondered if that was a Mandalorian trait or just something that the Daimyo did? He’d let the Gamoreans work for him because they were willing to pledge their loyalty to him. He’d forgiven Krrsantan because he didn’t consider it the Wookiee’s fault that he had ended up working for the Hutt Twins. He obviously got along well with Din Djarin and Fennec. But somehow, somewhere, Cad Bane had crossed a line and the Master of Mos Espa was not tolerating that. 

There was probably something in the Creed about mentors not attacking their students. Yes, you could test them. Obviously. You had to see how well your training had worked. But betray them? Nope. That was probably like taking your helmet off, or selling your beskar, or refusing to help another Mandalorian. If you did it, you were out. 

Cad Bane was definitely out. Bounty hunter rules must have been a lot less strict than Mandalorian rules and Boba Fett wasn’t about to forgive that. Grogu just hoped that the people of Mos Espa appreciated how much the Daimyo cared about them and Tatooine. They had a chance to make their own way now with a person who was willing to do the hard work they hadn’t been able to handle. Maybe they would have a celebration and take the time to appreciate all the good the Daimyo had brought into their lives? 

They could call it “Mandalorian Foundling Appreciation Day” or maybe just ‘Thanksgiving’? Either way, Grogu was glad that he knew the Daimyo and that counted for something.

Boba Fett speaking to Cad Bane (out of frame) while standing on the streets of Mos Espa, Tatooine. Caption reads: I will not abandon them. - Boba Fett. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 7, In the Name of Honor.

[handspunyarns]

You Were Marked: Day Fourteen (Din).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C 

word count: 6.8K 

chapter summary: Grogu teaches Din a game, Din requires privacy, and the Armorer has words with Din. 

warnings:  angst, sexual situations, male masturbation and fantasizing, mention of suicide ideation, stomach illness, Mando'a and English cursing 

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

You Were Marked: Masterlist 

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Din appropriated his jetpack back from Boba so he and Grogu would not have to ride the rattletrap speeder back to Peli’s.  Boba was satisfied that Din had recovered enough from his concussion that he was no longer a menace to the skies.  He touched down in Peli’s yard without stumbling — for once – and walked alongside his old ship, the Crest, trailing a hand along the fuselage.  A pit droid crossed his path and he fought the urge to kick it sideways.  The pit droid, already knowledgeable of the opinion of the irascible Mandalorian, skittered away quickly. 

“Well, if it isn’t Mando and my favorite little tadpole!”  Peli was walking towards him, shielding her eyes from the rising twin suns.  Grogu cooed at the bushy-headed woman.  “Going somewhere?” she asked. 

“Heading to Nevarro for a couple days.” 

“Your lady friend doing better?”  Din did not answer, but set the side ramp of the Crest to open. “Well, does she have a name at least?” 

Before Din could answer, Grogu piped up, shouting, “Mahr! Mahr! Mahr!”  

Peli grinned.  “So Mahr is the lady friend, huh?” 

“Patu Mahr!” Grogu squealed. 

Din blushed under his helmet.  “She’s not my … lady fr ...” 

“Mahr Patu!” 

“Dank ferrik, Grogu …” 

Peli laughed.  “Well, Little Bug has an opinion on that, it seems.   Go on, get outta here; the sooner you leave, the sooner you get back to your Mahr.” 

“It’s … ah … Marathel.  Her name is Marathel,” Din stammered before he rushed up the ramp with Grogu. 

Peli stepped back out of range and watched the ship take off and head out into the atmosphere.  She chuckled, and said to herself, “Not my lady friend, my fat ass.” 

Din got the Crest off Tatooine without out a hitch; his muscle memory and smooth handling was back under control.  As he was setting coordinates for Nevarro, he looked over his shoulder at Grogu, sitting in the aft chair with a smug look on his little wrinkled face.  Din sighed.  “Seriously?  Patu Mahr?”  Grogu squealed with glee.  Din shook his head and turned back to the console.  Not that the idea of Patu Mahr was a bad one, but … how could that even work?  He — and now Grogu by extension — flew all over the damn galaxy, and Marathel could only thrive outdoors in the sunshine and fresh air.  Even having a closed door frightened her.  Locking her up in a metal box in the vacuum of space?  Impossible.  

She’s not even well yet, you osi’kovid.  And you’re also assuming she will have anything to do with you, considering what’s been done to her. 

He had to admire her, though; she’d managed to survive, even with all the odds stacked against her.  The medical practices the rest of the galaxy used had little to no effect on her, yet she still lived.   Although … he’d heard her tell Fennec that she didn’t want to. 

Would you want to, after what she endured? 

But she went in willingly, knowing fully what she faced.   

And you know what that means … She was prepared to die before she walked through that gate.  She’s wanted to die possibly for longer than you’ve known her. 

Now that made Din pause.  He knew he walked a fine line between life and death most days and had mentally prepared for his end since before he took the helmet.  He’d stood beside his brothers and sisters, pledging to die alongside them with honor when that moment came.  The very notion of being so far down in mental misery that death was preferable to living was beyond his comprehension.  He thought back to what she’d told Grogu — he could hear perfectly what she’d told him; his helmet was excessively useful when it worked. 

She told Grogu to grow up to be kind.  And to take care of me, for I needed Grogu more than he needed me.   

Din watched the striations of the stars in hyperspace.  He thought back to when she and Grogu were digging out clams.  Day Six. It had started out terribly with the nightmares and simply got worse. 

‘I will be nowhere.’ 

Din realized with a start that she didn’t mean the planet Unmanarall, the Oldtalk word for Nowhere.  She meant gone from this existence. 

She told Fennec that she would rather live as a Belwhyn for one day and die, than live as a Whyn. 

Haar’chak, what do those words mean? 

Din sighed.  He could hear Grogu climbing down from the aft chair with a little grunt.  Out of the corner of his visor he saw two little hands reaching up towards the console.  Without looking, Din dropped the throttle knob into Grogu’s waiting hands, and followed it up with one of the better ration bars.  Grogu pouted — he was already missing Marathel’s cooking just as much as Din — but he took the bar anyway, and hefted himself back into the aft chair, munching away as he looked out the view screen.  Din put his feet up on the console, relaxed, happy to be back in space.  Din’s sleep schedule — such as it was — was still off, and since he was still recovering from his concussions, he nodded off quite quickly.  Almost immediately, he began to dream.  And of course, he dreamed of Marathel.   

It was just a gentle dream of her, sitting still, outside somewhere, the sun illuminating her from behind, and her hair was caught in the wind, billowing across her face, obscuring her features.  Her eyes would slowly shift up to look at him, but right before their eyes would lock on each other, her position would change, as if her image was on a stuttering holo-disk message, and her eyes would be far away again.  Her face looked serene early in his dream, but looked more and more distressed as the dream went on.  The last image he caught of her, she was hunched over as she sat, her arms crossed over her chest, her hands clutching her shoulders, her knees tightly held together.  Her head raised up to look at him, and he could see tears on her cheeks, but the image stuttered again, and Din suddenly woke up.  He caught his breath, hoping that the dream was not a portent of doom, that Marathel was all right, then deciding that Fennec or Cobb would contact him if something was wrong. 

Checking the console, Din saw that he had been asleep for a good couple hours.  He wondered if Grogu had been awake and alone that whole time.  The idea concerned Din; he’d rather be awake when the boy was to at least be interacting with him.  Din wondered idly if a nanny wouldn’t be a good idea, and then wondered why he should engage a nanny when he had Marathel.  He then reminded himself he in no way had Marathel; her recovery was still in the early days yet.  And then beyond her recovery … 

One kriffing thing at a kriffing time, remember? 

Din got up from his chair, stretching.  He turned to see if Grogu was still in the cockpit; he wasn’t.  Din could hear squeaks down in the main part of the ship, so he climbed down the ladder and saw Grogu running in circles.  Grogu looked up and squealed at Din’s presence.  Grogu ran up to Din, jumped up and down, and then took off, running away.  Din stood still and watched him go.  Grogu stopped and looked at Din expectantly.  Din tilted his helmet.  Grogu looked down with a harumph, and then ran back to Din, jumped again, and took off again. Din watched, confused.  “What is it you want me to do, kid?”  Grogu stopped running, and looked back at Din, frowning.  “I don’t get it,” said Din. Grogu grunted and stomped all the way back to Din.  Glaring at Din’s helmet, Grogu jumped up and down.  “Okay,” said Din.  Grogu turned away but looked over his shoulder.  “Uh-huh,” said Din.  Grogu lifted his leg, as if he were going to start running again.  “Did you want me to chase you?” 

Grogu threw up his little hands.  “Mee-YAH!” he shouted, and he began to run.  Okay, then, thought Din, and he gave chase. The two ran back and forth, up and down the corridor, Din laughing in spite of himself, and then Grogu suddenly sat down.  Din slid to a stop, looking down at Grogu.  Grogu looked back up at him.  The two males stared at each other for some time.  Finally, Din sat down as well, and Grogu sighed with the beginnings of an eye roll.  Din pulled his chin back, surprised.  Grogu’s facial vocabulary had been expanding quite a lot over the past couple of weeks, and he felt that Marathel had a lot to do with it.  It wasn’t as if Grogu could learn expressions from him; not with the helmet obscuring his face.  Din shrugged.  “So now what, kid?”  Grogu pointed at him.  Din pointed at himself.  “Me?  I don’t get you.”  Grogu kept pointing at Din.  “Are we playing that running game of yours and Marathel’s?  I don’t understand the rules, kid!  We were just running, and now you’re sitting down, pointing at me, like I’m supposed to know what comes next!” Grogu tilted his head at Din, much like Din often did towards the boy.  Then Grogu pointed at Din again.  “I still don’t understand, boy.  You had us running, and now you’re pointing at me …” It finally dawned on Din.  “You’re telling me … it’s my turn?  I have to say what we’re doing next?” Grogu squeaked at Din.  “That’s it?  You do something for a while, and then the next person comes up with the next thing to do?”  Grogu squeaked again.  “But that’s … that’s ridiculous!  What kind of game do you play where you make up the rules as you go along?”  Grogu looked expectantly at Din, who realized that it was exactly the kind of game Marathel would teach the boy to play.  Imagination was more important than rules to a child.   

“So … my turn, huh? All right, then … uh …” Din stood up.  “Time to jump backwards, then.”  Din jumped back about a foot, feet together, swinging his arms.  Grogu looked at Din, frowning.  “Are you playing or not, kid?  Otherwise, I’m looking stupid, jumping backwards like this.”  Din jumped back twice more before Grogu hopped up and copied Din’s jump.  Din jumped again, and Grogu followed suit.  “Okay, then, let’s do this,” Din said with a grin, jumping backwards until he reached the wall, Grogu jumping alongside.  Around and around they went, until Grogu decided that spinning in circles was a better move.  After a while, after they both got incredibly dizzy, Din tried skipping, feeling even more ridiculous, skipping in full armor and weapons.  Grogu thought it was great fun, though, and the skipping went on for quite some time, making Din mutter, “C’mon kid, give me a break here.”  Grogu finally stopped skipping, opting to do a most silly walk wherein he stood with one leg out behind him, and then slowly rotated the upraised leg to the front, then stepped down on the upraised foot, repeating the process on the other leg.  “You’re kidding me,” said Din, but he complied for a short while, half-wishing he’d gotten this whole escapade on holo, just to show Marathel and make her laugh.  Finally, Din decided to pull Marathel’s signature move, pretending that he had no bones, dropping to the floor like a rock.  Grogu chattered and pulled at Din’s arm in vain, while Din said, “No good, kid, gravity has doubled today,” before grabbing Grogu and tickling him mercilessly.  Grogu squealed and shrieked before climbing on top of Din, jumping on his chest.  “Ugh! You win, kid, you have me pinned!”  Grogu giggled and flopped on his belly, grabbing at Din’s helmet.  Din laughed and rubbed the child’s back.  “That was fun.  Maybe we can play with Mahr when we get back.”  Grogu cooed in affirmation, then yawned.  Din continued to rub the boy’s back and thought about that tune Marathel hummed to Grogu.  Din remembered the melody well, but he despised the words, probably as much as Marathel did.  He vaguely remembered a Mando’a lullaby, now that he thought about it.   How did it go?  Din finally caught the tune in his head, and he quietly sang: 

“Nuhoy, ad'ika  Gar ner cyar'ika  Ni ja'haili'gar  Akay vaar'tur 

Nuhoy, ad'ika  Gar ner cyar'ika  Ni laarari'gar  Akay vaar'tur 

Nuhoy, ad'ika  Gar ner cyar'ika  Ni cabuor gar  Akay vaar'tur…” 

Surprised that he remembered the lullaby, Din lifted his head to see that it actually worked: Grogu was out like a light, despite his lack of singing ability.  He’d have to tell Marathel.  Din carefully stood and carried Grogu to his little hammock in Din’s sleeping quarters.  Grogu snuggled down immediately, with only one ear outside the soft blanket.  Din tucked the soft frog stuffie under the edge of the blanket just in case.  On impulse, Din lifted his helmet enough to kiss Grogu’s fuzzy head, which brought a smile to his face.  There was something to be said for this physical affection stuff, he thought. 

