Summary: Din's smaller acts of affection finally lead to a larger one after a blaster bolt hits too close to home.
Pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader
Warnings: gn!reader, canon typical violence, mentions of bodily harm, Mando is a yearner, use of Mando'a, use of Twi'leki, no use of y/n, mutual pining, fluff, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 4.4k
Author's Note: Officially back from the dead and finishing some WIPs that have been sitting in my google docs for a hot minute. Can't believe I've never poster for Mando before cause that's my man, truly. I know not everyone was a fan but The Mandalorian and Grogu has been one of my highlights of 2026.
Glossary: ma sareen (my sweet in Twi'leki), vaar'ika (pip-squeak or runt in Mando'a), cyar'ika (sweetheart in Mando'a)
The markets of Mos Eisley are bustling with activity. Travelers and inhabitants pack the narrow passageways, making it difficult to move from stall to stall. It’s suffocating and the insufferable warmth radiating from the twin suns overhead only makes the experience more grueling. You’ve always hated Tatooine — you’d much prefer a blizzard in the barren tundra of Hoth to a sandstorm in the Dune Sea. Your only reprieve from the heat in the bustling crowd is the way they wordlessly part in front of you on instinct due to the beskar clad figure looming directly behind you like an imposing shadow — your Mandalorian. He wouldn’t bring you here if he had any other choice, but Peli is the only mechanic he trusts with the Razor Crest’s repairs and Mos Eisley’s salvage stalls are the only place in the galaxy that have parts compatible with the pre-Imperial vessel.
Your eyes scan the merchandise until you find the familiar shape of an old ST-70 left engine deflector shield. The Razor Crest’s had gotten damaged during your last dogfight and now the engine is overheating while reaching hyperspace. Peli informed you both that if a new deflector shield isn’t installed, then your next jump into hyperspace could be your last. You stop at the stall to inspect the part — it’s a little worn, definitely used, but it sure looks better than the cracked piece of useless metal that is on your ship now.
“How’s this look, Mando?”
You turn around expecting to meet his visor, but instead, find the Mandalorian scanning the crowd from his position at your flank. His helmet moves slowly from left to right, carefully scanning your surroundings. A small smile tugs at your lips as you watch him observe the environment. Where everyone else around you may perceive him as a threatening force, you only see your watchful protector. Even now as he stands close enough for you to feel the warmth of the suns radiating off his dark beskar, you feel immensely calm due to his unshakable security. Most would call him paranoid for his diligence; however, you understand his reservations with being in such a crowded place. Afterall, you met him because of a bounty placed on your head.
It was after the Mandalorians had raised hell on Nevarro — after Mando had forsaken guild code in order to save the child that’s currently safe on the Razor Crest with Peli. He was desperate for credits and was offered a job to find and execute a human disrupting trade routes out of Endor. Mando wasn’t in the position to ask any questions, until he found you hiding out in the forest with a tribe of Ewoks. Turns out the man who hired Mando had a team on the planet stealing from the natives in order to profit by selling their goods and resources throughout the system — you weren’t disrupting essential trade routes, you were simply protecting a tribe that had taken you in. He knew the weight of that responsibility well and he’s always had a soft spot for those just trying to do the right thing despite the circumstances of the galaxy. So, instead of completing his mission he accepted a new one: help you take down the band of mercenaries stealing supplies from the Ewoks. In return for his assistance, you vowed to join him in his quest to protect the child from Imperial forces.
It’s been years since your first encounter on Endor and your Mandalorian is still wary of anyone who gives you a second glance. In the time spent traveling by his side, you realized even though he may be a man of few words, the man standing defensively behind you shows his affection through smaller acts of service — which includes watching your back as you look at salvaged parts.
“Din?”
His visor finally moves to face in your direction at the sound of his name — his real name. A name he revealed in the privacy of the Razor Crest’s cabin late one night about a standard year into your ventures together. You’d been attempting to put Grogu to sleep, a task that was becoming harder as he grew in age and strength. After he finally drifted to sleep, you made your way to the cabin to see if your Mandalorian needed anything from you before you also got some rest. He didn’t need to turn around to know it was you approaching him — he’d memorized your footsteps a long time ago — and yet he still spun his chair to face you.
“You good for the next few hours?”
He nodded in response — a man of few words. You gave him a tired smile and he was suddenly grateful for the helmet covering his expression because he knows that the cool planes of beskar hide a growing tenderness that makes him increasingly uncomfortable.
“Alright, y’know the drill — wake me if you need anything.”
Another nod in response and instead of turning around to face the controls like you’d expect, his visor maintains its focus on you. His head tilts up slightly to meet your gaze from his seat, exposing a thin sliver of tan skin between the beskar and dark, wool fabric. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the sight and your breath catches. His head cocks to the side at your silence, exposing even more skin and you’re embarrassed by the way you yearn to know the man that’s underneath the metal.
You definitely need some sleep.
“Night, Mando.”
You turn on your heel to leave him for the night, but his voice stops you in your tracks.
“Din.”
His voice is soft, even through the helmet’s modulator.
“What?”
“My name is Din Djarin.”
Your mouth goes dry at the revelation. The atmosphere in the cockpit of the Razor Crest suddenly shifts into something more intimate. He shifts in his seat slightly as the silence continues. You’re usually the talker, but what he just told you has left you completely speechless.
“Din is my family name.”
His family name. Those words weigh heavy on your heart. He had once told you about his homeworld — the one he knew before his upbringing on Concordia. About the Separatist invasion that occurred early in his youth. About the slaughter of his people by heartless battle droids. It was his first moment of vulnerability with you on the Razor Crest — the first time he let you see beneath the beskar for just a second. Movement rips you from your thoughts and your face softens as you notice Mando fidgeting nervously with his gloves.
“Din.”
His head shoots up at the sound and his hands still. Beneath the visor, you know his eyes are boring into you. The thought almost makes you squirm — the moment of vulnerability feels foreign in this environment. Still, you allow him the time he needs to process. Afterall, he most likely hadn’t heard that name since he lived on Aq Vetina — yet another thing the Separatists took from him on that fateful night. Your heart wrenches for the man sitting in front of you. For the boy he once was — before Death Watch, before the beskar.
You say the name again. The word feels heavy on your tongue, but a smile spreads across your features as the Din’s head cocks to the side.
He looks at you the same way now. Even after the countless rotations that have passed since that night, he still regards you with his head tilted slightly to the right — an affectionate gesture, at least when it comes to you. You bite down hard on your inner cheek to stop the smile that begs to spread across your face at the sight — because despite his best efforts at looking intimidating, the way he’s looking down at you is undeniably cute.
“How’s this one look?”
Din’s helmet moves slightly toward the object you’re pointing at as he takes a step forward, invading your personal space. Your breath catches when his beskar presses lightly against your back as he inspects the deflector shield over your shoulder. You hear him hum softly, the voice modulator doesn’t pick up the sound, but your proximity allows you to hear it from beneath the helmet. It’s uncharacteristically warm — it makes you wonder how his voice would sound without the helmet on.
“Looks good enough to me.”
The Mandalorian shrugs his shoulders slightly and takes a step back. You immediately miss the feeling of his body behind you, but shake it off in order to barter for the piece you desperately need. Din appreciates the way you stand your ground in the market — he’s never been good with people, but you always seem to understand exactly what to say no matter the circumstance. You’ve gotten him and the kid out of some tough spots with nothing more than your wit and charm on several occasions, but he was always there behind you with a hand on his blaster just in case things went sideways. Even now, as he watches you haggle the price down with the stall owner, his hand rests against his thigh just above his blaster — you can never be too careful, especially on Tatooine. Once you bring the price down enough for your satisfaction, you turn around and outstretch a hand to the man standing behind you. Din wordlessly unclips a pouch from his belt and drops it into your hand. You smile at him before turning back towards the stall owner, the sight worth more than credits can buy. His head tilts as he studies you, something he’s found himself doing more recently. There’s just something about you that draws him in, something that’s becoming harder to resist the longer he spends by your side. He thought about ending your arrangement awhile ago, but he’s certain he wouldn’t be able to breathe without knowing you’re safe beside him — wherever you go, he goes.
You turn around, placing the deflector shield in the old rucksack slung across your shoulders before sliding the pouch of credits back into his hand. Din sucks in a breath, immediately wishing that the leather of his gloves would disappear so he could feel the sensation of your hand against his. He wraps his fingers around the credits like they’re his only lifeline, fist clenching tightly in an attempt to keep his resolve.
“You good?”
You peer up at him and he swears that you can see right through his beskar. His visor hides the smile pulling at his lips as he nods at you.
“You?”
Your smile matches his own, not that you can tell. You move your hand up to your face, wiping the sweat from your forehead before answering.
“Just tired of this heat.”
Din chuckles at that in understanding. Even though he’s gotten used to the uncomfortability that comes from wearing head-to-toe armor, the twin suns high in the afternoon sky are practically baking him in his beskar.
“You thirsty?”
Your smile grows in understanding. It’s not often that the two of you have time to spare when visiting Tatooine, but on the rare occasion that there is a moment of down time Din would offer to buy you a drink at Chalmun's Cantina.
“Very.”
Din extends his arm out, motioning for you to lead the way. You brush past the Mandalorian and you don’t need to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s following — there’s nowhere in the world you wouldn’t be able to feel Din’s presence, even the crowded alleys of Mos Eisley.
The cantina is a welcome reprieve from the blistering heat of Tatooine, but it is equally as crowded as the market. Din finds a small booth in a dim corner and leaves you only to buy a drink at the bar. Your hand settles on the blaster at your hip — the blaster Din gifted you on life day during your second standard year together. Locals tend to leave you alone, they’re aware that you’re under the protection of the Mandalorian that frequents the establishment; however, Mos Eisley is a popular spot for traveling bounty hunters and smugglers. To your dismay, you seem to have attracted the attention of a young, olive skinned Twi’lek in standard bounty hunter gear. The man saunters over to your booth and your hand tightens around the grip of your blaster. He places both of his hands on the table and leans over you, your head tilts up to meet his eyes. He’s attempting to make himself look taller by invading your personal space. You wonder if this is an attempt at intimidation — or worse, an attempt to impress you.
“Can I buy you a drink, ma sareen?”
Before you can form an answer, there’s already a blaster pressed into the Twi-lek’s back.
“Too slow, vaar’ika.”
Din places the drink down on the table with a heavy thunk and slides it towards you. You wrap your hand around the cool glass filled with neon blue liquid and take a sip before smiling sweetly up at the Mandalorian. Your eyes then drift to the Twi’lek who hasn’t moved an inch. You arch a brow at the young bounty hunter before speaking.
“Looks like Mando already beat you to it.”
The Twi’lek growls, barring his teeth at you. Din presses the blaster deeper into his back in response.
“Mind your manners.”
Din’s voice is ice cold, the voice modulator of the helmet eliminating the warmth you heard earlier today from his tone, which makes his words even more threatening. It’s moments like this when you realize just how dangerous the Mandalorian truly is. He could drop the Twi’lek without breaking a sweat — and he would without a second thought if the Twi’lek even thought about hurting you. The Twi’lek huffs out a frustrated breath before making his way back to a group of bounty hunters in the opposite corner of the cantina. Din watches him for several moments before holstering his blaster and sliding into the booth on the opposite side of you. You watch his shoulders relax as his visor focuses back on you.
“You ever get tired of being my bodyguard?”
Din’s head tilts at your question, like he can’t believe you’ve asked it and he answers immediately.
“No.”
You take another sip of your drink, attempting to hide the smile spreading across your features due to his response. Din notices. He notices everything about you — like the way you immediately change the subject. He doesn’t mind. By now, the two of you have established a comfortable ritual at the cantina. You talk and he listens. Occasionally, you ask him a question and he obliges you with an answer, but he’d much rather hear the sound of your voice.
You’re halfway through a story when a commotion from the other side of the cantina interrupts you. Din’s visor immediately moves toward the group of bounty hunters who are now fighting amongst themselves. He scoffs as he realizes that the olive skinned Twi’lek from earlier isn’t with them — he must have left to save himself from further embarrassment. Your head moves to follow Din’s gaze and you sigh as one of them pulls out their blaster, pointing it at one of his fellow men. You finish your drink and give Din a disappointed look.
All good things must come to an end.
Din gets up first, allowing his body to block you from the possibility of any misfire. He really never gets tired of being your bodyguard — he watches over you like it’s his life’s sworn purpose. The two of you exit the cantina. The heat has dissipated slightly, but it still hits you like a punch to the face. Still, you smile up at Din.
“You really do take me to the nicest places.”
He chuckles at your sarcasm, leading you towards the sparsely crowded passages that’ll take you back to Peli’s workshop. That is, until your touch stops him in his tracks. His visor moves to his arm, where your hand has found its place between two of his beskar plates. He can feel the warmth of your touch through the fabric of his flight suit. The sensation makes his brain short circuit. He tilts his head back up and finds you already looking at him — the playful glint in your eye has been replaced with a devastatingly beautiful tenderness.
“Hey, Mando!”
Din groans in frustration as he tears his attention away from you, spotting the Twi’lek from earlier. He must have followed you both from the cantina; however, Din was certain that he had left before the two of you. Either way, he’s tired of the man’s continued presence.
“Who’s too slow now?”
Din watches as the Twi’lek pulls out his blaster. He grabs his in return and aims; however, the olive skinned man beats him to the trigger. Din expects the bolt from the opposing blaster to ping off his armor, but it moves past him in slow motion. He moves on instinct, realizing too late that the shot was never meant for him — the Twi’lek was aiming for you. His hands move to pull you towards his body, out of the line of fire. A sharp gasp escapes your lips. Din hopes that it’s because of the sudden movement, but as your hand moves to hold your side he knows he was too late.
“No.”
Not you, not now. He cannot lose you.
His visor immediately finds the Twi’lek, still standing smugly at the entrance of the passageway. A growl rips through his throat as he raises his blaster once more with frightening speed before firing three shots at the Twi’lek. Once the assailant's body is lifeless on the ground, he focuses his attention back on you. His hands cover yours at your side before his visor focuses on your face.
“You’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
You nod at his words, though you’re unsure if he’s attempting to convince you or himself. Either way, he seems to relax slightly at your coherent response.
“We gotta make it back to the Razor Crest. Can you walk?”
You take a careful step forward, gritting your teeth through the searing pain. Din moves to your side, wrapping a solid arm around you so you can lean against him for support. The journey back to Peli’s workshop is grueling. Between the pain in your side and the blistering heat, it’s a miracle that you don’t pass out. Din spends the trip carrying the brunt of your weight, mumbling an apology every time you wince.
“What the hell happened out there?”
Peli questions the Mandalorian as soon as he enters the workshop. He throws the mechanic a look over his shoulder before answering.
“What’s it look like? I have a med kit on the Crest.”
“Well, did you at least get the part I need?”
Din huffs out a frustrated breath before yanking the rucksack off of you and throwing it at Peli. The mechanic catches the bag with ease before eyeing the deflector shield inside.
“Keep the kid off the ship!”
Din yells over his shoulder, but Peli is too busy assessing the part the two of you picked up. He lets out a frustrated sigh before hauling you up the ramp of the Razor Crest. Din places you gently down on the worn bench where you and Grogu eat meals together. He moves quickly, grabbing the med kit from the cluttered supply closet and dumping its contents on the small table beside you. Din kneels down in front of you, glancing up at your face before pulling your tunic up slightly so he can get a look at the wound. He sucks in a sharp breath at the sight. Your eyes follow nervously, but you let out a sigh of relief — the bolt simply grazed the skin on your right side. It will probably scar; however, the injury will heal fairly quickly. Din’s posture, though, is anything but relieved.
“Din, I’m okay.”
You attempt to soothe his worries; however, it seems that your words fall on deaf ears. He grabs a stimpack from the table — his fingers clutch the container so tight you’re worried it might shatter as he administers it to you. You grimace at the sharp pain in your side from the injection, but are grateful for the way your pain subsides to a dull ache almost immediately. Din mumbles an apology before moving to grab a bandage. He struggles to remove the adhesive backing, fumbling due to the fabric covering his hands. A string of Mando’a expletives escapes his mouth as he drops the bandage before frustratedly peeling off his gloves and unceremoniously tossing them on the floor with the discarded stimpack. Your eyes are instantly drawn to the tan skin he just unveiled — the scars that litter his bruised knuckles and the veins that trail up towards his forearms. And then you notice the way that his hands tremble as he moves to grab the bandage again. You grab them with your own in order to ground him back in this moment. Din immediately stills. Your touch is electric — his skin is buzzing due to the contact. And then you sweep your thumb gently over one of his swollen knuckles and his heartbeat is ringing in his ears. A part of him wonders if you can hear it through the layers of fabric and beskar.
He’s been careful to avoid this — the addictive sensation of your soft skin against his. Every time he’s had to patch you up in the past, his dark gloves have been a barrier between you both. But the heat of Tatooine and the anxiety making its home in his bones had his palms sweating uncomfortably against the heavy leather. The fabric kept sliding against his slick skin, making all fine motor skills damn near impossible. He never expected you to capture his hands with your own. But you did and there’s no going back. He never knew what he was missing, but now he does — he was a man dying of thirst and you're an oasis.
The adrenaline coursing through his veins has him moving forward without a second thought, resting his beskar clad forehead against yours. The cool metal feels like heaven against your sunbaked skin; however, a selfish part of you wonders what this would feel like without the beskar barrier. The meer thought crossing your mind has guilt immediately clawing up your throat. This should be enough — it’s more than you ever thought was possible when you first started traveling with the Mandalorian. However, every time Din offers you a new piece of himself, you yearn for another. Your hands involuntarily tighten around his and you swear you hear Din whimper through the helmet. He’s desperately trying to regain his self control, but he’s overwhelmed by the fact that your hands grasping his is no longer enough contact.
“Do you trust me?”
You pull your forehead away from his and stare into his visor. He feels infinitely small under your gaze. Once again, he swears you can see through the beskar.
“Of course.”
Your immediate answer relieves some of the anxiety that’s built up in his chest. He trusts you implicitly — more than anyone in the galaxy. He’s glad that he’s earned even an ounce of that from you.
“Close your eyes.”
You do as you’re told. Din’s heart is hammering against his chest as he musters up the courage for what’s next. He pulls his hands away from yours. The immediate frown that accompanies your expression has his lips quirking up into a small smile. His fingers tremble as he reaches up and grabs the edge of beskar under his chin. The helmet slides off easily and a gasp escapes your lips as you hear the metal clang against the floor. Din blinks once, then twice — attempting to adjust his vision to the unfamiliar light. And once his eyesight clears, it feels like he’s looking at you for the first time. And gods, you are beautiful.
“Please don’t open your eyes, cyar’ika.”
Your heart clenches as his voice graces your ears. The Mando’a term of endearment has never sounded sweeter. His timbre is soft and warm without the voice modulator — it’s how you’ve always imagined his voice would sound. The Mandalorian may be cold and intimidating by nature due to necessity. But Din — your Din — sounds like sunshine. You nod at his plea. Although you wish you could get just a glimpse at the man standing before you, you’d never do anything to break the careful, steadfast trust built between you both.
He moves closer to you, invading your personal space more than he’s ever allowed before. Your breath catches in your chest as you feel the heat radiating off of his body. And then he reaches out, gently guiding your hands to his face. You realize immediately what this gesture means — you may not be able to open your eyes due to his oaths, but this is his way of allowing you to see him. Din’s eyes flutter closed as your fingers roam the gentle planes of his features. A small laugh bubbles in your throat as his short stubble prickles your finger tips. To Din, the sound is heavenly. And then you card your fingers through his curls — the noise that escapes him is vulnerable and desperate. He never knew how starved he was for your touch and now that he’s felt it, his hunger feels damn near insatiable. He moves forward slowly, pressing his forehead against yours once again. Your hands immediately still as you feel his breaths fan against your cheeks.
You’re starting to think that Twi’lek did more than graze your side with his blaster outside of the cantina — that your body is actually unconsciously sprawled against the sands of Tatooine. Because this is a dream — heaven, really — and you never want to wake up.
“I’m sorry this is all I can give you.”
His voice is impossibly quiet and you can hear the shame permeating through his words. You gently shake your head against his. Doesn’t he know what this means to you? How you know that he’s already given more of himself to you than his creed allows? Your hands move, cradling his face.
“This is everything, Din.”
He laughs — really laughs — at that. The sound is melodic. And with a newfound confidence, Din greedily presses his lips against yours. Your hands find their way to his soft locks once more as his pull your body against the harsh planes of beskar armor, careful of your injury. The kiss is desperate and messy — years of built up tension finally breaking through your haphazard affections. When you finally break the kiss, gasping for breath, Din doesn’t let you go far. His knuckle caresses your cheekbone as he openly admires your flushed features. And when he speaks, his voice is overflowing with unbridled devotion.
Hi everypony! This one's a loooong one. I really enjoyed this chapter and I hope you do too, HAVE FUN MAULINGS!
Rooks voice pierced through the ships comm system. "My Lord, how goes the endeavours on Shakari-"
"Rook, listen to me carefully, I need you to round up everyone. Get as many ships and guns prepared and wait on my signal. I will give further instructions soon." Maul announced as he entered Alderaans atmosphere.
"Lord Maul, what is this for?" The Mandalorian replied, confused at her leaders erratic behaviour.
"I will explain when I have more details, and time. I am en route to Alderaan and will comm within the hour."
"Sir-" She began, but he cut her off, ending the call.
Maul landed (more like crash landed) the ship haphazardly and leapt down the ramp before it was even fully down. Every step he took, he reached out into the force, sensing your past movements. It was a difficult skill to keep up, but his fear and building rage pushed him.
Passers by looked on with perplexed expressions, watching the zabrak manoeuvre through the alleyways at impressive speeds. He didn't care, he could sense he was closing in on something.
Then, his metal feet scraped to a halt. This specific alley, this is where the connection in the force ended. It must've happened here. Maul observed carefully, his eyes landing on an unfamiliar object in the middle of the street. A piece of brown, singed fabric; fabric from a cloak, an expensive one at that. "Dooku..."
Mauls gaze tracked upwards, his eyes narrowing on the security cameras that lined the streets. Growing up, the Sith was surrounded by droids, therefore found himself handy with a portable scomp link. He removed the outer panelling of a nearby streetlamp and began infiltrating the surveillance system - soon, he found what he was looking for.
He watched as you duelled, you put up a damn good fight, especially against Count Dooku. The footage showed your injury and subsequent unconsciousness, followed by Dookus droids carrying you away. Maul hopped from camera to camera following where they took you, eventually ending up at a ship dock on the far edge of the city.
The man didn't hesitate, much to the dismay of an unfortunate Alderaanian, Maul force pulled a passing speeder towards him and highjacked it. Revving full throttle in the direction of the ship dock.
As he sped down the roads, Maul focused. He turned his attention back to the force, trying to gauge any indication of where Dooku could have taken you and which planets would make the most sense for him to go to. Coruscant would draw too much attention as well as Raxus, Geonosis was now with the Republic, Serenno was too far away to make escape quick and easy enough. The most likely planet, was Skako.
As Maul pulled up to the desolate dock, he surveyed the tracks left in the dirt. Fresh landing gear imprints told him that a large, commercial ship had recently taken off. One large enough to carry a whole crew and more. Suddenly, a small, squeaky voice echoed from inside a stall within the dock.
"Yeah and then I charged him- rgkrrk!" Maul seized a young Toydarian with the force, squeezing his throat.
"You! The ship that just left here, who was on it?" He commanded.
"I- hgkk- can't tell you!" The blue man squeaked out.
"You will tell me, or die!" The Sith tightened his grip on the Toydarians neck.
"Gah! OK, OK! Some old sleemo and a bunch of droids, they had a woman with them but I don't think she was doing too hot." He spluttered.
"Where did they go?"
"I don't know! I just work here, I don't keep track of- AaAaaAhHH!" The zabrak released the man, sending him scurrying back into whatever building the crawled out from.
As much as Maul didn't want to admit it, he had to rely on what you had taught him. He took a deep breath, sinking his knees into the dirt and closing his eyes. A low, rumbling sound began around him - particles of earth vibrated as he dug deeper into the force. Using your training, he pushed his anger and fear aside momentarily. Now, all he focused on was you, and the path you left in the force. Finally, he opened his eyes, feeling the dust settle.
"Rook, send the men to Skako. I will rendezvous with you there." Maul said into his commlink.
"Skako? My Lord, what is our mission?" Rook replied over the hiss of the comm.
"Dooku set up an ambush on Alderaan, he has taken Y/n to draw me out. I sense they have gone to there." The man said as he boarded the speeder and set off back in the direction of his ship.
"But then we would be walking into a trap?" The Mandalorian asked, careful not to seem insulting.
"You wanted action. I am giving you action. Now get to Skako." Maul switched off his comm and revved the speeder.
Your connection to the force was weak, but your bond remained. Maul usually wasn't one to put all of his faith in the force, however in this case he had no choice. It was the place that made the most sense, plus, he still felt that tug in his chest pulling him towards you. He had to be on the right track.
----
"You are growing weaker, I'm afraid 'The Shadow' is running out of time." Dooku taunted you as you hung by the chains. By now, you were slouched over, dangling by your wrists as your wound started to ooze.
"Oh please, be quiet!" You spat with your remaining strength.
The Count paid your words no mind. "Maybe you're right, maybe he isn't coming. How does that make you feel, Jedi?"
You panted. "Kriff... you..."
It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Every time you looked up, the whole room was a blur, all you could make out was the darkness of Dooku's aura. Your hearing became muffled, but out of the murmurs you could just about make out the unmistakable sound of a B1 battle droid from beyond the doorway.
"Count Dooku, there are multiple unidentified ships entering the atmosphere. How shall we proceed?" The droid asked in that whiny, nasally voice.
A surge of relief coursed through you, followed by anxiety. The syndicate had come for you, but they were walking into a trap.
Dooku turned to you, grinning. "At last. It seems the old apprentice has learned from his previous mistakes and brought reinforcements. A pity, really. He's brought them to their doom."
The droid continued. "Count Dooku, it appears they out match us. It would be wise to lea-"
"No, we must let them come. As soon as I engage in combat and defeat Darth Maul, his mercenaries will scatter. Keep them at bay until he arrives." With that, the man made his exit. His large cape billowing behind him. It seemed to you that Dooku was confident enough in his own abilities to not call upon the rest of the Separatist fleet for backup.
From the doorway, you observed two B1 droids. They exchanged glances, first to you, then in the direction Dooku went, then back to each other.
"Aww man, we're going to die aren't we?" The first one said, his blaster drooping in his hands.
"Yep, pretty much." The other replied, shaking his head in disappointment.
The haze of weakness returned to you, drawing a cloudy film over your eyes. You could barely feel your heart beating, all of your blood had pooled around your ankled and drained from your arms. The constant stretch in your spine caused your back agonising pain - but you were getting numb. This would've been a good thing, if it didn't mean that you were losing your grip on your life.
After what felt like another hour of muffled droid voices, you heard something. An explosion. A feeling of warmth and power surged back into you, making you tilt up your head and open your eyes. Blasters fired and metal clanged as the feeling grew larger. Adrenaline rushed in, you looked to the door to see a red hue quickly consume the hallway.
It was Maul, and he was taking no prisoners. He sliced through those droids as if he had a vendetta against them personally. His eyes seared with rage as he twirled his sabre, deflecting blaster bolts. Then, as the last three droids stood helpless - Maul threw his double edged lightsaber, boomeranging it and cutting down the last clankers in one fell swoop.
You smiled weakly to yourself. *He definitely thought that was cool.*
The zabrak finally turned his attention to the room you were in, his vengeful eyes softening as he saw you. "Y/n? Y/N!"
Maul leapt over to you, immediately assessing how he could get you down from where you were strung. His eyes trailed to your gaping wound, causing him to wince in sympathy. Seeing your exhausted state, he ignited his sabre, carefully cutting through the chains.
"M- Maul- Dooku, he's..." You attempted to warn him as you fell into his arms.
"Oh- here, can you stand?" Without hesitation, he caught you. Bringing a hand to your face to check your pupils and pulse. You gathered from his expression, he didn't like what he found.
"I-" You muttered breathily, before collapsing against him. You felt your eyes drifting shut involuntarily, using the last of your strength, you clutched onto his shoulders.
Maul supported your waist, the sounds of blaster fire getting closer in the hallway. "Not to worry, hold on, this may sting."
Effortlessly, he scooped you up by your legs, your arms still wrapped around his neck. You yelped as the skin around your injury stretched.
Maul carried you 'bridal-style' out into the corridor, where the rest of the Mandalorians engaged Dooku's droids. All you could make out were the whizzing colours and subdued voices of the syndicate.
"Rook! With me!" Maul commanded, gesturing his head towards the hole they'd blown in the wall, which, right now was their only exit.
"Is she alright My Lord?" Rook asked, covering the Sith with her blaster fire.
"I am unsure, we must retreat! Our forces are pinned down, we have lost men." Maul yelled overtop the barrage of artillery. It was rare he would retreat, but he was a smart man, and he knew when to call time.
The Separatist base on Skako was located in a city on stilts, the tall towers stood hundreds of meters above the planets surface. Maul too had landed his ship on the ground, and with the urgency of this mission, no one had really thought of an escape plan.
"I agree, but, the ships are on the ground, its a long way down sir..." Rook gestured her head towards the hole that was several yards away from them. The B1 droids kept flowing, every time one was cut down, two more would be deployed. The hallway was soon teeming with them, shooting mercilessly at the syndicate. Maul may have had Mandalorians on his side, but Dooku had numbers.
"Call the men!" Maul ordered. Rook tapped her comm, causing a light to begin flashing on the other Mandos comms, signalling for their immediate retreat.
Maul adjusted his grip on your wilted body and made for the exit, followed closely by Rook who still kept to pelting the droids with blaster bolts.
Reaching the hole in the wall, Maul took cover behind some debris and peered down, careful to keep you close. The ground wasn't visible, a thick layer of cloud shrouded the bottom. Having entered from the surface and travelled up inside the building, he didn't realise how far of a drop down would be.
He growled with frustration, Rook halted her firing and hid behind the debris. "My Lord, I can carry you!" She said, gesturing to her jetpack. Her voice filled with urgency.
With no warning, the blaster fire ceased. All droids in the hallway stopped firing and stood still. Everyone froze. Maul felt a disturbance deep within his chest. He took a breath, peeking overtop the debris.
Count Dooku. Armed and at the ready, surrounded by his army of mindless droids. His bearded face serious and unyielding. He was ready for this fight, and he'd be damned if he let his prize escape this time.
Maul shut his eyes momentarily, grasping onto you tightly. "Take her, get to the ship with the others and get out of here." Maul instructed Rook.
By this time, your whole body had gone limp, your breathing was barely audible and your skin had drained to a ghostly pale. The Mandalorian held out her arms, taking you from Mauls.
"But-" She protested, but Maul wasn't having it. He looked into her helmet visor, lowering his gaze. Rook understood. To give everyone the best chance of survival, he had to face Dooku, alone.
The Sith rose to his feet, breathing deeply, and stepped out into the corridor.
"Darth Maul. We meet again." The Count spoke, igniting his lightsaber.
"A displeasure to see you, as always, Count Dooku. You have my attention, now, what do you want?" Maul watched out his peripheral as Rook leapt from the building, firing up her jetpack with you in her arms.
"I want nothing from you, my master demands your execution. Your very existence threatens his plans." Dooku smirked as he watched how Sidious' mention sent a cold shiver down Mauls spine.
Maul ignited his sabre, readying his stance. "You know nothing of his plans, Darth Sidious will betray you!"
"We have visited this conversation before, your hatred and lust for revenge cloud your mind. Not to mention your fear for the girl." The Count chuckled.
The zabraks eyes widened, then his face tightened into an animalistic sneer. He growled at the mans arrogance to bring you up. Maul felt that familiar feeling of his anger taking control, the dark side pulsing within him.
"Yes, that's right. I know all about your attachment to her, there is no use in lying. Yet, you refuse her? You only make this harder for yourself, boy." Dooku patronised him.
"SILENCE!" Maul shouted as he lunged for the old man, their blades met, instantly he began pelting him with strikes - ferociously attacking on the offensive.
Dooku continued in the defensive, having to react quickly in order to block Mauls devastating blows. The Count swung for Mauls legs, but he was faster, blocking his attempt, then knocking his hilt up into Dooku's face. The old man stepped back, clutching his nose. Maul saw the opening, his rage consuming him, he landed a barrage of strikes onto the elders sabre, weakening him with each hit.
For the first time in a long time, Count Dooku felt genuine fear. Maul was winning this fight, fuelled by his attachment to you.
Eventually, Dooku regained his balance, blocking Mauls sabre and holding him, staring at him face to face. "Such a shame, your death will only leave her empty hearted." The old man spurred.
Maul saw nothing but red, the veins in his eyes bursting with fury. Dooku had done this to you, injured you, tortured you. The force scratched at him, begging to be released.
"GRRAH!" Maul screamed, pushing harder. The Counts face turned white as he began to lose control over his own sabre. Mauls strength overpowered him, he hadn't anticipated how the zabraks personal feelings would stoke the flames of his anger. Dooku was beginning to doubt, his own arrogance had boosted his belief in his own strength.
As the two mens sabres clashed, a low hum arose from the exit behind them. Blaster fire from Separatist ships pelted the repurposed LAAT gunship you had found yourself in when you woke. And by sheer will, you held it back with the force, stopping the blaster bolts in a shield and protecting the ship.
The force flowed inside your blood, allowing you to stand and defend the syndicate despite your weakened state. Both Maul and Rook gazed at you with shock and awe. Your hands shook as the blasters hailed down a storm of fire. If you weren't protecting the ship - it would've been downed before it had even risen.
"Maul! Get- cough- to the ship, we have to go!" You called feebly to the man, who turned his attention from your voice back to the fight.
You were struggling. If he didn't make a decision now, you would lose your grip, and the ship would go down.
This moment, this single decision would define the true nature of Mauls mind. Kill Dooku, or save your life. Potentially ruin his old masters plans and exact his revenge then and there, or leave before the ship is destroyed, taking his mercenaries and you along with it. The choice was his.
And in this moment, Maul did the only thing he could think of. He went to his mind palace. In a split second, he was back on Dathomir. Those same red clouds and dusty smell surrounded him as a familiar presence came into view through the fog.
Maul squinted his eyes. "Mother? Mother!"
There she stood, Mother Talzins tall figure rose proud as she emerged. The fabric of her cape flowing gently in the wind. Maul rushed up to her, desperate to return to the fight. "I must act quickly, we don't have much time, I-"
But before he could finish, Mother Talzin held up her palm to stop him. "I know what decision lies in front of you, my son. And I cannot make it for you."
Her expression was steadfast. The force worked in mysterious ways, as did nightsister magic, Maul wasn't entirely sure if he was speaking to the spirit of his mother left over from her death some time ago, or if she was merely a recollection of her conjured by his mind. Either way, he sought her wisdom.
"May I have your guidance?" He asked gingerly.
"Hmm...." Talzin looked him up and down, glancing at her son's conflicted gaze. "You must tell me, truthfully, are you attached to this woman? Not by the force, but by your own connection?"
Maul paused. He thought back to when you rescued him on Serenno, how you said that you did it, because you thought he would do the same for you. And here he was - doing exactly that. "...yes."
"And do you want her in your future, do you want her to live?" Mother Talzin spoke, her commanding voice echoing in Mauls mind.
His thoughts shifted. He valued your training of him, without you, this interaction wouldn't even be possible... amongst other things. "Yes."
Talzin lowered herself, levelling eye to eye with her son. "Now tell me, is the price of this victory worth her life? Or the rest of those Mandalorians' too?"
Again, he paused. For so long, all that was on Mauls mind, was revenge - victory. Before meeting you, Kenobi was at the top of his list for exacting his vengeance, but you had changed that. You helped him see the bigger enemy. And the more he thought, the more he realised that he didn't want to see Sidious defeated if that meant you weren't there to watch.
"No, no it isn't mother."
Mother Talzin looked upon him with a proud smile. "Then, my son, your path is clear. Trust in your own plannings and be patient. The time for revenge will come, just as you have foreseen it."
Maul nodded, watching as the image of his mother began to dissolve back into the fog. "Thank you, mother. You are as wise as ever."
Suddenly, he was back in the fight. The picture of Dathomir had disappeared and what was left was the sobering reality of facing off against Count Dooku. Maul picked up where he left off - his and The Counts blades pushing against one another in a battle of strength.
He glanced out of his peripheral, you were still there, holding a shield around the ship but barely managing to stay conscious. Now, he knew what he had to do.
"GggRAAAH!" Maul roared as he force pushed Dooku far down the corridor, buying him just enough time to sprint to the gaping hole in the wall where you waited. And in an impressive leap - he launched himself into the ship, tumbling to the hard ground.
"Saxon, GO!" Rook screeched to the commander who promptly activated the ships boosters, propelling you all vertically into the atmosphere.
Dookus ships followed, but lacked the tinkering that Thalen had expertly fitted to Mauls small collection of ships. You shot into space, leaving a trail of smoke for the B1 droids to follow.
"Hyperspace, now!" Maul shouted to Saxon in the cockpit, watching as Dookus ships grew closer.
"Calculating..." The commander replied, his voice steady.
"Making the jump, hold tight!" Saxon dropped the lever, launching the ship into hyperspace, just in time.
You dropped. Maul caught your unconscious body as it fell, cradling the back of your head.
"You did well, my dear. Rest." He spoke softly into your ear as you and the rest of the syndicate made your way back to Mandalore.
Mauls words rung through your head as you drifted off. Your chest stung with exhaustion, the pain of your wound ate away at your side. But shortly, all of your senses faded away. You felt as if you were floating inside your own mind with nothing but the comfort of Mauls gentle voice to cling on to.
Slowly, you came around. Unfortunately so did your senses. The light of the medical wing in the Sundari palace beamed in front of your eyelids. A tight sensation wrapped itself around your middle, you felt layers of fabric constructing you as you inhaled deeply. Before you even opened your eyes, you knew who was beside you; that oceanic musk so difficult to miss.
"Try not to strain, your flesh is still healing." Mauls patterned face came into your blurry vision as you blinked awake. His figure sat next to you, a tender look resting in his eyes.
"Urgh... How long have I been out?" You said, grunting, sitting up gradually. The stabbing pain from your wound now more of a dreary ache.
"Several days." Maul responded flatly.
"Days!?" You exclaimed, raising your eyebrows. You had only felt like you'd been out for a few hours at the very most.
"Yes, it was necessary for your body to rest. Your injuries were... quite severe. I have been observing your recovery." He admitted, his hands clasped awkwardly in his lap. It looked to you as if he was avoiding eye contact with you, pondering his decision he made on Skako, and why he made it.
"I guess I had you worried then, huh." You said, trying to lighten the mood.
Maul released some air through his nostrils, acknowledging your sentence and smiling slightly. He hadn't really realised the tension he had been carrying the last few days waiting for you to wake up. Now that you were conscious, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. "Yes. You did."
You returned a kind smile. His affectionate words were rare, so you knew they meant a lot. In fact, these were some of the only affectionate words he had spoken to you. Oh how you craved his compassion, his sensitivity. You caught yourself, this was a former Sith Lord you were thinking about, but you couldn't bring yourself to lower your expectations. Those small encounters you'd had with him where he'd shown you his vulnerability told you - he had it within him to be caring.
You sighed tiredly, speaking faintly. "I'm... sorry, I got you into all of this mess. If I had just waited until you had gotten back-"
"It's wasn't your fault." He cut you off, now, looking you in your eyes.
"Still, a lot of men probably died just to save me. It shouldn't have come to that." Your heart sank as you thought of the Mandalorians who had given their lives on that mission. Though you didn't see much of it, one could only assume the all those blaster bolts had to have hit something.
After a beat, Maul replied, quietly. "You're worth saving."