Din noticed that he had forgotten to get a new bed roll, and he groaned.  This meant he’d have to sleep in his captain’s chair.  It was comfortable enough, but it would inevitably put a crick in his back.  First thing on Nevarro, buying a new damn bedroll.  A good one this time, too.  He turned off the light in the small room and dimmed the lights in the corridor.  Din climbed up into the cockpit and lowered the lights there as well.  He put his feet back on the console, interlaced his fingers, and sighed. 

His thoughts went almost immediately to Marathel.  After almost a fortnight of intense closeness to her, he felt the loss of her presence.  He hoped she was doing well.  He thought about sending a holotext but he’d only been gone for a few hours, and he didn’t want to seem lonely and desperate.  He could cover it up by saying Grogu needed her, but the kid was sleeping, and anyway, Grogu was excited by the journey back to Nevarro and did not seem to be pining for his Mahr at all.  When we get to Nevarro, maybe then we can let her know we’re safe.  

Din wished he knew what to do about her.  Technically, she had been correct: she knew nothing about how the galaxy worked. Her limited experience must make everything terrifying to her.  The one place she seemed at home was in the kitchen.  Din was not strict on gender roles in any way, but he believed in playing to one’s strengths … and that bread making skill of hers was one hell of an asset.  Her skill in textiles was another.  All those women and girls on that planet of hers …they were uneducated but seemed smart as whips and were fiercely protective of each other, just as he would expect from any warrior.  And that Lorica, spitting on his boot like that.  If he hadn’t been wearing a helmet, he supposed she would have spit right in his eye, and it would have stung. 

Could anything be done for those women? 

He didn’t know.  The planet was so far off the radar of the Empire and the Republic alike; there was absolutely no sign of either faction there at all.  It was as if the Hold had dropped out of the sky, fully formed with the Round Building looming over the courtyard.  But there was no forge, so where did the weapons come from?  They all looked ceremonial in nature apart from the beskar hammer.  Where in shab did that come from? The Aurodium coins?  It made no sense. 

Din did have one idea, though, and he coded it into a holo-text to Greef Karga.  He would be seeing him tomorrow, and hopefully he would have an answer for him by then. Hopefully. 

Din briefly wished he were heading back to Unmanarall to face that Captain, the Bishop, to get some answers and give a serious beat-down to all the men who’d laid a hand on his Marathel.   

He wished Marathel to be with him while he meted out his justice in her name and tell him precisely how she wanted each one to die. 

He wished he had been able to bring himself out of his hut’tuun frozen state and just pulled her out of that hellhole. 

He wished he had kissed her when he had the chance, not just when she was unconscious and on the brink of death. 

He wished he had fully undressed her — her warm, soft, soft body — when she allowed him to touch her, and allowed her to touch him back, to feel her hands on his body and surrender himself to the touch of another person … something he continually denied himself. 

He wished he had removed his helmet for her, made love with her, fully undressed rather than just removing enough clothing necessary for the sex act, reveling in her skin with his own, oh, her beautiful skin, to kiss all that fabulous skin, to nuzzle against it, to get her scent and exchange it with his own by moving his cheek and lips over her voluptuous body as she had his, to lift her soft, heavy breasts with the palms of his bare hands, to feel the different skin textures from her pebbly areolas to the hard nubs of her nipples with his thumbs, to suckle at those nipples and savor them with his tongue, to kiss her rounded belly and curve his hands over the swells of her hips and her buttocks, to move his mouth down her abdomen to between her supple thighs, to let his tongue open her delicate nether lips and dance on the bud of her clitoris with his nose sweeping through the soft thatch of silver curls, grasping the sweet globes of her magnificent ass in his hands, breathing in the sweet scent of her cream that he had once been privileged to smell off her fingertips, her hands, her hands, such strong gentle fingers touching his hair as he lingered at the apex of her legs, and him kissing the tip of each finger before returning to the chalice of her sex, sipping at her opening before lathering his tongue over her entire inner area, so warm and soft and wet, her taste so sweet and just slightly musky, and then he realized he was palming his erection through his pants, exposed out here in the cockpit when Grogu could wake up and find him in here like this.  He’d never had to concern himself with privacy before the kid arrived, and it galled him to some degree he had to think about it, but he had to do something right damn now.   

Din hopped down the ladder and headed straight for the shower cubicle, locking himself inside.  He flipped on the water option, wasteful, yes, but sonic was not the way to go right now.  Liquid oxygen would be preferable.  Stripping himself as quickly as possible, he stepped under the cool spray and took himself in hand, stroking as slowly and gently as he could manage.  Even with the water, the friction was still too uncomfortable, but he didn’t think he had any kind of lubricant in the shower, just in the bin closest to his bed roll, and wait, was that bin locked against a curious toddler? And dank ferrik, man, why was he thinking about that now?  He tore open the storage bin inside the shower, knocking bottles aside and on the floor, discarding the soap and shampoo, he’d tried that once, just once, and never again, thank you very much, but at the very back was a small bottle of lubricant he’d forgotten about, and relieved, he filled his palm with the pleasant-smelling lubricant, and finally set himself back to stroking, picturing the naked Marathel lying beneath him on the wooden floor of her hut, those creamy breasts of hers heaving, then her on top of him, his cock in her mouth, breathing on him, only breathing, wishing she had used her tongue, her lips on him, wishing he had let her pleasure him as they’d pleasured her together, those full lips of hers, how soft, haar’chak, that pussy of hers, so hot, always so damn wet, she’d always been ready for him, a perfect fit for his cock, so tight and yet yielding at the same damn time, clenching down on him when he was inside her, and she always came so hard, so hard he wondered if the other women he’d been with had been faking it the whole damn time, he was not a practiced lover by any means, just functional at the sex act, he didn’t even know how to kiss properly, Cobb had to teach him how, but he knew if he could just get back to Marathel, if Marathel would come back to him, perhaps they could both learn together, and it would be so damn good, so much better than fisting himself in this fucking shower, and his strokes got faster and harder as he pressed his forehead against the wall, and he was just about there, and he thought of her face and how it looked when she came, her cries of pleasure, the odd tear leaking from her eyes, her long strong legs flexing their muscles and going rigid, the quiver of her body, particularly her pussy clenching even harder on him, and he finally came himself, grunting loudly and spattering the shower wall with ejaculate, twice, three times, and a weak fourth time before finally feeling spent, and he rested against the shower wall, breathing hard, wondering to himself when was the last time he’d masturbated to a fantasy rather than just getting the job done, as it were, and he couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

Din puffed his cheeks out as he exhaled. He washed his hair and finished cleaning himself, since he was in there anyway, giving the shower itself a bit of a clean at the same time.  After turning off the water, Din realized a couple of things: there were no towels in here, and in his haste to get undressed he had left all his clothes on the floor, and they were now all wet.   

Haar’chak. 

Din pulled on his flight pants, which were uncomfortably wet and cold on his bare skin and placed the helmet on his head.  Catching his reflection in the durasteel mirror, he thought, yup, I’m a dumbass and then dripped his way back to his quarters, leaning inside to grab towels from the bin closest to the door.  Grogu was quietly snoring.  He also found a fresh set of thermals and padded back to the shower cubicle, kicking the wet clothing and armor out into the corridor before shutting himself inside again.   

Din roughly rubbed his hair with the towel, leaving it unruly and sticking up in all directions as he considered his face in the mirror.  He didn’t know handsome from a hole in the ground, and he had his father’s hooked nose and the lines between his brows, but his mother seemed to think his father handsome, so he guessed if he resembled his father that would be good enough.  His mother, of course, was beautiful, as dark as Marathel was fair, and his father was forever touching her cheek, holding her hand, rubbing her back.  Once he had woken up in the night, hearing his parents’ laughter in the kitchen, and he snuck out to see for himself, and peered through the cracked-open door.  His father was on his knees on the floor, and he was washing her feet.  Her feet always hurt, and she stood practically all day, and here was his father, gently soaping and massaging his wife’s sore feet as they laughed and talked about their day.  Young Din went back to bed, thinking that if you were willing to wash someone’s feet, it had to be love. 

Din smiled at the memory.  Feet, indeed.  He combed his hair, dressed in his fresh thermals, replaced his helmet, and hung up his wet flight suit to dry.  He set out his armor in the corridor so that he could clean and polish it after getting a couple hours’ sleep.  He checked on Grogu, grabbed a pair of Marathel’s socks, and went back into the cockpit for a long nap, thinking about Marathel’s feet, and wondering if she’d let him wash them for her.   

It was early evening on Nevarro when he landed on the edge of his covert.  Din had cleaned and polished his armor, even the damaged helmet, and had fully dressed himself in armor and weaponry, including the Darksaber, and hooking the marchwyl on his belt.  He hated the Darksaber, and the marchwyl even more than that, but he figured he could at least get rid of one of them on this trip … that is, if the Armorer would deign to see him, an apostate.   

Din stepped forward with Grogu on his arm.  The youngsters came running forward, happy to see their little green friend again. Din set Grogu on the sand, and he immediately ran off to join the others.  Some adults nodded at Din in greeting while others looked at him with a only a motionless gaze. Din stepped up to the opening into the catacombs and was met by the imposing figure of Paz Visla.  “Paz.” 

“Apostate.” 

So that’s how it’s going to be. “I wish to speak to Armorer.” 

“No.” 

“My helmet is badly damaged, and I bring bounties for the good of the covert.” 

“Have you bathed in the sacred waters of Mandalore?” 

Din bit his lip before he said something he regretted.  “I have not.” 

“Perhaps you should do that first,” sneered Paz. 

“I believe a compromised helmet would be a barrier to Din Djarin redeeming himself,” called the Armorer from deep inside the entrance tunnel.  “Show me your helmet, Din Djarin.” Din obediently turned to show the Armorer the deep divot.  “What caused this?” 

“This beskar hammer,” replied Din, turning back to face the Armorer, and removing the hammer from his belt.  “It is called the marchwyl.  I bring it, as well as a valuable bounty, from the planet Unmanarall.”  

“You have a habit of finding beskar weapons where there should be none.  I take it your helmet no longer has any capabilities?” 

“It does not.” 

“Well, then, follow close behind me. Let’s discuss this more.” Din, as always, resisted to urge to roll his eyes as he walked by Paz as they entered the catacombs.  “I thought you were on your way to Mandalore.” 

“I had this opportunity come up.  I couldn’t pass up what they offered.” 

“And what was that?” 

“Old Republic Ossum Aurodium coins.” 

“Who is this person who commands such an exorbitant price?” 

“A woman.”  Din did not want to expand on that at the moment.  He could just see the Armorer slowly look over her shoulder and then turn back. 

“I see.”  When they reached the forge, Din presented the beskar hammer to her.  “What did you call this again?” 

“The marchwyl.” 

“Where did you come by it?” 

“A planet called Unmanarall, out on the very far edge of the galaxy.” 

The Armorer wasn’t sure if she was bemused or annoyed by Din’s truncated answers, but she carried on her questions as she lit the forge.  “How did you come by it?” 

“The woman, she … she sacrificed herself for me to get the coins. Her kinswomen brought me the hammer.” 

“You carry much guilt about these women.” 

Din took a breath.  “I do.” 

The Armorer assessed the weapon in her hands.  “Whose blood is this?” she asked. 

Din knew that the Armorer knew the answer to her question but was forcing the answer from him.  Finally, he said, just loud enough to be heard over the forge, “Hers.” 

“Did she suffer?” 

“Yes.” 

“Was her suffering a dishonorable thing?” 

“Yes.”  He could not have been more emphatic. 

“Did you fight on her behalf?” 

Din swallowed twice before he was able to answer. “No.” 

The Armorer’s voice never changed its cadence, was not judgmental, as she asked, “Why not?” 

And Din felt his soul shrivel; how could he reveal this most childish of reasons for not protecting someone so vulnerable?  Yet he had to in order to remain on a path to absolution.  “She told me not to.” 

The Armorer gazed at him, silently, for an uncomfortably interminable time before she said, “Show me your helmet.”  Din turned.  He felt her hands examine the damaged area.  “And this hammer caused this much damage?” 

“Yes.” 

“You were injured?” 

“Yes.” 

She stood silently behind him for a while, and then turned to the forge.  “Go to the lower level and enter a meditation chamber.  Leave your helmet in the doorway and wait.  Think.” 

“You will use the marchwyl …?” 

“If what has caused damage becomes part of the repair, does it redeem itself?”  

Din couldn’t answer that.  “Grogu?” 

“With Paz’s family.”  Din nodded.  “This is the way.” 

“This is the way.”  Din turned and made his way down to a sub-level.  It was cool down there due to natural wind tunnels in the cave system.  He chose a dark doorway, entered, and removed his helmet, leaving it in the doorway as told.  The chamber was long and narrow, and there was no door.  Anyone who entered was in darkness, and no one went out into the lighted corridor without a helmet.  Din made his way to the far end, trailing his fingers along both walls, for the chamber was so narrow it was less wide than the span of his arms.  At the far end was a narrow cot, and no creature comforts.  Perfect for meditation without distraction. He sat down where the floor met the far wall and gazed towards the open doorway.  Someone came and took his helmet away, while Din thought about how he would now be carrying Marathel’s blood on his helmet for the rest of his life. 

Din had no knowledge of how long he sat in darkness.  He did have the opportunity to think about many things several times over.  Some of his answers depended on a certain woman. Some depended on the existence of the sacred waters of Mandalore.   He lifted his eyes when he heard echoing footsteps.  A silhouette placed a helmet in the open doorway.  Din waited until the footsteps were gone.  Coming forward, he saw the dark visor, in a field of gleaming beskar, look back at him.   He tried to consider the point of view of a frightened woman upon seeing this helmet for the first time.  Of having to interact with only this beskar face, a suit of armor, gloved hands, when she only knew men by the pain and degradation they caused her.  And then to have this blank face deny her and tell her that any affection he held for her was less than his devotion to his Creed — something she couldn’t possibly begin to understand — and then still demand her affection towards him. 

He placed the helmet on his head and turned it on with the controls on his vambrace.  All the screens flared to life, going through all the options and calibrating before returning to Din’s standard options.  He felt the back of the helmet, feeling only seamless metal, with no tactile evidence of a repair.  He stepped out of the cell and made his way back to the forge. 

“Is the helmet back to proper working condition?” the Armorer asked without turning from her forge. 

“Yes.  It is.” 

“Let us discuss the bounty you received for this woman.”  Din silently handed the Armorer the cloth bag, and she spread some of the coins out on the table.  “For what reason was the bounty placed?” 

“The woman was the … intended of one of the Elders of her people.  She had been living for some time without fulfilling that expectation.” 

“So, you completed this mission?” 

“Yes.” 

“So, the woman is with her intended.” 

Din shifted slightly. “No.” 

The Armorer looked up in surprise.  “No?” 

“She … she is on Tatooine, receiving medical care.” 

“So, you … completed the mission on one hand, and not on the other?” 

“She suffered …” 

“Does she have a name?” asked the Armorer, and Din could swear she stood three inches taller. 

“Her name is Marathel.”  The Armorer stood motionless, waiting for Din to continue.  “Marathel suffered greatly for me to collect those coins.  She condemned herself to death for my benefit, for the benefit of this covert.” Din took a breath.  “I failed to help her.  Ni cuy’ osi’yaim.  Ni cuy’ hut’uun.” 

The Armorer stood still, letting Din’s confession of his inaction and his cowardice hang in the sweltering air of the forge.  “Was Marathel deserving of this death?” 

“No one is deserving of what she endured.” 

“Marathel compelled you to not take up your weapons?” 

“She compelled me to remove my weapons altogether, and to be still.” Din dropped his head.  “Marathel was a victim of exceptional cruelty and nearly died due to my cowardice.” 

“And what is it you seek here?” 

“Absolution.  And the knowledge that Marathel did not suffer in vain.” 

The Armorer looked down at the coins, which reflected the fire’s glow.  “This bounty is not yours.  The covert will not accept it.” 

Din was struck silent for several seconds.  “What?” 

The Armorer put all the coins back in the bag and tied it shut.  “This bounty was not yours to receive.  It is stained with the blood and suffering of the innocent Marathel.  The bounty is hers.”  She placed the bag in front of Din.  “These must go to their rightful owner.  This is the way.” 

Din automatically began, “This is the …” He looked down at the bag.  “Then it was pointless after all.”  He looked back at the Armorer.  “How am I to tell her?  How can I look her in the eyes and tell her that her sacrifice meant nothing?  She will … this will destroy what is left of her!” 

The Armorer gazed coolly at Din.  “You have salvaged your honor by returning the stolen beskar to us.  To keep the coins would be dishonorable.  Go now, Apostate Din Djarin.  Find your path and follow it to find your absolution. This is the way.” 

For the first time since he entered this covert as a child, Din refused to respond to the call of his people.  He took the bag of coins, shoved it behind his cuirass, and left the forge without a word. 

The Armorer sat and considered what Din said of himself: Ni cuy’ osi’yaim — I am a despicable person.  Ni cuy’ hut’uun — I am a coward.  He was always his own worst detractor, she thought.  Every failure, every misstep, was taken so deeply into Din’s heart that he wore shame like he wore his cape.  If there is anyone who is deserving of She Cin Vhetin — a clean slate, a new beginning — it is Din Djarin. As she went back to her forge, the Armorer then considered this Marathel, an aruetii — an outsider, who was willing to lay down her life for a Mandalorian.  The Armorer, certain of her decision to not accept the bounty, wished her well. 

Din stalked out of the deep catacombs and into one of the larger common areas.  Scanning over the group, he did not see Grogu or Paz among them.  Din remembered where Paz quartered so he headed in that direction.  Before he knocked on the door, Din swore he heard laughter behind it.  Laughing?  Din knocked and the laughter ceased immediately.  After a moment, the door slid open, and the imposing figure of Paz filled it.  The two men looked at each other briefly before Paz stepped back to allow Din to enter.  Ragnar, Paz’s young son, was seated on a large cushion, and he was concentrating on throwing a sour berry in Grogu’s direction.  Ragnar tossed the berry high above Grogu’s head, but Grogu stopped the berry mid-air, allowing it to then drop directly into his open mouth.  Grogu grinned at Din with berry-stained teeth and mouth, juice drips down his shirt.  Din put his hands on his hips and sighed inwardly; now he had to potentially deal with the kid having a major case of the trots, depending on how many berries he’d eaten.  

“Your helmet is now repaired?” 

Din nodded. “Thank you for watching Grogu.”  Paz grunted, and Ragnar threw another berry.  “Ragnar has grown into a fine lad.” 

“Your green child is spoiled.” 

“He is good at bending people to his will.  Come, Grogu.”  Grogu hopped up and ran to Din’s feet.  Din lifted the boy and set him on his arm, wiping his mouth with the edge of his cape. 

Paz grunted again, then said in possibly the kindest tone Din had ever heard from the larger man, “I hope you are able to redeem yourself on Mandalore.  I hope the waters are still there.”  Din looked at Paz in surprise.  Paz reached out to his son.  “Come, Ragnar, it is time to sleep.” 

“Jate ca, Paz, gedet'ye,” said Din. 

“Naas wadaas.” 

Din left the catacombs, and returned to the ship, not because he didn’t have a place to sleep at the covert — he did; there was always room for another in the covert — but he thought it would be better in case Grogu did end up with the trots from eating all those berries … and unfortunately he was right.  He got to spend a good part of the night sitting on a crate, holding Grogu over the vac tube. Thanks, Paz.  Grogu had a stomach of beskar for spicy food and amphibians, but too much fresh fruit ran right through the kid with disastrous results.  Marathel would probably have a pithy Oldtalk phrase about this situation — like shit through a gochgoch or something equally as ridiculous — and make a mug of her stomach tea.  Din missed sitting on her steps, missed her mugs of tea.  He missed her. He had no idea how he was going to tell her that the covert wouldn’t accept the Aurodium … or if he should tell her. 

“You empty yet, kid?”  Grogu’s stomach grumbled in response.   “That sounds a lot like your hungry noise, but I’m not trusting your stomach while your back end is acting like that.”  Din heard a beep noise from the cockpit that sounded like an incoming message.  He grabbed the old towel at his feet and wrapped the naked boy’s bottom with it, hoping for a respite from the diarrhea.  It’s always something, thought Din.  He climbed up the ladder one-handed and punched the button for the message. 

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay 

Din smiled, happy to know she was worried about them.  He tapped out a message. 

DD:  Grogu has an upset stomach  BF:  Marathel asked what happened to his stomach of beskar  DD: compromised by fruit  BF: Marathel wishes you the best of luck  

Din frowned, wondering why Boba was transcribing Marathel’s message instead of her doing it herself.  

DD:  Thank you Marathel 

There was a long pause, so long that Din believed that the conversation was over.  He took Grogu — now apparently over his Tatooine two-step — back down out of the cockpit to get him bathed.  Din had just distracted Grogu with a cracker so he could dress the boy when he heard the beep from the cockpit again.  He got Grogu settled back into his little hammock and whispered Mando’a into the boy’s ear.  After setting the lights on the lower level, Din climbed into the cockpit and checked the message. 

BF: The Modifier’s contact came through; treatment seems to be working 

Din took a breath.  She’ll live. 

Next Chapter ->

Translation for Din’s lullaby: 

Sleep, little one You are my sweetheart  I will watch over you  Until morning  Sleep, little one  You are my sweetheart  I will sing to you  Until morning  Sleep, little one  You are my sweetheart  I will protect you  Until morning 

Lullaby written by  @themischiefoftad on Tumblr 

  

[miscstarwarsfanficuniverse]

Welcome! This is an Ask forum for my Miscellaneous Star Wars Fanfic Universe! It's still under construction, right now, so your patience is appreciated!

Characters:

These are the characters available to ask, sorted by trilogy/show, in no particular order.

Sequel Trilogy:

Rey Palpatine/Skywalker/Solo

Ben Solo

Finn

Rose Tico

Poe Dameron

Zorii Bliss

Armitage Hux

Captain Phasma

BB-8

D-O

The Scyre Clan:

Keldo (Phasma's Brother)

Siv

Torben

Gosta

Carr

Ylva

Frey (Phasma's Niece, Keldo and Ylva's Daughter)

Torbi (Siv and Torben's Daughter)

Original Trilogy:

Luke Skywalker

Leia Organa

Han Solo

Chewbacca

Lando Calrissian

R2-D2

C-3PO

Rebels:

Ezra Bridger

Sabine Wren

Zeb

Hera Syndulla

Kanan Jarrus/Caleb Dume

Chopper

Rogue One

Jyn Erso

Cassian Andor

Baze Malbus

Chirrut Imwe

Bodhi Rook

K-2SO

The Mandalorian + Book of Boba Fett Co.

Mando/Din Djarin

Cara Dune

Grogu

Boba Fett

Fennec Shand

Kuill

Greef Karga

Prequel Trilogy + Clone Wars:

Anakin Skywalker

Padme Amidala

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Qui-Gon Jinn

Mace Windu

Ahsoka Tano

Rex

Cody

The Bad Batch

Hunter

Wrecked

Tech

Echo

Crosshair

Omega

True Villains (aka Villains that I see as unredeemable, either due to Canon events or events in my fanfic universe):

Brendol Hux

Captain Cardinal aka Archex

Snoke

Palpatine

Moff Gideon

✨️The Armada✨️

A list of ships that are Canon in the Miscellaneous Star Wars Fanfic Universe, also not in any particular order. I call it the Armada because it's a bunch of ships. Get it? Get it???

Also here's a little emoji key:

💒= Married!

💍=Engaged!

💖=In a relationship!

Reylo (Rey X Ben)💒

Finnrose (Finn X Rose Tico)💖

Poe X Zorii (idk what their ship name would be :P)💖

Gingerchrome/Huxma/Phux (Hux X Phasma)💍

Hanleia (Han X Leia)💒

Cassijyn (Cassian X Jyn) 💖

Anidala (Anakin X Padme) 💒

Kanera (Kanan X Hera)💖/💒 (not officially married but might as well be)

RULES:

PLEASE Keep the asks PG/PG-13. Swears are fine, but keep it appropriate, there are children on this site.

Don't be a jerk. No racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, xenophobia, or discrimination of any kind. We do not accept that sort of thing in this house.

Yes, you may ask more than one question. Try not to repeat questions, but it's no big deal if you do :P

No spamming, please, it just clogs the inbox.

The Original Content:

For more Miscellaneous Star Wars Fanfic Universe lore, please refer to the following:

[chalterdh22]

Chapter 53: Is This the End?

This is the final chapter of this story. I truly love these characters and will hopefully continue writing adventures for them. Thanks for everyone that stayed with this story! This is the way!

We went to talk to the Armorer.  After explaining what we wanted, she asked Din to remove his helmet for her, so she could look upon his face as a new man.  She seemed quite pleased with our decision and helped us settle into our new quarters.

Grogu also seemed excited, although we weren’t sure he fully understood everything.  But for him, life was a rollercoaster, so most things were fun to him. 

I let my mom know what was going on, and she also seemed more pleased than usual.  She even wanted to come and visit!  Come to find out, she sold the ship we gave her for a ton of credits.  She paid everything off and was able to work when she wanted to, not that she had too.

Greef was happy for us too, although he said he would miss having the reinforcements readily available.  We were still allowed to go help fight when absolutely necessary, so he seemed content with that.

After deciding to become a clan of three, we had our vows down by the living waters.  I didn’t know 90% of the people that attended, but at that moment, when we said our vows, Din officially removed his helmet in front of everyone to kiss me and seal our relationship.  It was at that time I met Bo Katan, who I knew a lot from others’ stories.

She was very stoic like the rest of the Mandalorians, but seemed genuinely happy for us, as was everyone else.  Mom was able to make it in and a few other of Din’s friends came as well.

He introduced me to Cara Dune, Fennec and Bobo Fett, amongst others.  They seemed so happy for him, and he walked around with the biggest smile on his face as he greeted everyone and introduced me.

We were allowed to take a post marital vacation, just Din and me.  We went back to Naboo, just the two of us. 

It was a week of indescribable feelings, intimacy, and love for each other.  I wouldn’t have had a more amazing time if I hand wrote it out myself.  Truly, there are no words.  We were on cloud nine and nothing could ruin this bond between us.

After returning from paradise, I was also recruited to be a teacher of sorts, with apprentices.  Mine were to work with the older ones though, to help them read their environments, fight and be proactive in every way possible.  It was amazing to see these kids grow!  Grogu would eventually be in my class, so that will be special.