Your mouth fell slightly agape. You couldn't really believe what you were hearing. Hiding your expression, you simpered. "Hm, because who would file your horns otherwise?"
"Hmph." Maul chuckled at your sarcasm. That was something he valued in you, your ability to make any situation into something less harrowing. Maybe it was your sense of humour that gave you that ability, or maybe it was just because of the way you were. The way he liked you to be.
"Or brew your tea, or talk about droid assembly, or hang out with the Mandalorians when you don't want to?" You continued, poking fun at his introverted nature. You too were introverted, but honestly you did enjoy being with the syndicate. Knowing that they all came to your aid at their own peril warmed you.
A comfortable air befell the empty room as you giggled. Maul luxuriated in it. Feeling the anger inside him disperse.
"I would... miss your company." He placed his gloved hand atop of yours, staring deep into your eyes. This wasn't like when he said that he would 'miss your company' as he dropped you on Coruscant, this was different. Maul wasn't trying to be polite, or flirtatious, he was being utterly and completely honest.
Without you, that small slither of light in his life would be extinguished. His days would be spent plotting, training, killing. He would become a shell of what he used to be, entirely alone. You had changed him, and if you left now, the emptiness you would leave behind would be hard not to notice.
You flipped your hand over, both of your palms facing each others. Slowly, you wove your fingers in-between his. Maul looked down as you gently closed your hand around his hand, stroking it with your thumb tenderly.
"Thank you, Maul. For saving me." You locked eyes with him, smiling warmly. Your soft touch making him relax his shoulders and lean in closer to you.
Maul pondered to himself; your hair was tangled and awry, your face was covered in scratches, your body was weak and broken, but in this moment - he thought you had never looked more beautiful.
In the most sincere way possible, he felt his vulnerability flow outwards, letting his guard down for just a brief second. "I would do it again, my dear."
You melted at his words. He cared for you. Even if it was through some twisted, scheming way. You'd never felt a feeling like this, for someone else. Your stomach erupted in tingles as your heart seemed as if it had blown up like a balloon.
That oh-so familiar tug in the force yanked at you. But you didn't need its guidance anymore to know what you were feeling or who Maul was to you.
You were in love with him.
Mauls breathing slowed as he leaned down to where you lay. His grip on your hand tightened gently and with his other hand, he cradled your face. You gazed at him, your faces so close you could see every pore, every ridge in his crimson skin. Reaching your hand up wearily, you stroked his cheek. Mauls eyes faltered shut at your action, he savoured the feeling of your velvet touch, his spine shivered at your affection.
He parted his lips, his eyes were closed but he knew his trajectory. You met him in the middle, placing your lips on his. But you didn't close them, all you did was feel. His breath blew on to yours, it was as if you were breathing as one. Your cold nose brushed against his as he caressed the side of your face with his fingers.
Your foreheads rested on each others, you stayed, breathing. Hearts beating, skin pulsing, you were entirely whole. Finally, you sealed your lips together in the most compassionate and pure kiss. Soaking in every second of sensitivity. This wasn't sexual, this wasn't an apology, this was what the Jedi had long forbidden...
Abruptly, Maul pulled away. He turned his head and shoulders from you, removing his hands. You stayed in the same position, your face turning cold from his unexpected departure.
You weren't offended, you could feel his emotions through the force, those barriers he tried so hard to keep up were coming apart at the seams. He felt what you felt. Those same butterflies in your stomach plagued him too. But all he could react with, was fear.
Maul cleared his throat, breaking the tension. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small box.
"Here, take this." His tone was timid and slightly afraid. You noticed his lack of eye contact as he passed you the box.
"What is it?" You asked, taking it from him.
"Jewellery, from Alderaan. Whilst you've been unconscious I decided to fashion it into a location device. To ensure a situation like this does not happen again." His voice was small and low, despite being alone, it seemed he did not want to be overheard.
You opened the box. "Oh wow..."
Inside was a gorgeous necklace made of shining metal. The chain was simple, but sturdy and at the bottom was a shimmering locket topped with ruby stones. The jewels glistened as you opened the locket, inside was a tiny device with a blinking light. A tracking beacon.
You stared at the necklace as Mauls comm began to beep.
"I must go, Rook says there is something I must tend to. I will be back." The zabrak stood, letting go of your hand.
"Thank y-" You began, but by the time you looked up, he was already gone.
I have too many feelings, but just know that that battle sequence was riveting as was their tender moment. You juxtaposed those two scenes so beautifully, chaos and tenderness ♥️♥️♥️♥️
summary: after helping the mandalorian with a favor, he brings you a gift as a thank you. little do both of you know that this gift sparks a connection that neither of you can deny, and thoughts that din never considered before you.
tags/warnings: dual pov, no use of y/n cuz ew, alcohol consumption, mentions of medicine/contraceptives, a very tiny mention of being chased/hunted down, hella chemistry, fluff, language, jealousy, sexual tension, yearning, dirty talk, heavy makeout, biting, fingering, clit play, cunnilingus, breast play, slight choking kink, piv unprotected sex, praise kink, breeding kink, cream pie, helmet off, dark room sensory focused.
author’s note: listen listen LISTEN... I know, it's been a hot minute 🥲 Life happened and all that jazz. Tbh this has been in my drafts for a while but I decided to finish it now that the movie is out so this is probably canon divergent at this point lol. But when I tell you I ran away writing this, bitch I raaaan. To everyone who wondered what happened to that bottle of liquor in s3, this is for you pookies🫵🏻🙂↕️
**update** this fic is now on AO3! It's my first work on there at the moment but feel free to drop some love 😁✨
When you decided to make Nevarro your home, you expected it to be a rough place. A far off den of thieves, bounty hunters, and a sleazy connection to the old empire. Nonetheless, it was cheap so you convinced yourself you could put up with it. It wasn’t anything new to you. Plus, at the time, you really didn’t have anywhere else to go.
Thankfully, the reputation has drastically improved over the past few years. It’s not Naboo, but there’s a sort of gritty charm to it. Rebels became marshals. Bars became schools. Thieves became honest vendors. Hell, there’s even kaf shops here now.
You’re no stranger to drastic changes in this galaxy. You’ve beared witness to the rise and fall of an empire after all.
But receiving a bottle of wine at night from a notorious ex-bounty hunter is definitely a first for you.
“You’re… giving this to me,” you ask, dragging the question out.
The Mandalorian stands at your doorstep. Unreadable beneath hard shiny metal and illuminated only by the entry light of your home above your door. The chilly night air bites your cheeks but he stands unfazed.
“As a thank you,” he explains. “You were a big help to my kid and this was the only thing I had that seemed like something you’d enjoy.”
All you did was give his little green kid some medicine. It’s not like it was even your first interaction with the infamous hunter. He’s stopped by your apothecary a couple times. Passing by so swiftly you hardly even knew he was there if it wasn’t for the lingering stares from other customers. If you recall correctly, he only ever picks up supplies to replenish a med pack or bacta spray for wounds.
Until you suddenly found him at your doorstep the other night with his adorable little green baby in his arms. The poor little guy was running a fever, coughing up a storm, and had even refused food for over a day. Any parent would be frantic. And so you didn’t even think twice to let them inside.
Luckily your small shop is attached below your home, so you were quick to find the right tinctures for his illness. The Mandalorian paced circles in your kitchen as you administered the medicine and blotted his kid’s little forehead with a cool damp cloth. It took some time and a lot of reassurance to a very nervous father, but after a few hours the fever broke.
You sent them home with some herbal tinctures and even some homemade hard medicinal candies for stubborn coughs and that was it. Hardly any words were exchanged between you that night that didn’t pertain to the child. Only a heartfelt thank you, goodnight, and a promise to pay you back somehow. You assured him that it really wasn’t necessary, that you were glad to help.
You’ve admittedly always been curious about the man. With his stoic demeanor and a reputation that preceded him like lightening preceded thunder. He’s somewhat of a local legend, menace, and hero all wrapped up in one. And now he’s at your door. With booze. Definitely a man of his word, this guy.
“You’re giving this,” you repeat with astonishment. “This whole bottle, to me?”
“Yes,” he answers again. “Is it a special one or something?”
“This is Andoan wine,” you emphasize, holding out the clear glass bottle. “You can only find these on Coruscant now. Very delicious, very rare, very expensive.”
“Is it,” he asks nonchalantly. “I’ve never tried it before. But I hope you enjoy it.”
“You really don’t have to,” you tell him.
“I insist. I didn’t know the first thing to do so I appreciate your help.”
You chuckle. With your limited interactions, you’re starting to see that he’s short and to the point with his words. Almost like he’s not entirely used to speaking with people.
“I…” You nearly argue it again but decide against it. He really didn’t have to give you such a lavish gift for something any good person would do in a situation like that. It was only natural. But at this point, refusing him might come off as rude so…
“Thank you very much.”
The Mandalorian acknowledges your gratitude with a tilt of his helmet, then turns on his heels to leave without another word. And for some reason, you linger at the door. You watch him go down one step, then another, then-
“H-hey, Mando?”
Your sudden call stops him in his tracks on the stair case and he turns to look back over his shoulder. The dim light gleaming over his steel.
“Yes?”
“I…. w-well…”
You’re stammering. Just come out and say it.
“If you’ve never tried it… would you like to share it with me?”
He stands there silently looking at you and the awkwardness crawls your skin.
“I’m not busy at the moment and it’s not really in my culture to drink alone.”
Culture your ass. You just want to drink with him. It’s unclear why in particular but… you’re curious about him. Other than the company of his kid, he seems alone. You wonder if he prefers it that way or if it’s for another reason entirely. Either way, the offer was worth a shot.
There’s more silence and the only noise in the air comes from the gentle chirp of some lava crickets and the breeze brushing the trees in the street. And it’s in that moment that regret starts to burn in your stomach
He’s gonna say no. A pause like that doesn’t necessarily mean yes. But it would be rude not to offer, right? A bottle this nice doesn’t come by these parts and it’d be a shame to drink it alone. It’s reasonable to offer the gesture. After all, he went out of his way to come here from across town. It’s the least you can do to show your appreciation in return.
“Alright.”
The word that falls out of him so effortlessly hits you like a punch to the chest. Are you nervous? Absolutely. But how many people can say they shared a drink with the Mandalorian?
A few minutes later, you find yourself standing on your tip toes, grabbing a couple earthenware ceramic cups in your kitchenette cabinet while Mando stands in your living room. His helmet follows the various potted plants, momentos and knick knacks from your travels littered around your home. Even tracing his gloved fingers over some of them.
“You have a nice home,” he says. “I didn’t notice before. Very lived in.”
“Lots of junk,” you joke. “You can say it Mando, I won’t mind.”
“My place is still new. Doesn’t feel like a home just yet.”
“That’ll change over time,” you assure him. “After a while, your home becomes a collection of memories.”
His attention gets drawn to a particular item on your wall. It’s an old worn down canvas satchel bag that hangs on the wall. At one point it was a life line. Now it serves as a reminder that no matter how hard life gets, showing a little kindness can go a long way for someone.
“What’s this memory?”
“That? That memory is what got me here.” You smile to yourself as you wipe down the cups with a clean kitchen rag.
“A few years ago, I was on Pantora with just some spare change and the clothes on my back. I was desperate to leave so I ended up hitching a ride on a freight ship. I worked on the ship in exchange for a ride to Corellia. Their language was difficult to learn and I had a rough time getting things done because for some reason everything was written in the native language and not aurebesh. On a stop to Tattooine, I accidentally labeled a pallet of coaxium as a pallet of scrap metal. That “scrap” was sold to some Jawas and by the time everyone realized my mistake we were already halfway to the next planet.”
“Was that before you came the Nevarro?”
“That was the reason I came to Nevarro,” you clarify. “It was their next stop so they dropped me here.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah, ouch,” you laugh. “Anyway, I guess one of the workers felt sorry for me and left me that satchel with a couple credits and some ration bars inside. Buuut my mistake turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Nevarro turned itself around. I have my own little business. I’m even able to save a little bit of money now. For the time being, things are comfortable. I’ve hopped around the system a lot as you can see. But… this is a place I can always come back to.”
“Something reliable,” he adds.
“Exactly,” you say softly, smiling at the sentiment.
You look up at him. And you didn’t notice as you were cleaning those cups that he’s now completely facing towards you. His visor is trained on you. And it’s then that you realize how small your home really is. Because Mando is broad.
His crossed arms accentuate his wide shoulders. His chest plate follows the lines of his trim torso. Even those plates of beskar armor can barely hide the bulk of his biceps. Your eyes briefly, briefly take a tour at his waist line before you realize how incredibly rude you’re being.
He’s a guest. And a customer. Don’t. Check. Him. Out.
Heat starts to rise in your cheeks. Focusing back on the cups, you round the kitchen counter and walk over to him.
“I’m sorry. All this talking suddenly got deeper and I feel like I haven’t really introduced myself. We’ve only ever passed by each other before,” you chuckle, shaking away the nerves.
In hindsight you should’ve just introduced yourself the other night, but truthfully you were in care-taker-mode and it didn’t occur to you at the time. Plus you didn’t think you’d have an encounter with the man again other than seeing him briefly in your shop every so often. But he seems like a nice enough person with the limited knowledge you do have with him. And after tonight you’re bound to cross paths again. So you happily extend your hand out and give him his cup along with your full name.
There’s a couple beats of silence and you’re starting to see that’s his default. But it doesn’t stop you from second guessing your words as if you’re crossing an unknown boundary. There’s a slight tilt downward with his helmet and he responds with a regretful “I’m sorry, but-“
“You don’t have to tell me your name,” you immediately add. “I know there’s… principles you must have. I just wanted you to know me. That’s all.”
Another beat passes before he finally reaches out to take the cup in his hand. He repeats your name and the way it comes out of his voice holds a whole new flavor. Soft and curious even through the warble of his vocoder. It’s almost like he’s seeing how it tastes.
You like it. You like it a lot.
“It’s nice to meet you.” The voice wears the vocoder like a veil but you still catch a hint of a smile by his relaxed tone. No real logical way to know for certain, just a gut feeling.
“Likewise,” you smile back.
“So,” he exhales. “You want to know how two Mandalorians drink?”
“Sure. Sounds educational,” you joke.
With a tilt of his helmet, Mando steps further into the living room area and you follow behind, cup and bottle in hand. Walking over to the couch, his gloved hand reaches for the small round pillow resting there. His smokey grey cape flows over his shoulder and for a moment you’re mesmerized by the movement. As he turns on his heel, his fingers release the pillow. Letting it fall to the thin rug with a muted poof.
“Right here.” Mando gestures to the floor and you waltz over to take a seat on the cushion, crossing your legs. It doesn’t escape your notice how he doesn’t grab the only pillow for himself. Opting for your comfort over his own.
He takes a minute to look around the room. Probably checking for anything reflective. Then with a swish of his cape to the side, Mando settles in the floor behind you. When his back presses against yours, you expect a wall of cold hard metal beneath the cape. But instead there’s warmth. Strong and firm, but still warm and giving.
“It’s customary to sit on the floor when drinking with a war band. Usually outside around a fire. When it’s just two, it’s back to back.”
“Aaah,” you drawl. “Very practical. I like it.”
The top of the bottle comes off with a pop and the rich scent caresses your nose like a hug. After pouring about two fingers worth into Mando’s cup you pour one for yourself and settle in.
“Are we drinking to anything tonight ,” you ask him.
“Not sure. How about…,” he pauses for a moment before deciding. “To that Pantoran who gave you the satchel.”
That makes you laugh out loud. But you can’t help but feel a little pleased at that. If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be on Nevarro, wouldn’t have a home. And you definitely wouldn’t be drinking with Mando tonight. For that you’re especially grateful.
“You know what, yeah,” you chuckle. “To the Pantoran.”
Mando extends his arm back to reach your cups and you meet him halfway. Letting them touch with a soft clack.
“Cheers.”
“Cheers.”
There’s an unclicking sound and you sense that he’s probably tilting his helmet back to drink. You ignore the small tinge of disappointment that he didn’t take it completely off. But it’s understandable. He doesn’t know you well. Even drinking like this with an outsider is probably a big deal for people of his creed. His back presses a little further against yours as he takes his first sip and you take yours.
The wine is rich and dry, and a bit smokey. But the underlying taste of tangy fruit blends well with the flavor. Going by the color, it has to have been bottled for a decades. The alcohol runs warmly down your throat and settles like smoldering ember in your stomach. It’s like no other alcohol you’ve ever tried before. Not even close.
“Hoooh,” he hisses after that sharp bite of alcohol.
“Yeah,” you agree knowingly. Already sensing that this bottle is getting finished tonight.
The conversations flow pretty easily after the first drink. He tells you about how his boy came into his life and how he suddenly found himself being his father. You tell him that you can only dream of having a parent like him because you never got to know yours. You half expected he would cut the interaction short and only accept one drink. But when you offer a refill, he gladly accepted which warmed you from the inside.
Admittedly you ask a few curious questions about his creed and he indulges you a bit. And he asks about how you got into medicine making. But for the most part you both stick to easier topics like current events on Nevarro, work, and food. Eventually two drinks turn into three and somehow you’ve both dipped into topics like past relationships. Which is dangerous territory after drink number three.
“It was baaad, Mando. I’m telling you. I mean, really! Who gives two shits who makes more money than who? Or am I in the wrong here?”
“Nah, definitely not,” he replies. His speech now more relaxed but a little raspy from the alcohol. “Honestly, he sounds like a little bitch if that was his main concern.”
“Yeah! Like, what is it with these men and needing to feel superior in such bullshit, inconsequential ways?”
“You seem strong willed. Weak men are intimidated by that.”
“Yeah well, then every man I’ve met in this galaxy was weak,” you groan. “I mean, c’mon. Am I that intimidating? Is it the yapping? It’s probably the yapping.”
“I think someone who’d be deterred by something that trivial doesn’t sound worth a damn anyway.”
With that, you let out a deep sigh and slump against the man behind your back.
“Eh, you’re probably right,” you exhale. You toss back the last little sip in your ceramic cup, savoring the flavor.
“You know what, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll just be that shop girl around the corner who throws herself into her work, makes her little remedies, and stays happily independent. I think I can live with that.”
A pause streches between you.
“You don’t sound too convincing, Shop Girl,” he teases.
“Shit,” you tsk.
You both wheeze with laughter, your bodies rumbling against one another and it’s so… relaxing. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t say much. Or that what little he does say is said with a sincerity you’re not used to. Or you’re drunk. It could very well be that.
But in a galaxy full of deceit and unknown dangers, it’s refreshing to talk with someone as honest as him. He’s authentic, unapologetically so.
“Hey so… can I ask you something?”
“You’ve been asking things this whole time,” he teases.
“I know, but… it’s technically a helmet question. And you can tell me to fuck off if it’s too much.”
Mando hums and the rumble reverberates through your body, nesting warmly in your chest. He’s settled comfortably against you and it makes you feel close enough to ask what you want to ask. After thinking it over he gives you permission.
“Can’t wait to hear this,” he sighs with a little amusement.
You smile. To your surprise, he actually has a good sense of humor. A dry, blunt one . But humor nonetheless. You run a finger over the rim of your cup, finding a little more courage.
“Mando… Have you ever kissed anyone before?”
It’s a simple enough question, right? It’s within the ballpark of the topics you’ve been discussing. And you’re both adults. It’s not like it’s inappropriate…Right?
Oh god, you really are drunk…
Regret rises with each passing second and you wonder why you even brought it up. It’s probably some kind of insult to his creed to ask something like that.
“Too much,” you broach gently.
“No,” he says softly. “You’re not exactly the first person to ask that. Doubt you’ll be the last.”
He pauses for a moment to find the right words. Then with a heavy exhale he gives you an answer to your insanely intrusive question.
“I was pretty young when I took the creed,” he states. “Ten, twelve maybe? Too young to be interested in those kinds of things. Never looked back since. To be completely honest, it’s not even something I really think about in adulthood. Never understood the hype.”
“Sooo, I’ll take that as a no.”
“No,” he breathes. “Never kissed anyone.”
Never kissed anyone? Never felt a person’s soft lips against his own or graze his skin? Does that mean he hasn’t gotten to experience more than kissing? Licking? Biting? Or…
Do not finish that thought…
“Huh… Well, that’s a shame,” you say without thinking, quickly adding “-but at the same time, I completely understand it too! I mean, it shows a lot of self discipline, you know? To resist that kind of… temptation. Most people don’t have any reason to be disciplined enough to stay chaste. I can admire tha-"
“I said I’ve never kissed anyone, I didn’t say I never fucked.”
Thank… the Maker… you’re not face to face. Because the way your eyes bulged just now would’ve been downright embarrassing had it been caught. He didn’t just say sex or even screwing. The Mandalorian fucks. The alcohol in your blood seems to conjure a brief glimpse of what that might look like before you find enough coherence to shew it away.
“…oh,” you breathe out, effectively stopping your rambling. “I-I guess I just assumed…”
A deep exhale blows out of his nose. He hums, seemingly entertained by the foot you’ve put in your mouth. But also making the air light between you.
“Well, you assumed wrong.”
The humor in his voice settles your nerves a bit. Thankfully there isn’t an awkward air at the sudden change to such a topic despite hardly knowing each other. And oddly enough, it feels easy to talk about it for that very reason.
“You’re rather chatty when you drink, Mandalorian. I feel like I’m learning all sorts of things about you tonight.”
“You’re right,” he breathes. “I spoke without thinking, I apologize.”
“No, It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. It’s a relief to know there’s a man under all that armor and not solid metal.”
He hums again and the noise stirs something in your chest.
“Well, even so… It’s late… Probably best if I stop drinking.”
You look into your empty cup. Then glance over to the bottle with barely a drop left inside. Something inside you wilts. There’s nothing to keep him here any longer…
“Yeah… Me too.”
You’re not sure if you wait for him to move first or if he’s waiting for you. But both of you remain still for nearly a whole minute. Silent and hesitant to end the night. As comfortable as it is, you feel Mando’s back lean away from yours and you miss the warmth. You turn on the floor to find him standing up as he adjusts his helmet clasp and places his empty cup on the table.
“You were right. It tasted better shared,” he admits. A satisfied smile curls your lips.
“If you learned anything about me tonight, Mando, it’s that I am always right when it comes to liquor.”
“I appreciate the hospitality.”
“I appreciate the company.”
You place a hand on the table as an anchor in an attempt to stand up and follow him to the door. But as you try to stand straight, the room spins and your knees buckle.
Nope. Not doing that.
You sit your ass right back down on that cushion before you make an even bigger fool of yourself. Quick to respond, Mando catches your free arm. Making sure you land back down safely.
“You ok,” he asks, concerned but with a hint of humor.
“Pfft. Yeah, I’m good. I think I’ll just stay down here for a minute,” you chuckle, running a hand through your hair and closing your eyes for a moment.
For sure you’ll have a hangover tomorrow. Shit. You work tomorrow. There’s a couple things you’re running low on, too. You’ll have to request an order through the trading guild. That’ll cost credits. Maybe if you get that Chiss man again you can manage a trade and he can throw in those dried flower buds for that tea that keeps getting sold out.
You know you’re already a bit dizzy. But behind closed eyes you feel like your head is swaying. Or rather… that it’s being moved. Something warm and firm holds your jaw up and when your eyes flutter open again you’re met face to face with dark silver.
The Mandalorian stands barely a foot in front of you. Visor fixed down on your face. Maybe the wine has made your brain slow but it’s only when you follow the path from his shoulder and down his outstretched arm that you realize what’s holding your jaw… is his hand.
With a subtle pass of his thumb along your cheek you can feel warmth starting to pool in your face. Awareness pricks the hairs on the back of your neck when you realize your position. Sitting on your knees, face barely level to his waist as a wall of steel and muscle towers over you.
“Your cheeks get flushed when you drink,” he mutters.
When I drink. Suuuure.
“Now you know,” you mumble without thinking. It grants you a satisfied hum from his helmet and you feel it travel through your ears and under your skin.
“Now I know…,” he repeats.
There’s no movement, no words. But there’s something thick in the air. It’s heavy and enticing. It’d be so easy to get wrapped up in it with any sudden movement. You look up at him through half lidded eyes and you get a gut feeling that they’re meeting his. You’re not sure what his are giving away. But yours have to be hinting something you’ve been trying to hide all night.
With a sharp intake of air, Mando steps back and releases your face. Your head drops a little at the loss of support and it follows his direction as he walks towards the front door with quick, heavy steps. With a press of a button on the wall panel, the door panels slide open and just before he steps outside… he stops. Not looking back, just standing there at the edge of your home with his stand still resting on the doorway.
“Don’t invite me in again.”
And then he’s gone. The door panels shut swiftly, leaving you alone and more confused than when he showed up at your door.
…what?
•
Din wishes he could say that the first thing he thinks about when he got home that night was his sleeping kid safe in the crib. Or at the very least about how incredible that wine tasted. But after he undressed and collapsed down onto his bed half drunk, the only thought he couldn’t stop thinking about as he stared at the ceiling was…
Damn… it’s been a while.
For the past few years, Din’s life has flipped around a number of times. Between barely scraping by as a bounty hunter, saving an orphan kid from an imperial psychopath, losing said kid, then having him return and be by his side to reclaim the Mandalorian home-world, there’s not much time to indulge those kinds of needs. But just because Din found himself being a busy father later in life doesn’t make certain things dead.
No. Everything felt very much alive and kicking by the end of that bottle.
Behind closed eyes, his room feels like it swirls. After that wine, his body feels loose and relaxed. Something he rarely gets to experience these days. Images dance across his closed lids. Delicate, slender hands around a handmade cup. A pink flush on smooth skin. Plump tinted lips between his fingers, softly parted and begging to be touched. The intrusive impulse to dip a finger between those lips was so strong he could feel his hand move into the action before he could even think to do so.
All thanks to that one question. That simple, innocent question activated a deep part of his brain that lay dormant. And then he decided to shatter the care free atmosphere by with a crass remark about sex.
Never in his life has he regretted saying something so fast. You barely even know each other. Admittedly, Din isn’t exactly a refined person, far from it actually. But after his third glass, any semblance of manners flew right out the window. His mouth did the walking with little thinking involved.
Yet, you didn’t get uncomfortable. You handled the slip up with humor instead of getting offended or something just as bad. Using humor to make the air light again. It surprised him how easily you did it. How easy the conversation was all night, really. It’s not everyday he’s able to let his guard down with another person.
Once he was aware of that, he became aware of everything. How late the hour was, how drunk you both were, and how your bed was right behind where you both sat. Only separated by a simple room divider. Even when he tipped up his helmet, there was a heady herbal scent from you that kept swimming in his nose and it was just as intoxicating as the wine. He couldn’t trust himself to stay any longer. And now, in the safety of his own home, he finds himself preoccupied with a mountain of questions.
What kind of person are you? What’s your daily life like? What other places have you seen? What troubles you? You seem to be rooted here in Nevarro for the time being. But from what you’ve mentioned about your past, you have a kind of nomadic life. What happens if he… if the kid gets attached and you decide to move on to another planet? But then again, it’s not like he’s not one to talk though is he?
Loyalty. Solidarity. These are things that have been etched to his core since childhood. But giving those things to something that could be fleeting? That’s a risk he’s avoided for most of his life. Those kinds of wounds never heal.
But as much as he tries to distance himself, it’s not always in his control.
Three weeks go by and they couldn’t end soon enough. When he offered to work with Teva (or Blue as he usually calls him) on a case-by-case basis, he figured they’d be more involved than the bounty hunting trade. He’s spent up to a month off planet at times in order to capture a quarry so it’s not exactly new to him.
But that was when he had the Razor Crest. With a cot to rest in, a weapons locker, and supplies readily at hand. In that regard, the N-1 leaves much to be desired. Plus Din’s back isn’t what it used to be and long rides in that ship are killer. And to add insult to injury, this last case with Zeb was especially complicated to resolve. It left him and the kid completely drained.
After finally landing back in Nevarro with fresh credits, there is absolutely nothing Din wants more than to just go home, bathe, and sleep for at least a day. But he’s got a very hungry green mouth to feed and there’s no way Din is fixing up any dinner tonight.
Street food it is.
“Alright, we’re making this quick. In and out. I’ll get you as much food as you want and you can pick out one sweet. Not five. One. Got that?” Grogu tilts his head at Din curiously from where he follows behind on the cobblestone street and he’ll just take that as a yes.
Dozens of food stalls are gathered at the main square in town as he approaches. Adorned with all sorts of neon signs, string lights and colorful banners. It’s a busy atmosphere filled with people laughing, vendors calling out for customers to stop by, and sounds of clanking and sizzling as they cook.
Din gravitates towards the skewers stand. He knows Grogu is going to down ten of them by himself so he opts for something easy, filling, and cheap. He catches sight of those spicy chunks of fatty meat searing over lava coals and his mouth waters.
“Okay, which onesss-“
Din reaches down to pick up his son only to find the street bricks.
“-Sssshhhhit,” he hisses under his breath, glancing around. This fucking kid. He knows better than to run off.
The crowd is thick and it’s getting dark. He scans through the sea of people and vendors but doesn’t find that familiar pale green.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
With a tap of his helmet side panel he switches to the tracking beacon screen. After enough scares like these he’s learned to have a tracker sewn into his clothes at this point.
Blinking red arrows come into his view and he follows the path. Not caring whose shoulders he budges or what food he knocks out of someone’s grip to get through. The red arrows turn yellow. He’s getting close but there’s still no visual of the kid and he’s starting to panic. He pushes through, scanning side to side and calling out his name in an orchestra of noises without reply.
Yellow turns to green and he’s still out of sight. He’s tiny and easy to miss. Grogu could be anywhere, he could be in any one of these stalls. What if he’s taken? What if someone else is tracking him? He could be picked up by a total stranger and taken away again.
Just as that thought crosses his mind, there’s a small separation in the crowd. Big floppy ears come into view and he’s definitely been picked up. But it’s no stranger that holds him.
“And here comes dad~” A voice soft as silk rings inside his helmet.
Relief floods his body as well as caution when he taps his screen clear. Only him. Situations like this only happen to him. It could’ve been Karga. It could’ve been anybody. But it had to be you that found him.
It was barely two minutes. But within those two minutes Din’s head flooded with every worst case scenario possible. And here he is. Happily babbling in your arms like he didn’t just give his dad a fucking heart attack.
“I know, I know,” you assure him like you can already tell where his head’s at, trying to speak over all the noise. “Don’t be too hard on the little guy. I already gave him a bit of a lecture for running around at night.”
Din wants to. It’s honestly his first reaction. But a cooler head prevails and he decides against it after a second thought. He reminds himself (once again) that Grogu is still young and that getting angry would only make things worse. What matters is that he’s safe and that he managed to find you.
“At least he won’t have to hear it twice,” he exhales, pushing out the stress sitting in his lungs. “Sorry about him.”
“No, no sorry needed. He’s smarter than he lets on. At least he ran to someone he knew. I’m glad I was around.”
Din opens his mouth to speak but ends up falling short with his words. Now that some of the stress has left his body, his eyes take you in at a second glance. Unclouded by the adrenaline.
Your hair is tied up with a pin with a few loose pieces falling at the nape of your neck and around your face. With the heat persisting into the night, you decided to wear a thin strap tank top that hangs low on your chest. It exposes miles of smooth skin, from your shoulders all the way down the arms wrapped around his kid. A dusty blue apron wraps around your waist over some baggy cargo pants so you must’ve came here right after work. There’s a glow from all the neon lights that adorns you and he has to will his mouth to move before he gets caught staring.
“Here.” He extends his hands to you. “I can take him back. Thank you for catching him. C’mon, bud. Let her get back to shopping.”
“It’s no problem,” you assure him with a smile. Your hands hooks under Grogus tiny arms and start to pull him off your torso. “Back to dad you go.”
But the moment he’s barely lifted, he cries out in protest with a shrill whine. Refusing to leave your side. You pull him back in instantly and run a soothing hand on his back.
“Oh! Okay, okay. You can stay with me for a minute,” you giggle in a sugary voice to Grogu. Bouncing him on your hip.
You both exchange a look of surprise (as much as his visor can give off anyway). What kind of person are you that Grogu prefers your embrace over his own father? He doesn’t know whether to be jealous or impressed.
But it’s getting late, they need to eat and get home and you probably need to get back to your own errands. Din’s hands extends again to take Grogu but you shake your head with a little smile. Letting him know it’s not an inconvenience to you.
“Here, wanna help me pick out some sweets?”
Grogu coos at your request, toying with the glittering silver chain pendant on your neck. You rest his kid on your hip effortlessly and the motion of it pinches something deep in Din’s chest. Turning to the assorted trays of sugared fruits on skewers, you list the various kinds for Grogu to pick out. Talking back with him like you can actually understand his little babbles. You answer him with “ooh, that’s a good choice” and “these are my favorites”.
Din just stands aside, watching the way you both interact and it’s admittedly a bit pleasing to see how natural you are with him. Most people think he’s a pet at first glance. Karga treats him like a newborn. Talking gibberish and doting on him despite him handling a 50 year old. You, on the other hand, just treat him like a regular kid. And it’s refreshing to see.
His son’s head spins back at his father with the biggest set of sparkling inky eyes and Din can see the pleading question in them. He tilts his helmet at him and reminds him “one”. Those large ears deflate a little and you giggle at the interaction. Din offers to pay for your skewer along with Grogu’s as another thank you for looking after his son (again). The vendor gathers the treats in paper wrappers to take to go.
You turn to ask Din something, but it’s covered by the noise of yelling and cooking. He tilts his head a bit lower to try and catch what you’re saying. Then, without hesitation, your hand finds purchase on the pauldron on his shoulder. Prompting him to lean in closer to you so you can speak within earshot.
“It’s been a minute since I saw you last,” you remark with a raised voice. “Everything good?”
Shit.
For a second he freezes. Partly at the lack of distance between you, but mostly because the last time he saw you he stormed out of your place like it was on fire without so much as a goodnight. You’re probably wondering what the hell that was about and he honestly can’t answer that himself. Although your expression seems more cheerful than troubled. He crouches closer to your ears and replies with caution, hoping to avoid the direction of that conversation.
“Yeah, we’ve been um… traveling a lot lately. I get contracted by the new republic pretty often these days. Leaving him behind with someone whenever I’m off planet for too long doesn’t seem fair to him so he’s always by my side no matter what.”
“Ah, that makes sense. You usually stop by for medkit supplies so when I didn’t see you last week I figured you were away.”
Din mentally smacks his forehead. Right. Of course you meant the shop. Because what else would you be implying to a fucking customer? You’re just making small talk. Something he has never really gotten the hang of. Seems pretty damn easy when he’s drinking though…
“We actually just got back. Too tired to fix something up so I figured I’d grab us something quick and easy before heading home.”
“Ugh. I feel that. When I get home I’m crashing on the first soft surface I see,” you groan, still bouncing Grogu on the curve of your hip. Those hips…
No. Stop it.
“Busy day,” he asks and your eyes roll upwards.
“Busy week,” you exclaim. “I swear I think about quitting at least once a day. But I like it too much. Plus it’s the only thing I’m any good at. Otherwise I’d probably be some kind of criminal.” You pause then laugh at the thought before adding, “then you’d probably have to hunt me down, huh?”
That… is a scenario that he already knows is going to stick in his brain for a while. It’s such an enticing thought that he doesn’t bother to tell you he’s not in that business anymore. A tiny part of him would much rather have you think he’d chase you. Obviously you’re not serious, but he can’t help but lean into the joke.
“I don’t know,” he says unconvinced. “Might be pretty easy to find you. All I have to do is look wherever there’s street food.”
A laugh bubbles out of you and there’s a strange feeling that radiates in his chest at being able to make you laugh. Pride maybe? No, more like… satisfaction.
“Don’t underestimate me, Mando. I know my way around the outer rim. I’d make you work for it,” you say. Taunting him with a knowing smirk.
A smile tugs higher on his hidden face. The thought of you making him work for anything will no doubt be food for thought later. And instinct tells him that might’ve been your intention. But two can play at this game.
You’re already nearly face to face but he inches even closer, almost close enough for metal to meet skin. Ensuring you catch every word right into your ear.
“I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.”
Your eyes grow a little wider at the sound of your nickname and he takes pleasure at just how effective it is. It’s another reminder of that night. A name that was spoken within an intimate atmosphere that only the two of you occupied. And by your expression, that same thought crosses your mind too.
You bite your bottom lip in a smile. The same lips that were between his hands. The only lips he can’t seem to forget. The shape, the color, and how fucking edible they look. He’s even noticed how they pout a little when you’re concentrated on a task. More questions surface.
What do they feel like? What do they taste like? What makes a kiss so good that everyone can recall their first?
The bubble created is suddenly burst by the outside world. The stall vendor gleefully hands over the candied fruit over the counter in their wrappers and you take them with your free hand. Handing the mixed one to Grogu because he couldn’t decide on just one flavor. Reality returns to Din’s head and his thoughts immediately sober up.
What the hell is he doing?
He tears his eyes away. Even if you can’t tell, looking at you like that for too long feels wrong. You’re a good person, you’re trying to live a normal life, and what you’ve told him you’re not looking to get involved in any drama. He has to keep reminding himself of those things.
That same instinct to leave hits him again. Because that urge to do something he can’t take back flares up again and it’s best to not give that feeling any more energy. For both your sakes. He gestures his hand in a hand-him-over motion, signaling to you and Grogu that it’s time to go.
“Alright, time to go kid. Say goodnight.”
Grogu whines with a mouthful of sweets and a face covered in sugar and it makes him chuckle to himself. Din would normally find the defiance a little cute, if it wasn’t for the stunt he pulled earlier. You carefully hand him over with both arms leaning in close and again he feels another pinch in his chest at how carefully you exchange him.
Your bare arms graze against his clothed ones and he pulls away the second he has hold of his kid. He ignores the small current of electricity from the contact and maneuvers Grogu into the crossbody bag to his hip. Which, of course, makes him protest.
“Nope. You had your chance. Now you get the bag.”
“Aw c’mon,” you scold “He was just playing around. Now he’s in bag jail?”
First the kid and now you? He can tell his son no, but it might be a little harder to tell you that.
“Yeah, yeah. Maybe next time he’ll think twice about running off in a crowd,” he groans.
Once the kid is settled in the bag, you follow him down. Crouching down, you sit face to face with Grogu as he stuffs his face with the candied fruit. Resting your free hand on his fuzzy head as the other holds your own skewered treat.
“Kay, little rebel. Go stuff your face with some good food. And take it easy on your poor dad, alright? He’s not built for that kinda stress.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” he asks, kind of amused by your ribbing. He can count on one hand the people who are undaunted enough to make playful jabs at him.
Your lips twist and your eyes take a tour up to your brows as you think of your reply.
“Hmm… just the way you get a little impatient sometimes. You were like that when you brought him over and paced my living room for an hour,” you chuckle. “You seem like the kind of man who gets antsy when something’s not in your control.”
A smile threatens to crawl his face. Pretty presumptuous. But he can’t deny how true that statement rings. Especially nowadays when it’s not just himself he has to worry about.
“Maybe so,” he replies with a hint of humor in his voice. “Patience isn’t really my strong suit. Although this one seems to enjoy testing it.”
“Patience is bitter,” you muse as you rub the top of Grogu’s head with your thumb. He coos with delight and the softest gaze glows on your face. Then from your crouched position, your eyes glance back up at Din and add, “…But the fruit is sweet.”
His jaw flexes beneath his helmet, and heat now courses through his veins.
That can’t be a good sign. He already enjoys your banter too much as it is. But that look just now was dangerous. It dredges up thoughts he shouldn’t have about you. Thoughts like kissing someone he barely knows. Feeling skin on skin. Showing you what a man like him can do to you compared to the boys of your past.
He saw it all over your pretty face when he held it in his hand. That flush on your cheeks, your dilated pupils. Hell, he even saw your heat signature rising in his helmet screen for fuck sake. There’s an attraction and that’s fine (and not completely unreciprocated) but it can’t be anything more than that.