Din ended up being one of the most beloved trainers in all of Mandalore.  He did work with everyone to be able to take apprentices out on little adventures with him that he was permitted to do.  He also worked with the Republic on one off situations, and not as a hired hand under the table.

We still didn’t know who was going after Grogu’s blood, but like the Armorer said, it didn’t really matter because there would always be people from the Empire still trying to unlock Jedi secrets.

Grogu ended up being a big brother to our new addition.  We had a girl and named her Dyna.  Very early on, she and I had a bond, so I knew she had abilities like my own.  We talked at length about sending her over to Luke to be trained as a Jedi.  We still haven’t made that decision, but we do plan on making that trip to Yavin to discuss options.  We knew what it would mean for us, to give up our daughter, and I wasn’t ready to make that decision.  Din understood.

I would like to say after all this, we lived happily ever after, but that’s not even close to the truth.  The truth is we had many more obstacles to face, loss to endure and frustrations to overcome.  But one thing I can say is that we couldn’t have done it alone and we were glad we had such a family to lean on.  Without them, our outcomes would be different. 

What will our next adventure be with a toddler son and less than one year old to raise up?  I can say that Din is an amazing father and an even better husband.  All that story can be for another day.  Until then, may the force be with you.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Sins of the Father: Chapter 4: Part VII

Summary: Amara and Din prepare to leave for their first quarry.  Boba and Fennec have a conversation.  An old friend shows up. 

Warnings: I don’t believe there is any warnings. If I miss any let me know.

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CHAPTER 4: THE BEGINNING - PART VII

Amara was once again surprised by the Mand'alor. He’d offered an apology in the most unexpectedly eloquent way—and now, he was offering calm reassurance to a woman who could’ve easily been responsible for real harm. It made Amara wonder: what kind of man was he really?

Boba and Fennec observed the whole exchange from a distance. Boba let out a low, contented grunt, the kind that said, See? You get it. Fennec seized the moment, now that the chaos had died down, to circle back to a question that had been pinging around her brain for days.

“Okay,” she started, folding her arms. “So I get Mando and Amara—but what about those three quarries?”

“What about them?” Boba gruffed.

“You know what,” she replied with a raised brow behind her visor. “The last one you picked for Mando is one of the most dangerous targets we’ve got. Are you sure you want Amara around him for that?”

“She can handle herself,” he snapped, a little sharper than necessary.

Fennec nodded slowly, unfazed. “I’m not questioning her skills. Everyone on Tatooine knows she can hold her own. I’m just saying... if one of them gets hurt—or worse, captured—the other one’s going to come running. You know that, right?”

“They’ll deal with it. Together.”

“You’re really not worried?” she asked, a trace of disbelief in her voice.

“If they’re going to build anything meaningful—friendship, trust, maybe something more—they need to be vulnerable with each other. Danger has a way of revealing a person’s true self. No masks. No armour. Just truth.”

Fennec cocked her head. “So this whole setup—this bonding mission of chaos—is your way of helping them fall in love?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replied, though there was a smirk in his voice. “Maybe they learn they work well together. Maybe friendship turns into something more. Who says a plan can’t have two goals?”

—— *** ——

The last of the packing was finally done. Amara glanced around the ship, satisfied. She felt ready to head out with the Mandalorian. He had brought an impressive—okay, extreme—amount of weaponry. Even for bounty hunters, it was over the top. But she couldn’t exactly judge; her own cache probably looked just as bad. Maybe worse.

Din, too, felt more at ease now that everything was loaded. If the worst-case scenario came to pass, at least they were prepared. He scanned the garage one last time. Fennec had mentioned weapons caches scattered everywhere, but he didn’t spot a single one. Maybe she’d just said that to keep him sharp… but then again, Fennec wasn’t one to waste words.

He didn’t want to rush Amara, but time was ticking. He asked if she was ready, and she nodded. They began saying their goodbyes—Amara’s took longer, of course. Her farewells were warm, full of tight embraces and unshed tears, especially with Adi. She and Boba stepped away briefly for a private word, and Din felt a weird knot tighten in his stomach. He didn’t know why it bothered him. But it did.

While they were out of sight, Din took the chance to speak to Fennec and Adi. He assured them he’d look after Amara. Adi opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his mom and Boba reappeared. Adi sighed. Another missed chance.

Din made sure to say a personal goodbye to Boba too. They reviewed the plan, went over contingencies. It was more than just a sendoff—it felt like a passing of the torch. Din didn’t have many people he considered family. Not outside of Grogu or the covert. Even then, he’d never really had a goodbye that felt like it meant something. Watching Amara surrounded by her found family left a quiet ache in his chest he couldn’t quite name.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Din promised Boba one last time.

“You’d better,” the older Mandalorian replied flatly. “Though I’m not too worried. Amara could take out an entire army if she had to.”

Din chuckled. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ll see.”

—— *** ——

Thirty minutes and several heartfelt hugs later, the Sintas lifted off. Amara told Din he could pilot the ship on the way back—if he survived, and if she approved of how he handled himself. As the ship broke through the atmosphere, only two figures remained watching the skies: Adi and Gregor.

Adi was trying not to show it, but he was nervous. Sure, his mom had left before—many times, in fact—but this was the longest trip in almost two years. And this time, she wasn’t with someone she trusted completely. Not with Ca’tra. This time, it was with someone who, to Adi, was still a stranger.

Next to him, Gregor stood silently. Adi looked up at the man he trusted, the one who had always been there like a silent protector.

“Gregor, do you think they’ll be okay?”

“Mhmm,” the man grunted.

“I think so too. I just can’t shake this anxiety,” Adi muttered.

Gregor let out a low, inquisitive growl, but Adi just shrugged. “There’s no reason to be worried. I know she can handle herself. And he’s… well, he’s a Mandalorian.”

Adi sighed. “I’m worrying too much, aren’t I?”

“Hmm.”

Adi gave a small laugh. “Thanks, Gregor. You always know how to calm me down.”

He finally turned away from the sky and headed inside to tackle the long list of chores his mom had left him—plus the usual stream of customers, Peli’s demands, and his own endless to-do list. He knew standing around watching the sky wouldn’t bring her back any faster.

Still, he hoped they’d call soon. Maybe, maybe, he’d work up the courage to ask for a quick word with the Mandalorian. Not to be rude—just to let him know, ‘Adi style,’ that someone was watching. That he mattered.

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@avathebestx

@theroguesully

@furyhellfire66

@carodealmeida

@ciramaris

@sprout-fics

@dindjarin-mandalorian

@mmkkzz

@tortor-mcgee

@hello-th3r3

@operation-spot

[max--phillips]

Can’t not watch Ch 5 lmao

I know why they staged it like they did bc it’s a show and like. Vibes. But the fact Din just stood on the other side of the plastic curtain like🧍‍♂️

I love that Din’s like “damn this sword’s kinda wild huh” after he cut that dude in half

Also extremely funny that he immediately got his ass kicked (and also kinda kicked his own ass) because like. What could be more quintessentially Din Djarin

The elevator fjdjfkvkdjsjfjskfjvjfbdjsks

I LOVE this extended single shot. A CHOICE. And the associated audio engineering is kind of incredible. I wonder how many times they had to start over with that tbh

“I’d put that on ice if I were you”

The Armorer not even flinching “tend to him” like this happens every other day with him lmfao

Paz 🥲

I find it interesting the way Din phrases that. “CAN lead Mandalore” rather than “leads” or “is Mand’alor”

Din: then he’ll get executed / the Armorer: yeah and our folk tales say the mythosaur would come back, but here we are.

I Still Think The Armorer Might Be Satine

I will say I don’t love that we got 99% of the way through season 1 with “secrecy is our safety” and “no one has spoken that name since I was a child” to, at the end of the s1 finale, the Armorer saying Din’s name, and then her saying Din’s and Paz’s name, to FENNEC saying his name, at which point it’s like. Everyone knows his name what the hell happened

Paz you big blue bastard

“Founder of House Vizsla” is that actually true . I guess in canon it could be, admittedly I was reading the legends wiki page recently so maybe I’m misremembering but aren’t there Vizslas that predate Tarre

Paz looking at his vibroblade he just cut in half on the saber dkfjdnfjdnfjdks

The Armorer is probably looking at Paz handling the saber even worse than Din did like “Jesus Christ none of you will ever be Mand’alor what the hell is going on here.”

The music behind him getting rid of all his weapons is PEAK fucking comedy

The rodian kid ekfjejfjdjdjsks 😭

BD 😭💖

“What is this, a democracy all the sudden?” Peli I literally love you so much

“Hey look everyone it’s Mando!” All the droids: …………this fuckin’ guy

“Why the hell would you do that? I coulda made good money off that thing. Opened a petting zoo.”

We stan a multilingual queen

Teamwork makes the dream work

Hearing them talk shop is so funny. And so good.

“Thanks little guy” the BD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

“It fits” that’s what she said

“Watch your language around the customers” she says knowing full well Din doesn’t know binary

“Shouldn’t we run a diagnostic first” YOU worked on half this ship my dude 👀

Nothing like immediately getting pulled over by the space cops in your new hot rod

Love that we’re keeping up the trend of not talking to cops

✨WiZaRd✨ dork

Why did I not remember this episode was directed by Bryce Dallas Howard ??? She also killed it in Ch 4

[shirozora-draws]

So hear me out.... actually, no, I got nothing but a feral brain and a two-part project that needs finishing before March. Here's a quick dump about a couple of Ideas, and then I will not return until I'm done with this goddamn project.

It's almost 3AM on a weekday again. Dammit.

[bellsyafterdark]

Look, Din’s had a very rough time of it lately. He deserves to lounge around the palace in nice comfortable clothes and be a pretty little (omega) sex toy for his very busy partners (alphas) (mm ball and chain fuckery where he has enough chain to roam Boba's rooms but no further)

Omg getting Fennec in on the ball and chain 💀🥴 She makes Din nervous because she's less predictable than Boba.

He can never tell when she'll just want to feed him sweet fruit, lie her head in his lap, undo all her complicated braids and demand his massaging touch on her scalp... But if she returns to their rooms with that pinched look of frustration because Boba is trying to play broker, diplomat, benevolent dictator, and he's reining Fennec's violent expertise again, Din knows he's probably getting bent over or bullied into bed.

Fennec likes timing it so Boba comes home to the sound of her claiming their toy, the chain of Din's leash coming down across his back earning the hunter's beautiful, sharp cry; she likes sneering at Boba across the room to remind him they don't need him, her patchwork of repair across her abdomen brazenly exposed, Din's broken spirit crying out for an anchor; these two deadly strays he saved find solace in each other.

It's a sore spot of contention: how much the three of them do or don't need one another. They don't talk about it.

Boba glowers at his enforcer and lets Din be the grounds on which he negotiates the peace. Din doesn't complain being pulled between them: fought over and manhandled like a precious piece of meat. They work him until he's exhausted, until the sheets are drenched in sweat, slick and cum and Din is passed out between them.

He comes to with the sensation of Fennec's fingers playing across the muscles of his chest and Boba's warmth along his back. He always wakes clean and dry; sore but satiated. These are the moments when Fennec and Boba finally talk about their day, voices murmured and gentle so as not to disturb their dear one. They usually get to the crux of whatever started their fight, and Din squirms with pleasure feeling their hands interlink on his back, recognising it won't be the last of their arguments paving Boba's new rule, but each reconciliation is another stone laid on the road.

Din is grateful for whatever small part he can play in that. He's grateful they let him belong with them. And for now, it's enough.

[chrismho]

FRICK YEAH

ig

[desertpersephone]

So between the actual outfit, the chatter on Twitter and @miranhas-art 's art. . . I have been inspired to do a little smutty regency mandalorian AU.

It also helped that I watched Emma last night.

ANYWAY! I would love to hear what pairing people would be interested in, since I can't pick. Personally I'm torn between Mandomera and DinCobb, but please either drop your suggestions on this post or in my ask!

I will NOT write Din/Cara Dune so don't ask.

Thank you!

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

Ni Ceta, Cyar'ika

Dark!Din Djarin x Jedi!Female Reader

Warnings: corruption arc, murder, death of minor character (i don't wanna spoil it but I wanna make sure no one is caught off guard. it's axe woves), possessive behavior, loss and anxiety, light smut, mentions of being intimate

Word Count: 7,842

Summary: Din Djarin is a man who lost everything. His home, his son, his Creed. But at the end of the day, he still had you. He still had you, and he was determined to keep you.

[a/n: if dark fics aren't your forte, don't worry this isn't super dark. well, not as dark as i originally planned to go. more psychological horror than physical]

.

"i denied death for you. and i'd die for you again. kill for you. i'd tear the stars down from the heavens to fashion you a crown. you are my heart. my queen. i'd do anything and everything you ask me."

-Jay Kristoff

.

Looking back, you had no chance of not falling in love with Din Djarin. Even despite having plenty of reasons not to. You were on the run from the Empire, trying to keep a padawan safe from them. He was hired to collect said padawan as a bounty. He was a Mandalorian. You were a Jedi. Needless to say, the odds had been stacked against you both, but falling for him was the simplest thing in all the worlds.

You had a lot of reason not to, sure, but you also had no chance in avoiding it. Not with the way he put you and Grogu above everything else⏤ even himself. Not with the way he balanced trusting you to hold your own in a fight versus protecting you when you were overwhelmed. Not with the way his hand would softly brush against you as if he wanted so badly to touch you but thought himself unworthy. Not with the way his hoarse voice whispered your name in the softest concern and care.