You and him live completely different lives. There’s no need to uproot your peace and get involved in his complicated affairs. Even if something happened, it wouldn’t be long before the allure of the suit and mystery people usually perceive of Mandalorians would turn into repulsion.
That’s how it’s gone before. That’s the way it is.
•
You’re a bad person. A horrible human being and a shameless lowlife. Downright beyond saving.
I’d like to see you try, Shop Girl.
The damn sentence won’t stop replaying in your head. It’s not just a nickname. It’s a nickname he gave you. One that’s covered in underlying context and memories that only the two of you share. One that peppers your skin with goosebumps when it comes out of that raspy modulated voice. It’s even worse when your brain starts intrusively placing it in all sorts of sentences.
That’s it, Shop Girl…
You’re doing so well, Shop Girl…
Bend over for me, Shop Girl…
That last one has crawled into your dreams more often than you’d care to admit lately.
You need to get a grip. It’s just an attraction. You’ve been alone for too long and you’re getting all wound up over a smidge of attention. He’s just a regular decent person with a kid to take care of who also just happens to have an amazingly muscular body and a voice of sin. Simple as that.
Right. Simple.
After that night at the food stalls, the Mandalorian and Grogu have been visiting your humble Clinic Shop on a more frequently. Usually you'll see them a couple times a week if they're not on one of their long haul trips. Missions? Jobs?
It's not like Mando has any reason to let you know ahead of time. But when a week or so passes with no sign of silver or green, you can't help but feel a little down. You've come to look forward to seeing your regulars. But they grown to being your favorite customers.
And if you're being honest, theres a growing part of you that feels tied to the man in silver beskar. When he's here, the part blossoms. And when he's gone, it feels... wilted. It's unexpected and confusing to say the least. The closest feeling you could label it is homesickness. And truthfully, you're not really sure if you want to feel such a heavy thing towards anybody right now.
There's a lull in the store this hot muggy afternoon. You've already finished your prescription orders, restocked your shelves, even watered all the potted plants outside the entrance. Since you finally have some down time, you figured you might as well get to making some of your popular tea mixes.
On the back counter, you have a variety of dried herbs, flower buds, tea leaves, and a few large mixing bowls. The scent in the shop is incredible right now. Swirling around on the wind propelled by the metal fans around the shop. Spiced and aromatic with a hint of fruitiness. You let the smell fill your lungs and relax your body as you place measured scoops of the mix into small paper bags. A bead of sweat tracks down the back of your neck. Even with pinning your hair up and the strapless wrap you chose to wear today, the heat of the day still clings to your damp skin.
A cool glass of that Andoan wine would be so good right about now...
Maybe it was instinct, or maybe there really is some kind of invisible tie. But something makes your head tilt to the side and glance at the open entrance. And it's then that a glint of sliver light reflects on the stucco walls. A flutter of anticipation strikes through your chest and your eyes are locked at the entrance. Then, that familiar Silver T-visor and a pair of floppy green ears peek around the corner.
The smile that spreads across your cheeks is so big it almost hurts.
"Hey," you exclaim from the back of the store. You leave your station and excitedly make your way across the store to the pair as they step inside.
“It’s been a whi-“
“Ah ah, sorry," you cut Mando off mid greeting, halting him with your pointer finger. "Grogu gets first dibs.”
Mando shakes his head but you can tell he's humored. Turning his hip to the side and giving you access to the canvas crossbody where Grogu resides.
“Even though I'm a regular customer," Mando retorts.
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that sounded a teensy bit like jealousy. You smirk, giving eyes only to the little green baby.
“Not when you’re as cute as him.” You say, placing Grogu on your hip and giving him little scritches on his wrinkled head.
“Isn’t that right, Kid. Mando wishes he could be half as cute as you.” The child coos at you and Mando shakes his head. But you can tell by his body language that he's at least a little amused.
You walk back to the back counter with the kid in your arms and Mando in tow behind you. And the feeling you have in this moment is oddly... domestic? You're not entirely sure if that's the right word. In your life you've never experienced domesticity. But you figure it's similar to that homesick feeling you get.
You place Grogu on top of your station and pull out an herbal lollipop from your apron for him. You like to keep a few handy for kids and they also help with coughs. The kids inky eyes gleam as he babbles and plunges the sugary candy in his mouth.
"Any chance that delivery for those new Pharmakits arrived yet," Mando asks, leaning a hand on the counter next to you.
"They did," you nod. "Any chance you're planning on taking on an army on your next trip?"
He shrugs, tilting his helmet to the side in that way he does when he's being aloof.
"Doesn't hurt to keep one on hand. You never know."
You hum in acknowledgment but inside a pit forms in your stomach. The danger he faces whenever he goes on these "jobs" isn't lost on you. Lately, it's been on the back of your mind more often than not. On his last visit, when he asked about ordering stronger meds and triage supplies, it hit you just how much his long absences affect you. And just the thought of never seeing him or his little boy again stirs up something vile inside.
“You seem to be busy today,” he remarks, pointing out all the open jars and mixing bowls with various dried leaves and herbs.
His remark takes you out of your thoughts. You must've been silent a second too long for him to change the subject like that. With a deep inhale and slight embarrassment you shrug off the negative thoughts and ground yourself back to reality.
“Yes and no. I’ve been restocking while it’s dead to keep busy.”
He leans in a bit to get a closer look at the contents of the bowl. Close enough for you to catch the scent of smoke and musk on his clothes.
“You’re mixing… tea?”
You hum a yes and nod.
“Tea can be used for lots of medicinal purposes. Many people prefer natural remedies to pharmaceutical ones. I try to have a mix of both.”
“So this is medicine?” You sway your head to the side, trying to think of the best way to explain the purpose of the tea.
“Kiiind of. You could say it’s preventative.”
“What does it prevent?”
“Pregnancy.”
A clearing of his throat follows your answer. You turn toward him with a smirk and a raised brow but his visor has now turned away your face.
Most fearsome bounty hunter in the outer rim, everybody.
“You asked, man,” you chuckle with a shrug.
“Guess that’s on me,” he says.
“This is actually one of my best sellers,” you tell him. You grab the wooden scoop and raise up the floral mix, letting the various petals and herbs rain back down into the bowl. The motion makes the sweet scent drive up in the air. “I have customers tell me they don’t leave the house before their daily brew.”
“I’m glad business is going well for you,” he deflects, making you fold your smile in your teeth. And suddenly your brain sees a prime opportunity.
“You know, Mando…,” you drawl as you mix the petals. “If you’re ever in a pinch and you need some, I could give you a sample.” The way his helmet jerks to face you almost breaks your nonchalant smile.
“That’s um… very generous but it’d be wasted on me.” His body straightens stiffly and you can tell the topic makes him a bit uneasy. But you press on anyway.
“You sure? You can never be too safe. I’m sure any visitors would appreciate it.” He sighs deeply and turns away, shaking his head in annoyance.
God, this is too much fun. Teasing him is so easy. If it wasn’t for the helmet you bet he’s sweating right now. He might look cool and collected. But after drinking with him, you know there’s in fact a man under all that metal.
“I’m sure,” Mando confirms. “I'm not seeing anyone at the moment.”
And there’s the answer you’re looking for.
Was it a bit sneaky? Yeah. Yeah, it was sneaky. But it rules out the theory that reason he told you not to invite home again was because he’s currently taken. It’s still an enigma as to why. But honestly there’s still the gut feeling that you did something to make him uncomfortable that night.
Maybe you crossed a line with one of your questions. You tend to ask a lot of questions. Your filter also isn’t everybody’s flavor. Even so, you had a great time talking, even joking around with him. You’ve come to cherish that night in your memory. And the thought that you obliviously might’ve said something to offend Mando in any way makes your chest ache.
But if that was the case then why has he been stopping by your store more frequently since then? He always says he’s restocking his med kit but you get the feeling there’s more to it than that. Almost as if he’s checking up on you. Making sure you’re doing ok. And above all, that’s what scares you.
It’s scares you how good that thought makes you feel.
“Picking up an order!” An unfriendly voice bellows from the entrance where a Trandoshan man in fine robes stands waiting. “Name’s Samir T’ar.”
It takes a second to snap back into action. But you slap on your best customer service smile and leave your task for later. Rounding the corner past Mando and the kid and walking to the Medicine Cabinet. Wiping the non-existent dust on your hands on your waist apron.
“Hi, yes! I’ll grab that for you right now.”
The Trandoshan stands waiting at the counter as you sort through the assorted orders in the glass case. Looking for the right name tag and plucking the tied linen bag. You dont turn your eyes toward him, but Mando’s pressance is all your body is aware of. You can tell he’s miandering through the shop, looking at various items on the shelves. Which, to you, is a bit funny since hes been here plenty of times by now.
Is he playing the curious customer right now because there’s someone here?
You rest the tied bag next to the register as you run the total. All while the Trandoshan taps his clawed fingers impatiently on the check out counter.
“‘Kay with the compounded medicine and the herbal soak salts, that puts you at… fifteen credits today.”
“It was twelve the last time.”
“Yyyeesss, some of the ingredients for the meds were hard to come by this time around. Outer rim shipping routes, and all that,” you smile, trying to humorously reason with the man.
“And that’s supposed to be my fault? Just make it the same price as before and I’ll be on my way already.”
Ugh, great. One of those.
“I understand where you’re coming from, really. But fifteen is pretty fair considering the initial cost of acquiring ingredients of this high quality. Can’t beat the price compared to those New Republic clinics-"
“Nonononono," he waves with both hands in disapproval. “I’m not paying a single credit more for something I can make myself.”
That’s kind of the point of it buying here, right? To save yourself the trouble of making it?
“Sorry. Price is firm," you say confidently but kindly. "Buuut, how about if I throw in a couple sample heating pain patches. Free of charge,” you chirp, unfazed by his condescension.
Work with me, guy. There’s a man packing heat in the back…
“How about I give you ten for the order and leave? I don’t need you to peddle your-“
It’s a hand that shuts him up. Not yours, as much as it twitches to swipe that bag and toss in it the trash. No. This hand is big. Leather clad. And planted firmly on the counter between you and the customer.
“You can pay the fifteen or you can leave. But what you won’t do,” Mando leans in towards the Trandoshan for effect. “-is talk to her like that again. Make your choice.”
With his chest pressed to the back of your shoulder, you struggle to not squirm. You can feel his heat on your body. His frame eclipses yours from behind. The smell of gun smoke and musk caresses your nose and you die a little inside. But it’s his words that make you want to melt into a puddle.
He didn’t just ask, he demanded for you to be treated with respect. Not that you can’t hold your own when it comes to defending yourself against snarky customers. But the way Mando didn’t even hesitate to intervene on your behalf. It stirs up all sorts of thoughts.
Oh maker, you really are a shitty person. The man stands up for you and all you can think about is how hot he sounded.
The Trandoshan swallows hard. Mando might as well a knife to the guy’s throat with the look of silent terror on his reptilian face. Without even breaking eye contact with Mando, he stuffs his clawed hand in his pockets, and pulls about 20 credit chips without counting. Letting them clatter on the counter as he tosses them.
“H-here,” he stutters. “Fifteen is fair.” With that he snatches his order from the countertop and makes a hasty exit.
“Have a nice day~,” you sing-song as he scurries out onto the street.
You shift your eyes up to Mando, his palm still pressed flat against the counter with his other hand thumbing his belt. His visor follows the customer as he leaves and you can tell that his body language doesn’t relax until the he’s completely out of sight.
“Fucker…,” he mutters under his breath. When he finally turns his visor to you, he finds a knowing little smirk on your face.
“What?”
“You know, if you really wanted to scare him, you could’ve just pulled out your blaster.”
His visor turns away and he takes a step back as if he’s been caught doing something out of character. And if it wasn’t for his confident stance, you’d almost say he got a little flustered just now.
“I didn’t like the way he spoke you,” he grumbles. Which only makes you giggle.
“You’re right,” you agree with a serious tone. Slamming your palms on the counter. “That’s the last straw! I’ll have to close and resort to a life of crime after all!”
Although you can’t read his face, his body language says it all. He tilts his head to the side in a way that can only mean “are you fucking kidding me” and it only makes you smile harder.
“C’mooon, it’s funny,” you say. But he’s still not charmed.
“Does he always treat you like that,” he asks like he needs to know for certain.
You fold your lips between your teeth to hide your smile. He’s concerned for you and you can’t help but bathe in it. At least for a little bit.
“And if I said yes?”
“I’m being serious.”
“It’s fine, Mando. It’s really not a big deal for me. Look, if I let every snippy customer get to me, I wouldn’t have a business. I’m a big girl. I can fight for my honor all on my own, don’t you worry.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Yeah? What is your point then?”
He steps in closer. Forcing you crane your neck to face him. Your backside unconsciously presses against the back of the counter and you’re pinned. He’s impossibly close. Close enough to see your eyes reflected on the inky black screen. Knowing he’s captured your full attention, he hits you with a bombshell that devastates you.
“I wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you when I can do something about it,” he says crystal clear, lowering his voice. “If someone gives you trouble, they’ll deal with me before they mess with you... Understand?”
That shuts you right up. Your playful expression falls, now replaced with silent astonishment. He keeps saying things that reach deep inside you, making your chest tight. Words like that make it hard to breathe.
You feel utterly captured and it’s no wonder he was the best hunter in the outer rim. Because even though he’ll defend your honor and call you sweet nicknames… all he has to do is stand his ground in front of you to make you feel like prey. And fuck, do you wanna be caught…
“Ok,” you breathe when you find the courage. “I understand now.”
“Good…”
Silence streches between you and it feels as though you’re both waiting for something to happen. Something that feels like it’s been teetering on the edge since the night you drank together. It’s connected and deep in a way you’ve never experienced before. You can tell it’s something he’s afraid to say out loud.
What you’re both afraid to say out loud.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t add anything to his statement. He’s got you locked in his gaze with no escape. And for a moment you wonder if he’ll take hold of your jaw again. Goosebumps rise to your skin because it wants so badly to close the gap.
Suddenly, a call rings from the vambrace on Mando’s forearm, abruptly breaking the tension. At first he hesitates to address it, still locked onto you. But after the second ring he lets out an aggravated sigh and steps away to check the incoming call.
You walk back to your work table and mixing bowl of tea to give yourself something to do while your breathing returns to normal. Scooping a measured cup from a large jar of dried leaves before adding it in.
Grogu sits with his little feet dangling over the table, now finished with the lollipop and looking at the candy-less stick with droopy ears. And before Mando turns to look, you sneak his son another herbal lollipop from your apron.
"Don't tell your dad," you whisper, pressing your index finger over your lips. Which earns you a happy little "Batu" in understanding.
Mando is pacing around now. Conversing with a gruff sounding Lasat. You don’t eavesdrop per se, but words like “new lead”, “investigation”, and “high-risk” get your ears to perk up.
“Shit,” he sighs deeply once the call is done. Planting his hands on his hips.
“Work call?”
“They like to keep me busy, that’s for sure. Best not keep them waiting.”
“R-right! The pharmakits."
You walk towards side of your shop in the back closet where your new inventory sits in their delivery crates. Grabbing one case but then after a second thought grabbing another before turning back and handing them to Mando. When you return Grogu is already back in his father's tote still nursing his treat.
“Couple things," you disclaim, handing the cases to him. "Keep these in a dark cool place if you can. Heat can spoil some of the medicine. And if you ever find yourself needing the epibacta, I’d advise you to take in a safe place. This dose will knock you out cold for a while. Emergencies only.”
He takes the cases by the handles and gives you a nod of understanding.
“I appreciate it. I’ll try to avoid needing it.”
“Just… be safe.”
“I will…”
Another beat of silence. At this point it's starting to feel like you're waiting on the other person to break the ice. But after a moment, he clears his throat.
“Well... Until next time, Shop Girl.”
“Until next time,” you repeat.
He really should stop calling you that. But you just can’t bring yourself to stop him. What do even tell him if he asks why?
You turn to the holopad on the front counter and check the inventory list to give your hands something to do. Chewing your bottom lip as walks towards the exit. One step, then another…
“And thank you,” you quickly add before he steps out. His foot stalls just before reaching the street and you tap on the screen pretending not to notice. Your eyes glance up to him, catching his helmet peer at you over his shoulder “…for stepping in.”
“Anytime,” he says softly. He step out into the street and you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You lean on the counter with your chin propped in your palm, now free to watch them go without notice.
Grogu turns back to look at you one last time, his tiny arm fighting against the fabric of his bag before popping out and waving at you. The adorable gesture makes you giggle. The little guy must know exactly how stinking cute he is. You wiggle your fingers back at him from behind the counter. Mando takes notice of his kid, turns his head back, and finds your gaze.
For a moment, everything’s frozen. People cross and mix in the street between you. Life seemingly goes on like any other day for everyone in town. But in your eyes, there’s only him. Only bright silver fills your vision. After a moment, Mando raises a hand for a final farewell, and in the next, he’s gone. Blended into the crowd.
An ache spreads in your chest, and that confirms it. You can’t deny that what you’ve been pushing down for months isn’t just an attraction. Strangers can be attracted to each other but he feels like anything but.
You like him. You like how you feel when he’s around and how safe his presence feels. You like that little skipped beat you get when something you said earns even the smallest chuckle from him. You like that he trusts you around his kid.
And you love that he keeps coming back.
You’ve tried to rationalize as just a simple customer acquaintance. But you can’t keep kidding yourself. Its always felt more than that. And you want to know more about him.
At the end of the day, you roll down the metal doors of your humble apothecary and walk the same 15 steps up to your home as you do everyday. You bathe, put on your most comfy shirt and sleep shorts, make yourself a simple meal, and wind down for the night. It’s been your routine everyday since you made this place your home.
Only tonight, despite all your trinkets, all your memories, and all your comforts, tonight your home feels a bit empty. Like something important has been removed and you can’t place what it was. With your dinner bowl in hand, you almost take your seat on the couch before thinking twice on it and choosing the floor of your living room instead tonight.
You actually find it to be pretty comfortable. More grounding. You only wish you had something warm to lean back on.
•
Din thought Guild Master Greef Karga had an inflated ego. But High Magistrate Greef Karga makes that Karga look like a Jedi monk.
He finds himself sitting on a leather chase with his legs propped on the window ledge in Karga’s high tower office. He watches him spread and maneuver a 3D hologram model of Nevarro and the town. His voice filled with ambition as he explains all his new projects for the upcoming year.
“We’ll put the lodges here, here, and here. They’ll have access to the hot springs in the crawling canyons and docks will be built around the water edges. I’ve spoken with that lovely Twi’lek bathhouse owner and she’s spending her best architects to Nevarro as a personal favor to me. It’s going to be the jewel of the rim I tell you!”
Much of the dialog goes over Dins head. Mostly because he’s dead tired and currently operating on less than four hours of sleep. They only landed a couple hours ago from another grueling mission. He partly listens to Karga’s plans, partly watches Grogu quietly sit on the hologram table as he stuffs his mouth with blue cookies his “uncle” has given him. But mostly, Din gazes out one of the many windows in his 360 degree office. Watching the sun set over the canyons and turn the sky a dusty pink.
The shiny bronze protocol droid shuffles around the office with a silver tray with two crystal glasses of spotchka. He offers a glowing glass to Karga who gladly takes it. Then the droid starts to approach Din with the platter, offering him a glass as well.
“Uh no no, he doesn’t drink,” Karga quickly corrects, taking a momentary pause from his plans. The shiny droid fumbles a bit, flustered, then offers an apology before scuttling away with the tray.
Mando doesn’t even bother to correct them. Too much energy. It’s true, he’s never accepted alcohol in front of Karga. Especially in those early guild days when trust was low. But even to this day, Din doesn’t drink around people.
Well… most people, that is.
An image of last time Din saw you pops into his head. That thick, slightly mussed hair tied up with a hair stick. Dewy skin. All smiles and laughter. You wore a deep blue torso wrap that time, His eyes kept following the lines of your collar bones and all that exposed skin seemed to glow in the reflected sunlight in the shop.
And those lips. Those goddamn pink tinted lips that he can’t get out of his head. If that’s not the definition of beauty he doesn’t know what is.
Your teasing is something he’s growing used to. But that day you pushed too far. You weren’t taking him seriously and you shouldn’t be the only one who gets to tease, right? When he cornered you against the counter, he made it known just how serious he was about defending you. That flush came back to your cheeks and your breathing had picked up. You had no idea, but your eyes had found his and it made heat pool in his lower abdomen as he got lost in the color of them.
In that moment, Din wrestled back the impulse to lift you up on that countertop, spread those perfect legs and-
“-Right, Mando?” Karga’s voice interrupts just as that train of thought was getting good. Din turns his visor over to him.
“Hmm?”
“You just agreed to let the kid spend the night here.”
“Right. Yeah,” Din scoffs. “Was that before or after I sold my ship to the Jawas,” he replies in a gruff tone. Karga doesn’t find the sarcasm amusing.
“Alright, alright.”
“Maybe I’ll sell them my armor while I’m at it.”
“I get it,” he exclaims. “You weren’t even listening! I was talking about the space port proposal and I can’t even tell where you clocked out. That's not like you, Mando.”
“I’m tired. I just got back from a long trip.” Kargas eyes glance between Din and the window he's been looking out from.
“I wouldn’t say tired. More like… Distracted.”
He says the word with an insinuation Din would rather do without.
“It’s nothing,” he deflects.
“Hey, you know me, Mando. I’m not one to judge,” Karga says, throwing his hands in the air. “If there’s anything on your mind I’m all ears. Money, politics, work, women-“
“There’s nothing to discuss. I’m fine," Din deadpans.
Kargas covers Grogus ears, who is too preoccupied by his munching to mind.
“Sounds like you need to get laid.”
Maker...
“You’re sordid,” he grumbles, shaking his head and turning back to the window. Karga just laughs. Amusement written all over his wrinkled face.
The arguments were one of the main things that changed between them over the last few years. Now they bicker like two old friends instead of two business associates. But one thing that has never changed is the way Karga tries to pressure him into revealing things out of him. Imperfectly human things.
He’d offer Din all sorts of things like spice or Twi’lek bathhouses just to see if he was capable of being tempted. And right now… there’s only one other person Din can think of capable of doing that.
“You know what I think? I think you’re starting to outgrow this lone wolf lifestyle of yours,” he speculates. “You’re a father now. Don’t you think the little one needs a mother?”
Dins helmet swivels back to Karga.
“Don’t you think you should stick to governing your town?”
“I was just getting to that," Karga exclaims excitedly. "You know we really should consider moving a few of the-“
“Here we go…,” Din sighs to himself.
What should’ve been a quick visit has turned into a one sided yap session. It’s been a couple weeks since he left and he’s eager to re-supply for his next run with Zeb. He’ll need to head to the square at some point as well. His home is in desperate need of a re-stock. And of course, a visit to the clinic probably wouldn’t be a bad idea if he’s already in the area.
Even from up here, your store can be seen at the far corner of the plaza. And every couple minutes, he can see you. Popping in and out of the small store and rearranging some of the potted plants outside. People greet you from the street and you turn to wave back.
It’s getting harder and harder to find excuses to go there that sound necessary. Last time he was there he picked up two new pharmakits, even though another two regular medkits sit unopened in his home. He’s been buying that energy tea you make, despite him being a kaf drinker his whole life. He keeps going back for shit he really doesn’t need. But if he was pressed to give a better reason, it’s mostly because he feels a need to check on you.
True, Nevarro has become significantly safer, but that doesn’t make it safe. Especially for a woman living completely on her own. You’re a kind hearted, giving person in a galaxy that does nothing but take. And someone like that should be protected. He’s looked the other way too many times in the past and he doesn’t want to be that person anymore. And plus the kid enjoys the visits.
Sure, the kid. Keep telling yourself that, Din…
A chiss man with a floating pallet of goods approaches your shop entrance and your attention turns from watering the plants to greet the vendor with a bright smile. You speak animately. And it would normally be endearing, if it wasn't directed towards another man. In the privacy of his helmet, Din grimmaces.
He shouldn’t be surprised. You’re well traveled, knowledgeable. It’s no wonder you’re able to buy products from so many places. But this particular vendor is getting a bit too close for Din’s comfort.
As usual, you talk with much enthusiasm. Sparking a conversation with the man. It’s clear you’re familiar with each other by the body language you both give off. And he’s not sure if it’s because you regularly get inventory from the man, or something beyond that.
You turn around on the balls of your feet to dip back inside the shop and as you do you’re completely oblivious to the way the Chiss’s head tilts to the side so his crimson eyes can roam your backside. And the only reason Din caught it was because the binocs in his visor seem to have unconsciously been turned on by his finger on his vambrace.
You return to with a small wooded box and open the lid to show him mineral salts, the kind he’s seen you make herbal soaks with. The vendor offers a large lidded glass jar of some kind of dried purple flower buds from his cart. With the added exchange of some credit chips, there’s more talking and smiling. Something he said makes you laugh as you sign his holopad and Din has to flex his fingers to stop them from clenching into a fist.
Enough. Stop watching.
The mental check forces Dins attention to shift back to whatever Karga keeps droning on about. You can associate with whoever you damn well please. It’s none of his concern who you do business with or what your personal life is like. Din nearly turns his visor away. But out of the furthest corner of his eye, he catches something he can’t tear away from.
The distance between the Chiss and you has suddenly shrunk. The moment unfolds in slow motion as his eyes chew on every second. The Chiss steps closer to lean down then…
Din’s arms uncross when the Chiss leans in close to your face. And before he knows it, the fucker plants a quick peck on your cheek. And you return it! The whole exchange lasts less than a second before you wave each other goodbye and he goes his separate way. You return inside with the product like nothing and Din sits there, completely rattled.
What… the fuck?
Was it a casual kiss? Did you even know that he was checking you out? If you did, was that a friendly goodbye gesture or was it flirtatious? That son of a bitch gets to walk around with bliss on his cheek all day now. Oddly enough, that’s what puts Din over the edge. A complete fucking stranger knows how your lips feel and he doesn’t.
Never in his life has he harbored thoughts like these. It’s downright pathetic. He feels corrupted.
“Fuck it,” he growls to himself beneath his breath.
“-Anyway, back to my point. I was considering having a port built for- hey!”
Before Karga has a chance to monologue further, Din has picked up his son from the edge of the desk—grubby hands still clinging to the bag of cookies—and has placed him right into Karga arms.
“I need you to watch over him for the night. I’ll come back for him in the morning.”
“Okay then? Fine by-.” Din doesn’t bother to listen because there’s no ending to that sentence that matters to him in this moment. He makes his exit, the slide doors opening as he nears them.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going all puffed up like that?”
“I need to settle something,” he tosses back before letting the doors shut behind him.
The sun is getting low and a few other vendors are starting to take down their signs and close their doors. You’re probably getting ready to close up for the day yourself. Hopefully he’s able to catch you before then.
Each step on the cobblestone is heavy with purpose. And it's not unoticed the way several people on the street see an armor clad Mandalorian and scurry out of his way with a petrified look on their faces. But right now he doesn't particularly care. Right now everything in his head is clouded with the exception of one objective.
From a couple stores away, you catch him approaching from your peripheray. And he's not sure how to describe it, but it's like something in your body language softens when you see him. Your shoulders become less tense, your eyes gleam, and you cast him that bright toothy smile that could stop any man's heart.
“Ah! Hey! It’s been a while, Mando! How’s-“
“I need to have a word with you.”
Both your expression and your hand freeze momentarily in place, minus a suspicious quirk in your brow.
“Okaaay, you have my attention,” you chuckle, but there’s a nervous tone riding on it. “What can I do for you today?
“I need to speak with you," you tells you bluntly. "Privately.”
Confusion paints across your face and your smile falls a bit. Understanding how serious his request is.
“Like, right now,” you ask hesitantly.
“Preferably, yes,” he answers.
“Ok, yeah sure. Um… I’m just about to close up and we can head upstairs in a minute.” You start to turn away but then quickly turn back to him and immediately add “or we can go somewhere you’re more comfort-“
”It’s fine,” Din quickly interjects, stopping that train of thought. “This won’t take long anyway.”
You blink at him a couple times and give him a quiet “ok then” before turning around and preparing your shop to close.
Seems that Din’s command from his last visit was taken seriously. Regret over those words washes over him. If he’s being honest, being inside your home again sets off several red lights in his head. But he’s already on the verge of blurting out something teetering on the edge of his brain. Better to wait until he’s behind closed doors and away from any prying eyes. Or flirtatious vendors. This shouldn’t be complicated. He’ll make it quick.
He decides to wait around the corner of the shop where the stone steps meet your front door. He leans against the wall with his arms crossed and his finger nervously tapping his arm brace. After a few minutes you round the corner with your bag over your shoulder and lead the way into your home. Instinctively, he looks around for any eyes before entering and closing the door behind him.
“So where’s your boy,” you ask, tossing your bag on the couch and walking towards the kitchen. “I have to say I’m kind of surprised not to see him on your hip. You seem inseparable.”
Your voice is chipper but he can tell by your stiff body and lack of eye contact that you’re not entirely comfortable. For a moment Din reconsiders this encounter. But no. The sooner he this bug out of his system the better.
“He’s… spending the night with a friend,” he answers. Grabbing one of those ceramic cups from the cabinet, you fill it with water from the sink and he’s starting to think that you’re only doing that to keep your hands busy.
“Aaww, a sleepover? Is it his first-”
“If you don’t mind,” he cuts off. “I’d like to get to my point.”
“Oh… Y-yes, I'm sorry. I’m rambling,” you say sheepishly. “I’m just…,” you take a deep breath, rest the cup of water on the counter, and lean back against it. Eyes fixed to the floor.
“…it’s just what you said the last time you were here. And the way you approached me earlier, you seemed kinda… I don’t know, upset? I know you don’t wanna be here so I’m wondering what I did to upset you that you’d come here.”
Damn it… He’s such an asshole.
He should’ve never said that. You've been thinking this entire time that you’re at fault for his shitty social skills. Truthfully, with the way that wine had his head so deliciously foggy, he had to leave before his body did something it was aching to do, begging him to do. But how does he even begin to explain that?
“You didn’t do anything,” he answers immediately. But thinks on it once more. “Well… technically you did. But I’m not upset with you.”
“You’re not,” you ask him sheepishly.
“I’m not,” he assures.
A beat passes in silence as you chew over his words.
“Okaaay,” you say with a smirk, “now you really got my attention.”
That mischievous tone travels through Din’s helmet, in his ears, and settles warmly in the pit of his stomach. Something about the combination of your sweet voice and relaxed shift in your body language makes this whole interaction even more nerve wracking.
“Sooo, you wanted to talk to me about something I did?”
“Right.”
“Okay, sooo...” He feels you urging him to continue but now Din finds himself more cautious of his words now. If you’ve been silently worried about offending him the last thing he needs is for this to come off wrong way.
“It’s… a bit hard to explain,” he exhales. If he could pinch his brow right now he would. “To put it plainly, the night we drank together, you said something that’s been… stuck in my head.”
“Was it the thing about the name?”
“N-no.”
“Was it the Pantora story?
“No.”
“Was it the comment about knowing my liquor? Because I like a drink from time to time but I don’t have like a problem or anything-“
“No- Can I finish,” he asks impatiently.
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Go ahead.”
“When we were drinking, and talking… we said a lot of things and got into some deep conversations. And at one point, you asked me if I ever kissed anyone before. I said no back then because… I've never given it any thought in the past. But now it’s got me… curious.”
Your quirk your brow at him.
“Curious how?”
“I want to know what it’s like,” he answers plainly.
“… Sorry, what?”
“I need this… curiosity out of my head. It’s driving me crazy and I need it out of my system. So I figured… since you’re the one who mentioned it in the first place, you can help me kill it.”
“You’re… Okay so, hold on…,” you say with a shaky breath. “Are you… asking me to kiss you?”
“That’s… an oversimplification. But yeah.”
“You’re asking me to be your first kiss? Am I understanding you right?”
Maker, you ask a lot of questions. Are you always like this? You did the same exact thing when he gave you the wine. On any other day it would’ve been endearing but he didn’t anticipate the conversation lasting longer than a minute. Now his request sounds more and more lecherous with each passing second.
“I won’t bother you again after this. You have my word. It’s completely casual. Just killing a curiosity.”
“There’s a preeetty common phrase about curiosity and loth cats that goes differently.” A giggle tumbles out of your mouth on the tail end of that sentence and humility crawls under his skin.
“Sorry to waste your time.” He starts to turn towards the nearest exit when you step in to stop him. Placing a hand briefly on his arm in the space between his armor and the contact sends a current of electricity up his spine.
“No wait, don’t be like that,” you toy with him.
“I’m not laughing,” he spits. But you still have the nerve to giggle.
“It’s okay, Mando,” you laugh assuredly.
“No, it’s not. It’s ridiculous. I hate it. I hate that you put this in my head.”
You fold your lips between your teeth to try to hide your amusement. But you still can’t help but crack a smile a little at his frustration. He basically just confessed to having this obsession for months and he can tell by your smug expression that you’re enjoying how incredibly uncomfortable he is about this.
“You’re right. I’m… sorry,” you say under your breath. Trying to fix your face.
There’s a beat of silence. Stepping in closer, he tilts his head down to you. Locking you in his gaze. He takes pleasure in being nearly a full head taller and the way your breathing picks up before he says in a low gruff voice…
“No, you’re not.”
You smile behind your hand as your eyes dance across his visor, unknowingly locking eyes with the man beneath. You know you’re not sorry, just like he knows he’s not particularly sorry either. It’s not just this moment. It goes back to every interaction you’ve had together. The banter, the nicknames, the visits. He’s as much to blame as you are. And then… you slowly you shake your head, agreeing with him and confirming his suspicion.
Fuck, you’re cute. He hates that he loves how cute you are. He hates himself for not being stronger.
“Ok,” you nearly whisper. Looking up at him with the sweetest eyes. “I’ll help you.”
•
“Is all this really necessary?”
Din currently sits on the floor of your living room. The same spot as last time in fact. Your were the one that insisted on it and honestly he couldn't bring himself to tell you no. Since he sat down in the soft carpet, you've been flitting around your home turning off lamps, closing blinds, and covering any reflective items. Which, admittedly, he's greatful for. But the more time he spends here, alone with you, the more he's not going to want to leave.
“It’s not everyday you get your first kiss, Mando. I wanna make sure it’s a good one. I wish I could re-do mine.”
Gloves fingers flex and stretch restlessly on his knees as you approach the last lamp sitting on a side table in the living room and pause.
“Are you sure about this?”
Fuck no he’s not. But the sooner he does this, the sooner he can find some normalcy in his head again.
“Flip the switch," he says in a low modulated voice.
You fold in a growing smile before taking a deep breath and flicking the switch. Bathing the entire home in inky darkness. The silhouette of you through turns to hues of thermal green and red, carefully maneuvering through your living room by memory before finding your seat in the floor in front of him. And with slight hesitation, Din reaches up to remove the last barrier he has.
“Can you see anything?”
“Not a bit,” you answer.
With that confirmation, he unclasps the chin strap and slowly lifts the helmet up and off. He blinks several times to adjust his vision before finding the outline of the table and placing his helmet there. On the return, his head bumps into your outstretched hand. Not knowing that you had moved.
“Agh.”
“Sorry sorry,” you pull away. “Give me a moment, I’ll find you.”
Your hands search in the dark for him. He can’t see much but he can tell your hands land on nothing by the way the air between you moves and he doesn’t feel any contact on his person. So he reaches out, bumping into your arms and taking hold of them. Following the line of your forearm until he reaches your hands.
“Here," he murmurs. Gloved hands wrap around your wrists and gently lift them up. He guides your hands forward until…
You let out a small gasp when your hands find the warmth of his bare face. Soft and giving as opposed to the cold, unyielding beskar. Their movements are slow and explorative. Running your thumbs over his stubble. Surprisingly his hands don’t release their grasp. His leather clad digits press against the racing pulse in your wrist as his thumbs run over the back of your palm.
“This help?”
“Yes, thank you,” you whisper.
From sound of rustling on the rug, Din can sense your body leaning in. Your breath brushes over his skin for a moment before something warm presses against his chin and it takes a second to register that it’s your mouth. You ease him into the build up and he’s greatfull for it. Jaw. Then cheek. Then just grazing the furthest corner of his mouth.
And then… contact.
At first it doesn’t feel like much. Just something soft and warm pressing against his mouth. What most people refer to as a peck, he assumes. But it’s when you barely pull back and return for another that a shiver wracks his skin. Your lips lock in the return, molding together in perfect unison. And it’s fucking electric.
Just by feel alone, he senses that your lips are slightly open. So he mimics you. Giving his jaw just enough slack to respond as you go in again. The sensations have his mind in a thick fog. The soft flesh, the sweet taste, the faint suction. His skin feels like there’s live wires going off underneath. Giving in completely, he finally returns the kiss. Pressing into it with more confidence.
You hum against his mouth, and he dies a little inside.
That’s when the real hunger builds. There’s a slow simmering heat rising between you now. Without thinking, his hands grip your wrists a little harder. Pulling you in closer. The kiss grows a bit stronger with each return back into each other with no loss of contact. Lingering longer and breathing against one another.
He feels your head tilt more to the side and again he mimics your movement. The break only lasts a fraction of a moment. But in the re-entry, the tip of your soft tongue happens to brush his mouth. Sweet wetness coats his bottom lip and it’s in that instant Din feels all restraint leave his body.
Taking your face in his hand, he kisses you open mouthed, inviting you in. Your tongues slowly graze one another and if he fucking died in this moment he’d be ok with it knowing that he got to know how you taste.
The hunger becomes unbearable. Soon enough the breathing becomes heavier and the air becomes hot. Your arms end up wrapping over his shoulders, pulling him deeper and he’s more than happy to dive further. Another small noise escapes your throat and the vibration travels through his entire body.
He needs to feel you. To taste you. Devour you. He needs you.
A break for air is the only thing that throws him back into semi-consciousness as you pull away. The heat built up between you makes him dazed. Hot breaths fill the small space between your lips as you lean your forehead against his.
“Mando?”
“Yes,” he responds in a raspy whisper. A few moments pass as you collect your words and catch your breath.
“Is this really just about curiosity…?”
Your words lean more towards a statement than a question. There’s no point in denying it now. As much as he tried to convince himself or rationalize his strange request, he does feel a pull towards you. Much more complicated than just attraction. The more he sees you, learns about you, and talks with you, the more… inevitable you feel to him. There’s a gravity to you that he can’t escape from. Nor does he want to.
“Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?” The breath of your question brushes the heated skin of his cheek. And right now, he can't think of any answer that wouldn't give him up.
So he lets it fly.
“It’s not just the kiss I’m curious about.”
The silence in the air is thick. The only thing between you are the sounds of both of you catching your breath. It’s possible he might have ruined everything with that one sentence. But it’s the truth. It had nothing to do with the kiss and everything to do with you. Your kindness, your banter, your hospitality. All of it.
There’s no way of telling what you’re thinking at the right now. It’s in this moment that he wishes the lights weren’t out so he can at least read your expression. But then after what seems like an eternity, your forehead nudges against his and you blow a deep sigh of relief. Arms still draped over his shoulders.
“Oh good… I thought it was only me,” you confess with a skittish laugh.
And that tightly pulled restraint finally snaps inside him when he hears that.
Without any hesitation, he dives back in. Kissing you like a man starved. Just like that night, he feels drunk. Only this time it’s on the taste of you and the feeling of your hands finally on him. It’s that thought that drives him to rip off his leather gloves and toss them aside without breaking contact once. His bare hands find your waist and the strip of bare skin between your shirt and linen pants.
“Is this what you meant,” you pant. “When you told me not to invite you in again.”
“Yeah... it is.” He pants the confession as his mouth trails down the line of your jaw and finding your neck in the dark.
“That’s a relief,” you chuckle. “I was worried I offended you.”
“The only thing that’s offensive is that I can’t see that pretty pink flush on your face right now.”