Never before had you put any belief in the concept of soulmates, it seemed silly, but after meeting Din you weren’t so sure. The two of you seemed made to fit one another. Complement. Make the other stronger, better. The way you both understood one another, the care and love that came so easily… It was as if you loved him in another life. Like the two of you were destined to find one another in every lifetime. Made of the same stardust and shaped by the galaxy itself.

You loved Din Djarin. You loved him so damn much, and it made watching him crumble that much harder.

“Din.” You mumbled. Boba had swooped back to pick the lot of you up after the successful rescue mission. Though calling it successful seemed…bittersweet. Grogu was safe, but Grogu was gone. You wandered closer to where Din sat in a chair. He had isolated himself the moment you all boarded the ship. He was slumped over, elbows on his knees, and head hanging down. You knelt down by his side and squeezed his arm. “Hey. I wanted to check on you.” Din nodded, but stayed silent. His helmet stayed facing down, away from you, and it broke your heart to see him so devastated. “Tell me what you need, baby. I can stay or I can give you some space.”

Again, Din did not respond, but he turned his arm just enough to grasp you by the hand. You gave it a slight squeeze and just stayed there. For the rest of the flight neither of you moved. You knew Din felt like he couldn't complain. Grogu was safe with Skywalker, set to train and harness his gifts. Softly, you reassured him that whatever he was feeling was alright. He stayed silent.

Boba and Fennec’s goal was to reach Tatooine so you and Din tagged along. It wasn’t far. You all got there in a matter of hours and when you parted ways, Boba encouraged you or Din to call him if anything was ever needed. It didn’t take long for you to get a room at an inn. 

That night in bed you held Din close. The room had been darkened so even if you did open your eyes all you could see was his silhouette. He loved you with soft touches and thankful whispers, and when the both of you were spent and exhausted Din collapsed into you. Typically, he liked being the big spoon. Din loved wrapping his body around yours, all encompassing, as if he needed to protect you even in sleep. However, tonight, Din clung to your side⏤ an arm draped over your waist as he laid his head on your bare chest. You held him close, raking a hand through his hair tenderly.

The room was filled with quiet breaths, and when Din spoke his voice was so hushed that you nearly missed it.

“Don’t leave me, cyar'ika.” He seemed to beg. “I can’t lose you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” You said firmly. Holding onto him tighter. You continued to whisper promises of staying by his side long after he fell asleep.

Din wanted to find the covert. That was what he told you he needed. You had no qualms with that. You wanted to do whatever you had to in order to help him find some semblance of normal. Coruscant was not one of your favorite places in the galaxy, but you’d walk through hell as long as Din was by your side. As you followed him, his eyes tracking signs and clues you couldn’t see, your own gaze continued to drift to the saber hanging from Din’s belt. His newest acquisition.

Ages ago, when it had been time to build your own lightsaber, the kyber crystal you chose had really chosen you. Everybody had certain strengths, even within the Force, and yours was reading energies. Your kyber crystal seemed to sing to you. The energy it gave was warmth. It was protective. It was loyal. Building your lightsaber had been a time honored tradition you treasured. Having it hang from your hip was something you did not take lightly. It gave you strength.

The energy coming from the darksaber felt…wrong. It was hard to put into words. It was muted to you, as if trying to hide, but still the darksaber seemed to weep a negative energy into the air itself. You didn’t like it, but you had no significant reasoning why other than ‘it feels bad’.

When the two of you reached the covert, Din was adamant about you coming in with him. Even when you told him you thought it was a bad idea, he still tangled his hand in yours and dragged you in. Just as you thought the other two Mandalorians there were unhappy with seeing you. In part because of the lightsaber on your hip, but more so because you were not their kind. You were not Mandalorian. Auretii. That’s what the Armorer called you. An outsider. It wasn’t inaccurate. 

The interaction started bad and only got worse.

Paz Vizsla challenged Din for the darksaber, a man you knew that Din considered to be a brother even despite rough disagreements in the past, and watching Din use the saber sent a chill down your spine. It was too heavy in his hands, and with every swing the blade was more difficult for Din to use. You could see it in his stride. You didn’t know how to explain it⏤ it was always difficult to explain the way an energy felt to you⏤ but the saber was fighting. It was annoyed.

Din won the battle.

“Din Djarin, have you ever removed your helmet?” The silence that followed the question broke your heart. “Have you ever removed your helmet?” You felt useless watching Din endure this pain. It was the same watching Skywalker carry Grogu away. You were a witness to his suffering. “By Creed, you must vow.”

“I have.”

“Then, you are a Mandalorian no more.”

The walk back into the depths of Coruscant was silent and painful. You slipped your hand into his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. I’m here. I’m not leaving. You will not lose me. Din returned the squeeze, but the pain was radiating off him in palpable waves. A feeling washed over you and your eyes darted to Din’s hip where the saber rested. Smug. It felt smug. 

The two of you walked into the covert as Mandalorian and Jedi, but left as Apostate and Aruetti.

You had the opinion that Din never got to properly mourn the loss of the Razor Crest. With everything going on at the time, it seemed like the least of the problems you both had. However, it's loss was felt now. Even in the short time you spent with Din and Grogu, the ship had become a place of comfort. For Din, the Crest had been all he had for so long⏤ it was his home. It held all his belongings and in a singular second it was all gone.

That aching wound was constantly festering, but when the two of you were forced to ride in public ships to get from world to world you could tell it stung Din the most. That’s how you’d have to get off Coruscant, but a small victory came in the form of a message from Peli. 

“Din, you’re not gonna believe this.” You grinned as he returned from whatever errand he had to do. “Peli has a possible Razor Crest replacement. She just messaged me. If we can just get to⏤”

“No.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, but Din took you by the hand and began to travel the opposite way of the small inn you were staying in. “What?”

“I found a ship. Here. Already purchased it.”

Surprise washed over you. “Wait.” You tried to get him to stop and look at you, but Din seemed like a man on a mission. “You bought it already? Without even asking me?”

“It was my credits.”

The words stung. It was so dismissive. Nothing like the way Din usually spoke to you. He always discussed big decisions with you, just as you did with him. The two of you were a team. Through and through. Din seemed to sense your displeasure and his steps faltered.

“Cyar'ika, ni ceta.” Din murmured. You recognized the apology. He turned and settled a hand on the side of your face. “I…I don’t know what came over me. I suppose I was just excited.”

“It’s…” You lifted a hand to cup the one tenderly caressing your cheek. Din had just lost his Creed. The cornerstone of his existence. Of course, he’d be short. You’d be more worried if he wasn’t showing signs of being upset. You gave him a tight lipped smile. “No, I’m sorry. Are you alright? How do you feel?” Din didn’t respond. “Baby?”

He shook his head, his voice quiet. “I’m just ready to be off world.”

“I understand.” You gave him a smile. “Show us our new home then.”

Din let out a small chuckle and you took that as a victory. He led you to a yard of ships and pointed out a black ship with burgundy accents. It was nothing special. It wasn’t the Razor Crest. However, it had enough space for the both of you.

“This is nice.” You explored the cargo hold. 

“It’ll do.” Din countered.

You jumped when you heard the ramp closing and as Din passed you to get to the cockpit, he set his hand on your lower back to take you with him. As you settled in the passenger seat, you watched as Din familiarized himself with the control panel. When the ship reached the atmosphere, you leaned forward.

“Hey, maybe we should go see Peli anyways. Say hello.” You suggested. “She can look the ship over and tell us if we need anything…” Peli would just rip you off, but she was a familiar face. Boba and Fennec were on Tatooine as well. You thought Din could use more than just you. A reminder that he had more in his life than he thought. “Din?”

“No.” Din replied. He placed in a set of coordinates and you recognized them to be Nevarro. Well, maybe that would work. Karga was there. Cara too. Last you heard, Mayfeld was kicking around the newest establishment. The ship slipped into hyperspace and Din held a hand out to you. When you took it he yanked you toward him and you fell onto his lap. “We’re needed in Nevarro. Karga.”

He said it as if the name was enough. Before you could ask for further clarification, Din was tossing his gloves aside. He hit a button that shaded the windows, dimming the room till it was nearly impossible to see then he whispered to close your eyes. It was natural for you to do just as he asked. His hands grasped at your hips, pulling you down to grind against your core, and a pair of lips began to leave open mouth kisses along your neck.

“Cyar'ika…” Din breathed as he wrestled your shirt off you. Rough and desperate. Yanking your breast band off with it. The moment you were bare to the chilly air of the cockpit, Din’s hot mouth wrapped around one of your nipples, teeth grazing sensitive skin, and you moaned. Din pulled away and you already missed his mouth. “Need you. Need all of you.”

Din loved you with rough hands and frantic begging. When the two of you were spent, breathless and sweaty, you slumped against his body. Din trailed his hands up and down your spine as if he couldn’t fathom not touching you.

“I can’t lose you.” He murmured in your ear. “Not you, cyar'ika.”

“You won’t.” You reassured him. “You won’t lose me.”

The reason Din stopped in Nevarro, stopped to see Karga, was for bounty pucks. You had never seen him take so many at once and he said less than ten words to the High Magistrate of Nevarro before dragging you back to the ship. 

A distraction. You convinced yourself. It was just a distraction. 

Din needed something to keep his mind busy and what better than bounty hunting? As long as you were there to keep an eye on him, make sure he’s cared for, then everything would be alright. It might take time, but it would be okay. That’s what you told yourself. Over and over and over. You wondered if the reassurance was more for your benefit. 

The first couple of bounties went normal, but slowly things began to feel…different. Wrong. The quarries Din brought in were more often cold than warm these days. He seemed to be favoring the darksaber as well. It had gone from a weapon used as a last resort to one of his regulars. Din got better with the weapon after every quarry, and the saber’s energy felt like it was singing. As wrong as it all felt, Din seemed himself still. In fact, he almost seemed closer to his normal self. The aching sadness and mourning wasn’t so present. 

“Din?” You called out from where you sat at the small table. Rather than staying on the new ship, the two of you had rented a room at a local inn. It put you closer to where the current quarry was hiding. “You in the mood for something specific? For dinner, I mean?” Din had stepped into the bathroom to clean up and still had yet to come out. “Baby?”

Concern began to take root, but the door opened and you felt it slip away only to be replaced by shock. A stranger in familiar armor stood in the doorway. Din. Din was helmetless. You quickly shut your eyes with a curse. Heavy footfalls crossed the room to stand in front of you and you felt Din’s warm hands on your cheeks.

“Cyar'ika, look at me.”

“Din, what are you doing?” You gasped. It had been nearly two months since the covert, but even then he kept his helmet on. Never took it off. You didn’t understand what had suddenly changed now so suddenly. “I⏤”

“I want you to see me.”

“But⏤ But, why now?”

Din’s thumbs were tracing your cheek and he wouldn’t answer your question. He murmured again for you to open your eyes and you hesitantly peeked through your lashes. Din stood towering above you. From where you sat, you had to look up to admire his features. His appearance was never important to you. You fell in love with the soul inside that armor. Din always swore you’d see his face one day, but the context would be different. He’d whisper about a future together as you both laid tangled in bed. 

He was handsome. Strong features, pretty dark brown eyes, scruff along his jaw. And his hair, you were finally able to see the dark slightly loose curls that you’d run your fingers through. You slowly stood and lifted a hand to trace his features.

“Am… Am I okay?” Din asked. 

The phrasing of the question was odd and it took you a moment to garner a guess. You cupped his face with a broad smile. “You’re more than okay. You’re perfect. Maker, it’s kind of not fair how handsome you are.” You kept your tone teasing and Din chuckled. The sight of his smile warmed your chest. “What brought this on?”

“I am an Apostate.” Din said firmly and you felt your own smile falter. His dark brown eyes stayed locked onto yours and though they held the depth and soul you always knew they would there was something else there. “I am no longer Mandalorian. Why should I hide my face any longer?”

“Din…” You mumbled. Concern leaking into your voice. This was quite the huge and sudden leap to make. “You⏤”

He leaned in and pressed a light kiss against your lips. The kiss turned deeper as Din began to devour you. Needy and wanting. Desperate. Soon he had you picked up into his arms so he could slam you against the wall. It always felt like Din craved you⏤ that wasn’t in debate. Right now though, he was like a man starved. As if he had never had never had you before and was worried he’d never have you again.

Din loved you like a man possessed. Pressed between him and the wall he was unrelenting. Still, held tight by the man you were in love with, Din moaned and begged for you to stay with him. He didn’t even pause to let you reassure him. Just praised the way you felt and pleaded for you to be his. 

There was something wrong with Din.

As you sat in the dingy alley, panting heavily from your near death experience, that was the first thought to occur to you. A hunt had gone wrong. One of the quarry’s allies had gotten the jump on you. You had taken a few hits, saw an opening to save yourself, but before you even had a chance the goon was being ripped off of you. Din had saved you, but it didn’t feel like being saved from where you sat.

Din had ripped the man off you and rather than use the darksaber he chose to beat the goon bloody with his hands. Blood splattered in the alley, on his otherwise spotless armor, and you found yourself trembling. The man who had been attacking you was long dead, but Din did not stop. His face was twisted in rage and hate. You called out his name, more than once, and eventually he paused in his onslaught to catch his breath. His chest was heaving from exertion and you could tear your eyes away from the red that stained his silver beskar.