“Should I get a blindfold,” you tease.
What a fucking woman. The mental image of you in a blindfold, only a blindfold, pours fuel on an already blazing fire. But for now, he’s more than ok feeling his way around tonight.
“Next time.”
It comes out of his mouth confidently and without hesitation. Because you both know there will be a next time. He’s bitten into the forbidden fruit and now he’s addicted to the taste.
With a simple shift, his hands dip beneath the thin fabric of your shirt and find the delicious heat of your soft belly.
"Lay down for me."
With your arms draped over his shoulders, you eagerly comply. Slowly dragging him down with you. He careful not to press all his weight on you—being crushed by beskar would definitely kill the mood—but it doesn't stop you from pulling tighter. Craving connection. All while Din rains wet kisses and soft bites upon your pulse.
So this is what your skin tastes like. Slightly salty, sweet, and smooth between his teeth. He might eat you whole if he’s not careful. He nips at the skin of your exposed collar bone and you writhe. Arching to press your chest to his. So he decides to give it some attention.
“Take it off," you pant with an neediness that drives him pull the damn shirt off in one swift motion.
His bare hand crawls up your sternum. Exploring the valley of soft skin free of any restricting fabric. The moment his fingers find the stiff peak of your bare breast he pinches eagerly. Earning the sweetest little whimpers from you as his mouth works on the other nipple. Biting and sucking the soft point. He can’t see a thing in the dark, but what’s lacking in sight is made up by sound with the delicious breathy moans you let out for him.
“Mando…”
Fuck, does he love the way you call out for him. Every touch, kiss, and suck he gives elicites the most gorgeous sounds out of that perfect mouth. The sounds to straight to his cock, now painfully stiff. It's tempting to just dive into you right now. But he's waited this long. So why not take his sweet time with you. With his face still burried between your breasts and you fingers raking through his hair, Din feels a press of your hips against his armor. And he needs more.
“Shop Girl…”
The nickname doesn’t catch your attention. You’re either too lost in the moment or too breathless to answer. It’s only when he uses your given name that your body perks up and you give him a raspy “yeah?”.
“Do you want this," he asks.
His right hand has found its way to the waist band of your work pants. Ready and waiting for your answer. You try to grind against his hips but he presses your hips down firmly. He knows damn well neither of you want to stop. But he needs to hear it. There's no going back after this.
"Is this ok?"
He doesn't know if you're unsure. Or if maybe your trying to meet his eyes through the darkness. But there's a long pause. Only the sounds of heavy breaths and the pulse beating hard in his ears. And every second that passes has him hanging on the edge of madness.
"Yes...," you finally breathe. "I need you."
She needs me.
The words leave him winded. Months of questions and pining suddenly feel well worth the wait just to hear those words. They not only affirm going further, but the bond that's been steadily growing between you. Not a single ounce of hesitation survives after he hears that. And with one hand, Din loosens the tie of your pants and dives in beneath the fabric of your underwear.
By feel alone, Din manages to pull your pants down to your thighs and you kick them off your feet. His hands roam over all the smooth exposed skin and he can only imagine how perfect you must look if you feel this good. The tips of his fingers finds the dampness between your legs, running along the seam, and he slowly pushes inside until his knuckles meet your entrance.
You release a soft gasp and he swallows it with a deep kiss. You both sigh into each other's mouth. As if you need the other to even breathe. Din's lips never leaves yours as he does an experimental curl against the fleshy part of your walls and you arch your body against his.
“This where you need me," he huffs against your lips. "Right here?”
“Right there... Perfect..."
"I wanna taste you." The confession comes out before he can even think about it.
"Then taste me, Mando."
He can hear the smile in your voice. The taunt. And he's more than happy to reciprocate it.
He rises above you and you whine from the lack of contact. But the loss doesn't last long. Because before you even can register what he's doing, his head has already lowered between your legs.
"What are you- ah."
That gasp you let out when his mouth envelops your pussy is downright tortured. Good too know you were just as desperate as he was.
"Fuck! I thought you meant... You were gonna... Shit..."
No fucking way would he be satisfied tasting you on just his fingers. The sweet tangy flavor explodes over his tongue and he groans. Fucking hell, you taste good. He doesn’t even know what the hell he’s doing but that’s sure as shit not stopping him. He drowns in you. Lapping and sucking on your swollen little bud and loving the way it makes you cry out. Two thick fingers pump into your wet heat as you melt in his mouth. Such a fucking treat.
You writhe beneath him. Squirming and clawing at anything to hold on to as he works you up. Eventually your hands finds his hair again. Taking a fistful and pressing his face further against your cunt. The sting on his scalp makes his cock twitch in his flight suit and he groans.
“You want me to make you come, Shop Girl," he mumbles against you.
“Yes.”
“Say it.”
“Make me come, Mando... Please…”
He doesn't break pace, doesn't falter, doesn't change a damn thing what he's doing because he can feel close to the edge you are. You tighten around his digits as the pump in and out. And with a firm suck on your clit you let out a strangled gasp.
"Oh Fuck! Fuck! Mando!"
Your breathing becomes short and shallow. Panting so hard right before holding your breath and tipping over the edge with a strangled cry. You come long and hard. Trembling so much he has to hold you steady by the hips.
Through the waves of your climax, Din continues to eat you. Lapping at your perfect pussy like it's wine and he doesn't waste a single drop of you. Even sucking and licking his fingers clean as you lay breathless before him. They come out of his mouth with a wet pop and he can’t help but let out a small breathy laugh.
“I’ve always wanted to try that…” he confesses.
You let out your own exhausted little laugh and he can already tell he wants more. More laughter, more of those pretty sounds, more of you.
It's with that in mind that Din starts pulling his cape off.
Piece by peace, he silently removes his armor. And after a few moments, a second pair of hands joins in. You fumble in the dark with his chest piece first. Helping him out of his armor one section at a time. They fall to the carpet with a soft thud along with the crumbling pieces of the restraint he’s built since that first night.
There’s no signs of stopping. You keep giving him more. More heat. More yearning. More questions.
What makes you laugh? What gives you pleasure? What makes you feel good and whole and satisfied? He needs to know.
And now that he’s gotten a taste, there’s no way he’s leaving here tonight until you’ve both had your fill.
•
If this is what happens when you invite the Mandalorian into your home, let your door never close.
Getting to your bed was easier than you thought it’d be in pitch black darkness. The only thing keeping your ‘bedroom’ separate from the rest of the home is a wooden lattice divider from the ceiling to the floor.
He lays you down on the soft futon on the floor and you open for him like a flower. Two strong palms drag and paw all over your body as his mouth works magic on yours and it makes you dizzy with desire.
Maker, he’s so good with his hands.
His body separates from you only to remove his flight suit and you whine at the loss of contact. Naked and panting for him. Within seconds he’s back on top of you and the feeling of his bare skin against yours makes your head spin. With everything so dark you wonder if this is even real. Maybe this is all a fever dream.
“Are you gonna show me how Mandalorians fuck this time,” you tease against his lips. Calling back to when he showed you how they drink. With your bare legs around his hips, you tease his resolve by running your inner thighs over his sides and you’re rewarded with a low hum. The hand supporting your neck slowly drags forward to find the base of your throat.
“You don’t need to know how Mandalorians fuck.” His wide grip gently squeezes the sides of your throat, just enough for you to feel the power in those hands. “Just how I fuck.”
Holy shit. You thought him gripping your jaw was hot. But this? This might’ve awakened something you didn’t even knew you wanted.
A whimper escapes you only to be muted by his mouth again. His tongue swirls with yours with a hunger you’ve never knew was there these past months and it’s such a relief to know that you weren’t the only one pining.
Mando’s mouth travels to your cheek, then jaw, finally finding purchase on your neck. Biting and sucking as his body presses into yours. He’s insatiable right now. There's no doubt that you'll find yourself covered in marks when the lights come back on.
You’re so lost in the moment that you almost don’t notice when something hard and warm presses against your inner thigh. Out of nowhere, a thought you haven’t even considered before decides to pop into your head at the very last minute.
“H-hold on!”
Your hands find his shoulders, urging him to pause. His lips unlatch themselves from your neck the second you blurt it out. Instantly propping himself above you with his hands on either side of your head.
“You want me to stop?,” he pants.
“No… Hell no. It’s just…”
How do you even begin to ask this?
“Um… I know I probably should’ve asked earlier but… you’re human, right?”
Mando blows out a low chuckle, understanding your underlying meaning. He feels human, from what your hands can tell anyway. He could be like his kid for all you know. It’s not that you’re not willing to go Inter-species, but your experience is mainly human. Plus with the lights off it’d be pretty difficult to figure out fitting things.
Taking your hand from his shoulder, he presses it against his chest where you can feel a dusting of hair. His skin is hot, damp with a thin layer of sweat and his breathing is heavy. He continues to lead your hand further down his torso so you can feel every hill and valley of his muscles. Eventually your hand hits a trail of hair down the middle and then…
Oh shit.
His hand guides you along the length of his cock. Encouraging you to explore every ridge from the thick base all the way up to the damp tip. He’s stiff and hot in your palm. When you give him a firm squeeze he groans and twitches in your grip.
Oh shit.
“Does that answer your question?”
The human part, definitely. Fitting is still debatable.
He lets you handle him. Giving you free rein to tug and tease as he bucks into your hand. He groans with pleasure and the power trip you feel knowing exactly how you affect this fiercely disciplined man makes the pulse between your legs throb harder. After a minute, his hand snatches yours to a halt, making your grip around his cock tighter.
“Show me where you want it,” he demands in a gruff breath. And you do just that. Pressing the damp tip against your clit. The contact sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.
“Inside,” you plead. “I need you inside me.”
With an impatient huff, his hand comes down to take hold of your leg behind the bend of your knee. Spreading you wide and teasing your entrance before pushing himself inside. You gasp at the initial stretch, digging your nails into his shoulders. Mando curses under his breath and as he pushes you worry for a moment if there’s an end to him.
It’s slow, deliberate. Feeding his cock into your tight cunt until he’s pressing the limits of your walls. You shudder together when he’s completely sheathed and his hands grip your hips so hard his fingers dig into your flesh.
“Mando…” You throw your head back. Arching your whole body, waiting it to adjust to him. “Fuck!”
“I knew it,” he pants. “Fucking knew you’d feel good…”
He splits you in half and before you’re even ready the first hard thrust hits you. You whimper from impact and he thrusts again. Pinning you down by your hips to keep you at the perfect angle. Soon he sets a steady pace as he fucks you into delirium. It’s too much, he’s too much. Yet you moan and whine for more like each thrust might be the last. He feels incredible and you can only claw at his trim waist as it moves for you.
“That’s it… Good girl… Taking me so well… I wanted this… I want you to know every part of me.”
His words plunge into your chest like a dagger. Laced with a meaning that goes far beyond sex. Because you feel it too. You wanted him to be closer. You wanted him to know your name, know you. Even if it took this long to get here.
You feel one hand find your leg. Hiking it up so the back of your thigh lays flat against his chest. His hand drags up and down, caressing the soft flesh without losing a beat with his thrusts. A kiss presses on your calf and your head feels like it’s spinning. One moment he’s rearranging your insides and the next he’s giving your body sweet affection.
Tension builds in your core. Growing tighter and tighter with each hard thrust. Usually the second orgasm is more elusive to chase on your own. But this man is about to push you right into the next one not five minutes after the first one.
“Don’t… Stop…,” you pant. “Don’t stop, I’m so close, Mando…”
“Come for me... Let me feel you."
Then it comes. Tensing your entire body before coming down like a crashing wave. It’s spreads through every inch of your body, making you pulse and shake beneath his frame. You cry out in the midst of the euphoria, clinging to his shoulders, and everything feels so right. He moans along with you, feeling every tight pulse around his cock and letting you ride out the remaining waves.
“That’s two now, Shop Girl. You gonna give me a third?”
You let out a breathy laugh, still coming down from the clouds.
"I... I'm not sure I can," you chuckle.
"Yeah, you will," he pants. Amusement lacing his raspy voice.
Without out warning, Mando takes both your legs. Placing your calves over his shoulders as his leans forward. Folding you in half. And with one hard thrust, his cock drives back into you at a deeper angle. Your back bows and you swear you see stars in the blackness of the room. His lips land on the corner of your mouth and kiss their way to your lips. Offering a soft apology after the roughness. His strong arms are propped around you and you feel eclipsed under his broad body.
Soon his rhythm picks up. Becoming more desperate as he chases his own release. The room fills with the sound of your bodies meeting and you don't think you've ever heard anything more perfect. His panting picks up, his moans become louder, and the quivering breaths he makes when he finds a particularly deep spot will no doubt live in your mind rent free forever.
“You wanted me bare, didn’t you,” he huffs, pressing his damp forehead to yours.. “When you offered me that tea? You thought about me coming inside this perfect cunt, didn’t you.”
Caught red handed. Sure, you wanted to know if he had a partner as well. But the thought did cross your mind when he cornered you against the counter. You wanted to know how he felt bare, with nothing between you. Even dreamt a few times about it.
“Yes… Fuck, yes! Please! I want it!”
“You gonna come with me, Shop Girl? Hmm?”
“Maker, Mando! I’m right fucking there, please! I… I’m… ah-“
His firm hand grips your jaw. Whipping your face back to him so he can cover your mouth his. He kisses you deep, open and messy. No technique, just raw desire as he eats you alive. You moan and whimper against his mouth with each debilitating thrust he makes. He drives into you faster, harder. Relentlessly pushing you closer to the edge.
When it arrives, the orgasm hits you at full force. Wracking your whole body in convulsions as you scream, actually scream against his mouth. Your toes curl, your nails dig into his back and your cunt squeezes on to him for dear life like he’s never allowed to leave again.
Mando hisses through his teeth and he's right there with you. Ramming into you with relentless force as he chases his own release. His face dives into the crook of your shoulder and his arms scramble to take hold of you and he loses control. Letting out a sharp groan as he comes.
“Fuck.. Fuck,” he shudders in your ear. “Agh!”
His hips jerk against your body, driving himself as deep as you can take him. You feel his cock throb as he pumps into you again and again. Filling you to the point of spilling out and it’s... everything. Connected in such a profound way you’ve never felt before. In this moment, it’s hard to tell your bodies apart. You’ve melted and mixed and you never want to separate.
You ride it together, mold together, lose control together because you both knew it’d come to this. In the end this was inevitable. And in a galaxy filled with unknowns, in this you can be certain. A connection like this is few and far between. It’s real and raw and rare. Resisting that feeling was never an option, so why try?
Even in the climb down he doesn’t stop. Those hard demanding thrusts slow to a gentle drags as if he doesn’t want to finish yet. Hands glide all over each other’s bodies, soothing the other. All along his tense shoulders, you pepper soft kisses to his skin. Easing you both down from the clouds. He hums in the decent and it lulls you into an exhausted bliss.
Everything feels hazy and soft. You’re not sure how long you stay melted together like this. Minutes? Hours? But it’s needed. After a while, the breathing becomes steady and a soft, drowsy satisfaction settles between you.
“That’s the first time someone's come inside me,” you quietly confess. For a moment, Mando absorbs what you just said. Then you feel him prop himself in his elbows above you.
“Really?”
“Yeah…,” you breathe. Running your hands up the sides of his neck and resting them on his stubbled face.
“You know… since we’re sharing firsts tonight.”
He smiles and this time you’re able to know for certain by the feel of it in your hands. Leaning down, his forehead finds yours in the dark and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so whole before.
“I’m your first, huh,” he breathes. “I like that.”
There’s so many layers to this man. Quiet and withdrawn. Rough and demanding. Soft and caring. Each one is a trait you’ve come to cherish. You’re not sure if you love this man. But you’re definitely starting to fall for him. You can explore that treasure box later though. For now, you’ll take tonight for tonight and let whatever comes next between you arrive in its own good time.
“Me too, Mando...”
•
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💕 THANK YOU FOR READING 💕
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Summary: You need some time away from Din until a moment of panic leads to reunion.
Warnings: 18+only. I promise the smut will be back!
A/N: Greetings from Portugal! 🇵🇹 Good thing I had this written before going away! Enjoy! 🥰
One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten
Din Masterlist
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You hear him before you've gone twenty paces.
The footfalls are unmistakable. Beskar boots on cobble have a sound nothing else in the galaxy quite makes – that dense clink under each step, the weight of a man who’s carrying eight kilos of metal on his torso and not bothering to walk quietly about it.
He’s not running because Din has never run after you. But he’s walking, fast, with the long deliberate stride of a man who knows he’s faster than you are and is choosing, very pointedly, not to close the distance entirely.
"Cyar'ika."
You don't turn and walk faster.
"Cyar'ika…. stop."
You don't stop, because if you do, he’ll catch you and if he catches you he’ll put his hands on your shoulders the way he always does and tip the visor down to your face and say something low and careful through the modulator and you will, like an idiot, like a soft, tired pregnant idiot, fold against him and forgive him for things he hasn’t yet apologised for, and you will not, you’ve decided, do that this morning.
So, you walk faster down the uneven lane, past the woman at the pump, past a small cat that scrambles off a low wall in front of you, past a stack of empty crates and a Rodian unloading a hover-pallet who lifts his head as the both of you go by.
"Cyar'ika, please."
"Don't, Din."
The cobbles get worse. Karga's settlement has grown faster than its road crews can keep up with, and there’s a stretch along the lane where the old volcanic-rock paving meets the newer duracrete patch in a small uneven seam, and you don’t see it.
Your toe catches and your hand flies out to break the fall. The world tips and you hear the small involuntary sound of your own breath punching out of you. Somewhere behind you, the modulator say cyar'ika in a voice you’ve never quite heard out of it before, sharp and high and almost cracked.
A hand catches your elbow – a bare hand, broad and weathered and warm. It hooks under your arm and lifts, and an arm goes round your other side at the waist and steadies you upright.
"Easy, ma'am. Easy, I've got you. There you go. You alright?"
You blink up at the man beside you. He’s older, fifty perhaps, with a salt-grey beard, a sun-browned face and a leather work-apron stained with what might be tanner's oil. There's a handcart at his hip and you reason he must have been crossing the lane the other way and stepped neatly into your path the moment your toe caught.
“You need to watch your step,” he says kindly. “These roads…”
He doesn't finish his sentence because Din is there, very suddenly, very fast, and there’s a sound you’ve never heard before, a low metallic snarl coming through the modulator that is barely shaped like a word at all. The older man's eyes go wide and he steps back, both hands going up at once.
"Easy, friend, easy. She tripped and I caught her, that's all."
Din hasn’t drawn his blaster, but his hand is on the grip of it and the grip is half out of the holster and the visor is cantered on the older man's face as he steps back with his hands still high.
"Din," you say.
"Step away from her."
"I’m doing it, friend, doing it."
"Din."
"Step away…"
"He caught me, Din."
"…from her."
"He caught me!"
It comes out of you at full volume and the visor twitches, finally, off the older man's face and toward yours. You round on Din with your face hot, your breath short and the cold sweat of the near-fall still standing on the back of your neck.
"He caught me, Din. I tripped and I would have gone down on my hands and knees on the cobbles, but he caught me. He’s…a stranger on a street who saw a woman fall, and he put his hands out and caught me, and you’re…you’re out here with your blaster half-drawn…!"
"He was…"
"He was catching me! Holster it. Holster it, Din."
His hand doesn’t move, the visor still on you, and you can feel the small private way his shoulders are shaking. Just barely, just at the edge of it.
Adrenaline.
Fear.
The small sound he made when your toe caught is still hanging in the air between you, and you know, you know in some quiet place behind the anger, that the man with his hand on the blaster is a man who just watched the only thing in his life trip on cobbles and you know – you know – that whatever came out of him in the next half second wasn’t aimed at the bearded stranger so much as at the world that put the cobbles there.
You know it, but today, you can’t afford to know it.
"Holster. It. Din."
He does as you ask, slow and careful and you wait to hear the click of the strap going back across the grip.
You turn back to the older man, still standing with his hands raised.
"I'm so sorry," you say, your voice shaking slightly. "I'm so sorry. He…he isn't normally…I tripped, I…thank you. Thank you for catching me. I would have…thank you."
"Nothing to it, ma'am." He lowers his hands, slowly, watching the visor as he does it. "Glad I was there. You take care of yourself, and…" his eyes flick to Din, careful, almost amused now that the blaster is back in its holster, "you take care of her, friend. She's worth it."
"Thank you," you say again, because you don’t trust yourself with any other words.
The older man tips his head to you, picks up the handles of his cart and wheels it past the two of you down the lane. He doesn’t look back, and you watch his salt-grey head go until the cart turns the corner and is gone.
Then you round on Din again.
"What the hell was that?"
"You almost fell."
"I did almost fall. I almost fell, and a nice man caught me, and you came out of nowhere with your hand on your gun…"
"I didn't know him."
"You don't know the baker, Din! You don't know the woman at the pump! You don't know anyone in this entire settlement except Karga! You can’t draw on every person who…"
"I didn't draw."
"You half drew."
"He had hands on you."
"He was holding me up!"
"I didn't…" The modulator clicks. "I didn't see…I saw…I saw you go down and I saw a man on you and I…I didn't…"
"You didn't see because you were too busy reacting, Din, that's the whole… that is the whole problem this morning!"
You stop because your voice has gone high again and your hands are shaking and your knees, very suddenly, are not particularly interested in holding you up. You scrub your hands over your face and breathe, hard, twice, three times as he takes a step towards you.
You hold up your other hand and he stops.
"Don't. Don't come any closer. Don't put your hands on me. Don't say cyar'ika. I can’t…I can’t do this in the middle of the lane, Din. I can’t do this with you with your visor on at me in the middle of the lane fifteen minutes after you let a stranger tell me I have to give up our home."
"Cyar'ika…"
"I said don't."
He stops where he is, three paces off, gloved hands open at his sides now, helmet very slightly tipped.
"I need…" you start. "I need to not be near you for an hour, Din."
You see – you can’t read the visor, but you can read the shoulders – the small terrible flinch travel through him.
"Cyar'ika…"
"An hour. That's all. I'm not…I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going off-world, I'm just…I need an hour, Din. I need an hour to…to breathe without…”
You don't finish and he nods, slowly.
"An hour," he says. "Where will you…?"
"I don't know."
"Cyar'ika, please. Just…tell me where you'll be. So I know. So I…"
"Karga's, probably."
"Okay. I'll…" The modulator clicks and he shifts his weight. "I'll be at the ship. I'll…I'll be at the ship. I'll be there."
"Thank you."
He doesn't say anything else. He stands a long moment with the wind pulling at his cape and the visor on your face, and then he tips the helmet and he turns, and walks away. You don’t watch him go. You stand with your back to him and your eyes on the cobbles until the sound of the boots has gone around a corner and faded into the general low noise of the settlement waking up around you.
Then you breathe out and start walking again.
You don't get half a block before you hear the first shot.
It comes from somewhere two streets over – a single clean crack of a blaster bolt fired in open air, the kind of sound that, on any other planet in the galaxy, would send people running for cover. On Nevarro, it makes the woman at the pump look up, frown, and go back to filling her jug.
Bounty business – always somebody's. You hear it and you don’t break stride.
The second shot is closer.
The third is closer still and is followed by the dense answering chatter of an automatic carbine, and that, you’ve lived on a gunship long enough to know, is not bounty business. Bounty business is precise. Bounty business is one shot, one body, the careful pop of a hunter who’s been paid to bring a target down. Carbines on full auto are something else. Carbines on full auto are people in a panic.
You stop in the middle of the lane, turn your head and look down the cross-street to your left.
A man is running toward you, full out, his cloak streaming behind him, one hand pressed to his side where the dark of blood has already started to spread through the lighter brown of his shirt. Behind him, perhaps thirty meters back, three more figures spill out of an alley mouth – armoured and mismatched – and one of them brings up a carbine. The next crack of bolts comes down the lane and the running man jerks, mid-stride, and goes down on his face on the cobbles ten paces from you.
You don't think – you move. More than a year on the Crest has done that – has put something in you that doesn’t need permission from your higher brain to act, that gets your feet under you and your body sideways and your hand to the small of your back to where your own blaster is clipped against the waistband of your trousers.
You’re behind the corner of a shuttered stall before the next bolt comes down the lane, your back flat to the rough wood, your hand on the grip. Breathing in, you count and estimate you have perhaps four seconds before the attackers cover the distance and see you.
The shuttered stall at your back is the corner of a dry-goods shop. There’s a closed door two meters to your right which could be locked. If it is, you’ll be standing in a recessed doorway with nowhere to go when they come around the corner. If it’s not locked you may be inside it with the door bolted behind you in three seconds, and that is the play, the only play, the one Din would take if Din were here.
A door opens across the lane, ten meters down and a woman's face appears in the gap, dark-eyed and quick. She sees you, sees what’s coming up the lane, and doesn’t hesitate. She flings the door wide and jerks her head for you to run inside.
You go low and fast, the blaster in your hand low at your hip and you’re halfway across the lane when the first of the attackers rounds the corner and sees you.
"Hey!"
The bolt sings past your ear close enough that you feel the heat of it on your cheekbone.
You turn at the hip, the way Din’s taught you, your weight already moving, and fire twice. One of them drops. You don't see where you hit him because you don't have time. You’re already inside the door and the woman is slamming it behind you and dropping a heavy iron bar across it, and the next bolt that hits the door sounds like a hammer ringing on a bell.
You go down on one knee because your knees, very suddenly, have decided they’re done.
The woman puts her hand on your shoulder. “Are you hit?”
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm…I'm not hit. I'm… Your free hand moves to your belly. The woman's eyes go to it, widen, briefly, then narrow into something fierce.
"Up," she says. “Behind the bar. Now."
The bar is heavy stone. You crouch behind it and the woman grabs a slug-thrower from under the counter, an old long-barrelled thing with a stock worn shiny by the press of many hands. She racks it once with a small dry sound that’s almost reassuring.
The door takes another hit. Then another. Then…silence.
"They're going around," the woman murmurs. "Stay down."
You stay down, your hand shaking around the grip of the blaster. Your other hand is flat to your belly, and you can feel – over the slamming of your own pulse – the wet little drum you heard this morning in the midwife's office. Only it’s yours, doubled and quickened and filling your whole skull.
The kitchen door opens with a kick. You hear the woman fire and a man scream as he goes down. Then you hear the chatter of the carbine and the sound of the woman’s body hitting the floorboards.
"No…"
You're up before you've decided to be up, your back coming off the bar and the blaster coming up in both hands. The second man is coming around the end of the bar with his weapon swinging toward where the woman has fallen, his eyes find you and widen as you fire.
The first shot goes wide. The second catches him in the throat and he goes down sideways into a stack of clay jugs which explode on impact, and he is, abruptly, not a problem anymore.
You drop back down because the third one is still out there. You didn’t see him follow the second one in, so he must be outside, watching the front again. You’re not sure how many shots you have left, and the woman behind the bar is making a thin wet sound that’s not encouraging. Your hands are shaking so hard now you can hear the small metallic chatter of the grip-plate against your thumb.
You crawl to where the woman has gone down. She’s on her side, her hand pressed to her throat where the carbine has caught her along the side of the neck, the dark blood pumping slow but steady between her fingers. Her eyes find yours and she tries unsuccessfully to speak. Then she lifts her other hand and points at the front door.
You hear it. The iron bar across the front door is moving, lifting from the outside. The third man must have something, a tool, a magnetic lifter, something that’s pulling the bar up out of its brackets from the outside, and in perhaps fifteen seconds the bar’s going to come free and the door’s going to swing open and he’s going to walk in and you’re going to be on the floor of a tavern with nowhere left to go.
The iron bar lifts another inch.
You aim for the door, bracing your elbows on the dead woman's hip, and you sight down the barrel and wait. Your hands shake as the bar lifts another inch and the door creaks, very faintly, against the frame.
Stay alive, you think. Stay alive. I love you. Stay alive.
The bar comes free, the door swings open, and the thing that comes through is not the third man.
The thing that comes through is beskar.
He comes through low and fast, cape streaming behind him, visor already locked on the figure to his right at the door's edge. The long blade comes out from under the cape in a single clean arc, and there is a sound, brief and wet and final, and the third man's carbine clatters to the floorboards. His body follows half a second later, and Din is in the doorway with the blade in one hand and the blaster in the other, the visor sweeping the room, finding the second man dead among the clay jugs, finding the woman dead on the floor at your hip, and finally – finally – finding you.
"Cyar'ika…"
You don't speak because you can't, because something in your chest has come unhooked and the wet sound at the back of your throat is too big to be a word. The blaster is still up, your hands are still shaking, and you can’t, for one long stunned moment, make your hands lower it.
He drops both his weapons. The blade hits the floorboards with a clatter, the blaster going down a heartbeat after it, and he’s across the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees on the bloody floorboards in front of you. His hands close carefully over yours and he eases the blaster down out of your hands and sets it on the floor at his knee. Then his hands come back to you, and they’re everywhere at once.
Your face. Your neck. Your shoulders.
The visor sweeps you, his hands running over you like a man checking a casualty in the field, his palms flat to your ribs and then down to your hips and then spreading wide and warm over your belly.
"Are you hit, cyar'ika? Are you hit? Tell me."
"No."
"Cyar'ika…"
"I'm not…I’m not hit.”
"Anywhere, cyar'ika, even a…even a graze, even a… "
"I'm not, I swear. I'm not hit. She is. She's..."
You turn your head and he follows, the visor finding the woman at your hip, the dark spreading slow under her on the boards, the eyes already gone.
"She…she pulled me in here. She got me behind the bar. She shot the first one through the kitchen and the carbine got her and I…Din, I…I had to…there was a third one, he was…he was lifting the bar, he had…"
"Cyar'ika. Cyar'ika, shh. Breathe. Breathe with me. Breathe."
He pulls you against him, one hand spread over the back of your head and the other still on the curve of your belly and you breathe in shakily against him. The cape comes around you and you bury your face into his throat and breathe.
"I've got you," he says, into the crown of your head. “I've got you. I've got you, cyar'ika. I've got you."
"Din…"
"I've got you."
"How did you…how did you know?"
"I heard the shots. I heard the carbine and I…I started running. I started running the second I heard the second shot. I…I came up the lane, and I saw a man on his face on the cobbles, and I saw a door open and I knew. I knew. I knew it was you. I…"
"Din…"
"I almost…I almost didn't get here."
"You got here."
"Cyar'ika…"
"You got here, Din, you got here. Look at me. You got here."
He looks at you and you can’t see his face, can’t see his eyes, can’t see whatever ragged thing is behind the visor right now, and for the first time today you don’t need to. You can read the way the visor is shaking, just barely, on your face. You can read the way the hand on your belly is shaking, just barely, against your tunic. You can read every single thing his shoulders are doing and what they’re doing is coming apart, slow and silent, the way they come apart when there’s nobody to see them, the way they come apart when only you’re in the room.
You lift one shaking hand and press it, flat, to the side of the helmet. "I'm here. I'm okay. We're okay.”
"Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, Mhi me'dinui an, Mhi ba'juri verde,” he says, voice cracking over the words.
You swallow and shake your head, “I…”
“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.” He nods slowly. “Mandalorian wedding vows. The riduurock.”
His hand on your belly spreads wider, thumb stroking across the small soft curve of you. The visor lowers against your forehead and doesn’t move.
"Are you...are you asking me to marry you? Here...now?"
"Yes," he replies, the helmet nodding fiercely. "You said the answer would be yes so...marry me cyar'ika, please...marry me. Say...say it back, please."
“Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, Mhi me'dinui an, Mhi ba'juri verde,” you repeat as best you can, tripping slightly over some of the pronunciation. “We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.”
“I love you,” he says quietly. “I love you, cyar’ika, you and our baby. Our baby.”
“I love you too,” you sniff. “I love you so much.”
Somewhere outside in the lane you hear the sound of running footsteps, shouting and the rising whoop of Karga's settlement-guard whistles. Inside the tavern there is only the small, ragged breath of him through the modulator and the slow wet pulse of the woman's blood spreading on the boards beside you, and the baby under his palm, still going.
"She's okay," you whisper. "Din, she's okay. I can feel her. She's okay."
“She?”
“It’s a she today.”
"You can't feel her yet."
"I can today."
"Cyar'ika…"
"I can today, Din."
He makes a sound, something low, broken and entirely without language and presses the helmet more firmly against you.
"We’re getting off this floor," he says, finally. "We’re getting off this floor and you’re going straight back to Vesha. She’s going to look at you, look at…at her. She’s going to tell me you’re both…both…”
"Okay."
"Yes."
"Okay."
"And then…"
"And then we go home, Din. To the Crest. Take me home."
"Okay," he says.
The settlement-guard whistles are getting closer. Karga's voice is somewhere out in the lane, bellowing orders. Din slides one arm under your knees and the other under your shoulders and lifts you carefully, like you weigh nothing, like he’s afraid of waking something, and you let him for once, without arguing.
You loop your arms around his neck and press your face into him, closing your eyes. His cape comes around the both of you, and he carries you out of the tavern over the bodies of three men, toward Karga who’s already running up the lane with his coat flapping, mouth open around your name.
This is fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine. My eyes are just recycling themselves. These water works are here to ensure the body is functioning properly 😭😭😭
This was so tense, but so rewarding! I really hope they talk now, everything out in the open! But I can also totally picture something just kind of exploding too. You’ve got so many directions this can go. I really loved how you described him coming in the door and how the rest of the chapter plays out once he’s eliminated the threat.
You’ve got great stuff! Thank you as always for sharing with us!!
Summary: Rex returns home to your daughter and you.
Warnings: None, just fluff
WC: 989
It was early morning when Rex arrived home.
Sunshine beamed into the bedroom through the gaps in the blinds, loud songs were being sung by nearby birds. You were still half asleep when Rex pressed a kiss to the top of your head before snuggling in beside you.
He placed his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to his chest whilst pressing another kiss to your head.
You let out a sleepy mumble as you turn ever so slightly to meet his gaze. “You’re back.”
He presses a soft kiss to your lips this time, chuckling softly. “Mhm,” He hums against you. “Missed my girls. Thought I’d come back a bit early.”
You smile and lean into him even more as he begins to pepper kisses all over your shoulders and collarbones. “Yeah?”
He hums against your sternum, continuing to cover you in kisses.
Rex was always extra needy when he returned from a mission. Even just a few days away left him in agony. He hated being apart from you and your daughter, he worried about the two of you every second he was gone. The work he was doing was important, of course, he knew that. His brothers needed him, needed his help, his guidance. But selfishly, sometimes he wished that he could throw that part of him away and just lock himself up with his precious girls.
“Always miss you,” He mumbles, his hand slithering under your, Rex’s actually, t-shirt his warm, calloused hands splaying over your stomach. “Never going away again.”
You giggle and turn fully now, facing him, your fingers reaching up to cradle through his hair, which had grown out a little from his usual buzzed look. “Sounds good to me,” You murmur, nuzzling into his neck.
Rex shuffled the duvet up further over the two of you as he held you close. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart. We should have a couple more hours before the little monster wakes up.”
He holds you tight in his arms, and you are content and happy as can be as you begin to lull back to sleep. You always slept best this way. You were the safest you could possibly be, held close and tight by the man you love, knowing he's safe and not away somewhere getting shot at.
But mornings in your home never stayed that peaceful for long, not when you have a two-year-old anyway.
Your bedroom door creaked open, yours and Rex’s eyes opening along with it.
“Mama, when will-” Your daughter peeked her head into the room, her tooka pyjamas riding up one of her legs. She was also carrying her little bantha plush toy, one that Rex had got her when he returned from a mission a few months back.
She cut herself off from whatever she was about to ask, no doubt about when her papa would be home, before she spotted Rex in his spot in bed, her face beaming with light and a large, toothy smile. “Papa!”
Before Rex could even untangle himself from you, she was already climbing up on the bed and jumping on top of him. Rex chuckled at her, taking her into his arms, her own arms wrapping around his neck.
She gave him a big smile. “I missed you sooo much!” She declared, pulling back so she could sit in his lap.
Rex grinned at her, the two staring at each other with identical sets of eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”
She giggles. “I missed you more!”
Rex raised an eyebrow, a smirk hanging from his lips. “Not possible.”
Your daughter shakes her head and continues giggling before stretching her arms out in front of him. “Uh-huh, I missed you this much!”
“Really now?” Rex laughed, grabbing her to pull her closer. “Okay, well. I missed you this much!” Rex says as he begins to tickle her sides, peppering kisses over her face as she squirms closer to him by instinct.
She shrieks with laughter as Rex kisses every single part of her face, letting out overdramatic noises.
She begs you for mercy, which is funny since she hadn't even registered you were there until now. “Mama, help! Help!”
Her giggles fill the room, a sound you or Rex could never tire of. You laugh as your husband continues to tickle her, seeking every missed laugh and giggle.
“Papa!” She continues to giggle. “But I made your favourite biscuits for you!”
Rex stopped at that, his expression full of feigned surprise. Your daughter falls into the small gap between you and Rex, a few giggles still escaping from her lips. “You made me my favourite biscuits?”
She laughs again, reaching up to hold his face. “And I decorated them blue! Your favourite colour!”
Rex laughs, expression full of happiness and love. “You did?”
“Uh huh!” Your daughter says proudly. “Can we eat them now?”
You and Rex catch each other's eyes, both of you knowing that this was coming. You reach over to kiss your daughter's forehead, your smile wide. “It's a bit early for biscuits, baby.”
She immediately pouts and turns to her dad, giving him her best puppy-dog eyes. She knows that she has him wrapped around her finger. “Papa, pleaseeee.” She prolongs the please, her eyes wide and full of hope.
Rex looks at you and chuckles as you roll your eyes. “I suppose. Just this once, though.”
Your daughter lets out a loud, “yay!” before she scrambles off the bed, grabbing Rex’s hand to pull him in the direction of the kitchen. You can't help but giggle at their antics, the two of them always getting up to no good when they're together.
You can hear their laughter echoing through the kitchen, no doubt stuffing their faces with biscuits. You let them have their moment, you know she misses her dad so much whenever he's gone, and you know he misses his baby girl just as much.
Summary: You need some time away from Din until a moment of panic leads to reunion.
Warnings: 18+only. I promise the smut will be back!
A/N: Greetings from Portugal! 🇵🇹 Good thing I had this written before going away! Enjoy! 🥰
One/Two/Three/Four/Five/Six/Seven/Eight/Nine/Ten
Din Masterlist
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You hear him before you've gone twenty paces.
The footfalls are unmistakable. Beskar boots on cobble have a sound nothing else in the galaxy quite makes – that dense clink under each step, the weight of a man who’s carrying eight kilos of metal on his torso and not bothering to walk quietly about it.
He’s not running because Din has never run after you. But he’s walking, fast, with the long deliberate stride of a man who knows he’s faster than you are and is choosing, very pointedly, not to close the distance entirely.
"Cyar'ika."
You don't turn and walk faster.
"Cyar'ika…. stop."
You don't stop, because if you do, he’ll catch you and if he catches you he’ll put his hands on your shoulders the way he always does and tip the visor down to your face and say something low and careful through the modulator and you will, like an idiot, like a soft, tired pregnant idiot, fold against him and forgive him for things he hasn’t yet apologised for, and you will not, you’ve decided, do that this morning.
So, you walk faster down the uneven lane, past the woman at the pump, past a small cat that scrambles off a low wall in front of you, past a stack of empty crates and a Rodian unloading a hover-pallet who lifts his head as the both of you go by.
"Cyar'ika, please."
"Don't, Din."
The cobbles get worse. Karga's settlement has grown faster than its road crews can keep up with, and there’s a stretch along the lane where the old volcanic-rock paving meets the newer duracrete patch in a small uneven seam, and you don’t see it.
Your toe catches and your hand flies out to break the fall. The world tips and you hear the small involuntary sound of your own breath punching out of you. Somewhere behind you, the modulator say cyar'ika in a voice you’ve never quite heard out of it before, sharp and high and almost cracked.