Slowly, Din rose and stalked toward you. For a brief moment, you didn’t recognize Din. You didn’t know the stranger towering over you. He knelt down and reached out to cup the side of your face. The hot blood of the man Din had slaughtered smeared across your cheek. You could feel it and it sent a chill of fear down your spine. The hate began to dissipate from his eyes. There was a softness you recognized now, but for the first time you’d describe Din as hollow.

“Are you okay, cyar'ika?” He breathed. You nodded nervously. Din grabbed you by the arms and pulled you to stand. He let out a sigh of relief and wrapped you into a tight hug. He pressed you against his blood stained armor and laid his head on top of yours. Din shook his head, a shaky breath slipping from his lips, “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. No one will take you from me. I swear it, cyar'ika.” 

Relief and love radiated from Din, but all you could feel was the humming possessive energy that the darksaber blasted into the air around you both.

The sensation of dropping out of hyperspace woke you up. You blinked and reached out to a cold bed. Din had gotten up and was now dropping you out of hyperspace? You pushed up and slid out of bed. You found Din in the cockpit and the sight of an unfamiliar world hung in view just outside the ship. 

“Where are we?”

“Mandalore.”

You sat down in the passenger seat and grabbed Din by the knee forcing him to set the ship to drift and turn to face you. “What the kriff do you mean Mandalore?” Din didn’t respond. He leaned back in his seat and just stared at you. You were still trying to get used to seeing him without his helmet. Din rarely wore it these days. Even in a fight. “Din.”

“We’re meeting allies here.”

“For what?!”

“We’re recovering our home.”

Din was answering the questions as if you were being ridiculous for even asking them. As if you had been privy to this knowledge. Frustration made your temper flare. “Din, are you serious!?” He didn’t react and somehow that was worse. “We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

Things had only gotten worse with Din. You were scared of what he was capable, but never in relation to you. No matter how cold his eyes grew, no matter how lost in got in a brutal fight, no matter how bitter the darksaber made the air, you knew Din wouldn’t hurt you. That knowledge was ingrained in your very soul. What worried you⏤ what kept you awake at night⏤ was your worry for Din. He always said he couldn’t lose you, but it felt like you were the one losing him.

“Baby.” You murmured and rose to take a seat in his lap innocently. Just trying to get closer to him. You cupped his face and at your contact the cold, distant look in his eyes briefly cracked. Din stared up at you in adoration and love. “I’m… I’m scared.”

Din furrowed his brow and sat up. His arms wrapped around your waist. “Don’t be. You never have to be scared. I’m never going to let anything hurt you.”

“No, Din, that’s not what I’m scared of.” You replied. “I’m scared for you. I’m worried about you.”

“I’ve never been better, cyar’ika.”

You raked a hand through his hair trying to convey every ounce of passion you felt for him in the simple motion. “Din… I’ve been wanting to say this for some time.” You shook your head. “The darksaber.” There was a flash of something unrecognizable in his gaze, but you pressed onward. “It’s… dangerous. You know when I told you about my lightsaber. It’s energy.” He nodded. “The darksaber gives off an energy too, and I don’t like it.”

“What do you mean?” Din asked.

“It feels like,” You winced and struggled for a description to match, “poison. Din, baby, it feels like poison.” Din shook his head as if he still could not understand what it was you were trying to say. “I think it’s a bad influence.”

Din scoffed but the curl of his lips made it seem like he wasn’t taking your statement seriously. “Cyar’ika, it’s a sword. It can’t influence me.”

“It’s not just a sword, Din. It has a kyber crystal in it and⏤”

“Are you trying to tell me I need to get rid of it?” He pressed. You gave a small nod. “I can’t. I need it.” You opened your mouth to argue, but his arms tightened around you. “If we’re going to take Mandalore back, recover it, then I have to use the darksaber. Be Mandalor.”

Your eyes widened. “Since when did you want that title??”

“But more importantly, I need it to protect you.” He whispered, ignoring your question entirely. Din leaned his forehead against yours and the touch was so soft and reverent that you shuddered. He took in a slow deep breath. “You are my priority. Always. The darksaber grants me the power to keep you safe.”

You pressed a tender kiss to his lips and Din’s breath hitched. As you spoke, you kept your lips close enough to brush against his with every word. “You never needed it before. And I’m not helpless. You know that.” Din closed his eyes and you dragged your fingers through his scruff. “We were fine without the darksaber. We don’t need it.”

Din leaned in to capture your lips with his. For the first time in a very long time, the kiss was slow and patient. He took his time tasting you and he leaned back to allow your hands to travel and explore him. It was so reminiscent of the days before everything fell apart that you almost cried.

Eventually, he pulled back and focused his heavy gaze on you. Din gave you a small smile, a hand tracing your jawline. “No, cyar’ika. The saber stays.” Your own smile faltered and fell. He left one last chaste kiss on your lips. “I love you. I will protect you.”

Your life on Mandalore was odd. Din left you out of the loop of everything. All you knew was that more and more Mandalorians arrived by the day to follow Din Djarin. It didn’t surprise you. The Din you knew and loved was a natural born leader whether he liked it or not. He had a magnetic draw to him. You didn’t see that side to your Din very much anymore. 

The city around you was slowly being rebuilt and you pondered your next move. Two months you had been on this rock seeing Din from a distance. Watching him turn into someone you didn’t recognize. When the palace was reestablished, a sentence you found obnoxious and ridiculous, Din moved you there to stay. He’d work all day, drift into your shared bedroom at night, and you mourned the days where everything was easier. Simple.

“Cyar’ika.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see the Mandalor approaching. The king of this world looked like Din, still stared at you as if you hung the moon and stars, but all you could see was the darksaber. It’s possessive energy clung to the man you loved. Two Mandalorian guards followed behind him, and you briefly admired the thick, fur lined cape that hung off one shoulder.

Din came to a stop in front of you and motioned to himself with a sheepish smile, “What do you think?”

“Very regal, Mandalor.” You teased softly.

Din drifted closer and took your hands in his. “Ni ceta, cyar’ika.” He mumbled. “I know I haven’t been around.”

“You’ve been busy. I get it.” You shrugged and tried to keep the bitterness out of your voice.

“But you come first. You always come first.” Din said firmly. “Things will be better from here on out. We’re stable. We’re established. And… I have a surprise for you.” Nervously, Din lifted your hands to tenderly press a kiss to them. “I have no right to ask, but will you give me your time today.”

It was so sweet. It was so Din. You were too overwhelmed to do anything but nod. Things could always turn around, you told yourself. All your time here, distanced from Din, you had planned. He needed a little exposure to his old life. You were the only person Din kept. Maybe seeing Boba and Fennec, seeing Peli, seeing Karga, seeing anyone would bring him back to the surface more permanently. You had even wanted to get in touch with Skywalker or Ahsoka to plan some kind of visit. If Din could see Grogu, you had no doubt he’d snap back into reality. He’d set aside the darksaber. The issue was, Mandalore still had thick storm clouds that prevented any outside interference or messaging. 

You felt isolated.

Din looped your arm through his and you walked by his side down the long hallway. You weren’t sure where he was taking you quite yet, but he spoke casually about his day and asked about yours with real interest. His smile was so warm and sincere that you could almost ignore the negative energy that damned saber gave off.

“Where are we going?” You asked as Din turned down a hall you knew would lead outside. “If we go out, I’m gonna need to grab my jacket.” Mandalore’s seasons still confused you and it almost seemed like the previous attacks had thrown the natural order out of balance. Lately, it had been rather cold.

“It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you.” Din chuckled. He paused by the doors and you couldn’t help but glance at the two silent Mandalorian guards still standing near. Movement made you glance back in time to see he had shrugged out of his thick robe. Din settled the heavy article on your shoulders and you were surprised by the warmth it encased you in. “Comfortable?”

You nodded with a small smile. The robe smelled like him. Din captured your face in his gloved hands and you gazed up at him in awe. Din was in a good mood. It had been so long since you saw him like this. Light hearted. Excited. “Are you happy?” The question fell from your lips before you could even think.

“Of course.” Din replied quickly. His tone suggested he was surprised you’d ask. “I have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” You mumbled.

Din’s face faltered, only for a second, before he bowed his head to rest on yours. Forehead to forehead. “Ni ceta.” He breathed the apology out sincerely. “I know things have been hard and…you’ve put up with so much. I’m so thankful for you, cyar’ika, and my greatest regret will always be making you question that.”

“I never questioned it.” You lifted a hand to place on top of his own. “I love you, and I know you love me. I’ve just…been worried about you, baby. I want you to be happy.”

“I am.” Din replied. “You make me happy.” He closed the space to press his lips to yours. Tender. Loving. Passionate. Din’s tongue traced the curve of your lower lip and you allowed him to deepen the kiss. Your hands shifted to tangle in his hair. Din pulled you closer, flush against his body, and it didn’t even matter to you that two other Mandalorians stood off to the side as witness to this scene. Din pulled back, separating the two of you, but he quickly set two more chaste kisses against your lips as if he couldn't bear the thought of being apart. Din whispered a promise under his breath. “For the rest of my life, I will make you happy. I’ll keep you safe.”

You had endured the hell of watching Din suffer and begin to lose himself in sorrow. Perhaps, this was the light at the end of the tunnel. Din had found stable ground, and he was now returning to a man you recognized.

Din turned away to push open the doors, but he kept your arm looped through his. The courtyard which typically sat unused and in a semi state of shambles had been cleaned and polished. Mandalorians as far as you could see stood waiting and as Din walked you down the path you spotted a medium sized platform, nearly a stage, and on it was a chair⏤ no, a throne. That was the only word to describe the heavy, dark metal seat. Standing on the platform, you recognized Bo Katan. She stood on one side of the throne. On the other side stood two others that you recognized, you had seen them with Din often, but you didn’t know their names.

“Din?” You whispered his name.

He shot you a smile but continued on. Suddenly, you found yourself on the platform standing beside Din as he faced the crowd. He lifted one hand, as if in greeting, and you stared at him as he spoke Mando’a. His voice was loud and firm. Powerful. This was a king among men. You never thought Din Djarin of all people would look like he belonged in this setting. You knew he had the attributes that would make a fair and just king, but Din had never enjoyed the spotlight. The future he craved, the future he painted while speaking to you in the dead of night, was a humble one. A home, some land, a family. Peaceful.

A bark of Mando’a, in a voice you vaguely recognized, interrupted Din and you watched as his shoulders stiffened. The crowd parted and a Mandalorin in dark blue armor approached. Axe Woves. That was his name you believed. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you could feel the tension in the air.

Din set his hand on your waist and pushed you back. You only stumbled back a few steps before Bo Katan took you by the elbow and dragged you back further.

“What⏤ What is going on?” You asked.

“Challenge.” Bo Katan said. Din drew the darksaber from his belt and as it came to life you felt your own heart plummet. It’s poison was spewing in the air⏤ suffocating you. Smug. Arrogant. Angry. Insulted. You sucked in a sharp breath. “Axe Woves has challenged Din for the darksaber. For rule.”

The fight started in a clash of weaponry. 

It was a blur of beskar, but all your eyes could focus on was the arc of the darksaber. The burning glow that was now seared into your eyes. Seared into your brain. You wanted nothing more than to take that damned thing and throw it into the darkest pit you could find. Every time you watched Din used it, you hated it all the more. The fight did not last long.

Axe Woves was a good fighter, but he was not Din Djarin.

Soon, the air was silent as Din held the edge of the darksaber just under Axe’s jaw. Close enough that the man had to have felt the heat. Axe was breathing hard, but you couldn’t see his face⏤ his back was to you. Din stood where you could see his face and he looked to be the picture of calm. 

“Cetar.” Din demanded. Bo Katan whispered, her eyes not leaving the scene, as she translated the Mando’a. ‘Kneel’. Din asked him to kneel. You felt a chill run up your spine and it wasn’t from the cold air. The darksaber was singing. Excited. Eager. It craved and craved and craved. Din repeated the command. “Cetar.”

“Nayc.” Axe replied. You didn’t need that word translated. 

At the sound of his refusal, you watched a flash of an emotion you didn’t immediately recognize in Din’s eyes. However, it was clear to see the way his lips briefly curled up into a smirk. You opened your mouth to scream, but all your words caught in your throat. Thick, heavy, and unwilling to be heard. Before you could overcome your hindrance, Din shoved the darksaber through Axe’s chest with not even a singular hiccup of hesitation. Your mouth hung open in shock and disbelief, but the horror didn’t land until Din leaned in and used his vibroblade to slice through the man’s neck in one swift motion. Blood sprayed out and the darksaber was screaming in pleasure.

“He had to make an example.” Bo Katan whispered. “It’s unfortunate, but Woves brought this upon himself.”

Din deactivated the saber and set it back onto his belt. While Axe Woves’ body slumped to the ground, Din tucked the still bloody vibroblade back into his boot’s holster. You stared at him wide eyed and horrified as Din marched back to the platform. He spoke before the crowd again, but it felt like your ears were ringing. The man you fell in love with would never have cut a man down in cold blood. The duel had been over. It didn’t have to end with blood. 

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Din as he crossed the platform to sit on the throne. His legs were spread out in dominance as he lounged in the seat radiating confidence and pride. His eyes snapped to yours and Din held his hand out to you. Bo Katan gave you a small nudge and you stumbled toward the throne with hesitant steps. Din’s cold features melted away as he stared up at you as he always did, loving, but it only made the splattering of blood on his face that much more daunting. 

When you placed your hand in his, your fingers were trembling. Din squeezed your hand in comfort and he carefully pulled you back so you sat in his seat. Bo Katan was addressing the crowd and you stared and stared at Axe Woves’ dead body. Still laying on the courtyard’s ground, the pool of blood around him growing larger and larger.

You felt Din’s breath on your neck. His hands settled on your hips as he sat up to press his chest against your back. His breath was replaced with his lips. Din mumbled about how much he loved you and how important you were to him against your skin. All this time, all the hope you had, was for naught. The man at your back was a stranger.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Din pressed another hot kiss to the back of your neck. "But I just wanted to show you our new throne, my queen. Surprise."

As it turned out, the light at the end of the tunnel had turned out to be just more hellfire.

In the dead of night, you ran. 

You had hoped Din would return to his senses, become the man he once was, on his own accord. You hoped he had only needed time, but this had been proof. You were out of your depth. Din needed more than just time, he needed more than just you. As soon as you got past the thick, stormy atmosphere on Mandalore, you’d call for help. 

The plan had been to take Din’s ship. It was the only one you were familiar with the controls enough to not have to worry about running into any issues. As it turned out, flying was not going to be the biggest problem you faced.

“Cyar’ika.”

Your blood ran cold. Slowly, nervously, you turned around to see Din stood not far away. His shoulders were slumped in disappointment, and the look in his eyes could only be described as absolute and total devastation. He took one step forward and you took one back. Din’s jaw locked.

“Din…”

“What are you doing?” Din murmured. 

You shook your head. “Listen to me⏤”

“Listen??” Din scoffed. He took in a shuddering breath. “How could you⏤ Cyar’ika, I… Why?”

His voice cracked and you felt your heart ache in your chest. Din took another step toward you and you held a hand up which brought him to a sudden halt. You pressed your lips together then tried to explain that you were doing this for him. “Din, you’re not…you’re not yourself. You need help.”

“I need you.” Din replied firmly. “Everything is fine.”

“You murdered a man in cold blood today.”

“Is that what you⏤ You truly think so little of me?” Din asked. “It was a duel, cyar’ika. A challenge on my rule. I had no choice.”

You took a step toward him. “Din, you slaughtered him. And you enjoyed it.”

Din’s eyes darkened and the energy that slammed into you was possessive. For so long, you assumed that was how the darksaber felt. However, seeing the way he stared at you now, you realized the possession went much further than how the saber felt for him. He stormed forward and on pure instinct your hand drew your lightsaber without activating it. A warning. His steps stuttered. You didn’t know it was possible to visually see a person’s heart break, but you were witness to it right now.

“Cyar’ika,” Din whispered, “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?”

That was true for the man you fell in love with. 

Was it still true?

“I…I…” You struggled to find your words.

Din held his hands out, palms up, in surrender. He took slow steps toward you as if you were a skittish animal he was trying to calm. The tenderness in Din’s gaze cracked your resolve. He reached out and let his hands slowly drag down your arms until they reached your hands. You felt your body tremble. It was easy to make the decision to run when you stared at Din’s features covered in blood, but now? His warm, brown eyes reminded you of every soft touch and tender word of love. 

“Just come back with me.” Din whispered. “Talk to me, cyar’ika. I know…I know things haven’t been right.” He squeezed your hands and pushed the one holding the lightsaber back to your hip. “Let me fix this. Let me make this right. Give me a chance.”

Din leaned forward to set his forehead against yours. A familiar motion that brought you comfort. You let out a soft sigh. One more night. You could spend it talking with Din, gauging a better plan, and it wasn’t like you would be able to leave right now anyways. Not with him right in front of you like this. The look in his eyes told you he wasn’t just going to let you walk away and the absolute last thing you wanted to do was fight him. 

“Please?” Din pleased.

“Okay.” You murmured. 

The bright smile of relief that crossed his face made your heart flutter. Din pulled you into a tight hug and he clung to you like a lifeline. This would be alright. This would be okay. You’d make sure of it. Din slipped his hand into yours and carefully tugged you alongside him. The entire walk back to your bedroom was silent. Din’s thumb traced patterns against your skin.

“I love you.” Din said the moment you were back in your shared room together. His words came out as a desperate ache. “I’m sorry…”

“No, Din, I…I love you. I will always love you.” You replied. “I was leaving to help you.” Din’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I just think you’ve lost sight of your path.” You pressed your lips together then settled your hands on his chest. “I think we should leave Mandalore. Not forever, just⏤ I think we should visit Boba or Karga. Peli? Or… Or maybe we can reach out to Skywalker. Try to visit Grogu.”

Din’s eyes widened at the suggestion. 

He wrapped his hands around your wrists then lifted your hands so he could press a soft kiss against one palm then the other. Din nodded. “Okay. Tomorrow. I’ll be better, cyar’ika.” You gave him a small smile and he leaned in to crash his lips against yours. The way his lips moved against yours made you feel like he was trying to physically beg you to stay with him. Din had never been a man of many words, he’d whisper kind sentiments, but he always showed how much he cared by action. “I love you.” Din’s mouth dropped to your neck as his hands began to tear at your clothes. “You are everything to me.”

 Your hands reached out to unlatch Din’s armor. It was muscle memory for you. How many times had you done this exact same action in the dark during your time with him? Too many to count. His besker fell to the ground and the second he was bare of any armor, Din scooped you up and carried you to bed.

In the morning everything would be okay.

You’d make it so.

A familiar hand caressing the side of your face is what you woke to. You forced your eyes open, groggy, to find that Din was sitting on the side of the bed leaning over you. He wore his armor once more. Din leaned down and pressed a feather light kiss to your forehead.

“Ni ceta, cyar’ika.”

“Din?” You questioned.

“I want you to know that everything I do is because I love you.” Din said. “I’ve lost everything, but you.” He cradled the side of your face. “Even this, accepting the title and responsibility of Mandalor, I did with you in mind.”

There was a tone in his voice that was making you nervous. Slowly, you sat up and shook your head, “Din, I never asked you to do that.”

“I know.” He replied. “But this is how I protect you.”

“Din⏤”

“There is nothing in this galaxy that will harm you while I’m around.” Din said firmly. He stood up off the bed and gave you a tight nod. “I won’t lose you. I can’t lose you. This won’t last forever, I swear it. But I can’t leave anything to chance. Not when you mean so much to me.”

Din began to walk toward the bedroom door to leave and you stared at him in confusion. Quickly, before he could leave, you threw the blankets off your body and jumped out of bed. There was a heaviness around your left ankle, a coldness, and with every movement came a rattling. You glanced down to see a shiny, silver chain locked around your ankle. It trailed to the wall beside your bed.

“Din.” You breathed. He stopped but said nothing. “Din?” He turned around with sad eyes. Panicked, you began to rush toward him, but a few feet away from him the chain caught your ankle and you nearly fell to the floor. Warm hands caught you by the arms and pulled your back to your feet. Teary eyed, you shook your head. “What have you done?”

“It’s temporary.” Din repeated himself. “Just until I know you won’t hurt yourself by leaving.”

“Hurt myself⏤ Din, I⏤”

“Cyar’ika, I'm doing this for you. To protect you.” Din gave you a tight lipped smile of regret. “Or until I can make you understand.” Din leaned his forehead against yours. The soft action you loved ruined by his words. “You are mine, cyar’ika. You are mine, and I am yours.” That look of possession was in his eyes again. “And because you are mine, I have to take care of you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Din was beginning to step back so you quickly cupped his face between your hands. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be. As softly as you could manage, trying to bite back the fear and panic in your voice, you mumbled. “Din, baby, you’re losing yourself. I love you, but you’re losing yourself and it’s breaking my heart. Let me go. Let me help you.”

He turned his head and gently kissed the inside of your palm.

“Maybe I am.” Din murmured. “But if that’s the cost of keeping you, then it’s one I will happily pay.”

Din left without another word and you crumpled to the ground in tears. You mourned for the man you lost and cursed the man who took his place.

mando'a translations

ni ceta: i'm sorry cyar'ika: darling, sweetheart cetar: kneel nayc: no

[burnwater13]

Din Djarin (as played by Pedro Pascal) standing in the Gozanti class freighter with his helmet off. Image from The Mandalorian, Season 2, Episode 8, The Rescue.

Follow the Recipe…

Grogu hated waiting. It was boring. It was pointless. It was irritating. It was what he had to do every time he wanted to go someplace but his dad didn’t want to go there with him. He either had to wait for his dad to change his mind or wait for someone else who was willing and able to provide him the appropriate level supervision and physical support. That might sound rational to most people, but to Grogu that meant he could only go places with a tiny number of people. Most of that time there was only one person who was considered appropriate for that duty. His name was Din Djarin. The nerf herder. 

If they were on Nevarro then the list expanded by one. IG-11M was considered suitable under all conditions of care. Yippee! Grogu liked IG-11M a lot and the droid seemed to enjoy his company as well. On Nevarro. 

If they were on Tatooine the list expanded by two. Daimyo Fett and Fennec Shand were each considered acceptable. Unfortunately they were usually busy running Tatooine and protecting the fine people of the planet from anyone who didn’t agree with how they ran the planet. That was a full time job so Grogu hated to ask them to take time to take him to the Dune Sea in search of rare critters or into Anchorhead so he could talk to some of Luke’s old friends. 

Peli Motto was not considered a suitable guide after all the times she had failed to meet the Mandalorian’s stringent requirements, the most important of which was ‘don’t lose sight of Grogu’. Pelli had lost sight of Grogu as more of a rule than an exception to the rule and that had bothered Grogu’s dad a lot. Nothing bad had ever resulted from that if you ignored the various near catastrophes that followed their path around Mos Eisley. Of course, being a Mandalorian, Din Djarin did not ignore any of those events. Dank Farrik. 

“Come on, Mando!” Peli had whined at the armored human. “I’d never let the kid come to harm. He means too much to me. We’ll just be over at the tavern playin’ Sabacc. The kids a ringer. He’ll clean the newbs up and the other players will be grateful to play me and we’ll make a packet. No harm in that!”

“The last time you two played at the Tavern I got a call from Fett saying that the city council had petitioned him to have you both banned from gambling on the whole planet. No gambling. No tavern.”

“Fine. Well kid, I gave it my best shot. You’ll have to find yourself another Mandalorian if you want to stretch your legs around here.”

Peli stuck her tongue out at his dad and walked back to her office complaining to Treadwell the whole time about Tatooine becoming too civilized since the Daimyo had returned to the planet. 

Grogu didn’t agree with her, but he also didn’t not agree with her. His dad seemed to think that no matter where they were Imp remnants were waiting around a corner, hoping to catch both of them unawares. Grogu didn’t think that was very likely. Sure, it had happened more than once, but he blamed the N-1 for that. 

The ship was too fancy for the average, everyday bounty hunter to have one. People in that profession had learned that the N-1 from Nevarro was the same N-1 on Tatooine, was the same N-1 on Corellia, on Mandalore, on Ordo, on Naboo, on Enarc, on Trask, on and on. Grogu thought his dad had been serious about finding a new ship, but since Zander had tuned it up, he seemed less inclined to make the change. It was disappointing, but not unexpected. If the Mandalorian was anything, he was stubborn. 

Which was why Grogu was waiting for Din Djarin to finish whatever the heck it was he was doing in the privy. His dad had promised to take him out to the Pica Oasis so they could do a little fishing and take in the sights. Grogu loved fishing and the Mandalorian like the oasis because it was easy to defend. Despite the lush grasses, the trees and other flora that ringed one of Tatooine’s few bodies of open water, the terrain was pretty flat. Even the Sand People could be spotted clicks away from it. Apparently his dad liked that. Grogu supposed that he should care, but he was really more interested in fishing. 

He had all of his fishing gear organized and ready to go. Fishing rod? Check. Creel? Check. Bait? Check. Big floppy hat? Check. Box of lures, leads, weights, streamers, and other paraphernalia? Check. Multipurpose knife, line cutter, range finder, depth gage, etc. etc.? Check. Cooler? Check. Snacks? Hmmm. Better double check that. 

Grogu trotted over to the small preserver that was in the rooms they used at the Daimyo’s palace and verified that he’d emptied out. Check. He’d put all that stuff in the cooler. He expected to eat and or drink it all while they out and have plenty of room for bringing back his haul. He’d forgotten that he was going to have the cooler pull double duty. Uff. That’s what endless waiting did. It reduced your edge. He felt less sharp because of the unrelenting boredom and now he’d wasted effort validating something he should have recalled readily. 

He was about to walk over and tap on the privy door again, again, again, when to his shock, his dad actually came out of the small room. Good. They were ready to go. Yippee!

“Grogu, I’m sorry. I can’t take you fishing today. Whatever I had for breakfast is making me pretty miserable.”

Grogu groaned. He didn’t want his dad to feel bad. It had taken some time living with humans again to realize that their digestive systems were a lot more delicate than his own. If he didn’t like something he just reached right into his stomach and pulled the offending object out or let it hop out. Either way, he felt better instantly. But humans didn’t do that. It could take hours or days for them to feel better. 

“Heal you?” Grogu had to offer. His dad usually said no, but he still had to offer.