A hand catches your elbow – a bare hand, broad and weathered and warm. It hooks under your arm and lifts, and an arm goes round your other side at the waist and steadies you upright.
"Easy, ma'am. Easy, I've got you. There you go. You alright?"
You blink up at the man beside you. He’s older, fifty perhaps, with a salt-grey beard, a sun-browned face and a leather work-apron stained with what might be tanner's oil. There's a handcart at his hip and you reason he must have been crossing the lane the other way and stepped neatly into your path the moment your toe caught.
“You need to watch your step,” he says kindly. “These roads…”
He doesn't finish his sentence because Din is there, very suddenly, very fast, and there’s a sound you’ve never heard before, a low metallic snarl coming through the modulator that is barely shaped like a word at all. The older man's eyes go wide and he steps back, both hands going up at once.
"Easy, friend, easy. She tripped and I caught her, that's all."
Din hasn’t drawn his blaster, but his hand is on the grip of it and the grip is half out of the holster and the visor is cantered on the older man's face as he steps back with his hands still high.
"Din," you say.
"Step away from her."
"I’m doing it, friend, doing it."
"Din."
"Step away…"
"He caught me, Din."
"…from her."
"He caught me!"
It comes out of you at full volume and the visor twitches, finally, off the older man's face and toward yours. You round on Din with your face hot, your breath short and the cold sweat of the near-fall still standing on the back of your neck.
"He caught me, Din. I tripped and I would have gone down on my hands and knees on the cobbles, but he caught me. He’s…a stranger on a street who saw a woman fall, and he put his hands out and caught me, and you’re…you’re out here with your blaster half-drawn…!"
"He was…"
"He was catching me! Holster it. Holster it, Din."
His hand doesn’t move, the visor still on you, and you can feel the small private way his shoulders are shaking. Just barely, just at the edge of it.
Adrenaline.
Fear.
The small sound he made when your toe caught is still hanging in the air between you, and you know, you know in some quiet place behind the anger, that the man with his hand on the blaster is a man who just watched the only thing in his life trip on cobbles and you know – you know – that whatever came out of him in the next half second wasn’t aimed at the bearded stranger so much as at the world that put the cobbles there.
You know it, but today, you can’t afford to know it.
"Holster. It. Din."
He does as you ask, slow and careful and you wait to hear the click of the strap going back across the grip.
You turn back to the older man, still standing with his hands raised.
"I'm so sorry," you say, your voice shaking slightly. "I'm so sorry. He…he isn't normally…I tripped, I…thank you. Thank you for catching me. I would have…thank you."
"Nothing to it, ma'am." He lowers his hands, slowly, watching the visor as he does it. "Glad I was there. You take care of yourself, and…" his eyes flick to Din, careful, almost amused now that the blaster is back in its holster, "you take care of her, friend. She's worth it."
"Thank you," you say again, because you don’t trust yourself with any other words.
The older man tips his head to you, picks up the handles of his cart and wheels it past the two of you down the lane. He doesn’t look back, and you watch his salt-grey head go until the cart turns the corner and is gone.
Then you round on Din again.
"What the hell was that?"
"You almost fell."
"I did almost fall. I almost fell, and a nice man caught me, and you came out of nowhere with your hand on your gun…"
"I didn't know him."
"You don't know the baker, Din! You don't know the woman at the pump! You don't know anyone in this entire settlement except Karga! You can’t draw on every person who…"
"I didn't draw."
"You half drew."
"He had hands on you."
"He was holding me up!"
"I didn't…" The modulator clicks. "I didn't see…I saw…I saw you go down and I saw a man on you and I…I didn't…"
"You didn't see because you were too busy reacting, Din, that's the whole… that is the whole problem this morning!"
You stop because your voice has gone high again and your hands are shaking and your knees, very suddenly, are not particularly interested in holding you up. You scrub your hands over your face and breathe, hard, twice, three times as he takes a step towards you.
You hold up your other hand and he stops.
"Don't. Don't come any closer. Don't put your hands on me. Don't say cyar'ika. I can’t…I can’t do this in the middle of the lane, Din. I can’t do this with you with your visor on at me in the middle of the lane fifteen minutes after you let a stranger tell me I have to give up our home."
"Cyar'ika…"
"I said don't."
He stops where he is, three paces off, gloved hands open at his sides now, helmet very slightly tipped.
"I need…" you start. "I need to not be near you for an hour, Din."
You see – you can’t read the visor, but you can read the shoulders – the small terrible flinch travel through him.
"Cyar'ika…"
"An hour. That's all. I'm not…I'm not going anywhere. I'm not going off-world, I'm just…I need an hour, Din. I need an hour to…to breathe without…”
You don't finish and he nods, slowly.
"An hour," he says. "Where will you…?"
"I don't know."
"Cyar'ika, please. Just…tell me where you'll be. So I know. So I…"
"Karga's, probably."
"Okay. I'll…" The modulator clicks and he shifts his weight. "I'll be at the ship. I'll…I'll be at the ship. I'll be there."
"Thank you."
He doesn't say anything else. He stands a long moment with the wind pulling at his cape and the visor on your face, and then he tips the helmet and he turns, and walks away. You don’t watch him go. You stand with your back to him and your eyes on the cobbles until the sound of the boots has gone around a corner and faded into the general low noise of the settlement waking up around you.
Then you breathe out and start walking again.
You don't get half a block before you hear the first shot.
It comes from somewhere two streets over – a single clean crack of a blaster bolt fired in open air, the kind of sound that, on any other planet in the galaxy, would send people running for cover. On Nevarro, it makes the woman at the pump look up, frown, and go back to filling her jug.
Bounty business – always somebody's. You hear it and you don’t break stride.
The second shot is closer.
The third is closer still and is followed by the dense answering chatter of an automatic carbine, and that, you’ve lived on a gunship long enough to know, is not bounty business. Bounty business is precise. Bounty business is one shot, one body, the careful pop of a hunter who’s been paid to bring a target down. Carbines on full auto are something else. Carbines on full auto are people in a panic.
You stop in the middle of the lane, turn your head and look down the cross-street to your left.
A man is running toward you, full out, his cloak streaming behind him, one hand pressed to his side where the dark of blood has already started to spread through the lighter brown of his shirt. Behind him, perhaps thirty meters back, three more figures spill out of an alley mouth – armoured and mismatched – and one of them brings up a carbine. The next crack of bolts comes down the lane and the running man jerks, mid-stride, and goes down on his face on the cobbles ten paces from you.
You don't think – you move. More than a year on the Crest has done that – has put something in you that doesn’t need permission from your higher brain to act, that gets your feet under you and your body sideways and your hand to the small of your back to where your own blaster is clipped against the waistband of your trousers.
You’re behind the corner of a shuttered stall before the next bolt comes down the lane, your back flat to the rough wood, your hand on the grip. Breathing in, you count and estimate you have perhaps four seconds before the attackers cover the distance and see you.
The shuttered stall at your back is the corner of a dry-goods shop. There’s a closed door two meters to your right which could be locked. If it is, you’ll be standing in a recessed doorway with nowhere to go when they come around the corner. If it’s not locked you may be inside it with the door bolted behind you in three seconds, and that is the play, the only play, the one Din would take if Din were here.
A door opens across the lane, ten meters down and a woman's face appears in the gap, dark-eyed and quick. She sees you, sees what’s coming up the lane, and doesn’t hesitate. She flings the door wide and jerks her head for you to run inside.
You go low and fast, the blaster in your hand low at your hip and you’re halfway across the lane when the first of the attackers rounds the corner and sees you.
"Hey!"
The bolt sings past your ear close enough that you feel the heat of it on your cheekbone.
You turn at the hip, the way Din’s taught you, your weight already moving, and fire twice. One of them drops. You don't see where you hit him because you don't have time. You’re already inside the door and the woman is slamming it behind you and dropping a heavy iron bar across it, and the next bolt that hits the door sounds like a hammer ringing on a bell.
You go down on one knee because your knees, very suddenly, have decided they’re done.
The woman puts her hand on your shoulder. “Are you hit?”
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm…I'm not hit. I'm… Your free hand moves to your belly. The woman's eyes go to it, widen, briefly, then narrow into something fierce.
"Up," she says. “Behind the bar. Now."
The bar is heavy stone. You crouch behind it and the woman grabs a slug-thrower from under the counter, an old long-barrelled thing with a stock worn shiny by the press of many hands. She racks it once with a small dry sound that’s almost reassuring.
The door takes another hit. Then another. Then…silence.
"They're going around," the woman murmurs. "Stay down."
You stay down, your hand shaking around the grip of the blaster. Your other hand is flat to your belly, and you can feel – over the slamming of your own pulse – the wet little drum you heard this morning in the midwife's office. Only it’s yours, doubled and quickened and filling your whole skull.
The kitchen door opens with a kick. You hear the woman fire and a man scream as he goes down. Then you hear the chatter of the carbine and the sound of the woman’s body hitting the floorboards.
"No…"
You're up before you've decided to be up, your back coming off the bar and the blaster coming up in both hands. The second man is coming around the end of the bar with his weapon swinging toward where the woman has fallen, his eyes find you and widen as you fire.
The first shot goes wide. The second catches him in the throat and he goes down sideways into a stack of clay jugs which explode on impact, and he is, abruptly, not a problem anymore.
You drop back down because the third one is still out there. You didn’t see him follow the second one in, so he must be outside, watching the front again. You’re not sure how many shots you have left, and the woman behind the bar is making a thin wet sound that’s not encouraging. Your hands are shaking so hard now you can hear the small metallic chatter of the grip-plate against your thumb.
You crawl to where the woman has gone down. She’s on her side, her hand pressed to her throat where the carbine has caught her along the side of the neck, the dark blood pumping slow but steady between her fingers. Her eyes find yours and she tries unsuccessfully to speak. Then she lifts her other hand and points at the front door.
You hear it. The iron bar across the front door is moving, lifting from the outside. The third man must have something, a tool, a magnetic lifter, something that’s pulling the bar up out of its brackets from the outside, and in perhaps fifteen seconds the bar’s going to come free and the door’s going to swing open and he’s going to walk in and you’re going to be on the floor of a tavern with nowhere left to go.
The iron bar lifts another inch.
You aim for the door, bracing your elbows on the dead woman's hip, and you sight down the barrel and wait. Your hands shake as the bar lifts another inch and the door creaks, very faintly, against the frame.
Stay alive, you think. Stay alive. I love you. Stay alive.
The bar comes free, the door swings open, and the thing that comes through is not the third man.
The thing that comes through is beskar.
He comes through low and fast, cape streaming behind him, visor already locked on the figure to his right at the door's edge. The long blade comes out from under the cape in a single clean arc, and there is a sound, brief and wet and final, and the third man's carbine clatters to the floorboards. His body follows half a second later, and Din is in the doorway with the blade in one hand and the blaster in the other, the visor sweeping the room, finding the second man dead among the clay jugs, finding the woman dead on the floor at your hip, and finally – finally – finding you.
"Cyar'ika…"
You don't speak because you can't, because something in your chest has come unhooked and the wet sound at the back of your throat is too big to be a word. The blaster is still up, your hands are still shaking, and you can’t, for one long stunned moment, make your hands lower it.
He drops both his weapons. The blade hits the floorboards with a clatter, the blaster going down a heartbeat after it, and he’s across the room in three long strides, dropping to his knees on the bloody floorboards in front of you. His hands close carefully over yours and he eases the blaster down out of your hands and sets it on the floor at his knee. Then his hands come back to you, and they’re everywhere at once.
Your face. Your neck. Your shoulders.
The visor sweeps you, his hands running over you like a man checking a casualty in the field, his palms flat to your ribs and then down to your hips and then spreading wide and warm over your belly.
"Are you hit, cyar'ika? Are you hit? Tell me."
"No."
"Cyar'ika…"
"I'm not…I’m not hit.”
"Anywhere, cyar'ika, even a…even a graze, even a… "
"I'm not, I swear. I'm not hit. She is. She's..."
You turn your head and he follows, the visor finding the woman at your hip, the dark spreading slow under her on the boards, the eyes already gone.
"She…she pulled me in here. She got me behind the bar. She shot the first one through the kitchen and the carbine got her and I…Din, I…I had to…there was a third one, he was…he was lifting the bar, he had…"
"Cyar'ika. Cyar'ika, shh. Breathe. Breathe with me. Breathe."
He pulls you against him, one hand spread over the back of your head and the other still on the curve of your belly and you breathe in shakily against him. The cape comes around you and you bury your face into his throat and breathe.
"I've got you," he says, into the crown of your head. “I've got you. I've got you, cyar'ika. I've got you."
"Din…"
"I've got you."
"How did you…how did you know?"
"I heard the shots. I heard the carbine and I…I started running. I started running the second I heard the second shot. I…I came up the lane, and I saw a man on his face on the cobbles, and I saw a door open and I knew. I knew. I knew it was you. I…"
"Din…"
"I almost…I almost didn't get here."
"You got here."
"Cyar'ika…"
"You got here, Din, you got here. Look at me. You got here."
He looks at you and you can’t see his face, can’t see his eyes, can’t see whatever ragged thing is behind the visor right now, and for the first time today you don’t need to. You can read the way the visor is shaking, just barely, on your face. You can read the way the hand on your belly is shaking, just barely, against your tunic. You can read every single thing his shoulders are doing and what they’re doing is coming apart, slow and silent, the way they come apart when there’s nobody to see them, the way they come apart when only you’re in the room.
You lift one shaking hand and press it, flat, to the side of the helmet. "I'm here. I'm okay. We're okay.”
"Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, Mhi me'dinui an, Mhi ba'juri verde,” he says, voice cracking over the words.
You swallow and shake your head, “I…”
“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.” He nods slowly. “Mandalorian wedding vows. The riduurock.”
His hand on your belly spreads wider, thumb stroking across the small soft curve of you. The visor lowers against your forehead and doesn’t move.
"Are you...are you asking me to marry you? Here...now?"
"Yes," he replies, the helmet nodding fiercely. "You said the answer would be yes so...marry me cyar'ika, please...marry me. Say...say it back, please."
“Mhi solus tome, Mhi solus dar'tome, Mhi me'dinui an, Mhi ba'juri verde,” you repeat as best you can, tripping slightly over some of the pronunciation. “We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors.”
“I love you,” he says quietly. “I love you, cyar’ika, you and our baby. Our baby.”
“I love you too,” you sniff. “I love you so much.”
Somewhere outside in the lane you hear the sound of running footsteps, shouting and the rising whoop of Karga's settlement-guard whistles. Inside the tavern there is only the small, ragged breath of him through the modulator and the slow wet pulse of the woman's blood spreading on the boards beside you, and the baby under his palm, still going.
"She's okay," you whisper. "Din, she's okay. I can feel her. She's okay."
“She?”
“It’s a she today.”
"You can't feel her yet."
"I can today."
"Cyar'ika…"
"I can today, Din."
He makes a sound, something low, broken and entirely without language and presses the helmet more firmly against you.
"We’re getting off this floor," he says, finally. "We’re getting off this floor and you’re going straight back to Vesha. She’s going to look at you, look at…at her. She’s going to tell me you’re both…both…”
"Okay."
"Yes."
"Okay."
"And then…"
"And then we go home, Din. To the Crest. Take me home."
"Okay," he says.
The settlement-guard whistles are getting closer. Karga's voice is somewhere out in the lane, bellowing orders. Din slides one arm under your knees and the other under your shoulders and lifts you carefully, like you weigh nothing, like he’s afraid of waking something, and you let him for once, without arguing.
You loop your arms around his neck and press your face into him, closing your eyes. His cape comes around the both of you, and he carries you out of the tavern over the bodies of three men, toward Karga who’s already running up the lane with his coat flapping, mouth open around your name.
This is fine. I’m fine. It’s all fine. My eyes are just recycling themselves. These water works are here to ensure the body is functioning properly 😭😭😭
This was so tense, but so rewarding! I really hope they talk now, everything out in the open! But I can also totally picture something just kind of exploding too. You’ve got so many directions this can go. I really loved how you described him coming in the door and how the rest of the chapter plays out once he’s eliminated the threat.
You’ve got great stuff! Thank you as always for sharing with us!!
A/N: Inspired by that one episode where Anakin gives Padmé his lightsaber. Also my first time writing smut AAHHH
Word count: 5.9K
Tags: a tiny bit of Angst, Smut
-
“You always carry them,” you mused, hand brushing over the weapons’ cold surface, careful not to touch anything risky. He had locked both his blasters before taking them out of their holds, but to you, they were still just as intimidating.
“A soldier always has to carry his weapon,” Rex responded calmly, and you realized he had come up behind you. You felt his chest rise and fall against your back from where he stood, and his breath was fanning the back of your neck as he watched.
“Want me to show you how to use ‘em?” he asked, a hint of excitement in his voice. When you turned your head to the side, he nestled his face into the crook of your neck, lips gently laying themselves on your skin. His arms came around you from behind and he pulled you against his front, smiling against your cheek when you hummed in agreement. “Come with me.”
The training grounds were almost empty, except for a few other troopers on the far end of the room, who seemed to be too engrossed in their own exercise to notice the captain and his plus one — not that they would care anyway. The only ones who knew about the two of you were the 501st, and Rex taking someone to target practice wasn’t necessarily something out of the ordinary. If anything, it would only solidify his stellar reputation as captain.
You watched Rex’s eyes wander around the space sort of calculatingly, as if he knew exactly where he was going. You assumed he was taking you to his usual spot, and it made you all the more curious to see the place where he would spend so much time practicing.
“Here we are,” he halted, right arm gesturing to a wall behind him, where you could make out a selection of targets who stood at various distances to where you had just arrived.
“You want me to try aiming?” you asked, suddenly feeling insecure about this. You had never fired a weapon before, much less your partner’s beloved blasters.
“Yeah,” he grinned, beckoning you to come closer “Don’t worry, there’s nothing that can go wrong.”
It was cute, seeing him get all excited about teaching you. It shone a different light on his confident nature; a more caring and encouraging one. And it was working on you.
He took one of his blasters out of its hold and held it up to you before beginning to explain. “Here’s the lock. Always make sure your blaster’s locked when you’re not using it. Don’t want you shooting yourself or your comrades,” a smirk was playing on his lips and he pointed to another switch on the weapon. “This is how you set your blaster to stun. Useful when you don’t wanna hurt your target. And this,” he turned the weapon in his hand “is the trigger. That’s all you need to know, for now. It’s not as complicated as it looks.” He gently placed the blaster in the palm of your hand, and you immediately felt its weight. Somehow, you had imagined it to be much lighter than it really was, and it dawned on you that this was indeed a soldier’s weapon, meant to be wielded by strong, trained hands that could withstand anything. No wonder Rex handled it so effortlessly.
“You know, I think it’s important I teach you how to handle a blaster, for your own safety.” It seemed he had sensed the slight unrest on your part.
“I don’t want to carry a weapon on me, though,” you mumbled, eyes looking into his with reluctance. You were no soldier. No seasoned warrior like the man in front of you.
“I know, Cyare, but you need to be able to defend yourself when I’m not around. Can’t be counting on me when I’m away on a mission.”
“I wish I could.”
“I know. Me too,” he sighed, before turning towards the target standing closest behind you, his initial excitement reigniting again. “I’m gonna teach you all my special tricks, so you can count on me even when I’m not with you, how ‘bout that?” There, that adorable grin was blossoming on his face again and you couldn’t help but mirror it. The things he made you do. “Okay. But don’t make fun of me.”
He took a swift step behind you, positioning your arms in front of you with both of his hands supporting your hold on the blaster. He lowered his head, quietly instructing each of your movements; how you had to position your feet, how to have the proper posture, making sure your arms were straight and your breath was even.“Try to keep both eyes open,” he whispered “Makes the aiming easier.” “Uh-huh…“ Blinking rapidly, you tried to shake the effect the gentle tone of his commanding voice had on you, because you knew he was being dead serious about it. He had taught many of his men and helped them become better troopers, and this was no different. Except it was his partner he was teaching now, meaning you needed to take it seriously.
You had heard countless stories about his epic battles and abilities as captain, but as a person who had never fought on the front lines yourself, your imagination could only reach that far. Rex taking the time to share this part of him with you like this felt special. But Maker, you hadn’t anticipated the tension that would arise during this silly little lesson.Heat rushed to your neck and cheeks, wandering upwards until it settled in the tips of your ears. This certainly wasn’t the first time Rex had been so close to you. In fact, you had just spent the night before together, but the context of this interaction was entirely different. Never before had you seen him like this, so focused and sharp, and you had to keep yourself from fantasizing about how that particular demeanor could possibly play out when it wasn’t the blaster he was holding, but your hands; steadily above your head, murmuring quiet praises against your skin. “Focus. This is important,” Rex grumbled, his left hand coming to rest securely on your waist. “Trying. You’re kinda making this difficult, Captain.” Your cheeks were red hot at this point, and you were pretty sure he could feel the heat radiating off of you from where he stood.
“Don’t forget to breathe, Mesh'la.” He was smirking now, you could hear it in his voice “If you think you have good aim, pull the trigger.”
You briefly closed your eyes and took a deep breath, grounding yourself. When you opened them again, you were determined to take the shot. Rex’s grip on your waist tightened when you pulled the trigger, steadying you against the recoil. Heart beating rapidly against your chest, you saw you had missed the target by a few centimeters, hitting the wall behind it instead. “Hey, not bad!” you exclaimed, not having expected your shot to have any proximity to the target in the slightest. Turning around to look at your captain, his eyes were twinkling with resolve. “You can do better, let’s go again.”
-
Target practice had become a regular occurrence after that. You gradually became more confident handling Rex’s blasters, growing cockier day by day.
“You know, I bet you couldn’t go a day without them,” you teased, watching him put on his armor, still naked under the covers yourself. “Nah, I just prefer to keep ‘em on me.” “You sure? Never seen you without them.” Rex scoffed, fingers drumming against his utility belt before putting it on, eyes squinting slightly. “Are you challenging me?”
“Maybe,” you retorted “Are you falling for it?” He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head "Mesh'la, you know I can’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s not like we’re in danger or anything! Besides, you could leave them with me. I can keep them safe.”
He gave you a pointed look, the wheels in his head obviously turning, before walking up to you and sitting down on the bed. His hand came up to cup the side of your face and he left a gentle, yet firm kiss on your lips. When you broke apart, his gaze was loving.
“Technically I’m not on duty today…” he thought out loud, eyes wandering over your silhouette underneath the blanket before him, silently contemplating whether he should let his hands follow suit and descend beneath the covers again, ultimately deciding against it when his comlink buzzed, one of his brothers leaving a static message for him.
“Come on, only for a day. I really want to practice some more!” you pleaded, eyes round with innocence. That seemed to do it for Rex, because he sighed and proceeded to take his blasters out of their respective holds, laying them down on the bed. He knew he could never deny you anything.
“You’re lucky I’m not needed on the field today,” he breathed, letting his fingers skim over your bare shoulder and collarbone lightly, finally taking your chin between his thumb and index finger. He softly tilted your head up to look into your playful eyes again, this time speaking seriously. “Be careful with them, alright?” You nodded frantically “Of course!” Another kiss was planted on your lips before your lover had to leave you to join his brothers, mumbling something about having to get you a blaster of your own soon.
-
You were on your way to target practice when it happened. Seemingly out of nowhere, the alarm sounded loudly, sending everyone around you into a frenzy. “What’s going on?” you called out to some troopers running past you, one of them crying out “We’re being attacked!”
What?!
Although you tried your hardest to navigate through the chaos in front of you, you could feel your heartbeat increasing dangerously. With every minute, it was hammering harder against your ribcage. You felt as though it might break a bone or two. You needed to find the others, quickly, before-
Your eyes dropped to your utility belt, where Rex’s blasters sat comfortably. “Shit,” you cursed, realizing just how much trouble you were in. Not only you; the Captain. Before you could think of a plan to find him, you were blinded by a glowing red light at the side of your head. Blaster bolt. Had you stood an inch to the left, it would have hit you.
Droids.
Your stomach sank when you saw just how many of them were in the hallway. Just how quickly had they manage to board the cruiser?
“Rex!” you called out into your comlink, sprinting down the corridor with all your might in hopes of finding a place to hide, the blaster fire following your every move “Rex, where are you?” The droids’ metallic footsteps began to sound like your heartbeat in your ears, heavy and menacing — growing louder the closer they got. Finally, you made out what seemed to be a bathroom door in a faraway corner. Gathering all your strength, you made a run for it before the droids spotted you again. “Y/N, come in!” You flinched when your comlink went off again, his familiar voice speaking on the other end. “Come in, Y/N!”
“Rex,” you panted, still in shock “I’m okay, but there’s droids. So many- I can’t shoot them-”
“Breathe, Mesh'la. Where are you?” His voice sounded so very strained, much rougher than earlier. You could only imagine how much of an inconvenience this was for him, having to swoop in to save you and get his blasters back instead of fighting the enemy head on — how many of his men he couldn’t protect because of you. “I was on my way to the hangar, hiding in the bathroom,” you whispered, squeezing your eyes shut in fear “they’re really close-”
"Cyare, I need you to tell me exactly where you are, so I can come get you.” There was commotion all around him "Hardcase, take the others and move out!”
All of a sudden, you heard much lighter footsteps approaching. Multiple of them. Deciding to take a peak from where you were hiding, you carefully stood up and walked out of the stall you were hiding in. “I think some of your men are here.” Rex, having obviously heard the shuffling of your movements, raised his voice in concern. “What are you doing? Don’t go out there, it’s too dangerous!”
“I have to help them!” You whisper-yelled back, heartbeat faster than ever when the familiar sound of gunfire erupted from outside the bathroom door. You thought about the countless talks you would have with the other members of the 501st, about facing your fears and turning them into your strength. If they really were behind that door, it was your duty as their friend — their blaster carrying comrade — to aid them, because they needed it. “I’m at the hangar, where are you, Y/N?” Rex asked again, out of breath. Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice in the hallway. They were right behind that door.
“Echo, cover me!”
Jesse.
This was it. You could either hide inside the bathroom like a coward, leaving the others to fight by themselves, or you could use Rex’s training to fight alongside them. How hard could it be, really? You had spent the last two months practicing like your life depended on it, because he wanted you to be able to survive in a situation such as this one. All that training, all that time you had devoted to learn his techniques, proper self defense, the wielding of a weapon — hisweapon — this wasn’t something you could back out of. Not when your friends were right outside the very room you were hiding in. Taking several deep breaths, you clenched your fists as hard as you could before taking your lover’s blasters out of their holds. “I’m going out there, Rex. Jesse’s here. East side, right behind the first gunship.” Before he had any chance to respond, you ended the transmission to join the others. When you opened the door, you found yourself in the middle of combat. Jesse and Echo were standing right in front of you, firing away, the rest of their men following not too far behind.
“Echo, Jesse!” you called, taking cover next to them.
“Y/N? What the hell are you doing here?!” Jesse yelled in-between blaster fire, visibly confused “You’re not supposed to be here!”
Taking a peak from around the corner you were hiding in, you decided to respond to his question in a way he would understand. Taking aim like Rex had taught you, you took out two droids, helping his men advance. “Hey, where’d you learn to shoot like that?” he asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Next to him, Echo seemed almost shocked to see you take action like this. It was no secret that you had always been weary of weapons, especially when it came to carrying one on you. “Your Captain taught me,” you replied, earning a proud grin from both of them.
“Are those Rex’s blasters?” Echo asked, his eyes darting back and forth between you and his captain’s most prized possession. “It’s a long story,” you huffed, feeling bolder now that you were here with them. “Let’s get those clankers!”
Gradually, Jesse and the others managed to advance with the help of Echo and you covering them until there were no more droids in sight. The blaster fire grew quieter as they disappeared around the corner at the end of the hallway. “Y/N! Have you lost your mind?!” Someone suddenly yelled from its other end and to your surprise, a very upset Rex came running up to you. When he finally reached your corner, he immediately backed you into the wall, his backside pressed against your front, trying to shield you from any type of aggression. “Don’t ever hang up on me like that, you hear me? Not when you have my blasters!”
While you were relieved that he had caught up to you, a tiny part of you wished that combat with Jesse and Echo would had lasted just a tad bit longer. You were certain, this was the undeniable adrenaline rush the boys would always talk about whenever they came back from a mission. “Sir, she’s been more than helpful,” Echo chimed in, gently patting your shoulder. “She was almost as good as you out there.” You turned to him and smiled, feeling grateful for his support. Next to you, your lover took a visibly deep breath. It seemed his brother’s words had a reassuring effect on him, even calmed him down. When he turned towards you again, his presence felt much more collected.
“Are you alright?” his modified voice asked through his helmet, and you just knew he had been sweating bullets underneath it. The blasters you had been holding on to finally laid securely in his hands again, ready to fire at anything that came too close.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” you replied, resting your hand on his forearm gently. Rex looked to his left and right, checking for any more droids, before bringing his comlink up to his helmet. “Jesse, how’s the status?” “All clear on this level, Sir!”
You felt the tension leaving your body immediately when he took a step forward, giving you more room between the wall and him. Your knees felt weak, all of a sudden. The adrenaline was wearing off. That part, you seemed to have forgotten about — how the boys would come down from their post-mission high and eventually crumble when the aftermath settled in. Be it in the medbay, when the extent of the injuries they had obtained during battle finally caught up to them or when they would sit in silence after hours of merciless gunfire ringing in their ears, letting the feelings that had been suppressed on the battlefield come to light, after all. A breath you seemed to have been holding forever escaped your mouth and it washed over you all at once. A cold, harsh sensation that left your hands shaking.
How did they do it?
When you raised your head, you saw Rex had taken off his helmet, which immediately grounded you. He was here, looking at you with those ever-warm, caring eyes. You were alright, there were no more droids on this level. You were safe.“Rex, I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have taken them-” you stammered, crumbling under his intense gaze, only to feel his hands cup your face. “It’s alright, Cyare, everything’s alright.” He kissed your forehead before enveloping you in a protective embrace, body still tense given the situation. Who could have predicted an attack such as this one would take place the one time the captain decided not to carry his blasters with him?“Thank the stars I found you…” he sighed, a small chuckle following afterwards “Look at you, shootin’ up droids.” Your eyes met his sheepishly. “Yeah, thanks to your training.”
“Um, Sir, sorry to interrupt,” Echo carefully began “but I think we should get back to the others. There’s still some clankers to take care of.” Your captain nodded and his usually serious expression that had just softened and come undone upon looking into your eyes, hardened up again. Classic Rex. When duty called, he wasted no second to cut to the chase. Nodding at his brother’s suggestion, he scanned the area as if he was searching for something, when his eyes landed on a droid you had taken down. He went up to it and picked up its blaster, then turned around to look at you again.
“Think you can handle a little more? We gotta help the others.”
Oh?
“You want me to come with you?” You certainly hadn’t expected him to actively involve you now. It seemed he did see you fit for battle, after all, which made you stand a bit taller, even in the face of possible death by the enemy’s blaster bolt.
“Don’t worry, Mesh'la. I’m right beside you.”
-
The ecstasy of the remaining combat had been short lived. In the end, your enemies had been outnumbered in the hangar and you had miraculously managed to turn the battle to your own advantage.
“Remind us to get you your own blaster,” Jesse beamed. Next to him, Echo and Rex mirrored the proud expression on his face, nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah, I definitely won’t be using this one,” referring to the droid's weapon in your grip, you wrinkled your nose with fake disgust. Echo laughed, shaking his head a little. “You did great, Y/N!”
“Well, I learned from the best,” you retorted, bumping shoulders with your lover, whose cheeks had the slightest pink tint to them. Around you, the other members of the 501st gathered to congratulate you on your first battle and victory, to which you could only respond with a radiant smile that melted the captain’s heart. “Time to get some rest, boys,” Rex announced, eager to leave this mess of a battlefield for a moment alone with you. “Briefing’s not until a few hours. If you need to go to the medbay, now’s the time.”
As your fellow troopers made their way out of the hangar, a familiar arm snuck around your waist as soon as they were out of sight, pulling you into a passionate embrace. His lips were upon yours in seconds, a hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while he kissed you fervently. When you broke apart, his forehead found its place on yours, your noses brushing each other in an innocent display of affection. “Mesh'la…” he murmured, and you relished the rare intimate tone of his voice that was only meant for you to hear. He sounded so different as opposed to moments ago when he had been barking commands at everyone, keeping everything in check. Now, his presence was nothing but quiet and soft, like the first rays of the summer sun laying themselves on your bare skin after a cold, harsh winter. Right here, right now, as your breath was mixing with his, you closed your eyes and imagined the two of you in a different setting. Far away from the war and the battle you had just fought; just two people in love, sharing a precious moment.
“You really scared me back there,” he began, and when you opened your eyes, they met his gaze, which was still laced with concern. “I know I taught you well, but combat is unpredictable. I want you to be able to defend yourself; to survive without me-”
“And I did. I’m right here, Rex..”
He huffed, still trying to come to terms with the feeling. “Just.. didn’t think I’d be so scared. I trust you, you know? But I can’t help thinking if I had my blasters, I could’ve at least protected you in case something would have happened.”
You understood where he was coming from. For a man of his rank, whose entire life revolved around protecting and caring for others, loss of agency truly was a terrifying predicament to be in. Tilting your head to the right, you studied his tight expression in hopes of it loosening up. When the frown on his forehead only grew deeper, you carefully nudged his nose with yours to keep him from spiraling any further. “Hey, let’s get out of here, hm?” He nodded and his grip on your waist tightened for a moment, pulling you closer before letting go and grasping your hand instead, not caring about anyone witnessing his display of unprofessional behavior.
Back in your room, Rex took his blasters out of their holds and stood still for a minute. His eyes seemed absent, yet focused on what was laying in his hands. “I wish I didn’t have to worry about everything,” he sighed “I’m just so tired, Y/N.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” you chided, coming up behind him and taking the blasters out of his hands, mindfully placing them on the cupboard next to the door. Their purpose for the day had been met, now it was time to tend to more pressing matters, such as the man before you, who was visibly shaken by today’s turn of events. “We’re all still here, aren’t we?” you asked warmly, carefully touching the side of his face. He leaned into your touch, eyes falling shut. “I’m still here, because of you,” you cooed, and he nodded, his hands settling around your waist and clasping together behind your back. His breath was fanning your neck when you kissed his cheek and he hummed, eyes suddenly glossy. More times than one, Rex would come to you after a mission, all worked and roughed up, in need of a way to let go of what had happened while he had been away. He was more sensitive than he would ever let on, constantly yearning to be held, to be close to you — anything to make up for the time he had spent away from you, to show you how deep his feelings for you really went. You could only imagine how shaken he truly was, now that it was you who had been forced into battle without him being able to protect you. Out there, he was responsible for his men, which already took a toll on him, but he knew, he would always come back to you. Today, however, he had been exposed to the harsh reality of war; nobody was truly safe. Whether it was him, who was well-prepared and capable on the battlefield, or you; the last speck of hope he would always hold on to when he was on the front lines. In his mind, you were a safe haven, always there to catch him while he fought for you. For your shared future. And yet, here you were, just as shaken as he was, that familiar mix between adrenaline and despair glimmering in your gaze, just like it would in his brothers’ — a crossover of realities that he had never, ever wished for. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. Before he could say anything, you laid your lips on his. He instantly melted into the kiss, like he had been waiting for a reason to fall apart.
You worked quickly to get him out of his armor, eager to feel his skin on yours instead of the cold, plastoid material you had been forced to be in contact with all day. When you had discarded every piece, your fingers grasped at his upper blacks, pulling them over his head in a swift motion to reveal his toned body. A few new bruises were littered over his chest and waist which he had most probably obtained during combat, and you took your time kissing each of them, letting your hands wander around his biceps and broad shoulders until your back hit the wall. He had walked you against it and was caging you in, golden eyes trailing over your figure before him. “Off,” he breathed, hands sliding beneath your top, and you did as he asked, getting goosebumps when your bare chest met the cool air in the room. Rex let out a long, shaky breath through his nose, eyebrows pinching together slightly at the sight of your breasts. “Touch me,” you pleaded, arousal already pooling between your legs upon seeing the look in his eyes. He wasted no time, kissing you again, his lips descending down your neck where he took a deep breath through his nose again, inhaling your scent, until he reached the sensitive skin above your breasts, sucking on it until it turned a bright shade of red. Not a second later, his lips closed around your nipple, kissing it gently. He moaned into it, like a man dying of thirst, finally able to drink again. You threw your head back against the wall, mewling a string of incoherent praises when he took your other breast in his hand, toying with your nipple and giving it the same attention as the first one, before he proceeded to slip his hands beneath the waistband of your underwear, gripping your ass, and began walking you towards the bed. A strained groan sounded against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “Fuck…”
Rex sank to his knees, eagerly unzipping your pants and sliding them down your legs. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and they gave out immediately. While he was hovering over you, you let your fingers trace his sculpted abdomen which was contracting with every labored breath he took, his smooth brown skin gleaming in the dimmed lights of your room. When they reached the v-line leading to the hem of his blacks, where you could make out his erection beneath the fabric, your lover’s hand laid itself on your own, gently yet firmly keeping you from going any further. “Not yet,” his low voice rumbled, eyes dark with lust. Before you could protest, he leaned down and snaked his arms around your thighs, leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses all over them. “Need to taste you first..” his tongue darted out from between his lips, amber hues fixed on yours and you trembled at the sight of him.
You gasped when his tongue met your core, moving languidly as if he was testing the waters first before indulging with a sudden, insatiable hunger. He ate you out until your toes curled, until you were too far gone to utter a single sentence, making sure you had come at least once before he even thought about using his fingers on you. But when he did, Maker, you made sounds you didn’t know you were capable of making. It amazed you, how he managed to reduce you to a whining, hopeless mess every single time, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Nothing could ever compare to the way he would fall apart at the sight of you, dropping the role of the Captain the second he stepped over the threshold of your bedroom door. Here, he was just Rex; a man starved of tenderness, yearning to be touched, to be loved. And Stars, you loved him.
Only when you had climaxed again did he come up from between your thighs and you took him in; his usually well-kept composure was slowly coming undone, and he was breathing heavily. Your gaze flickered down to his plush, swollen lips — your wetness was smeared all over them, all the way down to his chin. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on them slowly. His eyes remained closed, eyebrows pinching together in absolute pleasure and it drove you mad with arousal. “Make me forget, Mesh'la..” he panted, his slick hand finding its way back to your thigh, squeezing it firmly, desperately. Your glazed eyes met his in a half-lidded, drunken stare when you beckoned him to come closer, and he did. This time, he let you take off his blacks, freeing his erection. He looked almost painfully hard when you took him in your hands, slowly stroking him until he couldn’t take it anymore. “Please…”
“I’m ready, baby..” you rasped, voice still strained from what he had done to you seconds ago. His mouth crashed against yours again, unable to stay apart for longer than a second. You felt his calloused fingers digging into your hips, moving your body against his with experienced precision, before he entered you slowly, groaning at how wet you were. You let out a sharp breath at the sensation of him inside of you, stretching you out deliciously, and he began moving after a few seconds, at a slow and sensual pace, going so deep like his sanity depended on it. “Fuck, Y/N…“ His mouth fell agape, moaning your name like a prayer, over and over again as if it were the only word he had ever known. And you were writhing beneath him, completely lost in the way he moved, the way your bodies were joint as one. A familiar knot in your stomach began to form when he took your hands and held them above your head, making it difficult for you to keep up with his fervor when he kissed you again, tongue sliding into your mouth, swallowing your moans like they were the most precious sound to obtain. When you broke apart, his lips were dripping with desperation.
His pace quickened, thrusts becoming rougher. By now, the entire room smelled like sex and sweat, and the only sounds you could make out were your skin slapping against his, his heavenly moans in your ear and pleas so sincere, it almost sounded like he was about to cry, buried so deep inside of you. He was close.
“Come again for me, baby… please..” he whimpered and released your arms from his grip, his rough hands sliding down the sides of your body until they found their place beneath your thighs again, holding them up and drilling into you at an even deeper angle. You immediately encapsulated him in a tight, loving embrace, loud moans spilling from your mouth with each snap of his hips while you tried to hold on to anything that would keep you in the present, fingernails digging into his back, definitely leaving marks.
Yes, yes, yes…
There, caged in-between his arms, under his devoted, honeyed gaze, your orgasm hit you like lightning, body jolting as if you had been electrified. Eyes rolling back, your back arched into him and you were seeing stars, a high-pitched moan ripping through the tight air that had built up around you. Every fiber of your being burst aflame from the heat that had erupted from where your bodies were joint, finally having found your release. Rex followed shortly after, his rhythm growing sloppier the longer he went on. A long, guttural groan left his lips at last, when his hips stuttered and came to a halt with a final, long stroke that made him fist the covers until his knuckles turned white. Throwing your head back, you rode out your high in time with each of his shaky breaths until you both came down, feeling drowsy and spent.
The aftermath was silent. It felt like time stood still, the only thing keeping you in this realm was his rapid heartbeat hammering against your chest from inside his rib cage. His head had dropped into the crook of your neck, where he left a few lazy kisses in-between deep breaths. “I love you,” his voice was nothing but a quiet muffle from where he laid, but you heard it anyway, turning your head to the side and kissing his temple softly. “I love you, Rex.”
Your hand was buried in his buzzed, blonde hair, slowly scratching his head. When his breathing evened out again, he carefully propped himself up on his underarms, still nestled between your legs. The frown on his forehead was gone. Instead, an innocent blush was dusted over his cheeks and his eyes looked like they had never seen a battlefield before. An expression you wouldn’t trade for anything in the entire galaxy.
“So, are you getting me a blaster tomorrow?” You asked after a minute, a smile blossoming on your tired features. “Yeah. I guess so,” he mused, staring at you with utter adoration. “Let’s see who makes the better Captain out there, hm?”
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he placed another kiss on your lips; this time soft and slow, sighing into it. “That’s my girl.”
the fact that we only have “herculean task” and “sisyphean task” feels so limiting. so here’s a few more tasks for your repertoire
icarian task: when you have a task you know you’re going to fail at anyways, so why not have some fun with it before it all comes crashing down
cassandrean task: when you have to deal with people you KNOW won’t listen to you, despite having accurate information, and having to watch them fumble about when you told them the solution from the start (most often witnessed in customer service)
feel free to chime in i ran out of ideas much faster than i anticipated
Promethean task: opposite of a Cassandraean task. You have the right information, and SOMEONE has to share it. But it's all in the delivery and if you're the person to identify the problem you WILL be hated forever.
Oedipal Task: (1) Attempting to avoid an unspeakably awful outcome and in doing so creating the circumstances that will bring it about.
(2) Trying to solve an problem and discovering that you are in fact the problem you are trying to solve.
damoclean task: the thing you've been putting off long enough that it becomes a constantly hanging doom over your head
pyrrhic task: you can get it done but it's going to cost you
medean task: you can get it done and you don't care what it costs you
dionysian task: task that might not be -better- if you do it drunk, but -will- definitely be more fun
hegelochic task: it was a simple job, but your name will be recorded in the annals of history for how impressively you fucked it up
task of theseus: a project for which the parameters have changed so many times that you're not sure it IS still the same task
gordian task: ok technically there Is a Right Way to do this but it's going to be fiddly and awful and take forever and what if. what if you just said fuck it. and started slicing
This came to me in a dream, and I attempted to recreate it in ms paint (apologies for the quality). I swear this is how every interaction they have in clone wars feels.
synopsis: immediately takes after part two — smut ensues.
w/c: 3792
a/n: pardon my first attempt at smut while trying to maintain maul's mannerisms lol.
i accept any and all criticism. any typos or grammatical errors, please let me know!
warning: 18+ only, fem!reader, sexual themes, smut, v fingering, pet name "baby" used once.
songs to listen to as you read: jealous sea by meg myers, nothing's gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex
The weight of concealing the saber is gone, successfully hidden beneath the couch. The unspoken tension unraveling each second that passes; his kisses are a whirlwind, leaving you breathless as he claims every ounce of your attention.
You feel the firm pressure of his hand in your hair, tilting your head back to expose the line of your throat. He leans in, his breath warm against your skin as he trails kisses along your neck, biting you along the process, causing you to whimper. His presence is overwhelming and absolute. You feel a dizzying rush as you close your eyes, surrendering to the intensity of his focus.
“What are you doing to me…” he whispers against your skin, his voice a low vibration that makes you shiver. He slowly shifts his hands, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw to hold your gaze. His thumb grazes your lower lip, a silent command for you to open your eyes. His dark eyes scan your face with an intensity that feels like an inspection, and you find yourself aching for his approval, wanting to meet whatever standard he has set for you.
“You make an exquisite sight,” he murmurs, the praise striking a chord deep within you.
“...Need your name,” you manage to breathe out, your voice barely a whisper. You have the courage to begin grinding down against his clothed cock.
“Maul,” he slightly growls, his grip on your jaw turning firm and possessive. You don’t pull away; instead, you find yourself leaning into the contact, drawn to his opposing charismatic energy. When you repeat his name, his expression darkens with satisfaction.
“You sound so lovely saying my name, dear” he says, his voice lingering on every syllable. The mere sound of it creates a restless tension that you can’t ignore; your cunt is closing on nothing but air, you need something — anything — to relieve the ache of your cunt. He leans closer, his eyes fixed on yours. “I want to see you fall apart on my hands alone”
“Maul, please, do something — please,” you whisper, the anticipation reaching a fever pitch. Your desire overpowering you. You move instinctively toward him, your hips rolling in his grasp, desperate to break the magnetic pull of the tension between you.
He chuckles, his hands moving to your waist to hold you still, asserting his control over the moment. “Not yet. You must tell me what you truly want. Show me how much you desire this.”
You meet his gaze, your heart hammering against your ribs. The game he is playing is torturous, yet you can’t look away. You are completely caught in his orbit, every nerve ending firing as he watches you, waiting for your complete surrender.
“I want you,” you admit, the truth coming out in a rush of breath. “I’m all yours, Maul — use me,” you whisper.
“Don’t move — or I stop,” he commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous, velvety low. You freeze, every muscle taut as you wait for his next move.
He reaches under your dress and moves through your satin dress, urging you to lift yourself a little higher. Then his hand slides toward your core in a slow, agonizing tease, his touch light yet electric, making your mind cloud with a singular, driving need for his touch. He moves aside your underwear, and slides a finger between your wet folds, you whimper in response. You can feel how wet you are, how easily his fingers slide back and forth on your entrance, the tip of finger nearly sliding in. Your cunt clenches in response, quivering in anticipation. He hums. “Wet for me? How adorable.”
Maul continues to rub on your wet folds, teasing your entrance. Your breath is stuttering, thighs taut — entirely focused on his command. Then you feel the pressure of one thick finger pressing in. You cry out at the foreign sensation, your toes curl — trying not to squeeze your thighs together, instead, they are tense, writhing in place. Your fingers clench on his shoulders, nails digging through his tunic. You’re making all sorts of noises: whimpering and stuttering his name.
He leans in, his lips hovering just inches from yours, his breath mingling with your own. “Doing so good,” he whispers.
Then he begins to pump his digit, in and out, in and out. Before you can even fully process the foreign sensation, he pushes in another finger, fucking you with two now. His other hand clamps hard on your left hip, anchoring you in place and preventing you from moving at all.
You moan in response to his administration, each pump causing you to whimper with a desperate, needy sound. The slick, squelching noises of your cunt echoing in the room, the friction of the movement and the focus he demands leave you feeling overwhelmed.
His pace is relentless, fucking you with his fingers alone. His thumb swipes at your clit with calculated precision. Your nerves are alight, and your thoughts are racing as your composure begins to waver; you cry out at his touch, thighs quivering, nearly sitting on his lap. You can’t believe this is happening. You have never been so wet with need. Sitting on someone’s lap with their fingers deep inside you — allowing this to happen.
A curl of shame swirls in you.
You have never ached for someone so badly; let alone experience desire so deeply, but you have never felt such a strong pull toward someone.
This has to mean something, you wouldn’t have done this so recklessly, so thoughtlessly.
“You make a fine student, you listen well,” Maul praises, cocking his head. He maintains unbroken eye contact as he uses his fingers to slam into you repeatedly, each thrust a stark, heavy reminder of his control.
Your pussy clenches tightly around him at the praise, your body reacting instantly to the validation.
Student…he called you student.
— and you like it.
“Oh,” his eyes widening with glee, he begins chuckling. “You enjoy being called a student,” he states openly, never stopping or slowing his pace; sliding in and out repeatedly, his fingers occasionally swipe against your sensitive clit. You jerk in response.
“Yes,” you exhale, desire clouding your judgement. You begin rolling your hips, attempting to meet his rhythm. Your climax is near, leaving you absolutely soaked in your own wetness. You couldn’t even muster a feeling of embarrassment for how easily you fell into temptation. There is no shame right now as you seek to chase your peak, riding desperately on Maul’s thick, warm fingers.
Then sudden emptiness.
You cry out in frustration. You feel him pull out his fingers out of your throbbing, wet cunt and you begin to squirm.
“Maul, baby, why’d you stop?” you whine, breath shallow and erratic. The sudden stillness leaves you aching for his touch.
His entire body instantly stiffens under your body. The warmth drains from his expression as his gaze darkens, casting a heavy gaze over you. “You may call me master, my naive student,” he murmurs, his tone dropping into a dangerously low, commanding register.
“What…” Your brows furrow in deep confusion, the abrupt shift leaving your mind scrambling to catch up. A cold wave of uncertainty washes over you. Did you mess up?
“Say it,” he demands. The words are a sharp, unyielding decree that leaves absolutely no room for negotiation.
You whimper as the heavy, electric coil of heat building in your core begins to dissipate, melting away into empty air. You were so agonizingly close. Now, you ache with a profound, hollow emptiness. You can feel your own slick wetness sliding down the sensitive skin of your thighs, leaving a warm, sticky trail in its wake.
You hesitate. A flicker of doubt sits in your mind, calling him Master doesn’t sit right with you. But you can sense Maul’s patience running thin, the heavy silence stretching as he waits for your obedience.
Slowly, he brings his wet fingers out from under your dress. He guides his fingers upward, presenting them expectantly right to your lips. “In your mouth, my dear,” he commands softly.
You part your lips, leaning forward to lick at the fingers coated in your arousal. Closing your mouth around his soaked digits, you clean away your essence, leaving a glistening trail of saliva when he decides you have done enough and pulls back.
“Now, what do you want?” he asks, his voice smooth and demanding.
By the force, he’s fucking hot.
You are so damn screwed.
“I—” you start, the agonizing frustration of being teased for so long finally breaking through your hesitation, “—I need you inside me, Master.”
His eyes gleam with a dark look of victory. You hardly notice it, not when he reaches right back under your dress with his spit-slicked fingers. Re-coating them in your natural wetness, he ruthlessly shoves three fingers deep inside you. You cry out loudly, your body arching in absolute pleasure, your wet pussy easily welcoming the intrusion.
A shiver of anticipating courses through you as the tension reaches its height again, the long moments of waiting finally coming to a head. The rhythm of his fingers pumping into you viciously, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Your breath hitches, caught in the overwhelming surge of sensation of pleasure spiking inside you, the tight coil of heat rapidly traveling to your cunt.
The atmosphere is thick with the weight of the moment, the power dynamic between you and Maul clearer than ever as the focus shifts to the inevitable release of the built-up energy. In the dim light, the invisible threads of the Force tying you together pull tighter.
Your hands travel up to Maul’s jawline, finger curling around his sharp features as you pull him to you to meet your kiss.
He returns it instantly, biting your lower lip with a punishing intensity, then shoves his tongue against yours the moment you gasp. You close your eyes and moan directly into his mouth, his deep kisses muffling your cries as the friction of his movements continue to drive you closer to the edge.
The world outside this room ceases to exist.
There is only the consuming presence of his shadow and the undeniable intensity of the bond between you. You are his student, and he is the master of this moment, guiding you through a trial of endurance and sensation that push you to your absolute limits
His thumb on your clit sends a sharp pleasure as he continually finger-fucks you, his fingers coated in your juice, squelching loudly. Your wet, velvety cunt sucking him up, as he pushes deep, curling his fingers to a pleasurable spot that steals your breath.
“Maul,” you stagger, furrowing your eyebrows in pleasure. Mouth opening in an embarrassingly, loud moan; each deep, curling thrust of his fingers meeting a spongy spot inside you, along with his wet thumb teasing your clit. “Need to hear you, Master…” you whine, squeezing your thighs against his frame. “...Please.”
He looks at you, a satisfied expression pulling at his lips.
“Since you asked so nicely, my sweet, perfect student,” he murmurs, his smooth tone deliberate, letting each syllable hang heavily in the air.
“You like that, don’t you? You’re doing so well, my lady.”
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a smooth, and low whispering timbre.
“Relax. I have you perfectly where I want you. Just.. like…that…”
His fingers continue to poke and grind against your velvety, spongy spot inside you. Meanwhile, his focus on your clit, while maintaining eye contact drives a flutter to your walls, making you release a new gush of slick arousal.
“Come for me, my dear.”
The overwhelming pressure of your orgasm finally breaks. You cry out in pleasure, leaving you breathless. You can feel him still pumping his fingers inside, and you begin to twitch in overstimulation. The rush of the moment leaves you physically spent, leaning against him for support as the world slowly comes back into focus.
He pulls out his fingers, and brings it out from under your dress, resting both his hands on your hips. Your heartbeat gradually settles, the adrenaline fading to a dull thrum. The haze in your mind clears, and you finally step out of the singular, focused headspace you have been trapped in throughout the night.
You blink, your eyelashes brushing against the fabric of his tunic as the reality of your surroundings filters back into focus. You are looking up at him from where you lay pinned against his shoulder, your cheek pressed against the rigid muscle of his frame. The silence between you is thick, almost suffocating.
“Maul?”
The name feels heavy on your tongue, barely a whisper. He hums softly in response — a low, vibration deep in his chest that thrums against your cheek. Your mind goes completely blank under the weight of it. Your head feels too heavy to lift from his shoulder.
You become acutely aware of your bodies. Neither of you has removed a single article of clothing. Your attire remains fully intact, rumpled and suffocatingly present. He had merely shifted your underwear aside, fabric that now clings to your skin, completely soaked through with your own wetness.
“I need something to…”
Your voice gives out, the sentence fracturing into silence. Disbelief washes over you. You are actually here, with him. A pressing question hangs in the silence: does he even understand the significance of this moment? Of your meeting? You have no idea if he’s seen what you’ve seen.
Breaking your train of thought, his heavy hand pats your bottom, silently urging you to move. You comply, rolling over his lap with awkward care, trying desperately to keep your sticky thighs from rubbing together. Shifting onto the leather fabric of the couch, you watch Maul rise. He stalks toward the dark hallway, his powerful silhouette cutting through the shadows. A nearby door whizzes open with a mechanical hiss, followed by the buzz of flickering fluorescent lights.
Your eyelids grow heavy, and the temptation to doze off pulls at your consciousness. But you can’t. You have to return to the Jedi Temple. If you aren't back by sunrise, someone will suspect you are up to something — especially since Kenobi caught you slipping out. You can only hope he keeps his mouth shut.
“Here.”
Maul’s voice cuts through the quiet, grounding you. You blink your heavy eyes open, the sudden sound making the dimly lit room feel a little sharper. He is standing over you, a cloth held loosely in his grasp. You reach out, your fingers brushing his as you take it, and a small wave of surprise ripples through you — the fabric is thick, damp, and holds the soothing heat of warm water.
Shifting slightly on the couch, you reach down beneath the layer of your dress to wipe your core. Once you feel clean enough, the lingering discomfort washed away, you let the cloth slip from your hand, discarding it onto the floor beside the couch.
Maul extends his hand again, this time offering a glass of water. A soft sigh of appreciation escapes your lips.
“Thank you,” you murmur.
You bring the glass to your lips and begin gulping it down, the cool liquid shocking your throat. You hadn't realized just how parched you were until now, the thirst consuming your attention for a few fleeting seconds.
The cushions shift as he sits down beside you. Even without looking, you can feel the heavy weight of his gaze resting on you. You swallow the last drop, pulling the glass away and wiping the back of your hand across your mouth.
Outside, the moonlight reaches its highest peak. Its pale, silver glow pours through the transparisteel, casting sharp, stark reflections across the floor. In the quiet illumination, a sudden shift occurs inside you. The physical relief fades, leaving behind a raw sense of exposure. You feel fragile, entirely vulnerable in his space. Waves of shame and guilt begin to simmer beneath your skin, heavy and suffocating as the reality of your Jedi vows clashes with the room's quiet atmosphere.
“I guess…” you start, your voice trembling slightly as you break the silence. “I should head out. It’s getting too late.”
You brace your hands against the cushions and begin to stand, but a sudden realization halts you mid-motion. Your lightsaber.
It is sitting completely exposed underneath the couch, only slightly hidden, a damning piece of evidence you cannot leave behind. Desperate to keep him from noticing your weapon, your mind scrambles for a plausible diversion to get him out of the room.
“Actually,” you say, turning back to face him.
Maul has already sunk back into his chair. He lounges there with an imposing, predatory ease — one leg raised, his arm resting casually on top of his knee. His piercing yellow gaze burns directly into yours, so intense that you feel entirely exposed, like a child on display under a harsh spotlight.
“I need a robe, if you could spare one,” you ask sheepishly, forcing a small, innocent grin to your face. Inside, your chest tightens. You can only hope he actually has one to spare; you left your own cloak back in the neon-lit chaos of the Uscru District. If he can't help you, you'll have to risk a dangerous detour to retrieve it. Going back would drain precious time, but returning to the Temple in your current disheveled state is a risk you absolutely cannot take.
One corner of Maul’s lips lifts briefly in an amused smirk. He tilts his head to the side, studying your sudden shift in demeanor.
“I’ll fetch you a robe, my lady,” he murmurs.
He stands up, the casual lounge vanishing as he steps directly into your personal space. The sheer height of him forces you to tilt your head back just to meet his gaze. His eyes hold a deep, probing curiosity, as if he is effortlessly dismantling your walls without you ever realizing it. For a split second, you suspect he is reaching into the Force to unravel your thoughts. But when you desperately reach out into the ambient warmth of the cosmic energy to check, there is no intrusion — just the quiet hum of the light, pressing on you. Surrounding you.
Satisfied or perhaps merely amused, he steps around you and disappears down the dark hallway.
The moment his heavy silhouette slips out of sight, you move. Extending your hand toward the forgotten weapon, you call your lightsaber through the air. The cold metal hilt flies across the space, landing squarely in your palm with a comforting weight. Moving with practiced stealth, you quickly secure the weapon against your thigh, hiding it beneath the satin fabric of your dress. Wanting to erase any lingering traces of your presence, you snatch the empty water glass from the table and scoop the damp rag off the floor. You walk into the small kitchen area, turning on the tap to quickly rinse both of them out.
“Here you go.”
His gravelly voice cuts through the sound of running water, echoing from the entrance of the kitchen. You turn around to find him holding a heavy fabric. It is a deep, obsidian black — a stark, dangerous contrast to your traditional dark brown robes of the Jedi Order. Still, it will have to do. You take it from his hands and throw it over your shoulders, letting the dark fabric drape around you, instantly shrouding your identity from the outside world. The hem drags a little long against the floor, but it successfully conceals everything beneath it.
Slowly, you lift your gaze from the floor. Your eyes travel up the broad frame of his body, silently admiring the raw, unyielding strength hidden just beneath the fabric of his tunic. Your mind flashes back to the heavy weight of his hands, remembering the absolute power in his grip when he anchored you by the hip. Your breath catches at the memory, the phantom feeling of his fingers pumping inside makes your walls clench repeatedly, your thighs tender from being rigid too long.
When your eyes finally meet his, you catch the unmistakable gleam of smug satisfaction dancing in his gaze. He doesn't say a word, but the look on his face betrays him — he knows exactly how pleasing he is to your eyes, and he thoroughly enjoys the power he holds over you.
As you take a step toward the exit, he moves with you. He stalks silently, his frame casting a long shadow across the floor. He steps back just enough to give you space, his gaze never wavering from your face. There is an eerie, disciplined patience in the way he waits for you, watching you leave. Every rustle of your cloak sounds incredibly loud in the quiet room.
He steps toward the door, his movements perfectly synchronized with yours, acting as a silent escort. You can feel an energy surrounding him — swirling — as if tightly controlled but intensely focused entirely on you. He isn't stopping you, but he isn't letting you go easily either; he is marking every second of your departure. His proximity is dizzying, addicting. The pale moonlight catches the sharp angles of his tattooed face, cutting through the shadows and making him look devastatingly attractive.
You pause at the heavy door, the mechanical controls glowing a faint red between you. Turning slightly, you look up at him, the oversized hood of his robe framing your face.
"The black suits you better than red," Maul murmurs, his low voice a dangerous, velvet purr in the dark. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Though I might prefer you out of both."
A breathless, quiet laugh escapes you, the sheer audacity of his words sending a sudden spark of heat straight down your spine. Your previous anxiety momentarily melts under the intensity of his charm. You lean in just a fraction closer, matching his low tone.
"Keep talking like that, and I might consider staying," you tease softly, your eyes dropping to his lips before locking back onto his gaze.
Maul’s eyes darken with amusement, his chest rising as he takes a slow, deep breath. "Go then, my lady," He reaches out, his thick fingers lightly brushing the edge of your jaw, a fleeting, electric touch that leaves your skin tingling in the chilly room, "before I become selfish."
With a lingering glance, you step backward onto the threshold. The door whizzes shut between you with a sharp hiss, severing the physical connection but leaving his intoxicating presence echoing in your mind as you turn toward the shadows of Coruscant.
You take a deep breath and begin your journey back to the Jedi Temple.
tags: @kc023818-blog
next chapter will have a vision again<3 i love writing about the kids! if you have any requests for this universe, i shall oblige. update took longer than i thought due to being busy and struggling to write smut lol
synopsis: you're a padawan having visions of dathomirian children calling you mother.
part one, part two
word count: 997
a/n: this is my first published fic/drabble, and i'm not an experienced writer... fleshing out scenes and descriptions, and the flow could be non-existent. kudos to all writers! writing this has been hard (because i'm a perfectionist), but i love bringing ideas to life. i don't know how many times i've gone through this hoping it makes sense lolol
i accept all and any criticism. any typos or grammatical error, please let me know!
i will expand more on this story, this is a short one just to hook y'all (hopefully) and please note this will be canon-divergent/au
warning: my knowledge on star wars is limited; I have watched the clone wars, rebels, and the trilogies.
enjoy reading!
A chorus of quiet, mischievous giggles ripples through the warm air, sounding more like a sweet melody than a secret. You tread softly through the vibrant green shrubs, the thick leaves brushing against you with a gentle rustle. Peering through the dense foliage, you spot their inadequate hiding place — a cluster of swaying ferns that barely conceals them. They could’ve done better, you think, a fond smile tugging at your lips.
You call upon the familiar, soothing warmth of the Force. You soar over the bush in a single, weightless leap, defying gravity with effortless grace.
"Gotch'ya!" you laugh, your voice echoing with pure, unfiltered happiness.
Your two children squeal in absolute delight, throwing themselves forward and tackling you into a warm, messy embrace that sends you both tumbling slightly.
"Mother, you always win this game," your boy whines softly, burying his face into your shoulder as he clings to you.
"Yeah, because you always give away our position..." your older daughter criticizes, though a fond light lingers in her amber eyes as she shoots a pointed, knowing look at her brother.
"Your sister is right, Savage..." you add with a tender smile, reaching out to caress his cheek.
He is a sweet, small creature of vibrant crimson skin, his tiny face framed by a crown of budding Zabrak horns that are just beginning to protrude. He looks up at you, his expression melting into pure innocence.
He nuzzles his soft cheek deeply into your palm, and you drop to your knees so you are perfectly level with their bright, gleaming eyes. Reaching out with your other hand, you gently cup your daughter's cheek as well.
She inherits striking Dathomirian features, yet she carries herself with a serious, unbothered grace that is entirely her own. She reminds you of yourself, back when you were a Padawan. Beneath her casual exterior, her skin feels warm under your touch, and she leans into your hand with a subtle, quiet devotion.
"You'll learn to hide better," you murmur, your voice like a soothing lullaby. "Your father may teach you how to handle yourselves, but hiding has saved me more times than I can count."
You look between them, the heavy remnants of your Jedi past blending seamlessly into this perfect, impossible reality. You hold their gaze, hoping they understand the gravity behind your words and the deep value of a survival lesson disguised as play.
"We'll do this again tomorrow, until you two can hide efficiently... and quietly."
You deliberately meet Savage's wide, golden eyes when you emphasize quietly.
He looks sheepish, ducking his head with a tiny pout, while beside him, your daughter lets out an exasperated sigh.
"Let's go home now," you say. You pull them both into a tighter, protective embrace before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to each of their foreheads.
—
Your eyes snap open.
In a breath, the dream is violently unmade. The lush, vibrant green of the fauna bleeds into grey, and the phantom warmth of those small arms clinging to you strips away. Your heart hammers against your ribs like a trapped beast — so violent it drains the strength from your limbs, leaving you trembling and slick with a wet, cold sweat on your bed. Your mind racing to separate the lingering dream that felt bright, warm, and loud with the children’s laughter from the quiet, suffocating gravity of your quarters — the stark, sterile reality of stone walls that demand absolute detachment. To dream of a family is a dangerous transgression against your vows, an attachment that could destroy you. Yet the vividness of the dream refuses to dissolve; it clings to your consciousness like a shadow, a beautiful, heretical ghost that no amount of meditation can banish.
You can no longer pretend they are mere dreams.
It has plagued you for months.
Again and again, you have meditated, searching for answers, hoping the Force would reveal the reason for the repeated visions of the same two children.
A mother?
The thought alone feels absurd.
Why would I become a mother if I'm to be a Jedi Master? Forming attachments is not the Jedi way.
You lie still in your quarters on Coruscant, within the Jedi Temple. Beyond the window, the first light of dawn filters into the room, painting the walls in soft gold and signaling the start of a new day.
With a groan, you drape an arm across your eyes. Sleep still weighs heavily on you, and for a moment you consider remaining in bed. The lingering warmth of the vision tugs at your heart, making its absence ache all the more.
Eventually, duty wins.
You sit up and rub the last traces of sleep from your eyes. Rising from your bed, you gather the clothing appropriate for the day and make your way to the refresher, trying — and failing — to push the vision from your mind.
Inside the small fresher, you activate the sonic shower, letting it hum against your skin to strip away the remnants of sweat. You dress yourself shortly after and exit.
There is no room for attachments. Especially not today, your master is Mace Windu, a man who can sense shatterpoints. If your mind is fractured by longing, his sharp, piercing gaze will demand answers you cannot give.
Desperate to bury the vision, you drop cross-legged onto the cold stone floor. You force your hands into your lap and close your eyes. With every slow, deliberate breath, you push the images away into the cosmic current, drowning the children’s — your children — laughter in absolute stillness. You construct a rigid mental wall, sealing the heretical desire deep within your subconscious where Master Windu cannot reach it. By the time you rise to adjust your tunic and clip your lightsaber to your belt, your face is a mask of perfect, detached discipline. You step out into the corridor just as Master Windu approaches, his gaze sharp and unyielding, ready to begin the grueling day of combat trials.
well welll welllll...what do you think? i hope this was enjoyable as short as it was! i tried to be descriptive<3
Summary: A mechanic on Tatooine flirts with you. Din handles it about as well as you'd expect.
Warnings: Suggestive language (at the end), very jealous and possessive Din, mutual pining, established-but-not-established relationship, tooth rotting fluff, nicknames.
Word Count: 2.3k
Notes: This is very much inspired by Dandelion by Ariana Grande, it's literally the entire point of this fic LOL. Please feel free to send me requests guys, I hope you enjoy!
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“Mando!”
Peli called out to Din before the ramp of the Crest finished lowering. You and Grogu followed behind him, giving Peli a shy wave before she greeted you both.
The ship had been making strange noises for the past few days, and you’d finally convinced Din to get it checked out. After several protests, he gave in.
It was hard for him to say no to you.
“What did you do to her this time?” Peli asked.
“Nothing,” Din replied.
She pointed at the ship and shook her head. “This is what ‘nothing’ looks like?”
You and Din were…something? You’d slipped into this territory where you were basically together, but you weren’t. Not officially, anyway.
You went everywhere with Din. There was never a moment when you weren’t beside him.
He even had a nickname for you — Dandelion.
You’d encountered the small flowers on a planet once, and you were so excited to show Din. Usually, he wouldn’t care, but when it came to you...everything mattered.
The nickname just stuck after that. It started when he called you Dandelion one time, it sort of just slipped out, but you didn’t correct or question him.
You let it happen.
It was little things like that. Things that could be passed off as friendly, but also chartered on the territory of something you don’t do when you’re ‘just friends.’
You even took care of Grogu together. Everyone just assumed you two were a thing.
Peli had introduced you and Din to her new apprentice, and Din took note of the way the mechanic couldn’t seem to stop eyeing you up. Maker, he already had a disdain for this guy. Who even was he? And why was he looking at you like that, and—
“Mando, are you listening?”
Peli’s voice cut through.
Din tore his gaze away from the mechanic reluctantly and looked at her.
“I said your hyperdrive’s practically held together with hope and bad decisions. You planning on fixing it, or just praying harder?”
“I’ll fix it,” Din said flatly.
“Sure you will.” Peli huffed, already waving him off. “Jace, get over here.”
So that was his name.
Jace.
The apprentice finally stepped out from under the Razor Crest, wiping his hands on a rag as he straightened up. He was younger than Din expected. Like someone who belonged in a place like this.
“Hey,” Jace said, like he already knew you.
Din didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all.
Peli slapped the side of the ship. “Tell him what you see.”
Jace tilted his head, already walking a slow circle around the Crest. “You flew this thing in like this?”
“Yes,” Din answered.
Jace let out a short laugh. “On purpose?”
That got a small sound out of you. Something amused. Just a soft laugh. Not even directed at him, but Din heard it anyway.
Jace crouched again, peering under a panel. “Yeah…this is gonna take a bit. Compressor’s shot. Wiring’s been rerouted three times by someone who didn’t know what they were doing.”
“I knew what I was doing,” Din said sharply.
Jace hummed. “Sure.”
Peli snorted. “Careful, kid. That’s a Mandalorian you’re insulting.”
Jace just shrugged. Then, like it was nothing, he glanced up at you again.
“So you travel with him?”
That question landed wrong immediately.
It wasn't because it was rude, but more because it sounded casual, as if he was interested in you.
Like he was trying to place you somewhere in his life.
Din answered before you could.
“Yes.”
Jace’s eyes flicked to Din’s helmet, then back to you.
“Oh,” he said simply, and for some reason, that was worse than if he’d said anything else. Then he smiled again. “Got it.”
Peli started saying something to Jace about parts they would need, and you had wandered off to inspect some random pit droid Grogu had decided was fascinating.
Din followed automatically because of course he did. He stopped beside you.
“Dandelion.”
You looked up immediately. “Hm?”
“You wanted to go to the market.”
“Oh!” You brightened. “Can we?”
Din nodded. “We have time.”
You smiled so brightly Din thought, not for the first time, that he’d fly across the galaxy if it meant seeing that look.
Beside you, Grogu made a happy noise and raised both arms.
“Yes, you too,” you laughed, scooping him up. “We’re bringing you.”
The little foundling cooed happily and settled against you.
Normal.
Everything about this was normal.
Then:
“Dandelion, hm?”
Peli’s voice made all three of you look over. You smiled. Grogu blinked.
Din just tilted his head.
“Yeah.”
Peli stared. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She pointed between you. “Dandelion?”
“It’s her nickname,” Din shrugged.
Your smile somehow grew.
“It is,” you confirmed.
Grogu patted his little arms against you.
Peli gave you both a knowing look and shook her head with a chuckle before returning her focus to the ship.
Once you got to the market, you were excitedly tugging at Din’s arm like he belonged to you.
You stopped at a stall selling small woven charms, leaning in with interest.
“These are pretty,” you chirped.
Din made a low sound of agreement. “They are.”
You picked one, holding it up to Grogu.
“Do you like it?" you asked him softly. You got a happy coo in response. “I think that means yes.”
Din didn’t comment, but he was already reaching for credits. You blinked innocently at him — this was normal. Very, very normal. You’d never paid for a single thing in the time you’d known Din.
He took care of you like that. It came naturally to him.
“You didn’t have to,” you said with a smile.
“I know,” he replied. “I wanted to.”
You smiled softly. “Thank you, Din.”
Grogu made a happy noise as Din tucked the charm away carefully like it mattered more than it should.
Because it did.
Everything you touched, he treated like it mattered. Even when it shouldn’t have.
When you finally made your way back toward the Crest, Grogu half-asleep against your shoulder, the market noise fading behind you, Din walked a little closer than before.
“It was nice,” you said, looking at Din. “Thank you for taking me.”
“Of course.”
His hand rested against your lower back out of habit.
“You always do that,” you mentioned.
“I know,” he replied.
“…Why?”
Din didn’t answer right away. He just kept walking beside you like the answer was obvious but didn’t need to be spoken.
“Dunno,” he said finally.
But his hand stayed on your back anyway like it always did, until you returned.
The Crest sat open under the hangar lights, still mid-repair when Jace spotted you.
“Hey,” he called, straightening from where he’d been working. “You’re back.”
You smiled. “Yeah.”
Grogu immediately perked up in your arms, making a soft sound when he saw him.
Jace grinned at that. “Hey, little guy.”
Din followed closely behind you but didn’t say anything.
Jace’s attention flicked to you again.
“So,” he said, wiping his hands on a rag like he suddenly had nowhere else to be. “Market was good?”
“It was really nice. He showed me a few new stalls,” you said, gesturing to the Mandalorian that stood close.
When you mentioned him, Din’s helmet angled slightly.
Jace nodded.
“Yeah? That sounds fun. I…was actually hoping I’d catch you before you left again.”
Din shook his head slightly, as if he already knew where this was going.
“I was thinking,” Jace continued, stepping a little closer to you, “maybe next time I could show you around instead. There’s a couple places this guy probably doesn’t bother taking people.”
This guy?
Grogu shifted in your arms.
Din said your name softly. You turned immediately, like always.
“Hm?”
“Come here for a second."
You didn’t hesitate.
You stepped right back to his side, like gravity corrected itself.
Grogu visibly relaxed again.
Jace blinked.
“Oh. Uh, sorry, I didn’t mean…” His voice trailed off.
Din finally looked at him.
“What are you doing?” Din asked.
Jace laughed a little, trying to read the tone. “Just talking. She seemed interested in the market, so I figured—”
“She’s not a job.”
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
Even Grogu went still.
Jace blinked again. “I didn’t say she was. I just meant I could show her places around here, that’s all.”
Din tilted his head slightly.
“You work here.”
“Yeah," Jace replied.
“You fix ships.”
“Right.”
“You fix ships,” Din repeated, putting an emphasis on ‘fix.’
Jace’s smile faltered a little. “Yeah…I do.”
Din nodded once, like the conversation was concluded.
“So do that.”
Silence stretched.
You shifted slightly beside him, confused now.
“Is everything okay?” you asked softly.
Din didn’t look away from Jace.
“Yes.”
Jace, still trying to recover, forced a lighter tone.
“I mean, no harm intended. I just thought she might want to see more of the city. All good intentions.”
Din finally moved enough that Jace instinctively stopped talking.
Peli stood up from beneath the Crest, wiping her hands on a rag.
“Good,” she said, cutting in before Din could get any snarkier. “Because I am not cleaning blood off my landing bay.”
You laughed, looking at Din with smile as you felt him place his hand gently on your back again.
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The ship was finally kriffing done.
And Maker, Din was glad to be out of Mos Eisley. If he’d been there any longer, he would’ve started a war against the mechanic that was pining after you.
He’d been quieter than usual, fidgeting with the controls in the cockpit. You noticed it right away as you watched him innocently from the passenger seat.
The hum of the engines filled the silence between you.
“Din?” you asked as you tilted your head.
His hands paused over the controls.
“Hm?”
You waited a beat, like you were choosing your words carefully, but there was no real hesitation in your voice.
“Are you mad at me?" you asked softly.
That got him to look over.
“No.” His words were flat.
“…Okay.”
Silence.
“You’ve been quiet,” you added, tone still soft.
“I’m always quiet.”
“It’s different,” you whined, now having his full attention. “Don’t be like that, Din.”
More silence followed.
With a sigh, he looked at you through his visor.
“What do you want, Dandelion?”
The nickname made your heart jump. His tone was gentle, it was never anything less than that with you, even though the question sounded packed.
“C’mere,” he said, giving you no time to think of what to say.
You got up hesitantly and tilted your head slightly in confusion.
Clearly, you didn’t move fast enough for him though, because he decided that he wasn’t wasting anymore time. With a gentle tug, he pulled you down onto his lap, making your cheeks heat up.
Right there in the pilots chair, you were sat on Din Djarin’s lap, facing him. You inhaled sharply.
“Din—“
“Please,” he said quietly.
You were frozen, unsure of what to say.
“I can’t do this whole day again,” he admitted quietly.
Your breath caught in your throat.
“What?”
“Watching you,” he said. “Laughing, talking — not knowing what it means.”
Your hands lifted slowly, resting against his chest plate.
“Oh…” you whispered.
He leaned forward just a fraction.
“I don’t know what I’m allowed to want,” he said quietly. “Are you mine? I don’t…”
For a second, it was quiet again. Then you spoke up.
“Don’t what?”
His hands tightened at your waist like he didn’t mean to do it.
“I don’t know how to stop wanting you.”
His admission made you go silent, but you found your voice in the quiet of it all.
“Why would you do that to yourself?” Your voice came out hushed. “When i’m over here trying to figure out how to keep my hands off you. You can't seriously think I want some random mechanic."
“Mesh’la,” he breathed. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I'm not. I didn’t know you thought you were the only one doing this,” you said softly. “You don’t have to wonder if i’m yours, Din.”
“Don’t I?” His voice came out raspy, like he was barely breathing under the beskar.
“No,” you said teasingly. “Definitely not.”
You settled more comfortably into him, like you belong there and the ship had just finally caught up to what you already knew.
Slowly, you reached up. You weren't rushing.
Your fingers found the edge of his glove.
You tugged it off loosely with quiet focus, like it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, and slipped it off his hand.
He let you.
The glove landed somewhere behind you with a soft thud, like you’d just removed something much more intimate.
Din went very still.
“…What are you doing?” he asked, voice much lower than before.
You glanced at him innocently.
“Nothing.”
And then, like it was nothing at all, you reached for his other hand too, slipping that glove off as well, slower this time. Your fingers brushed his skin just long enough to make the air change.
You set it aside without looking.
You plan on being here long enough that he won’t need them.
It seemed like he was trying to keep himself in place. You hummed softly with satisfaction, and leaned into him again like nothing happened.
Like you didn’t just undo him one layer at a time.
The bullet strap across his chest shifted slightly when you moved your arm. Without thinking, you tugged it off his shoulder just enough to slide it free.
And instead of putting it back where it belongs, you tossed it over the pilot console behind him, casually.
Din exhaled sharply. His voice was strained.
“…Dandelion.”
You tilted your head slightly.
“Yeah?”
Silence stretched as the ship hummed
You took notice of the stars that drifted past the viewport.
And his hands, now bare, tightened at your waist again like he was running out of ways to keep himself steady.
Hi everyone, sorry for the delay and the fact this is kinda more of a set up chapter. Ive lowkey fulfilled the fanfic writers curse and I've split up with my boyfriend of 2.5 years. It's been really rough this past week, it had to happen but it's still so sad. Writing has been a good distraction and your support really keeps me going. Get ready for some emotional asf writing!