“I think you should save your energy for fishing. I’ve asked Machete if he can take you to the Oasis. You’ll travel by rancor. No one will bother you.”

What?! How sick was the Mandalorian? Too sick to fish, but not sick enough to keep Grogu from going fishing. That was strange, but Grogu would take what he could get. 

“Thanks, Dad.”

Grogu trotted over to the Mandalorian and leapt up and bumped his head softly against the Mandalorian’s helmet and then landed back on the floor. He’d been practicing that maneuver and was glad that he was able to stick the landing. 

“Just do me one favor.”

Grogu nodded his head eagerly. Whatever his dad wanted Grogu would make sure he did it or got it or whatever was needed.

“Don’t bring home any leftovers. I think I ate the rest of your stew from dinner last night.”

Uff. Yup. That would have been a problem. It wasn’t a stew. It was a science project. Grogu had wanted to see what kind of grubs he could grow from three day old frog stew. Now he had his answer. He could make a Mandalorian sick and thoughtful. He wondered if he should write down that recipe…

[whirlybirbs]

[ 𝐇𝐔𝐆 ] with our husband, our lovely husband, din djarin

✶  ———  REUNION  ;   d.d.

summary: din comes back to tatooine, and you both have tender confessions to share after nearly a year apart

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader, friends-to-lovers

warnings: bro i made myself emotional with this, fluff and comfort, a little angst, and a rlly fun make-out with din

a/n: it's like 2019, i am back writing for din again like a starved woman — enjoy some mechanic!reader content that i've alluded to in the past, but with a dash of OH HI YOU'RE BACK. the beautiful gif is by @hayden-christensen from this stunning set that made me sit at my desk and like the lisa simpson meme. you know the one.

"There's someone you'll probably want to see."

Fennec looks cunning when she says it, and she goes so far as to toss him a smirk over her shoulder as she saunters down towards the lower level of the Palace.

Din's footfalls falter momentarily.

Before he can even twist his frown away and grit out a follow-up question, he hears your voice.

Your voice.

Fennec can't see Din Djarin's eyes, but she can interpret the look. The well-kept expression behind the mask of beskar? That's surprise. The tension in his shoulders tells her enough. It's apprehensiveness that slows his steps. It's yearning that twitches in his fingers.

"I thought you said you were the best mechanic in the Rebellion—" comes a voice, far off in the deep cistern of a hangar.

"One," comes your voice, anointed with a grunt of disproval, "I never said that. Two, that's a hell of a lot of mouth coming from the kid who asked for my help—"

At your jest, there's a quiet clamor of laughter.

Fennec watches Din as the two hunters circle around the Slave I; her warm eyes are crinkled at the corners. It's a sense of satisfaction that's settled across her face. The soft, tender promise of this reunion... A non-promise in a swirling void of chaos. Fennec's gloved hand skims the bow in the ship's hull as she follows — and she waits in the wings when Din finally lays his eyes on you.

It's been months.

Nearly a year.

And you're here.

In truth, you'd never left.

You're under a... scooter? A colorful little speeder sits neatly on jacks, and you're on your back — rag and wrench in hand. He can see the bare skin of your arms, smeared with grease, and thick gloves that crawl up your wrist. Your boots scuffle a bit as you roll father back and let you a little curse.

"Seriously, what did you think would happen?" you huff haughtily, "The propulsion vents on this model aren't built for finer grit dune sand—"

You're lecturing a gaggle of teens. Scrappy, amused teens that are hanging on your every word — even when you raise a hand and waggle your wrench in frustration. They laugh a little, and Din feels gutted with a deep pang of longing. The same sort he's been wrestling with for the last year. But, this time, you're right here.

He's hardly put together that he's been standing there, a few meters from you, for a few seconds. Not until one of the teens, one with warm skin and a cyberized orbital implant, coughs.

"We have a guest," Fennec projects, spurring you to pause.

Easily, you wheel yourself out.

Sitting up is the easy part. Wrangling your goggles off your face, and smearing the sweat from your cheek isn't as easy, but it's habit by now. Days and days spent doing just this — not that you can complain. Fixing helps. Keeps you busy. Has you feeling useful. Hell, even that is an easy realization to come to.

All that is certainly easier than the jarring actualization that Din Djarin is standing right in front of you.

Din.

It's been months.

Nearly a year.

And he's here.

Like he never left.

In the same glittering, beautiful beskar — and you can see your breath robbed from your lungs in the reflection. Your wrench meets the pavement of the hangar, and you forget about any attempt at grace.

Scrambling up, his name is like a petal on your tongue. Its springtime in his heart and Din is moving before he can remind himself to slow down. Din is half-ready for the planetary impact brought about by your orbit colliding with his — in a dizzying spell of limbs and gravity. The collision is as gentle as a year of longing can be — not nearly as brutal as the nights spent alone, not nearly as hollow as the ache of forgetting the sound of someone's voice.

"Din."

He knows — deep in his heart — he's never heard his name said sweeter. Maybe it's the horrible, lonely circumstance. Or, maybe it's the fact you've wound your arms around his neck and you're proving him wrong, that he hadn't lost you when he left this planet on the promise of duty-owed. When he left you.

You can feel his gloves wind themselves tightly into the back of your mechanic's jumpsuit. You nearly trip as you push yourself up onto the tips of your boots and cling — hardly the reaction you'd rehearse in your head a thousand times. No, no you promised yourself you'd be tangibly cool, perfectly calm.

Truth be told, you're far from it.

You pull back, gloved finding the curved sides of his helm as you settle back down and look him over. An inspection, a breathless one, that's halted with the deliberate press of his helmet to your forehead. It's cool. Smooth. And his hands, you realize, have moved to hold your shoulders steady. To follow the curve of your arms, and to settle along your jaw.

It's a quiet reunion.

One that's watched by an audience, you remember, when Skad pointedly clears his throat and delivers a good-natured jab.

"I take it you two 'ave met, then?"

Din wishes you wouldn't pull away — not until he's finished the thankful prayer on his tongue. His hands fall to yours, and you squeeze them tightly when you turn your cheek. The entire time, he's watching you. Assessing the change. You've started wearing your hair in a new way. There's a wrinkle, between your brow, he doesn't remember being there before. He notes a new scar along the curve of your clavicle.

The entire time he's welcomed by the great Daimyo and his enclave of collected followers, his attention remains on the one person he's been unable to push from his thoughts. Fennec supposes there's something rather romantic about that — and even though she can't be sure that T-visor is trained on you the entire time, she knows well enough.

Din notes a litter of new scars along your knuckles.

During dinner, you try to keep your tender-mouthed yearning quiet. You have a hundred questions for him — but bide your time picking out the best parts of the prepared meal to bring to his quarters after. You plate fruit and meat and little bits of love carved right from your rib. You sit there, flicking up your gaze to find his attending look each time. It makes your heart feel heavy, and so you pile on more sweetsalt berries to his plate.

Laughter comes and goes as do the questions about his armor, conversations about the current politics, and full-bellied lull of a Tatooine evening. Somewhere, a balcony curtain billows — and the three moons hang warm and pink in the sky.

"I trust you can show our guest his living arrangements."

Boba's eyes are kind.

When you stand, gathered plate in hand, there are few questions — just heavy, tender looks from the Daimyo and his Master Assassin. Just a strong hand planted warmly on Din's shoulder in passing. A smile, even, from Fennec to you.

Din is quiet as he follows. The quiet tinker of beskar and the cool breeze of the evening air is all there is — even when you nudge open the door to his quarters. It's one of larger rooms, with a balcony and a rotunda and a bed big enough for a Hutt. It's not entirely dissimilar from your own arrangements.

As you set Din's dinner down on the table near the balcony, he speaks. The door slides shut with a hiss, and you steal a berry to tide over your yearning.

"I thought you'd be angry with me."

You flick your eyes to him. He's stopped in the center of the room. The sunset has settled into the glimmering curves of his armor, and you can't help but feel your heart tighten at the words.

"I was."

Din inhales.

Your expression is solid — but not cruel.

"For a while," you continue, "But, I'm not anymore."

"Why?" he asks in a quiet breath. It sounds far away through the helmet's vocalizer. Like a glacial rift tearing itself apart.

You frown — and almost immediately Din wishes he could take the question back. He watches you reach for another berry, and then you drift away from the balcony. Back to the center of the room, back towards him. You step around him for a second, like a star in orbit. Somehow, you find his eyes beneath the visor. He's always been struck dumb by your uncanny ability to do it. He's not sure if you know, but you've done it. The eye contact he so dreads, until it's you.

And then he feels home.

Like he never left.

You push the berry past your lips and shrug. You drop his gaze, and you turn your cheek towards the rising moons.

"Did you find them?"

"Yes," you're deflecting — and Din can play the game just as well, "I thought you said you were going to go home."

Suddenly, you look panicked.

How do you tell him he was home all along?

Your mouth goes dry, and you shrug away the burn of anxiousness.

You promised yourself you'd be honest with him if you ever saw him again — you promised yourself you'd ask him to never leave again, to let you stay by his side no matter the risk. No matter the circumstance. You promised yourself night after night that someday you'd see Din Djarin again and tell him exactly how you felt.

Your eyes are wide. The wrinkle he noticed before is back. He realizes it's one born out of worry.

"I..." your words slip away. You blink, then shake your head, "I was going to. Then, I realized some things."

Din wishes someone would take the dark saber and carve his heart out. It's the tension, the fear of admitting what you both know — and the edge of fear that perhaps it's not shared.

His voice is raspy. He takes a leap.

Quietly, he steps forward with his confession. "I should have never left."

You shake your head. "We both know you had to."

"They exiled me," he says, then, as he stands over you in the moonlight; Din's words are heavy and they sink into your heart, "And I had no one. All I did was think of you, every night I was gone."

"Exile," you breathe; you don't like the sound. You try to distract yourself with it, and not the crushing cosmos of feelings swirling in your chest at his pretty admittances.

"And then, I thought I'd come back here," Din says with an edge of fear, "And you'd be gone. And I'd never see you again."

You can feel the lump in your throat. You wish you had more of the spotcha at dinner. It would have given you enough of an edge to compose yourself, and not bow into Din the moment he touched you. Your cheek meets the smooth plate of his chest piece when he touches your hand, and you bend into an embrace that surmises a year's worth of unspoken feelings.

"I missed you," he says as his arms wrap themselves tightly around your shoulders, "I'm sorry I ever left you."

"I'm sorry I agreed to it, to part ways," you laugh shakily as you settle your chin on the lip of the beskar, "It was the worst mistake I ever made—"

His gloves hands are cool against your cheeks.

Again, with fluttering lashes, you find his eyes beneath the visor.

There are a lot of things being said between the words, and Din feels himself settling into them. You've relaxed — gone nearly pliable in his hands as you touch his knuckles with your own calloused fingers.

"Exile?" you ask mournfully after a moment of content quiet as you rub the curve of his thumb.

Din's gaze falters. "For showing my face."

Hurt flicks across your face. You know he could have lied. He could have told the Clan that no, he hadn't. But, Din Djarin is a good man — and in his truth, he'd bore the brunt of his punishment.

"But," he says after a moment, "I find myself... bargaining."

"Bargaining?" you ask with a wry look, one half-etched with confusion and half with amusement.

"I'd bear the weight of a thousand exiles if it meant I could kiss you."

Oh.

Oh.

There he goes again, robbing you of breath — this time with words so soft and honest that you can hardly find the right reaction; and it worsens, when a gloved hand moves to tip the lip of his helmet back and the beskar bends the light. Blues and pinks and orange flicker along the rotunda, and you watch greedily as the warm skin of throat, of chin, of lips appear.

He's slow — tentative. The gap is closed with steady hesitancy that meets in an exceedingly gentle press of the lips. Your nose slots next to his, chin tilting, and you can't help the way you slip into bliss at the dreamed touch.

You hardly notice that the beskar falls to the floor when he really kisses you — you hardly hear the bell-like sound that rings in a year worth of want. Can anyone blame you? When a Mandalorian bends his creed to kiss you, soften his war-hardened hands to cradle you? You swear you'll never be able to love again, at this moment, and the Mand'alor holds not only the dark saber in his hand but your heart.

When he draws himself, slowly, away from your kiss, you keep your eyes shut firmly. The sort of thing you'd always negotiated when you'd first started feeling these things for him, back when you'd only been an impromptu live-in mechanic for the Razor Crest.

You can feel his smile tickle your cheek after a moment of quiet. Your own smile is big. Din, sans his helmet, huffs a little laugh from his nose. It's a nasally sound, a warm one. You know he's smiling now.

"I can save you exile," your lashes kiss your cheeks as you keep your eyes firmly shut, "I promise, I'm good at not looking."

You had, after all, spent nearly a year and a half aboard that small freighter playing this exact game — in tight living quarters with a Mandalorian meant snapping eyes shut at a moment's notice.

Then, a gloved hand cradles your face as he presses a series of kisses to your cheek. Over and over. Each is punctuated with a little bit more force than the next. And on the last, he keeps his nose to your cheek as he muffles a laugh. His voice is warm against your ear.

"Just open your eyes," he says lowly, "Before I offer marriage as an alternative."

You laugh and swat at his chest. But, it has you cracking one eye open.

And there's Din Djarin.

It's been months.

Nearly a year.

And he's here.

Like he never left.