"What is it?" Rook gave you both a confused and slightly disgusted look as Bug curled himself around your neck.
He had grown quite used to your chambers, which was a bonus as Maul did say to keep him out of sight. He said it under the guise of 'it's distracting for the others' but you knew it was because he wouldn't have let any of them keep a loth cat, or any pet for that matter.
"He is a loth cat, I found him in some alleyway on Alderaan." You replied, petting the kitten softly.
"And you chose to keep it." Rook stepped forward, analysing the animal. Bug gave an inquisitive trill back.
"Of course, I couldn't leave him there."
The Mandalorian sighed. "Let me rephrase that, Lord Maul let you keep it?"
You stood, the cat jumping off your shoulders and onto the bed. "He didn't let me do anything, I took him back and I am taking care of him, that grumpy nerf herder has nothing to do with Bug"
She let out a chuckle. "You named it Bug?"
"Yes." You replied as the kitten brushed up against you.
"It's not an insect." Rook said, matter of factly.
"I know." Bug purred as you pet his soft fur.
"Hmm..." She crossed her arms, shifting her weight on to one hip.
"Bold of you to speak of him that way." Rook said, returning to the previous topic.
"The man can take a joke Rook." You chuckled lightly out of your nostrils. "I guess he's not the same man to me as he is to you." You commented as you continued tidying bits around your room.
"No... he definitely isn't." Rook's voice was low and hushed, just loud enough for you to hear.
You turned on the spot, sensing a shift in her demeanour. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The woman said nothing, she did nothing. All she had to do was make eye contact with you. The force didn't even have to tell you what was going through her head. You knew. She knew.
"How." You asked more as a statement than a question.
"I saw you leaving his chambers a month or two ago. From then I paid close attention. You almost never sleep alone. Plus, he's been taking us on less and less missions alongside himself - he favours taking you." Her latter words were sprinkled with resentment. She was always his right hand, that was until you came along.
"I'll admit, you have skill, but there is strength in numbers, he knows that. The only reason he would be going with only you is if he wanted the time alone..." She trailed off, raising an eyebrow.
Your face became serious, you stopped your tidying. "Who else knows?"
"Just me. Saxon has an inkling, but he's too dense to look further." She said, rolling her eyes at the mention of the commander. "If I may speak freely, I respect it. You definitely aren't what any of us thought you were, Saxon has been singing your praises ever since Oba Diah. If Lord Maul had to end up with anyone, it would be with someone like you."
Rook kept her eyes down, it was almost as if she didn't like the fact that she thought the two of you were a fairly good match. You could empathise, Maul had become more separated from the rest of the syndicate as he spent his free time with you; playing dejarik, filing his horns, sipping tea and conversing. All of it taking away from time that could have been spent conquering.
"Well, we aren't actually with each other. But I doubt you want to hear the details of that." You admitted, trying to offer her some sense of hope.
"I see." The Mandalorian had become closer to you, so she felt that levelling with you may be a good option.
Rook sat down on the edge of your bed and gestured for you to join her, which you did. "I may not be your closest friend Y/n, but as a woman... don't wait around. We are worth much more than waiting for any man to pluck up the courage. Trust me, I've learned from experience."
You watched her eyes as she finished her sentence, her thoughts told you that she had given up relationships after her last one had ended badly. It was a difficult move for her to make, siding with you. But from an objective point of view, she could see an inexperienced girl who needed advice, and that's what she gave.
"Thank you, Rook. Your input is invaluable." You said, giving her a genuine look.
She returned a small smile, standing and grabbing her helmet. "I do hope it works out for you, both of you."
The Mandalorian exited, leaving you alone in the silence of your chambers. You laid back on your bed, staring at the concrete ceiling. Bug snuggled up to your head. For months now, you'd had this tingling in your gut, like something was building up. It was getting harder to eat and sleep, you often left untouched meals in the kitchen, not that anyone was complaining. Especially Thalen, he had been pestering you to cook more.
You enjoyed the company of the Mandalorians, Rook had even offered to paint your nails in the future, something you had only previously done with Padmé. You did really miss her, you missed everyone. But the mind has a funny way of doing that once you leave something behind - all of a sudden, the bad moments vanish, and all you're left with is the pain of the good times. Almost every day you had to remind yourself why you left the order, how the corruption had spread. But that didn't make it any less hard.
All of a sudden, your door hissed back open. Rook entered with an upright posture and stern expression. This was business.
"What is it?" You asked her, sitting up.
She held up her wrist which displayed a flashing comm. "A message from that jewellery operation you took over last week."
"Do they need something?" You walked up to her as she opened the holomessage.
"They're requesting Lord Maul, saying they've been raided, apparently it's urgent." Rook spoke hesitantly, clearly mistrustful of the distress call. You read the message carefully.
"He's off world right now, he won't be back for another rotation."
Rook began. "Saxon and I-"
"No, it's fine. I'll go. You guys can handle any other issues that pop up around here." You cut her off, grabbing your lightsaber from your drawers and rushing to the door.
As the second in command, duty fell to you to deal with problems when they arose in Mauls absence. Obviously, some of the syndicate still was weary of your authority, but they couldn't deny that you got things done.
"As you wish." The Mandalorian announced as she clicked off the holomessage.
"And Rook-" You turned in the doorway. "Thank you, again."
The two of you exchanged grateful glances as you left. Heading to the ship dock, you jumped in a Y-wing the syndicate had recovered from a crash site and revamped. It reminded you of the war. Your hands clammed up as you left the atmosphere. Clutching the wheel, you tried to rid those thought from your head.
You pondered the mission ahead, if it even would be a mission. It might just be a case of taking stock and recalculating some numbers; the boring side of running a criminal empire. You kind of hoped it would be. The notion of failing a mission and disappointing Maul crossed your mind. Would he discipline you? If he did, how would he?
Finally, you exited hyperspace, approaching the planet of Alderaan. You parked the ship in the same place you had landed before, expecting little from this 'mission'.
As you traversed the streets leading to the jewellery shop, just to be safe, you clicked on your comm, connecting to the Siths device. "Maul, I'm on Alderaan. Haro says he's been raided, I'm going to check ou-"
*swish*
A rustle came from behind you as you entered an alleyway. You gripped your sabre tight in your hand. "Who's there? I warn you now, this is not a fight you will walk away from!"
A low, aged voice echoed from nearby, attached to a cloaked figure. "Is it now? Your training with the beast must be put to the test then."
You recognised it instantly. "Dooku."
The man shot you a sinister smirk from under his hood, you could feel his poisoned aura through the force as he stepped closer.
"What do you want?" You asked, igniting your lightsaber and readying your stance.
"Are you really that naive?" He outstretched his arm, revealing his sabre from his cloak. He activated it, swinging it up to his face, then down to the side. You recognised his form, makashi, though you had rarely fought against it.
Doubt pierced your mind, but you pushed forward, taking the first swing, which he blocked easily. "It is foolish to attempt to win against me, girl."
You growled, breaking off from his blade. You had to think this fight through. Dooku didn't win with strength, he won with strategy. You had fought him before, and he no doubt had a plan in his mind catered specifically to your weaknesses.
You twisted your sabre, striking with precision. But every hit you went for was parried effortlessly by him. You flung for his legs, then side, then arms, working through his body to see if he had any weak points in his bubble of defence. Sweat formed on your forehead as you leapt around him, trying to form a plan.
Then finally, you were quick enough - landing behind him, you swung for his back. Before Dooku could turn, you scored a light sear over his cloak, just narrowly missing his skin. The mans eyes turned spiteful as he faced you. Lifting you with the force, he sucked the air out of your lungs. You dangled, struggling. Then, remembering your previous duel, you pushed back. Reaching out with the force to try to break his focus.
"You are restraining yourself, I can feel it! Use your anger, your hate!" He bellowed at you as he flung you back and onto the floor. You landed - hard.
You coughed and held your throat, standing wearily. Weakness seeped into your bones, you were tiring and hurt from the fall. "I will never fall to your level!" You shouted, re-igniting your lightsaber.
Despite attempting to ignore the mans words, you felt your anger rise. The force began to burn inside you, begging to be released. That same painful sensation crept behind your eyes, making you force them shut.
"But my dear, look around you! You already have." Sensing the force shift within you, Dooku pulled you towards him in your moment of hesitation. Forcing you back into the fight.
"NO!" You screamed, jumping up to flip over him. But you miscalculated - The Counts blade met your flesh, tearing a deep gash into the side of your waist.
You yelped as you tumbled to the ground, scraping your face against the concrete. The smell of burning meat and fabric dizzied you, your hands clutched at your open wound, almost a whole chunk of your waist was missing. The pain hadn't hit you yet, instead, pure adrenaline pumped viciously through your veins, numbing your senses.
Trying to stand, you pushed up from the ground, but your body refused. You gasped and gulped as you persisted with all of your strength, but the injury was too severe.
Darkness consumed your vision, the anger inside you faded along with your consciousness. The last thing you remember seeing was Dooku's bearded smirk as he loomed over your helpless body. Every fibre within you screamed for you to get up, but it was too late. Your eyes shut, and you drifted unconscious.
----
The next thing you felt, was pure agony. Your arms were held over your head and your legs were pulled down to the ground, apart. You were suspended in a dark, dry room by what looked to be magnetic restraints. The stretch in your side forced the wound open, a searing pain throbbed around it, climbing throughout your body.
You wanted to weep, this physical pain was unlike anything you'd ever felt, but you knew better. Taking a deep breath, you focused your mind, calming yourself. Strangely, the force felt different, as if your connection to it had been dampened.
*Alright, I guess we'll try a different approach.* You thought to yourself. The restraints you were being held in were unfamiliar to you, huge metal chains engulfed in some sort of energy field. So, straining against the pain, you pulled.
"Gah!" You cried out. The chains wouldn't budge, and your injury was only tearing itself open.
"Okay, okay, I can do this." You shut your eyes, pouring all of your focus into what little feeling of the force was around you. Your palms fell open as you relaxed, trying to zero in on the chains. If you could break them open just like you did on Serenno, you could escape... wherever you were.
The restraints rattled, a feeling of hope began to build - but that was quickly shattered by the burning of electricity shooting within you. You screamed as the volts fried your nerves.
"I wouldn't try that. Force-binders, don't spend your energy needlessly, you're going to need it." Dooku's dark aura filled the room as he clicked a button on a remote, switching off the electric shock.
"What do you mean?" You croaked in between pants, sweat beading off your forehead.
The Sith began to circle you, assessing your physical state. "You may be here for a while, that is until he shows up."
Your head fell in realisation. Dooku had taken you to lure Maul to him. After what happened on Serenno, he knew exactly how to draw him out. There was no use in playing too stupid, but you could try. "What do you want with him? Why take me?"
The Count chuckled at your obvious insincerity. He knew you were aware completely of the reason of your abduction. Nonetheless, he played along. "I only do the bidding of my master. As for you, you are bait."
You gritted your teeth, the stabbing sensation in your waist worsening every second. "Ha! You've read both him and I wrong, he won't risk jeopardising everything to come here."
The words came out of your mouth so fluidly you almost believed them. By this time, Maul had probably realised something was wrong the second you were injured - thinking back to when you were finishing your training at the temple, he could sense when you hurt your shoulder. Maul wouldn't risk losing you, as an asset to his agenda or otherwise... but you hoped otherwise.
"Oh but he will. That was always his problem, letting his emotions cloud his better judgement." Dooku spat with a tone of grotesque snobbishness. The notion that he thought himself above you and Maul was extremely noticeable.
Then, he stopped circling you, turning to look up at your suspended figure face to face. Your body involuntarily trembled as you grew weaker. Count Dooku smiled to himself, making you return a hateful sneer.
"Did he ever tell you about Eldra Kaitis?" He asked, his delivery all too happy for you to be trustful of anything he was about to say.
You stayed silent, attempting not to say anything with your body language. But your lack of response was telling enough.
"Ahhh, of course not. She was a young padawan of the Jedi order, unfortunately captured by the Xrexus Cartel and was intended to be sold to the highest bidder. But, Maul - the young Sith apprentice, ever hungering for more power - broke her free and alongside each other, they fought off the bounty hunters gunning for them for ruining their little auction."
Sweat dripped and your breath quickened as you tried not to listen. You hadn't seen this when you had looked into Mauls mind, perhaps he was still hiding it? Or maybe he didn't deem it relevant?
Dooku continued. "They won. Kaitis was a skilled student, she would've made an excellent Sith... if it weren't for her slaughter, at the hands of your friend. He cut her down in cold blood just to get a taste of what it feels like to kill a Jedi. That taste has fuelled him ever since."
Your heart dropped, but not for Maul, for poor Eldra. You were sure you had heard her name around the temple. But by this time, you knew Maul was a killer, and worst of all - this story, fabricated or not, didn't surprise you. All you felt was shame for yourself, and for the young padawan.
"Now tell me, Jedi, do you really think he has your best interests at heart? Darth maul is a product of his master - he is a conniving, bloodthirsty killer and he will not hesitate to discard you when you become of no use to him, just like he did Eldra Kaitis. Even if he is fond of you."
The Count was half right, but he underestimated truly how emotionally driven Maul was. You decided to keep up the charade, still digging deeper. "You're lying."
Dooku paced casually around the room. "I may be a Sith, but I am a man of my word. I tell no lie."
You sighed, the old mans words inadvertently spreading uncertainty inside your mind. "He won't come."
"I admire your humility, but I'm afraid whether you like it or not, you are significant to him. I've been watching you both for some time now, he's never without you." He said, a creepy expression plastered on his face.
"I'm a good fighter. It's just like you said, I'm useful." You replied, shaking the chains slightly. The movement causing you to wince.
The Count got close to your face, scorning. "Don't play innocent, I can feel your bond in the force to him from here. It's sickeningly palpable."
*Kriff, maybe he does know more than I think.*
Shuddering, you spoke. "You don't know anything."
That sinister smirk crept back onto his face. "I knew your master."
You hid your gasp, disgust erupted inside you. The emotion of leaving your master behind seeped back into you, threatening to bring unwanted tears to your eyes.
"Shaak Ti, an admirable woman. I know she must have trained you well. Hmm, clearly not well enough." The man goaded.
"Take her name... out of your mouth..." You spluttered, fighting against your aching body.
"How would she feel, seeing you now? Bloodied, beaten, and for what? To defend the Sith who's murdered hundreds of your own? You betrayed the order for your own personal feelings, you left your master for your selfish needs-"
Your eyes burned, without thinking, you reached out with the force, attempting to choke the old man. "ENOUGH- hrgkh!"
Electricity shot through you, sending you into agonising convulsions. You cried out as your injuries deepened and your resolve cracked. Tears finally spilled down your cheeks. All you wanted was to reach out to Maul, but with these force restricting cuffs, that would prove impossible.
Dooku clicked the button to stop the volts, a satisfied look came over him. "So there is darkness within you after all. Darth maul would be a fool to let that go to waste. And I am sure he won't."
----
*Swing*
A severed head dropped to the floor as Maul retracted his lightsaber. "One more delayed shipment, and there will be more blood spilled. I'd count yourself lucky it wasn't your head down there."
"Y- yes My Lord... it won't happen again" The timid spice smuggler replied, quivering.
"Good." Maul turned to exit onto the Shakari streets, noticing his commlink flashing.
As he walked into an alleyway, he played the message; "Maul, I'm on Alderaan. Haro says he's been raided, I'm going to check ou-"
The comm cut out, but not before he heard a strange swooshing sound in the background. He thought to himself, it wasn't like you to leave a slightly ominous message without finishing it. But he knew you could handle yourself, the pair of you had visited Alderaan recently and if Haro had been raided, it wouldn't be a terribly eventful mission.
Still, a wave of anxiety flushed through him. His two hearts steadily increased in speed. Maul shook his head, waving off the feeling. If you were in trouble, he would know about it.
The zabrak continued down the murky streets, towards the ship dock, but he couldn't focus. A deep, crushing feeling pounded on his chest, causing him to stop in his tracks. It was almost like a feeling of impending doom.
Then it hit him - a searing sting in his side. He clutched at his flesh, pulling back his cloak and robes to reveal... there was nothing there.
Warnings: None! All fluff, kissing, Mando'a nicknames as usual.
A/N: I wrote down a thought, then the above picture was released - 'twas fate 🙂↕️🙂↕️ Part of the Wildest Dreams universe (takes place anytime after their HEA point in the series), but you don't need to have read the series/can be standalone 🥰
Dividers by @saradika-graphics / Series Masterlist
You wake to the rarest, most glorious sight in all the galaxy: the bare face of a still sleeping Mandalorian. Your riduur’s normally hardened features relaxed and unguarded as he snoozes peacefully, the sharp and worn lines of his handsome face restful and soft as his breathing purrs.
Unable to help yourself, you reach up to play with Din’s hair, carding your fingers through the floppy, soft strands and mindlessly twisting his locks around your fingers. Though it was not your intention to wake the man, it’s not long before his lashes start to flutter open.
“Good morning, mesh’la.”
“Good morning, my love,” you lean forward to press a soft, chaste kiss on Din’s lips, “your hair is getting long.”
“Mmmmhmmm,” he nuzzles forward, chasing your taste.
“I could cut it for you.”
Din chuckles while wrapping his strong arms around your waist, then, in one swift motion, rolls you on top of him as you squeal in surprise, “I’ve never heard of a Princess who knew how to cut hair.”
You grin down at him, fingers still dancing through his curls; oh, how you love the press of Din’s bare chest against yours, the feel of your entire body rising and falling on the power of his breathing alone, “I’ve been taking lessons from the Royal barber.”
The Mandalorian melts at your admission, forever touched by the efforts you make to accommodate his Creed, to tend to him, “I’ve always just cut my own hair.” An errant thought strikes him as he recalls the look of some of his legion at their last training session, “Wait… have you been practicing on the Guard?”
“I have!” Your eyes widen in surprise, “Oh no! How come?”
“No reason, cyare,” Din grins, amused by the image of Solana’s most fearsome warriors trying to sit still while their beloved Princess wields a pair of “practice” scissors at their heads.
You slap at Din’s shoulder, though your attempt to look offended fools no one – one of your life’s greatest joys is being teased by your husband, to be one of the few beings in the known worlds who can find themselves on the receiving end of the Mandalorian’s normally hidden good humour, “No one even sees your hair, save for Grogu and I.”
“Just because I’m under a helmet doesn’t mean I can’t be a little vain,” Din smiles so hard his dimples make a surprise morning appearance - the sight sets your heart aflutter. After running a gentle finger over the curve of the elusive dip on his right cheek, you tap it lovingly, “Well, I concede you have very good reason to be vain, General.”
You lean down to kiss him just as Din surges upwards to capture your mouth. He licks in tenderly as soon as you open for him, lips that seal against yours curving into a satisfied grin at your soft inviting whimpers. Your tongue slides along Din’s, slow and lazy, as he steals your air, over and over. You’ll never get over this – being able to kiss your riduur in your shared bed with no sense of urgency, getting lost in his affection with no looming fear of getting caught, of time running out. He’s here, he’s staying, he’s home.
“Okay, Princess, I would love it if you’d cut my hair,” Din murmurs against your lips.
“Really?” Though Din always says he could never refuse you anything, his indulgence still delights you every time.
“Yes, really. I welcome any opportunity to carry a reminder of you with me, always,” Din’s expression is gentle and earnest, his love for you ever apparent in the depths of his soulful brown eyes.
You think to your hair ribbon that’s now securely sewn to the inside lining of Din’s gloves and your heart kvells at your Mandalorian warrior’s penchant for sentimentality; to keep from tearing up you start to climb off your husband and out of bed, “I’ll call for some scissors.”
No match for Din’s lightning-fast reflexes nor his brute strength, your breath catches in your throat as he easily pulls you back to bed and pins you to the mattress with only the smolder of his gaze. Giggling, you flush with warmth as Din hovers over you, shaggy hair falling messily on his forehead; voice husky, he descends on your lips once more, “Later, cyar’ika.”
Remembrances Week ~ Theme: I though you were dead.
Pairing: Rex x F! Jedi Reader but mostly Kix x F! Jedi Reader (trust the process)
Summary: You were on your way to Coruscant with Kix when your whole world fell apart. Now, you and Kix are left picking up the pieces.
Word Count: 12.3k
Warnings: Minor cursing, ANGST, Order 66, Grief
A/N: Dude idk what possessed me. Anyway, this is canon divergent.
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You stood on a viewing platform on Mandalore, your hand resting on the cold guardrail. Below you was a hangar bay. You were overlooking the boys of the 332nd unload crates, check weapons, and prepare for their next orders. Among them, you could spot the freshly painted helmets of some of the troops. A knot of guilt twisted in your stomach. You were leaving Ahsoka.
Ahsoka returned to the fight, taking up the mantle of leadership to free Mandalore and you were supposed to be standing by her side. Instead, you were slipping away to go to Coruscant. The Jedi Council would have never approved of this, but as you glanced down at your transport in the hangar, you knew you didn’t have a choice.
Inside the transport, Kix sat in the copilot’s seat with his head buried in his hands. He looked a mess, his usually pristine armor dingy from the tunnels you pulled him from only a rotation prior. He was taken hostage by Maul out of nowhere. When you finally found his location and rescued him, you expected him to be relieved. Instead, you found a man possessed by a frantic urgency.
He hasn’t stopped talking since you brought him aboard. It wasn't rambling about being held captive though, it was about Fives.
The name alone carried an immense burden. You remembered Fives in his final days. The Republic had called it a sickness. They called it a parasite brought on by sharing a canteen on Ringo Vinda, where Tup lost his mind and executed General Tiplar in cold blood. The official reports were filed, yet there was still no closure. You remembered the sickening feeling that pooled in your chest when you heard the news that Fives was shot by the Coruscant Guard.
Now, Kix was repeating the exact same words. He had been digging through Fives’ old medical logs and cross-referencing them with Tup’s scans ever since Fives passed. But ever since being held by the Separatists, that drive to find more had been amplified. He begged you to take him to Coruscant so he could speak to the Jedi Council, not the Chancellor, because that’s what got Fives killed. Kix trusted that the Jedi would listen.
You made your decision in a heartbeat. You were going to do everything you could to fly him directly to the steps of the Jedi Temple, forcing the Council to listen to him before the Republic stepped in. You wouldn't let Kix end up like Fives. You couldn't.
"General?"
The raspy, distorted voice of a clone trooper shattered your thoughts. Behind you was Rex. His helmet was on, but behind the visor, you sense the worry in his eyes.
"Commander," you nodded, your hand tightened on the railing. "I thought you were prepping the 332nd for the attack on the palace with Jesse."
Rex stopped a few steps away from him. “I was, until I noticed Kix get on that transport. You’re taking him to Coruscant aren’t you?”
You pushed away from the railing, and turned around to face him, closing the distance between you until you were standing just a step away from him. "Of course I am."
"Without a formal transfer request from command?" Rex bitterly asked, his vocoder smoothing out some of his tone’s edge. "You're smart enough to know how that looks. I know Kix wants to speak directly to the Jedi Council, but you know the Republic realizes you’re not on Mandalore, someone is going to figure out what’s going on and try to stop you."
"Let them try," you muttered fiercely, leaning in closer to Rex so the noise of the hangar wouldn't swallow your words. "I don't have time to wait for the bureaucracy, Rex. Every second we waste is a second Kix might not have."
Rex stepped into your space, his chest nearly brushing against you. "Kix has been acting strange since Maul got a hold of him. Everyone here knows that. You think him “missing” won’t raise a red flag as well?"
"You didn’t seem so hesitant about Fives."
You saw a subtle jerk in Rex’s posture at the mention of Fives. Rex had loved Fives like a brother. His death broke something deep within the Captain, leaving behind a grief that he only ever let you see behind closed doors.
Rex turned his head smoothly to the left, then to the right. He scanned the distant hangar, ensuring the deck crews were thoroughly occupied before grabbing your wrist and pulling you away from the balcony and out of anyone’s sight.
Satisfied that you were now alone, Rex raised his hands. The hiss of his helmet seals echoing softly as he took his helmet and pulled it off, tucking it under his arm.
The face underneath was weary. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper than they had a week ago, but the look in his eyes wasn't that of a soldier. It was entirely human, filled with a vulnerability that stripped away all the resistance he had left in him.
Before you could say another word, Rex stepped forward, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. He pulled you to him, closing the distance in a sudden, desperate motion, and pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss felt like it was born of a fear neither of you could openly voice. For a brief moment, the war, the Council, Mandalore, and the lingering grief of Fives vanished. When he finally pulled back, he didn't go far. He rested his forehead against yours, holding his breath.
"You're going to drive me crazy," Rex whispered close to your ear. "You know this is a bad idea."
"I have to do this," you whispered back, your eyes locking onto his. "If Kix is right and if what Fives found out is real-"
"I know," Rex cut in softly, his expression a mixture of fear and profound sorrow. He squeezed your shoulder, the pressure bordering on painful, as if he could physically press his willpower into you. He looked at you letting all the affection and dread he usually kept locked behind his helmet pour into his gaze.
"Just promise me," Rex asked, his voice trembling slightly, "Promise me you'll come back to me. In one piece."
The unspoken fear of the war’s impending end hung heavily in the space between you. You could both feel it. There was this sense in the air that the war you had fought in for years was dangerously close to coming to its end. Everyone felt it. You reached up, placing your hand over his hand on your shoulder. "I promise, Rex. I'll come back."
Rex held your gaze for one last second, memorizing your face, before he slowly let his hands drop. The warmth vanished instantly, replaced by the biting cold of the hangar’s air. He slid his helmet back over his head, sealing his emotions away once more.
“You know,” you added playfully, eyeing him head to toe, “Commander kind of suits you.”
"Get moving, before this commander has to report a stolen ship." Rex huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
You gave him a final, tight nod, turning and walking towards the lift down to the main hangar. Rex, however, didn’t move. He stood there, watching the lift doors close around you with a sickening sense of dread in his chest.
The second you stepped foot on the transport ship, the reality of what you were doing settled over you. You walked into the main hold, your steps echoing softly against the metal decking, and looked at Kix, who was anxiously fidgeting with his hands. You swallowed the lump of anxiety rising in your throat, forcing a confident smile onto your face. "Ready to go, Kix? The navigation computer is locked in, and we've got a clean window to make the jump."
Kix paused, his hands freezing in his lap. He looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with an emotion he rarely let show. He let out a long sigh, his shoulders dropping as if a massive weight had just been lifted from them. "General, I don't even know what to say. You’re supposed to be preparing for Mandalore right now, not do this. I’m so beyond grateful you’re doing this. If Fives could see us right now, I know he’d be smiling."
You offered him a gentle, reassuring nod, "We look out for each other, Kix. Fives was family, and so are you. Let's just get to Coruscant and fix whatever this is."
About a standard day passed since you left Mandalore, and neither of you slept yet. For you, it was the guilt of leaving Ashoka and Rex behind on Mandalore that was keeping you up. For Kix, it was making sure he had every single piece of information he needed ready before he spoke to the Council.”
"Look at the cellular degradation in Tup’s post-mortem scan," Kix gasped, his thumb scrolling aggressively through the report. "The Kaminoans labeled it a localized parasitic infection of the cerebral cortex. But a parasite doesn't have a structure like this. Parasites aren’t capable of mimicking regular brain tissue."
You leaned over the copilot's chair, taking a glance at the complex neurological scans. "Fives told Rex and Anakin that it was an inhibitor chip. He said it was supposed to keep you all docile, but that someone had programmed it to do something else."
"It’s not an inhibitor," Kix waved away with his hand, as he tapped on the screen with his other. "An inhibitor dampens a response. This is like an override switch. Fives was right. He kept screaming that the Chancellor was behind it and that everyone was in on it. I thought he was suffering from acute psychosis brought on by whatever took down Tup. But look at this sequencing code. It’s embedded so deep into our genetic template that it’s practically invisible unless you know exactly what genetic marker to trigger."
You stared at the pulsing red light on the brain scan diagram. If Fives had been right, it meant every single clone trooper in the Grand Army of the Republic was carrying a ticking time bomb inside their skulls.
Before you could voice the thought, the ship’s primary console suddenly erupted into a violent fit of flashing lights. A high-pitched beeping tore through the cockpit, shattering the quiet of hyperspace.
"Proximity alert!" Kix yelled, tossing the datapad onto the seat behind him. "The navigation computer is detecting something directly in our flight path! It's forcing an emergency hyperspace disengagement!"
"Hold on!" you shouted, throwing yourself into the pilot's seat and slamming your hands onto the console.
The ship groaned as the hyperdrive abruptly cut out. The smooth, blue tunnel of hyperspace shattered into streaking starlight, jerking you both forward against your safety harnesses. Your stomach lurched into your throat as the transport reverted to real space.
"Talk to me, Kix," you ordered, shaking your head to clear the sudden dizziness. "What did we hit? A rogue asteroid? A debris field?"
"Scanning," Kix responded, his fingers flying across the sensors. He stopped playing with the sensors and looked up through the viewport, "General, there's no debris field."
You looked out the main viewport, and gasped. Drifting silently in the void of space was a cluster of Separatist dreadnoughts. They were aligned in a perfect triangular formation, their cannons already raised and ready. You dropped directly into the center of a perfectly orchestrated ambush.
"Shit," you cursed under your breath. Your hands instinctively flew to the communications console, flipping switches and overriding safety protocols to open a secure communication channel. You didn't input the codes for the Jedi Council or nearest sector fleet. Your fingers flew by muscle memory, typing a deeply buried, private encryption key.
"What are you doing?" Kix asked, his voice rising as alarms began to scream. "Who are you signaling? Why aren't you calling the Council? General, the Jedi-"
"I'm sending a distress signal directly to Rex," you snapped back, "It’s the only channel I can guarantee isn't being monitored!"
Kix stared at you, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and panic. "Why Rex? Why not the Jedi Council or General Skywalker? If the Separatists take us-"
"Does it matter right now, Kix?!" you shouted, spinning your chair to face him as a violent shudder shook the entire transport.
"Tractor beam," Kix groaned, his hands dropping from the useless controls. "They've got us.”
The claustrophobic tension inside the cockpit became suffocating. The slow pull of the tractor beam felt like a noose tightening around your neck. "Kix, look at me," you commanded, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to meet your gaze. Your voice was entirely calm, like the one you used when a battle was lost but the squad still needed to move. "Let them take us."
"But General-"
"Listen to me. There are three dreadnoughts out there. If we fight them in the hangar, we are dead. We’re going to comply with their docking procedure, and surrender."
Kix looked at you like you had lost your mind. "Surrender? That is a horrible plan! That's not even a plan, that's just giving up!"
"We surrender, we let them think they've won, and we figure out the rest as we go.” Your grip tightening on his armor, offering whatever grounding strength you had left. "When have I ever let you down, Kix?"
Kix froze. His chest rose and fell as he struggled to process the hopelessness of the situation. Slowly, the frantic panic in his eyes began to calm. He looked away, his shoulders slumping. "Never, General. You've never let me down."
"Good. Now leave the datapad under the floor plating. They'll search us first."
The transport gave one final jolt as it touched down on the floorplates of the Separatist hangar bay. Outside the viewport, hundreds of B1 battle droids were already forming a perimeter with their blasters raised and flanked by a squad of Super Battle Droids.
You walked down the short corridor toward the main airlock hatch. Your hand hovered over the release lever. You took a deep breath, preparing your mind to face whatever tactical droid or Separatist commander was waiting on the other side.
"General, wait."
Kix’s voice was barely a whisper, but it carried a strange, heavy finality that made you freeze. You paused, your hand still resting on the switch. You turned your head to look back at him.
He was standing a few feet behind you, his helmet tucked under his arm. His head was bowed, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. He looked incredibly small in that moment. "If anything happens out there," Kix swallowed hard, his jaw tight. He finally forced his eyes up to meet yours, his voice cracking with his next words. "I need you to know. I removed my chip."
You gasped, your eyes widening in sheer horror as you instinctively took a physical step away from him, your back slamming against the airlock door.
"You what?" you stammered, catching your balance against the door.
Images of Tup flashed violently through your mind. The Kaminoans warned that any tampering with the chip would result in immediate neurological collapse and ultimately death.
"I did it myself," Kix whispered, his eyes darting away again, unable to hold your horrified stare. "Two nights after Fives was killed. In the medical bay on Conuscant while everyone was enjoying the last night of shoreleave. I had to, General. After what happened to Fives I couldn't risk it. I couldn't live knowing there was a trigger in my head."
"Kix, you idiot," you sighed, a hot wave of panic crashing over you. "That surgery killed Tup. It’s what got Fives targeted! If the Republic finds out-"
Before you could finish, the airlock door behind you hissed open violently. Apparently the droids were getting a little impatient and decided to open the hatch from the outside. The second the door slid upward, and a wall of droids flooded the entryway.
"Step away from the controls! Hands where we can see them!" a droid barked, pressing its blaster into your neck.
You didn't even have time to reach for your lightsaber before magnetic binders were slammed onto your wrists, locking your hands roughly behind your back. Two Super Battle Droids stepped past you, shoving Kix against the wall and ripping his helmet from his grip, throwing binders over his wrists as well.
"You are prisoners of the Confederacy of Independent Systems!" another droid chimed in.
You didn't fight them. You kept your eyes locked on Kix as the droids dragged you both out of the transport and onto the floor of the hangar bay. He kept his head down, refusing to look at you with his jaw clenched.
The walk to the detention block was a blur of gray corridors and the maddening sound of droids marching. They brought you deep into the bowels of the dreadnought, pushing you both into a high security brig corridor. The droids shoved you into one cell and Kix into the cell directly across from you, the crackling orange energy of the ray shields humming to life behind you with a definitive hiss.
The droids marched away, leaving the brig in silence. You immediately stepped toward the front of your cell, your cuffed hands pressing uncomfortably against your lower back. You leaned as close to the orange shimmer of the ray shield as you dared, the heat of the energy field acting as a warning on your skin.
"Kix," you hissed, your voice a sharp, intense whisper across the narrow corridor. "Kix, look at me."
Kix was sitting on a metal bench near the back of his cell. He was staring intently at the ceiling with his head thrown back. He knew exactly what was coming. "Kix! Do not ignore me!" you growled, letting the full weight your authority lace your words.
"I will do this all night, Kix!" you continued so loudly, you didn’t even care who heard. "You hear me? I won't stop until you look at me! I will stand right here and yell until the droids come back!"
You kept going, the words pouring out of you in a breathless, frantic bombardment. You weren't even sure how long it went on for. Minutes? Hours maybe? But the sheer momentum of your anger kept you pushing through the creeping strain in your voice.
"See, Kix? I told you I could keep yelling!" you shouted, taking a deep breath. "Matter of fact, I know that there’s a few tears running down your face right now! And if you had the absolute balls to do what you did in at medbay on Coruscant, surely you can be man enough to look at your general and-"
"STOP!" Kix suddenly screamed at you.
The sheer force of his voice shattered the argument, cutting you off instantly and shaking you to your core. No one, ever, has raised their voice like that to you. He stood up from the bench and walked over to the front of his cell, sitting crosslegged before the ray shield. Finally, with a long, defeated sigh, the medic raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot and filled with a desperate intensity.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" you demanded, lowering your voice to a whisper. "Removing the chip? Are you insane? We watched Tup lose his mind because that thing malfunctioned! This entire chip mess is exactly what got Fives killed! Why would you do something so reckless? You could have died, and no one would have ever known why!"
Kix leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Because I’m a medic, General," Kix sighed, his voice steady but burning with passion. "My job is to identify a condition and treat it before it kills the patient. That chip is a disease, General. If the Jedi secretly implanted a biological weapon inside your brain without your consent, I'm damn sure you'd take it out too."
You opened your mouth to tell him that the Jedi would never, but the words caught in your throat. Because deep down, you knew he was right. You wouldn't wait for permission to remove it. You would tear it out immediately.
You looked at him, the anger suddenly draining out of you, leaving behind only a hollow, aching fear for the man across from you. "Kix. We can’t lose you the same way we lost Fives."
Kix’s expression softened. He opened his mouth to reply, but before a single sound could leave his lips, the entire ship violently jolted, forcing you to close your eyes.
A massive explosion rumbled through the structure of the ship. The artificial gravity failed for a second, lifting your feet off the ground before slamming you back down. The thrum of the ship’s primary power grid slowly dwindled before it died completely. The bright overhead lights snapped off, putting the brig into darkness until the emergency lights came on.
When you opened your eyes, the ray shields were gone. The power outage completely deactivated the cell barriers. You and Kix both reacted instantly. You stepped out of your dark cell into the corridor just as Kix moved out of his. Despite the magnetic binders locking your hands behind your backs, you knew this was your only chance to escape.
"What was that?" Kix shuttered, looking up at the emergency lights. "I guess Rex actually got your message and came for us."
"No," you shook your head, your senses tingling with a bizarre sensation of emptiness. "This doesn't feel like a Republic attack. Something doesn’t feel right."
You moved down the corridor toward the guard station at the end of the block. The room was completely dark and the control panels were dead. On the center control table, sitting inside a previously ray shielded security lockbox, were your weapons.
Kix turned his back to the counter, maneuvering his bound hands until he pressed the release switch on his binders against the sharp edge of the metal box. With a hiss of electricity the magnetic cuffs fell from his wrists. He rubbed his skin for a brief second before instantly picking up his blaster and unlocking your binders. The metal cuffs clattered to the floor. Kix picked up your lightsaber and tossed it to you.
You caught it out of the air, the familiar weight bringing a sense of security back to your hands. Kix checked the power cell on his blaster - fully charged. He looked around the dark, ruined guard station and then back at you, a wry smirk spreading across his face. "Well. That was easy."
You looked at the dead consoles, listening to the eerie groaning of the hull. You gripped your lightsaber tight, a deep, unsettling knot forming in your gut. "Yeah," you muttered, your voice full of unease. "Well, it shouldn't have been. And that concerns me."
He lowered his blaster slightly, his eyes darting from one dark alcove to the next. "This doesn't make any sense, General. Where are droids?"
"I don't know," you exhaled, your brow furrowing as you attempted to extend your awareness into the Force.
Usually, on a Separatist dreadnought, you could feel the electric hum of thousands of droids. But as you reached out with your mind, you felt nothing. You began to creep forward, your footsteps making no sound against floor plates. Kix flanked you, his steps clicking softly despite his best efforts.
As you moved deeper into the ship, the damage of the vessel became apparent. Somewhere deep in the ship, the primary structural frames were snapping. "It feels like we're walking through a ghost ship," Kix noted, his breath starting to mist in the dropping temperature. He swept his blaster past a deactivated security door that hung loosely off its tracks, revealing a completely abandoned control center. "A ship this size should be swarming with droids. At the very least, remnants of droids. There's nothing here."
You stopped at an intersection where a central computer terminal blinked with a faint, dying light. "Cover me," you said, stepping up to the console and playing around with the interface.
Your fingers flew across the keys, forcing the terminal to pull up the ship’s logs. The screen flickered violently before you finally forced the system to display any information. You looked at the graphic display of the ship's hull, and your blood ran cold.
"Kix, look at this," you whispered, gesturing toward the screen. He stepped up beside you, his eyes scanning the schematic. Every single indicator light along the outer hull of the dreadnought was flashing. Beside the flashing icons, the word ‘ejeceted’ repeated down the entire length of the column.
"The escape pods," Kix mused, his fingers tapping the glass. "They've all been launched."
"They didn't just launch them in an orderly evacuation, either," you noted, pointing to the timestamps on the system log. "It happened all at once, less than ten minutes ago. Right when that massive jolt hit the ship. They just abandoned the ship. They didn't even bother to secure the us. They just ran."
"Ran from what?" Kix asked, as he looked around the corridor. "If there's no Republic fleet outside, what could possibly scare a tactical droid into ordering a full evacuation?"
"Well, I don't want to be on this ship when whatever it is catches up to it," you shrugged, snapping the console off. "Come on. Let's get to the hangar."
Abandoning all attempts at stealth, you both broke into a full sprint. A pipe overhead burst, spraying a cloud of freezing, pressurized steam across the hallway just behind you, forcing you to dive through closing blast doors. You scrambled to your feet, coughing through the haze, realizing you both made it to the hangar bay.
Your small transport sat exactly where you had left it, entirely untouched. The hundreds of battle droids that had previously surrounded it were still there. Their powered down frames were collapsed across the hangar. “Is it bad that I find this sight kind of comforting?” Kix asked, rushing onto the transport with you.
“That’s great, Kix!" you yelled to Kix as you sprinted up the boarding ramp,”Let’s get out of here!”
Kix didn't need to be told twice. As soon as he jumped into the copilot's seat, his hands were flying across the transport's control board with manic speed. The engines whirled to life as the cockpit displays lit up with welcoming blue light.
You threw yourself into the pilot's chair, immediately gripping the manual release. "Punch it, Kix!"
The transport shot forward, clearing the hangar threshold and diving headfirst into the void of space. As soon as you were clear, Kix pulled the ship into banking turn, allowing you both to look out the viewport at the massive Separatist vessel you had just escaped.
The sight was utterly bizarre. The massive dreadnought wasn't burning from laser fire, nor was it surrounded by a Republic fleet. Instead, the ship listed to one side, drifting aimlessly through the void like a dead body. Its structural integrity was completely shot, looking exactly like a ship that had just fallen violently out of hyperspace.
Kix slowed the transport to a hover, staring out at the ship with a look of confusion. "It looks like the ship just broke."
You stared at the drifting wreck, the knot of dread in your stomach growing larger by the second. "Everything about what just happened is strange, Kix," you enunciated, your voice barely louder than a whisper. "Ships don't just fall out of hyperspace and die like this. Something is wrong. Something is really wrong right now. I can feel it."
You sat frozen in your chair, your fingers laced tightly together in your lap to hide the persistent tremor in your hands. Beside you, Kix was keeping his eyes glued to you, waiting for your next orders. "The hyperdrive is functional. I can plot a course for the nearest planet, or we can push straight through to Coruscant if you think the navigation lanes are clear." Kix suggested, desperately trying to restore some sense of normalcy.
"Just hold position for a moment, Kix," you asked softly, rubbing your temples in an attempt to clear the fog gathering in your mind. The Force was quiet, but not a peaceful quiet. “Something is going on. I can feel it. I just don’t know what-”
Before you could finish your sentence, the ping of an incoming transmission echoed through the cockpit. "General. We're receiving a high frequency transmission. It's an emergency beacon, but it's not coming from a military outpost. Its origin appears to be the Jedi Temple on Coruscant."
Your heart skipped a beat. A cold sweat broke out across the back of your neck. A high priority beacon from the Temple was unheard of. "Pull it up, Kix."
The transmission was grainy, but the silhouette was instantly recognizable. It was Obi-Wan Kenobi. “This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic have fallen, with the dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi: trust in the Force. Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed, and our future is uncertain. Avoid Coruscant. Avoid detection. Be secret, but be strong. We will each be challenged: our trust, our faith, our friendships. But we must persevere and, in time, I believe a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always.”
The transmission abruptly cut out. The Obi-Wan’s hologram shattered into a spray of static before the holoprojector shut off, plunging the cockpit back into the silence.
"The Republic has fallen?" Kix whispered. As he turned to look at you, he was shaking his head slowly. "No. That’s impossible. General Kenobi must have been compromised. The Separatists must have sliced the frequency. With both Dooku and Grievous gone, the war was supposed to be in our favor. I don’t understand."
You couldn't answer him. You couldn't even inhale air into your lungs. A wave of vertigo washed over you. It was so intense that the walls of the cockpit seemed to tilt and warp around you. Every victory you had won, every trooper you had carried off a bloody battlefield, every loss you mourned, all began to spin in a whirlwind. Your mind raced back to Rex in the hangar on Mandalore, the warmth of his lips, his hands on your shoulders, his voice begging you to come back to him.
"General?" Kix’s voice sounded incredibly distant, as if he were shouting to you from the end of a long, dark tunnel. "General, look at me. Breathe. Come on, breathe."
You grabbed the edges of your seat, your fingernails digging into the fabric until your hands ached. You forced a shallow breath past your lips, your vision slowly focusing back on the glowing instruments. "Kix, get the datapad. Scan the local military frequencies. Scan the open channels or anything. Is there anything there? Tell me what's happening out there."
"Right. Yes, General," Kix stuttered frantically, reaching for his datapad. His fingers moved across the screen in a blur, desperately looking for answers. Kix’s hand froze. The faint color that had started to return to his face vanished entirely, leaving him looking like he saw a ghost. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
"Kix," you begged, your heart hammering against your ribs, "Kix, what’s happening?"
"There’s been an executive order issued," Kix choked out. He stared at the screen, frantically re-reading each line of the order. "Direct from the Office of the Supreme Chancellor. It states that the Jedi tried to assassinate the Chancellor. Every clone trooper has been commanded to assassinate all members of the Jedi Order for treason against the Republic.”
You stood up from your chair, leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen, but the text blurred together before your eyes. "No, that's a lie. It's a Separatist trick, Kix. It has to be. Surely, you guys wouldn't just follow an order like that. We've fought together for years. We've saved each other's lives. Rex, Jesse, they wouldn't just blindly follow a command from the Chancellor to murder us."
Kix didn't answer right away. He scrolled down further, his thumb trembling so violently he nearly dropped the datapad. "It appears so, General. Commander Bly just confirmed the successful execution of General Aayla Secura.”
You staggered backward, your knees buckling beneath you until you collapsed back into your chair. Panic violently flooded your chest, completely replacing the numbness of the initial shock. Your thoughts raced, spinning out of control as a terrifying realization came to mind.
"Ahsoka," you gasped as you lunged forward, grabbing Kix’s arm. "Kix, patch into the 332nd’s channel. Right now! Ahsoka should be off Mandalore by now. Before we got sucked into the tractor beam, Rex told me they captured Maul and were given orders to go back to Coruscant. What’s going on over there?"
Kix didn't speak. He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a devastation that told you everything you didn't want to know before he even looked. He tapped the screen, entering the 332nd’s official channel. Kix looked at the text on the screen. A broken sound escaped the back of his throat. He didn't read it aloud this time. He couldn't force the words past his lips. Instead, with a shaky hand, he turned the datapad around and handed it over to you.
CC-7567: All units, be advised. Former Jedi Ahsoka Tano is in direct violation of Order 66. She is an enemy of the Republic. She is to be hunted down and executed immediately.
The datapad slipped from your fingers, clattering loudly against the metal floor plates of the cockpit. You gasped, your hands flying to your mouth as your head shook in a frantic, desperate denial. "No. No, no, no. Rex wouldn't do that. Rex would never do that!"
"That's the point, General," Kix sighed, his voice filled with absolute defeat. He leaned back in his seat, staring blankly up at the ceiling. "That is exactly what Fives was trying to tell us. That's what he died trying to warn us about."
You stared at him with complete confusion, “What are you talking about, Kix?”
"It's the chips," Kix explained in a dead tone. "The inhibitor chips. They aren't there to keep us calm. They are an override program. This thing can take over our minds. It completely suppresses who we are. Our loyalty, our memories, our friendships, it all gets buried beneath a directive we cannot disobey. Even if the order is to kill the Jedi. It forces us to turn on the people we would have died to protect."
He hit the side of his own head with a clenched fist, "Remember Tup? When his chip malfunctioned on Ringo Vinda, he didn't even know what he was doing! He shot General Tiplar and looked around like he was in a dream! He wasn't in control! None of them are in control right now!"
You stared at him, the horror of his words sinking deep into your soul. The image of Rex being turned into a mindless, obedient puppet was a tragedy too massive for your mind to fully comprehend. "Wait," you whispered, a sudden spark of manic energy cutting through your grief as you lunged down to retrieve the fallen datapad. "Wait, wait, wait. Kix, look at the timestamp on this latest message from Rex. It says Ahsoka escaped the initial ambush. She's still on the ship. Kix, she's still alive! We need to go find her! We need to turn this ship around and jump to her coordinates!"
"No! No, no, no!" Kix roared, suddenly jumping out of his seat and grabbing you by the shoulders, physically pinning you back into your seat before you could touch the hyperdrive controls. "You cannot go there! General, look at me! You cannot go back to that ship!"
"But Ahsoka-"
"You trusted her with Mandalore!" Kix shouted, his fingers digging into your shoulders, his face inches from yours as he desperately tried to force reality through your panic. "Why don't you trust her with this?! She’s strong enough for this! If you jump us there right now, you aren't saving her. You’re sending us to suicide!"
You paused. The words died in your throat. You looked at Kix, your jaw trembling, but you didn't have an answer. He was right. You knew he was right, but the agonizing helplessness of the situation was too much to bear. A single tear spilled over your lashes, tracing a slow path down your cheek. You looked away from him, staring blankly out at the stars in the viewport.
"I don't believe this," you whispered, your voice stripped of all the strength you had left. "I don't believe it. Surely, if I were there, if they saw my face, the boys wouldn't kill me. Jesse wouldn't shoot me. Rex wouldn't shoot me, Kix. He knows me."
Kix let out a heavy breath. Slowly, his grip on your shoulders softened. He dropped down from his feet, crouching down on his knees directly next to your chair so he was looking up at you. "As much as you want to think that, General. They would. When Tup killed General Tiplar. He looked right at her. He knew her. It didn't matter. That is what every single clone in the galaxy is experiencing right now. This chip doesn't care who you are and it sure as hell doesn't care what you mean to them."
He let out a bitter half-laugh, "And if I hadn't removed my chip, I'd probably be standing over you with a blaster too."
You looked down at him, your vision swimming with tears. "No you wouldn’t, Kix."
"You’re right,” he added, trying to grasp on to some humor, “I’d probably be on the ground dead before I could even raise my blaster to you."
But his joke didn’t land. "We should still go," you whispered, the words slipping out in a breathless rush. "I'm sure I could get through to him, Kix. If I could just talk to Rex. If he could just hear my voice, I know he could fight it. He’s stronger than that. I know he is."
Kix slowly let his hands drop from your shoulders, his brow furrowing as a realization washed over him. He raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly as he connected the final pieces of a puzzle he never fully understood until this exact moment. He thought back to the panic when you were pulled into the Seapertist fleet. He remembered you choosing not to send a distress signal to the Jedi Council or General Skywalker. You chose Rex.
"When we were caught in that tractor beam, you didn't send a general distress call. You only contacted Rex."
You froze, your breath catching in your throat as you looked away, unable to hold his piercing gaze.
"So it’s true," Kix warmly smiled, snapping his fingers at the side of his face to get your attention. "I knew it. You and Rex, huh?"
That shattered what was left of your composure. Another tear fell down your face, followed by a stream you could no longer contain. Jedi weren't supposed to cry. You had been taught since childhood to release your attachments into the Force and to view loss as a natural transition. But the Force was bleeding, the Republic was dead, and the man who had pressed his lips to yours and begged you to come back to him in one piece was gone. He didn’t honorably on a battlefield. His mind was erased and replaced by one of a stranger that would pull a trigger on you without a single moment of hesitation.
A sob tore from your chest so raw it physically pained you to release it. Your hands flew to your face as you collapsed forward, your entire body trembling under the suffocating despair. The physical sensation of the grief was too overwhelming. Seeing you shatter completely broke something inside Kix. He’s never seen you cry.
Abandoning all protocol, Kix moved from his crouched position. He stood up on his knees in front of you and reached up, wrapping his arms around you. He pulled you down into a tight embrace, using his hand to tuck your head against his shoulder.
You didn't pull away. You collapsed into him, burying your face against the cold plastoid of his shoulder bell. You clung to him as if he were the only solid object left in a universe that had completely dissolved into chaos. The contrast of his warmth against the freezing dread in your veins was the only thing keeping you conscious. You were absolutely sobbing on him, your tears soaking the small part of his blacks that covered his neck.
"I need to find him, Kix," you wept against his neck. "I promised him. I gave him my word that I would come back to him. I can't leave him like this. I can't just let him be consumed by this. I need to find him."
Kix sat there on the floor holding you, completely defeated. Feeling the dampness of your tears on his skin and hearing the desperate cries of a Jedi who sacrificed everything to keep him safe completely shattered his resolve. You risked so much to ensure he didn't end up silenced like Fives. You had saved his life more times than he could count. This was the absolute least he could do for you, even if it meant flying directly into his own death.
He shifted, his right hand coming up to gently rub your back. "Okay," Kix whispered against your ear, "Let's find him."
He gently pulled back, keeping his hands reassuringly on your arms until your sobbing slowed into ragged breaths. He reached down and grabbed the datapad from the floor, his fingers scrolling back through the 332nd’s logs with an intense focus.
"I'm tracking the Tribunal's navigation pings," Kix informed you, his eyes scanning the streams of data. "They aren't on Mandalore anymore. The cruiser initiated hyperspace jump not too long ago. However, it looks like their ship exited hyperspace prematurely around the Ploo system."
You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, a spark of grim, desperate hope flaring to life amidst your grief. "Make the jump, Kix."
You leaned forward in your seat, your hands gripping the edge of the console so tightly your knuckles turned white. Your eyes swept the viewport, searching the vast emptiness of the Ploo Sector. For a while, there were only specks of distant stars. Then, as the ship drifted past a moon, the true scale of the horror revealed itself.
"There," you gasped, your voice cracking as you pointed a finger toward the windshield. "Kix, look."
Caught helplessly in the gravitational field of a desolate, frozen moon was a catastrophic mess pulverized metal. It looked like whatever it was had been violently torn apart from the inside out. Massive sections of gray hull plating, severed hangar doors, and shattered structural beams drifted lazily through the void. And there on the surface of the small moon was the unmistakable sight of a massive crash. You didn’t think twice before bringing the ship closer to the moon’s surface, desperately wanting a closer look at the crashed ship. The closer you got to the surface, the clearer the picture became.
The crashed ship was the Tribunal.
Kix let his hands drop from the controls. He swallowed hard as he forced his eyes away from the wreckage to look at you. "General," Kix shuddered, afraid of what they would find if they got any closer. "That’s a total loss. The snowstorm is already ripping what's left of the hull. Before we land, are you absolutely sure you want to do this? If there are patrols, or if the crash triggered a distress-"
You didn't let him finish. You turned your head, locking your gaze onto his. Your eyes were bloodshot from the tears. "I gave Rex my word, Kix. I promised him I would come back. I am not leaving this sector until I uphold my promise."
Kix stared at you, searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he let out a defeated breath and reached for the landing thrusters. "Understood, General. Taking us in."
As the ship cleared the lower cloud deck, the true reality of the disaster slammed into you. The Tribunal didn’t just crash, it plowed into the ground. The ship carved a massive path across the snowy landscape, scattering miles of burning debris in its wake. Fires still raged across the torn hull sending thick plumes of black smoke billowing into the air. It was a monument of absolute devastation.
"General," Kix began with crushing certainty in his voice that made your blood freeze. "There's no chance anyone survived that."
"Stop," you pleaded, your hands flying to your ears as you shook your head frantically. "Stop it, Kix. Please, just stop. You don't know that. You don't know."
"I'm a medic," he countered softly, placing a comforting hand on your knee. "I know what that kind of impact does to the human body. No one could have-"
"Land the ship, Kix!" you screamed, the raw desperation tearing from your throat.
He didn't argue. With a heavy heart, he brought the transport down, the landing gear crunching loudly into the thick snow. The moment the boarding ramp hissed open, the freezing cold rushed into the transport. You stepped out onto the moon, your feet sinking deep into the mixture of white snow and debris.
You walked forward, your hand instinctively resting on the cold hilt of your lightsaber even though there was no enemy left to fight. Kix flanked you, his blaster rifle raised, his eyes scanning the smoking wreckage.
As you rounded a massive piece of severed hull plating, the howling wind suddenly seemed to still. There, in a small clearing away from the heat of the fires, was a meticulously dug field. Dozens of shallow mounds of dirt and snow sat in neat, perfectly aligned rows. And standing at the head of each grave was a terrifying marker - A rifle, driven deep into the ground, topped with a clone trooper helmet.
Your breath stopped in your chest. You knew this work. You recognized the heartbreaking care that had gone into burying these men. The Republic would have left them to burn in the wreckage. Only one person would have stayed behind in the freezing cold to dig these graves by hand. Ahsoka. She made it out. She survived.
A small spark of hope flared to life in your chest, driving you forward. You began to weave through the rows of the dead, your eyes darting frantically from one helmet to the next, dreading what you might find. Then, you reached the center of the graveyard. Resting atop a rifle was the unmistakable markings of Jesse’s helmet.
"No," you choked out. Your knees completely gave out, slamming hard into the frozen snow beneath you. You fell forward against the base of the grave, your hands trembling as you touched the snow covering his body. "No, no, no, Jesse. No, please."
You bowed your head, breaking down completely. You fought beside Jesse on hundreds of missions. And now, he was just buried in frozen dirt. Kix stepped up behind you, his boots crunching softly in the snow. The sight of his brother's helmet had a similar effect on him. He dropped his blaster into the snow, falling down onto his knees right beside you. Without a word, he reached out, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you tightly against his chest. He let you cry, his own head bowing as silent tears finally spilled over his eyes, freezing on his cheeks before they could fall.
For a long time, there was only the sound of your shared grief in a field of graves. But then, a desperate denial returned to your mind. You pushed away from Kix’s embrace, your eyes darting wildly across the remaining rows of helmets. "I don't see his helmet," you panicked, your eyes wide with dwindling hope. "Kix! Look around! I don't see Rex's helmet! It’s not here!"
Kix stayed on his knees, looking up at you with a crushing pity that made you want to scream. "General, you saw the crash site. I told you, and you know no one could have survived an impact like that."
"No! Ahsoka survived! She dug these graves!" you shouted, turning your eyes toward the wreckage. "What if she gave up looking? What if he's trapped in the lower decks, or he's hurt, or he's waiting for me! I gave him my word, Kix! I have to go find him!"
You turned, preparing to run into the unstable ruins, but before you could take a single step, Kix lunged forward from the snow. His hand shot out, wrapping tightly around your forearm with a desperate grip, and he forcefully yanked you back away from the wreckage.
"Let go of me!" you screamed, twisting violently against his hold, your free hand reaching for your lightsaber. "Let me go, Kix! He's up there! Rex is up there!"
"We need to leave!" Kix shouted back, his voice cracking with emotion as he used his entire body weight to pin your arm down, refusing to let you throw your life away.
"No!" you shrieked, "No! I'm not leaving him!"
That’s when he screamed your name. No general. No sir. Just your full name. Kix’s voice didn't just carry across the clearing, it boomed across the wreckage. The sheer shock of it silenced you instantly. You froze, your muscles locking up as you stared at him. You never heard a clone speak to a Jedi like that. You had never seen Kix look so entirely deadset.
"It is not safe here," Kix whispered, looking around the desolate landscape. "The Republic is gone. If a scouting party tracks the Tribunal's final trajectory, they will be here within the hour. If they find a Jedi and a clone without a chip, I promise you they won't take prisoners. We both need to go. Right now."
You stood there in the freezing wind, completely hollowed out. The energy vanished, leaving you feeling like an empty shell wandering a universe that no longer had a place for you. You looked at the rows of helmets, then down at the snow, and finally at Kix.
"Where?" you asked, the word completely devoid of hope. "Where do we go, Kix? The Jedi are gone. The Republic is gone. Everything we fought for, everything we’ve known, it’s gone. Where could we possibly go?"
Kix didn't answer right away. He slowly released his grip on your arm and slid his hand down to intertwine your fingers with his. He reached down with his other hand, retrieving his blaster from the snow, and began to gently pull you back toward the waiting transport. He looked out over the field of graves one last time, taking a mental picture of the brothers he was leaving behind in the snow.
"We'll figure it," Kix sighed.
It’s been six months.
Six agonizing months had passed since the galaxy fell apart. You and Kix have survived by turning yourselves into shadows, jumping between forgotten Outer Rim dirt balls, desolate mining outposts, and swampy, undocumented wetlands. Pretty much anywhere the new Galactic Empire hasn’t sunk their teeth into yet.
"I don't like this, Kix," you shook your head as a knot of fear began to twist in your stomach. "We shouldn't be here. This is entirely too populated. It's a hyperlane hub. There’s too much of a risk."
Kix didn't take his eyes off the navigation computer, his fingers tapping rapidly against the worn down buttons. The last six months had taken a heavy toll on the Kix. He stripped away all of his armor, ditching it for some inconspicuous civilian attire. He let his hair grow out in a way that was worlds away from what he kept during the war. But beneath the ragged civilian clothes and new hair, Kix was still there.
"We have to land," Kix persisted, “ We need more fuel and we're out of options. But I didn't pick Ord Mantell randomly. I've been tracking encrypted frequencies for three weeks now. There are rumors about this place."
You turned your head to look at him, your brow furrowing. "Rumors about what?"
"Clones," Kix whispered, his voice cracking slightly on the word he hasn’t said in months. He finally paused his fingers, turning his head to meet your gaze. His eyes were filled with a desperate hunger that made your chest ache. "Rogue clones. They're operating right out of the central district, running independent operations."
"Kix." you sighed, a heavy wave of exhaustion washing over you. "We don't know who they are. What if they're chipped? What if it's an Imperial trap designed to pull in stragglers like us? If we walk into a sector hub-"
"I need to know," he cut in, his tone rising. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Since the day the galaxy fell apart, I haven't had a single lead on any of my brothers. Not one. I've spent six months listening to Imperial execution logs. I just need to talk to some brothers. I need to see if anyone else made it out. I need to know if there's anyone left who remembers who we were before the programming took over. I can't just keep hiding from this forever."
The sheer vulnerability in his voice silenced your argument. You had lost your Order, yes, but Kix had watched his brothers turned into mindless weapons of a dictator. He was entirely alone in his own skin. "And what about me?" you asked softly, leaning back into your seat. "Let's say they are rogue. What if they recognize me? I was a General of the 501st. My face was everywhere. If someone spots me-"
"They won't recognize you," Kix interrupted, gesturing toward your head. "The hair dye and outfit swap completely changed your look. You look like a Mid-Rim scrapper."
You instinctively reached up, running your fingers through the strands of your hair. Months ago, Kix had you apply a harsh black dye to your hair, completely hiding your natural color. Combined with the oversized, grease stained civilian poncho you wore to hide your lightsaber, you looked nothing like a Jedi.
"And if that doesn't work?" you pressed, your eyes locked onto the viewport as the ship began its steep descent into the planet's atmosphere. "Hair dye isn't a magic trick, Kix. If a patrol stops us, or if your 'brothers' look a little too closely-"
Kix didn't say a word. Instead, he reached into one of his pockets and pulling something out. With a smooth flick, he tossed a small object across the console.
You reacted by reflex, catching it in your palm. When you opened your hand, a metal band sat in the center of your skin. It was a simple, tarnished ring, cut from a piece of scrap metal. You stared at it, before looking up at him.
Kix reached back into his pocket and pulled out a second, identical ring. He slid the metal band down onto the third finger of his left hand. He looked over at you, a wry smirk touching his lips for the first time in days. "The 'you’re my wife’ cover story hasn't failed us so far. We’re just two refugees from the Mid-Rim, trying to make a living in a crowded city. Soldiers don't look twice at a civilian couple trying to avoid trouble."
With a defeated sigh, you slid the copper band onto your finger. "Fine," you groaned, pulling your oversized hood up over your dyed hair, letting the fabric shadow your face. You adjusted the heavy poncho, ensuring the hilt of your lightsaber was completely buried against your hip, hidden away from the prying eyes. "But if this goes sideways, we leave immediately. No arguments."
"Deal.”
Once inside the city, Kix fell into step right beside you. "Keep moving," Kix muttered, "The central marketplace is just through this corridor. Stay close."
"Kix," you whimpered, leaning your head slightly toward his shoulder without breaking your stride. "How exactly are you planning to find these rogue clones? Ord Mantell City is a maze. We can't just go around asking random people if they've seen a squad of clones."
Kix didn't turn his head, his eyes scanning the upper catwalks for any lingering danger. "I was actually hoping you could help with that. I have coordinates for a few suspected sectors, but I was hoping you could use your feelings? Can you sense them? Can you feel a spark of a brother out here?"
You closed your eyes for a split second, trying to reach outward, but it fell flat. "Nothing feels right, Kix," you confessed. "The Force is not a guide anymore. Every time I try to reach out, all I feel is the collective terror of the fallen. I can't find a spark in this city. Everything just feels dead."
Kix’s jaw tightened, his fingers tightening around yours, but he didn't press the issue. “That’s okay. We do it the hard way, then. Keep your eyes open for-"
"Kix," you interrupted,a jolt of pure adrenaline spiking through your veins. Your eyes locked forward. "Don't look now, but your 270. Behind the spice vender's stall."
Across the narrow street, a Devaronian merchant with a scarred horn was leaning against a stack of cargo crates. His eyes were locked entirely onto you. "He's staring right at me," you whispered, panic clawing at your throat. "He’s looking Kix. He’s looking at my hood. Kix, I think we've made a mistake. He’s on a comlink. We need to get back to the ship-"
Before you could ask him what the alternative was, Kix reacted. Kix stepped directly into your path, completely cutting off your forward momentum. His hands shot out from his pockets and gripped your waist through the fabric of your poncho. Before your brain could process the movement, Kix yanked you forcefully forward, pulling you flush against his chest. Your hood fell back slightly as he tilted your chin up with his thumb and brought his lips to yours.
Your eyes widened in pure shock against his cheek. Your heart was pounding so loudly you could hear it in your ears. It wasn't an act of passion. It was a desperate attempt to avoid detection. Kix opened his eyes, his gaze tracking past your shoulder and onto the merchant.
For what felt like forever, Kix held his mouth against yours. Across the street, the Devaronian scoffed, his eyes rolling in disgust at the public display of affection. Believing he had simply been staring at a couple of lovesick scum instead of a fugitive Jedi and clone, the merchant turned his attention back to a customer who was flashing a handful of credits.
"All clear," Kix muttered against your mouth.
He smoothly pulled his lips away from yours, his hands dropping from your waist as he took a half step back. But as he looked down at you, his brow furrowed into a deep, frustrated frown. You were standing there like a statue, your breathing shallow, your lips parted in a silent shock.
"Hey," Kix said, his tone carrying a hint of annoyance as he gestured between the two of you. "It would look a hell of a lot more believable if you didn't look so miserable afterward. Just pretend I'm Rex or something. It couldn't have been that different."
The words left his mouth before his brain could stop them. Kix realized his mistake the absolute millisecond the syllable left his lips. His eyes widened with sickening guilt.
"No, I- I didn't mean to,” Kix began to stammer, his hands rising in a frantic gesture as he stepped toward you, "I am so sorry. That was stupid. That was incredibly stupid. I shouldn't have said that. I didn't think-"
You couldn't even hear his apologies. The world had gone entirely silent.
The mention of that name was a blade driven into the center of your chest and twisted. For six months, you had kept his name buried in the deepest corner of your soul. You had forced yourself not to think about the way his voice sounded when he whispered your name, the warmth of his hands, your last kiss before the world tore itself apart. You had forced yourself to survive by pretending that part of your life belonged to a dead person. And now, Kix dragged it from its grave.
"Do you have any idea-" your words came out broken. You looked up at him, your eyes instantly filling with tears that threatened to spill. "Do you have any idea how much it hurts to hear his name, Kix? Do you have any idea what it feels like to have to live every single day pretending he didn't exist?”
Kix looked devastated. He made it his goal to be your protector through this mess, but that protector was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die for the pain he had just inflicted on his best friend.
"I know," Kix whispered, “I would do absolutely anything to take away that pain from you. If I could rewrite that day, if I could change what happened-”
"Kix," you gasped. But it wasn't a rebuke. Your voice suddenly lost its anger, replaced by a sudden spark. Your eyes drifted past his shoulder.
"What is it?" Kix asked, his apology dying in his throat. He reached out, his hand grasping your shoulder as he saw your eyes glaze over. "What is it? Are you having a panic attack? What's wrong?"
"There," you whispered, pointing past his chest and down a narrow alleyway. At the end of the alley, was a flickering neon sign that read “Cid’s Parlor”.
"Your answers are there," you said confidently, grabbing Kix’s arm. "Stay alert. Something is inside that bar. I don't know what it is, but we need to be ready for anything."
Kix stared at the sign. The guilt was pushed aside, locked away for later. He gave you a reassuring nod, his hand sliding down to grasp yours. “Okay. Let's go check it out."
The door of the parlor slid open releasing a thick wall of stale smoke and liquor. Kix stepped in right behind you as he reached up and lowered his hood. He didn't drop his guard for a second. He began to scan the room, searching for tracing every exit and any sign of threat. Behind the counter, a Trandoshan stopped wiping a dirty glass. She took one look at Kix and let out a theatrical groan, tossing her rag onto the bar with pure exasperation.
"Oh, great," Cid barked, "Another clone! Just what I need. What are you guys just multiplying when I'm not looking?"
In a shadowy booth tucked away in the back corner of the bar, six heads snapped to the entrance. Your eyes darted toward the booth, and your breath caught in your throat. You recognized five of them almost instantly. Even without their armor, their faces were unmistakable. They were Clone Force 99. The same one you fought alongside on Anaxes. There was Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, and Echo. But it was the fifth figure that made time itself stop.
Rex.
A blinding shock wave exploded behind your eyes, turning your vision blurry at the edges. Your brain completely refused to accept the reality of the image. But the Force told you otherwise. It was him. He was breathing. He was alive. Your muscles tensed. Every part of you was screaming at you to launch yourself across the room, throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest until the nightmare of the last six months finally washed away. You took a fraction of a step forward, but you never made it.
With lethal speed, Kix reacted. He didn't see a beautiful reunion. To Kix, walking into wasn't a miracle, it was your send. Kix instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, anchoring yourself to him because he knew damn well you were ready to sprint.
"Don't move," Kix hissed against the back of your ear with an intensity you had never heard from him before. You tried to wrench yourself forward, to tear away from his hold, but Kix was entirely prepared for the struggle. He was using every bit of energy he had left in him to hold you back.
Across the parlor, Rex stepped out of the booth. "Kix?" he asked. He took another step forward, his eyes darting between Kix’s face and the person locked in his arms. "Kix, is that you? How are you-"
Kix didn't let him finish. He didn't lower his guard and he didn't relax his iron grip around you. "Did you remove your chip?" Kix barked across the room.
The question was a desperate, panicked command, ringing through the bar with a deadly seriousness that made the members of Clone Force 99 freeze. Rex stopped dead in his tracks, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Why?" Rex asked cautiously, his eyes darting around the bar as if trying to locate an invisible enemy. "Kix, what's going on? What are you talking about?"
"Please, Rex!" Kix begged, weeping desperation tearing from his throat. He tightened his arms around you even further, pulling you so close against his chest you could feel the vibration of his words against your back. He was practically screaming now, "Just tell me! I need you to tell me right now! You have no idea."
The agony in Kix’s voice seemed to resonate with Rex. "Yes," Rex finally confirmed, "The chip is gone, Kix. It's out. I swear."
Immediately, the strength in Kix’s arms vanished. With an exhale of pure relief, Kix opened his hands and released his grip around you.
You launched yourself across the floor and crashed into Rex’s chest with a force so strong it rattled the air in his lungs. You moved so fast that Rex didn't even have time to look at your face, but the exact second your body slammed into his, his whole world shook.
By pure muscle memory, Rex’s arms slammed shut around you. His hands drove deep into the fabric of your poncho, locking behind your back with a desperate, crushing strength that mirrored the way he had held you right before everything fell apart. The way your shoulder perfectly wedged itself beneath his collarbone told his heart everything his eyes hadn't yet processed. He knew exactly who you were.
A massive shudder ripped through Rex’s body. His chest pressed against yours as he tried to force a breath past the shock. His chin dropped onto the crown of your head, his mind completely blank with an overwhelming disbelief. He spent the last six months mourning you. He watched the Republic fall, he dug graves in the snow, and he had carried the narrative that you had been gunned down the second you arrived to Coruscant with Kix.
He tried to speak. His lips parted as he tried to let out the first syllable of your name, but no sound came out. His voice completely broke, dissolving into a gasp against your hair as he squeezed his arms tighter. It felt like he was trying to physically fuse your body to his, terrified that if he loosened his grip, you would vanish.
"Hey! You're that reg from Anaxes!" Kix didn't even look at Wrecker. He was watching the sobbing mess of you and Rex. You were completely collapsing against Rex, your knees buckling under the weight of the relief. And the way Rex was holding you was something Kix had never seen from Rex. It was mesmerizing.
Kix cleared his throat. He looked past the booth, locking eyes with Hunter, who has a look of respect in his eyes. "Is there anywhere we can go?" Kix asked, pointing at you and Rex with his chin, "We should give them a moment."
Hunter didn't hesitate. He turned his head sharply, looking over his shoulder toward the bar counter where Cid was still standing. She let out a huff of air, throwing her arms up into the air with a theatrical sigh of resignation.
"Alright, alright, move it, boys," Cid grumbled, waving her hand toward the door behind the bar counter. "Into the office. All of you. Let’s go. I run a business, not a support group for traumatized soldiers."
The parlor emptied out completely. You were finally entirely alone with Rex.
The moment the door shut, your knees gave out entirely, dragging you to the floor. But you didn't feel the impact. Rex went down with you, his knees hitting beside yours, his arms never once loosening their lock around your waist. He pulled you flush into the space between his thighs, holding you against his chest as you buried your face directly into the crook of his neck.
"I thought you were dead," you wept. Your tears were continuous, soaking instantly through the thin fabric of his gray shirt. "Rex, I thought you were dead. I thought I lost you. We went to the moon. We tracked the Tribunal. We found the crash site, Rex. I looked for you."
Your fingers clawed at the leather of his vest, your knuckles turning white as you shook him, your entire body trembling so violently your teeth clicked together in the damp chill of the bar.
Rex listened to you sob, squeezing his eyes shut as silent sob wrenched its way through his own chest. He buried his face deeply into your neck, right beneath the edge of your. His hands began to travel frantically across your back, his fingers tracing the shape of your spine, checking every inch of you with a desperate, trembling paranoia, verifying over and over again that you were actually there.
"I'm here," Rex choked out, his voice finally breaking through the wall of his tears. He pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands.. His thumbs brushed frantically at the tears spilling down your cheeks. "I'm right here. Look at me. I'm right here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't there."
He stared at you, drinking in the sight of your face with a starved intensity. For six months, his mind had been a graveyard of what-ifs. Every time he closed his eyes, he had envisioned the worst. He imagined you cornered in a corridor, targeted by the very men who had sworn their lives to protect you. The guilt that he survived and you didn’t felt like a different kind of hell.
"Ahsoka got me out," Rex whispered, his forehead coming forward to press firmly against yours. "She saved me. We tried to find you, we tried to track your coordinates, but everything was jammed. I thought they got to you first."
"Kix pretty much saved me," you explained, your hands moving up to cup his jaw, “We've been running. We've been running for six months, Rex. Just hopping from system to system pretending to be regular people. We wore these-"
You lifted your left hand, showing him the metal band Kix had tossed to you in the cockpit.
Rex looked at the ring, and a small, watery laugh escaped his lips. It was a sound of pure, exhausted relief. He reached down, grabbing your hand and admiring the ring. "So, Kix managed to put a ring on you before I could," Rex hummed, his voice dropping into the tender tone that belonged only to you. He leaned forward, closing the remaining distance, and pressed his lips to yours.
The kiss wasn't like the one on Mandalore. That one was a desperate, panicked farewell. This kiss was slow, deep, and filled with the pain of the last six months. You made a sound against his mouth that was half-sob, half-sigh of surrender. He broke the kiss only to take a breath, his forehead coming back to rest against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t believe you-”
"Rex," you whispered. You looked back towards the door where Kix and the others were waiting, then back at Rex. "What now? Where do we go from here? The Empire is expanding every day. Kix and I have been jumping from sector to sector, but our options are running low. Nothing is safe anymore."
"Hush," Rex smiled. He moved his hands from your cheeks, sliding them down to wrap securely around your waist. "None of that matters right now. It doesn't matter where we go or where we need to hide next. As long as we're together, it’ll be okay."
He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his hands sliding down to find yours. His fingers tangled with yours, his thumb gently brushing over the ring Kix gave you. "Right now, you're here. I have you back."
You leaned your head forward, resting your forehead against his collarbone, closing your eyes as his arms wrapped around you once more. The galaxy was still a mess. You were still fugitives, still hunted, and still sleeping with your hands on your weapons. But on the floor of Cid’s Parlor, everything began to feel okay again.
Pairing: Din Djarin x reader/The Mandalorian x reader
Word Count: 300
Summary: After facing down your enemies and coming out alive neither you or Mando want to waste any more time.
Author's Note: This is for June 29th of @societynsoelsscribbles June Jukebox Scribbles and the song: 'Mr. Brightside by The Killers' and the lyric: "I want it all." I can't believe there is only one more day! Thank you all so much for reading and sharing! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: cheeky, flirty, some needy desperation, fluffy love, sexiness
June Jukebox Scribbles Masterlist
The dust begins to settle, the sounds of battle dying away when he looks at you, chest still heaving. Nothing else exists in this moment. There is only you.
Your gaze locks to his, and he sees your eyes brimming with the one thing he only ever dreamed of. He reaches for you, fingertips brushing over your fluttering pulse before he grabs the back of your neck and crushes his mouth to yours.
His knees nearly buckle beneath the force of it, but he lifts you from the ground, wrapping your legs around his middle, not caring who else surrounds you.
Every slide of his lips is a brand, a claim. You belong to him.
He presses you into the crumbling wall…a throat clears.
Zeb stands by the doorway; Grogu perched on his shoulder. “We’ll leave you to it, then, yeah?” He grins with a wink.
Grogu coos and searches for his cookies.
“Put me down,” you say, nudging Mando.
“Not a chance in hell,” he answers, before addressing Zeb and Grogu. “See you back at the ship. Keep him safe.”
Zeb nods with a wry smile. “Of course and take your time.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Mando murmurs.
Before you can chide him for his cheeky response, Mando covers your mouth with his once more. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips.
“I love you too,” you say breathlessly. “But what about….?”
He interrupts, his lips just a breath away. “I don’t care about any of it. Just you, just Grogu. I want this. I want it all.”
His next kiss is slow and thorough, as though you have all the time in the world. As though you’re not standing in the ruins of an epic battle. You deepen the kiss, reveling in the knowledge that he’s yours.
Looking for a cuddle sandwich or my thicc self to be picked up and help like I weigh nothing at all. Writers choice. Please and thank you 🥺
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hi hii babe! Hope you’re doing well! I’m so tired from work lol. We have a new store manager starting tomorrow and I’m not ready
Warnings: One sentence about being fucked, Other than that, maul fluff, fem reader
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You felt insecure about the thickness of your thighs, belly, and ass. Feeling as if you were too thick, maybe even too heavy. Maul had caught you one day staring at yourself in the mirror and that’s when you told him of your worries. And to your surprise, your tattooed lover scoops you up. Positioning you on his side while one arm sits underneath you, supporting you with no problem at all. Since then, Maul has made it part of your day to day routine. Merely scooping you up anytime he can. Sometimes he’ll carry you normally, or switch it up with piggy back rides, slinging you over his shoulder like a pack of potatoes, or bridal style. Especially in the bedroom, bouncing you on his cock while standing up. Your knees thrown over his arms in a mean mating press. These actions have increased your confidence a lot, but time to time you still get that small nagging feeling that you’re too heavy for him. That he’s just putting on an act for you..but the second he manhandles you…all those feelings go away..
“Stop worrying about your size my dear. I see you for who you are and I love you for it”
